CHAPTER 8
KAI
Ilog into For my Fans in trepidation. I've waited twenty-four hours, but I can’t stand it any longer. I’m preparing myself for the worst, that no one’s even watched my video, or just viewed the trailer and moved on because it’s not holding their interest enough to watch more. I take a deep breath...
And . . . it’s not bad. It has been watched. I quickly view the stats and then click to see how much I’ve made. Five thousand. Okay well, not enough to save the hall, obviously, but it’s a good start, isn’t it? I sit back and let out a laugh. Last week, if I’d managed to make five grand from five minutes of work, I’d have thought I was rich. It would have easily been enough for a month’s rent and to eat well without having to decide between coffee and actual food. I don’t why I didn’t think of doing this years ago instead of pulling pints and trailing round going to auditions for parts I had no hope of landing.
One video isn’t enough, though I might have peaked already for all I know. I need to create some more. I wasn’t sure if myapproach of creating a vintage feel would work, but it’s all I had to hand. I just hope it’s enough to keep people’s interest. What I do know, though, is that the one chaise longue and a bit of what looks like net curtain will need upgrading. I need more props and outfits. I managed to keep my head out of shot in the first video, but being conscious of that made my movements stilted. There’s no way I’m going to show my face on screen, though. I might not be famous but I’ve been in films and on TV enough to be recognised by people, and I don’t want this made public or connected to who I am as an actor. It wouldn’t take much digging by a clever journalist to find out my connections to Cavendish Hall either. No, I need to wear a mask or find some way of being hidden.
The first thing I do is send Tate a text. We’ve exchanged a few in the last couple of days, enough for me to know he arrived in Hollywood safely and is having the time of his life. I’m happy for him, I hope he does well, though I miss him. We shared a flat for the last five years, after my dad kicked me out for being gay, not that I ever actually came out to him. I knew better than that, but he found out anyway. Living with Tate, I could finally be myself and I’ll forever be grateful to him for that.
Kai - FMF. Check out LegacyinLace
I leave it cryptic, but I know Tate will work it out. It takes a surprisingly short amount of time for him to reply so it might be early over there, before he’s started shooting for the day.
Tate - this is awesome, but I knew I was right, you are a romantic.
Kai - pfft
It seems like the only suitable response and I receive a laughing emoji in return.
Tate – seriously, though, I can see you’re trending so keep it up and don’t forget your friends when you’re famous.
Kai – same, I want to be next to you when they unveil your star on the walk of fame.
Tate – well I’ll be so old by then I’ll need someone to push my wheelchair.
I send a rofl emoji back and then quickly shut my phone, our banter easy despite being thousands of miles apart. Without Tate, there’s no one else who truly knows me and I swallow back the loneliness. I’m here trying to make this happen and it already feels like a lot. The staff here have been good, Jones for sourcing me coffee and I like talking to the delicious Jason, but that’s it, they’re staff, and they expect me to keep to my place as much as they keep to theirs, despite my attempts otherwise. I feel as alone as I did when I still lived at home.
I hear voices travelling along the corridor outside my room and go to investigate. I see Jones and a couple of people, one with a digital camera. I’d forgotten the estate agents were coming today to photograph the house and record the details. I almost looked forward to it when I made the decision to sell, but now I’m hoping it’s a last resort and certainly not to the development company.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Jones says, catching sight of me before I can duck back into my room. “Let me introduce Miss Graves andMr Wilson from Distinctive Properties. This is Lord Buckley, the seventh Earl of Cavendish.”
I’ve never heard my title said out loud and in full before, and I can’t help preen a little at how grand it sounds. Jones catches my eye and I see his lips twitch. I can’t help the slight upturn of my own mouth.
“Hello,” I say and offer my hand to them in turn.
“Thank you for the opportunity to present this house to the market, err, sir,” says Miss Graves, adding the sir after a slight hesitation. I don’t know if it’s because she’s not used to it, that she forgot, or just couldn’t quite place the sight of a guy in sweatpants and a hoodie as an earl. I don’t blame her on that one. But I find I like the incongruousness of it and don’t tell her the sir isn’t necessary. Perhaps that’s a rule I’ll only use in certain circumstances.
I ask Jones to continue showing them the hall but decide to tag along, interested in both Jones’s description of it and their reactions. Plus, I still haven’t seen all the rooms yet so this is a good chance to discover more. After finishing on this floor we ascend to the next level, and I trail after them, lingering in several rooms as if I’m a tourist who can’t keep up with the main group.
One in particular interests me. Jones spends very little time in it, calling it a dressing room and saying there’s no need to photograph it, but as the others move on, I stay. It’s situated between two large bedrooms, with doors leading to both. It has a few pieces of furniture—a chaise longue, a couch, and a couple of wingback chairs—which I’m finding is very much the standard for this house. These are more ornate than I’ve seen previously, though, much more ornate, with golden frames and black velvetupholstery. There are also a couple of standard lamps, again in black and gold, making it feel very art deco. They could be originals and probably are. In one corner is a free-standing screen. The panels are black, but each has a scene depicting peacocks, a theme I’m noticing more and more in my uncle’s life. I’m half surprised he doesn’t have real ones in the gardens.
The whole room has an opulent and lavish feel to it, but also something more intimate. It’s going to make a great set for my videos, capturing my idea of the extravagant vintage theme perfectly. Along one wall is another door, and with curiosity, I open it. The room is small and windowless, and I fumble for the light switch. It’s a closet and is full of clothes, racks and racks of them, and shoe boxes and hat boxes are stacked eight high. There’s also a dressing table, with a mirror surrounded by lights. I look at the clothes more closely, some of them covered in protective plastic. I’ve found the place where my uncle changed from Edwin to Winnie.
“Is this where you felt most comfortable?” I whisper into the mirror as I sit at the dressing table. A question reaching out into the ether across time. I don’t know the answer, I just feel a deep sense that it’s true. I idly pull open one of the drawers in the dressing table and discover costume jewellery, feathers, ribbons of satin and lace. Excitement builds as I think of ways I can use these in my videos. I search the rest of the drawers and almost shout triumphantly as I pull out two masks, both black and gold.
Eager to get started, I return to my room and gather my laptop and phone. Back in the dressing room, I close the curtains against the fading January sun and set the lamps so one of the wingback chairs is half in shadow. But it’s not quite right, so I step into the closet looking for inspiration. There are a few fur coats, and I think back to the diaries with a laugh. They’re notthe vibe so I keep searching, finding a beautiful blue and green shawl a few minutes later, which I drape over the chair. Now it’s perfect.
CHAPTER 9
JASON
“What is this flower? Isn’t it out early?” I turn at the voice behind me and see Kai gently cupping the large creamy-white bloom. I watch him as he leans in closer and takes a deep sniff of its delicate scent. A lock of his blond hair falls over his forehead and I want to reach out and brush it away. I fist my hand by my side, willing it to stay still, and take a deep breath. He’s been at the hall for just over a week and I’ve seen him nearly every day when I’ve been working. At some point, usually around midmorning, he’s appeared, or I’ve come across him sitting on one of the benches deep in thought. I was only wondering a few minutes ago if I’d see him today, and I’m glad I have. I don’t want to dwell on the reasons why. I’m aware that I’m drawn to him and that I should stay away, as he’s my boss. When he looks up at me with a curious look in those golden eyes, I realise I haven’t answered him. Instead, I’ve just been gawping at his beauty.
“Err . . . that’s a magnolia, they can flower in February. That one likes the shade of the wall behind it so it’s always the first to flower. The others will be out in a week or so.”
“It smells lovely, kind of like citrus but with the warmth of vanilla,” he says with a smile.
