Lady: Impossible (38 page)

Waiting for a visible reaction from Blair is like waiting for your mark when you already know that you’ve done badly in an exam.

He takes it on the chin. ‘Thank you for letting me know. I’ll go and make that sundae for you now.’

I should let him do it, thereby giving him the time and space needed to come to terms with the news. But, as he walks past me, I turn and follow him out into the corridor. For some reason, I expect him to quicken his pace in order to shake me off. I should know better though. I’m his boss. If I want to walk with him, he’s not going to say I can’t.

‘Is this a celebratory sundae?’ he asks as we descend the service stairs.

I have to hand it to him. Disguising a personal question isn’t all that easy.
 

‘I suppose it is. There hasn’t been much to celebrate lately. Even a small win warrants a treat.’

‘I see.’

I almost trip on the last step, a result of being distracted by how conflicted I feel. Blair moves to steady me as I land awkwardly, but I smile and wave him off. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’

He strides away into the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he does so. This time I have the sense to leave him be. It was a mistake to test him. I sit down on the penultimate step and stay there, pretending to be immersed in my phone.

Five minutes later, he comes out of the kitchen, delivering a multi-scoop banana split complete with cherries, fudge and nuts. He’s even topped it with a German flag, confirming that my mother must’ve told him Oliver’s business movements. I bet he loved that.
 

I don’t know what to say. ‘Whoa.’

He flashes me a strained smile as he hands it to me. ‘Festive, eh?’

‘I’ll say.’ I balance the dessert dish on my lap, marvelling at his efforts. ‘Thank you.’

He bows his head, swinging his arms back and forth before looking me in the eye again. ‘Look, I’m sorry for how harsh I was last week. It probably doesn’t matter now anyway, but… yeah.’

I dig a little moat around the German flag. ‘You told Julie I was a bad role model. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the phone call. I was hurt.’

‘Yes, she told me she told you that.’

‘We don’t have to discuss it. I have enough of an idea why.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘I’m not going to apologise for my opinion. I will, however, admit that I could’ve shown a bit more sympathy. Losing money is never nice.’

I nod and group the cherries in the corner, creating a red fort, another station on the melting dessert map.
 

‘I made that for you to eat. Not to recreate the Western Front.’

I cut into the banana and eat a large spoonful. ‘I know.’

To my surprise, he sits down next to me. ‘I’m going to say something that will make you hate me.’

‘Well then, I’m going to order you not to say it. Pretend you’re France and just give up.’

‘I still want this last week with you.’

Stunned, I drop my spoon and immediately shove him. Hard. ‘What is
wrong
with you?’

He’s somewhat indignant now, ready to defend himself. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yeah? With which body part?’

In the face of my outrage, he takes the patient route, speaking in a slow and measured manner.
 

‘Listen, when that guy finds out your family has lost money, he won’t want anything to do with you. He’s bolted once, and he’ll do it again.’ He pauses, presumably for emphasis. ‘I don’t see why I have to cede to him.’

‘You’re being incredibly presumptuous.’ I laugh bitterly, shaking my head at the dish in my other hand. ‘You hand me a German sex sundae and expect me to fall on my knees?’

‘The ice cream has nothing to do with it.’

I’m beyond stupefied. Not by the ice cream, but by his decision. I’ve had time to understand that I’m meant to move on and move forward. Now he’s throwing his proverbial hat back in the ring, when really it belongs on a hat stand in a cupboard that I can’t access.

I tighten my grip on the glass base of the dish, wondering if it would be immature to throw ice cream in his face. ‘You ended it.’

‘And now I’m unending it.’

‘You can’t do that unilaterally.’
 

‘Yes I can.’ He moves his hand a fraction, and for a second I’m convinced he’s going to put his hand on my knee. He doesn’t, in the end, but he does lean in a little closer, just enough to make me think of kissing him. It feels like months since we last touched.

It’s supposed to feel like history, I tell myself. I’ve been meaning to forget.

‘He liked me enough to settle things with my brother,’ I say.

‘You mean collect the money he was owed?’ It’s like my responses are doing nothing but making him more confident.
 

