Secret Millionaire

by Kitty Alexander

  ‘D’you think it might be a better idea to clear the area before you get stuck into that old concrete, Bert?’ Alexia shouted over the sound of the strimmer. ‘You can’t really see what you’re doing, can you?’

  Bert answered something – she couldn’t hear what, over the sound of the strimmer. Then, all of a sudden, the strimmer stopped. Just as Bert’s pickaxe made contact with something other than the old concrete path, sending dangerous-looking blue shards of something scattering everywhere.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ grunted Bert, just as Derek started the strimmer up again.

  The shards were a deep blue, and looked as if they were glass. Fearing the worst, Alexia shouted to Derek. ‘Can you stop for a moment, please, Derek? We need to take a look at this.’

  The strimmer came to a halt. Derek and Peter looked on as Bert dragged some of the shards into the open. It was a planter – homemade by the look of it, and pretty special. Or rather, it had been pretty special. Now it was just a pile of glittering rubble. God, she hoped it hadn’t been anything very precious. Not that it was really Bert’s fault – the place was so badly overgrown, anything could be lurking beneath the surface.

  ‘We’d better leave the concrete until we’ve cleared the ground and can see what we’re dealing with, Bert. Can you go back to the van and get yourself another machete? Or take a look in the garage and see if there’s a strimmer we can borrow?’

  As Bert walked away, Bosun’s barking became frantic. Sighing, Alexia went to find out what was wrong. It didn’t look as if she was going to get a lot done today. Before Alexia emerged completely from the undergrowth, she saw Mark walking from his car. Bosun was straining so hard on his rope, the mobile home looked in danger of being pulled over.

  ‘Steady, Bosun,’ Mark said, and his tone of voice was so warm and gentle, it took Alexia right back to the fashion show. He’d spoken to her like that, when she’d been nervous.

  A few more steps, and Mark was in range for Bosun to leap clean into his arms. Clearly the dog loved him. But then dogs were notorious for not holding grudges.

  Alexia moved closer. Mark was setting the dog down on the ground. ‘God, you stink again,’ he said. Then he saw Alexia. ‘Hi. You’ve arrived then. I hope Bosun hasn’t been a complete nuisance to you? I guess Craig must have tied him up here. Actually, that’s got to be a priority, fencing the wood off and putting in a gate. I’ll get a fencing company in. Bosun just can’t resist going after the fox family in there.’

  Was he ever going to stop talking? What was wrong with him? The journey back to Sheffield station the previous week had been awkwardly silent – this was a complete contrast.

  ‘I let Bosun out, actually,’ she said. ‘He was barking the place down and clearly distressed.’

  Mark was silent for a moment, bending down to stroke Bosun’s head. Alexia noticed his expensive-looking suit was covered in dog hair from the dog’s flying leap. When he finally looked up again, Mark’s expression was closed off.

  ‘Dogs don’t like to be left alone for long periods,’ she blurted.

  Something flickered across his face. ‘No, indeed.’

  ‘He’s left quite a mess in there. I think he found a pillow.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll see to it.’ He turned away towards the caravan, then looked back. ‘Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention; the previous owner of the house was a potter. He said he’d left some of his pieces somewhere in the garden. If you come across any of them, could you put them somewhere safe please? I’ll get them to him. See you later.’

  Oh hell. Alexia stood there, not sure what to do. Bert traipsed past with a strimmer, carefully avoiding her gaze. There was something so defeated about the droop of his shoulders that Alexia wanted to give him a hug and to tell him everything would be all right. But she didn’t quite dare to; he would probably fling her off. Or maybe even worse, he might want to fling her off, but would stand there stiffly, counting the seconds until the embrace ended. Poor Bert. He was obviously feeling very low. For all his bravado about the job interview, it had obviously meant a great deal to him to get it.

  After he’d disappeared from view, Alexia still stood by the caravan, trying to decide what to do. Then, as both strimmers started up, she went up the caravan steps and knocked on the door.

