Secret Of The Manor (9 page)

He then launched into a detailed account of his night ride and the joust. He closed his eyes when he recalled in detail the smells, dress, and words of those in attendance. He opened them in time to notice both men flinch at the name of Ebony Air. Their bland expressions also changed upon mention of the swan. That was when Oliver leaned over to the globe by his seat, opened it, and poured three small whiskeys. He handed one to each man before settling again with his glass.

The lord of the manor took a sip of his drink and held up a finger to get Warren’s attention. “Are the calls I received from Carl Bridgewater connected to this?”

“Yes. Carl has taken me under his wing since I’ve been here. He and Eileen took care of me after my fall. I thought I was going nuts, but Carl suggested I talk to you.”

A deep, throaty “Humph” was all Warren received in reply.

Next, James spoke up. “How did you know who the young man was?”

“I don’t know who the young man was. I only know him because I’ve seen him in my dreams. I keep seeing two pairs of eyes, and his I’ve seen at night and during a dream I had while at Little Walmsley.”

“You’ve been to our church?” James seemed surprised.

“Yes, I visit a grave there. Though I have to say, having met the vicar, I don’t visit at conventional times. Not that I don’t like vicars. I’m just uncomfortable around them.”

James opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by his father. “You said you have evidence.”

Warren reached into his trouser pocket, retrieved the silk, and placed it on the table between them. James snatched it up. “By the time I came to, everything else had disappeared, but the favour given to me by Milady remained tied around my wrist. I also have bruises.” Warren stood and undid his belt buckle, chuckling at the other men’s looks of alarm. “I promise I’m not going to flash anything.”

With a slight wriggle, Warren slid the edge of his trousers down to reveal his hip, which had a yellowing purple bruise with a distinct line through its centre. “I landed on this side of my body. There are other little bruises, too, but that’s the worst. I also have a wrenched shoulder. Not sure whether that was from the lance or as a result of landing funny. The bruise on that is nasty, but not as bad as my hip.”

James stood and moved to take a closer look. Then, speaking as if without thinking, he said, “Lances are designed to splinter on impact. The armour is supposed to take the brunt of it.”

There was a quick, sharp, “James!” James looked up and returned to his seat. Oliver Walmsley gave his son a stern look, then turned his attention to Warren. “Well, thank you for coming. It’s getting late, and you’ve given us a fair amount of information. James and I will do some research in the morning to see if we can find something that will help you.”

James clenched his teeth. His father ignored him.

Warren redressed himself, and his shoulders slumped. After everything he’d been through, he got the distinct impression he was being given the brush-off.

While Warren finished his whiskey in one, and returned the silk to his pocket, he heard a bell being rung, and shortly after, the butler appeared at the door. “You rang, sir.”

“Yes, Kenneth. Mr. Blake is leaving now. Please see him out.”

“Very good, sir. This way, Mr. Blake.”

Subdued, Warren thanked the gentlemen for their time and left.

Back in his car, Warren rested his head on the steering wheel. He felt drained. Tears stung his eyes as his emotions took over. He’d bared a side of himself to unknown people and had been dismissed as a tale-telling child. He’d never felt so lost for answers. For a few minutes he sat, not knowing what to think or do. He ached and wanted to go home, yet he hadn’t the energy to start the engine.

A knock at his window startled him. He looked up to see James at his door. Unwilling to let him into his car, Warren engaged the ignition and pressed the button to the electric window.

James looked around, then placed his hands on the ledge and leaned into the car. “There
is
more to talk about, Mr. Blake. That swan saved your life. I’ll call you.”

WARREN DROVE home in a daze. The whole evening, especially James’ parting words, were on repeat in his head. He entered the cottage, threw his keys and phone into the bowl by the door, hung his jacket on the peg, and listlessly headed to the kitchen. He flicked on the kettle, rested his hands on the counter, and attempted to think logically about the evening. Parts of it seemed straightforward enough, but it was clear James knew more, and that set Warren’s head reeling as to what else was to come.

