Sore point which makes my mother’s resentment grow stronger every day: I’ve been a duke for six months, and we still haven’t received any eminent guests.
I try to buy some time: “I cannot tell you, it’s a secret.”
My mother rolls her eyes, more and more annoyed. “And may I ask when they are supposed to arrive?”
“No! It’s part of the surprise, I don’t even know myself. They could arrive anytime, that’s why I need you here.”
Then, her expression suddenly changes and her eyes are wide open as though she’d seen the Virgin Mary herself. “It’s the Queen! Her Majesty the Queen with the whole Royal Family! Now I know why you can’t tell me, it’s confidential!”
Oh my, what have I done? At this point, I can just keep on pretending. If I manage to get away with it, I’m God. “Um, yes, but please act as if you didn’t know.”
“Listen to me everyone, stop what you’re doing and put everything back in order. We have a royal visit to plan. Margaret, come with me!” She yells, while heading resolutely to her study, followed by her lady-in-waiting and her pack of overweight corgis. I hate those dogs.
Yes, my mother has a lady-in-waiting, but she prefers to call her ‘special secretary’. Actually, despite all her limits, she realises that talking of ladies-in-waiting in the twenty-first century would be rather silly.
It’s unbelievable how I can’t handle her crazy ideas without causing her to come up with something even crazier.
If nothing else, I prevented her from spending thousands of pounds.
Anyway, I have more urgent matters to deal with, right now.
*
I turn my father’s study upside down, trying desperately to reconstruct the story of my finances and figure out how this mess happened. Nothing. There’s nothing at all. All I can find is waste paper, mouldy old documents and a few receipts, but nothing useful. Then again, he always relied on Smith, our financial adviser, that’s why I won’t find anything here.
This makes me realise how wrong it was to delegate something so delicate. I thought that if my father had trusted him, then I could trust him myself. Bad idea. From now on, no more advisers: I’ll sit behind this bloody desk.
While I crawl among stacks of yellowed paper spread all over the floor, Lance suddenly turns up, startling me.
“I apologise, Your Grace. I saw the light and I thought that someone had accidentally left it on. I had no idea I’d interrupt your work. It’s past 2 a.m.”
“No worries, Lance,” I reply, letting my back collapse against the wall while I rest my elbows on my knees.
“You look tired, if I may say so.”
“I am… Lance, did my father ever tell you about his investments?”
“Your father used to confide in me, but he never talked about his financial situation. Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Can I suggest a good night’s sleep? You’ve looked stressed since you came back from London.”
I nod, then I dismiss him. I linger a while longer, wondering how my father, such a self-restrained and cautious man, could have been deceived into making a disastrous investment.
An investment which would leave me broke, and with my mother breathing down my neck. I go back to the desk and start racking my brain: I need a plan B.
I could open our gates to tourists. Yet, just thinking of this hurts my heart: one of our points of pride, ever since my family has had the Dukedom of Burlingham, is that we’ve never needed to turn our properties into tourist attractions for fatties in jelly shoes, unlike most impoverished nobles who were forced to do it in order to repair a roof or the heating system.
I evaluate this strategy, but even if it worked, it would take too long: I would have to arrange guided visits for at least six years to collect the money I owe the bank, plus the interest. Too much time, indeed.
I ball up a scribbled on sheet of paper and toss it across the room, on the other side of which it hits the carved wood boiserie.
While I walk through the gallery of portraits which leads to my room, I can feel my ancestors staring at me. Harsh and serious, they look down on me and pass judgement. I know what they think. They think that I’m unfit to be Duke of Burlingham, and that I will cause the decline of the Parker family.
Next time, I’d better walk through the armoury. It’s a longer way, but at least I would avoid the angry faces of mydeardeparted relatives.
And tonight, I will not sleep at all.
