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Chapter Three With his precious BMW stored away in the large garage tagged onto the side of the manor, Justin headed across the driveway. There was chaos raining down its destruction today. Plumbers and electricians, builders and gardeners: all sorts and types of people littered the entrance. Wires of red, yellow and green hung down dangerously over the front steps, tools left abandoned on the walkway. The two glass front doors had been left standing open and voices drifted out into the still air. Ignoring everything and everyone, Justin stepped over the littered tools and wiring and headed inside. Men’s voices flooded his ears. Dozens of them, all speaking at once. The radio was blaring out some nonsense or another, just adding to the increasing sense of confusion and mayhem. In the reception hallway Justin found two men lying on their sides, pressing something into the skirting boards. One of them looked up at Justin. He had a face of thick, dark hair and brown eyes that promised violence. He didn’t smile and neither did Justin. Once past the man Justin heard him grumble to his co-worker. “The Lord of the manor arrives.” Both men sniggered and Justin froze with one foot on the first step, the other still in the hallway. Should he turn back? Tell them men exactly what he thought of them and their jealousy? Fire them for their rudeness and disrespect? It was tempting but not very practical. Instead, he took his car keys out of his pocket, let the BMW keyring dangle down and then twirled them noisily in his grip. That cut the sniggering short. The stupid peasants had probably never even seen a BMW before. A year’s wages wouldn’t even pay for half of the car. Just to be even more petulant, Justin casually moved across the stairs so that his muddy shoes rubbed dirt into the plush red carpet that acted as a cushioned border to the wooden steps. His mother hated it when he dragged mess into the house. She liked cleanliness – to the point of obsession. Winding her up was one of the few things that brought Justin joy. |
Continuing slowly up the stairs, still twirling his car keys noisily, he desperately tried to ignore the paintings hanging on the wall. They were the most ludicrous things in the house – and that was saying something. Oil paintings of his mother and father, each dressed in royal robes – his mother even wearing a tiara. Two other, smaller paintings sat on either side of the grand masters, one of Justin and one of his elder sister. He still remembered the week he had spent sitting for the artist. Eight years old and wanting to be running around outside in the blistering sunshine. Making faces and then being scolded, shuffling around in his seat and earning a smack from his father. He’d cried so hard that the artist had grown uncomfortable and Justin’s mother had quickly escorted him away. He hadn’t been asked to sit for another painting since. And he would flatly refuse even if he was. “Well, you could have said hello!” The shriek came from the bottom of the stairs and it was decidedly female. There was no mistaking who it could be. Justin’s darling mother. Something of royalty in her native home of Germany. She’d followed her heart across Europe to Justin’s father. Already pregnant with his daughter, Justin wondered whether it had really been love or perhaps just shame that she’d been with a man out of wedlock. Whatever the reason, they had had a hasty wedding – much smaller than she’d wanted, as she was so fond of sharing whenever drunk – and six months later Justin’s sister had been born. His mother had been twenty-two, his father twenty-six. A year later Justin had followed. And, as the handyman downstairs had rightly said, he was the lord of the manor. Or rather he would be when his father passed away. Which he was showing no signs of doing just yet. “Aren’t you even going to turn and look at me?” Justin’s mother called up the stairs. When he’d been younger the German tint to her accent had been charming, now he was older he just found it annoying. |