“Come on girls, put your backs into it! We absolutely have to get this damn bag closed!” I beg my friends.
“Darling, if you weren't taking so much stuff with you—” Laura points out crossly.
I look at her with indignation. “It was you who bullied me into bringing all this stuff!”
Vera laughs. “Actually, you're right – it was us.”
Laura doesn't look convinced, though. “We only put in the clothes you're going to need. She must have put a load of totally useless junk in here too.”
“Like what?” I ask, insulted.
“Like your bloody financial newsletters, for one! And don't you deny it!” shouts my friend.
“As a matter of fact I did notice some paper in there,” says Vera, angrily.
I raise my hands in defence. “It's only what I absolutely need. Come on, push!”
“The clothes are strictly necessary, paperwork is for the office,” says Laura. God, she's grumpy today.
“Have you had a fight with David?” I ask her, because it is clear that my suitcase can't be the only reason for her mood.
“Of course I've had a fight with David!” she says grimly. “When haven't I had a fight with David?”
Ah. That explains everything.
Eventually, after a long and tiring struggle, we manage to get my bag closed.
“Finally!” sighs Vera, sitting down on the floor in exhaustion. “You really must really buy a bigger suitcase.”
“This one has always been big enough and it'll continue to be big enough!” I say.
But Laura agrees with her. “No, it's not big enough, not if you're going out with the Earl of Langley and have to go to the castle of Revington.”
“First of all, I'm not going out with Ian at all,” I say firmly.
“Of course not – you're just kissing him!” Vera interrupts. I throw a pillow at her and carry on.
“As I was saying, I'm not going out with Ian. And secondly, what kind of castle are you imagining Revington is going to be? It'll be a country house, just maybe a little bigger.”
Laura laughs uproariously. “Do me a favour. You've never opened a gossip magazine in your life and insist on ignoring the realities of this country: when you arrive and see Revington castle, would you kindly give me a call, just to tell me your initial impressions?”
Just what I needed to calm me down.
“Is it really a castle?” I ask hesitantly.
“It's a massive castle” my sadistic friend says.
My face contorts in a grimace of pain. “If my mum found out she'd probably give up her rule of not eating meat – she'd probably stick me in the oven with an apple in my mouth.”
“Why, what excuse did you give her?” asks Vera.
“What do you think? That I'm going away for work. Full stop. By the way, if she calls here and starts asking questions, you don't know anything, please!” I beg.
“Of course we don't know anything! Don't worry” she re-assures me.
“You make it sound easy… If only you knew how worried I am! For some reason, I've got a weird feeling about this weekend. As if something really, really bad is going to happen. And, to be honest, I have already been through plenty… I could do with a break.”
And I'd carry on moaning if my phone didn't beep.
I read the message aloud. “'I'm outside. Come downstairs'. He could have said 'please', don't you think?” Even his supposedly aseptic messages make me angry.
“Never mind,” warns Vera, who gets up to walk me to the door, “it's just the way he was brought up. He's used to giving orders.”
As if that justified it. In my eyes, it only makes it worse.
“Try not to argue,” says Laura, before seeing my expression and adding, “… well, not too much. Just a bit.”
“We'll try,” I say, sounding unconvinced, as I wave goodbye.
As I close the door behind me, I see Ian's Porsche parked in front of the house.
“I'd give you a hand with the suitcase, if you were a normal woman. But considering how things are, go ahead alone,” and on saying so, he pushes a button that opens the boot.
I quickly put my suitcase inside and hasten to get into the passenger seat.
“Don't worry, I always do things on my own,” I reply, as I fasten my seatbelt.
“Ready?” he asks, putting on a pair of fashionable sunglasses.
“Not really, but let's go anyway.”
*
It's almost midnight when we pull up outside Revington. The trip was quite hard work – not because of the traffic, but because of the company. Three hours of uninterrupted conversation with Ian is far too much, and should probably be prohibited by law.
We have argued pretty much all the time – and we only spoke about the NHS and school reform! We'd probably better stick to more neutral topics during the trip back, like music and world peace, although to be honest I imagine we could even end up strangling each other over those.
“Welcome, Miss Percy” says an impeccable and absurdly genteel butler as he opens the car door.
We've barely had time to turn off the engine and we're already being waited on hand and foot. I see someone else behind me who is already getting my suitcase out of the boot. I haven't had to lift a finger.
“Thanks,” I say with embarrassment. I am not accustomed to this type of treatment.
“I'm James, Miss,” says the butler.
“Thank you, James,” I reply, totally stunned. I am staring at one of the biggest castles I've ever seen.
Towers, turrets, walls and a white marble entrance that looks like a cathedral. Good God, I'm going to be sick.
“Good evening, James,” says Ian.
“Lord Langley, as always it is a pleasure to have you back home.” True! This is Ian's 'home'. Which is quite bewildering. “Thank you. Have many guests arrived?” he enquires. “Some, but most of them are expected tomorrow morning,” confirms the diligent butler. “You needn't have waited up. I'd imagine your alarm's set for dawn tomorrow, James. I'd have played host,” says Ian, showing me the way into the immense entrance to the castle.
“I have my usual little room, I suppose. Where's Jennifer sleeping?” he asks, turning around as he tries to work out where to go.
And then something strange happens – the butler freezes and blushes. Visibly. I wouldn't have thought it possible, so impassive does he look.