At that moment, Warren’s phone rattled in the dish, the sound vibrating through his keys as well. He picked it up and noticed several missed calls from Carl and a couple of texts. He flinched and answered.

“Hi, Carl.”

“What the bloody hell are you doing not answering your phone, ye numpty,” Carl scolded.

“Sorry, Carl. My phone was in my jacket pocket, which I left in the car when I got to the manor. Was in a bit of a panic at the time.”

“Alright, lad, alright. You’re forgiven, as long as you tell me what happened. I’ve been worrying my arse off here. Nearly got in the truck a few times, but Eileen told me to hold me horses and not run off half-cocked.”

Warren smiled at Carl’s version of parenting, and relaxed. “Well, a lot was said—mostly by me. You were right, Carl; the Walmsleys know something. Oliver listened but didn’t give anything away, and then dismissed me like I’d given him last month’s financial report.”

“He’s an arse!” Carl snapped.

Warren had thought so, too, at the time, but back in the comfort of his home, he preferred to give the man the benefit of the doubt. “I think he’s wary and protecting his family.”

“He’s still an arse.”

Warren snickered, then cut it short with the bomb James had dropped. “James said something that tells me there’s a lot more to this.”

“Oh aye, what’d he say?”

“He said the swan saved my life.”

“How the hell could that angry beast have saved your life? It attacks people, not saves ’em.” Carl went quiet for a minute, but Warren could still hear his breathing on the end of the line. The man was processing something. Then he blurted, “Bollocks. Tell me everything.”

Warren tucked his phone under his ear and headed for the lounge. He poured himself a cognac and told his friend everything that had happened from the moment he entered the manor to the time he left their gates behind.

By the time he finished, he wondered if Carl had fallen asleep, as there was silence on the other end of the line. Then he heard Eileen’s faint words in the background and Carl agreeing with her. “We agree. Oliver is being a donkey, but a protective one. If James said he’ll be in touch, he will.”

“You sound as though you know Lord Walmsley?” Warren hedged.

“Sold him a few horses over the years. Knew him as a kid, too. His family’s been a part of village life for years. Not so much lately. James we see about, but the other two we rarely clap eyes on, especially since Philippa married a Count and moved to France. Alexander’s probably livin’ it up in Parisian society.”

“Okay.” The stress of the evening suddenly weighed on Warren and his eyelids turned heavy.

Carl noticed the tiredness in Warren’s voice. “Anyhow, you sound knackered, lad. I wish I could say something that’d help, but all I can say is a bloody awful, ‘Sit tight and wait for James.’ So get yourself to bed and let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do. Night, Carl. And thanks.”

“You’re welcome, lad. Night.” After a shout from Eileen in the background, the line went dead.

Warren could have happily slept where he was in the chair, but instead, he dragged himself to his bed and was asleep in minutes.

THE FOLLOWING day at work, Warren kept himself busy with the usual stream of meetings and finance checks for upcoming contracts. A good portion of the work done by A-Genet was for governments across the globe. They required, among other things, labour rates that varied depending on the product.

All was going well until he left his office and came face to face with Jean, his secretary, having heated words with a woman he didn’t recognise.

“Ladies,” Warren prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Jean turned to Warren, looking like a pissed-off matron. “Sorry, Mr. Blake, but....” The other lady scuttled out of the room and down the hall, with Jean scowling after her.

Alone with his secretary, Warren wanted to make sure everything was alright. “Do I need to know what that was all about?”

Jean sighed. “Ideally, no. But it does concern you. Come here, sir, and I’ll show you.”

Warren gingerly made his way over to Jean’s PC, and with a click of the mouse a picture of him appeared on the screen. He recognised it from the lake at Worcester. It was him carrying his board back to his van, with the arms of his wetsuit hanging around his waist. His torso was completely bare, with his six-pack and developed shoulders on display for all to see. The image came with the heading, “Who Knew—What a Body”.

