The man was tall and muscled with a suntanned face, blue eyes, and short blond hair. He wore a grey T-shirt with faded jeans and trainers on his bare feet. He looked her over as if he was trying to remember where he had seen her before.
Guinevere said, ‘I’m here about cataloguing the books.’
‘Aha. Let me announce you before dear Father breaks even more ancient armour.’
‘Armour?’ Now Guinevere realized that the metal object with the hole in it was the helmet of an old knight’s armour. It had been joined by a piece of shin plating.
The man called into the room, ‘Here’s Guinevere Evans to see you about the books. Cataloguing the whole lot, you know, getting it into a computer for posterity?’
Guinevere was surprised that he knew her name without her having told it to him.
The man pressed, ‘Don’t throw anything at her when she comes in, OK?’
There was no reply from inside of the room.
The man nodded at her. ‘Give it a try. But be careful.’
His wry tone didn’t sit well with her, but she didn’t have time to think about it. From the room a voice roared, ‘Show your face to me, girl. Don’t dally.’
Guinevere pulled Dolly along, who contrary to her usual impetuous nature didn’t want to go in first this time.
They both peeked around the doorframe into the room.
Close to a big fireplace a man stood, in his sixties, his arms spread wide, holding a large map. He had his feet planted apart on a beautiful multicoloured rug. On that rug two dogs lay. They immediately perked up when they spotted the intruder. Not the human one, but the canine one.
They both rose and started barking. They were so tall they would tower over poor Dolly. One was a mastiff, the other a Great Dane.
Guinevere reached down instinctively and gathered the dachshund up in her arms. Dolly glanced down at the dogs and pulled up a lip as if to challenge them from her safe position on high.
Lord Bolingbrooke snapped his fingers at the dogs who sank back on their rears but kept watching her intently. ‘They don’t bite,’ he barked at her. ‘Come closer, girl, so I can see you better.’
He stood tall in the painfully straight way of someone who’d had a nanny who always poked him in the spine with a fingertip to ensure he didn’t slouch.
Keeping her eyes on the map in his hands, Guinevere walked on, clutching Dolly to her chest. ‘Lord Bolingbrooke? Pleased to meet you.’
‘Yes, yes, delighted I’m sure, but don’t make a fuss about titles. The days they meant anything are past. I know because they’re writing me letters most every day trying to wean my property away from me.’ He gestured at a stack of paperwork teetering on a desk in the corner. ‘The insolence.’
‘I can imagine you don’t want to give up on it. The castle is amazing.’
Bolingbrooke looked pleased. ‘It’s rather nice, isn’t it? You haven’t seen it before? No, I didn’t think so.’ He raked a hand through his wild grey hair, making it stand up even more. ‘Come closer, have a seat. Never mind the dogs. They look fierce, but they’re really as meek as lambs.’ He patted the mastiff’s large head, and the dog immediately licked his hand.
‘This is Rufus,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘The other one’s called Nero. Yes, after the Roman emperor. Fortunately he doesn’t compose bad verse. What’s her name?’ He nodded at Dolly.
‘Dolly. She showed up at the theatre one day, just sneaked in through the back entrance and ran onto the stage during the performance. Old Carter, our prop man, had to get her off again. But the audience loved it. They all clapped for her. We brought her out on stage with us when we took the final bows. Since then she’s been with us. But she couldn’t live at the theatre of course, so I took her in. She can’t stand being alone. She follows me everywhere I go. I hope you don’t mind.’
While talking, Guinevere sank on the nearest chair, keeping Dolly in her lap. Rufus and Nero seemed to calm down now that she was sitting quite still.
Bolingbrooke ignored her latter remark and said, with a probing look, ‘You’re not from the island.’
‘No, I live in London. I came here to help out with your books. You’re cataloguing them, right?’ She glanced around at the stacks on the floor, the piles on the long table, the overfull shelves. There had to be hundreds of them in this room alone, and there might be more in others. This would be an epic task.
Bolingbrooke waved a hand. ‘I asked Meraud for help, but the stubborn woman doesn’t want to come up here. She’s still concerned about that old feud.’
‘What feud?’
Bolingbrooke folded the map he had been holding. ‘Let’s just say not all Bolingbrookes were pleasant, easy-going fellows like me.’
Pleasant and easy-going, huh, when you threw armour at your own son …
Guinevere tried to smile. ‘I see. Well, I’m not related to anybody on this island or anyone for miles in the distance so …’
‘An uninvolved party. Excellent. Just what we need.’ Bolingbrooke slapped the folded map on the edge of the table, creating a whiplike sound. ‘How would you like a room in the west tower? Has a great view of the sea.’
‘That sounds lovely.’ Guinevere was still working through the information he had so carelessly revealed. ‘But if you wanted to work with this Meraud, won’t she be upset that I’m here now?’ She didn’t fancy meeting someone who felt like her summer job had been stolen away from her by a complete stranger from the city.
‘Nonsense. She had her chance; she didn’t take it. Fine with me. And don’t you listen to anything she tells you about me. She’s prejudiced. Why don’t you come and stay here to see things with an open mind? The castle, the books, me, Oliver.’
‘Oliver?’ Guinevere queried.
‘My son. As he’s back from one of his trips and planning the next one, he has no place to stay. He doesn’t own anything besides that beastly machine of his. When I hear its engine roar down the causeway, I know I have to prepare myself for warfare. Figuratively speaking of course.’
Guinevere gestured to the door. ‘I can’t call throwing helmets around figurative warfare.’
‘I like to underline my point,’ Bolingbrooke said without blinking. ‘I like to be taken seriously, especially by Oliver. Because he has travelled the world and because he’s in the prime of his life, he thinks he can tell me, his old father, what to do. But he had better think twice about that. I’m still able to make up my own mind. And if he doesn’t tread carefully, I’ll throw him out completely. Out of the castle and out of my will.’
Guinevere gasped at the idea of losing access to this beautiful heritage. ‘Does he know that?’
‘If he ever listened. I’ve told him countless times what this property means to the family. He is a Bolingbrooke as well, whether he likes it or not. Since his brother married and moved to Singapore, Oliver is all I have left. He would make such a good keeper of the castle, you know. He could repair so many things that I don’t have the strength for. He’s good with money too. He could have any degree he wanted. But no, he wanted to travel, is always off after some beast on the edge of extinction. Leaving his family heritage to fall apart.’
‘Beast on the edge of extinction?’ Guinevere repeated. ‘He’s into wildlife conservation?’
‘Guinevere doesn’t want to be talked to death.’ Oliver stood in