Secret Of The Manor (10 page)

Warren wrung his hands. “In the greater scheme of things, it shouldn’t be important, Miles. But it is to me. As you’ve probably gathered, I like to keep my private life private.”

Miles looked taken back by Warren’s unusual conversation starter, but went with it. “Yes, I understand Jean has a new nickname: the bulldog.” Warren grimaced. “Do you need a drink? You look as though you’re about to confess to murder.”

“Thank you, but no to murder and the drink.”

Miles nodded. “Do you want to rip the plaster off fast, or do it bit by bit?”

Warren looked around the room, gathering his courage. “Erm, I think I’ll rip it off, thanks.”

“Okay then, start ripping.”

After several false starts, Warren blurted, “I’m gay.”

“Yes, I know. Is that it?”

Warren felt like a codfish for a long minute before regaining his composure. “What? You already knew?”

“Yes,” Miles said as if it was no great revelation. “When we do a full security report, we delve deeper than many government agencies. The report showed that you left your first job in a bit of a cloud, so we dug even deeper. We discovered you left because you wouldn’t be blackmailed over your sexuality. You didn’t make an announcement, of course, but that piece of information clinched the deal in my mind. Oh, and I don’t have pictures, but I’m pretty sure the joys of windsurfing don’t all lie on the waves, either.”

“So I’ve been in the closet all this time, and the whole board knows?”

“Ah... no. I’m the only one who has the complete security report. When I learned of your past—and yes, I know about the lack of contact with your family, as well—I decided not to reveal certain aspects unless they became a problem, which they haven’t. There are some people on the board who would have blocked your appointment if they’d known.”

“Why? Hell, I’m saying that like a naïve teenager. I know why. It shouldn’t be the case that someone’s sexuality reflects on their ability to do a job, but reality is a different matter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Warren shook his head in disgust. Idealism had no place in business. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve kept moving jobs all these years. I hoped... I dunno... I hoped things would be different here.”

“I’m sorry, Warren.” Miles sounded genuine.

“Question. If the board finds out that I’m gay, will they terminate my position, or block my becoming a board member?”

“I think it would be a budding court case if they demanded you leave. As for a position on the board... it’s a possibility. I only know of those members who have openly voiced their opinion over the years. Much would depend on their level of persuasion over the others.”

Warren slumped in his seat. “I think I will have that drink, please.” Within a minute, a tumbler with something strong in it was in his hands.

Miles let Warren settle before prodding for information. “Why did you tell me now?”

“I don’t know. Someone said something to me recently, and it got me thinking that maybe my private life isn’t as private as I thought. Felt like I was no longer in control and had to do something about it. Didn’t want A-Genet to be affected, either.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve come out to you because I felt I had to. I still don’t want it common knowledge.”

“That’s understandable.”

Warren was grateful, but a part of him found it difficult to believe how Miles was handling the news. “Just out of interest. Is there a reason you’re understanding, or are you generally open-minded?”

“My best friend at school was gay. I saw the accusations and jibes and hell he went through. Eventually he moved overseas to escape. We drifted apart over time. But some things you don’t forget.”

Warren became thoughtful, and silence reigned for a few minutes. “Miles, if I am going to live my life out of the closet, I’m never going to be able to sit on the board without a battle, am I?”

Miles sighed. “Hell, Warren. I’d like to say you will, but I think too many members are stuck in the dark ages. Despite the modern equipment we sell, it’s old money that funds it, and old money doesn’t always have a modern brain attached to it. At the end of the day, though, you have a contract that they’ll have to abide by.”

“No. I’m not one for conflict. I only fight when I have to. And what would be the point of offering an opinion to a blinkered line-up who will disregard it purely on grounds of my sexuality? No. Start looking for a replacement, but instead of a seat on the board, can we work out some other package?”

“If your suggestions line their pockets, they may listen.”

Warren thought about what Miles had said about people, age, and money, and affirmed his decision. “You said it yourself: old money. And it’s not always old money. In my time, I’ve discovered most homophobia comes down to lack of awareness and misinformation.”

