Lady: Impossible (3 page)

It’s Abby.
 

‘Hello. Shouldn’t you be in church?’

‘I just got out,’ she says brightly. Whether she’s happy about being released or is just happy in general today, I’m not sure.
 

‘You’re not calling to redeliver the sermon, are you? I assure you everyone already imparts sermons to my family. Did you know that ‘pulling an Alastair’ is a thing now?’

‘Oh yes, I use the phrase all the time. But only because I know him personally.’

‘Ha, ha, ha.’

She can make jokes like this because she’s been my best friend since we met at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and became inseparable, so much so that we went to the same university too. Anyone else would make it into my bad books for that comment, and in families like mine these books are then kept in a large library in the name of ‘heritage’. And revenge.

‘Anyway, I’m calling because I’ve unilaterally decided that we’re watching DVDs together today:
The Only Way is Essex
, season four. You’re home already, right?’

‘I am. But I’m not sure I want to celebrate my return to London with that rubbish.’

I find the ‘reality’ TV show unbearable. Too many fake tits, fake tans and fake situations. There was a time when being rich demanded some kind of decorum. Nowadays every tart with a trust fund feels deserving of a spot on primetime television.

But maybe I’m just annoyed because I have
actual
first-world problems, not contrived ones. The new butler
lives
here, and I have no idea what to do about it.

Abby laughs. ‘It’s not rubbish. Even Kate watches it.’

‘Kate who?’

‘Kate Middleton, you dimwit.’

‘Hey, you don’t know her personally. And her first name isn’t as standalone as, say, Beyoncé’s.’

‘Well, who else would I be talking about? There’s no other Kate who can legitimise my television preferences.’

‘I don’t think that’s a thing, Abby. It’s not the Duchess of Cambridge’s job to guide you on these matters. Besides, she has other things to worry about. You know, like being a royal.’

She can’t help but tease me. ‘Oh, because you know her so well? Even though you only met her by accident when she returned to St Andrews for a visit.’

I’m about to answer but get completely distracted by the sight of Blair striding into the room. He’s taken off the suit jacket but looks just as smart, with the white-shirt-and-grey-waistcoat combination giving me an even better idea of how fit he is. I want to know if he has abs under those clothes, or whether he’s the type of guy who forgoes the gym because he already looks better than average.

Anyway, he’s carrying a three-tier cake stand in one hand, holding it by the top of its metal frame, and in the other hand he’s bearing a tray of tea. His aura of professionalism makes me sit back in my seat – my doubts about his hospitality training were apparently unfounded.
 

We lock eyes as he comes over to the coffee table to set down the food. I don’t detect any smugness in his eyes this time: it’s not a cold look, but it’s not a warm one either. I’m still so wound up that it’s hard not to watch him with a keen eye.

‘Millie, are you still there?’

‘What?’ Oh right, I’m on the phone with Abby. ‘Yes, I’m here. Where were we?’

‘Kate Middleton and the endorsement of shows that are so bad they’re good.’

‘Right.’

‘I guarantee you’ll be amused. We have to finish this so we can start watching season five.’

Again, my mental faculties seize up before I can answer. Blair is waiting patiently by the coffee table, tea tray still in hand. I should probably give him some directive as to whether I want him to pour my tea or not. However, all my brainpower is being sapped by the mere fact he’s standing to attention only a couple of feet away from me.

He deftly picks up the teapot and raises his eyebrows in expectation.

I scramble to provide a direction. ‘Uh… just leave the tray on the table.’

This must go against his way of doing things, because he flinches. My mother would gesture for him to pour the tea while continuing to talk on the phone – there’s no need for privacy – butlers end up knowing everyone’s business anyway.
 

Not that I’m having a very intelligent conversation. I wonder if he’s judging me on what he’s heard…

‘What tray?’ Abby asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

‘What? No, not you. I’m talking to the butler.’
 

Abby is outraged. ‘Your mother hired a butler? You mean for a limited time only, right? She’s only going to be here for two months! Three if she wants to hang around for the Olympics, but who wants to do that? This city is unbearable enough with all the usual tourists.’

