Your Wish Come True (revised): Chapter 21 - Country Life free porn video

Your Wish Come True by Pol Roger Chapter 21 Country Life She learns some more but the mystery deepens. "I'D be happy just to have this place," Mandy pronounced. "Yes, it's a delightful house, isn't it? We didn't need to do much with it, just some new furnishings and a few new pictures, plus the Wifi and security upgrade that was asked for," answered the woman. "Of course, the Hall is an altogether different matter, a very big job indeed. I'm terrifically excited about it!" Mandy, Emma and Harriet Stanley-D'Ascoyne--actually Lady Harriet Stanley- D'Ascoyne--were taking tea in the drawing room of Beckley Place, a large Georgian village house in Little Beckley which belonged to the Beckley Hall estate (not to be confused with Beckley Park--another local estate and the original manor house of the neighbouring village of Beckley). The house had often served as a Dowager House for the Hall, Lady Harriet had explained, when Beckley Hall had been the seat of the Barons Redpole. "In some ways I prefer this house," Harriet went on. "I'm afraid my tastes always lean more towards Georgian than Tudor. Or "Jacobethan," as you might describe Beckley Hall," she chuckled. "Parts of it are Tudor, or even earlier, but it's mainly nineteenth century. Don't get me wrong, it's a bloody good example. You must be absolutely thrilled to own it!" Lady Harriet Stanley--D'Ascoyne was the youngest daughter of the twelfth Duke of Chalfont. A tall good-looking woman in her late forties, she was a successful and much sought-after interior decorator and designer, especially among the British aristocracy and establishment (and Russian oligarchs living in Britain), as well as other wealthy, mostly American and British, clients. She had written several books on Georgian architecture and interior design. The first sight of Beckley Hall was one Mandy would always remember. The drive had taken over two hours, with traffic not as light as they had hoped, probably because of the perfect sunny weather bringing everyone out for the holiday. At last, after driving though the village of Beckley and entering Little Beckley, they turned east into the entrance to the estate, past the big stone gatehouse right in the middle of the village, and continued through wooded countryside and fields and, after another gate, along an elm-tree-lined avenue with parkland stretching out on either side. Finally, rounding a bend and turning north, they at last saw the house, appearing as if out of nowhere on their right, beyond a wide lake. As the road swung north-east, they drove across a bridge alongside a weir separating two different lakes. The wheels of the Range Rover crunched on the gravel of the forecourt as the car came to a halt. Emma whistled as she looked up at the impressive gothic fantasy with its turrets and crenellations and large arched windows with stone tracery. On the left to the north were picturesque ruins in the same golden Oxfordshire stone the Hall was built with. These were all that remained of the monastic church from the old priory that had once stood on the site (one of the over eight hundred casualties of Henry VIII's Dissolution of the Monasteries), parts of which could still be found within Beckley Hall. The priory and its church had served the community that had been there for hundreds of years until it was confiscated and sold by the Crown in the sixteenth century. Lady Harriet was waiting when they arrived at the main entrance. "Just Harriet, please," she had insisted when Emma had first addressed her. Emma had received an e-mail from Lady Harriet the week before, explaining she would be making a special effort to be there to meet them on Easter Monday, despite the bank holiday. Emma had learned that Beckley Hall was undergoing major renovations and restoration when she was at the Wedjat Board meeting. Some of the walls had scaffolding and there were piles of rubble and skips containing building materials in the forecourt. Harriet saw Mandy and Emma looking at the building materials. "Yes, there's been a lot of work going on. Wait till you see inside. It's an utter catastrophe!" she said happily. She took them on a brisk tour of the house, which was indeed in uproar, with building materials everywhere and ladders and scaffolding in every room and canvas floor coverings throughout the house. Rooms such as the library and panelled billiard room were to be left largely intact except for the furnishings, but almost everything else was being restored or renovated. There were thirteen main bedrooms ("not worth seeing at this stage," Lady Harriet had said) as well as twenty small bedrooms on the top storey that had originally been for servants but were now being converted into twelve self-contained flats for staff or guests. "There's a jolly great basement he had built with a rather amazing recording studio and a little private cinema," Lady Harriet told them. "I understand we're keeping those--just smartening up the cinema a bit, though. But the pool-house is absolutely awful, so that's going to need a bloody good overhaul. I've got some really splendid ideas for it!" "Was that, like, my father's studio?" Mandy asked, curious about Lady Harriet's comment about the recording studio, and wondering why the mysterious Flavio Vero would have had such a thing. "What! Crikey, no!" she replied amused. "I don't think Mr Vero ever lived here. Didn't you know this was the home of Dizzy Dismore?" "The rock star?" Mandy asked incredulously. "Didn't he die recently?" "Exactly," Harriet answered. "He kept the place for thirty years it seems, and lived here for twenty. Did the most appalling things with it, decoration-wise, though he seems to have tried to undo some of that in recent years, bless him. I admit, it did have some nice touches, here and there. "Everyone thought he owned it, and he even seems to have convinced himself that he did; he kept telling people he'd inherited it--which rather undermined the working-class credentials, didn't it?--and even said he was leaving it to the National Trust, though in the end I think they said he died intestate. "That's when they discovered he didn't actually own it. It really belonged to your father! Apparently, Dizzy sold it to him some time in the nineties and then leased it back. Must have needed the money, I suppose. And he doesn't seem to have told a single soul about the sale. He still treated the place as if he still owned it, though, and your father seems to have let him have rather a free hand, if you ask me. "Cars were one of his passions, and there's a jolly great underground car room which is really rather impressive. Most of the cars are still there. Someone told me it's a bit unclear who owns them. Perhaps you do, now! "Now, let's get back to the village and have some lunch, so I can tell you the best part. They should have settled you into the dowager house by now. Wait till you see it! It's a perfect little masterpiece! # "WELCOME to Beckley Place, Miss Ross. Welcome, Miss Miranda. I am McLean, your butler. Let me introduce Mrs Wassam, our cook." Mrs Wassam was a handsome woman in her forties. McLean, however, was much younger. He continued, "We'll both be here with you in the house for whenever you need us. You've already met Jeremy." (Jeremy had been their driver from London.) "He's up at the coachhouse, but can be here at a moment's notice. Then there's Darren Gumbley, the chief groundsman. He and his wife have one of the cottages. I can tell you about the rest of the staff in due course. There's no-one up at the house at the moment, on account of the renovations. "Mr Diggory, the estate manager, would like to meet with you tomorrow, if it's convenient. He and his family live at Redpole Farm on the estate. "All your clothes are unpacked. Miss Ross, I've put you in the main bedroom, and Miss Miranda right next door." Emma and Mandy exchanged looks. "Shouldn't Mandy--Miss Miranda-- be in the main bedroom?" Emma asked, uncertainly. McLean coughed gently into his fist. "Of course, Ma'am, if that is what you prefer. But since we'll primarily be answering to you while you're staying at Beckley Place, I'm sure you'll find how we've arranged things to be the most convenient. Both rooms have excellent views of the garden." Emma furrowed her brow, not sure how she felt about this answer. "I'm sure I'll love wherever you've put me," Mandy jumped in. McLean bowed his head approvingly. He was behaving like the archetypal butler, but was probably only in his mid-twenties. He was quite tall and looked very fit. He had the air of someone who was not used to being disagreed with. Mandy thought to herself: He's absolutely gorgeous! "Have you been a butler long, Mr McLean?" Mandy asked. McLean seemed a little uncomfortable. "Just McLean, not Mr McLean, please Miss. And no, not long." He quickly