The day he arrived was strange. I had not exactly forgotten about him, as he had rented the entire castle (people often just rented a wing or even a suite), but he, Howard Hughes style, had decided that he wanted the whole kit & caboodle. Of course, it turned out there were six of them in the party so they took up a substantial chunk of the place anyway. But he was kind of at the back of my mind, just another faceless ‘them’ expecting caviar at four in the morning and their newspapers ironed.

It was technically my job to meet & greet, but there had been a disaster in the kitchen and I was trying to stop George killing the sous chef, at least till lunch was over.

Once everything was calmed down sufficiently and a substitute found for the quails eggs, I went upstairs to the main suite in the Stewart wing.

I met Gabriel coming out of the ante room. “Well, everyone settled?”

Gabriel smiled and took a £20 note out his pocket, grin spreading.

I raised an eyebrow. Tipping in the American style – i.e. before the stay begins, to ensure good service – was not uncommon. But £20 was a lot for an underling. Unless, of course, our Mr Saphir thought Gabriel was the cock of the walk – so to speak.

I watched the note go back into his pocket and said, “Anyway, don’t be too sure that it’s going to get any better. That might be all your cash cow is handing out.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Wasn’t him. One of his lackeys. The great man doesn’t do tipping. This was for arranging a sandwich for them. They don’t want to go down for lunch.”

“Hoo-boy,” I said. “George isn’t going to like that. I just managed to stop assault and battery over quails’ eggs.”

“They’ve got work to do. I quote.”

“Well, not a holiday then, I’m guessing, since his arse hasn’t hit a seat yet.”

“Doesn’t look like the sitting type.”

I looked at him shrewdly. “Live up to your expectations?”

Gabriel moved further down the corridor, away from the suite door, although we were already well out of hearing, unless Saphir was standing behind the ante-room door with his ear to the dense two inch thick oak panelling. “The man’s a honey. I mean delicious. Serious hottie.”

I laughed at his choice of adjective. Sometimes he was too gay. “Well, he’s out of your league, sweetie. Dream on.”

“Oh, I will. So, do we reset the dining room?”

“No, we’ll leave it – in case they decide they want to eat dinner upstairs too. Better warn George. We’ll be eating well tonight anyway, on his Majesty’s lunch. Come on, let’s go see what’s cooking.”

I didn’t see him at dinner either. They stayed in the master suite, and Gabriel took up more food, this time a proper meal, so at least George was appeased. Gabriel got tipped again, a tenner this time, and was declaiming as we all sat at the supper table later that night that if he kept this up he’d be able to retire early.

“Only to an old folks home in Hull,” I said.

Wee Billy laughed inordinately, like he always did when he got a joke – which wasn’t often – and Gabriel said, “Three weeks at thirty quid a day is £630. Don’t knock it.”

“Hope he tips the cleaners,” Alison said. She cleaned the rooms with Becky and made sure the toilet paper was folded and the requisite planet-squandering, laundry-wasting clean towels were put in daily.

There was a lot more conjecture on what they were likely to get out of him, until the imaginations calmed down sufficiently for them to change to other topics.

I excused myself at eleven and went up to bed. I had my own ’suite’ up in the sole turret the castle boasted, added in 1867 because the castle didn’t look Gothic enough. I had a bedroom on one floor and a sitting room with a small bathroom just off it on the floor below. It was inconvenient to go up and down the stairs, but it beat the original accommodation I’d had and which most of the others still shared, i.e. the original servants’ quarters up in the attics. Their rooms had combed ceilings and they all shared two bathrooms. As the most senior person on the place, except for Hughie and George who both had estate houses, I got the butler’s domain. I had never actually been given the name of butler, but it’s what I was, to all intents and purposes.

Of course, the downside of all this was I was on call. I shared it with Gabriel, of course – the girls were exempt because there had once been some bother with a TV producer who had attempted to molest one of them – but, in practice, it was mostly me who got called out, simply because a lot of the things people wanted or needed at night were not run-of-the-mill. It was an emergency night call, not 24 hr room service, but sometimes you had problems convincing drunk rock stars who couldn’t get their usual adult cable channel of that fact.

Sure enough, I was woken from my sleep at just after 2 am by the bedside phone. There was a little gap before it connected from the main desk, which meant people often had to wait that fragment too long in being answered. Plus, of course, it could take a while for my sleep-addled brain to realise that I was needed. Subsequently, when you answered the phone, it was not unusual to get someone rather irate at the other end.

This woman wasn’t irate, she was more ‘being kept waiting’, just that little hint of rattiness, frost, which indicated you better get your ass in gear.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Hello? Hello? Is that the concierge?”

“It’s the emergency line, madam. Can I help?”

“I need some aspirin.”

I struggled up in bed and clicked on the light. Aspirin. Aspirin. Where was aspirin? Finally my brain tracked it down. “Aspirin is in your bathroom cabinet, madam. Along with paracetamol and ibuprofen.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It isn’t. I’ve looked. There’s none there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m standing right beside it, and there’s none there.”

I sighed. Oh, Alison’s head would roll for this tomorrow. I swung my feet out of the bed, saying, “I’ll bring some along straight away, madam. I’m very sorry about this. Is there anything else you would like?” I had grown wise to the ways of night owls. In general, once they were up they were up, and you could expect more fun and games. I’d learned to forestall this with the pre-emptive strike of fulfilling all their needs at once. Didn’t always work – especially for the ones who were actually lonely – but it was worth a try.

I got up and struggled into my clothes. We weren’t allowed to go in dressing gown and pyjamas. After that I struggled down the cold stone steps of my eyrie and tried to pull my tie straight.

I had to stop at the front desk to have a look at the register as I had no idea which suite she was in. I prayed like hell that there wasn’t more than one woman in the party. I had forgotten to ask where, or who, she was.

But I was in luck. There was only one female in the party, a Miss Janine Saphir. Not a Jewish name, that, Janine. At least I didn’t think so. So it had to be a Mrs. No, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t married – at least, according to Gabriel. Could have been wrong, of course. Or it could be a female relative, perhaps. Cousin or something. Rich men often had extended families a la Charles Dickens, i.e. half a dozen penurious relatives living off him.

Well, find out soon enough. I made my way up to the Victoria Suite, which annexed directly onto the great man’s, and knocked on the door.

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