The Room on the Second Floor. T Williams A

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t carry out your threat, the future manager of this place.’ This time the pressure in the small of his back reduced to just the slightest hint, so he decided to risk turning round. ‘Professor Dalby told me he had called, to let you know I was coming.’

      Upon turning right round, he found himself face to face with a very small, wiry, white-haired man. He was probably in his seventies, or even older. His arthritic hands were holding a broom handle, pointed in his direction. A slightly sheepish expression began to creep across the old freckled face, as he realised who he was dealing with. Now it was his time to clear his throat.

      ‘By all that is holy, so that’s who you are, sir. And me about to blow your innards to kingdom come. Lucky this thing wasn’t loaded. You might have found yourself trying to shovel yards of intestines off the kitchen wall and back into your abdominal cavity!’

      He proffered the broom to Duggie, who took it from his hands. He snapped it neatly across his thigh, before tossing it into the corner out of sight. As the old man extended the hand of peace towards his future employer, he noted the look in Duggie’s eyes.

      ‘Patrick O’Sullivan at your service.’

      Duggie took the proffered hand and shook it formally. He kept it in his, as he stared the old Irishman square in the eye. Patrick dropped his gaze. He had seen enough hard men in his time to realise that his hoax could well have backfired on him. Then his hand was released, and Duggie was all sweetness and light.

      ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Patrick. I must say how impressed I was at your courage in accosting a potential burglar armed only with your wits. I can see that you are a truly committed member of staff and worthy of trust and responsibility.’

      A smile spread across the old man’s face. ‘Pleased to be of service, sir. It’s a relief to me that I didn’t end up strewing your vital organs across the kitchen floor.’

      ‘And to me.’ Duggie’s reply was terse. The old man hurried on.

      ‘And please call me by my familiar name just like my beloved mother, brothers and close friends.’

      ‘Paddy, would it be?’ Duggie was not taking too much of a stab in the dark which, thinking about it, was what he had narrowly avoided.

      ‘It would indeed, sir. Fancy you guessing my name now. Sure and as long as my atria and my ventricles keep pumping, it will be a pleasure to spend the next five decades working alongside a bright and worthy gentleman such as your good self.’

      Christ, thought Duggie, fifty years would take him well past the telegram from the queen and into the Guinness Book of Records. ‘And what is your position in this establishment?’

      ‘Well…’ There was a dramatic pause, probably occasioned by the Irishman being faced with a question rarely asked of him. ‘I would be what you might call a general factotum, Jack of all trades and general passepartout, in the sense that I would normally be carrying out all such tasks that do not automatically fall within the remit of the other staff members here at the manor.’ He smiled hopefully.

      Duggie wisely decided not to dig too much further. There would be time for that later. With a clap of his hand on the old man’s shoulder, he took his leave and set out on his tour of inspection.

      He walked slowly, the mug still in his hand, gradually allowing his blood to settle. He marvelled at the sheer size of the place. No doubt at all that it would make a great country club. He sipped what little was left of his champagne, feeling more than slightly debauched to be drinking champagne at the time when most people were contemplating their coffee break. Presumably one of Paddy’s tasks that did not automatically fall within the remit of the other staff members was that of ensuring that the contents of the cellar did not go to waste. That, too, would be dealt with later.

      The idea of getting into something completely new appealed to him. His had been a chequered career. First he had tried accountancy then, after a somewhat hasty departure from Messrs Smith, Endicott, Loveless and Joyce, he joined the Royal Marines. He spent a number of years in the service, much of it overseas, doing a variety of things, some of which he could talk about. Much, though, he kept to himself.

      After leaving, once the wounds had healed, he had tried various jobs, until he hit upon estate agency. He had turned out to be a very good estate agent. ‘Seller of fridges to Eskimos,’ was the way his boss had described him at last year’s Christmas party. There was no doubt he could sniff out a sale better than anyone else in the firm. He felt sure it would come as a blow to them when he handed in his notice. And, he thought with great satisfaction, as he pushed through the monumental carved doors into the formal dining room, he would do that very shortly. Just as soon as he and Roger had agreed terms for his future employment as boss of the country club.

      What should he call himself? Manager had leapt to his lips during his encounter with Paddy, but was that the right one? Director? Chief Executive? Yes, CEO sounded good. He would go for that.

      The staircase to the first floor led up from the hallway. This was to be Roger’s private apartment, so Duggie pressed on up to the second floor.

      Corridors led off to left and right and a seemingly never-ending series of doors opened onto high-ceilinged bedrooms, some with four-poster beds and enormous wardrobes. Duggie wondered to himself, as he walked down the corridors, if there were some way he could make profitable use of all this space. The big reception rooms downstairs, the kitchens, the tennis courts and sports facilities outside were of immediate usefulness, but the upstairs would need thought.

      He walked out through a glazed door onto the flat roof. The value of the lead on the roof alone would be more than most people’s annual income, his included, he calculated wryly. Lucky, lucky man that Roger.

      They had known each other for over thirty years, having met at primary school. The death of Roger’s parents had brought them even closer together, although their chosen careers had diverged quite dramatically. Not, he thought to himself, that you could really apply the term ‘chosen career’ to his own series of jobs, apart from the ten years in the Marines. With Roger it had been history, history, history all the way.

      He was admiring the extent of the grounds surrounding the manor when his attention was suddenly drawn down to the car park directly below him. A big blue Volvo drew up. The back door was thrown open and a familiar figure with a blond ponytail shot out. It was Linda. She hurried round to open the tailgate. To his amazement, no sooner had it opened, than something the size and appearance of a black bear shot out of the back of the car and propelled her into a rhododendron bush. Spotting Roger emerging from the driver’s seat, he decided to go down and investigate.

      On his way through the kitchen, he deposited his now-empty mug without setting eyes on Paddy. He was presumably somewhere behaving as general factotum, Jack of all trades and general passepartout, whatever that involved. Duggie had a shrewd idea that the answer was, not a lot.

       Chapter 5

      ‘Here, Jasper. Steady boy. Good dog.’

      Roger didn’t have much experience with dogs. In consequence, he was unsure of the correct terminology when trying to rescue a maiden in distress. Emerging from the car, he found his newly acquired mongrel cross of Labrador, Alsatian and, quite possibly, wolf, tangled up in the bush on top of Linda. Her head and shoulders were completely obscured by a mass of black fur. So much for not wanting a big dog. Her feet were kicking and muffled cries of protest emerged from the undergrowth.

      ‘Good СКАЧАТЬ