Maid in England (The I Do Crew Book 1)

by Brenda St John Brown

  It’s a no-brainer. Except that little voice in my head starts chanting quitter. Over and over again until I give in, wheeling my case up against the bar and saying to Amy, “I’d love a Shiraz if you have one, please?”

  Amy nods, turning to grab a glass, and I follow the toilet sign towards the ladies’. I’m no quitter. Been there. Done that. Have the regret to prove it. Live in the flesh, walking away from me without a backwards glance. Again.

  Chapter Four

  Amy is a talker. I’m a more than willing audience. One glass of Shiraz in, I’ve learned that Fenchurch has a population of about three thousand, double what it had two years ago when a big developer bought up acres of farm land and built a massive housing estate. According to Amy, it’s a blessing and a curse. Good for business, but traffic on the High Street has become unbearable.

  I have a clear view of the High Street from my bar stool. I want to point out that there are only a handful of cars parked outside and even fewer driving by. Also, I’ve been sitting at the bar for forty-five minutes and I’m still the only customer here. But it’s a random Tuesday. Also, that would be the surest way to alienate Amy and I don’t want to do that because we haven’t talked about Alastair yet.

  Of course, the reason we haven’t talked about Alastair yet is because I’m not sure talking about him won’t alienate her more than pointing out the Swan with Two Necks’ obvious lack of customers. Amy’s younger than me – I’d guess she’s in her late twenties – and has an easy smile and a ready laugh. She doesn’t seem like Alastair’s type – at least not as I remember it – but then again, I don’t know what his type is anymore.

  Amy pours me another glass of wine and says, “This one’s on the house. For keeping me company. Tuesdays are a big night for kids’ activities around here – lots of boys practicing football and girls doing Guides, so it won’t pick up until after half-eight or so. Lots of the dads come in once they’ve finished pick-up and drop-off duties.”

  I nod and marvel at the sheer otherworldliness of Amy’s statement. “I can’t imagine. The only time I’ve ever lived in a small town is when I went to university, and that was probably bigger than Fenchurch.” Probably is a nice way of saying that yes, Ithaca, New York was New York City compared to this place.

  “Village life isn’t for everyone.” Amy shrugs. “There are a lot of people who stick their nose in where it’s not wanted, and suddenly everyone knows your business. I’m sure half the village is already wondering who you are and why you’re in town.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone but you.” I widen my eyes. I’m going for innocence, but I’m not sure it’s convincing. Especially when I say, “And Alastair Wells, but he doesn’t seem to be the type to spread gossip.”

  It’s Amy’s turn to widen her eyes, then narrow them just as fast, looking up at me through her lashes. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t look like a Wells groupie, but sorry, not here to talk about him.” For how easy her smile was five minutes ago, it’s gone now. Her lips purse and she starts drying a glass with jerky movements.

  “I’m not a groupie.” This is one hundred percent true.

  “How do you know Alastair then? He’s not the kind of guy to have his photo plastered everywhere.”

  No, no he’s not. But I’m hoping to change all that. I have a feeling if I said that to Amy, though, she’d throw the glass she’s drying at my head. Something tells me she wouldn’t miss.

  To Amy I say, “Believe it or not, we knew each other a long time ago.”

  “Is that why he was talking to you?” Amy’s tone is accusatory. And here I thought she wasn’t listening.

  “You mean is that why he wasn’t talking to me? Yeah, pretty much.” I take a long sip of my wine. “We knew each other at university.”

  “Really?” Amy’s tone is the same one I’d imagine she’d use if I told her I could fly.

  “Yep. He was my math tutor.” And…other things. But I’m not ready for Amy to know that, never mind the whole of Fenchurch.

  “Math.” Amy sets down the glass she’s been drying and redrying since Alastair’s name came up. “Alastair tutored you in maths.”

  “Well, we called it math, but yes.” I offer a small smile. “He was great. He basically got me through my math requirement at university.”

  “Which university did you go to?”