‘Oh my God, I’m so glad you understand.’

‘Your mother is
mental
.’

Blair and I lock eyes again, and this time I can see the defiance. He even flouts my instruction by pouring the tea. Part of me wants to say, ‘But I’m not ready yet, and now it’s going to get cold.’ I hold my tongue, especially as it sounds like something that the Second Earl would say.
 

‘I have no idea how you deal with her,’ Abby adds. ‘No wonder you fled the country.’

It’s no use, I can’t concentrate – Blair hasn’t left yet. He’s taking an inordinate amount of time to add milk and sugar to my cup. I daresay he’s loitering. Unless, of course, there’s some kind of time warp that initiates whenever we’re in close proximity, making the minutes go by so slowly when, really, they’re not.
 

‘Millie? Why do you keep zoning out? What’s wrong with you? Actually, you can tell me in person because I’ve just arrived. Get the butler to let me in.’

I feel a surge of panic. ‘What, you’re here
now?
’

‘Yes, I said we were going to watch DVDs, didn’t I? Hurry up and let me in. I’m already outside the gate.’

She hangs up, leaving me to wonder how to handle her impending surprise. Blair would be a shock to anyone, and that’s exactly the point I want to make.
 

‘I’ll get the door,’ he says dutifully.

Ah, so he was listening. My father always says that the mark of a good servant is their ability to anticipate needs. At least Blair has initiative.
 

‘Yes, please do. It’s my friend Abby dropping by on short notice. No notice at all, in fact.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’ He nods and turns on his heel.

I wish I could record her reaction when she sees Blair. It’ll be ten times more entertaining than that Essex crap.
 

My mother enters the room just as he leaves, making me jump. She was definitely waiting to pounce.
 

On me. Not him.
 

Hopefully.

She marches over to me, a sergeant in maroon, ready to interrogate. ‘Did you apologise for being so rude?’
 

Her words sometimes come out like they’re literally being flung at you. My impulse is to dodge to the side just to avoid their trajectory.

I stall by taking a sip of tea. It’s a technique I learnt from my father, the expert on these ambush attacks. ‘Abby’s arrived. I wonder how she’ll react.’

‘There’s nothing to react to.’ She hesitates, sucking in her cheeks while she thinks. You’d think she’d swallowed a lemon. ‘You and I will talk after she’s gone. We really need to discuss your attitude.’

‘
My
attitude?’
 

‘Yes, your attitude towards people. You really need to grow up. This summer in London will be good for you – we can improve your attitude and get you a husband.’
 

I can’t help but laugh. ‘Oh, right. Because it’s “the season”. Pity those families who lost their London mansions during the war. How
did
they continue their bloodlines?’

‘Probably by marrying their cousins.’

‘Right.’

She hangs around, pilfering several mini sandwiches while I drink my tea. Already I’m thinking of an escape route for when this conversation inevitably resumes later. Maybe I can hide in the wardrobe in the mural room. I once hid there for three hours as a child but, alas, the portal to Narnia was closed.
 

‘Millie!’

Oh, that’s Abby, all right. It’s the call of someone who sounds desperate to talk. She’s definitely going to tell me off for not giving her any warning.

It’s Blair, however, who appears in the doorway first.
 

‘Mrs Carrington has arrived. I will return in a moment with her tea,’ he says before walking away.

At least I didn’t look at his arse this time. My restraint astounds me.
 

Abby bursts into the room. The first thing I notice is the gorgeous floral dress she’s wearing, but then I take heed of the pointed look she’s giving me – the one she reserves for ‘true betrayal’. I know she’s about to get animated. It doesn’t even matter that my mother is here – they’ve known each other long enough.

‘Before you say anything,’ I tell her, standing up, ‘I want you to remember that it’s undignified to throw a fit over these things.’

‘Oh. My. God.’

Here we go.
 

She starts fanning herself with both hands. ‘Oh. My. God.’
 

Even my mother is rolling her eyes.

‘He is
fucking
hot,’ Abby raves. ‘I almost forgot my name when I had to introduce myself. How
dare
you not tell me before.’
 

‘I was busy.’

