They made their way up the grand staircase and walked along the balcony, then up another flight of creaking wooden stairs to the second floor before turning left and right several times, through a veritable labyrinth of corridors until they were in a part of the house which Charles had not seen before. Lifeless ancient animal trophies stared vacantly from wooden shields, and antique suits of armour rattled slightly in response to their footfalls as they passed.
And everywhere there was dust. The place was thick with it. Charles felt that he didn't want to breathe too deeply in case he took in a lungful of the stuff.
"We're in the west wing now, sir; not used much these days. Still, it means there's plenty of room for you! Well, here we are."
He grinned as he pushed open the door then stood back to allow Charles to step inside. To his surprise, the room was quite welcoming. The room was of a modest size, but it was well lit, and a fire blazed in the hearth — and there was none of that wretched dust anywhere to be seen.
"You'll find the bathroom through the door in the corner, sir, and there's a selection of clothes in the wardrobe. I'm sure you'll find something to fit you." He grinned again.
"Thank you, James. This is all most welcome."
"A pleasure, sir. When you're ready, use the bell to call me and I'll bring you to Lord Willoughby."
With a slight bow, he left and closed the door behind him. Charles took a moment to take in his surroundings. The room was decorated with the kind of oak panelling he liked so much, and one of the walls was adorned with a large tapestry, very ornate and clearly handmade. It must have taken many months to complete, he thought. The carpet had a deep pile that shifted under his feet as he moved and the heavy velvet curtains across the bay window were of a comfortable deep theatrical red. But the centrepiece of the room was, without doubt, the elegant four-poster bed. The carvings which covered it were exquisite and the canopy was a mural depicting some ancient battle or other in fine detail. Well, he thought, I'm impressed. It was certainly a step up from what he was used to.
Being pleased to find that the unfamiliar shower controls could be operated without the user needing to possess a certificate from MENSA, Charles luxuriated in the jets of hot water, which were most refreshing, after which he found some much needed and suitably sized fresh clothing in the wardrobe, just as James had told him. He put on some grey slacks, a shirt and sleeveless sweater and a comfortable pair of black shoes; and then unceremoniously dumped the sodden garments in which he had arrived into the bathtub.
Before ringing for James to return, Charles thought it wise to have a final quick glance over His Lordship's Will, on the assumption that the whole point of the visit was for them to discuss some aspect of it. He pulled the twenty-page document from his bag, being relieved that he had seen fit to put it in a plastic wrapper before leaving the office; he was quite sure it would not have survived the downpour had he neglected to do so.
To put it mildly, Lord Alfred Willoughby was absolutely loaded. Of course, you wouldn't think so, to judge by the general state of repair of Heston Grange, but he had always been a shrewd old codger and, for safety’s sake, was keen to portray an image that was not in keeping with his means. The fact of the matter was that this very private man owned one of the world's largest gold mines and held a significant share in a second. He also owned a string of oil refineries and had recently added another fortune to his pile through sharp operating on the stock market. All of this was in addition to the regular, and not insubstantial, income derived from property rentals on his two estates in Berkshire and Galloway. Not surprising, then, that as he was nearing the end of his life he was anxious to ensure that, after his departure, all these assets would be taken care of according to his wishes and in a responsible manner.
But the irony was that he had been nearing the end of his life for the last twenty years and showed no signs of checking out just yet. Consequently, his Will had been written and re-written, with each new set of amendments being based upon whichever of his acquaintances were in favour at any given time.
As he skimmed through the lengthy document Charles felt a pang of sympathy for his long-suffering secretary who, he knew, would be just thrilled at the prospect of having to type out the wretched thing yet again. Also, he wondered, who would be the lucky individuals this time who were about to get a boost to their future nest-eggs, and who would be the ones to lose out? Having slipped the pages back into the folder, Charles crossed the room and pushed the button to summon James. He heard nothing but knew that the butler would be on his way.
Having nothing to do now but wait for James to arrive, Charles idly stepped through the thick curtains into the bay window and stared out into the blackness. For the first time he realised that he was at the rear of the house since, away in the distance, he could see the moonlight reflecting off the restless sea, an inky black void that stretched far away in front of him. The rain was, if anything, heavier now and seeing such an untamed scene from the vantage point of a snug, warm room caused him to feel rather less tense than had been the case a short time ago.
His mind began to wander and he wondered, once again, about what he had done that caused his fiancé such offence that she had left him — was it really only four weeks ago? Whatever had provoked her to do such a thing? One bright, sunny morning, without giving any warning, she had suddenly announced she was leaving and, right then, simply walked out without so much as one word of explanation or even a backward glance. He told himself that there must have been another man, that it couldn't have been his fault; he had always looked after her and taken great care of her. He had.
Hadn't he?
As the now familiar morose feelings began to descend on him once again, he began to wonder for the tenth time in as many days whether he should perhaps be considering some sort of career change.
With a sigh, he was just about to turn away from the window when something caught his attention. Just over there… to the left… a torch light. Who would be out walking in the grounds on a night like this?… Gone again… no, there it is…
A knock at the door distracted him. He stepped back through the curtains.
"Come in."
"Feeling better now, sir?"
"Yes thank you, James. Er… James?"
"Yes sir?"
"I do believe I just spotted the light from someone's torch outside. Who on earth would be wandering about outside in this kind of weather?"
He gave a little laugh. "Oh, no one with any sense sir."
"Well, I'm pretty certain I wasn't imagining it."
A slight frown crossed James' face and he went to the window.
"Well, I can't see anything now, sir. It could have been a trick of the light, perhaps; happens all the time round these parts, what with the bad weather, the close proximity of the sea, and not to mention the moonlight and all."
"I suppose you must be right, but I’m sure I saw something."
"You know yourself, sir, how isolated we are out here. There's no-one else for miles around. Trick of the light, sir — that's what it'll have been. Shall I take you to His Lordship now? He's waiting for you."
"Oh, yes of course."
Charles picked up his briefcase and followed James from the room, not entirely convinced by his explanation. Still, he was here to see a client — nothing more. He'd deal with the business at hand, however eccentric it was, then leave as soon as was practical afterwards and that would be that.