“It doesn’t feel like it to me. It doesn’t feel like it to Indira either. She’s on the warpath, mate, and she’s got you in her sights.”
I gulped down my tea. “And what does that look like when it’s at home?”
“Put it this way, if there’s going to be a second season ofThe Love Manor, it won’t be filmed at Buckford Hall. I can tell you that for free.”
This was very bad news indeed. I was kind of relying on the show coming back year after year to keep the estate afloat—and to deal with whatever it was the King’s tax collector wanted. My fear at losing a significant amount of future income must have been obvious on my face, because Petey Boy’s eyebrows went up.
“Yeah,” he said, “it turns out I’m not the only one who unleashed forces I didn’t understand.”
Well, he had me there. My father always used to sayDon’t quote me to me, and now I understood why. It had seemed funnier when I’d said it.
“How do I fix it?”
Petey Boy leant forward in his chair, cupping his tea on his knees.
“You can start by keeping your word about being a help, not a hindrance, bruv.”
He was right. My eyes flicked down to my copy ofThe Knight’s Vow, Sir Gawain’s oath to protect Henry unto the death flashing through my mind. To be honest, if you’d asked me, I’d have said keeping my word was a defining feature of my personality—right up there with being bookish, horsey, and deathly allergic to trousers. Petey Boy seemed to sense his words had wounded.
“You promised to do everything you could to make this show a success,” Petey Boy continued. “So far, you ain’t lived up to that promise, mate. It’s me who cops it in the neck every time you fail to step up.”
My leg started to bounce involuntarily, the way it did when I felt uncomfortable or stressed. I chewed at my thumbnail, looked aimlessly around the room as if my father’s dusty books might provide the answer. I needed Petey Boy to know I really would do whatever it took to makeThe Love Manora success—and to keep future seasons filming at Buckford. My eyes settled onThe Knight’s Vowagain.
“That’s it!” I said, jumping up.
Petey Boy looked startled. “What’s what?”
I put my tea down. “Stand up,” I told him, grabbing his hand.
“William, I’m tired, what is this?”
I got down on bended knee, still holding Petey Boy’s hand in mine.
“Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “No, I don’t think that’s the answer.”
I bowed my head and said the words Sir Gawain had said to his beloved King Henry. More or less.
“I, William Stanley Leaf Richard George Winters-de Valois-Winters, swear that henceforward I will be a faithful man to my lord, Peter…” I looked up. He was smiling. “What’s your middle name?”
“Boy.” He giggled.
“Fair enough.” I bowed my head solemnly once more. “Will be a faithful man to my lord, Peter ‘Petey Boy’ Topham, and do become your liege man of life and limb in your crusade to makeThe Love Manora success. I will bear unto you a BAFTA-worthy television programme, to live and to die, against all manner of folk. I will not reveal your counsel to any man, nor any angry chain-smoking Scotswoman, and I will serve you faithfully with worldly honour, until your show is safely ‘in the can.’ So help me God.”
I put my hands together in the prayer position and presented them to Petey Boy, my head still bowed.
“Put your hands around mine,” I said.
“This is batshit crazy, bruv.”
“Come on, do it. Or I can’t be held to my words.”
He put his hands around mine.
“Now kiss me on the forehead.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you want my help or not?”