  Over the sound of the strimmers, she heard Mark call, ‘Come in,’ then she took a deep breath and opened the door. She’d expected him to be deep in the throes of clearing up the mess on the floor, but in fact he was seated on the upholstered bench at the table. Bosun was up on the bench next to him, and Mark had his arm around him. As Alexia walked closed, she saw that feathers had joined the dog hair on Mark’s suit jacket.

  Alexia licked her lips. ‘About those planters….’ She began.

  ‘Better shut the door,’ Mark said. ‘It’s very noisy.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She went to close the door. After the strimmers had been relegated to a distant insect buzz, the atmosphere in the caravan seemed suddenly intimate. One of Mark’s shirts was hanging up to dry from a cupboard near the sink. A paperback book was turned upside down on the table to keep its place. Mark’s washing up was on the draining board, revealing that he’d used a frying pan when he’d cooked his last meal.

  ‘I can put the kettle on if you like,’ said Mark, and Bosun’s tail thump thumped against the wall.

  ‘Oh, no, I won’t keep you,’ she said, speaking to him over the tangled pile of duvet and feathers. ‘It was just about those planters.’ Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and she licked her lips.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘What about them?’

  Alexia looked at the ground. Saw she was still wearing her muddy boots. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve left mud all over your carpet,’ she said, dismayed.

  ‘Oh, Alexia,’ said Mark, with a twist of his mouth. ‘Bosun had cleared up for me specially, while I was at work too, hadn’t you Bosun?’

  Alexia blinked. Bosun’s tail thump thumped again. Then she saw that Mark was smiling. ‘Don’t worry about it, honestly. You were saying, about the planters?’

  A shaft of sunlight came in through the window, illuminating the devastation on the floor. Alexia felt suddenly hot inside her unnecessary coat. ‘I’m afraid we’ve already come across one of them. I…I accidentally broke it.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘It’s completely smashed – irreparable. I do hope it’s not too valuable. Of course, The Heath Centre will reimburse your friend. No, I will. It was my fault. We should have cleared the ground properly before we…I started wielding a pick axe…’

  Finally, Alexia dried up and stood there, fists clenched by her sides, waiting to hear what he would say.

  For a long moment Mark’s face was completely unreadable. Then, one corner of his mouth twitched. ‘I’m having a little difficulty imagining you wielding a pick axe,’ he said. Then he smiled dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about it, honestly, Alexia. I’m to blame. I ought to have mentioned it sooner.’ He looked at her, as she still stood there. ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘No, no.’ She turned quickly, heading for the door.

  ‘Okay then, see you later.’

  ‘Yes. Bye.’ And she left to clear up the broken pieces of the planter, feeling like a criminal disposing of evidence. You lied, she told herself. You lied to him. Yes, said a voice in her head, but it was only a white lie, to protect Bert. After what had happened to her in her life, honesty had always been of paramount importance to her. Why hadn’t she just hidden the broken blue shards somewhere? Mark would never have known about it. Except that this would have been just as dishonest.

  Alexia went down the overgrown path to rejoin her colleagues. Nothing had been simple since Mark had appeared in her life. Nothing.

  * * * * *

  Inside the caravan, Mark still hadn’t moved. He ought to get changed, get back to work. What was he even doing here, in the middle of the afternoon? But somehow he sat on, with Bosun’s weight pressing into his side. He kept seeing Alexia’s face – obv
iously she believed he was some sort of animal abuser. ‘He was clearly distressed – barking the place down,’ she’d said, with an accusing tilt to her chin and a judgemental flash in her eyes. Well, that was admirable, really. She may be jumping to conclusions – the wrong ones, as it turned out – but her motives were honourable. Mark, himself, despised all animal neglect.

  If things had turned out differently, he might have been able to tell her the truth, but they hadn’t, so that was that.

  Bosun settled down next to him on the bench for a sleep. Mark knew he ought to drag the dog into the house to bathe him yet again - the upholstery was going to stink for months. But somehow, Mark found he didn’t care. It ought to feel important, and tonight, when he was trying to get to sleep with a chewed duvet and the stink of fox, then maybe it would. But right now he just couldn’t find the energy to do anything about it.

  He was too busy remembering the desperately sad way that Bosun had come into his life.

