‘Shit, they were the pictures, weren’t they? That night, on the TV, that was you; your decision.’
‘That’s right. Stick or fold – I folded. My mother lasted two years after that. Her latent schizophrenia upgraded itself into full-on howling-at-the-moon madness. A week after my fifteenth birthday she hit lucky with her third suicide attempt.’
‘How?’ Any minute now I expected her to tell me to mind my own bloody business but she didn’t flinch.
‘Stopped eating, and saved up her meds. I came home after my Art GCSE and found her choked on her own vomit. Fortunately her death coincided with a boundary shift in my father’s constituency, and Sir Simon Montfort’s lovely safe seat suddenly became a hotly contested marginal.’ Lilith gave a bitter laugh. ‘Challenged by some perma-grinning lefty chiropractor – everything my father loathed. He needed something to boost his popularity, and he thought that bringing his prodigal daughter back into the fold would be just the thing. He still lost by two hundred and sixty three votes, thank fuck.’ Lilith sat back in her chair. ‘So. There you have it. You now know pretty much the same as everyone else on the planet.’
I had seen guests with a lot less at stake, all of them bastards, fall to pieces once they had been for their ‘morning after’ chat with Lady Blaine Albermarle. The most recent had been the local council’s Head of Planning who had been presented with a photograph of his enthusiastic session with
Blaine
and had approved an extension to her listed mainland restaurant on the spot, sobbing gently as he did so. Lilith Bresson, innocent of everything except having a bastard for a father, took her new fate with a calm that was terrifying.
I flicked ash into my empty mug. ‘Welcome to our exclusive club.’
Lilith looked at Henry and me. ‘I take it that your terms of employment are a little harsh?’
‘You could say that,’ Henry said. ‘When I took up my post four years ago, one of the rather generous benefits was private care for my mother – she’s got Alzheimer’s, bless the poor dear. Unfortunately Blaine neglected to tell me which home she chose, so I rely on a weekly call from a withheld number that tells me everything’s fine and mother’s doing well.’
‘Let me guess. As long as you continue to perform your duties with discretion?’
‘That’s the one. Mother’s none the wiser, thank heavens. In fact, she often mentions the ‘nice man’ who’s just paid her a visit.’ Henry’s voice cracked a little. ‘Oh dear, I really shouldn’t get like this. I mean, at least she’s content. And it’s nothing to what Finn -’
‘Shut your fucking face, Henry,’ I snapped. I had so little that was my own that I was determined to hang on to this one secret for as long as I possibly could. I glanced across at Lilith, who had just spent the last five minutes unwaveringly laying her life bare. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ I began.
‘I think if I were in the same circumstances, I would want to hold close whatever I possibly could,’ Lilith said, and then I couldn’t look at her at all. ‘Now if you two gentlemen will excuse me, I have a job to do.’
I woke up and I hurt. Payback for spending ten straight hours hunched over my sketchpad the day before. I chugged two codeine and two paracetamol with water from the bathroom tap then lurched down to the kitchen, still in my pyjamas and with my Albermarle-monogrammed towelling bathrobe draped over my shoulders like a superhero’s cape. There didn’t seem to be any other guests at the hall that morning, but even if I had been spotted I couldn’t have given a toss.
I had been at Albermarle Hall for ten days, and had already learned to ignore the visitors that arrived at all hours of the night. Three times now I had heard the low chug of Henry’s little boat, followed by a distant dull thud as the oak doors of Albermarle Hall closed behind its latest guest.
Apart from my morning run, and a couple of surreal smalltalk-filled meals with Blaine, I deliberately tried to stay in my studio or my room, but I had caught a glimpse of one middle-aged, affluent couple and a man in his early sixties, who had given me a guilty glance before scurrying into his guestroom.