continued, "Now, if you come this way, lunch is served." "Oh, McLean?" Mandy called. "Yes Miss?" McLean stopped at once and turned. "Call me Mandy please, not Miranda." The way she said it sounded rather coquettish, she realised, standing a little side-on and looking over one shoulder as she spoke. Why had she been pretending to bite her fingernail? "Of course, Miss Mandy," answered McLean noncommittally. "As you desire." Mandy dropped her eyes for an instant, then looked up again, their eyes definitely meeting for a fleeting moment before McLean turned away again. As they followed McLean to the dining room, Mandy looked at Emma and grinned. To Mandy's disappointment, Emma frowned reproachingly. "Stop it!" she mouthed. # OVER lunch Lady Harriet explained about her involvement with Beckley Hall. Almost a month ago she had received the contract to completely overhaul and renovate the main house as well as make upgrades to all the other buildings on the estate. Apart from some specific parameters, she was to have a free hand, except she was to ensure that it was to be--the commission stated--"the best work of her career." An advance deposit of ?14 million was immediately paid into her company's account, with the undertaking that any expenses beyond this would be reimbursed at once and that no expense was to be spared. She was to consider the project as urgent and prioritise it above any other work she currently had. She had never had a commission like it and it was too good to refuse, especially with the challenge to make it her best work. And such a large payment in advance! (She'd been keeping very careful accounts of all expenses, she assured Emma.) Of course, she still had other contracts to fulfil, but she was sure she could still do that while prioritising Beckley Hall. She began work a week later, and with such a big budget was able to put on as many workers and contractors as she liked, fast-tracking the project. Fortunately, the building itself was sound, so there was no need for any structural work, except that she was completely overhauling the plumbing and also, as the commission specified, the electrics. Still, Harriet said, she looked upon it more as a restoration than a simple renovation, so "ghastly" had the previous occupant left the house. In the meantime, she had been madly drawing room designs, buying paintings and sculptures, ordering furniture and fittings, choosing colour schemes and fabrics, booking contractors and attending antiques sales and auctions. The gardens, however, she considered outstanding. Soon after receiving the commission, she heard that Flavio Vero and his wife had tragically died in a fire, and that his daughter Miranda, under her guardian (as yet still to be appointed), was now the owner, and that the project must proceed with even greater haste. "Who was it that told you about Mr Vero's death?" Emma asked. "It was Mr Vero's executors--Thornton something. Solicitors. Actually, it was through them that the commission came in the first place, now that you mention it. It's all been done by e-mail, which is a bit unusual for me--I like to get to know my clients as a rule. But I never dealt directly with Mr Vero. I got the impression he was a very busy, important man--bit of a recluse, I suppose. I do hope that doesn't sound rude, Mandy." "No, of course not," Mandy replied. "Umm, do you mind if I ask ...Harriet," (Mandy felt a little self-conscious calling her simply Harriet) "What were the special parameters you mentioned?" "Well," Harriet answered, "all the "tech." Security and such, I suppose. You won't see any of it, but in a sense it's actually going to be a very modern house. Automated gizmos. I don't completely approve, I'm afraid, but at least it will all be out of sight. It's not really my thing at all--so I've got others in to look after all that. A company called Telestellar. The same lot that did your London place, I believe. They seem to be the ones your father liked to deal with." Mandy and Emma exchanged a look. "I thought, 'this'll be trouble, with the Grade II-star listing,'" Harriet continued, "but the approvals came almost straight away, without any quibbles. That's a career first, believe me! And such a relief! Of course, the Priory ruins are Grade I listed," she added, "We certainly won't be touching those!" Lady Harriet continued to explain the renovation project. She was confident the main house would be finished and ready to use in six months. She also believed that, as per the commission, it would be amongst her best work. She said she'd like to publish a book about it in due course, if Mandy and Emma agreed. Of course, they would receive a share of the royalties. They'd discuss it down the track. "The thing is," Harriet explained, "we don't want all the decor to look too new, even if it's stylistically authentic. That's a mistake lots of interior designers make, in my opinion. It's a home, not an hotel; and a great house with an aristocratic history, not an oligarch's trophy!--or at least, I hope that's how you see it as well. So we want it to look beautiful and authentic, in the best and correct period style," (Lady Harriet allowed herself a self-congratulatory smirk) "but we also want it to look like a house that's been lived in--well-maintained, but not brand new. Some shabby bits here and there, even. Some scars and imperfections. Like people!" Harriet added, pleasantly. She clearly enjoyed sharing her philosophy on interior design. "We'll continue living in London for the time being," Emma said in answer to a question from Harriet about how much time they intended to spend at Beckley Hall. "Mandy needs to be there while she finishes school, and I need to be there for work and college and so on." "And what school is that?" Harriet asked Mandy. "St Gregory's, Ealing," she replied. "Really!" said Harriet, somewhat uncertainly. "I expected you to say St Paul's or Westminster or somewhere like that. I'm sure St Gregory's is a perfectly fine school," she added. ("I was at St Paul's," Emma muttered.) "Oh, it has to be Catholic," Mandy explained. "Downside? Ampleforth? ... Stonyhurst!" Harriet suggested. "They went co-ed a few years ago, didn't they?" Mandy was feeling a bit defensive. "St Gregory's has a very good music program, which is important for me. I like that it's not snobby." "Yes. Quite. Nobody wants that, do they?" Harriet said primly. "Well, I understand now, I think. Good for you." Conversation came round to Dizzy Dismore, the former occupant of Beckley Hall. "Dizzy 'Dischord' some people called him!" Harriet joked. "On account of those ghastly guitar noises he'd do. Or Dizzy 'Diehard' sometimes, on account of his ... fondness for a tipple shall we say? And other things, of course," she added enigmatically. "Nearly went to gaol about that, I remember," Mandy commented. "That's right, in the eighties. He was very lucky to get off," Harriet observed. Mandy turned towards Emma. "His real name was Desmond," she explained. "He called himself Des or 'Desi'--Desi Dismore--at the start of his career. But it wasn't long before everyone was calling him Dizzy Dismore!" "I'm surprised someone your age knows anything about poor old Dizzy; he probably stopped performing years before you were born," said Lady Harriet. "Well, Deathly Shades were very big in the seventies and eighties, weren't they? You couldn't avoid hearing stuff about them," Mandy reflected. "Very true," Lady Harriet agreed, looking somewhat bemused. Emma looked as though she had no idea what either of them were talking about. "Didn't he have a reputation for wild parties? Was that here--at Beckley Hall, I mean?" Mandy asked. "Oh, yes!" Harriet affirmed more confidently. "I went to one party there-- only one mind you!--oh, twenty years ago? That was an eye-opener! 