I paused on the stairs, hoping I might hear more of the argument, but at the most inopportune moment, the front door of the shop opened, its bell tinkling. Drat and blast!
I continued down the stairs to find Trevor assisting the newcomer, a perky young blonde with a toddler in tow, and Giles browsing through the history section. He just happened to have my book on Eleanor of Aquitaine in his hands.
Giles seemed a bit startled to see me. He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back up at me. For once the sulky look wasn’t spoiling his handsome face.
“I say, Dr. Kirby-Jones, this is a pleasant coincidence,” Giles said, tucking my book under his left arm and then extending his right hand for me to shake. The warmth of his voice surprised me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Blitherington,” I responded, taking his hand in mine. Strong, firm, and very warm, I found. Did I imagine it, or did he give me just the tiniest extra squeeze before releasing it? His eyes betrayed nothing but innocent interest.
“Are you a reader of history?” I asked when he pulled my book out from under his arm.
He nodded. “Actually, yes, and the medieval period has always fascinated me. I wonder ... Would you mind signing this for me? I’ve not read it yet, and I am much looking forward to it.”
“My dear fellow,” I assured him, “I’d be delighted.” Well, if he really wanted to buy and read my book, he’d go up a few notches in my estimation. Maybe there truly was a brain lurking behind that cover-model exterior.
We moved to the counter, and I drew a pen out of my pocket and signed the book with a flourish. Trevor glowered at both of us while trying to seem not to do so, and Giles paid for the book. I told Trevor about the books I wanted from the upstairs case, and muttering something under his breath, he went upstairs to retrieve them for me.
“I say, Dr. Kirby-Jones,” Giles said as soon as Trevor had vanished up the stairs, “I wonder if I might talk with you privately about something?”
Curiouser and curiouser. I had had him on my list to interrogate, naturally, and there was no time like the present. Whatever it was he wanted, perhaps it might work to my advantage in questioning him about Abigail Winterton and her murder.
“Certainly, Mr. Blitherington. Would you like to accompany me to my cottage as soon as Trevor has my books ready? I can offer you something to drink, perhaps, while we talk.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking more relieved than the situation warranted, I thought. “That would be most excellent.”
Trevor watched us both suspiciously when he came back downstairs a few moments later, arms laden with books. I took my time inspecting them, ensuring that I was getting good value for my money. Really, his prices were most reasonable. I nodded, he rang them up and wrapped them for me, and I wrote him a check that made his eyes glow with pleasure, at least momentarily. My leaving with Giles Blitherington in tow seemed to spoil the mood a bit. Further interrogation of Trevor Chase would have to wait.
Giles remained silent on the short walk to my cottage, and I didn’t attempt to engage him in conversation for the moment. I unlocked the door and ushered Giles in, leaving my parcel of books on the table near the door.
“Welcome to Laurel Cottage,” I said, escorting Giles into the sitting room. “But perhaps you’ve been here before?”
Giles shook his head as he surveyed the room. “Actually, no. When Professor Lovelace lived here, I was never allowed near the place. I was too young.” He turned to face me with a wicked grin. “And he was too dangerous, of course. He might have corrupted me.” Something about Giles’s voice informed me that he wished Tristan had.
“Could he have?” I asked, raising one eyebrow rakishly.
“Oh, most assuredly,” Giles said. “But it was not to be.” If his tone was anything by which to judge, he had obviously made up for lost time.
“How about some tea?” I asked.
Giles pouted slightly, as if disappointed by the suddenly mundane turn of the conversation. “How about something a bit more exciting? Like Diet Coke, perhaps?”
I laughed. “Can do. Be back in a tick.”
I left him in the sitting room, wandering around and looking at the paintings and furnishings. Humming softly as I prepared our drinks, I mused on just what Giles could be after, seeking me out like this. A date? Or, to be blunt, a quick roll in the hay? The sexual energy emanating from that young man could make even my cold blood stir.
Back in the sitting room, I served Giles his drink. He had made himself comfortable on the sofa, adopting a pose similar to mine when I had entertained Detective Inspector Chase earlier in the day. Really, the boy (I shouldn’t call him that, for he was at least twenty-five) was quite shameless. I could get to be quite fond of him. He reminded me of myself at that age. Only a few years ago, mind you.
I took the chair more recently filled by said detective inspector. Assuming that worthy’s inquisitive air, I asked Giles something that had been puzzling me for two days. “Do you mind my asking, Do you have an elder brother?”
Puzzled, Giles shook his head. “No, I’m the only son, and my sister is the only daughter in the family.”
“Then why aren’t you called Sir Giles? Isn’t it a hereditary title?”
Giles rolled his eyes. “Because no one ever remembers that I am Sir-bloody-Giles, that’s why! With my dear mummy running around, playing lord of the manor enough for both of us, no one pays much attention to me.” I thought for a moment he was going to lapse into a sulk. But, amazingly, he laughed, a rich, deep sound that was completely infectious.
I laughed, too, and he looked back at me, eyes twinkling. “It doesn’t seem to bother you that much.”
