Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANDRéS
“Who’s ready for a drink?” Gabriel asks and receives a chorus of agreement. I blow on my hands and stamp my feet to try to bring some feeling back into them after being outside for the last few hours.
“Shall we go to the pub?” Linden suggests.
“You want to go to the pub on Christmas Eve? Are you crazy? It’ll be packed,” Gabriel’s sister Imogen scoffs, and Linden just laughs at her.
“I don’t mind. I could murder a pint right now.”
“We have beer at the house, Lin. But Andrés looks like he could do with something warmer and stronger to thaw him out,” Gabriel says.
“How do you cope with this?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
No one prepared me for a British winter.
Aspen was technically colder, but there the air was crisp and dry.
This is just urgh. A cold grey dampness that drips off every surface and seeps into your bones, chilling you from the inside out.
I don’t think I’ve been properly warm since I arrived here a few days ago.
Thinking of Aspen brings Simon to my mind, not that he’s ever far from it.
What I’d love right now is to crawl into a bed with him in it to warm me up.
I resist the temptation to pull out my phone and check if he’s messaged because it would buzz if he had.
He’s already sent me one this morning—early for him—and I know he’s busy preparing as much as possible for tomorrow, so I content myself with waiting until later.
“This is still quite mild. You wait until January and February. It’s truly dreadful then,” Imogen adds.
“Shut up, Immy,” Gabriel says. “Don’t scare him away before we’ve even got started.”
“He didn’t warn you about the weather, then?” Imogen asks, having no intention of obeying her brother.
“No, I don’t remember him mentioning that I might lose my toes to frostbite, or I might have asked for danger money,” I reply, and Imogen laughs heartily.
“Well, I know a good lawyer if you need to seek compensation for damages.”
“Will you two stop it,” Gabriel grumbles, and Imogen laughs again.
Being included like this, even if I’ve been used as a pawn in the ongoing sibling banter, warms me enough to take the chill off.
I’ve learned in a short space of time that Gabriel, despite him being my boss, doesn’t want any sort of awkward boss-employee relationship.
Possibly because we were friends on the polo circuit first. He’s already drawn me into his family and close friends group.
The flipside to that is being expected to join in and help out, and today is no exception.
Apparently Boxing Day is a traditional day for hunting in England.
Gabriel’s family stopped hunting before it was made illegal, but the gathering has been an event at Monkswood for hundreds of years, a chance for the family to give back to the community.
So they still have a ride across the estate for the locals, and afterwards, they serve food and drink in one of the barns.
Today we’ve been setting out roped-off areas for people to park their cars and horseboxes, and putting up signs for the ride route across the whole estate.
We pile into the two ATVs we’ve been using—Gabriel, myself, and Linden in one, and Imogen and her husband Oliver in the other—and we drive back to the house.
Monkswood Hall is huge. Gabriel didn’t say he lived in a fucking palace, at least that’s what it feels like.
Large, ancient, and draughty is how he described it, but I didn’t believe him until I saw it for myself.
He says it was built five hundred years ago with stone from the local abbey.
It’s certainly beautiful but I’m glad I don’t have his heating bill.
Gabriel drives round the back of the house, to a courtyard where there are several other ATVs parked up.
He’s already told me they’re used for getting about the estate and I can use one whenever I need to.
The keys are always left in. When I asked about security, Gabriel laughed.
“We’re a mile from the nearest road, who do you think is going to come up here and steal one? The gates are locked at night so they wouldn’t get far anyway.”
I’ve already seen the security cameras around the place, so I assume he knows what he’s talking about.
We enter the boot room and take off our coats and boots.
I follow Gabriel and Linden through a huge hallway, to a room where there’s a large open fire and several couches and chairs.
It’s a welcome sight. There are several pictures on the wall, mostly animals, and a few display cases of pottery and small bronze statues.
Against one of the walls stands a piano, and I wonder if Gabriel will let me play it sometime.
It’s been a few years and I know I’ll be rusty, but maybe I’ll have time to play again while I’m here and not travelling so much.
We’re greeted by three large hounds, their tails thumping and tongues lolling.
“They’re useless as guard dogs,” Gabriel grumbles.
“Nonsense,” Linden says, fondling the ears of one of them.
“They just recognise friends.” He throws himself down on a couch and the dog follows him, hoping for more fuss.
I claim an armchair near the fire and stretch my feet out, letting the heat thaw my toes.
Within a few minutes the door opens and a couple of the staff enter carrying trays that they place down on a dresser set to one side of the room.
When they leave, Gabriel checks out the trays.
“We have coffee, hot chocolate, and mulled wine. And of course we have spirits in the cupboard. Still want that beer, Linden?”
Linden opts for coffee, as do I, and Gabriel brings me a large mug and a plate with a small pastry pie on it.
“What’s this?” I ask once I’ve thanked Gabriel for the drink.
“You’ve never eaten a mince pie before?” Linden grins.
“I have no idea what that is.” I eye the small pie with suspicion.
“You should try it, but I warn you, Monkswood has the best mince pies, so you’ll be ruined for anyone else’s.”
I pick it up and I realise they’re both watching me intently.
“Why do I feel like this is some kind of test?”
“Because it is.” Linden shrugs. “What do you say, Gabe? Do we kick him out if he doesn’t like them?”
