I quickly connected to the voice mail, eager to hear a friendly voice.
“Hello, Mr. Gowers. It’s Bill from Notting Hill Residential Lettings. We’ve had a report of a disturbance coming from your flat, and I wonder if you could give me a call to reassure us that everything is okay. And by that I mean sooner rather than later if you don’t mind. You have my number. Many thanks.”
I played the message over again, and as I listened to it a second time my mind began to race. A disturbance? What kind of disturbance?
My heart was in my mouth as I ran through every possibility. Had I been robbed? Or had there been a fire? Maybe Chris had had a party that got out of hand.
I went to dial Chris’s number and remembered there was another voice mail waiting for me. It was from Chris.
“Hi, Anthony, it’s only me.” His voice was small and lacking his usual jokey tone. “Erm, can you give me a call? I’ve got a slight problem. Nothing to worry about, but I think I need your help. So if you could call me back, I’d really appreciate it. Like, as soon as poss. Bye.”
I punched his number in from memory, and after just a couple of rings he picked up.
“Oh! Anthony, thank fuck. I thought I was going to have to send out a search and rescue party to get hold of you.” There was a distinct tone of nervousness in his voice.
“What’s going on? I just had a phone call from my landlord saying there was a disturbance?”
“Yes, well, I suppose that’s one name for Barry,” Chris said, spitting his ex’s name out like poison.
“Oh! Christ, don’t tell me he turned up at the flat! Did he hurt you?”
Chris stayed silent for a few seconds before he answered. I was used to him choosing his words carefully when it came to discussing the train wreck of his personal life.
“He turned up drunk, shouting the odds about how I owe him money and shit like that. I didn’t want to let him in, but someone from one of the other flats buzzed him into the building, and I didn’t want him airing our dirty laundry in the hallway so I opened the door.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“And then he changed his mind about the money and started ranting and raving about you. Saying that you and I were having an affair and always had been, and that all this was part of some master plan of yours to get me to yourself.”
I was listening to Chris’s outpouring in complete disbelief, pinching the bridge of my nose and screwing my eyes shut to stem the torrent of abuse that threatened to erupt out of me at any second. I felt the cold in my fingers and toes slowly disappear as a surge of anger built up inside me.
“He did WHAT?” I screamed into the phone. “That fucking meathead will regret ever having brought trouble to my door. Tell me, Chris, and I swear to God you had better tell me the truth—did he hit you?” I breathed deeply as I waited for a reply, filling my lungs with painfully icy-cold air.
“Yes.”
“Right, I see.” I was furious that Barry had hurt my friend and furious that he had infected my home with his poisonous presence. “I will sort it.”
“I’m fine, Anthony, honestly. He’s gone now, and I doubt he’ll be back.” Chris’s voice had taken on a sort of meek pleading tone that didn’t suit him and only made me angrier. It was probably the same cowed tone he had used to get Barry out of the flat.
“You are not fine. It is not fine. Nothing about this fucking situation is fine,” I said, blood rushing to my cheeks. “I will make sure that idiot never comes anywhere near you ever again and mark my words—if he does he will regret it.”
“What are you going to do about it, all the way down there in deepest, darkest Sussex?” Chris said.
“Trust me on this one, Chris. I know just the person to call.”
I had calmed down a bit by the time I ended my call with Chris, but I meant every word of what I had said. Barry was a spineless bully, and like all bullies he needed taking down a peg or two. I found Frank’s number and pressed dial. It rang and rang, but just as I was mentally composing a message, he picked up.
“Well, well, well. I knew you’d call eventually.”
“Hi, Frank,” I replied, surprised at the jolt of electricity I got when I heard his voice. “I need a favor.”
Frank listened quietly as I told him about what had happened. He didn’t really comment much, just made the right noises of agreement or disgust at key points in the story.
“So what do you want me to do about it?” he finally asked.
“I think if you popped round to see Barry and explained that he is not welcome at my flat ever again, he would listen to you. That’s all. I mean it’s not like I can pop round there, is it?”
“Anthony, please be clear about what you are asking me to do. Do you want me to scare him off or just have a nice cozy chat?”
I thought carefully about what he was saying before I answered.
“I think he will respond best to the former,” I said.
“Text me his address and leave it to me. Do you want me to go and check that Chris is okay too?”
I felt a sudden and overwhelming wave of gratitude.
“Would you? Really? That’s so kind of you; you don’t have to, but I think Chris would appreciate it. I’ll let him know you are on your way, as he probably isn’t going to open the door to you otherwise.” I hesitated before continuing. “How will I ever repay you?”
“Don’t you worry about that, mate. I’ll think of something,” he said with a laugh.
I called Chris and began by filling him in on my late-night encounter with our sexy taxi driver. Sensing he would welcome the opportunity to discuss something other than his own problems, I regaled him with every sordid detail. Eventually I made up some cock-and-bull story about Frank having left something at the flat that he needed to pick up and Chris agreed that he would wait in for him. I chose not to tell him about Barry’s impending visit from Frank for fear Chris would do something stupid like warn Barry. People do stupid things when they are frightened. Chris acted so irrationally around Barry that I decided it was best to keep quiet. Barry was going to get what was coming to him, and I trusted Frank not to take things too far. Just warn Barry off, that’s all.