'Babylonian orgy' is probably too strong a term--that's what someone wrote in his Times obituary. He liked to see pictures of his parties in the Tatler (some of his parties, anyway), so a lot of my friends used to get invited. I remember there was a level of ... nudity, shall we say? Lots of 'sniffing' and 'inhaling,' if you get my meaning. Of course, they were different times, and different values in some ways." Harriet sighed dreamily, then continued, "It wasn't my scene, of course! Anyway, I think that's why he never got an OBE or a knighthood or anything like that. Though others seemed to get gongs when they were just as naughty, didn't they?" She laughed. "Funny thing, though," Lady Harriet continued, "He loved his horses. Maybe that's why this place was so special for him. He bred a few champions here, and I think I heard the Queen bought one of his foals, years ago. Do you ride?" Harriet turned to Emma, then Mandy. "Sorry, no," Mandy said. Emma also shook her head. "Pity. Perhaps you'll take it up? Be a shame for the big house not to be involved with the horses. Assuming you carry on with the horses here. Will you?" "I don't think we've thought about that," Emma said, looking at Mandy. "No, we're still finding out about it all," Mandy agreed. "But I'm sure we'll want to keep everything good about the estate going, won't we Em? We don't want anyone to lose their jobs." "That's the spirit!" Harriet approved. "Take a look at the stables while you're down here. Might inspire you." # AFTER lunch they had a tour of the garden of Beckley Place. It was surprisingly large, stretching down to the canal (a branch of the eighteenth-century Oxford Canal) that ran behind the village--a meandering English style of garden--once one went past the lawn terrace. There was a smaller, walled garden as well, and a kitchen garden for vegetables and herbs. Now they were back at the house, taking tea in the drawing room. "Yes, I could happily spend my days living here, rather than the Hall," Lady Harriet mused. "In some ways, living in a great house I can be a bit of a strain. I hope I'm not putting you off!" she turned to them suddenly. "I've never lived in a great house, so I'm not sure how I'd like it," Mandy reflected. "Oh! I understood you lived on some private island off Malta," Harriet seemed puzzled. "Oh, yes, totally. But things were pretty relaxed ... I imagine ... and I spent a lot of time in England ... here and there." Mandy looked at Emma rather desperately. "Yes, I dare say an English country house is a lot different to island-life in the sun." Harriet ploughed on, "it's all sailing boats and swimming and sunbathing, I expect. And tennis, probably. At least that will be the same here. You do play tennis?" "Of course," Mandy said enthusiastically. "I bet I'm quite good!" Emma stared at her. Derek had never been very good at any sports, and was particularly hopeless at tennis. Mandy saw Emma's expression. "No, really. I'm totally sure I love playing tennis." Lady Harriet seemed slightly bemused. Nevertheless, she chimed in, "That's good, then. There are two courts up at the Hall. You should try to get some play in before you go back. It would be a pity to waste such lovely weather." # "SHE seems nice," Mandy sighed, falling backwards onto one of the sofas when they returned from seeing off Lady Harriet. "Yes, I couldn't help liking her," Emma agreed. "But there's a lot to digest. This estate is massive! Did you hear what she said? A ?14 million budget just for starters! And she's right about this house; I could live here permanently, and it's not even the main house. I think I quite fancy living in the country." "What about McLean!" Mandy enthused. "Isn't he brilliant?" "What? No! He's a pompous little prig!" Emma replied. "Oh! Do you think so?" Mandy was a bit taken aback. She didn't think he was at all little. "Don't you love his sexy Scottish accent?" "Are you joking?" Emma went on. ""You'll find what we've decided the most convenient." Who's "we"? And, "It's McLean, Ma'am, not Mr McLean." I thought servants weren't supposed to answer back." "He put you in your place, ever so politely!" Mandy laughed. "You should've seen your face! Anyway, perhaps he's right. Have you considered that?" "'Oh McLean--dear, dear definitely-not-bloody-Mister-McLean,'" Emma mocked, "please, it's Ma-an-dee, not Mirahnda!" Well, your flirting didn't seem to impress him. (Don't think I didn't notice that!) He got you back with "Miss Mandy," though, didn't he?" "He just wants us to do things properly, is all." Mandy giggled. "You've never had servants, so you need to learn how all that works." "Well, neither have you!" Emma replied. "No, I suppose not. Not my own servants, anyway. It seems bonkers, doesn't it? It's so different to Teresa. She isn't like a servant at all, thankfully. "Anyway, McLean fascinates me. Did you hear him say he hasn't been a butler for long? What's that about? He acts as if he was born a butler. I'm going to see if I can find out his story." "Good luck with that," Emma huffed. "You'd better not let him see you with your shoes on the sofa. He might report you to Nanny!" Mandy poked out her pierced tongue at Emma. What would McLean do if he found me with my shoes on the sofa? she wondered. Her heart skipped a beat. # DIANNE and Peter arrived in the late afternoon. McLean the butler had earlier checked with Emma that he assumed no-one would be dressing for dinner that night, and Emma had explained that it would just be family staying and they probably hadn't brought formal clothes. (In fact, Emma and Mandy had brought quite a few evening outfits--just in case.) However, as soon as they arrived Dianne had rather excitedly asked, "Are we dressing for dinner?" They agreed they would make an effort after all, Peter wearing a lounge suit--all he had brought--and the ladies changing into something dressier. Dianne was clearly enjoying the occasion, showering praise on the house and garden, and looking forward to seeing the Hall and its grounds the next day. # EMMA was getting ready to go down for dinner when there was a soft knock at the door to the adjoining bedroom. She opened it to see Mandy with a worried look on her face. "Can I come in?" she asked. "Of course! What's the matter?" "Em, it's happened. Or I think it has. Right when we're about to go down for dinner. I was nervous enough before, but now this!" She showed Emma a damp sticky tissue with a tiny spot of blood. "I'm right, aren't I? It's my period isn't it? What should I do?" "Hmm. Is this all?" Emma asked dubiously, looking at the sticky tissue Mandy was holding up with distaste. (She could smell it from where she sat. It wasn't at all bad, she admitted to herself.) "No. I felt, like, a pain earlier today. Near my left hip. Near my tattoo actually, only, you know, inside. Now there's blood. And I've felt strange the last couple of days, like, leaky or something. Not bad, just sort of ... wet." Mandy blushed. "Is that normal? That's why I stuck some tissues down there. Now it's happened. Is there going to be more blood? There is, isn't there? Do you have any, you know, tampons or something?" "Come here." Emma held out her arms to Mandy, who rushed straight to her. "You funny, funny thing." A soft sound that was half snigger, half chuckle escaped Emma. "Are you happy for me or something?" Mandy asked. "That I'm truly a woman or whatever?" Emma took Mandy by the shoulders and looked her in the face. "No, Mandy. I don't think it's your period. I mean, it might be, I suppose. But I get those spots sometimes way before my period, just for a day or so. But then my period doesn't come for perhaps a week or two. And when it does come it's fucking awful. I'll find you a pad, just in case, though. And take that thing away." She made waving motions at the damp tissue Mandy was still holding. (No, it definitely didn't smell unpleasant.) Emma found a sanitary pad for Mandy and showed her how to attach it to her panties, then sent her back to her room to finish getting dressed. # OH, Mandy, you look so sweet!" Emma exclaimed. Mandy was wearing a pink lace and tulle cocktail party dress that reached to about mid-thigh, with white chunky round-toed three-inch-heeled pumps. Her main earrings were white gold seashells with all the others kept small. She had swapped her nose ring for a single diamond stud. Her hair was arranged in braids pulled back into an elaborate bun at the base of her neck. Her makeup was perfect, with particularly dark dramatic eyes. "You look like a ballerina!" Emma added. Mandy laughed, and leaning her hand on the wall she did a pli?, her other hand elegantly extended. "I was planning on wearing this dress sometime this week. I wanted to wear a different one tonight, but ... well, never mind." Emma gave her a quizzical look. "You look lovely," Mandy told Emma. Emma wore a black short-sleeved off-the-shoulder tulle cocktail dress that was daringly short at the front but fell to mid-calf at the back. She wore four-inch-high black stiletto heels. Her short dark hair was side-parted, pulled back behind her right ear and falling in curly waves on the left side. Emma showed Mandy the Tiffany diamond bracelet she had bought her. "Looks good on you," Mandy complimented. "Blimey, aren't you tall!" she added. "Come on, Squirt," Emma joked as they linked arms and headed downstairs. # "MY, you both look lovely!" Dianne exclaimed as she hugged Emma. Then, arms outstretched, she hugged Mandy warmly, kissing her on both cheeks. Dianne looked very elegant in a simple blue fitted cocktail dress. She has a nice figure for her age, Mandy thought. Good for her! "You look nice, Peter." Emma turned to her brother. "Thanks, Em," he said. "It was a bit crushed but McLean pressed it for me. Dad always said to pack a suit when you go on holiday, just in case." Mandy's mouth fell open. She quickly shut it again. "You look great, Em. You both do." Peter was looking at Mandy while he said this, smiling shyly. "High