“Considering how much I need him, I think that might be going too far. I already need to find a way of making sure he stays through the winter. But there might be other consequences.” Gabriel looks serious, but I can see the laughter in his eyes and I join in.
“Before I commit to this, are there any other conditions of employment you neglected to tell me? Am I going to have to renegotiate?”
Gabriel goes quiet for a minute as if he’s genuinely considering my question. “I don’t think so, but then that could be because I’ve forgotten them. Let’s just say we’ll figure it out as we go along.”
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I say, as I know we have a good contract in place and he’s joking. I take a bite of the pie. Oh my, it’s sweet but sharp and I taste fruit and spices. I’ve never had anything like it in my life. “That’s incredible!”
“Told you!” Linden yells just as the door opens. Imogen and Oliver enter, followed by Miriam, Gabriel’s mother, a gracious and elegant woman who I met on my second day when she came to my cottage to see if there was anything I needed.
“What’s so funny?” Imogen asks going over to the trays and lifting the lids to discover what there is before pouring some into cups.
“Andrés just tried his first mince pie,” Linden says, before taking a bite of his own.
“And what did you think?” Miriam asks, settling herself into a chair on the opposite side of the fire and taking the cup Imogen hands her.
“They’re very nice, ma’am,” I say.
“Please call me Miriam, and I’m glad. I’ll have Burns make you some to take with you.”
“Thank you, Miriam,” I say and she gives me a kindly smile.
They fall into talking about people I don’t know and I let it wash over me.
Imogen and Oliver make a handsome couple.
Clearly Imogen has the Barclay-Sinclair genes, and Oliver is tall and perfectly tanned with light brown hair.
They met at university and now run a holiday business in Spain, where they coordinate holiday letting for people who own villas over there but don’t use them all the time so they let them out.
They also own several properties themselves over there.
It sounds like an exclusive version of Airbnb.
The exertions of the morning and the warmth of the fire start to have a soporific effect on me, not to mention how late I’ve been staying up messaging Simon once he’s finished work.
One of Gabriel’s hounds lies down and rests her head over my crossed ankles.
As I drift off, I can’t help thinking about how nice it would be to have a dog.
I can’t have been out of it for too long as they’re still discussing the party when I wake up. My coffee’s still warm, well almost, certainly still drinkable. I decide to go back to my house, otherwise I will definitely fall asleep here.
“I ought to go,” I say, extricating my feet from under the dog’s heavy head.
“Would you like to stay for supper?” Miriam says.
“Thank you, but no, I’ll be fine.”
“Alright, but you are coming tomorrow for Christmas dinner.” I can tell it wasn’t posed as a question, and so I thank her.
It’ll be good to not be alone, as this year couldn’t be a bigger contrast to last Christmas if I tried.
Last year I was at home—no, not my home anymore—and my father was alive.
We spent the morning discussing the breeding plans for the next year.
It was a relaxed day, and I felt the future was full of possibility.
Now I’m alone in the English countryside with miserable weather.
“Let me arrange those mince pies for you.” Miriam rises and goes over to a small screen on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it before as it was disguised to look like a picture—a Monet. She taps it a couple of times and I hear a voice answer.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you make up a food basket for Andrés please?” The voice answers in the affirmative and Miriam turns round with a wide smile. “So much more efficient than the old bell pulls we used to have,” she explains.
A few minutes later, one of the butlers enters with a basket, and she collects it from him before presenting it to me.
By the weight of it, there’s more than just a few pastries in it.
I thank her and say my goodbyes, and leave with a reminder from Miriam about Christmas dinner and what time to come up to the house.
It’s still early but almost dark when I leave the house, another point that I’m finding hard to adjust to along with the weather.
I hope a walk will help wake me up a little.
I take a route down to the horses. They’re out in the fields, having a rest for a couple of months before I start getting them fit again for the new polo season.
They were checked over when we got here, and I met the local vet Cole, who Gabriel assures me is the best in the county.
Then they had their shoes removed and were turned out for a holiday.
I can just about see them silhouetted against the indigo sky.
They’re grazing quietly, having settled in well, adjusting to the climate better than me.
Satisfied that they are all well, I turn and head towards where I now call home.
The job with Gabriel comes with a house, though I could choose not to stay here.
As it’s in the grounds of the Hall and I’m close to my horses, it suits me very well, though.
There are a group of four small stone houses, or cottages as Gabriel calls them.
One is occupied by Kirsty, Gabriel’s head groom, and her wife Alexa.
The others are currently empty, but Gabriel says he has plans for them when his equestrian centre is up and running.
There’s also a range of accommodation on the estate for other staff, such as the other grooms and groundspeople.
Jorge will stay there eventually, but right now he’s back in Argentina for a break as he won’t be needed until the horses come back into work.
I unpack the food Miriam gave me, and there’s a lot—cold meats, a large pie, bread and cheese, as well as enough mince pies to last me a week.
I keep one out and open the bottle of red wine I also find in the basket.
I take them into the lounge and sit down.
I put on some music; Rachmaninoff suits my mood tonight.
The cottage is comfortable, and I can’t complain, but it doesn’t help cure how lonely I feel right now.
I miss Simon, his cute smile, how interested he is and the questions he asks.
His body, definitely his body, and how it responds to me.
I need to hear from him. I unlock my phone and send him a message.