‘He does like me. I think we click very well.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’

I wave him off. ‘Don’t do this, not when he’s given me a second chance.’

‘He’s going to think you’re using him. Same goes for any rich man you meet through Tilton & Bree. Things have changed now. Does your matchmaker even know about the losses?’

‘So, I should stop dating and spend my summer in bed with you?’

A grin pulls at his lips. ‘Ah, now she’s got it.’
 

‘You are unbelievable.’ I look up and address the ceiling. ‘Why is this happening to me?’

‘It’s happening because I find you smart, sexy and beautiful, and I’ll be damned if I lose out just because I don’t have any money.’

I’m momentarily speechless. Time always seems to stop when Blair admits that he likes me. ‘You’re off limits.’

‘It’s never stopped you before.’
 

‘Excellent. I’m a tart now, am I?’

‘Look, just think about what I said. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to be cruel.’ He stands tall, exuding his particular brand of confidence all over again. ‘Enjoy your treat, m’lady.’

‘Like that’s even possible, thanks to your addition of this phallic fruit!’ I hold up the sundae as if doing so demonstrates everything that’s wrong with this situation.
 

He ascends the stairs, smiling as he looks over his shoulder. ‘Sorry it’s so mushy. I know how much you prefer things to be rock hard.’

‘Get back down here, Blair!’ Shit. Does that sound dirty? I don’t even know anymore.
 

He ignores my protest, disappearing up the stairs, taking with him any certainty I had about the two of us.

The butler has gone rogue. How I’m going to fend him off, I have no idea.
 

Chapter 19:

It’s Tuesday night and I’m eager to catch my father alone before he leaves tomorrow morning. The last several days have been tense, especially with family friends asking if they can come over. Gossiping is in their blood, it seems, probably a side effect of years of noble inbreeding. Unfortunately for them, Lord Silsbury is only here for another night, and, no, he won’t be taking any questions.

Unless they’re from me, of course. I knock on the open door of the green bedroom and hope he’s not in too bad a mood.
 

‘Emilia, Emilia,’ he says, waving me in, looking relaxed enough in his red and white striped pyjamas. He’s got his suitcase open on the bed and is folding his garments for packing. A pile of shirts sits askew on the emerald bed covers. ‘Come in.’

I close the door behind me and come over to the foot of the four-poster, where I come across an aid that Blair has surely set up for him. ‘There’s a suitcase table right here, Father. You ought to use it.’

‘It hurts my back to bend over that much. I’m no spring chicken.’ He pauses, frowning at the belt that’s unfurled in the corner of the suitcase. ‘I’m really no good at this.’

‘Move out of the way, old man.’ I round the corner and hold out the beverage I’ve brought him. ‘Here, I have a hot chocolate for you. An incentive to make you stand in the corner while I reorganise your luggage.’

He narrows his eyes at the mug, refusing to move out of my way. ‘Did you make that yourself?’
 

‘Yes. Why? Do you not think me capable?’

He snorts. ‘On the contrary. You are very capable. Especially when it comes to undermining your mother’s butler.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

With an amused expression, he takes the mug from me before seating himself at the head of the bed, his slippered feet hanging over the side. No spring chicken, my arse. His movements are so graceful you’d think he was twenty years younger.
 

‘I think you’re a little stir-crazy, Millie. We all are. There’s only so much television one can watch and, contrary to popular belief, only so much arguing your mother can engage in. That being said, the butler has a job to do, and if you usurp his responsibilities he’s going to end up resentful.’

I hold up his camel-coloured trousers, unhappy with the way he’s folded them along the wrong seam. ‘
Usurp
is such a strong word. So I cooked dinner yesterday and did my own laundry. Hardly groundbreaking tasks.’

‘You collected the post twice and signed for three parcels.’

‘I was waiting for word from Al. Or even a pre-date present from Oliver.’

‘You also mopped the main hall.’

‘I tracked in dirt after I swept the path outside. We can no longer afford to have the cleaners come around so often. I’m being economical.’