“You could be the poster boy for the new generation at A-Genet.” At the end of the day, the world was changing, albeit slowly. It would have been a feather in Miles’ hat to be able to say A-Genet was modern in its ethos as well as its technology.

Warren halted the line of discussion with a tone of quiet horror. “And have my sexuality go global? No, no, no. While my internal warrior would like to do something positive for gay pride, I’m not that much of a hero.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Alright, then, I’ll put a new contract together. I’ll need board approval when it’s complete, but I don’t have to reveal the reason for the change. Once the contract’s in place, I’ll make sure it’s watertight.”

“And my orientation stays between us until I’m ready to come out or I don’t have a choice about it?”

“Of course.”

Once all the heavy business was out of the way, Warren and Miles enjoyed some chitchat until there was a knock on the door. It was Miles’ PA. “Sir. Your intercom doesn’t seem to be working.”

Without blinking, Miles launched into his cover story. “Isn’t it?” He looked surprised. “Oh, silly me, I must have caught a folder in the cable.” He fumbled for a minute over his desk. “Ahh,” he said triumphantly, “found it.” He plugged it back in. “Was that it, or did you want me for something?”

“No, sir, just wondered if you’d like some coffee?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you. How about you, Warren?”

“Erm, no, thanks. Actually, I’d better be getting back, or Jean’ll be sending out a search party.”

“Haha, yes, that’s what happens when you become the office pinup.”

“You’re all heart, Miles,” Warren jibed.

“What else am I here for?”

“Indeed.”

On that high note, Warren returned to his office with his stress levels alleviated and a smile on his face. He walked past Jean, who gave him a nod and a smile. He entered his office to see tea and biscuits waiting on his desk.

“Thanks, Jean,” he hollered through the door.

“You’re welcome,” came politely through the intercom.

ANOTHER WEEK passed, and Warren seriously doubted Carl’s assurance that James would be in touch. He’d considered calling the manor, but to what avail? To have Oliver Walmsley brush him off. Patience was the key... he hoped.

In the meantime, as the nights were drawing in and the days were getting colder, Warren put Argo through his dressage paces with mixed results. At heart, Argo was a cross-country horse, and the first part of many a venture to the indoor arena was spent in a battle for dominance. Perseverance won the day, and Argo’s control improved, which transferred to his skills over fences. However, during those times when Warren miscalculated the stride to the poles, Argo continued to take off early rather than put in an extra step.

Since the joust, Warren hadn’t been to Little Walmsley. He still felt the pull of the place, but he refused to give in until he knew more about the situation.

On the following Tuesday, while at work, Warren received a call on his private mobile. It was James. After initial greetings, James launched into an explanation. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I’ve been trying to get things sorted. Father is rather worried and prefers to keep matters closer to his chest. I’m glad to say he believes you.”

“That’s reassuring.” Warren was relieved that James had called, but after his dismissal at the manor he was less inclined to speak freely.

“Anyway, I was wondering if it would be possible to meet up tomorrow. I have something more concrete for you.”

“Of course. What time would you like me at the manor?”

“Yes, well. Erm, I was hoping we could meet at your cottage.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

That statement, along with more than a touch of nervousness in James’ voice, suggested the Walmsleys had something to hide.

Warren thought it best to stay formal, despite the nervous sound in James’ voice. “I’ll be home by seven.”

“Splendid. See you then.”

That night Warren left earlier than usual to make sure his cottage was presentable. It wasn’t every day one had a visit from the heir to a lordship. He also called Carl, who insisted on being in attendance.

On Wednesday, twenty-four days after his meeting at the manor, at seven on the dot, a knock echoed through the house. Carl was relaxing with a laced coffee, and Warren was as nervous as a newborn colt. He jumped up and headed for the door.

When he opened it, James stood there with another man at his shoulder, shadowed by the darkness of autumn. It seemed James had brought along backup, too.

“Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

As the two men entered the cottage, one with his head held high, the other gazing at the floor, Warren took a closer look. James’ companion was thinner and younger, with short blond hair. He had well-developed shoulders, a long neck, and looked in good shape.

