Aria Graice - 3. Chapter 3

They started in the attic and Drew was absolutely blown away by the massive room. Dormer windows and enormous skylights let in a lot of light and the room was airy and bright, with white walls, where there weren’t mirrors, and blond wood flooring.

“I don’t often come up here. It’s the boys’ sanctuary.” Ben led the way along the wall, past the dance space, which bizzarely contained two poles.

“Do they do pole dancing?”

“Do they do it? They own it. I’ve never seen anyone better. When they’re doing it together it’s like one person has split in half and is still moving like one body. They can bend themselves in knots and talk about sexy. Fuck. But don’t worry, for all my joking, it’s strictly hands off. That doesn’t mean I can’t look though, eh?”

“Can’t say I see the appeal. They’re just kids.”

“And how old are you? Forty?”

Drew laughed. “Hardly.”

“Seriously though. You can’t be more than twenty-six, twenty-seven, and the twins will be eighteen next month. Hence the family gathering. It’s only a couple of years.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

Ben pursed his lips and nodded, pausing to regard Drew more critically than he had yet done. “Young to be out of the forces. Either a dishonourable discharge or invalided out. You’re not the type for a DD so I’m guessing injury. You don’t look broken though.”

Drew almost laughed out loud. “Some scars show up easier than others.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Well, you’ll need to be on your toes around here, so any problems will show up soon enough.”

“There won’t be any problems. I guarantee it.”

Ben nodded and chuckled. “We’ll see. This is the gym.”

He moved on to the other half of the attic. The gym was just as light and airy and the equipment it contained seemed barely used.

“We’re free to use the stuff whenever we like. I tend to come in early most days and work out for half an hour or so. You won’t find anything like this in any gym we can afford the membership of.”

“You’re not kidding.”

Drew’s muscles twitched at the thought of using the beautiful gym equipment. “I’d be afraid of dirtying it. Is everything in this bloody house white?”

“Pretty much. Let’s go down.”

At the far end of the attic was another set of stairs. It was much narrower and darker than the other, and fully enclosed, with a door on each landing. Something like this should have smelled musty, but, like the rest of the house, it simply smelled of polish.

“The servants’ stairs.”

“Servants? How many servants do they have?”

Ben snorted. “Butler, two cooks, couple of maids. Hardly servants though. These stairs were built for a time when upstairs and downstairs didn’t meet. The attic used to be servant living quarters. These days, both sets of stairs are used by pretty much everyone. Whichever is more convenient. Although Aria hates these stairs. He’s a bit claustrophobic. Hates small, dark places.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. What kind of security do these stairs have?”

All the doors are individually alarmed, deadlocked and open with keypads. They lead to the kitchen and there’s always someone there during the day. At night the whole house locks up like fort knox. There would be more security on the stairs, but the boys like to sneak down to the kitchen in the wee hours.”

“Good to know.”

“Not your problem. You won’t be here most of the time.”

Ben stopped at the third landing down and slid a card through a reader. “Alicia will have cards for you tonight probably.”

“This is the studio floor, right?”

“Yes. None of them are being used at the moment, so it’s as good a time as any to show you around.”

Like everywhere else in the house the studios were impressive. The first was the kind of sound booth he was used to, but the other two were very much designed for and around Aria. The first was like a film set with a bank of cameras set to face two different areas, one a massive dressing table with a brightly lit mirror, and the second a set up that looked like a hairdressing salon, or maybe a make up artist’s chair or something. Every square inch of the room not taken up by the sets was crowded with rails of clothes, stacked boxes, and shelves. The third studio was much smaller and cosier, set up like someone’s living room, somewhat bohemian given the starkness of the rest of the house. In front of the “set” was a long desk behind which the cameras sat, between, around and above a bank of monitors attached to two high-end laptops and a spacey looking desktop with three keyboards.

“Well, at least he seems to take all this stuff seriously,” Drew said.

“Are you serious? “This stuff” is what he lives for. He makes a good living at it. Not that he has to work, of course. He’s got more money than he’s ever going to spend so he doesn’t exactly need a job, but he loves it all. Wait until you see him dressed up.”

“I got a taste of that this afternoon.”

“So Amara told me. But he was dressed as his brother then. Wait until you see him dressed like himself.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

They next stopped on the ground floor where Ben showed him around the offices and reception rooms, then they descended to the bottom floor where the kitchens and staff rooms were. Ben introduced him to the cook, Emma Parsons, a rather unexpectedly attractive woman in her late thirties, early forties, explaining that there was another cook, a French man named Bernard who usually came in during the evenings.

“He does all the fancy stuff,” Emma said, with a grin. Here’s always bits of it lying around, so help yourself. Aria likes the chocolates so there are rarely many of them left. If you want something that sticks to your ribs though, come to me and I’ll see you alright.”