life suits you," he added, turning to Emma. Emma wrinkled her nose in a mock scowl. "You look very handsome," Mandy said encouragingly. "Thanks. It's nice to meet you again," he said, stepping forward, his hand held out uncertainly. Mandy ignored it, giving Peter a hug instead. He seems a little self-conscious, she thought. She heard him take a long intake of air before they drew apart. As Mandy smiled at Peter, she caught sight of McLean, holding a tray of champagne cocktails. He looked distracted, she thought. Mandy noticed he was looking at Emma. For some reason, she felt slightly annoyed. He now looked at Mandy, who smiled at him coyly. As soon as their eyes met, he gathered himself together and began to offer drinks. "Thank you, McLean," Mandy simpered as she took her glass from the tray. He seemed slightly uncomfortable, she noted with satisfaction. # CONVERSATION over dinner ranged from Dianne's and Peter's week in Cornwall to Emma's work with Wedjat, Mandy's school, Peter's school trip next term to Italy, the renovations of Beckley Hall and the meeting earlier that day with Lady Harriet. The food and wine were excellent, McLean expertly and discreetly serving both. Mandy and Peter, however, were allowed just one glass of wine each after their champagne cocktails earlier, Dianne proposing this and Emma agreeing enthusiastically, giving Mandy a wry smile. Mandy watched McLean closely throughout dinner, trying to catch his eye and smiling sweetly at him whenever she was successful. She was sure McLean was secretly beginning to enjoy the game. (Don't rush, take your time, she told herself. You need to get under his skin but not put him off or make him wary of you. Softly, softly ...) "You haven't asked if there's news about your father," Dianne finally said to Emma. "Is there news?" Emma asked, slightly disconcerted. "Yes and no," Dianne said, cryptically. She looked over at Mandy. "Do you mind us talking about some family matters, Mandy?" "No, please," Mandy answered. "I'm very concerned about ... Mr Ross. Or--do you want me to leave?" She realised she wasn't actually supposed to be part of the family. "No, of course not, Mandy, please stay. We're in your home, after all. Or one of them, at any rate." Dianne gave a brief smile, but her manner became very serious. "Alright, then," she continued, "there's been no news of your father's whereabouts so far. None. No use of bank accounts--apart from that one time by you, Emma. No contact with anyone, so far as we know. The police think this means ..." Dianne paused for a moment. "But they haven't found a body, so that's something." Dianne took Emma's and Peter's hands either side of her for a moment. "Until then, well ... we just won't give up. "I already told you about the missing CCTV--three days" worth--and how the police let drop they thought there might be some involvement with the intelligence services. Well, they don't seem to think that's worth pursuing after all. They won't say why. That's why I'm not ruling it out. But it raises more questions, doesn't it? "However, there's been a new development," she continued. "A man showed up at your father's--at Mr Ross's (she glanced at Mandy)--office and asked to speak to him. He said it was very urgent and confidential. He seemed very upset when they said Derek was missing. (I'm not sure it was ethical to tell him that, but they let it slip out.)" "A client?" Mandy interrupted. Everyone turned and looked at Mandy. "Sorry," she said. "Just ignore me." Dianne continued. "No, you're right of course, Mandy. That's the obvious explanation. But here's the strange thing. He wouldn't let anyone see his face. He wore a beanie, pulled down low, and had a scarf across his face. They almost called security on him. He said to Brian--that's who he spoke to--that he couldn't risk being caught on any cameras. Brian said he seemed scared." Dianne paused to let this sink in, then continued. "Now this is the really interesting thing. He asked if he could look at Derek's laptop, just for a minute. When Brian said the police had taken it, and it had melted when they tried to start it up--again, I'm not sure he should have told him that--he became very upset and said he had to leave straight away. And that's what he did. Just ran out the door." "What did Brian do? Sorry ..." Mandy had interrupted again. Emma grabbed her hand under the table. "He contacted the police and reported it. Then he rang me. I've let Peter know all about it, just in case it meant anything to him. This is the first chance I've had to talk to you about it, Emma. I didn't want to discuss it on the phone. Does it mean anything to you?" Emma shook her head. "No. Nothing." "Mandy?" Dianne asked. "What? Oh, sorry. No. "Have the police still got Derek's laptop?" she suddenly blurted. "Shouldn't that have been returned to the family if they didn't find anything? They shouldn't have disposed of it, even if it was damaged. Did you ask for it to be returned?" "As a matter of fact, I did," Dianne said. "I thought we could have it examined ourselves for any clues even though the police said it was wrecked. But they said they no longer had it. Apart from that, I've spoken a lot to the officers on the case and I'm not sure they're really doing very much. I'm not sure what they could be doing, to be honest." Peter meanwhile was listening silently. "Ask her, Mum," he now spoke. "Yes, thank you, Peter," Dianne proceeded. "As you can imagine, Peter and I have been talking a lot about this. We'd like to hire a private investigator. I think someone focussed solely on the case might make some progress. But good ones are very expensive, and tend to charge for every little thing. I hate to ask you Emma, but now that you're earning more money--I hate to do this, really I do--do you think you can put something towards it? We could always sell some things to raise the money, or even take out a loan, but that all takes time, you see?" Emma answered. "Of course, Mum. Whatever you want." "Yes, and I'll help too," Mandy insisted. Dianne reached across and grabbed Mandy's hand, then Emma's. "Thank you. It means a lot to us." "Don't worry about that," Mandy said, squeezing Dianne's hand back. # "WE'LL just be a minute," Emma said when they'd finished their pudding, "you go ahead. Mandy and I just need to ask McLean something." Dianne and Peter went through to the drawing room while Emma and Mandy stayed back in the dining room. "What do we need to ask McLean?" Mandy asked. "Nothing," said Emma, "but I'm not sure about a private investigator. What are they supposed to discover? You're the one that has all the answers, aren't you? Maybe we should just tell Mum and Peter the truth. The trouble is, I just can't see them believing it. Why didn't your wishing site deal with this? It seems to have thought of everything else." Mandy was silent for a while. "You're right, as usual," she finally said. "In some ways I'd love to tell them both, but ... I don't know, I just somehow feel like I want them to know me as Mandy now. I like being Mandy to them. And they like me as Mandy. I don't want to be a sodding freak!" Emma brushed the tear on Mandy's cheek away. "Careful, you'll ruin your mascara," she commented. "See?" Mandy said. "Tears and mascara. That's just not Derek. No, we can't tell them the truth. We have to find another way." Emma nodded. "Well, let's think some more and see what we come up with. We'd better go in and join them. Better put on your smile." Emma tweaked Mandy's chin. # McLEAN served coffee (and liqueurs for Dianne and Emma) in the drawing room while the four of them sat down to play Five Hundred and then Scrabble. Mandy did badly at both. She ended up letting Peter help her choose which letters to put when it was her turn. They were laughing a lot, and she was sometimes suggesting stupid words that sounded hilarious. I should be annoyed, she thought idly. She wasn't trying to lose; in fact she was trying her best (mostly), but she was actually enjoying being the loser. (Everyone was so nice to her about it, in a way they never were when Derek used to win most of the time. It lightened the mood and made it more enjoyable for everyone.) And it was fun seeing Peter being so gallant and helpful, without a hint of condescension. She was seeing a side of Peter she hadn't known before, and was liking it immensely. She even forgot to tease McLean, who came in occasionally to see if they needed anything, refusing to go to bed until they had all finished for the night. At last, they decided it was time for the evening to end. With hugs and thanks, they all headed upstairs to their bedrooms. # MANDY looked up at Peter and smiled. It was Peter as she remembered him as a little boy, about six years old. Sam's sister, Bridget, was there too, though she seemed younger now as well. She recognised Bridget's sweet old dolls" house over in the