‘Let me introduce you to Susie, my daughter,’ said James proudly a couple of days later. The new arrival had been born after a difficult and tiring childbirth.
‘She’s beautiful!’ said Heather who had returned to the hospital to pick him up.
James kissed his daughter and his wife and then left with Heather to return to the house.
‘They’re keeping Hil in for a few more days,’ he said, ‘which will give me time to interview the new nursemaid. Have we had many replies to the advert?’
Heather nodded, ‘The Lady sent me a list of applicants,’ she said, ‘and I’ve narrowed it down to a shortlist for you to see.’
‘Very good,’ said James. ‘By the way, where’s Weymouth? I thought he would be picking me up.’
‘He’s supervising the builders,’ said Heather.
As they approached her car it brought back vivid memories of the nightmare drive on the day of the birth when Heather had pulled out all the stops to get him to the hospital in time.
‘At least you won’t have to rush today,’ said James as he settled in the passenger seat.
‘What’s that?’ said Heather.
‘I said at least you won’t have to –’
His head snapped back before he could finish the sentence. With the rear wheels spinning madly on the car park tarmac, Heather snaked the car out onto the main road. She floored the accelerator and steered onto the wrong side of the road as she overtook the local traffic. James glanced sideways and saw the familiar demented smile take shape across Heather’s features. It took another moment before the awful truth crossed his mind. The nightmare drive to hospital hadn’t been a one-off dash to get to the hospital in time, he realised with a shock. Heather always drove like this!
James gripped the sides of his seat once again and said through gritted teeth, ‘There’s no rush!’
Heather didn’t hear a word. She must be out of her mind! thought James, as his neck muscles seemed to battle with G-force. The rear end of the car began to slide sideways and Heather turned the steering wheel so that all four wheels joined in the swerve until she had it under control again, with the practiced ease of a Scandinavian rally driver. James closed his eyes and tried to remember his baby’s face in case he never saw her again. Not until the screech of burning tyres and a forward lunge indicated the end of the journey did he open them again. Heather switched off the ignition and exited the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It was a while before James dared to open one cautious eye and gingerly uncurl his frozen fingers from the frame of the seat. He tentatively stepped out of the car like an old man and tottered into the house choking slightly on the acrid smell of scorched rubber. He stumbled into the office and shakily dialled a number on the telephone, ‘Bill? It’s James Faraday; you have to find me a driver as soon as possible.’
James replaced the phone and leant on the desk with both hands. He tried to relax and eventually his nerves seemed to settle down and some feeling came back into his fingers. He took a couple of big gulps of air and his heart gradually started to slow and some feeling began to return to his fingers. Letting out the air slowly, he felt everything start to return to normal, and after a few minutes felt like the man he had been before the whole terrifying episode had begun. Feeling better, he took one last, steadying breath.
‘WEYMOUTH!’ came a scream from a few inches behind him. The shock sent him sprawling across the desk, whacking both kneecaps in the process. ‘Reporting for duty,’ finished the gravel-voiced butler.
James picked himself off the desk and turned to face the former navy man. ‘You don’t need to be quite so loud.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ barked Weymouth. ‘Just to inform you that Mr Shore has to leave. If you remember when we employed him he had a commitment to another client. Did you want to inspect his work?’
James nodded and walked through to the part of the house that Mr Shore, the builder, had been working on.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Shore as he packed his tools away. ‘Congratulations on your news.’
‘Thank you. How’s the work on the partition going?’
‘It’s coming along,’ said Shore.
James took a look at the work that had been completed, dividing the ground floor into three rooms. He checked the joints and the studding and paid careful attention to the period detail but he couldn’t find fault with anything.
‘I’m in the middle of redesigning and building a house for one of your neighbours,’ said Mr Shore, ‘but I’ll have this finished for you before your wife comes home.’
