‘It’s got dynamic roll bars—it automatically counteracts centrifugal forces. No more stiff necks.’
‘Oh, I think with this car, Ben, there’ll be other things permanently stiff, so who gives a fuck about necks?’ He seized the laughing Ben and plucked the keys off him, and they took their new Bentley Bentayga W12 for its first introduction to Dartmoor. And just as Ben accused him of once, he drove like a fucking maniac, just because he could, and because when you’re staring into the abyss once again, make sure you look fuckingly good whilst doing it.
Ben Rider-Mikkelsen looked edible in anything, of course. He was spectacular in the black and orange two-tone leather seats. He owned the wood-veneer, Zeiss-polarised-lens Bentley-branded sunglasses he’d treated them both to, even though it was October and neither of them really needed to be wearing them. But Aleksey thought he looked best of all naked and sprawled, fucked out and laughing, on their bed later that afternoon as he braced over him taking him one more time, just because he could, and because this too was a way to defeat the gods of chaos and chance that were circling them both.
Uncharacteristically, he was the one who volunteered to make them something to eat and bring it back to bed. He was very pleased with Ben Rider-Mikkelsen, felt guilty for certain other thoughts he’d had about him whilst hanging upside down in a seatbelt, and felt charitable enough to wait on him hand and foot for once.
While he was peering into the fridge, wondering what it all meant, his phone buzzed and he received an email from Cornish Wonder Boy. He clicked on it and saw that he’d sent the translated book with a note explaining that they’d put in some punctuation, which it had lacked, and made the English more readable without losing meaning, and spelled the English words correctly although most of the Cornish had been a bitiffy. Also, it had been full of recipes, which they’d assumed he wouldn’t be interested in, so those too had been left out, although if he did want to know how to bake a Battenberg cake, let him know. None of this was good translation etiquette for a primary source, but if he gave them permission to research and publish, then it would all be restored to its original form.
He was more than happy to never know how to bake a single cake, so absentmindedly took a plate of food and some tea into the main room, lit the fire and sat down on the sofa to read.
15 October 1964
I’m going to try and write every night. There’s not much else to do. Lily’s reading and pretending she’s not curious what I’m doing. Hah. That’s why I’m going to stick with the old language. I’m the only one who speaks it here and Mrs D won’t let me utter a word—says it’s uncivilised and possibly the work of the devil. I’m going to write out some recipes in English so if she does find it she’ll think it’s my cook book! I arrived yesterday. The place is very pretty but it’s strange being on such a tiny island like this. I keep thinking I’ll pop down to the shop and then realise I can’t. So there’s this big house I’m in, a cottage which I’ve not seen yet and that’s it. And there’s no important folk from the family here, just us, so I don’t get it at all. Lily doesn’t either. She’s the other housemaid. She’s all right. She comes from Truro and thinks that makes her special. She likes the Beatles more than Elvis, so that just shows how not special she is!
Aleksey was so fascinated by this he contemplated just texting Mark back and asking for a summary, but he scrolled down. Radulf slunk in, head down, probably on the scrounge for food, so he let him climb up alongside him and they shared the cheese.
18 October
Nothing much happened today. The housekeeper is called Mrs D, which Lily thinks is hysterical, as she’s sure it’s short for Mrs Danvers. She’s nothing like that old witch and I quite like her. We both saw that film, and Lily thinks Laurence Olivier was lovely. I thought he was creepy and there’s no way I’d have married him. I think Max is someone who seems nicer in a book than he would be in real life. But I’d marry him for that house, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Mrs D keeps talking about the war, just like mum and dad used to do, so that makes me laugh. Cook is nice too. We’re the only ones in the house and then Walter is the gardener and his son Sam helps him because that’s harder work really than the house. They live in the cottage. I still don’t really get why we’re all here. No one comes, so cook cooks for herself and us, we clean for her and ourselves. It’s so funny. Lily and me aren’t allowed to go in the big rooms—except to clean! But no one uses them so they don’t get dirty! Lily says if she has to light a fire for bloody ghosts she’s going home. I think she’s homesick. Her dad owns a pasty shop so I think she’s just missing his food! Cook was trying out salmon mousse today as Boatman brought the gelatine she’d had sent down all the way from London. We all decided just eating the salmon would have been nicer. But that’s going to be my first recipe, so here goes.
They finished the cheese so began on some chocolate. He checked with Radulf first if chocolate was safe for dogs and was assured that it was.
20 October
I had to miss a few days writing. The power went out. It happens a lot during the winter apparently. This is just the middle of October, so I expect I’ll have to get used to going to bed in the dark. Mrs D let us have a candle but then she came and took it. She said she didn’t trust silly girls to have one overnight. I’m fifteen. I’ll be sixteen after Christmas. I think I can be trusted with a candle! I met Boatman again today. He goes round all the islands and brings all the fresh stuff like the milk and cream and eggs and he always brings a newspaper for Mrs D. He brought me and Lily here. He said he’d take a letter to anyone if I wanted, so I think I’ll write to Gerren, just see what he’s doing. There’s going to be a big Bonfire Night party on St Mary’s and I’m stuck here. I wonder if I’ll see the fireworks if they’re high enough.
He agreed with Mrs D, whoever she was, that candles were a very bad idea. He seemed to remember telling Ben exactly the same thing their first night at Guillemot.
