Simon Green: The Dark Side of the Road

There was something in his voice, and his look, which suggested very politely that I was a damned fool for trying to drive through such extreme conditions in the first place.

‘I’m stubborn,’ I said. ‘I don’t take no for an answer.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ said Jeeves. ‘Make I take your coat, sir?’

I peeled off my heavy coat. Melting snow had soaked through to the lining, even in the short time I’d been exposed to the storm. Water dripped from the bottom of the coat like a leaky tap. Jeeves took my coat from me and held it out at arm’s length, between thumb and forefinger, as though he didn’t want to catch anything from it. I gave him a hard look.

‘Take good care of that coat, Jeeves. I have had it a long time, and I am very attached to it. That coat has travelled with me through many adventures, in many wild territories.’

‘I did get that impression, sir,’ said Jeeves. ‘I have rarely encountered an article of clothing that appeared so … hard done by.’

‘So treat it respectfully,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll set fire to your shirt-front.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Jeeves. ‘I shall find somewhere appropriate to hang it up. Somewhere it won’t feel crushed by the proximity of other coats of a less boisterous nature.’ He then looked down his nose at my suitcase, which had also, it must be said, seen better days. Jeeves made no move to pick it up. ‘Do you wish me to fetch your other bags from your car, sir?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s all there is. Travel light, travel fast.’

‘Indeed, sir. You must positively skip along. Not to worry, sir; I am sure we can supply you with everything you might need, during your stay here.’

‘Is Jeeves really your name?’ I said, bluntly.

‘No, sir,’ said the butler. ‘But for the money Mister Belcourt is paying me, if he wishes to call me Jeeves, I am perfectly happy to answer to that illustrious name. Though I feel I should point out that I do not mix cocktails or provide helpful advice to those who find themselves in a bit of a pickle, and neither do I untangle emotional difficulties. I just buttle.’

‘Have you always been a gentleman’s gentleman?’

‘No, sir. I have led a wide, interesting and most satisfying life.’

‘Only I couldn’t help noticing the gun concealed in a holster at your back,’ I said. ‘And the knife in a sheath up your left sleeve. And the powder burns on your shirt cuff, indicating you fired a gun recently.’

Jeeves looked at me for a moment. ‘You can see all that, sir?’

‘I’ve been around too,’ I said.

‘A butler’s responsibilities are many, sir,’ said Jeeves. ‘If you’d like to wait here while I take care of your coat, I’ll take you in to see Mister Belcourt. He was most insistent that he wished to speak with you, the moment you arrived.’

‘I’m more interested in speaking with the Colonel,’ I said. ‘He is why I’m here, after all.’

‘Ah,’ said Jeeves. ‘Mister James Belcourt.’

I raised an eyebrow, despite myself. ‘James?’

‘Yes, sir. Eldest child to Walter Belcourt.’

‘The Colonel … is James Belcourt,’ I said. ‘Well. I never knew. This is his family home?’

‘Yes, sir. He arrived late yesterday evening.’

‘And where is he right now?’

‘I really couldn’t say, sir. I’m sure he’s around, somewhere.’

I was actually shocked to discover the Colonel’s real name so casually. In all the years I’d worked for him, I’d only ever addressed him by his rank. He never once discussed his life outside our working relationship. And as long as he never asked me anything, I never asked him anything. Some things are all the more binding, for being left unsaid. And then I looked round sharply as a harsh commanding voice barked my name. The master of the house, and of the family, was striding down the hall towards me. I’d known he was there for a while, but it had seemed only polite to wait until he made his presence known.

‘Thought it had to be you!’ Walter Belcourt said cheerfully, in a loud and carrying voice. ‘Heard voices in the hall, thought: that must be our impetuous young guest. Ishmael Jones; how do you do!’

The old man stomped steadily down the hall, leaning heavily on a plain wooden walking stick. A good-looking woman edging reluctantly into her forties moved smoothly along at his side. Walter Belcourt looked to be well into his seventies, but he seemed sharp and hale enough, despite resembling nothing so much as a stooped and fiery-eyed vulture. Once a large man, he was now much reduced, all bone and gristle, with a face that had fallen in on itself. He was mostly bald, with a few tufts of flyaway white hair. His blue eyes were still sharp and knowing. His bristly white moustache reminded me irresistibly of the Colonel’s. Walter wore a country squire’s tweed suit, with tall woolly socks and heavy footwear, for long walks in the countryside. He finally slammed to a halt before me, took a moment to get his breath back, and then smiled briskly. He thrust out a hand and shook mine firmly. Just to make it clear who was the boss in Belcourt Manor.

‘Any friend of James is always welcome at the Manor!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Come far, did you?’

‘I drove down from London,’ I said. ‘Made pretty good time, allowing for the weather.’

‘Good God, man,’ said Walter, honestly taken aback. He looked shocked and a little impressed. ‘You drove … all that way?’

‘In this weather?’ said the woman at his side. Walter ignored her.

‘The Colonel seemed to think it important I get here as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘And I always do what the Colonel says.’

Walter let loose a quick bark of laughter and nodded quickly. ‘The Colonel. Yes … James always did prefer to be addressed by his rank. Even if he won’t tell me what it is he actually does. Won’t even say which regiment he’s a part of … Still! None of my business, I suppose. Security, and all that … Yes … Glad to have you here, Ishmael! Just a family Christmas gathering, nothing too formal. Just good food, good drink, and better company! Eh?’

‘Such a pity James could never find the time to join us for Christmas before,’ said the woman at his side. ‘How many years has it been, dear?’

‘Now, Mel,’ growled Walter. ‘You know how busy the boy is …’ He fixed me with his fierce gaze again. ‘You work for my son … In the military?’

‘I work for him,’ I said. ‘And I think that’s all I’m allowed to say. You know how it is.’

Walter grinned suddenly and actually winked at me roguishly. ‘Military intelligence, right? Couldn’t tell me anything if you wanted to. I get it, I get it. Probably why James is still just a Colonel, after all these years … But then, he always knew what he wanted out of life. What mattered to him, and what didn’t. Always went his own way, that boy!’

I nodded respectfully. It was hard to think of the Colonel as a boy, after all the years I’d known him.

‘He hasn’t been back to visit his old home in … I don’t know how long,’ said Walter, frowning. His gaze softened, became suddenly doubtful, lost in the past. He looked at me vaguely, as though he’d forgotten why he was talking to me. ‘What … what was I saying?’

The woman at his side slipped an arm firmly through his. ‘You were just telling Mister Jones here how pleased you are that James has come home for Christmas, this year.’

‘Of course!’ said Walter, his gaze immediately snapping back into focus. ‘Of course I was! Where is that boy? Arrived late last night, straight to bed, didn’t even join us for breakfast … Where has he got to?’

‘I’m sure he’s around, somewhere,’ said the woman. She squeezed his arm, meaningfully.