Mr Shore and his men left the house in their convoy of vans, disappearing down the drive in a cloud of dust, just like in old Wild West movie. An unwelcome image of a cowboy lingered in James’s mind, but was quickly cleared when Weymouth piped up tersely, ‘Mr Shore used to be a furniture maker, but now his building work is in demand all over Kent.’
‘Personal recommendation is one of the best criteria for employing someone,’ said James.
‘We’re lucky to have got him,’ said Weymouth.
‘I wonder if he can cook?’ said James somewhat pointedly.
Weymouth looked downcast. ‘I’m sorry about last night’s meal, sir. It’s the only dish that I’ve ever perfected.’
‘And believe me you achieved perfection again last night,’ said James. ‘It’s just that at the end of a long day I look forward to a little more than a boiled egg and soldiers.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘I’ll cook myself tonight.’
‘Yes, sir. Oh and I’ve had the automatic switch fitted to the front gate. From now on when the gate is closed it can only be opened by these remote switches. One is kept with the car keys and the other is kept in the house.’
‘Good. From now on I want that gate closed every night. Security is very important with a new child in the family. Now, I need to get to the office in London.’
‘I’ll bring the car around, sir.’
When James arrived at the office in London Bill Finchurch had a surprise for him. ‘I think I may have found you a driver,’ he said.
‘So quickly? How do you do it?’
‘I have my contacts,’ said Bill, ‘he’ll be waiting for you at the end of the day. Let me know if he suits.’
At the end of the day Weymouth brought the car to the front of the DORG building and, as James exited, a small, dark-haired man stepped forward.
‘Mr Faraday?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Whabi, Mr Finchurch sent me. I believe you need a driver?’
The man wore a smart chauffeur’s uniform and cap and carried a pair of soft leather driving gloves.
‘Well you certainly look the part,’ said James. He heard Weymouth’s heavy step behind him and turned to see the butler holding the car door open for him. ‘You can take the passenger seat,’ said James. ‘Whabi will take the wheel.’
Weymouth looked surprised.
‘You’re getting too busy to be my driver,’ said James, ‘and I never want to end up in Heather’s car ever again.’
All three men got in the car and Whabi drove them out of London. After a few minutes behind the wheel it became obvious that Whabi would get the job. He drove as smooth as butter, soft on the wheel, gentle on the accelerator, but at the same time assertive and in control.
‘Where are you from?’ said James.
‘I’m from Albania,’ said Whabi. ‘I’m here for political asylum.’
‘So where did you learn to drive like this?’
‘I’ve trained with a limousine company.’
‘And you’re happy to work as a driver?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’ve got the job,’ said James hoping that the next day’s interviews would go just as smoothly.
‘It’s unusual,’ said James the next day, ‘to interview a mother and daughter at the same time.’
‘My daughter has led a very closeted life,’ said the mother, ‘I like to act as her chaperone to protect her from unwanted attention, if you know what I mean.’
The mother and daughter sat in front of him. Sherry, the young, pretty girl had red hair and striking green eyes, like a cat, but James had already noticed that she never looked him in the eye. If the old adage that you should look at the mother if you want to see the girl in the future had any truth to it, then Sherry had quite a shock awaiting her. Her mother, just about visible under the make-up she had trowelled on looked tired and haggard beyond her years. She smelled of cheap perfume and chip fat.
‘How long were you in the convent?’ said James turning his attention to Sherry.
‘Two years,’ answered the mother. ‘If her father hadn’t died and we didn’t need the extra income, she’d still be there carrying out her devotions, tending to the needy.’
James found it hard to picture such a pretty girl as a nun, but her gentleness and general demeanour appealed to him.
‘What about child care?’ he said.
The mother pointed to it on the CV, ‘She studied child care before she joined the convent. Top grades as you can see.’
‘And she knows that this is a live-in job.’
‘She has no problem living away from home,’ said the mother, ‘after two years in the convent.’