‘And you suggested again that Blair take an additional day off this week.’

I shrug, placing the trousers at the bottom of the compartment. ‘He should be looking to advance himself, anyway.’

Father doesn’t reply, though by no means does that indicate concession. He’s most likely indifferent. After drinking more hot chocolate and watching me for a while, his expression transforms into one of quiet content, an almost childlike sense of satisfaction emanating from him.
 

I take advantage of the moment and make my announcement. ‘I’m going to withdraw from St Andrews.’

He’s slow to respond, making me think he hasn’t heard. However, he nods after a few seconds, no sign of protest in his body language.

‘Useless degree anyway,’ he says. ‘You were only doing it to waste time. If you really wanted a business qualification, you would’ve gone back to Cambridge and applied yourself.’

‘I think that’s only half-true.’ I’m not sure it’s maturity that’s making me admit this or financial necessity.
 

‘No, it’s wholly true. A waste of your mental faculties.’

‘A waste of money.’

‘You weren’t to know what mistakes I would make in trying to fund everyone’s choices.’

I purse my lips, unwilling to comment.

‘My daughter biting her tongue? Someone alert the media. Or better yet, maybe they’ve bugged the house and therefore already know.’

I throw a pair of socks at him. They soar over his shoulder and bounce off the headboard. ‘Oh, stop it.’

‘It’s a shame, really. You would’ve made a spectacular witness for the Leveson Inquiry.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so. Cheers.’ He raises the mug, only lowering it when I roll my eyes. ‘So, Millie, if we’re able to keep this house, you’ll live here?’

I go ahead and ask the question I came here to ask. ‘That depends. What’s going to happen with you and Mother?’

‘A big question from someone wearing a
Postman Pat
t-shirt.’

‘I’m wearing shorts too.’

‘How very dignified of you.’

I leave the suitcase alone, staring at him so he knows I’m not going to let this one slide. He tries to out-stare me, probably more for entertainment’s sake than an actual intention to win. I outlast him, but not before my eyeballs begin to burn.
 

‘Might want to answer before our eyes fall out,’ I say, blinking in a vain attempt to ease the stinging.

‘All right. Where to begin?’ He sighs heavily, looking into the mug as if he’s about to perform a tea leaf reading. Unfortunately, it really is all chocolate. ‘I believe your mother has been offered lodging with relatives, should she not wish to live with me.’

I snort. ‘As if they’d live with her. And as if she’d want to live with them. Sorry, just saying.’

‘Well, it’ll effectively be like house-sitting, rent-free. However, if we free up enough funds, there will be no need for that. She should be able to purchase something.’

‘What, like a flat?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can she survive on her own?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s up to her whether she keeps her butler on, and up to me whether I bring any of the estate staff here. Everyone else will have to be let go.’

His explanations prompt me to think. Over the past few years, I have been convinced of my mother’s flightiness. Then this summer she finally begins to show some sense, some loyalty. However, her reported intent remains the same: she wants to leave him. I’m not sure what to make of it.
 

She’s always gone back to him in the past. Always. So far, at least. How can our finances be in such flux, but her stubbornness remain the same?

Of course, I don’t voice these thoughts. Instead, I comment on the other people affected by our crisis.
 

‘I feel sorry for the staff.’

‘I’ll make sure they’re looked after.’

‘The business staff, too. All the tour guides and administrators.’

‘I’ll give them the most glowing references, on top of a decent payout.’

After finishing the hot chocolate, he sets the mug down on the bedside table and gets up to help me finish the packing. Sometimes getting stuck into the most menial tasks can be therapeutic.
 

‘Every valet I’ve ever had would be impressed by the way you fold my shirts,’ Father says, nudging me in the ribs. ‘I suppose you can do this for your husband one day.’

‘Ha ha, very funny.’

‘Why? You’re quite taken with this Oliver, aren’t you?’

‘It’s still early days.’ Though, if Blair’s right, there won’t be anything but early days before the end.

‘You’re not going to tell me any more than that?’

I give him a sidelong look and change the subject. ‘Any idea where we keep our lint brush?’