  “A smallish college in New York State.” I don’t know if Amy would know Cornell, but if what she said is true and the gossip machine is going to be working overtime while I’m here, the fewer specifics I give, the better. Plus, I’m not sure how acknowledging an Ivy League education would mesh with Alastair’s current life. I have a feeling not very well.

  “I didn’t know he was good at maths. He’s been holding out on me, cheeky sod.” Amy grins and her easy expression returns.

  “Maybe you can get him to help with the books? I bet he’d be good at it.”

  Amy rolls her eyes. “My mum does that, but Alastair could do more than the odd shifts he’s been doing. He’s never let on that he went to uni.”

  I simply nod because Amy just confirmed my earlier decision to keep quiet about Alastair’s brainiac past. The Alastair I knew was proud of his academic prowess. The fact that he tutored me as a freshman when I was a junior was something he teased me about all the time.

  “As far as I know, he finished his degree.” I realize as I say it, I don’t know for sure and it unsettles me more than it probably should.

  “Well, he never mentions it.” Amy goes back to drying the same glass again. Which definitely makes it the cleanest glass in all of England.

  It’s also a sure signal that Amy’s done talking about Alastair. I take a gulp of my Shiraz and set my glass on the bar. “So, a couple of questions. My assistant booked me here and she said there was a bicycle I might be able to borrow?”

  Amy nods. “We have a couple of bikes out back, but they’re not off-road bikes or anything if that’s what you’re after.”

  “God, no. I want to be able to go exploring a little. I don’t drive in this country because it terrifies me.”

  “I understand that.” Amy nods and proceeds to give me details about where I can catch the bus into town, the hours of the chippy around the corner, and what time breakfast is served in the morning. As she hands over the key to my room, she says, “I can’t tell if your being here has anything to do with Alastair or not, and I don’t want to know. But a word of caution. He has a lot of friends here and we respect his privacy.”

  If Amy were a different kind of person, I’d probably take that as a threat. As it is, I take it as the warning I think she intends. In other words, if I think I’m going to find out anything about him from anyone other than him, I have another think coming.

  Chapter Five

  The Swan with Two Necks may have a strange name, but it has one of the most comfortable beds I’ve ever slept in. When my phone rings at nine o’clock the next morning, I’m in such a deep sleep, I almost miss the call, only picking up on the fourth ring.

  My hello comes out as more of a slur and Rex laughs on the other end. “Excuse me, darling. Am I disturbing you?”

  “Yes.” I keep my eyes closed. “Why are you calling me so early?”

  “Because you told me the other day that you couldn’t remember the last time you slept in. I thought you’d have been up for two hours already.”

  “Well, I’m not.” I open my eyes and prop myself up a little. “What do you need?”

  “Have you had any luck with Mr. Wells yet?” Rex asks.

  “I got here yesterday at dinner time.” I know my voice is whiny. Speaking of dinner, I didn’t have anything last night except half a vanilla protein shake with some milk I got from Amy after realizing I missed the shop closing. A protein shake is okay for breakfast, but vile for dinner. And I haven’t had coffee yet.

  “Exactly. You got there yesterday.” Rex lets out
a sigh. “Wells’ agent wants this done by the end of the week. Tick tock, tick tock, darling.”

  “Of course she does. They always do.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not guaranteeing a timeframe.”

  “Why the hell not?” I hear the sound of Rex’s shoe hitting a hardwood floor.

  I ignore his question. “Are you at my house?”

  “Where did you think I’d be?” Rex doesn’t give me time to answer before he says, “Why aren’t you guaranteeing a turnaround with Wells?”

  “Because I don’t think I can. I’ve already been warned off of him by the bartender and apparently he has a lot of friends here ready and willing to protect his privacy.” Amy’s words echo in my head.

  “He can’t have it both ways. Your job is making him see that.”

  “I don’t think he wants it both ways.” I scrunch my nose up in confusion. “I think he genuinely enjoys the status quo. His agent is the one who’s pushing him forward for this tour opportunity, not Wells himself, right?”

  For the record, it feels weird to refer to Alastair by his last name. Like he’s any other client. I’ve done an excellent job of compartmentalizing this so far. Which really means I spent last night answering emails until I was falling asleep at my keyboard. But still.