“I’ll remember that,” Drew said, warming to Emma immediately.

“The boys have a small kitchen on their floor for snacks and such,” Ben cut in, lounging against the counter nibbling some kind of pastry, “but neither of them has the time or interest to cook meals. Most of the staff eat together down here, but the twins have their own dining room. It’s up to you where you eat. I guess it depends on how much you piss Amara off because you won’t want to be eating up there if you don’t know whether your food has been laced with laxatives.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He has. Laxatives, super-hot chillies, pepper, blue dye.”

Drew hadn’t though his heart could sink any lower. He’d been wrong.

Emma smacked Ben across the head with a tea towel. “Don’t you start,” he said gravely. “There’s nothing wrong with them boys if you’d just leave them alone. They have enough shit off their mother, they don’t need no more from you.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Ben said, looking just a like a cat does when it accidentally falls off the sofa and feigns an “I meant to do that,” attitude. He brushed crumbs off his sleeve. “Amara’s done all that and more.”

“It’s his way of coping with shit, right. So don’t give him none. Anyway, he’s growing up and he don’t do so much of all that anymore.”

“Oh no? What about Phill?”

“Phill was fine until you put your two ha’porth in. Telling him they both needed a strong hand.” She huffed and shook her head. “You’d be best keeping your nose out of other people’s business and attend to your own.”

She flapped her cloth at Ben again and he shuffled away.

“It’s not wrong,” he grumbled.

“Maybe is and maybe isn’t but Phill was a professional and would have been quite able to work things out for himself if you hadn’t helped.”

“That’s it. I tried to help. I tried to warn him, to set him right. I didn’t make him act like a dick to Amara, just like I didn’t make Amara put blue dye in his coffee.”

“Hang on a sec,” Drew cut in. “Phill, is he the one I took over from? The one Mrs Graice ruined?”

Emma’s head shot up and she narrowed her eyes at Ben. “She did what?”

“Well she wasn’t going to let him get away with it was she? He threatened Amara.”

“Threatened to put him over his knee, which frankly wouldn’t have done him any harm.”

“He still threatened violence to her precious princess.”

“Princess?”

“Oh, you’ll find out.” Ben grinned and took another pastry. Emma slapped his hand away.

Drew’s mind boggled but he drew it back on point. “Do you think he’s any threat to the boys? I mean he has at least some cause to believe he was treated badly.”

“Phill? Nah, he was a sweetheart,” Emma said glaring at Ben. “And I’d have told the old cow that if she’d asked. Don’t you go listening to this one,” she directed at Drew. “Those boys are sweet angels and you’ll not get me to say no different. If you just give them a chance, treat them right and open up a bit you’ll see. They’re desperate for a bit of attention they are, that’s all.”

Ben snorted spraying crumbs. “Attention? You think they lack attention? Seriously?”

Emma hummed and turned back to the stove to take out another batch of pastries. As she turned she caught Drew’s eye and gave him a curt nod. “There’s different kinds of attention,” she said. Drew knew what she meant.

Drew didn’t see either Aria or Amara again before he left, with instructions to return by five. He went straight to the bar frequented by his work colleagues and other veterans as well as local police. It was as familiar as his worn jeans and the smell of sweat and polish wrapped around him like a lover’s arms as soon as he walked through the door. He checked their usual table was free, which it was, then went straight to the bar and ordered two pints of coke. Neither he, nor Jeff would drink during the day, especially when he had duty later.

Jeff arrived as he was sliding into his seat.

“How did it go?”

Drew glared at him. “If I had anywhere else to go you wouldn’t see my arse for dust.”

“You have plenty of other places to go, but the company’s much better here.” Jeff grinned at him, his face boyish despite being ten years older than Drew.

“Only if you’re a masochist,” he said taking a long drink. “You’re lucky I am.”

“Yeah and my arse is a lemon. You’re too soft to be a masochist, always have been. One flick of the whip and you’d be running with your tail between your legs.”

“Since when were you into whips?”

Jeff chuckled but didn’t answer. They fell into a companionable silence while Drew looked around. The same old faces looked back. They all seemed tired, with a weariness that came from more than just lack of sleep. Maybe this gig wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was twenty-four for God’s sake. A few parties might do him the world of good. He snorted into his glass. Yeah, right.

“What are you laughing about? Not that I’m complaining. I haven’t heard much of that from you lately.”

Drew frowned. He wasn’t ready to go there yet. “I was just thinking a few good parties might do me good, then realized how stupid that was.”

Jeff didn’t laugh as he’d expected, he simply regarded Drew thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. It would.”

“Come on. You know me, Jeff. I’m hardly a party guy.”

“No, but you’re young, Kid. You grew up way too fast. Maybe it’s time to let your hair down a bit.”

Drew ran his hand over his growing-out crew cut. “I don’t know if I’ve got it in me anymore. This all seems so…shallow.”

