I thought it best not to mention to George that he was living in the cottage I had been promised. In fact this was the cottage that Maria had dangled like a carrot back in London when she was giving me the hard sell. I guessed that George had no idea that he was squatting in my dream home, so I decided to keep quiet. For now.
“If you want to dry off, there are towels in the bathroom,” George said. “It’s up the stairs on the left. The room on the right is my bedroom.” He let this last piece of information hang in the air between us for a second before adding, “Feel free to borrow a dry shirt and some track pants from the wardrobe.”
The bathroom was tiny, with just a shower cubicle sandwiched between a hand basin and a loo, so I barely had room to move. I did my best to towel myself down, but I was fighting a losing battle with the lack of space. So, deciding it was the best option, I just stripped off my shorts and top and wrapped the towel tightly around my waist and headed for George’s bedroom for some dry clothes.
When I entered the room I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of George lying on the bed. He had stripped off down to his boxer shorts and simply raised an eyebrow as he stroked the empty space next to him on the rumpled sheets.
“I feel like we kind of got off on the wrong foot—how’s about letting me make it up to you?”
“George,” I said, “that’s not why I’m here, and you know it.”
“Yeh, and I wasn’t planning this either, but after watching you in the bath yesterday, I sort of couldn’t help myself. And anyway, now you’re here you might as well get comfortable.” He reached up and gently pulled the corner of the towel, guiding me nearer to him before giving it one final tug and removing it altogether.
“If you’re sure you know what you are getting yourself into,” I said by way of fair warning.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he replied.
I doubt that very much! I thought as I fell naked onto the bed, where he wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and began to kiss me with a passion that suggested he’d been starved of male company for a while. I leaned back to get a good look at his body for the first time. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and as he moved and writhed the muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled and tensed. He was absolutely beautiful and held himself in a way that reminded me of myself at his age—brimming with the sort of nonchalant confidence only the young can afford. He had no apparent inhibitions, but neither did he seem to realize what a fine specimen of a man he was. Part of me wanted to tell him how hard he was going to have to work to have a body that looked half as good at thirty never mind forty, but why bother? Guys of his age never look that far into the future.
He began to nibble and suck at my nipples whilst his hand worked its way slowly and firmly down the flat of my stomach. He then put his whole body weight on top of me, and I realized it was time to let him know who was really in control of this situation.
George might have been a mass of youthful sinew and muscle, but I was the larger of the two of us, and I used this advantage to take him by surprise, suddenly flipping him off me and onto his back. Whilst he adjusted to the position, I roughly took hold of each of his wrists and held them tightly above his head.
“You were in the army weren’t you, George?”
“Yeah, used to be,” he said, looking confused.
“Then you should know a thing or two about discipline,” I said with my mouth close to his ear.
“Is that right?” he said, suddenly not so cocky.
When I released him he rubbed his wrists before moving his hands tenderly to my waist. But I wasn’t looking for tenderness so I pushed them away before rolling him over onto his front.
“Stay where you are for a minute, and close your eyes,” I said as I got up from the bed. I quickly bounded down the stairs and grabbed something I had spotted earlier on the table in the living room.
George had done as I asked and was still in exactly the same position when I returned, so he didn’t see me place the riding crop silently beside him. I gripped the waistband of his boxers and slipped them gently down over his hips and helped him out of them before tossing them over my shoulder. I took the crop and ran the leather tab at the end of it gently all over his body.
“What’s that?” he asked nervously, attempting to look up.
“No peeking now,” I said.
I continued to tease him with the tip of the crop for a couple of minutes more, whilst the only sound in the room was his rapid breathing. And then, when I thought he was expecting it the least, I flicked one cheek and then the other in quick succession, once, twice, three times on each buttock. George raised his hips farther and gripped the edge of the bed. He stayed silent with the exception of a sharp intake of breath and a low groan, but not once did he tell me to stop. After a few minutes I stood back to admire my work.
“So, how does that feel, George?” I asked.
He hesitated before answering.
“I’m not really sure,” he said eventually.
I placed the crop down on the floor and began to kiss the back of his neck.
But then, just as I began to let my hands wander down his tightly muscled torso, he started to struggle beneath me like a bucking bronco. Eventually his efforts sent me off balance, and he jumped to his feet.
“Are you okay with this?” I asked, even though it was clear he was anything but.
“Yeh, fine, I just got stuff to do, that’s all,” he replied with his back to me, frantically searching the floor for his clothes. All flirtatiousness was now gone from his voice, and I immediately began to regret having given in to his advances. The last thing I wanted on my hands was George’s being overcome by shame every time I walked in the room. I could have kicked myself—why hadn’t I just waited until I got the chance to go to Brighton where nobody knew me and I would never have to see the same person twice? I waited a few minutes before speaking again as he studiously avoided eye contact.
“George, if you are worried I’m going to tell anyone about this, you needn’t be,” I said, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at me. “I’m as keen to keep this quiet as you are.”
