Page 36 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

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Jesse had underestimated Uncle Albert.

He had been warned by Oliver after the clock fiasco that more Uncle Albert rooms existed throughout the house. So Jesse wasn’t completely surprised when the room he had chosen as his project for that day had been entirely filled with lamps.

At the start of the day, he had assumed that the probability of a meltdown was low, that at the very least, lamps were silent objects—he was wrong. The probability of a meltdown was, in fact, remarkably high.

Most lamps had easily identifiable manufacturing markers on their base. In theory, all he had needed to do was look that up, do some research to match the specific style, and establish an appraisal. He hadn’t considered that Albert would mix and match the lamp bases and shades, even going so far as to remove certain shades that had originally been soldered. He also wasn’t anticipating that some would be filled with paraffin oil, as well. Each piece dripped and stained Jesse’s pants and the carpet under his feet.

It was late afternoon when Jesse decided to call it a day, with only a quarter of the room evaluated. He was frustrated and overwhelmed, covered in a light film of oil that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he washed his hands. His mood was not made any better by the fact that Oliver had been unable to join him in today’s tasks. He hoped it wasn’t because he was second guessing the decision to have dinner together.

Jesse put on a comfortable pair of shoes and threw on a light jacket, ready to walk to the village grocer. He took an indirect path from his room to the front door, hoping he might catch a glimpse of Oliver sitting in the study, but was unsuccessful.

Autumn was rapidly approaching, the weather beginning to cool. Jesse tried to organize his thoughts as he started walking down the gravel drive. Over the past few weeks, a realization had been steadily creeping into his mind regarding his work at Chapman House. And after spending the morning with Uncle Albert, it was becoming impossible to ignore.

He took his phone from his jacket pocket and pulled up his contacts, his thumb hesitantly hovering over a name that he knew would be an objective sounding board. Deciding it was worth potential humiliation, he pressed it.

The phone rang long enough that he thought he was going to be sent to voicemail, but was answered at the last second. “Well, well, it’s the golden boy. I’ve heard all about your success. Are you calling to gloat?”

Jesse huffed, ignoring her comment. “Hello, Charlotte. How are you? Hope London is well.”

“London is fine, Jesse. Would you like to get to the point?” Jesse could imagine the displeasure on Charlotte’s face just from the sound of her voice.

“I need some help.”

When she responded, it was with a more skeptical tone. “Okay…And there was no one else you could call?”

“No. I wanted to call you. I wanted your opinion.” He tried to keep his tone level, because he did sincerely want her opinion. He knew Charlotte’s vendetta was misplaced—the real problem was his asshole cousin. He tried not to take it personally, but he was tired of it. He wanted to turn over a new leaf, and that started today. “I value your opinion. Do you have some time to help me?”

“I suppose I could make time,” she said.

Jesse released a breath. “The cataloging is going well, but I’ve noticed that there’s been contractors in and out of the house all week. I don’t know all of the details, but from tidbits I’ve heard, I think there might be a structural issue.”

“And you don’t think there’s enough to sell to cover it?”

“No. No, I don’t.” He didn’t understand how the admission could be a weight lifted from his shoulders, even as apprehension made itself at home inside his gut. “Whatever Oliver is trying to accomplish isn’t going to be solved by selling everything inside this house.”

“The plaster approach hardly ever works,” she started. “We see this all the time. Owners refuse to open up the estate to visitors, and their sentimental attachment to all the bits and bobs collecting dust blinds them to their actual worth.”

“I know, I know.”

“There needs to be a discussion regarding long term income generation. The maintenance on these properties is just too expensive. Don’t get distracted by a pretty face, Jesse. He needs to be told the truth.”

“How do you know Lord Catesby has a pretty face?”

“You really think I didn’t look him up after you were so eager to take this assignment?”

“Well, I—”

“I can’t say I was surprised when I found out that the family had already contracted the company. It made sense that you’d been there before.”

He sighed. “I don’t really know what happened last time. One day we were here, and the next, we weren’t. It wasn’t like I was filled in on the semantics. I was just a kid.”

“I tried figuring that out, but apparently we don’t hold onto records that long. You’ll have to talk to Luis yourself. Clearly, this isn’t the first time the estate has endured some sort of financial hardship. If you like this bloke enough, you’ll say something.”

He knew he owed Oliver a hard conversation. But the last thing he wanted was to push Oliver away, especially when he was trying to win him over. Their relationship was tentative and new, easily dissolvable at this stage. He wanted more, and he didn’t want to fuck things up by overstepping his place.

He also knew that a lot of his questions could be solved by talking to his father, but he wasn’t eager to do that, either. Not after their conversation this morning. No, Jesse would figure it out himself without reminding his father that he hadn’t been successful at Chapman House ten years prior.