  “Yes, she’s employing us, not him. But if he doesn’t want to move his career to the next level, why have an agent in the first place?” Rex asks.

  “Maybe we should ask her that? I mean, did he approach her? If he did, then at least we have some leverage. But if not, I’m not sure we’re going to have much success.”

  “The agent is our client, not Wells. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what he wants. Do you?” Rex asks.

  Normally I’d agree with him. Because he’s right. We’re working for Alastair’s agent, not Alastair. Just like we’re working for Jessica Martin’s agency, not Jessica. Our job – my job – is to make our client happy, and if their client isn’t happy, well… My usual approach is along the lines of ‘not my circus, not my monkeys.’ But this time it’s different.

  “I think I have to be careful in my approach is all.” I let out a huff that shows my frustration. “I’ll handle it my way and you’ll let me because you have utmost confidence in my abilities. Now tell me. What you’re doing at my house?”

  “Vera invited me to stay.” Rex puts a twang back in his tone again. “And before you get all mad, I told her I’d let you know, darling.”

  “You know I don’t mind you staying.” I furrow my brow. I texted with Vera last night after I checked in and she said nothing. “Why wouldn’t she tell me herself?”

  “I think she was afraid you’d feel put upon. But I promise I’m on my best behavior. I even put my dirty dishes in the sink.”

  “Will wonders never cease?” I keep my tone teasing, but something about Rex’s tone bothers me. Technically, Tompkins Payne Cooper owns my house, not me, but all of the furnishings are mine and I’m the one paying council tax. I treat the Highgate house like it’s mine, but this feels like a subtle reminder that it doesn’t fully belong to me. Not really.

  “Vera said next time I should try for the dishwasher, not the sink,” Rex says with a laugh.

  “They are right next to each other. It’s not as hard as it sounds.” I laugh too and my uneasiness eases a little. “Okay, I should get up and figure out how to find Alastair Wells. Keep your phone on. I’m going to be taking the bike.”

  “If the weather there is anything like it is here, you might want to find a cab,” Rex says. “But maybe Wells will appreciate your efforts if you show up looking like a drowned rat.”

  Maybe, but unlikely. After exchanging a few more words with Rex, I hang up and haul myself from my bed, shrugging my arms into a cardigan as I go to pull the curtains open. My room is cozy, but my bed is a lot cozier. Sure enough, it’s pissing down with rain. I can barely see the sign for the shop across the street.

  Which means I’m not going anywhere fast. I go over to the desk and make myself a cup of coffee – instant, but better than nothing – and crawl back into bed with my phone and laptop. First order of business is to text Vera.

  Me: Hey. Is everything okay with Rex staying there? He’s not driving you crazy, is he?

  It takes Vera five minutes to reply. When she does, her text says: He’s on his way out. Can I call you in ten?

  I text her back a thumbs up and flip over to my laptop. I’m old school when it comes to my emails, and, though I’ll respond on my phone when I have to, I far prefer typing. I’m midway through my third email when my phone rings.

  “Hey, Vera. How’s everything?” I make sure to smile as I answer. I read something a long time ago about how answering the phone with a smile puts the caller at ease and every little bit helps in this business.

  Vera doesn’t say anything at first. When she speaks, her words come out hurried and jumbled. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this. I’m not sure there’s anything to tell. But Rex and Jed were here for hours yesterday and at the end of the meeting Rex said he was going to check out of his hotel and stay here instead. I stayed late so I could be here when he got back, and he came back with an estate agent. I don’t think he was expecting me to be here and he seemed really off kilter.”

  “An estate agent? Why? How do you know?” I take another sip of coffee. I don’t even know what to think about that.

  “The guy gave me his card. I took it, but then Rex made a joke about me not needing it. I felt foolish and gave it back.” Vera sighs. “I tried to hang around, but Rex said that I was free to go, which basically meant get the hell out, I think.”

  I think so too. “But why? Why would he have an estate agent there?”

  “I don’t know. I tried to gauge if I could bring it up this morning, but he was in a hurry, so I didn’t think I should.” Vera pauses and when she continues, she sounds contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you, but it’s strange.”