“Okay, sorry,” he said, and quickly began pulling on his T-shirt and jeans. “But don’t go thinking this kinda stuff is gonna happen again, ’cause it ain’t.”
Before I had the chance to offer him any reassurances, I heard a door slam somewhere below us. George obviously heard it too as he froze to the spot, jeans half on and half off.
“What the fuck was that?” he said, looking utterly horrified. “Calm down; it’s probably just the wind. It’s pretty blustery out there.”
He finished dressing so quickly it was as though his life depended on it, but when he stood in front of me fully clothed I realized I had nothing dry to change into.
“Hurry up!” he said, staring incredulously as I remained completely naked on the bed.
“I’d love to, George, but the whole fucking point of my being up here was to borrow something to wear—not for a roll in the hay with you. So why don’t you do something useful and pass me those track pants and a T-shirt.”
He threw the clothes at me and shifted nervously from foot to foot as I hurriedly pulled them on. He seemed reluctant to be the first to head downstairs and waited for me to finish dressing before practically pushing me through the bedroom door.
“Hello?” I shouted down the stairs, as much to placate George than anything else. “See, there’s no one there; it was just the wind.”
He seemed to relax a bit as we descended the stairs, but when we reached the ground floor a sweet and fragrant scent wafted past my nose. George seemed oblivious to it, but to me it was unmistakable. It was the smell of Blenheim Bouquet. Now it was my turn to be in a hurry.
“I need to get my wet stuff from the bathroom. Don’t suppose you’ve got a plastic bag or something I can put it in, have you?” I said, heading for the stairs.
“No, you stay here,” he said, practically barring the
way with his body. “I’ll get it.”
“Fine, whatever,” I said, pulling on my sodden running shoes.
Whilst I waited for him to return I couldn’t help but notice a bulging brown manila envelope on the mantelpiece with George’s name handwritten on it. I could have sworn it hadn’t been there when I arrived, but when George returned he just thrust a carrier bag at me and said nothing. It was obvious he wanted to get rid of me, so I decided not to point out the envelope and just get the hell out of there.
I shouted my good-byes from the door, but didn’t wait for a reply. I was in no mood to be George’s psychologist, but I was more than a bit concerned as to why I had just smelt Lord Shanderson’s cologne in the cottage where I was fooling around with his groom. Of course, I could have imagined it; I mean, there was no reason at all why Lord Shanderson would be in Rose View Cottage, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t the only person who wore that cologne, but I still didn’t like it one bit. My head began to throb as I explored every possible explanation. Unfortunately all the scenarios I ran through ended with exactly the same outcome: my getting fired for gross misconduct.
Exhausted and frozen half to death I arrived at the castle desperate to get to my room without running into anyone, but as I entered the stable yard my heart sank. His Lordship’s car was parked in its usual spot.
“Bollocks,” I muttered as I headed for the back door.
“Anthony.” A voice as loud and clear as a bell came from behind me. I fixed a smile onto my face before turning to greet Gloria.
“His Lordship is back, and he’s been asking for you,” she said in her emotionless drawl. Jesus, I was starting to dislike this woman.
“Right you are, Gloria. I’ll just change and go and see him,” I said cheerfully as I hurried into the castle.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I muttered as I bounded up the servants’ stairs two at a time.
I changed into my uniform, and as I checked my reflection in the mirror I realized that it could quite possibly be the last time I’d be wearing it if Lord Shanderson really had seen what was going on with George earlier. I took a deep breath and headed off to face the music.
I bumped into Vera in the passageway as she was arranging a huge vase of flowers.
“Hello, dear,” she beamed. “His Lordship’s been asking for you.”
“So I understand.”
“He’s in the Long Library,” she said, dead-heading a rose with a sharp click of her secateurs. In my confused state even a bit of flower arranging seemed like a metaphor for my undoing.
When I entered the Long Library, His Lordship was in his usual spot at the far end, partially obscured by his broadsheet newspaper. The walk from the door to the desk felt like it was more than a mile, and he made it worse by not speaking or lowering the paper until I stood right in front of him.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I said with a dry mouth.
“Ahh! Anthony,” he said, folding the paper and placing it carefully on the desk. He was beaming from ear to ear, which, considering he was about to fire me, seemed rather cruel.
“I just wanted to tell you what a marvelous job you are doing.”
“You did?” I said, my jaw threatening to drop at any moment.
“Indeed, indeed. I have heard great things about you. I hear you are getting on very well with all the other staff, which is so important in a little community such as ours. Very important indeed.”
I ran his words though my head to check for hidden meanings, but none were apparent. He seemed genuinely pleased with me.
“Thank you, sir. I am very much enjoying being here at Beadale.”
“Bravo! Anthony, I think if you carry on the way you are going you will have a good future here. That will be all.” He raised the newspaper to signal that our chat was concluded, so I turned and headed for the door. But before I left the room he spoke once more.
“About Rose View Cottage.” My heart began to pound in my chest, and I swallowed hard before turning back to face him.