Shocked, Warren turned tail, headed for his office, and closed the door behind him. He sat in his large leather desk chair and kicked himself. When he went windsurfing, it was natural for him to rid himself of the upper part of his wetsuit the moment he’d finished on the water. All of his friends did it. He never expected anyone to take a picture and circulate it. In his frustration, Warren slammed his desk drawer shut and swivelled his chair to look out the window.
Why did this have to happen on top of everything else?
Timing sure was a bitch.

Warren sat staring at nothing in particular, as life outside continued unaffected by events in his world. There came a polite knock on his door, and after his terse, “Come in,” Jean walked in with a tray of tea and biscuits.

Whereas Jean would typically leave him to it, instead she sat and poured them both a brew. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Blake, I don’t think the picture was circulated maliciously. I think it spread because I don’t believe anyone expected you, of all people, to have the body of a model. It’s a bit like discovering the Prime Minister just won the Olympic hundred metre final. From what I’ve heard so far, most are in awe of you.”

Ignoring the “you of all people” as he knew exactly what she meant, Warren leaned his elbows on his desk. “Jean, all my life I’ve moved from one job to the next and have kept my private life private. I know a lot of people wouldn’t think twice about that picture if it was them. They’d probably even get an ego trip out of it, but I’m not them. I like my numbers. I like my office. I like my peace and quiet, and I like my private life out of the gossip columns. As it is, settling in one place is a lot for me to get used to.”

Jean took a few sips of her tea and a nibble at a custard cream. “Well, that’s what I’m here for, Mr. Blake. I hate to tell you this, but that picture turned you into one of A-Genet’s most eligible bachelors. So, with your permission, if any more wannabe Mrs. Blakes or best buddies come around, I’ll be harder to get past than a doctor’s receptionist.”

“Thank you, Jean. You’re a gem.” Warren relaxed a little.

“You’re welcome, sir. Oh, and just so you know,” Jean smiled cheekily, “you have one hell of a body, sir. Be proud of it.” Warren couldn’t help but laugh at his secretary’s wiggling eyebrows.

The two finished their tea and biscuits, and when Jean left, Warren felt a little more at ease. Jean had always been efficient. He hoped she’d be as good with the new aspects of his working life. All the same, he worked late that night and was the last, by a good two hours, to leave the office.

By Thursday the following week, it was easy to see that Jean had all aspects of his office life under control, including his e-mails. Not once did anything relating to the picture enter his room, though he knew, from the odd conversation he overheard outside his door, the gossip continued. Warren did his part, too, taking the first train in to work and the last train home. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide. Well, not much. He’d prefer it if the whole thing went away, and he thought the best way to achieve that was to not make himself available for comment. He’d never been one to chat around the water cooler, but now his actions took him out of circulation even more, and when he did have to venture outside his sanctuary it was only to give out work. He wasn’t rude, but if an inquiry wasn’t about work, he didn’t want to know.

All in all, Warren wasn’t happy. The event forced him to look at his life in a different light and to make a choice about his future at A-Genet. He realised that, if he was ever going to be able to settle in the community, there was something he had to do, albeit reluctantly.

The situation was exacerbated by his dreams. It was as if everything was conspiring to rid him of his privacy. He hadn’t heard from James, but he’d had more dreams of eyes. At least now the one set had a face to go with them. The other set, however, had an angry look about them. He woke several times with voices arguing in his head, but the words were not clear. Everything, including his spat with Oliver Walmsley and his insinuations, led Warren in one direction.

Back in the office, Warren made a phone call that resulted in him telling Jean he wouldn’t be available for part of his schedule. He’d arrived at the office early, as usual, and did what he could to tidy his desk and be up to date on current projects. The idea of what he was about to do grated on him. But rather than chase rumours circulated by others, he thought it best to be in control of them or, at the least, make provision in case his privacy was shot to hell.

He walked into the CEO’s office after the man’s secretary announced his presence. He was greeted with a friendly handshake. “Hello, Warren, good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Good to see you, too, Miles.”

Before Warren took the offered seat, he pointed to the intercom on the CEO’s desk and made a cut-throat gesture.

Miles quirked an eyebrow and unplugged the cord from its side. “Okay. What’s this all about?”