corner. They were all sitting on little children's chairs round a low nursery table. Mandy looked at the cards in her hand, and began to discard any pairs she was holding. They were playing "Old Maid," she realised. Without surprise, she understood she too was six years old. She and Bridget were both in frilly party dresses, like fairies or princesses or something. Peter looked very handsome (she noted) in his sailor suit, his hair untidy, like he'd been running around outdoors and just now come inside. His cheeky smile reminded her of Errol Flynn. He'd look better as a pirate, Mandy thought, a scarf tied round his head. She'd be part of his band, waving a cutlass. No, holding his cutlass. And his coat. Curtseying. She held out her cards to Bridget, face down. Bridget took one. Mandy saw with concern that she still had the Queen--the Old Maid card. Bridget looked at her cards, smirked and discarded a pair from her own hand. She then offered her cards to Peter, who took one, smiled, and also discarded a pair. Peter offered his hand, face down, to Mandy. She took one, and saw that she, too, could discard yet another pair. Play continued, with Bridget consistently failing to take the Old Maid from Mandy. Mandy began to feel hot and anxious. What if she were left with the Old Maid? The cards were getting fewer. She looked pleadingly at Peter. He seemed to understand her dilemma. He watched Bridget closely as she made her choice from Mandy. Now Bridget's face showed alarm. She stared at Mandy coldly, while Mandy looked back at Peter with relief. Bridget didn't discard any pairs this time. Peter kept his eye on Bridget's cards. She had just three, which she offered to Peter, who seemed to take some time choosing which card to take. He gave Mandy a quick look, smiled--his eyes twinkling, and finally made his selection. Bridget let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Peter arranged his cards and presented them to Mandy. One card seemed to be held a little behind the others, so she skipped that one and chose another. She had a pair, which she discarded. She had just one card left. She offered it to Bridget, who accepted it tentatively, but then sighed again with relief. She removed another pair and offered her hand to Peter, who took a card. He, too, removed a pair, leaving him with two cards. He offered them to Mandy, one slightly further out than the other. She took the extended one from Peter as he smiled at her encouragingly. A three. She offered it to Bridget, who gleefully discarded her pair of threes. "Peter's the old maid!" Bridget declared. Peter smiled smugly at Mandy, who gazed at him adoringly. # EVERYONE was already at breakfast when Mandy came down. A "Full English" had been laid out in the dining room, with McLean standing by the buffet helping to serve. Mandy was feeling in a particularly good mood. "Morning, McLean!" Mandy intoned sweetly. He returned her greeting, trusting she had slept well. She had indeed, she told him. Like a baby. Her brow furrowed for an instant. She turned to the buffet, pretending to examine the contents of the covered dishes, but constantly glancing sideways and smiling up at McLean, saying nothing, hoping to disconcert him. He remained impassive, staring over her head, but occasionally darting her a look. She detected a slight smile playing at the corner of McLean's mouth. Good enough, thought Mandy. She turned, giggling, to inspect the buffet properly. "Oh, bollocks! No eggs?" "Mrs Wassam is waiting for you to tell her how you'd like them done, Miss," McLean replied. "Oh! Umm, poached?" "One or two, Miss?" McLean enquired. "Two. Definitely two, please." She filled a bowl with muesli and heaped prunes, yoghurt and cherries in syrup on top. She was about to add some milk, but spotted a jug of cream and poured some liberally into the bowl. She sat down next to Peter, who was finishing a bowl of porridge. "Hello, you!" she said, turning to him after she had sat down and brushing some strands of hair behind her ear. For some reason she was very pleased a place had been left for her next to him. "Good morning," he answered, somewhat flustered. She was wearing a tight- fitting black long-sleeved crop top with a wide neck showing the tops of her shoulders, a short red tartan miniskirt, above-the-knee black socks and black Doc Martins. No matter where he looked Mandy's bare thighs and midriff (with a dangling pink heart-shaped belly ring) seemed to dominate Peter's peripheral vision. Dianne and Emma wished Mandy good morning. "You look nice, Em," Mandy commented. "Very "country."" "Thanks," Emma answered. She'd bought some tweed skirts from Cordings for this trip the week before, one of which she was now wearing with a cream cashmere top and black knitted tights and ankle boots. "Nice jacket, Dianne," Mandy added, noting her red blazer as she munched on her cereal and fruit. She turned towards Peter and smiled, continuing to look at him as she chewed, saying nothing. "Nice ..." His eyes drifted inexorably down to her bare thighs, seemingly unable to look away. "... socks," he blurted, then flushed a deep red. Emma and Dianne burst out laughing. McLean's composure also collapsed and he slipped out of the room pretending to suppress a cough. "Why, thank you!" Mandy smiled broadly. McLean had returned with eggs for Mandy and Peter. They went to the buffet together and Mandy helped herself to bacon, three different types of sausage, fried bread, mushrooms, a dollop of kedgeree and a kipper. She had twice as much food on her plate as Peter, who certainly hadn't stinted. "I thought Peter had a good appetite," Dianne commented, somewhat bemused. "She's always like that," Emma said. "I've warned her about how much she eats. Makes no difference. Curious thing is, she doesn't have to eat so much. I've seen her just have a quick cup of tea or coffee and nothing else all morning, so I don't think she's got worms. She just likes eating, if she likes what's on offer. Then, she eats like a horse." "You do know I can hear you," Mandy said, munching away. "Is that all you two are having?" she added as McLean cleared away the remains of the grapefruit Emma and Dianne had each finished. "Of course not," Emma said haughtily, taking and brandishing a piece of dry toast to eat with her black coffee. "Speaking of horses," Mandy said between another mouthful, "we should take a look at those today." As if on cue, McLean interrupted. "Excuse me, Miss Ross, Mr Diggory is here to see you." "I'd nearly forgotten," Emma said. "Would he like to come through and have some breakfast?" Emma and Mandy spent the next hour talking with Diggory, the estate manager, discussing the farming operations of Beckley Hall. Dianne and Peter went to explore the garden. John Diggory had been estate manager for twelve years, he told them, and (along with Ken Gumbley, the head groundsman, and his wife Jane) was one of the few employees on the estate still around from when Dizzy Dismore had lived there. John's younger wife, Consuela, had represented Spain at the Seoul Olympics in Dressage and Show Jumping. They lived at Redpole Farm on the estate along with three of their four children, although the two middle children (Maria and Philip) were usually boarding at Downside School. The oldest, Charles, was now in the army. Eliza, the youngest, attended Beckley Church of England Primary School. Mr Diggory ("Call me John," he had told Emma) exuded competence and extensive local knowledge. At forty-nine, he had a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture degree from the Royal Agricultural College in Cirencester and a wealth of experience, with a special expertise in horses. He undertook to give them a guided tour of the working aspects of Beckley Hall whenever they were ready. # IT was all frantic activity up at Beckley Hall, with the tradesmen back at work and the renovations in full swing. John introduced them to the onsite project manager and some other key people and they were able to show Peter and Dianne a few rooms as they tried to compete with the dust and noise. Outside again, they had a brief introduction to the grounds, while John's two Labradors gambolled about them. The gardens were huge and varied, and included very formal gardens, fountains, character gardens, a maze, less formal shaded gardens, a walled garden, a fernery, a sub-tropical garden, ponds, lakes (one with a small island), monuments, ruins and follies. There was a vast lawn used for parties and playing croquet, and, of course, two tennis courts. It would take several hours to explore the entire garden, so John suggested they do that later at their leisure. The working estate had some cropping but mainly kept sheep and horses, with extensive stables. There was a piggery as well, and they let deer run freely in the park. John himself kept chickens to provide eggs for the Hall and others on