“What about it, sir?”
“I understand it was promised to you as part of your contract, is that correct?”
“It was, sir, but it’s not a problem. I am quite comfortable in the room I’m in.” That wasn’t strictly true. I wasn’t particularly happy being stuck on the top floor with no en suite, but under the circumstances I felt it unwise to push my luck.
“I will arrange for Rose View to be cleaned and prepared for you to move in. I understand it requires a little maintenance, but I shouldn’t think it will take more than a couple of days.”
“That’s very kind of you, m’lord,” I said, stunned at what he was saying.
“Well, a deal is a deal, don’t you think? And a young man like you would no doubt enjoy a modicum of privacy,” he said, turning his attention back to the paper.
I closed the library door behind me and stood in the hallway, taking a moment to let what His Lordship had just said sink in. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Had he really been at the cottage or had that just been a figment of my imagination? And why was he suddenly prepared to give me Rose View? Not to mention, where would that leave George? Jesus! I hope he didn’t expect George and me to share. That’s the last thing either of us would want. I had so many questions swimming around in my head that I didn’t see Vera approaching.
“Penny for them!” she said. “You look like you’ve the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Absolutely tip-top in fact. So what’s for staff dinner?” I asked, keen to change the subject. “I’m starving.”
Later that evening the kitchen was buzzing with gossip and the usual work-related chitchat.
Maybe it was just my paranoia, but when nobody mentioned having seen me running in the woods or my detour via Rose View, I felt a huge surge of relief.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Gloria asked out of the blue.
“No, why?”
“Because you haven’t taken your eyes off the door since you sat down to eat.” She sniffed, shoveling a second helping of Wendy’s chicken stew onto her plate.
Annoyingly, she was right. I hadn’t been aware I was being so obvious, but I was desperate for George to show up so that I could take him to one side and grill him about this business with the cottage.
And whilst I might have underestimated Gloria’s powers of observation, I’d be damned if I was going to let her get one over on me.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” I said, all eyes in the room suddenly on me. “I’ve organized for Brad Pitt to come and take Vera out on the town.”
The whole table burst into laughter, all that is except Gloria, who scowled furiously at me.
“I’d better put some lippy on then, hadn’t I?” Vera said, before throwing her head back and roaring with laughter.
“No George tonight?” I said to Tom as we cleared away the dinner plates.
“Don’t look like it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Maybe he’s gone down the pub or something; he’s a law unto himself, that one.”
Tom’s attention turned to Wendy, who was attempting to turn out a huge steamed treacle sponge pudding onto a serving platter.
“You’re spoiling us tonight,” he said, gazing at the pudding.
I’m not usually a dessert man, but even I had to admit it looked magnificent in a Dickensian kind of way. But my body hadn’t seen this many carbs for years, so I decided to politely pass when it was offered to me. But before I had a chance, Vera dolloped a huge portion of it onto a plate, followed by an obscene amount of custard, and placed it in front of me without another word. After just one mouthful I knew that I’d be unable to leave a scrap of it. It was as light as air and sweet, but not sickly so; before I knew it the whole lot was gone.
“I like a man who enjoys a good pudding,” Vera said, looking like she was about to give me seconds. “I don’t know where you put it, mind; I’ve seen more fat on a chair leg.”
“I’
ll have to run it off tomorrow, that’s for sure,” I said, holding my hand over the empty plate to ward off any unsolicited second helpings.
“Yes, I’ve heard you like to go running in the woods,” Gloria chipped in.
I might have known she’d be the first to monitor my movements. I was going to have to keep my wits about me around Gloria.
“You don’t get a body like mine by sitting around all day,” I said, winking at her.
Much to my delight, Gloria seemed utterly appalled by my response and left the table without another word.
I served His Lordship’s dinner at the usual time, and few words were exchanged between us. He had his Cognac and wished me good night, which is the universal master-servant code for “I no longer require your services; go to bed.”
Most of the time I sleep like a baby, but that night my mind refused to stop running over what had happened between George and me, and His Lordship’s offer of the cottage. Eventually when sleep did come I dreamt about Frank.
In the dream Frank was leaning in the doorway of Rose View looking so very at home he clearly lived there. He was smiling and mouthing words at me that I couldn’t decipher. He was trying with increasing frustration to tell me something, but it was as if I were completely deaf. As I struggled to comprehend, the smile fell from his lips and he became agitated. Disappearing into the darkness of the cottage he emerged with a piece of paper on which he furiously scribbled a note. He held it up for me to see, and in large, bold letters it said CALL ME.
The following morning after breakfast I took a walk around the lake to get some fresh air. I couldn’t summon the energy for a run, and my muscles hadn’t quite forgiven me for the last one. But a brisk walk wrapped up against the bitterly cold air was just what I needed to clear my head. Once away from the castle I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. The mobile reception inside the castle was almost nonexistent, and I had barely spoken to anyone from the outside world since I had arrived, so I retrieved the phone from my pocket with a slight air of desperation.
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