James nodded. Sherry had no better or worse qualifications than the other candidates, but the ex-nun angle swung it for her. The calming influence of a nun would be good for his child, he thought.
‘You’re hired,’ he said. ‘Room, board and £450 a month.’
A small smile broke out on Sherry’s face, but her mother positively beamed, nearly cracking her caked-on foundation. James pictured her leaving the house, leaping in the air and clicking her heels together.
The next day Sherry moved into the staff annexe and when Hil and Susie arrived home a few days later they found her waiting for them.
‘She’s very good,’ said Hil over dinner. ‘She seems so calm and is wonderful with the baby too. Mmm, this is so good,’ she said tasting the poached salmon on her plate. Who cooked this?’
‘I did,’ said James. ‘I hire all these people and have to do the cooking myself.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Hil, ‘once I get organised I can get back in the kitchen again.’
James nearly choked at the threat and had to sip on a glass of water. ‘No no,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you tiring yourself out. Bill has found a chef for us.’
‘There’s no need when I can do it.’
‘Wait until you hear who the chef is,’ said James urgently. ‘His name is Pierre Hessier, he’s Swiss and specialises in French cuisine. He’s worked for two years at La Perle du Lac, the best restaurant in Geneva, as well as many other top kitchens. Not only is he a great cook but he can help you to perfect your French.’ James began to realise how desperate he sounded and he tried to act a little more nonchalantly.
Hil seemed to give it some thought before she said, ‘OK.’
James sighed with relief.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ said Pierre Hessier as Weymouth showed him into the office. ‘I missed my train.’
‘With the train service around here you’d probably have been quicker walking anyway,’ smiled James.
Pierre seemed to consider the statement. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘it would definitely be quicker by train. I should have caught the 9:23 but it had been delayed, so I thought I’d wait for the express at 9:45 and make the time up. Unfortunately the express got cancelled so I thought if I change at –’
‘Not to worry,’ James interrupted. ‘You’re here now.’
Pierre appeared older than James had imagined and unusually for someone Swiss he talked with his hands. He looked and walked like Fred Astaire but that’s where any hint of entertainment began and ended. Never mind, thought James, I didn’t hire him for his personality.
‘I had intended to travel the world,’ said Pierre, ‘but England is as far as I got.’
‘Let me show you the kitchen,’ said James.
He led Pierre through to the kitchen, thinking all the time about the meals that he would be serving up – the days of salad and bread are finally over! he thought. Pierre nodded his approval and unfurled the bag of professional knives that he carried, ‘I think I’ll get along fine in here,’ he said.
James led him to his quarters. ‘We’re putting you in the flat above the garage,’ said James, ‘you should be more than comfortable. You’ll have your own key to the house and can come and go as you please.’
Pierre yawned and dropped his suitcase near the bed. ‘I’ll just unpack,’ he said, sitting down and melting into the soft mattress. ‘I like my things to be in the proper order. Shirts go in the middle drawer, underwear on the top, jumpers and trousers go in the –’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said James.
Two hours later James and Hil sat down to dinner. Weymouth appeared and looked a little uncomfortable. ‘There is no one in the kitchen, sir,’ he said, fidgeting slightly.
‘What do you mean?’ said James. ‘Where’s Pierre?’
‘Still in his room as far as I know.’
‘He must think he starts tomorrow,’ said Hil. ‘Shall I cook something?’
James leapt from his seat. ‘No need,’ he said, ‘let’s order something in.’
Half an hour later Weymouth carried a domed silver plate into the dining room. ‘Fish and chips is served,’ he said.
In the morning Pierre appeared and apologised for the night before, ‘I must have been so tired by the journey I fell asleep.’
James put it down to teething problems and left it at that. Soon, all such problems seemed to be behind them.
‘What a find,’ said James a few days later. ‘I’ve never tasted cooking like it, superb.’
Hil nodded in agreement. ‘I don’t want to be rude,’ she said, ‘but his cooking is more interesting than his conversation.’