27 October
I spend all day cleaning things that aren’t dirty. Today I had to polish the silver cutlery. Mrs D gave me this horrible stinky liquid in a jam jar and I had to dip and rinse and rub. Ughhhhhh the whole table was covered in forks and knives and spoons. It’s very important to rinse well. Mrs D said if she were writing one of those Agatha Christie murder mysteries, she’d poison everyone with silver polish left on the forks. I think that’s a bit worrying from a housekeeper really. There were twenty place settings! Mrs D said she can remember people actually coming to the house and the important folk having parties here. I wish I could see something like that. She was quite nice really, other than the poisoning bit. She brought me a cup of tea and a slice of cake and we sat together for a bit as I worked. She doesn’t remember the old king who owns this house, and I think if she’d not been so polite she’d have spat when she said his name. He lives in Paris now and is ill. She said wickedness will out. He disgraced the nation according to her. So funny. But now anyone in the family who wants to can use the place, so we do get occasional visitors. She said we will probably get a small party at Christmas. So exciting! I might see the queen! The cake we had was called Battenberg, which is a German word, and it was named after the old queen before this one, Mrs D thought. She wasn’t really sure. She said our queen is actually German and is really called Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. I don’t think she can be right about that, or wouldn’t she have been on the other side of the war? I told Lily though, and she agreed with me we’d rather be called Windsor too. She took my hand and we paraded around our attic saying, ‘Hello, we’re Jenna and Lily Windsor.’ She’s so funny sometimes. Anyway, here is the recipe for Battenberg Cake. It’s a huge fuss if you ask me, so I’m glad I’m in charge of cleaning and not cooking.
He got up and went to fetch some cake. All of the birthday one was long gone, but there was usually a slice of something in Molly’s secret stash he could raid. The iced buns he discovered were also essential for growing wolfhounds he was reliably informed, so passing the box between them, he scrolled down once more.
29 October
It was quite exciting today. I had an hour off because we did curtains (although Mrs D doesn’t like me calling them that!). Each one weighs a ton and had to be taken down and then hung outside to be beaten. I felt like someone from an old book! I should have had a bonnet on and a long dress. Lily pretended hers was her brother, and I pretended mine was Gerren. I wrote but Boatman’s brought no reply. I wish I hadn’t let him kiss me now. It was pretty yucky and he hurt my lip and I’ll tell him so if I ever see him again. Maybe I’ll just ignore him. That’ll show him. I’m good at giving people the silent treatment. Anyway I don’t need Gerren. I met my future husband today. I’m only joking. He was ancient, but he’s very lovely and I told him so. I don’t think anyone had ever told him that. I took my hour off and decided to walk around the island. It’s the first chance I’ve had. It’s not very big, but it is so lovely. I found the little cottage Kittiwake but Walter and Sam weren’t home so I didn’t like to go in. It’s not as nice as Guillemot, but quite sweet really. And then I climbed the hill to the lighthouse! And THEN I discovered we’re not alone! I was walking around this big bit at the bottom, trailing my hand around, seeing how many steps it took and OH MY GOD there was an old man just standing there as if he was a ghost. I screamed but he’d only come out from the door so I felt a bit silly. We sat and had a lovely chat. There are four of them inside, and they each do three months and go home for three. I wanted to go in, but I wasn’t allowed because I’m a woman! Cheek. But William said he’d see what he could do if the others didn’t tell on him. It seems odd having a lighthouse on a private island but he said the old chap (I think he means the sick king in Paris) didn’t have a choice. William works for Trinity House and that’s more important than the Royal Family apparently. He showed me the cliffs and told me never to walk over the arch. As if. I think I’ll ask cook to make something and I’ll take it to William. I bet they eat horrible stuff in there otherwise.
This girl had lived on Light Island almost sixty years ago. He wondered if she’d still been there when it had been gifted to the younger prince in the seventies. She’d be about the same age as Harry now. He wondered if she was living on the islands somewhere.
1 November
I am so excited. Mrs D wants to go to the fireworks on St Mary’s. Lily and I haven’t said anything yet, but we’re being very quiet and very good and working, working, working, and we think she’ll take us with her as a treat. Gerren finally wrote to me and he’s going to meet me there if we’re allowed to go. I think I love him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Jenna Roskilly sounds lovely I think. Oh, hello, I’m Mrs Jenna Roskilly, and these are my children Wenna and William. Imagine how posh I’ll be after this job! I shall have handkerchiefs and serviettes and I’ll know how to polish silver! Lily is very funny. She makes firework noises behind cook then pretends it’s her chair squeaking or something. Mrs D was all in a tiss and said she needed something to cheer her up because Labour won the election and Harold Wilson is going to be PM. I couldn’t even vote, so I don’t care, but everyone here knows him of course. Cook’s brother has the house next door to him on St Mary’s and says he can smell his foul pipe over the garden hedge. She said no decent person would ever vote for someone the queen couldn’t invite for tea. She’s so funny. Can you smoke in front of the queen? I suppose if she comes here for Christmas she might bring him too? Imagine that. Would I have to courtesy to him as well? I don’t see why. I’ve been practising with Lily but we’re not very good yet.
‘For fuck’s sake! I nearly died of starvation. What are you doing? Have you been eating? Fucking hell!’
Ben stormed back to the kitchen before he could defend himself, so he just shouted, ‘Bring me some of whatever you’re having.’ Hopefully it would actually be something cooked.
He pondered Guillemot for a while, picturing the girls in the attic. It was possible that Jenna and Lily had actually still been working there just before he bought the island. Presumably the prince had kept the place staffed even though he rarely visited according to Phillipa. Some of Phillipa’s house staff had worked for her parents, he’d once been told. He’d wondered one day, wandering along a little-used corridor at Barton Combe, why they appeared to have strange elderly people living in tiny over-heated rooms, and that had been her explanation. She didn’t seem to find it odd at all.
6 November
I hate Gerren Roskilly. I hate Gerren Roskilly. I hate Gerren Roskilly.
‘What are you doing?’ Ben handed him a plate of biscuits and sat on the other side from Radulf, carefully crossing his legs, then passing over a mug of tea.
‘Don’t go to too much trouble for me, Benjamin. A biscuit will do nicely.’