Glancing at my watch I suddenly remembered I hadn’t yet called to smooth things over with Bill from the lettings agency. Thankfully, when I called it went straight to voice mail, so I left a groveling apology and left it at that. Realizing I’d been on the phone for nearly an hour, I headed back to work before I was missed.
No sooner had I stepped foot into the castle than Gloria ambushed me with a list of jobs that needed doing. There was the silver pantry to tidy and selected items to polish. The glass lanterns in the marble hallway needed to be cleaned, and the brass finials on the main staircase needed to be buffed. There were shoes to be polished and suits to be steamed. It wasn’t hard to see why the last butler had thrown in the towel. It was good to be busy, but even the intermittent phone reception couldn’t stop me from repeatedly checking my phone for messages from Frank.
When four o’clock came around I swapped my rubber gloves for white cotton ones to serve afternoon tea to Lord Shanderson in the Long Library. By the time it came to pouring the Earl Grey, I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Anthony, you look a little tired, if I may say so,” His Lordship said as I offered him a plate of cucumber sandwiches.
“Forgive me, m’lord, I thought I was doing a good job of disguising it,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“ ’Fraid not, Gowers; it’s as plain as the nose on your face. Now, listen to me. It isn’t my intention to wear you out before your first week is even up, so why don’t you take tomorrow off. I won’t be around, as I have to go up to London. You relax, explore the estate. Do what you like, and come back refreshed the following day.”
“Sir, it really isn’t necessary,” I protested, fearful he would think me not up to the job.
“I insist. Anyway, you might want to pack your things, as I understand Rose
View will be ready for you to move into in the next couple of days.”
I was feeling rather overwhelmed by the volume of work and a bit of free time would be great, but now I had to tell Gloria that His Lordship had given me the day off for seemingly no reason. I needn’t have worried about how best to break it to her, as by the time I got from the Long Library to the kitchen the castle jungle drums had already been beating loud and clear.
“Well, if His Lordship sees fit to give you a day off, it’s not really my place to argue, now is it?” she said as I entered the room.
“Honestly, Gloria, I’d be happy to help you around the house if there is work to be done.”
“You will do nothing of the sort!” she snapped. “And what would Lord Shanderson have to say about that, I wonder? He would tell me I was going against his wishes. Which, I hasten to add, is something I would never do. No, you will do as you’re told and have a nice, relaxing day.” She drew out the word “relaxing” in a way that suggested she wanted my day off to be anything but.
CHAPTER 8
The thought of having a whole day off had quite an energizing effect on me, so when the alarm went off the next morning, rather than roll over and go straight back to sleep I practically sprang out of bed.
It struck me that I might be able to manage a trip to Brighton to grab a spot of lunch somewhere on the seafront and maybe have a wander around the Royal Pavilion. I’d also heard there was a great men-only sauna underneath one of the hotels, catering to the gay crowd. But then again there are only so many hours in a day, so when it came down to a choice between an afternoon spent working up a sweat in a dark and steamy sauna or one spent in a dusty old museum, I knew which one would win.
But before any of that I needed to track down George and speak to him about the cottage, so I pulled on some jeans and trainers and set off for Rose View.
It was bitterly cold, and a frost lay on the ground, causing the grass to crunch pleasingly beneath my feet as I walked. When I arrived at the cottage I stopped at the gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of George through the window, but there was no sign of life. Just when I was about to turn around, the front door slowly swung open. I moved up the gravel path expecting to see George emerge, but instead someone I had never seen before came backward through the door carrying a dilapidated old chair.
“Hello,” I said, causing him to stop half in and half out of the cottage, trapped in the doorway beneath the weight of the chair. “Here, let me help,” I said, rushing to free him.
“Cheers, mate,” he said when I took some of the weight off him. With a bit of maneuvering, together we managed to get the chair through the door and dumped it on the small patch of lawn in front of the cottage.
“Thanks for that,” he said.
“No worries. I’m actually looking for George,” I replied.
“Too late, I’m afraid.”
“Gone to work, has he?”
“Not quite. Lord Shanderson has given him his marching orders. Not so much as a by-your-leave. Happened a couple of days ago, apparently. Told him he had to be out by the end of that day.”
“That can’t be right—are you sure?”
“Positive. I was told to come and give the place a bit of a cleanup and make it fit for someone to move into straightaway. Some people would jump in your grave whilst it was still warm, I swear. But that’s Shanderson for you,” he said with a shrug of the shoulders. “You never quite know where you are with him; one minute you are flavor of the month and the next . . . Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him personally. But don’t go telling him I said that.”
“Right, I see. Did George leave an address or anything?”
“You could try asking Barbara in the estate office; she might have something as she’ll no doubt have to forward his final pay to him. What did you say your name was?”
Thankfully, before I was forced to expose myself as the person moving in before the fire in the grate was even dead, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket.