“Make yourselves at home.”

James answered for both. “Thank you.”

As they entered the lounge, all were surprised when Carl gasped, “Bless my soul. Long time no see, young man. How you doing, Alexander?”

The young man moved to leave, but was held firmly in place by James, who answered for his brother. “Fine, thank you, Carl. I’m sorry. We should have expected to see you here after Mr. Blake came to us the other week.”

By the time everyone was seated, nerves dominated the atmosphere. Especially, it seemed, with Alexander, who perched on the edge of his chair.

James swallowed and kept a hand on his brother. “As nice as this is, I’d better introduce everyone. “Carl we all know, but Mr. Blake, may I formally introduce my brother, Alex.” At that moment, the young man looked up, and Warren gasped. He knew those eyes. Warren was lost for words as James continued, “
He
is the swan.”

FOR A good while Warren and Carl sat stunned, mouths agape, unable to form words from the multiple questions queuing to be answered. Yet none traversed the invisible gates barring access to any sense, verbal or otherwise, that could make contact with the men from the manor.

Alex shifted uncomfortably, while James eyed Carl and Warren, analyzing their reaction. At one point Alex attempted to jump to his feet and make an exit, but James held him firm. “Give them a minute,” he calmly advised.

“They’re not going to accept it,” Alex argued.

“They came to us, remember. And they want answers. No one said they’d be easy to believe.”

It was Carl who recovered first. “Jesus Christ!”

He was quickly followed by Warren, whose mood had shifted to anger. “Are you taking the piss? Is this some sort of joke? I come to you with a story that I find hard to believe myself, and you concoct this... this... elaborate hoax to send me back to my kennel?”

Alexander sprang from his chair, pinned Warren to his seat with a firm hand to his chest, and exploded. “Do you think it’s fun being a bloody swan? Sitting, paddling, and flying all day, every day. Constantly on alert in case a fox takes my neck.” He leaned in and shifted so his arms were on the back of the seat, either side of Warren’s head. “Me—a man—cursed, trapped inside a bird’s body, eating nothing but pondweed, stonewort, and slimy tadpoles. I can’t have a relationship. I can’t get a job. I can’t have a
life
because, for seven months of the year, I’ve got a fucking beak.”

Warren and Alexander stayed like statues, one looming over the other, locked on each other’s eyes, breathing deeply in the charged atmosphere.

With his heart pounding, Warren whispered a sincere, “I’m sorry.”

The vehemence behind Alexander’s words almost made Warren put his hands in the air and shout, “I believe.” But he had issues with it. His heart believed, and he was sorry Alex was in such a predicament, but the logical side of him told him such things weren’t possible. A host of questions flooded his mind. It was all well and good having Alex in his house saying he was Salem, the swan, but what did that have to do with him, other than the dreams and the bird breaking up the joust? Would any animal entering the area have broken up the joust? Or was it Salem in particular?

Answers to those questions wouldn’t give Warren an explanation as to why he’d been transported into a past reality. The favour from the joust was evidence the event happened. And what did the person in the grave have to do with it? Was there a reason why the young man was at the joust?

Then there were the eyes. Dreaming of both Alex and the man from the grave suggested the two were related in some way—if in no other manner than Warren being a conduit between them. Was the curse that affected Alex linked to the man in the grave? Who inflicted it, and how could one break it? Did it mean Warren had some kind of leading part to play in this whole mystery—a task to accomplish?

Those last few questions worried Warren because they meant he was starting to believe and was looking for more than a plausible explanation.

Carl’s local timbre broke into Warren’s internal musings. “No wonder yum pissed off most of the time, then,” Carl interjected. “Why seven months, though? Sorry to put it this way, but why not permanent and be done with it?”

Alex slowly returned to his seat. His brother’s arm slid around his shoulder in a clear indication of how shaken the young man was; how in need of his brother’s comfort. James spoke for them. “We don’t know for sure, why seven months. But we are grateful it’s not year-round. At least I get my brother for part of the year. We suspect the timing is a way to torture him further. This way makes it virtually impossible for him to form a lifetime bond with swan or human.”