James should have been thinking about the estate or about the ghost on his way to the town, but the only thing that was constantly returning to his mind was the kiss. It was not Gregory, of course, but Charlotte. The unknown girl from the unknown town from 300 years back from now. His ancector had her portrait. She kissed her lord Blacke. He couldn't keep his word, because he died unexpectedly. Were they engaged? What happened to this woman? And how was she connected to his own unexpected guest? It might have been just the coincidence. Or time played a joke deciding to mend the things broken long ago.
It would be curios to know if the young man kisses differently from her. Gregory was a mess. But there was something about him, James could not exactly put his finger on it, that made him attractive. Not the deep dark eyes or messy hair. Something more. A certain mix of femininity and being straightforward up to being rude. Might be. Something.
The tea he was offered in the big and expensive, but hopelessly untidy office of the managing company, was bad. James made a sip and smiled at the bold manager with awful cockney English. They both were untidy as well, the man and his English.
"We have 4 more contracts for this season, Your Grace."
James frowned. The addressing sounded... fake. "I do understand my great uncle had some financial difficulties which made him open the house for the events."
"Right. It turned out to bring some good money though. I advise you to not change things. I could just keep the thing running, as I used to for His late Grace."
"No, thank you. I plan on closing the venue...do you happen to know who might be in the possession of the landowning documents?"
"Well, don't you..."
"The old ones. Making his branch of the family in the ownership of the estate."
"Er... I think, you might be able to find them in the archives, sir. So, about the venue..."
"Thank you, Mr. Hayley. My attorney will contact you. Good day."
"But..."
It was probably a bit rude. James guessed, it was Gregory's attitude getting to him. Made him smile on his way back.
And wondered suddenly whether his night companion was still there.
***
That another bedroom was different. Larger, lighter, with darker furniture. With the private bathroom, rather modern one, fortunately. When Greg first looked inside, he was afraid of another part of historical reconstruction with water heated by fire and the hole in the floor as a loo. James would smile on that idea. Maybe, even laugh a wee bit.
That was the most beautiful bathroom in Greg's sorrow life. Towels were the whitest and the softest, much whiter than in the hotel where Donny and him were celebrating six months together.
Fuck. Donny. He forgot to call him.
Okay, later.
The bathroom was definitely much better than the whole shithole Greg was currently staying at with two more flatmates. Not living, you can't describe it so. Staying.
When Greg returned after the shower, all stuff from the previous room surfaces was at the logical places in the room. Clothes in the wardrobe. The phone on the night stand. Folders with the drawings on the desk near the window.
He immediately hid them in the bag. It took him some time to find the bag in the closet. He had nothing to stay for the days here, not even his anti-acne face cream. Certainly no clothes.
The makeup box was here, though. He might offer services to some maids. Discounts applicable.
Danny hasn't answered yet. Greg felt the urge to text him it was over but hasn't done it, of course. You don't stop relationship with your almost-one-year boyfriend by messages.
You might try, though.
He was googling archives and shivered from the sudden knock in the door. Galloped to open and looked up carefully.
That was a maid. Not Angela. Who informed that lunch was served.
The impression of the movie stage has been lasting. Greg just had to do something to break the spell. "Thank you. Um, sorry, could you..."
"Yes, sir?"
"I mean... are you fine with that sort of job? I mean...serving and stuff. Sorry." Greg knew it was awfully awful and unacceptable but just couldn't help it.
The lass widened her eyes. Looked around and stepped to him lowering her voice to the whisper. "Are you joking? One more year, and I'll pay for Masters! I'm training in hospitality, every hotel will offer me a senior manager after working with mister Wilkins! There was a race when the place opened up." She smiled and suddenly winked at him before changing back to her working mode. "Lord Blacke will join you in the dining room. Follow me, sir."
Greg blinked again. He was getting used to blinking a lot here.
Wilkins met the car with the umbrella opened. The definite sign he was worried indeed.
"I hope the meeting was successful, sir. I regret to inform you the cleaning is not yet finished. Please, accept my apologies." He waited while James was helped with the coat and the umbrella. "Your guest made enquiries about your presence in the house."
"Gregory? Have you told him I'd return for lunch?"
Wilkins made a face. Probably James was the only one who recognised it as 'the face'. Some shadow of a wrinkle in the corner of his lips. Usually meant he is not supportive of the ideas James had, and it was not his business to comment on them. But just to be clear...
"Wilkins, I hope you treat the young man as you would treat any guest."
"Of course, sir. I would never have done otherwise. Though...excuse me."
"No, go on, please." James looked around the hall that seemed lighter and filled with air. There were fresh flowers at the hall table already.
"I highly disliked the Cinderella story when I was a child, sir."
"Well, too bad. Be kind and have courage, wasn't it, Wilkins?" James almost winked to him. Wilkins looked surprised.
In the good stories there was always a moment when a gentleman looks back following a butler's gaze and sees a beautiful young lady stepping down the central stairs.
That was not the case here. Graceful descending was ruined by the untied lace of the sneaker.
"I'm all right!" Gregory assured the society trying to find his sneaker one flight down on the stairs and bumping into the console with his butt. The flower vase on the console shook, gave it a thought, and finally fell braking into peaces. It was empty, though.
Greg pulled his head into the shoulders.
James kneeled to fetch the lost sneaker and looked up at him.
"Be kind. Have courage." Wilkins mumbled before directing the maid to clean the mess.
"I'm sorry. For the vase. I hope it was not very antique."
Greg was meditating upon the laid table. Back in the hall, he took the sneaker from James' hand regretting he had agreed to stay. He could ask him to wait a wee bit and attend an etiquette course. Some bachelor in art and probably Masters. At least, start to.
At least, the sneaker was clean.
At least, he knew a napkin goes on the right knee and how to eat soup. He lost his appetite although he was starving before the lunch. "I don't usually oversleep, swear. Sir. How's your meeting? By the way, I talked to the guy in Instagram, he's up to getting around old houses and making videos. He advises to start searching in the Oxford library. But said nobody'd get access to that kind of the documents. He didn't believe when I told it's the same family enquiring."
Greg wanted to talk about something else, a lot of things. While he had that time. He would do everything to prove his usefulness to James. They had that ghost for themselves after all.
Besides, the fish soup was tasty.
God knows how he would refuse from meat in this situation.
***