the estate, and there were a few tenant farmers not strictly part of the estate proper. Peacocks roamed free in the gardens, but didn't need much care. There were a few problems with foxes but they kept that under control. They hadn't hunted on the estate for decades, and, in any case, the new laws had pretty much put a stop to that (though a few Hunts in the district were trying to keep their packs going with "drag hunts"). Nor was it a shooting estate, though they had organised some parties on occasion, before John's time. John wasn't against it, but they would need to keep well away from livestock, which was the estate's primary concern. John showed great pride as he drove them around the estate, explaining how it all ran. They finished up at the stables. There were just twenty horses at present, mostly thoroughbreds but also some shire horses, show hunters and hunter ponies. They used to keep a string of polo ponies but had let them go in recent years since Dizzy stopped playing. Most of the horses were out in the paddocks at this time of day. Indeed, eight of the thoroughbreds were actually retired. The estate employed quite a lot of people from Little Beckley, Beckley and other neighbouring villages and towns, for the horses and other farm work. Over sixty people, all told, worked on the estate in some capacity or other. "I took the liberty of setting aside a pretty hunter pony mare for you, Mandy, if you'd like to take up riding. And there's a nice young gelding you might like, Emma," John told them. John took them over to a nearby fence and gave a loud whistle. Ruby (a chestnut mare) and Samson (a black gelding) came trotting over, and Mandy and Emma were introduced to them. "Ruby is quite used to young girls. My oldest daughter used to ride her a lot and always said she was very calm and clever." They stroked the necks of the two horses. Mandy and Emma exchanged excited looks. "Can visitors use the horses? I mean, if they learn how to ride them?" Mandy asked, looking towards Peter. "Of course!" John answered. "I'd love to get you all on horseback. The more the merrier! The horses love working with young people. You show them love and respect and they'll teach you everything you need to know. They'll give you a good reason to get out of London, on weekends and such, if you let them. Unless you want to make Beckley Hall your main home," John added hopefully. They had lunch at The Royal Oak in the village, where Mandy and Emma were introduced to a few of the locals, before visiting Redpole Farm (a large ivy-covered Georgian house with its own stables and outbuildings) to meet John's wife, Consuela, and their younger children, Maria, Philip and Eliza. Naturally enough, John's children were very much into horses and horse riding. Mandy and Peter gravitated towards Maria and Philip (aged fifteen and twelve), while the others continued to talk about the estate and farming. Mandy felt Maria, who was very pretty, seemed a bit stand-offish, almost rude. Finally, they returned to the Hall. John wanted to finish the tour with the car collection. There was a mews, with a coach house at the end, a short distance from Beckley Hall. Jeremy Greenwood lived in a flat above the coach house, where six cars were garaged. A lift took them down to the underground garage and carpark, where about thirty vintage and classic cars were lined up in two rows, facing each other, each with its own illuminated space. There was space for more cars in a separate area. "Dizzy liked Rolls Royces especially," John explained. "There's five here, as well as two of the new ones we keep in the top garage. Also Bentleys and a Lagonda, Jaguars, MGs, Austin Healeys, two DB-5s--Aston Martins that is-- old British classics, mainly. But there's also a McLaren and a Lamborghini Countach. Some motorcycles as well." "Lady Harriet said it wasn't clear who owned the cars," Emma said, looking in awe at the two rows of automobiles as spotlights came on in succession, one car at a time, mirrored walls making it seem like there were hundreds of vehicles. "Well, they're owned by the Estate Corporation. I know, because I'm responsible for keeping them registered and insured. I don't understand why, now that we know Dizzy was never really the owner of Beckley Hall. So," John concluded, "they belong to you," he smiled at Mandy. "Or will do, when you come of age." "What'll I do with them?" she asked Peter, who was standing closest to her. He shrugged his shoulders. "You could open a museum," he said. "Hmm. Other people should get to enjoy them, shouldn't they?" Mandy agreed. Mandy asked about the recording studio. It was in the basement of the Hall, John told her. Dizzy had given up on music in the last fifteen years, he said, but the studio had several sound rooms and lots of equipment. He didn't know how up-t0-date-it was, but he understood it had been state-of- the-art in its day. As John drove them back to Beckley Place, Mandy saw Maria riding a horse in the park. She pulled up her horse and watched them as they drove past. Mandy gave her a wave but she made no response. She mustn't have seen her, Mandy decided. # THEY took afternoon tea in the garden at Beckley Place, and made plans to explore the gardens up at the Hall and perhaps play some tennis the next day. Dianne had been thinking of taking Peter to the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford on the Wednesday, but was happy to continue to explore the amenities of the estate instead. They asked McLean to make up a picnic basket in the morning they could take to the Hall for lunch. He told them he would bring the picnic up himself at lunchtime and serve it for them. "This visit has actually been a great help," she commented. "It's so lovely here. And things have been rather strained lately, with all the worry about your father." Dianne was no longer making allowance for Mandy when she discussed Derek with her children. "Peter and I have been getting on each other's nerves a bit, haven't we Peter? I think it's been good for him to spend some time with some other young people." Mandy gave Peter's hand an encouraging squeeze. # "MUM'S right," Emma declared as they got ready for dinner, Mandy helping Emma with her makeup. "Peter's cheered up a lot. He was in a bit of a state before they went to Cornwall. He was hardly talking to me." "That's good to hear," Mandy said as she carefully blended the colours of Emma's eye shadow on her eyelids, her tongue between her lips in concentration. "That he's cheered up, I mean. Not that he wasn't talking to you." Mandy giggled. "You seem to be getting on well," Emma commented. A little too well, she was thinking. She was hoping Mandy would take the hint. "Mmhmm," Mandy agreed. "Emma, do you think I'll be any good at riding a horse?" She had been thinking about Ruby the mare and how beautiful she was. "I mean, Maria's probably been riding all her life and Ruby mightn't like a novice riding her. What if she doesn't like me? What if I hurt her mouth or something, pulling the reins?" "Well, you mustn't think you'll be perfect right away. Not this time, anyway! And what about me? I'm even older than you, and only been on a horse twice, and that was ten years ago. I'm just going to follow instructions and see how I go. But I've got a feeling Samson and I are going to get on very nicely together. Did you see how he nuzzled me? He's so big, though!" "Yes, he's a beauty. And he did seem to like you. Oh, Emma, isn't this fun! I can't wait to learn how to ride! Now, open your eyes and see what you think." "Oh fuck! That's fucking amazing! Mandy, you are really amazing at this!" Emma gazed in raptures at her reflection in the mirror. "You've got such beautiful eyes, it's really not that hard. I just went a bit more dramatic than you usually go, but still totally classy, yeah?" "Oh yeah! Mandy, you're a genius. You could be be a professional makeup artist if you wanted. If you ever wanted to work, that is!" she giggled. "I think I'd rather do modelling. Or acting. I might practice my singing more, now that we have a recording studio. I could make, like, a demo tape, couldn't I? I wonder how you do one of those. Anyway, I'm not going to sit around on my arse doing nothing, am I?" "Well, you'd better scoot and get ready yourself or McLean will scold you with his disapproving scowl. He creeps me out!" "McLean? He's lovely! And hot! I don't know how we're going to manage back in London without him," Mandy declared. "And he doesn't scowl at all. He goes a bit, like, blank, sometimes--I'll give you that--but I think butlers are supposed to be, you know, inscrutable, aren't they? He seems a bit too clever to be here, looking after us, don't you think? Did you notice how John Diggory was so respectful of him? Does the butler outrank him, or something?" "No, I think John is higher up." Emma mused. "But I did notice he seems to