“Now you listen to me. Me and you are soldiers, through and through, but you’re different. You’ve seen a lot, done a lot, but you’re more than that. You need more than that. Well, this is it. This is what we fought for, so that people like this can lead shallow lives. And there’s meaning in that, boy. Life is a gift and we don’t get to dictate how it’s spent, but we do fight for the right to choose how it’s spent, not to have it dictated to us by others.”

Drew snorted. “Right. So, it isn’t dictated to us now?”

Jeff nodded. “Too much, but not as much as it would be if we just gave up and stopped fighting. You’ve done your part, kid. You fought for the freedom to choose, now you get to choose, so do I and so do those two boys. We make different choices, but we all have the same right to make them. A posh house in Kensington, a terrace in the valleys, don’t make no difference. It’s the heart, boy. That’s what’s important. That’s what we do. That’s what we fight for. And if some fat, rich bastard spits in our eye, that’s his right, just like it’s ours to punch him in the nose.”

“Yeah, if we want to end up in prison.”

“Ah, that’s consequences and that’s different.”

Drew chuckled. “How did we get here from going to parties?”

“By overthinking, boy. Just like you always do.”

After lunch, Drew said goodbye to Jeff, then went shopping. He’d been given a budget to get some new clothes. He’d scoffed at the time but was glad of it now. There was, of course, no way he could afford the kind of clothes Aria and Amara wore, but at least he could make an attempt to get the look right. Not that he gave a damn about fitting in, but he had to at least try not to draw too much attention to himself. Let the big boys wear their uniforms and make their presence known, his kind of security required him to blend in, and he wasn’t going to do that in anything he had in his wardrobe. He had a feeling that, in order to fit in, he’d have to step way out of his comfort zone.

Sure enough, when he confided in one of the dressers at the fanciest store he, or rather the firm, could afford, he found himself thrust into changing rooms with armfuls of clothes he would never have glanced at.

By the time he’d finished and staggered into his flat, clutching bags, the contents of which scared him, he was bone tired, but had no time for a nap.

After taking a long, hot shower, he spent half an hour trying to get his hair to look like the photograph on the bottle the salesperson had assured him was the thing for modern fashionable styles. As far as Drew could tell it was a complete mess and he gave up in disgust, running his fingers through the overlong locks in a futile attempt to tame it.

He didn’t want to don his new outfit until the last possible moment, so he used the rest of the time to do some research he should really have done before the job started. He looked up Aria, watched some you tube videos, read some tweets, subscribed to Aria’s blog, and found out how to achieve the hairstyle he’d been struggling with which, following Aria’s tips, fell into place with just a few flicks and twists.

If he cared at all about fashion and appearance, he might have been impressed by the videos. Aria clearly had a talent for teaching. Everything was clear and made logical sense. His voice was like honey over chocolate and his movements smooth and precise. Maybe this you tube stuff wasn’t so stupid after all. He knew enough to realize the twenty-minute-long videos could not be as effortless as they appeared, and neither could the immaculate face Aria always presented. He thought about the face Aria had shown him – makeup free, the skin glowing and porcelain fine. He didn’t need kohl to make his pale blue eyes pop and he didn’t need foundation to smooth away blemishes as there were none. All in all, Drew had to conclude, he preferred the natural look. Aria and Amara were natural beauties and had no need of cosmetic enhancement. That didn’t mean Drew didn’t appreciate their hard work in maintaining their facades.

Finally, Drew couldn’t put off dressing any longer. He squeezed, tugged and squirmed himself into a pair of leather trousers that hung too low on his hips to be comfortable. They constantly felt as if they were sliding down. He’d drawn the line at mesh or see through tops and had settled for a burgundy and black brocade waistcoat over a black t-shirt that ended two inches above the waistband of his trousers. He regretted his choices immediately and was half inclined to change, but he had nothing else remotely suitable, so he pulled on a long coat, hoping that he could at least keep it on at the concert, then grabbed his keys and wallet and headed for the door. Too late, he wondered where the hell he was going to keep them when the coat came off. No way was he going to get them into his pocket. With a low moan, he headed back inside and changed his coat for a light linen jacket he could keep on all night.

When he got back to the Graice house, he parked his battered car around the corner and strolled up to the front door. He debated whether to knock or use the key Alicia had given him. Not feeling comfortable with just walking in, he knocked. The butler, known only as Mason – Drew had no idea if that was first or last name – answered and frowned down his nose at Drew.

“Good evening, Sir. Did Miss Montgomery not give you a key?”

“Yes, she did but….”

“It would be of assistance if you used it, Sir.”

“I…er, yeah, okay. Sorry.”

Mason nodded and Drew scurried past, heading for the stairs.