Finn had been at one of the dinners with
Blaine
, and had said all of ten words to me. He also hadn’t eaten anything except a bread roll that he had picked away at throughout the meal. Other than that, we met at breakfast if he was still awake, and how talkative he was depended on whether or not there were guests staying: the morning after I had seen the shame-faced man, Finn had simply sat at the kitchen table with his head resting on his arms as if asleep, his ubiquitous cigarette dropping ash onto the table an inch at a time. Henry told me that Finn spent as much time as he could in the gardens or the Victorian greenhouse if he wasn’t needed for ‘work’, and other than that he stayed in his own room, wherever that was.
Part of me was glad that our meetings were so brief, but I was painfully aware that for the first time in my life I was using avoidance to deal with a situation so huge that there was nothing I could change.
When I got to the kitchen Henry was already at his post, standing at his chopping board as he began to prepare breakfast. He turned to face me. ‘Oh, you look absolutely dreadful, dear.’
‘Why, thank you Mr Masterson, you silver-tongued charmer.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, and you know I didn’t. It’s just that you’re hardly your usual effervescent self, are you?’
‘Arthritis flare-up.’
‘Aren’t you a little young for that? I thought it was only us old farts that had to worry about such things.’ Henry set down a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for me as he bustled about.
‘I broke my collar-bone when I was fourteen. It should’ve been pinned, but I ended up leaving hospital in more haste than was good for me. It didn’t heal well.’ I kneaded at my neck in a futile attempt to release the knot of muscle. ‘I don’t suppose you could give my shoulder a pummelling, could you?’
‘I wouldn’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t. Don’t worry.’ I shrugged the bathrobe off. ‘Anyway, I promise I’ll scream good and loud if you do.’
As soon as Henry began to rub my back, I knew he was going to be too gentle to be of much use. ‘You need to get really stuck in,’ I advised, then just as he was beginning to get a little braver, I flinched when he accidentally hit the spike of rough bone that Nat had learned to avoid.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Henry leaped away as if stung. ‘What on earth is
that
?’
‘The break. I told you it was a bit of a mess.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got the temperament for this, I’m afraid. Perhaps Finn could do a better job?’
On cue, Finn stalked into the kitchen, Bran at his heels. ‘Better job at what?’ He gave us both a glare of pure malice. ‘We’ve already ascertained that our esteemed artist here isn’t into the kind of services I provide.’
Before I could respond, Henry stepped up to Finn and peered at his face. ‘Finn Strachan, are you drunk?’
Finn brought a near-empty vodka bottle out of his back pocket and waved it at Henry. ‘I should fuckin’ hope so.’
‘Oh, Finn, it’s only seven o’clock -’ Henry began.
‘Henry, rearrange the following words into a sentence. Off. Fuck. So, what’s the problem? Painter’s cramp?’
‘No. As I was explaining to Henry before you made your graceful entrance, I broke my collarbone when I was at school. Well, strictly speaking someone else used their hockey stick to break it for me.’
Finn gave a superbly derisive snort of contempt. ‘Fuckin’ hockey. What happened? Did that naughty Anastasia Fotherington-Smythe tap you too hard in the bully-off, huh? I’m surprised matron didn’t make it all better for you.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ I tried to figure out what the hell I’d missed that was provoking such rancour. ‘Do you have a problem with me that you’d care to share?’
‘No. No fuckin’ problem at all, thank you very much for asking.’ Finn picked up a newly-opened carton of milk from Henry’s pristine work surface and took a long drink before setting it back down so clumsily that half the contents splattered across the floor.
‘Oh
Finn
,’ Henry sighed, and wearily picked up a cloth. Finn steadfastly ignored him.
‘So, Ms Bresson, d’you ride?’
‘Yes. Why?’
Finn gave me a mocking smile. ‘Course you fuckin’ ride. Goes with the territory, doesn’t it? Bet you were on your first pony and hitting the gymkhana circuit before you were out of nappies.
Blaine
has
suggested
that I take you across to the mainland to visit her stables. Wants us both out of the way for the morning – she’ll be giving some lucky guest a good buckin’ herself. Got somethin’ to see to first, but I reckon we’ll be ready to go in an hour. So if you’d be so kind, Henry old chap, we shall be needin’ a lift to shore once you’ve finished in here.’ He turned unsteadily to me. ‘See you soon. Only if you reckon you’re up to it, eh?’ He summoned Bran to his side with a soft whistle and stalked from the kitchen in a cloud of brimstone.