“Thanks, er, I gotta take this,” I said, pulling the phone out of my inside pocket and hurrying up the garden path out of earshot.
“Looks like Barry got a visit from your friend,” Chris said, launching straight in.
“Hmm, yes,” I replied, preparing myself for an ear bashing. “About that.”
“Anthony Gowers. You are the best friend anyone could hope for.”
“I am?”
“Yes, and you can tell Frank when you see him that he isn’t too shabby either. And I can definitely understand what you see in him. He’s awfully butch, isn’t he?”
He was starting to sound more like the Chris I knew and loved. Whatever Frank had done or said to Barry, it clearly met with Chris’s approval.
“So what exactly happened?” I asked. “I haven’t managed to speak to Frank yet.”
“I have absolutely no idea, babe, but whatever it was, it convinced Barry to get straight on the phone to me and offer to buy out my half of the flat. Just like that. Offered me fifty percent of the full market price—I had to have a good old sniff of the smelling salts, I can tell you!”
“What are you talking about? I thought that useless lump had no money.”
“Turns out that was never the case, and all this time he’s been sitting on a small fortune. Goes without saying that I never saw a penny of it, but for all the years we were together he’s had a couple of hundred grand stashed away somewhere; he thought I would never find it.”
“How?” I asked, utterly dumbfounded.
“Left to him by his grandma by all accounts. I thought he hated her guts, but seems like the feeling wasn’t mutual. All it took was one little word from your Frank, and Barry’s spilling the beans and handing out Granny’s money left, right, and center—unbelievable!”
I savored the words “your Frank” for a moment whilst Chris carried on excitedly.
“So, thanks to you my future is looking a great deal rosier than it was this time yesterday.”
“That’s great news, Chris; it really is. Frank’s quite the man of the moment, isn’t he?” I said, wondering what the hell he must have done to Barry to make him change his mind like that. “He didn’t er . . . How shall I put this? Give him a taste of his own medicine?”
“Do you mean did Frank knock ten bells of shit out of him? No, sadly not. He relied purely on his powers of persuasion. Which, I might add, must be considerable as Barry is well known to be a stubborn pig.”
I thought for a second about exactly how strong Frank’s powers of persuasion were and felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
“So when are you seeing him again?” Chris asked.
Now that was a good question. The truth was, I thought I’d never be seeing Frank again. I’d convinced myself that he and I were just a casual fling, and apart from anything else all the evidence pointed to his having a wife or girlfriend. I don’t mind married guys if it’s just for sex, but as an only child, sharing my toys doesn’t come naturally.
That was the theory, but the reality was that I just couldn’t stop thinking about Frank. It was starting to feel like he had some sort of gravitational pull on me, and I was finding it very hard to resist.
“I don’t know yet. I’m still thinking about it. He has a few questions to answer before I decide if I want to see him again,” I said, the image of the note I had found flashing across my mind.
“Well, don’t let the grass grow under your feet with that one—he’s quite a catch.”
“Really? ” I said, keen to change the subject. “A taxi driver? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, purleeeese!” Chris squealed. “Just admit it.”
“Admit what?” I asked testily.
“You are a snob, Anthony. Pure and simple—you are looking for a prince on a white horse to come and make everything better. Open your mind. You never know, maybe perfectly good princes arrive in black taxis, not on horseback. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You done?” I as
ked.
“For now.”
CHAPTER 9
I walked slowly back to the castle, trying to make sense of George’s swift departure. I couldn’t believe Lord Shanderson would have kicked him out of his job and his home for no good reason, but what could that reason be?
The truth was that I knew nothing about George or what kind of arrangement he had with Lord Shanderson. Perhaps it was only ever a temporary setup. Vera had said he was only just out of the army, so maybe Castle Beadale had been just a stopgap, somewhere to help him adjust to Civy Street. Everyone knows how difficult it is for soldiers to settle back into civilian life.
When I got to the kitchen the only person there was Gloria. I would have made my excuses and left her to it, but she was in an unusually chatty mood.
“Heard about George then, I suppose,” she said, pouring two cups of tea and handing one of them to me.
“Yes, that was all very sudden, wasn’t it?” I said.
“Oh! You think so, do you? I thought young George had it coming to him.” She sipped her tea and peered at me over the top of her glasses.
Gloria obviously knew something I didn’t, but as much as I was dying to know, I was damned if I was going to beg her to tell me what it was.
“Lovely cuppa,” I said, sniffing tentatively at the steaming brew. Less than a week ago I’d been an avowed caffeine addict, and all I’d been offered in the way of coffee since I had arrived was ghastly instant granules. The very thought of it brought me out in hives. Back in London the day was sure to go downhill if it didn’t start with at least three double espressos courtesy of my beloved Gaggenau.
A flicker of irritation flashed across Gloria’s face as she realized I wasn’t going to press her for what she knew. I cradled the teacup, and when I eventually took a sip I was taken aback to find it actually was quite delicious. It was different than the tea Vera brewed; this was delicate and light, and Gloria had not laced it with milk. The perfume rising from it was floral and smoky and not like anything I’d ever tried before.
Manservant Page 11