“The entire west wing of the castle is being renovated,” explains an embarrassed James. “There was a terrible storm last month and we were forced to close several rooms. And with so many guests arriving, the Duke imagined that it would be acceptable for Miss Percy and yourself to share a room.”
“What?” I shout in a very unladylike way.
All three turn to look at me, and Ian shoots me a dirty look of warning.
“I mean, 'what'?” I say, much less loudly.
“Is there a problem, sir? The Duke saw your pictures in the paper and thought you would have preferred it—” explains James, turning more and more red in the face and getting increasingly agitated.
It is clear that for a sixty year old butler, talking about sharing rooms presents serious etiquette issues.
“Not at all,” confirms Ian, giving me a withering glance. Of course – as long as he sleeps on the floor, I think to myself. “So, if we're both in my room there's no need to rob you of any more sleep. You go to bed,” Ian dismisses him.
The butler and his silent aide thank us and disappear quickly, leaving me alone with Ian, who, not at all surprised, walks towards the white staircase in front of us. That must have been the fastest exit that I have ever witnessed. Poor James, it was clearly too much for him.
“Are you coming or are you going to sleep here?” he asks, without even looking round at me.
I grab my bag angrily and follow him. “I'm coming, I'm coming,” I say, with a snort.
We cross a long, picturesque corridor on the first floor until we reach an old, white door.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” says Ian ironically, because there's nothing humble about that room. Not even the air.
This 'little room' is the size of my flat, not to mention that the walls are covered in stucco and gold. The style is clearly neoclassical and my attention immediately goes to the most beautiful parquet floor that I've ever seen, partly covered by a huge rug. I wouldn't dare walk on it! The ceiling must be inspired by the Palace of Versailles, I think to myself, and in fact I can spot some resemblances. There are two large sofas in the centre of the room and an ancient inlaid table. I also notice a modern crystal desk with a computer and a printer on it in the corner. It must be the work desk.
Across the room is a huge, old, very plain bed. At the back on the right there's a door that must lead to the bathroom.
I get the feeling Ian doesn't like showing off. This is an amazing room, but it's also somewhat functional and, all things considered, sober.
“It is to your taste?” asks my host.
“Of course. Especially the sofa where you're going to sleep,” I answer quickly. Better get straight to the point and not waste time on pleasantries.
I might be completely out of it thanks to the lateness of the hour, and my ability to protest might be limited, but that doesn't mean I'll forgive him for this brilliant idea of sharing the room. Although, in fact, there's actually room for a couple of families in here!
“And I thought you were going to offer to sleep there,” teases Ian.
“You thought wrong,” I say quietly. “The pictures in the paper are all your fault, ergo the couch is yours.”
“Oh well,” he sighs, “it means I'll take a blanket from the wardrobe. Although making a person of my calibre sleep on the sofa is really low.”
I stop in the middle of the room trying to decide how and where to unpack. “Do you really think I care at all?” I ask him.
Ian doesn't even reply, just chuckles.
I sit on the bed and open my suitcase. “Where can I put my stuff?”
Ian opens the wardrobe and shows me a drawer. “This is free if you've got folded things to put away. You can hang the rest here.”
“I've only got one long dress” I re-assure him.
“No problem, there's plenty of room. I don't keep much stuff here now, because I don't come very often. My base is in London nowadays. I try to set foot here as rarely as possible.”
A remark that is too interesting not to follow up. “Why?” I ask, trying not to show my curiosity. “Because if I come here too often, I end up arguing with my parents and my grandfather. So I try and avoid it.”
I'm speechless. “Really?” Oops, that slipped out.
Ian laughs at my expression. “Yes, my dear – you're not the only one with a talent for making me lose my patience. In fact, my whole family is thoroughly dedicated to it. Mine is an extremely difficult life.”
“I can imagine… Even Chinese miners slaving away with no legal protection would agree that you have it tough, I'm sure.” I'd like to know more, but it's midnight and I'm starting to feel very, very tired. He, too, looks as though he needs a good night's sleep. “How about saving this discussion for tomorrow and going to sleep?” I propose shortly thereafter, as I put the last of my things in the wardrobe.
“For once, you've had a good idea,” he agrees, yawning.
“I only have good ideas” I retort.
“I'll pretend I didn't hear that. You can use the bathroom first,” and he invites me to go ahead, pointing to the door across the room.
I grab my pyjamas, a very plain two-piece, and head for the bathroom. I brush my teeth and get changed quickly. When I get back into the bedroom, Ian has already changed: he's wearing check pyjama bottoms with a plain white T-shirt. There's no earthly reason why he should look so damn sexy in them! And yet he does…
“No lace?” he asks when he sees me come out.
“Do I look like a girl who wears lace?” I ask him.
Ian seems to reflect and then shrugs. “No, you don't, actually. But one can always hope,” he says, with a chuckle.
“Be serious” I say, not at all impressed with his attempt at humour.
I make for the bed and slip underneath the covers. They're really soft, no doubt about it. I think I'll sleep well tonight, despite the awkward presence of Ian, who will be on a sofa at a safe distance, though.
The little lord comes out of the bathroom and turns off the lights. “Good night” he says from somewhere far away in the darkness.
“Good night” I say, and a minute later I fall into the arms of Morpheus.