think a lot of McLean. I heard them call each other by their first names when they weren't in front of us. It's all very complicated and 'Upstairs Downstairs,' don't you think? "Totally!" Mandy agreed as she slipped next door to finish dressing. Emma forgot what it was she wanted to raise with Mandy. Neither of them thought it strange that Emma had said she was the older one. # IT was Mandy's turn to be the winner the next day when they played tennis after lunch. They mostly played doubles, mixing up the teams. While there wasn't a lot of power behind her stroke, Mandy was very agile and played with ease and grace. She could run fast and her returns were very accurate. She was clearly the best player in the party, and she enjoyed winning, but she made sure she didn't make the others feel bad, letting her partner take their shots without dominating and encouraging everyone, regardless of which side they were on, especially if they missed a shot or gave a point. Emma, particularly, needed regular mollifying, seeming to get very annoyed when playing against Mandy, though in a better mood when they were on the same (winning) side. They met Mr Gumbley, the head groundsman, earlier that morning, complimenting him on the wonderful grounds. He had been in charge of the gardens for many years, they heard, and was very proud of Beckley Hall. # DINNER that night was full of laughter and jokes, the small house party having become quite at home and relaxed with each other over the last few days. They had just finished their gigot ? la cuill?re, and were looking forward to chocolate souffl?s--requested by Mandy--when McLean came in looking very serious. He leaned down close to Emma and spoke very quietly. "Excuse me, Miss Ross, there's a phone call for you. It's the police. They say it's very urgent. I've put a handset in the library for you." Emma rose immediately and, excusing herself, followed McLean to the library. Conversation was a little subdued while they waited for Emma to return and wondered what might be the matter, Mandy hoped there hadn't been a break-in at their apartment. If so, the crooks chose the wrong house, "because the security was like the Bank of England," she said light-heartedly, though with underlying concern. A short while later Emma returned, still holding the cordless phone. "Mum, you and Peter should come into the drawing room with me. It's about Dad. They've been trying to reach us on our phones, but of course we all left them upstairs in our rooms. Brian Ball asked them to try reaching us here, so we didn't have to wait until morning to talk to them." They all followed Emma into the drawing room, where she handed the phone set to Dianne. "What is it Em? What's happened?" Mandy asked anxiously. Emma gave her a cold look. "They've found Dad," she said. "Or they think it's him. They found a body and it's a DNA match." "What! How can that be? It can't possibly be m..." She stopped herself before she said anything further. "No," Emma said flatly, "it can't. Excuse me." Emma turned away and went back to Dianne, who was sitting on the sofa, still talking to DC Smart on the phone, while hugging Peter with her free arm. Emma sat down next to her mother and put her arm around her, leaning her head against hers. She looked up at Mandy, her eyes, filled with tears. Mandy's mouth gaped open as she saw in Emma's pained expression the disappointed look of a victim of betrayal. "Emma!" she said, tears beginning to sting her eyes. Emma looked away, reaching across her mother to grab Peter's hand. # MANDY wasn't sure how long she had been sitting in the dark library. She had slipped out of the drawing room in tears, having seen Emma's accusing look, and taken refuge in the library just across the hallway. Her tears had turned to shuddering sobs as she sat, alone and abandoned. At some point she turned off the light and sat in the dark, trying to make sense of this development. Had she somehow swapped bodies with some young girl, who had now died in Derek's body while she lived on in hers? Maybe she was always Miranda Vero, and had acquired Derek Ross's memories by some strange means, perhaps hypnotised by the computer. Why would that happen, anyway? How could it happen? How had Derek died (assuming it was Derek)? They said DNA had identified the body. Could they have made a mistake? She supposed someone would have to physically identify the body--Dianne, perhaps. Surely they wouldn't ask Emma to do it, though she probably counted as the next of kin, since she and Dianne were divorced. (If they had ever been married, that is, which they wouldn't have been if she had never been Derek. The idea did seem absurd.) Brian could do it, of course, as a trusted friend and colleague. Poor Brian! She sat on the edge of the leather chesterfield sofa, her head in her hands, too exhausted to move. With a wave of relief, and without looking up, she heard the door open and someone enter. Emma had got over her shock and had come to find her! she thought. Whoever had entered had switched on a side table lamp, dazzling her eyes. Mandy leaned forward, letting her head rest on her knees. She felt someone sit down beside her and put their arm around her shoulder. It didn't feel like Emma. Mandy sat up. "You!" she said, startled. McLean, his face full of compassion, gently rubbed her back. Mandy buried her face in his shoulder. # "HOW are they all?" Mandy asked, blowing her nose gratefully on the handkerchief McLean had given her. "Shocked. Upset. Much like you. Shouldn't you be in there with them?" McLean asked, kindly. "They don't want me there. Emma doesn't, anyway. She hates me." McLean gave Mandy's shoulder a squeeze. "Of course she doesn't hate you. They've had bad news, is all. It's not your fault." "I know it's not, but it's ... complicated," Mandy sighed. "Of course. It's none of my business," McLean began to remove his arm. "No, it's not that." Mandy held onto his arm. "It was really kind of you to find me and, you know, give me a hug. I mean it. Thank you." Mandy hesitated. "I wish I could explain, but ... I don't really understand what's going on myself. You'd think I was bonkers." McLean let out a short laugh. "Bonkers. Hmm. The whole world is bonkers, if you ask me. My being here is bonkers. Not that I mind. I like it here. And it's a whole lot better than the alternative." Mandy considered this. "What do you mean?" she asked. Something about McLean's comment intrigued her and she was feeling a little brighter since McLean had come to cheer her up. McLean took a slow intake of breath. "I'm afraid I've crossed the line, Miss Mandy. Please forgive me." He seemed to be getting ready to stand up. "Wait! You've been so nice, please don't spoil it. Please." Mandy hung on to McLean's arm and pleaded. "Just tell me, why is your being here bonkers? Come on. Spill!" McLean seemed about to speak, but then gave a shake of his head. "Come on!" Mandy insisted. "Don't be such a muppet!" She gave his arm a friendly shake. She remembered something McLean had said a few days ago. "Is it about how you haven't been a butler long? How long have you been a butler? What did you do before coming here?" McLean settled back again on the sofa. He seemed to be pondering what he should do. "Alright, then," he said eventually, "if you insist, Miss. It began about four weeks ago. I stopped into an internet cafe to send an e-mail to my family. I'd been living on the street for about two months and it had just got to me." "On the street!" Mandy exclaimed. "Why? What happened?" "It's called PTSD, 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.' I saw lots of the other lads go down with it, but I never thought I'd be joining them. That was stupid of me for starters, considering ... well, looking back I should have expected it. "I joined the army when I was eighteen. The Black Watch. It was a good life, but then we got sent to Afghanistan in 2003. We were in the attack on Basra in Operation Telic. I was a corporal then. We were in the "Triangle of Death" at Camp Dogwood. You know, between Falujah and Karbalah." Mandy nodded. She vaguely knew about Falujah, but all the reports about the war in Afghanistan and Iraq tended to blend into one in her recollection. "Och, you're probably too young to know much about it. But it was some of the worst fighting since World War II. After two months most of the lads got rotated out, but apparently they thought I was good at liaising with the locals, so I was seen as an asset." McLean gave a hollow laugh. "Anyway, they kept a few of us on as part of the force in Helmand Province. Attached us to the Royal Fusiliers. So I was "lucky" enough to be in the Nawzad battles." He smiled ruefully. "Don't get me wrong, I wasnay Paratroopers nay SAS, but we all had to do some hard fighting, close-up like. That's still going on, poor bastards. "And I was there for the Siege of