James laughed and agreed. ‘Whatever you do don’t get him started on train timetables or which drawer he keeps his shirts in.’
After the meal they both retired to bed.
‘I hope the baby will sleep right through tonight,’ said James optimistically.
At about two o’clock in the morning, having been startled awake by the baby’s fine lungs, James walked down the stairs and poured out a glass of milk in the kitchen. If the baby is having some so might I, he thought. At least I won’t make so much noise about it. As he returned to the bedroom he glanced out of the window and admired the moonlit night sweeping across the lawns. Just before he turned to bed a shape caught his eye. He peered toward the outer wall of the grounds and saw what looked like a person jumping from the top of the wall to the outside. He rang for Weymouth and the pair of them checked all the doors and windows in the house.
‘I can’t see any sign of an intruder,’ said Weymouth, ‘I’ll check again when it’s daylight.’
The next morning saw no sign of anything unusual.
‘It could have been a trick of the light,’ said Weymouth.
‘Or a ghost,’ said Hil, ‘the house is old enough, it might have a ghost.’
‘Maybe,’ said James, ‘or it might be the crackling of the old oak trees, but make sure the gate is locked and checked every night.’
Two days later James, Hil and Susie arrived back late at night from a day trip.
‘I do miss London,’ said Hil, ‘but it’s so nice to get back to the house.’
The gate had been closed and locked and James used the remote switch on the car keys to open it. Once inside the grounds James used the switch to lock the gates again and then parked the car on the drive.
‘I don’t seem to have any house keys,’ said Hil finding the front door locked. ‘Do you have any?’
‘No,’ said James. ‘Ring the bell.’
They rang the bell half a dozen times before James remembered, ‘It’s Weymouth’s night off. He’ll be in London.’
‘Well what about Sherry?’ said Hil trying the handle again.
‘She’s in the annexe, she doesn’t have keys for the house, and Heather lives at home. I knew you shouldn’t have given Whabi the night off.’
‘Pierre then,’ said Hil.
‘Yes,’ said James, ‘he can let us in.’
James rang the bell to the flat above the office. They waited for a reply but none came. He rang again.
‘Do you think he’s out too?’ said Hil.
‘No, I can see a light,’ said James.
Twenty minutes later Hil said, ‘You’re going to break a window if you throw any more stones up there.’
‘I’m climbing up,’ said James. ‘He must be in there.’
‘Be careful!’
‘It’s no problem,’ said James. ‘If I get my hands behind the drainpipe and my feet wedged in I can pull myself up to the window.’
‘Don’t fall back,’ said Hil. ‘It’s a long drop.’
‘I’m fine,’ said James, puffing a bit from the exertion. He leant away from the drainpipe and looked in through the upper window. ‘I can see him! He’s on the bed, flat out with his mouth wide open.’
‘Asleep?’ said Hil.
‘I think he’s passed out,’ shouted James, before catching the noise of heavy snoring. ‘I’ll just try and…’ A heavy creak warned Hil of the impending accident though James, mid-sentence, didn’t really catch on until the pipe had detached itself from the wall and he journeyed backwards through the night air.
‘Aaaaagh!’ His scream might have woken the dead. He hit the ground with a dull thud, winding himself in the process. Despite his laboured breath, he could still hear the muted sound of Pierre snoring.
‘A night in a hotel could be fun,’ said Hil, trying to cheer James up as they got back in the car.
James felt the bump on the back of his head. ‘It’s coming to something when you can’t even get into your own house. Give me the car keys.’
‘I don’t have them,’ said Hil.
‘So where are they then?’ said James.
‘You had them last.’
James spent the next twenty minutes searching for the car keys and the remote gate switch. After giving up he came back to the car. ‘We can’t get in and we can’t get out either.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ said Hil.
James sighed. ‘You take the back seat and I’ll take the front with Susie.’
