be exact. He apparently had trouble with his flatmates, whatever that means. This is…‘ I trail off, trying to find the right words to assure him. ‘More convenient. I just thought I’d tell you, you know, for full disclosure’s sake. I don’t mean to kick him out onto the street or anything.’
‘Why do you sound nervous?’
Because I’m talking about the hot butler, and I’ve just realised that I don’t want him to be homeless. ‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Well, if it’s nothing to get too worried about, then my disapproval only extends to the fact that a stranger is living in my house, albeit in the servants’ quarters in the attic, one assumes. He is staying in the servants’ quarters?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘He’s not being afforded any extra amenities or comforts that wouldn’t normally be given to in-house help?’
‘Well, it’s not like he can just take the car out whenever he wants.’
‘Hmm.’ He takes a moment to mull things over. ‘You should inspect the quarters on my behalf. I’m giving you the authority.’
‘I don’t need to do that.’ My voice falters. This isn’t what I wanted. ‘I’m sure he’s not stealing things.’
‘How can you be so sure? You’ve only known him for a few days, and I certainly don’t know him.’
‘You might’ve already met him. Mother poached him from The Savoy.’
‘Really? Then I’ll conduct a reference check with the one of the managers there. What’s his name?’
‘Blair Baxter. Unusual, I know – Blair was apparently his mother’s maiden name. I tried calling him Mr Baxter yesterday, but that didn’t go down well.’
Because my father obviously needs this level of detail.
‘Let’s hope the hotel attests to his good character.’ Father doesn’t sound too hopeful, but then again he’s naturally cynical when it comes to people. ‘So he’s not too young, then? A year older than you, you said?’
‘Yes. He’s also very good-looking. Listen, I don’t want people to talk. Maybe you should tell her not to entertain here?’
‘Trust me, I already made that point clear. As for the handsome aspect, you sound nervous about that.’
‘Do I?’ Shit. I’m the worst actress in the world. I should win the opposite of a BAFTA. An ATFAB, they should call it. ‘I’m just frazzled when it comes to the opposite sex at the moment, that’s all. I feel very self-conscious.’
‘Listen, dear, don’t get worked up about this matchmaker business. It’s all very confidential anyway. These places operate with the utmost discretion.’
‘Still, I don’t want anyone to see me walking into the building.’
‘Wear a hat, but not one so over the top that it draws attention to you. Sunglasses might do the trick. A long coat might look suspicious in summer.’
‘I suppose.’ I’m not so easily convinced. I can see the tabloid headline now: Pembrokes go for broke: Desperate Millie pays £10,000 for a date!
‘If you’re really worried about it, request to meet somewhere else.’
‘But then people might overhear whatever is said at these appointments .’
‘There’s a risk to everything these days, Millie, that’s just how it is.’ He says with a sigh. ‘Now, is there anything else?’
There’s no point whining about the underdressed-for-dinner issue, nor is there any point whingeing about the dinner suit Blair wears after six in the evening. I’m only half convinced he wasn’t trying to kill me by wearing it – it really was too much for me to bear.
‘Not really, no.’
‘Then be sure to take care of yourself. Hopefully I will see you soon.’
‘Within two months, I hope.’
‘Is that your standing prediction on how long this excursion will last? I’ve been hearing whispers from London, saying that Alastair’s reputation continues to reflect badly upon your mother. Apparently people think he takes after her, personality-wise. Who would’ve thought it?’
Oh, there’s that cutting tone again.
Learning to Kill: Stories