Giles shook his head. “Honestly, no. I don’t much care whether people call me that My mother is the one hung up on titles, but even she forgets it most of the time. Though my father has been dead for nearly ten years, he lives on in her memory so strongly that she forgets that I inherited the tide and the estate and not she.” An interesting sidelight on the rather trying Lady Prunella, to be sure. This conversation was revealing aspects to Giles’s character that I never would have thought existed. Why, the boy seemed to have bottom to him, if I could use that so-very-English phrase.
“Then I shall call you Giles,” I said, and he grinned before taking a sip of his Diet Coke.
“I believe you said you wanted to talk to me about something?” I prompted him after several moments’ silence.
“Oh, yes,” he said, leaning forward, his pose forgotten for the moment He set his glass down on a coaster on the table in front of him. “I want to apply for the job as your secretary.”
This was the one thing I hadn’t expected. Sir Giles Blitherington, wanting to be my secretary! My, my.
“Did your mother tell you I was looking for someone?” I asked, to stall for a moment.
Giles nodded. “Yes, and she has no idea that I’m asking you for a job. She’ll make quite a scene, of course, if you should actually take me on, because it’s not proper to one of my station.” Here he grinned impishly, and I was ready to hire him on the spot. Not to mention for the sheer joy of annoying his mother.
“I can perhaps understand her point of view,” I said mildly. His face fell. “But I wouldn’t let that keep me from giving you serious consideration.” He cheered up at that. “Provided, of course, you are actually qualified to do the job.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m quite adept at computers, really. I know several word processing programs, and if I don’t know yours already, I can learn it very quickly. I type very fast as well, and I even know shorthand, believe it or not Mummy would be horrified if she knew.” He grinned. “Actually, she has seen some of my shorthand scribblings, but I told her it was Greek. Which I was supposed to have learned at school, of course.”
“Then I presume you understand the alphabet and the rudiments of filing as well?” I said dryly. “Are you any good at research?”
He sobered for a moment. “I know you heard what that harpy said about my being sent down from university, which is true, unfortunately. But I’m quite capable of assisting you in research despite my lack of a degree.” He tried to hide his embarrassment, but he wasn’t yet sophisticated enough to pull it off.
“Why do you want this job?” I asked him bluntly. Perhaps his money was tied up in the estate and he needed the job for the most basic of reasons.
His answer surprised me. “I want to be a writer,” he said simply. “I know of your reputation in your field, and I’ve read some of your work. I could learn a lot by working with you, not to mention the potential contacts.”
That last was certainly shrewd. Knowing the right people in publishing meant as much, if not more, than actually having the talent to write these days.
“But you already are a writer,” I responded.
“What do you mean?” he asked, visibly startled.
“Your play,” I reminded him. “I finished it, actually, after all the brouhaha the other night when Miss Winterton died, and I think you have talent.”
He glowed briefly, but then the light went out. He looked darned uncomfortable, and I couldn’t imagine why. “Thank you, but that’s not the kind of work that I want to put my name on. That was my substitute for therapy.” He smiled, trying to make a joke of it, but I wasn’t quite convinced.
“That’s as may be,” I said, “but you can obviously put words together, and you have a sense of dramatic structure.”
“But it’s not a novel, nor is it a biography,” he said, a trifle impatiently. “I’m more interested in other types of writing. Will you consider me for the job?”
I sighed. He didn’t realize it, but he’d been hired five minutes ago. I might be making a terrible mistake, but something told me this was the right thing to do.
“It’s yours,” I told him, and his eyes sparkled with elation.
Giles flopped back against the sofa, grinning broadly. “You mean you’re really going to let me work for you?”
I nodded. Hadn’t I been clear enough?
“When do I start?” he asked eagerly. “I’ve nothing planned for this afternoon if you’re ready for me to start right away.”
“Giles, don’t you even want to know what I’m going to pay you?” I asked, highly amused and—to be honest—quite flattered.
He waved that away. “I’m sure you’ll be more than fair, Simon. May I call you Simon?” I nodded. “I’ve more than enough money, I assure you. In fact, you don’t even have to pay me if you don’t want.”
That was a bit too much noblesse oblige for me. “No, Giles, I insist we keep this on a business footing. You’ll be paid the going rate. As soon as I find out what it is.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, glowing with happiness. “When do I start?”
I sighed. Was I really ready for this? “Very well,” I said, standing up. “Come with me into my office. If you’re that eager, you might as well start getting my files sorted out this afternoon. It’s got to be done, and I didn’t relish doing it myself, frankly.”
Giles was every bit as quick a study as he promised, and after fifteen minutes, I left him restoring my files to some semblance of order. I had to swear him to secrecy about the existence of Daphne and Dorinda, and he promised he’d not breathe a word, though his eyes grew big with excitement.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him root happily through my papers. If this was what he wanted, he was quite welcome to it, I thought, shaking my head.
I had picked up our glasses and was ready to take them back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Now, who could that be? I wondered, most originally.
I set the glasses down on the hall table and opened the door.
Letty Butler-Melville stood there, her finger poised on the bell, ready to ring again.
“You!” She looked up at me, fire in her eyes. “I cannot believe how completely insensitive you are! You, you American!”