Hil stretched out in the back seat and soon fell asleep. Susie, for the first and only time in her short life so far, slept right through the night, gurgling quietly. Only James, sitting bolt upright in the front seat, lost any sleep. In the early hours of the morning, while the dawn crept silently across the gardens and his sleepy mind fluctuated in and out of consciousness, his memory hovered over the hazy apparition he swore he’d seen climbing over the garden wall.
‘Oi remember the story well,’ said Lucky the gardener in the kitchen the next morning, ‘and if my throat weren’t so dry then I’d tell you all right now.’
James rolled his eyes and Hil said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
James sat at the large kitchen table, struggling to keep his eyelids from meeting. He felt numb from lack of sleep and stiff from sitting upright all night.
‘At least you don’t have to go to work, sir, it being Saturday,’ offered Lucky uninvited, ‘not like some of us.’
James didn’t have the energy to remind Lucky that sitting in the kitchen waiting for more tea didn’t qualify as work in anybody’s book. Soon even that thought evaded him as the gentle grasp of drowsiness gripped him. His eyes fluttered, rested and finally closed. Even sitting at the kitchen table, sleep came most welcome.
‘WEYMOUTH!’ came the scream, jolting James upright so he banged his knees on the underside of the table. ‘Reporting for duty, sir.’
‘Eees dead keen ain’t he?’ said Lucky accepting the mug of tea from Hil.
James, by now so awake that his wide eyes looked as though match-sticks held them open, turned to Weymouth. ‘You really don’t need to shout!’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Weymouth. ‘Just to inform you that I’ve managed to wake Pierre up. Turns out he took a sleeping pill.’
‘I wish someone would give me one,’ muttered James.
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘Nothing,’ said James. ‘Why would he be taking a sleeping pill?’
‘He said he’s homesick, sir and misses his friends. Apparently it’s keeping him awake at night so he’s taking the pills.’
‘He should just talk to himself,’ said Hil, ‘That would put most people to sleep.’
‘And you have an invitation from the Soameses, sir,’ said Weymouth.
‘Who?’
‘Mr and Mrs Soames, sir, neighbours in the big house on the other side of the valley. The opening of their renovated summer house, I believe most of the country set in the area have been invited.’
‘We can’t miss that,’ said Hil looking excited. ‘What a good opportunity to dress up.’
‘Her man never returned home,’ said Lucky in a dramatic voice, ‘though she waited and waited and waited.’
All the occupants of the kitchen, James, Weymouth, Hil, Sherry and baby Susie, turned towards Lucky.
‘What are you talking about?’ said James.
‘The apparition, the spectre, the phantom that you has seen climbing the fence. It is she of legend. The wailing old grey lady.’
‘What legend?’ said Hil. ‘What wailing old grey lady?’
Lucky took a swig of tea and leant forward conspiratorially. ‘During the First World War, most of the able-bodied lads in the area joined the local regiment and one sunny day they’s all marched off to war. Took the troop ship to Europe and their sweethearts never saw hide nor hair of ’em again for two years. One day the young women and the mothers of Kent put up the bunting and laid out a welcome as the boys, who had become men, came home. One by one the girls saw their men return and they’s all danced the night away. All except for one, little Sally Green, who lived in these grounds, she waited and waited but her man never came back to marry her. She went out the next night but still he didn’t turn up. She went out the next and then the next and they say that today she still goes out searching for him. Searching for her man, though she knows that he will never return.’
Hil hugged the baby close to her and shivered slightly. Sherry sighed, looking sad and wrapped her cardigan around her shoulders.
Lucky’s voice turned to a haunting whisper, ‘At the 11th hour, on the 11th day of the 11th month, regular as clockwork, she returns.’
James tutted, ‘What are you talking about? It’s the middle of July, not November!’
‘Well,’ said Lucky, ‘she’s a spectre, oi don’t suppose spectres follow the rules that close.’