  It is strange. Strange that this is happening when Rex is in London. Strange that this is happening when I’m not home. Strange that Rex is staying in my home and didn’t want Vera to tell me. “I don’t know what it means, though.”

  I don’t realize I’ve spoken the words aloud until Vera says, “I don’t either, but I hate the thought that there’s something going on you should know about. I’ll keep an ear out and let you know.”

  “Thanks. And I guess I’ll see if Rex mentions anything.” This feels unlikely even as I say it. Rex’s style would be to text me. Which means that every time my phone buzzes, I’m going to be on edge. I’d confront him, but what if Vera’s misread everything and then it looks like I’m accusing him of something? That would be worse because Rex is super easygoing until he’s not. I’ve seen him angry and I don’t want it directed at me.

  “He’s very keen that you get on top of the Alastair Wells thing. Any luck yet?” Vera asks.

  I shake my head. Normally I’d tell Vera that I saw Alastair yesterday, because I tell Vera everything. When I remember. But I didn’t tell Rex and if Vera mentions it… Dammit. Why does this suddenly feel fraught? Aloud, I say, “I’m going to try to see him today. There’s a bike I can borrow. Hopefully it will stop raining before I go. It’s a little dire right now.”

  “Well, don’t forget you have your wellies.” Vera chuckles and I make myself laugh, too.

  But honestly, my heart’s not in it. And I only pay attention to half of our remaining conversation. My mind is partly on Rex and Jed and why the hell there’s an estate agent in my house. And it’s partly on Alastair. Rain or no rain, I have to find him today. Suddenly I’m feeling very much like I have to prove myself.

  Chapter Six

  The rain has let up enough by late morning that when I’m in the shed behind the Swan with Two Necks wrestling with the bike, only an occasional drop of water is rolling down my neck. Amy’s mom, Donna, pointed me towards the shed when I came down, but there was no way in hell she was coming out here with me. That much was clear. I�
��d be a little bitter about it if she hadn’t given me the scoop on where I can find Alastair. But as it is, I consider it a fair trade for trying to lug this two-ton bike over a lawn mower and a bag of coal.

  I’m probably exaggerating the weight of the bike, but it’s one of those old lady bikes with a big padded leather seat and basket, so I’m not exaggerating by much. I feel like I should be wearing a cheerful skirt and flowy scarf instead of jeans, wellies, and Donna’s bright yellow anorak. When she saw my cardigan, she shook her head and thrust the rubbery jacket in my hands. I left my sweater hanging on a hook in the nice dry pub. I’m half tempted to go join it.

  But my conversation with Vera keeps replaying in my head. Rex, Jed, and I have been partners for six years, but, truthfully, it’s not an equal partnership. I worked my ass off for Tompkins Payne for five years before I started campaigning to be brought into the fold as a partner. To say they were reluctant is like saying the Brits have a thing for tea. But after a year of hard lobbying, I eventually sold them on the idea and accepted a non-equity partnership in exchange for my name on the door. I was young and ambitious, looking for a feather in my cap. I knew it wasn’t the best deal, but my rationale was that I could take my name and clients with me eventually if/when I ever opened my own firm.

  And it was the only arrangement they’d accept, the little voice in my head chirps.

  “Fuck off,” I curse under my breath and give the bike one more tug over the bag of coal and the wheel finally loosens, throwing me off balance so I have to catch myself on the wooden doorframe. I lodge a big splinter right in my middle finger. Though it doesn’t hurt that much, I let another F-word fly. This had better not be a preview of how the rest of my day’s going to go.

  Then again, given my plan – and Alastair’s obvious dismay in seeing me yesterday – what if this is the best part of my day? The thought is enough to send me back to bed. I’ve booked the Swan with Two Necks for three nights, so there’s no hurry. Not really. And, according to Donna, Alastair will be at the pub eventually. He comes down almost every day and is unofficially a part-time bartender. Unofficially because the pub can’t really afford another bartender – nor does it need one – but Amy can’t work seven days a week and Alastair is happy to fill in on an ad hoc basis.