Sangin. Fuck'n hell! (Sorry, Miss) That's still going on, too, but they pulled me out last year when I got hit with shrapnel after my corporal (I was his sergeant) got ..." McLean closed his eyes for a moment, "... after my corporal got taken out by an IED. Just outside the camp, in an area that had been declared clear. He took the blast, ye see? I just got a wee bit o" shrapnel in the leg. "Even wounded, I could'a stayed on in the army, but it just got too much. Yer on edge--all the time. Then some of the Afghans we'd been training would turn round and start killing us! So much for liaising with the locals! An" I got to like them. Or a lot of them. Those poor sods--every day civilians are dying, getting blown up or shot at, just going about their business. It's the children's poor wee bodies I see in my dreams. Och, some of those sights ... Anyway, I'd had enough, so I chucked the army in. "So then I found adjusting to civilian life a bit of a challenge! "It was the anger that got me in trouble. I lost five jobs in quick succession. The bosses were incompetent wankers--sorry Miss--and I would have decked a couple of them for how they were speaking, not just to me but others as well--blaming others for their own mistakes and worse. Treating people like dirt. Luckily I managed to control myself (mostly) or I'd be serving at Her Majesty's pleasure in a different role, eh? instead of sitting here talking to you. But I was drinking a bit too much as well, and abusing m'sel' wi' the odd pill or needle--you shouldn't be hearing this-- and one night it just got to me an" I trashed the filthy little room I was renting and they threw me out. That was in Newcastle. "I went back to my parents' in Aberdeen for a bit, but I kept having these- -rages! Over nothing! I cleared out after a really bad row because I thought I might lose control ..." McLean drew a deep breath. "So that's how I ended up on the street. "Two months of that--which I won't bore you with--I decided I wasn'a doing anyone any good, so I thought it was time to call it quits. I'd tried before." McLean showed Mandy his wrists, which had long scars going up his arm, "but they found me in time. I was pissed at the time, but now I'm rather glad! "So that night at the cafe I was going to do things properly. But I wanted to just get the e-mail sorted. You know, say goodbye. Tell them it's not their fault. All that. Funny thing, I was clean that night, and I've been clean ever since, I promise you." Mandy squeezed McLean's hand. "Anyway, so I notice there's an e-mail in my In Box. 'Job' it says. Well, I'm curious, so I open it. 'Have you considered work as a butler?' it says. I laugh at that. Funny how you can be rock bottom and still have a laugh! "Now for the crazy bit. I was about to delete the e-mail (funny how I was going to trouble myself deleting it, don't you think?) when I see this brochure or something attached. I'm sure it was there. Anyway, I must have fallen asleep or something, but two hours later I realised I actually knew everything there is to know about being a butler. There's a lot to it, you know. And I felt different. I thought, I could do that job. I'd enjoy looking after people and making life pleasant for others. And I've always liked taking care o' kit. It's all service, isn' it? And it's about keeping things orderly, which appeals to me. And I get to live here, wi' people like you! "So I read the e-mail, and it was from an agency offering to train someone for a 'key role in a new establishment.' Well, I applied straight away. They had me in for an interview, and they took me on. But as soon as I started training, they said I seemed to know it all, and could start right away. Helen--Mrs Wassam--and I have been here for three weeks. Getting things ready for Miss Ross and you. "Of course, the hope is to be part of the bigger setup at Beckley Hall when it's finished, maybe even the head butler. Mr Diggory has been a great encouragement. His son Charlie--he's just joined up--will have his turn in Helmand sooner or later, though the Household Cavalry get rotated out pretty regularly." "You knew nothing about being a butler," Mandy reflected, "and you got an e-mail, and fell asleep, and when you woke up you knew everything there is to know about being a butler, and a job as one--there for the taking." "It sounds like bollocks when you say it like that, but I'm not lying, Miss," McLean began to bristle. "Listen, I know you're not lying," Mandy stated. "You may not believe me, but it makes perfect sense. What about Mrs Wassam? Was she here before? Did she get an e-mail that taught her how to cook?" "There's no need to take the Mickey. She's always been a very good cook. A chef, in fact. She's told me all about it herself. She and her husband had a fancy restaurant--Michelin-starred--and he was some sort of businessman, but he was killed in a car accident eighteen months ago. After that, she had trouble running the place on her own and it went under. She's got a son at Eton (can you believe it?) and was running up some serious debt. So she was more or less unemployed and near bankrupt, and had no choice but to pull him out of school (which was being very good about it all, so she told me) when she got offered the job here and school fees paid by the estate. Couldn't refuse, could she? And she likes living here. She's been doing lunches for all the tradies up at the hall at her own expense. Stops her getting bored, she says. And you're paying us good money, ye know." That was good, Mandy thought. But she was still trying to get her head around everything McLean had told her. "That was also three weeks ago?" she asked. "More or less," McLean answered. "I started just before her. I've been enjoying her cooking since then and I've had to tell her to seriously cut my rations." "So you've never worked as a butler before, or been part of a household staff?" "I know what I'm doing, Miss. I'm sure you won't find fault." McLean was a bit unnerved at how focussed Mandy had become. She was no longer the distraught girl of a few moments before, not the ditzy teenager she seemed to be normally. "I'm sorry if I stepped out of line just now. You seemed so upset, and I couldn't just leave you like that," he explained. "In future, I ..." "No, listen," Mandy stopped him. "You're a good man, McLean. Look, what's your name? Your first name?" "James," he answered, "but ..." "Well, James, you didn't step out of line. I'm so glad you decided to talk to me. It was the right thing to do. And I'm glad you told me about yourself. I was going to find out your story anyway, you know," she smiled at him coyly, "but I didn't think it would happen like this." "No, Miss," James smiled. "I shouldn't have been so familiar. I apologise again. It's just that you seemed so sad." "Don't apologise, James. I feel much better, thanks to you." Mandy noticed he still looked uncomfortable. "Better stick to McLean, Miss." he said. "I've already broken the rules speaking to you like this." "What rules?" Mandy asked. "Don't you work for me?" "Butler etiquette is very exact, Miss. I told you, I know everything about it after that night. And strictly speaking, until you come of age, it's Miss Ross who's in charge, begging your pardon. She's your legal guardian and I have to respect that. So that makes you a child of the house, so you should be called "Miss." "Miss Mandy," as you requested. "Master" if you were a boy, but "Mister" it would be at your age, I reckon. "Mrs Wassam should call me Mr McLean below stairs, but she flat-out refused," he smiled ruefully. "Not much I can do about that, when it's just the two of us. So now I call her Helen. Now if we had a full complement of servants, the family should call maids and footmen and other staff by their first names, but the butler by his surname. Like I said." "It seems a bit old-fashioned," Mandy said doubtfully. "I've been to houses where they call butlers by their first names." (And I think only the Queen has footmen these days, she thought to herself.) "Really?" McLean seemed surprised. "The rules seem pretty definite. Are you sure? Sorry, I mean: that seems surprising, Miss. In the army it was always best to follow the conventions. Unless we were off-duty." Mandy suppressed a giggle. "Well, we can check with Mr Diggory or someone. I think it varies a bit from house to house. You mustn't get too hung-up about it. Emma thought you were taking the piss and implying we wuz common." "Oh, no, I never meant that!" McLean seemed flustered. "I've got nothing but respect and admiration for ... you all." Mandy stood up and McLean stood as well. "I'm sorry, I need to go to bed or I'll collapse. I suppose this is off- duty, so I can call you James here, can't I? You're probably my only friend at the moment, anyway. So, thank you again, James." She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed up to bed.