Hil and Sherry looked at each other. ‘How romantic,’ said Hil, ‘I suppose she wails for his lost soul.’
‘Not really,’ said Lucky. ‘She wails because she found out that he’d deserted before he got on the ship and been shacked up with that tart Lizzie Mosey for two years.’
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ said James.
Lucky swallowed the last of his tea and headed for the garden ‘Mark moy words,’ he said, ‘the curse of the old grey lady still hangs over this house.’
James watched him leave before adding, ‘If Lucky worked as often as the old grey lady appeared we’d all be happy.’
The following weekend James, Hil and Susie took the short two mile drive to their neighbour’s house. Hil wore a colourful, floral dress and had dressed little Susie in a similar outfit. James wore a smart, light coloured summer suit. The sun burned down on the rolling hills and made them look hazy in the distance. Hil gently breathed in the warm air and the faint smell of clematis it carried. Looking up at the bright blue sky, she smiled,
‘It’s so nice that Walter and Pam invited us,’ said Hil.
‘Who?’ said James.
Hil gave him one of her looks, ‘Walter and Pam Soames? We’re going to their house warming.’
‘Oh right,’ said James, ‘we’ve only met them twice.’
‘Still, how neighbourly.’
‘Pity that we’re late,’ said James with a certain edge to his voice.
‘Susie can’t help it if she’s a little grouchy,’ said Hil. ‘You can’t blame a baby.’
‘I’m not blaming anyone,’ said James. ‘I’m just saying we’re late. We’ll be the last to arrive.’
‘It’s fashionable to be late,’ said Hil.
‘It’s fashionable to grow long hair, throw away your shoes and smoke dope,’ said James, ‘but you don’t see me doing that either.’
‘Never say never,’ laughed Hil.
As they left the car they could hear the chatter of voices coming from the summer house, ‘Sounds like the party is in full swing,’ James said to his wife as she carefully placed baby Susie in to her pram.
‘What a fantastic house,’ said Hil.
‘Thanks very much,’ said a familiar voice from behind them. James turned to see Mr Shore, the builder who had carried out the partition work on his house.
‘I’m very pleased with the result,’ said Mr Shore, nodding towards the renovated three storey summer house. ‘I designed and planned it all myself. I completely stripped the old house back to its bare bones. I put in new floors and a staircase, raised the ceilings and installed period fittings all round.’
‘I didn’t know you were an architect as well as a builder,’ said James admiring the white painted, wooden Victorian building.
‘I’m no architect,’ said Mr Shore, ‘but you learn a few things when you’ve been in the business as long as I have.’
By now they had neared the house and through the windows they could see a throng of people enjoying themselves on the first floor.
‘I’d go in if I were you,’ said Mr Shore, ‘before they finish off all the champagne.’
When they reached the front door Hil picked the baby out of the pram. ‘I’ll carry her in,’ she said.
James reached out and held Hil’s arm. ‘What’s that noise?’ he said, stopping her entering the house.
They both listened intently and under the hubbub and chatter of the party, they could make out a distinct groaning sound, like a sailing ship creaking under the wind. The sound stopped Mr Shore as well. James noticed the smile on the former furniture builder’s face had receded and had been replaced by a look of concern. Small bits of dust spat out from the level of the first floor and the friction of wood against wood became apparent. They all stepped away backwards and looked up at the people on the first floor. Happy faces seemed completely oblivious to the noise, which was growing louder by the second. Before James and Hil, and certainly Mr Shore, knew what was happening, the air around them was filled with the noise of splintering wood and an enormous dust cloud which had billowed out of the front door.
‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Mr Shore, ‘the whole first floor has collapsed!’
James stared. ‘You realise you are somewhat pointing out the obvious?’
People started stumbling out of the door. Covered in the same dust which was both blinding and choking them, they were a far cry from the smart country set who had arrived. They fell over themselves and slipped and tumbled. Hil held the baby under one arm and bent to the aid of an old man. ‘Here,’ she said extending her free arm, ‘let me help you. Move away from the house.’