‘What the
fuck
was that about?’ I asked.
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Henry replied, then gave a frown. ‘Ooh, hang on a mo, what day is it?’
‘Thursday. Why? Does that make some kind of difference?’
Henry nodded and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Blood test day. I’d forgotten about that. No wonder he’s full of hell.’
‘What day?’
‘Lady Albermarle insists that all her, um, workers are tested for anything nasty every three months. Nature of their job and all that. The same thing’ll be going on at her
London
place.’ Henry stuck his head out into the corridor to check that Finn had gone before he continued. ‘He’s terrified of needles, poor boy – something from his unenviable past, no doubt. He deals with it by getting completely loaded and then Blaine calls for Coyle and a couple of his gorillas across from the mainland to hold him down while Doctor Parnell does her thing.’
‘I can imagine Coyle loves that.’ I remembered the man’s ill-disguised smugness on the night of my arrival.
‘Indeed he does. Coyle O’Halloran isn’t one who needs an excuse to ‘have a go’, so to speak.’
‘God, I hate this place.’ I shivered and pulled my bathrobe back around my shoulders.
‘Will you be going riding?’ Henry asked. ‘Because I warn you now, he’s not likely to be good company. There are certain aspects of his lifestyle that make him a little volatile on occasion.’
I considered. The situation had everything that would usually have me running a mile, with its countless undercurrents and a stroppy bastard who was already pissed at seven o’clock in the morning. I considered some more, then asked the only question that mattered. ‘Will he get into trouble if I don’t?’
Henry sighed. ‘I’d love to say no.’
‘But?’
‘
Blaine
’s requests to Finn are never merely that.’
‘Oh well.’ I looked out of the kitchen window at a cloudless cerulean sky. ‘At least it’s a nice day for it.’
*****
‘You can ride Ruby, I’ll take Bruno.’ Finn led a stunning thoroughbred chestnut mare from the stable block, past a sedate, handsome bay. She was fifteen hands high, and Finn’s bare arms corded with tight muscle as he struggled to hold her. ‘Stand still, you stupid bitch,’ he chided, and slapped the skittish animal on the side of her head. Her rolling eyes shone with a malevolence that promised an interesting ride. ‘You want a hat?’
I shook my head. ‘It’ll give me more of a reason to stay on.’
‘Your funeral,’ he smiled.
I ignored him. Nothing mattered now except wiping that evil grin off Finn’s face. I would rather have broken my neck than backed down.
‘Need a leg up?’
I glared at him. ‘No.’
The moment I sat in the saddle I had a feeling that dumb pride was about to get me killed. Even as I shortened my stirrup leathers Ruby began to buck and rear like a mustang, and I was briefly tempted to dismount before the smart option was snatched away as a stray carrier bag blew across the yard. Ruby gave a high-pitched squeal of terror, made one last attempt to buck me off and bolted from the yard with the speed of an
Ascot
favourite.
As we galloped across the field behind the stable block I could only hang on for grim death and hope I would survive long enough to kill the man who had just set me up.
Nicola,
Blaine
’s groom, drove into the yard in her thirty-year old mini and brought it to a squealing halt just inches from the steaming muck-heap. She sprinted across the cobbles without killing the engine or shutting her door. ‘
Finn
!’ she hollered as she ran, ‘Who the hell is that on Rube?’
‘She’s staying at the Hall…’
Nicola’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Oh God Finn, she’s a guest?’
‘Yes. Well, no… Kinda,’ I stumbled. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
‘Ruby’s the bloody problem.
Blaine
took her out at the start of the week and lamed her; rode her hard on tarmac for three hours straight. We’ve had to stable her for the last four days, and you know what she’s like if she’s inside for half an hour.’ Nicola shook her head in exasperation. ‘You
stupid
bugger!’