  * * * * *

  At five o’clock, Alexia told the three men they could finish work for the day. It had been a fruitful afternoon – between them, they had managed to clear quite a large area close to the pond. Alexia wasn’t sure what the area had originally been used for, but she thought it would be nice to make an iris garden there. They could plant lots of different types of irises and echo these with wild irises in the pond. She’d have to speak to Mark; see if he agreed with the idea.

  Speak to Mark. That was going to be the stumbling block with every idea she came up with. Even more so now that she’d lied to him about the planter, because she was going to feel uncomfortable. As if she hadn’t already felt uncomfortable enough…

  ‘If anybody fancies eating out in a pub, that’s what I’m planning to do tonight,’ she told them. ‘You’re very welcome to join me.’ She didn’t know if the kitchen in the house was useable or not, and there hadn’t been any opportunity to do any shopping. Besides, it had been a very long day. They all deserved a treat.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ agreed Derek. ‘Is it far?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll find out.’ Something else to speak to Mark about! Unless one of the builders would know? Yes – she’d ask Craig.

  ‘See you by the bus at seven then?’ she said.

  ‘Sure thing, boss,’ teased Peter.

  Bert hadn’t said anything, but she suspected he’d join them. She hoped so. Sighing, Alexia picked up the larger pieces of the broken planter and carried them with her back towards the house. She would wrap them in newspaper before she put them in the dustbin – make sure nobody cut themselves.

  As she passed by Mark’s mobile home, there was no sound. Was he in there? His car was still parked by the house. Maybe he was feeling guilty about neglecting Bosun and had taken him out, poor dog. But she wouldn’t think about Mark. She was here to work – short of resigning from her job, she had no choice about that. But that didn’t mean the man had to dominate her life.

  There was an old newspaper in the minibus, and Alexia carefully wrapped the planter shards in it, before taking them to the dustbin. Then she went back down the garden to sweep up the smaller pieces. It was a relief when they were safely wrapped in newspaper and deposited in the bin. Now perhaps she could get settled in her room – she hadn’t even had the chance to take her bag up there yet.

  When she went into the house, there was a strong smell of wet plasterwork. ‘Don’t touch the walls in the bathroom,’ Craig warned her. ‘Or your finger prints will be there forever.’

  Alexia shivered and struggled to smile. ‘But it’s okay to use the bathroom?’

  ‘It would be better if you used the en suite in the master bedroom,’ he said. ‘We haven’t touched it in there yet, but I believe the shower works okay. Check with Mark.’

  Great. ‘Thanks,’ she smiled at Craig. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, have a good evening.’ He began to clump away in his workman’s boots, but she called him back.

  ‘Oh, Craig, are there any pubs that do food around here?’

  ‘Try the Saracen’s Head in Saworth – they do excellent food there. Turn right out of the drive, then bear left after two miles. It’s signposted; you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ With a final smile, he carried on down the stairs, and soon she heard the front door close behind everyone.

  Alone in the house, Alexia shrugged away a feeling of unease. It was not as if Mark had ever lived here – from what he’d said, he’d been in the mobile home ever since he’d bought the place. So why did it feel as if she were invading his territory?

  Not knowing exactly how long she would be away or whether there would be any laundry facilities for her to use, Alexia had packed a lot of clothes in a large bag. She soon realized it wasn’t going to be possible to get the bag up the ladder and through the loft hatch, and had to take them up in batches, making several trips. By the time she had finished, it was starting to get dark. Drawn once again by the view from the large window, Alexia looked out at the hills. The sun was just going down, and the hills were silhouetted against an orangey-pink sky. It was so beautiful she had to stand there, enjoying the spectacle.

  It was only when the sun had finally disappeared that she thought to look down at Mark’s mobile home. Here she found that the lights were on, illuminating the surrounding garden. Through the window, she could see Mark standing at the cooker, evidently making a meal. Goodness – maybe she ought to have taken him up on his offer of curtains? If she could see him down there, then he – sure as hell – would be able to see her up here. She mustn’t forget that.