James also threw himself into clearing the shocked and injured away from the house. ‘In case it all collapses,’ he stressed.
Soon the pretty grounds began to resemble a disaster zone. Gradually, everyone managed to leave the summer house. Bewildered and dusty they gathered on the other side of the lawn, shocked and unsettled, but, mercifully, not injured
‘I think Mr Shore must have made the wrong stress calculations,’ said James to Weymouth when they arrived back at their own house. ‘Like he said, he isn’t an architect. A hundred people, on the first floor of a summer house – he should have known that it couldn’t have held more than 30.’
The two of them pored over every section of the partitions that Mr Shore had erected inside the house.
‘I’ve lost all confidence in his work,’ said James, though they could find no fault. ‘Remind me in the future never to hire someone solely on recommendation. I always want to check their credentials myself and make sure they’re fully qualified. Most importantly, it should never be a one man show.’
That night, even without the disturbance from the baby, James got little sleep. He had been so distracted by analysing Shore’s miscalculations that he hadn’t registered the full significance of the event. He shuddered now to think that if they had been early, or even on time, his wife and baby daughter could have been inside that house. He drifted off into a cold daydream in which his future without the two of them stretched out ahead of him, dark and uncomforting. Wandering around the room did little to help. As he gazed into the distance, standing by the moonlit window, he was suddenly snapped from his unpleasant reverie. He had at least solved a mystery which had been bothering him for a while…
The next morning, James joined Hil, Susie, Sherry, Weymouth and Lucky in the kitchen. Pierre stood in front of them all and slowly, gently began to cry.
‘Did someone put the spoons in the wrong drawer?’ asked Lucky.
Hil gave him a withering look and looked sympathetically at Pierre. ‘Try again,’ she said, ‘see if you can get it out this time.’
Pierre sucked in a few teary breaths and then blurted out, ‘I miss my boyfriend!’
Hil and Sherry looked surprised. None of the men did.
‘I’m going home to Dickie!’ said Pierre, ‘I’m sorry to let you all down.’
With that he ran elegantly out of the room on the balls of his feet, like Fred Astaire leaving the stage.
Just my luck, thought James, another cook bites the dust.
‘Oi don’t know about you,’ said Lucky, ‘but I’m in shock.’ He paused, waiting for any suggestions. None came so he delivered his own solution, ‘Hot, sweet and in a mug, that’s the best remedy. Oi’ll put the kettle on.’
James looked at Sherry. ‘Step into my office, would you?’
When they stood alone in the office James asked the question. ‘Why are you climbing over the wall at night?’ he said quietly.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ said Sherry, wide-eyed with apparent confusion.
‘I saw you climb out at two in the morning and I saw you climb back in at six. Your red hair is unmistakable.’
Sherry put up no fight at all. ‘I can’t do without men,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s just not natural.’
James did well to hide his shock. He was fairly certain he knew what she meant, but decided to test the ground a little
‘But what about the two years you spent in the convent? You managed it then.’
Sherry gave him a look that explained a lot.
‘You made the convent up,’ James realised. ‘Am I right?’
Sherry nodded. ‘My mum’s idea actually. I’ve never been a nun - just the opposite in fact. I’ve pretty much worked the streets since my father died. Do we have to let this spoil our relationship?’
‘What relationship?’ said James.
‘Any relationship you want,’ said Sherry moving closer. ‘I can make it up to you. I could look after you in ways that your wife would never dream of. No one would ever need to know.’
James pushed her away with shock. ‘These lies could land you with a law suit,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to be lenient to save my wife and family from any embarrassment. Pack your things and Weymouth will take you to the station. You’re fired.’
Sherry didn’t argue and James made an excuse about her also being homesick when Hil asked him why she left.
I must double check references, thought James. This hiring game isn’t as easy as it looks.