Chapter 10 #2
He looks down at the clipboard, which has a blank piece of paper on it. “Are you selling something?”
“No.”
“Good. Because if you see there…” He points to a sign on the door frame—tapping it with the pen—that states no cold callers, and the police will be called if you dare. He looks at me through his lashes. I almost smirk.
“No, not selling. I’d like to speak to Emma, please.”
“What do you do for a living?” I’m definitely being interviewed.
“Builder.”
He looks at me like I’m the scum of the earth, starts shaking his head and tutting. He makes out as if he’s checking down a list on the blank sheet of paper, then states cockily, “Builder, that’s not on the list.” He pauses. “Sorry, no can do. No entry. No builders.”
“Well, what is on the list?” I’ll play along. If I keep him here long enough, Emma will come out and invite me in.
“Doctor, dentist, surgeon. Are you any of those?” He looks me up and down. “Mmm, obviously not.” My mouth drops open. I’m decked out in the latest fashions. My jeans cost as much as this house. He carries on, “Investment banker, asset manager. Lawyer?” He raises his eyebrows. “And company owner?”
“Yes.” I point at him for good measure. “I’m a company owner.” I tap his blank paper on his checklist. “I’m there.” Relief sounds in my voice. I can hear it. I’m desperate to be on a list on a blank sheet of paper. I’ve lost it.
“Oh dear, but it states it doesn’t count if it’s a building firm. Sorry. Still denied entry.”
“That sheet of paper is blank. You’re making it up.” I go for stating the obvious now. Even I’m internally rolling my eyes at myself.
“Invisible ink. Why do you think I’m wearing these glasses?” He pulls a face like I’m the most imbecilic man in the world.
“I’m an architect. Surely that is on that list. It pays way more than a dentist.” I sound like I’m desperately trying to convince him…because I am.
“Does it? It wasn’t on the Harris List for the top ten incomes in the country.” They’ve painstakingly done their research. “Nathan,” he shouts into the house. “Was an architect on the top income lists. There’s a man here saying we missed one.”
A skinny, smaller boy comes towards the door. Grins at me. I know from my dossier that Nathan is the youngest Drew child. Again, he has the same colouring as Emma, but his mouth and nose are different from hers. The fact that I can see that is a worry. This lunatic with the clipboard must be Noah.
“He’s making it up, I’d have seen that. If it’s not on our list, you can’t come in,” Nathan states to me and Noah nods.
I feel like I’ve been sent back in time. Nightclubs, bars, and restaurants used that line before I was the Jude Greystone. Now I’m on every fucking list, in every establishment in London. Bar this one, it seems.
“Well, check again.” My standard line back then.
“What salary level are architects at? Are you at a higher rate or additional rate?” Noah asks, his pen now poised as if he’s going to mark it down for future reference.
They’re checking my tax bracket!? “Are you asking how much money I earn?” I’m gobsmacked.
“Of course. We’re expensive. We can’t be expected to fund you,” Noah states, tapping his pen impatiently now on the blank sheet.
“Two million,” I spit at them.
They both look at each other, and smirk. “Yeah, right. See you later Bob the Builder. We don’t like liars either. You don’t impress us.” Noah goes to close the door.
“I’ve got a freaking Ferrari.” What a fool I am. I’m being as ridiculous as these two. But I still point out my car in the gloom.
“Anyone can lease a car, Bob, for a daaay,” Nathan sneers. “My dad does it all the time.” They’re both rolling their eyes at me. Like I’m a complete amateur. The door starts to shut.
“My name is Jude Greystone, Architect, property developer, and builder. Surely I get points for three job titles.”
The door stops its slow close. They both look at each other. “Jude Greystone,” they state loudly. Their faces have gone pale. What the fuck is wrong with them?
“Jude Greystone.” A male voice, one that is way beyond puberty, sounds from within the house, and another boy appears.
Well, young man. Around eighteen. Must be Oliver Drew.
Again, he looks like Emma. Same colouring, but different shaped eyes.
I really need to get a grip. “Jude fucking Greystone.” That doesn’t sound good.
Then he shouts at the top of his voice. “How dare you, Jude fucking Greystone, come to our house.”
His face is a mask of anger and hatred. What the hell is going on? I step back as he squares up to me. He’s slightly smaller, but not by much.
“Whoa, whoa. Calm the fuck down. I’ve come to see your mother. Is she around? This can all be sort—”
“See my mother? You can fuck right off. You’ve probably come to see if you can price up our house. Well, it’s not for sale. And you can tell my dad I never want to see him again. Sending you here. Just because Mum has banned him.”
Clearly I’ve inadvertently walked into an argument I know nothing about. “Hey, no. I don’t want to buy this house. Fair enough I made an offer to your mum for the building in London, but—”
“It’s not for sale, either. We play cricket and football there,” Nathan shouts at me. “Keep your hands off it.” They all look deranged, and I catch movement in my peripheral vision. The bikers are back.
I take an involuntary step backwards. The three Drew boys all crowd in on each other trying to get through the door at once and to me.
“Get lost. Get off our property. I’ll do you for trespass,” Noah shouts as they all pile out of the house.
I start to run backwards, but too late remember the debris field of a drive.
I’m not sure if it’s a cricket pad that I get entangled with or a scooter that deals the final blow.
But either way, I end up pinwheeling my arms as I go arse over tit and hit the deck.
I think I hear a scream as the world goes black. But that could have been me.