  Turning her back on the window, Alexia glanced at the bed. Someone – Mark, presumably – had made it up with plump pillows and a cosy-looking duvet in a pretty cover. Had he cleared up the mess Bosun had made yet? Did she even care? Venturing down the ladder, Alexia retrieved her towel from her abandoned bag and went in search of the master bedroom. She found it at the end of the landing – a large room with unattractively artexed walls, painted a drab mushroom colour. And, through a door across the room was the en suite bathroom with a toilet and an ancient-looking shower cubicle.

  Going inside and closing the door behind her, Alexia undressed then looked fruitlessly around for a bolt to lock the door. What if Mark decided to come and wash away his essence-de-fox? But surely, he had somewhere to wash in the mobile home. Then she noticed damp footmarks on the bath mat by the shower. Presumably, they were Mark’s footmarks, unless Craig or one of the other builders had enjoyed an illicit shower. Mark must have come up here to shower while she’d been working in the garden. Strange – she’d put him down as more of a workaholic than that. And yet here he was, in the middle of the afternoon, taking showers and sitting around in the mobile home. Not that the way Mark chose to spend his time was of any concern of hers.

  Looking down, Alexia realized she had put her feet inside the imprint of Mark’s feet. Making a sound of impatience, she opened the shower and stepped inside. Soon she was washing away the effort of the day and deliberately ignoring the fact that the shower gel smelled of Mark.

  Later, at the Saracen’s Head, Alexia laid her knife and fork across her empty plate. Never a huge eater, it was rare for her not to leave something, but the fish pie and fresh vegetables had been delicious. Home cooking at its very best.

  The men had all finished their meals ages ago, and now Peter was at the bar, getting another orange juice. Next to her, Bert had his usual low alcohol beer. Alexia wondered if he minded; whether despite what he said, it was difficult for him in this environment. Tomorrow night, they would stay on site. She would find out where to buy some basic supplies.

  ‘Are you all right, Bert?’ Alexia asked, drinking some of her coke. ‘You enjoyed your meal?’

  ‘You already asked me that,’ said Bert with his usual lack of tact, and Alexia smiled.

  ‘You’re right. I did.’ She paused, wondering if now was the right time for their conversation about hi
s failed interview, but then Bert spoke again.

  ‘Look who’s just come in.’ The dislike in his voice gave Alexia a hunch as to who it was – a hunch that was immediately confirmed when she looked up. Yes, it was Mark. With Bosun. The dog’s coat looked wet – presumably Mark had come into the house to give him a bath after she’d left. She shivered at the thought. It was his house – he the right to use it. But the thought of him waiting for her to leave before he did so was creepy. Though not half as creepy as the thought of him using it while she was there.

  Mark still hadn’t noticed them. Bosun was pulling him over to one corner, where an older lady was sitting alone at a table. As Alexia watched, Mark bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Alexia watched, transfixed. Who was she? Bosun obviously knew and approved of her, because he was whimpering, his behind practically wagging off with delight. The woman took hold of Bosun’s lead, and said something to Mark. Then he headed towards the bar. Saw Peter. Exchanged a few words with him. Then turned in their direction.

  Feebly, aware of Bert watching her, Alexia lifted her hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘You don’t like him either, do you?’ said Bert. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘He’s being very generous towards the Centre, Bert,’ Alexia said, wondering if she were reminding Bert or herself.

  ‘Doesn’t mean we have to like him though.’

  Peter was returning to the table with his drink. Mark followed on behind, holding a pint of bitter and a glass of what looked to be sherry. ‘Good evening, everyone,’ he said. ‘Have you had a nice meal?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Alexia.

  ‘It was great!’ said Peter.

  Bert remained silent. Mark looked at him. At last Bert spoke, but not about the food. ‘I broke something of yours, this afternoon,’ he said.

  Oh no! Alexia put a hand out towards Bert, speaking quickly, desperate to stop him. ‘That’s all right, Bert.’

  Bert frowned. ‘The man deserves to know,’ he said, then looked back in Mark’s direction. ‘Some blue plant pot thing. Swiped it with my pickaxe before I knew it was there. Not my fault – place is so overgrown, you could be hiding the crown jewels in the thick of it for all we know.’