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“Please, just call me Rex.” The old-fashioned ways grated. He knew it was because of his other frustrations, but he had to say something.
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling you just by your Christian name.”
“If you ever feel differently about that, we’d both be more comfortable.”
Mrs. Amery looked at him, and arched her brows.
He lifted his hands. “No pressure.”
He resisted the urge to tease her about it.
She nodded. “Well, I’ve been sorting through the old paperwork today, as you requested.” A frown gathered between her eyebrows. “I found a partially written letter among some rather inconsequential household receipts. It was obviously personal. I knew that once I started reading it, and when I saw the content I thought you ought to have it, and soon.”
Rex didn’t want to be dealing with whatever household issue she’d unearthed right now. He wanted to leap in his Maserati and follow Carmen, trail her to London and insist that she see him during the week.
“Forgive me taking the liberty and insisting you read it right away, but it seems important.” She widened her eyes.
It was the closest she’d get to ordering him about, but Rex felt her will.
“I left it on the desk in the library.”
“Thank you. I’ll check it out.”
She looked at him strangely, then nodded and gave a quick smile. Whatever the hell it was, she didn’t want to deal with it, so he supposed he must.
He went upstairs, pocketed his phone, then made his way to the library.
The room wasn’t a familiar place to him. It’d been a library for decades, but his father had used it as an office. Where there had been books that might have drawn him as a youngster they had been removed to make way for ledgers and box files containing fading, yellowing pages of estate accounts. The kind of paper documents that were obsolete in most offices these days.
Rex stood in the doorway observing the scene and shook his head.
His father really had been a relic of the old ways.
Mrs. Amery had pinned back the heavy curtains. One window was open and the late-afternoon air that wafted in made it a more pleasant place than he expected. Beneath the earthy scent from outdoors the faint aroma of cigars still lingered. Rex
noticed that a patterned rug had been folded and pinned with a note “for cleaning.” Mrs. Amery really hadn’t been allowed in here until that morning, when he suggested she begin the overhaul of old paperwork. It made sense. As a lad, he was rarely allowed in here. This was his father’s space.
Rex strolled in.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of his grandfather. He wore his World War Two army uniform, decorated with medals. At the opposite end of the room, behind the desk, was a similar portrait of his father. It had been painted in the 1980s and Charles Carruthers was wearing a tweed jacket with a suede waistcoat beneath, a much more relaxed statement of self.
Rex walked toward it, eyeing the old man with curiosity. He saw a likeness there that he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps it was because he was getting close to the age his dad had been at the time of the portrait.
“I hope I don’t look that bloody grim and austere,” Rex muttered.
As Rex studied it he recalled the painting being done. He’d been about six or seven and he was allowed in for a few minutes at each session to see the portraitist at work. He recalled the artist telling him he would have his portrait done one day, for the library. Rex had disagreed, saying that posing for it looked very boring indeed, and he’d run off. His father had laughed.
There never would be a portrait of him in Burlington Manor, Rex decided. A portrait of Carmen would look good in that spot, though. Would she rework this room, make it more functional? They hadn’t even had time to discuss her plans for the interior yet. They might have done that this weekend if he hadn’t wasted so much time on that disastrous party.
A large recycling bin stood by the old mahogany desk, where stacks of paperwork were being sorted. The bin was perched on a trolley, presumably for maneuverability. Several of the nearby shelves had been emptied. Mrs. Amery had really got stuck into the job. She was a whirlwind when she had a cause.
He was staring at the amount of paperwork still to be dealt with when he heard a sound and turned toward the window. A figure in a dark coat with an upturned collar shifted and then disappeared from view. Rex frowned. Someone had been looking in at him. He stepped over to the window but there was no sign of anyone nearby. It struck him as odd, because if it had been one of the groundsmen he’d have expected them to acknowledge him, not just run off. Presumably they were as surprised to see him in there as he was to be there.
Shrugging it off, he returned to the desk. A box file lay open and papers were arranged in neat stacks as if they were being sifted.
A single page of handwritten, unlined paper had been set aside on the blotter. A brass paperweight held it in place. Rex sat down in the carved wooden office chair while he picked up the page. The letter was unfinished, but it was addressed to him. The humor he’d felt a moment before dissipated quickly as he began to read.
Rex,