The living room was empty, so he took time to explore. He was surprised to find that the book cases held more than just hair and makeup studies or fashion manuals. The complete works of Terry Pratchett particularly surprised him. They had a bookcase all their own, tucked into a corner. It was decorated with maps under lacquer. When he looked closer he confirmed they were maps of locations from Discworld. Picking one of the books at random, Drew had the surprise of his life to find it personally signed “To Aria, who almost made me change my opinion of elves”. Another said “To my little Aria, who could teach Granny a thing or two about headology”. And so it went on. Every book had a little quip. As a Pratchett fan himself, although he was far from a complete set, Drew recognized and understood the references to the work it prefaced. It was clear the author knew Aria and had a fondness for him.

Drew wandered into the kitchen and made coffee, then he sat on the sofa and pondered. Terry Pratchett was the last person he would have thought to endorse someone like Aria Graice. Become fond of, even. What did this mean? Anything? Could it be that there was more to Aria than Drew gave him credit for? Or did he just have a good publicity team.

Drew stretched and settled back on the ridiculously comfortable white leather sofa. The smell of leather had never really appealed to him, but there was something about it when mixed with cologne and sweat, that he couldn’t deny.

He couldn’t understand how the boys dared surround themselves with so much white. He could so clearly remember his mother bemoaning on more than one occasion that it was impossible to have nice things with boys around, because boys could spin dirt and sticky fingers out of nowhere. He smiled at the recollection. Their house had always been full of sticky fingers, in the honest sense of the words. It was mainly the fault of the shelves of home made jam in the larder. Part of the popularity of himself and his siblings amongst their schoolmates and children of the village generally, lay firmly in the neat rows of brightly coloured jars, each neatly labelled and waiting to be spread on thick bread straight out of the oven.

Drew sighed. What was it about this place that made him think about home so much? It wasn’t as if there was anything physical to remind him. His mother wouldn’t even have lived in a place like this in her dreams. It would have been her worse nightmare. He could just picture her in his mind’s eye, standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “Cold it is, all that white. Wouldn’t be so bad if there was some colour around. Not blue, that’s cold too. Nice earthy colours, and bit of comfort. Squashy pillows, that’s what kids like. Make a house a home, they do. No, I couldn’t be doing with something like this. Get some warm rugs and plenty of cushions. And put some proper curtains on the windows.” Drew grinned. He was definitely going to call tomorrow.

“What are you smiling at?”

Drew jumped, for some reason feeling guilty. He carefully placed his coffee cup on the glass table, sending a prayer of thanks into the ethers that he hadn’t spilled any.

He got hurriedly to his feet and smoothed down his trousers, not that there was enough spare material to wrinkle. Aria was not five feet away, his head tilted slightly as he regarded Drew. He had a little smile on his lips that on his brother would have been mocking but on him wasn’t so sure. How the hell had he got so close without Drew noticing? He’d have to watch that. What kind of security guard would he be if he couldn’t clock someone walking across an open room?

Shock gave way to even greater shock when he realized what Aria was wearing. His pale blond hair was loose around his shoulders, dead straight and so shiny it almost looked wet until he moved his head and it rippled and whispered. A glittery headband disappeared into it, just behind his ears. It sported a very different pair of ears that perched on top of his head. Kitten ears?

Immaculate make up, of course, turned his face into that of a china doll, and Drew hardly dared glance lower, as Aria was wearing a cream lace sheath dress that ended at mid-thigh. It didn’t hide much of the lacy panties and stocking tops. Shockingly high heels on knee-high, cream leather boots still brought him nowhere close to Drew’s height.

He smiled up with wide, innocent eyes that danced with mischief. “Do you like?”

“It’s… different.”

“Everything I wear is different, darling. Why on earth would I wear something that was the same? Who would pay to see me in that? Turn around.”

He made a spinning motion with his finger and for a moment Drew had no idea what he meant, then, cheeks burning he turned a slow pirouette.

“Very nice. Love the trousers. You’ve got a great arse so you may as well show it off. I don’t like the coat, though. Lose it.”

“I…. I don’t have anything to put my keys and wallet in.”

Aria laughed. “You don’t need those, honey. You won’t be driving anywhere and what are you going to buy. When you’re with me, everything’s free. Drop the coat and let’s get going. I have to meet some people in the bar before the show starts.”

Aria held out his hand, as Drew draped his jacket over the back of the sofa. He wondered briefly if his wallet would be safe, then shook himself. As if. Aria flapped his hand and Drew tilted his head. Clearly, he was supposed to know what that meant. Aria sighed, took a few steps toward him and slid his hand under Drew’s arm.

“There,” he said, smiling up at Drew. “Now I feel safe.”

Drew didn’t. Drew didn’t feel safe at all. There was something about that small, delicate hand and the heat radiating from the body pressed close to his side that struck Drew as very dangerous indeed.