‘It’s, like, rule number one: if there’s a hot guy, you bloody well say something!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re married now, so forgive me for thinking the rule had lapsed.’

She snaps her fingers and points at me. ‘Forget the DVDs, Mills. I’d rather watch him all day.’

‘The pair of you are ridiculous,’ my mother declares.
 

I don’t even have to say anything. My point has been made. Abby’s reaction confirms my own: Blair isn’t someone you’re likely to forget after seeing him, even if it’s just for a millisecond. As soon as you lay eyes on him, you immediately ask yourself why he’s here and whether it’s appropriate.
 

‘Top choice, Mrs P,’ Abby says to my mother with a wink. ‘It’s a pity I’m married.’

My mother is far from impressed. ‘I’ll be sure to pass that on to your husband.’

‘Better yet, send the butler to deliver the message. A little competition will do Andrew some good.’

My mother gives her a sidelong look and then struts off without another word, leaving Abby to continue fanning herself. I stay where I am, in case she starts flailing. Many a boarding school social was spent telling her to calm down – boys don’t like it when you bounce around too much.
 

Actually, that’s probably a lie.

Abby composes herself enough to come over and kiss me on both cheeks and, after an enthusiastic hug, we both sit down. Hopefully she’ll be more dignified now.
 

She reaches for a pastry, but stops when she catches a glimpse of the portrait. ‘Wow. He seems angrier these days.’ She touches her blonde hair self-consciously. ‘I feel like I’ve done something wrong.’

‘You have. There’s to be no overexcitement or flailing in this room. It’s a family rule.’

‘A rule, huh?’

‘Please take care to observe it.’

She nudges me and grins wickedly. ‘Were
you
flailing before? You were, weren’t you? No wonder you kept zoning out on the phone. I thought you were having reception problems. Nope, you were just too busy perving.’
 

‘What the hell am I going to do? It’s awkward as anything. When my father finds out, he’s going to be annoyed and people are going to talk. In fact, I have to call him about it. Silence means guilt in this family.’

‘Everything means guilt according to your family.’
 

‘It’s tiring.’ I sigh in frustration. ‘And you know what else is going to be tiring? Keeping my eyes off Blair. I already can’t stop staring at him. I’m doomed. The way I look at him, I might as well go up to his face and tell him to fuck me sideways. Boy, wouldn’t that be nice?’

‘Men can do that?’

‘Don’t play dumb. You tell me all your bedroom antics when you’re drunk.’

She smirks. ‘Whoops.’

We both laugh, but suddenly the expression on Abby’s face turns into one of pure mortification. And there’s only one reason she’d be mortified instead of amused.

I look up to find that Blair has re-entered the room with a second tray of tea. Judging by the affronted look on his face, he must have walked in in time to hear my ‘sideways’ comment. Not only will he not look me in the eye, but his cheeks are red too, like I’ve slapped him across the face.
 

Fuck
. Or rather,
no fuck
– whether it’s sideways, upright, upside-down or otherwise.
 

‘Oh… I didn’t see you there,’ I say flatly. ‘You’re very… efficient.’

He makes no comment, and instead addresses Abby directly. ‘I’ve brought your tea, ma’am.’

She wrings her hands with embarrassment. ‘Thank you.’
 

I’m at a loss as to what to say. I haven’t been overhead accidentally in a long time, and I’ve never uttered something so crude about a staff member before. I feel sickened for both of us, the shame of it all sitting uncomfortably in my stomach.

Blair walks over and serves Abby her tea, much more quickly than he did mine. She and I exchange looks, hardly believing that we were so unlucky.
 

‘If you need any more assistance, simply ring the bell,’ he says in parting, bolting away before we can respond.

‘Shit,’ Abby mutters when he’s out of sight.
 

‘I know. I’d better go and talk to him. Wait here.’

I make my way to the service staircase at the end of the corridor, walking as fast as I can in these heels. I take them off when I’m halfway down to the basement, conscious of the way they’re tapping when I walk. It’s like hearing a teacher patrol the hallways, and I don’t want to sound authoritarian before I even open my mouth – though, admittedly, it’s my mouth that got me into trouble in the first place.