No matter how hard he tried, he could never keep a serious face with Kieran around.
“You’re spending a lot of time at this place. You do remember that you have tickets for the Harrogate Classic Car Show the second weekend of May? And you’re also booked in to view a couple of properties in and around Dublin the weekend after? Or do you want me to take over?”
Kieran’s offer was genuine. Leonard knew him well enough to know he would step in if asked, and wouldn’t even complain. And the truth was that Leonard was enjoying his weekends in Wales, spending time remodelling the house, working alongside Adrian and especially sharing a bed with him. But Kieran needed his weekends, needed to spend time with his young family, and Leonard was not about to mess with that.
“No, I’m still good for both. We’re getting to a point where there’s not much else I can contribute to the building work, where I need to step back and let the professionals take over. And on that note, can you have a word with your husband? I need to have a state-of-the-art security system installed once the remodelling is complete. If I give you Adrian’s contact number, can you get one of Kennedy’s team to call him?”
“Ah, so his name’s Adrian, is it? And he’s a professional builder. Very nice. You know we’re going to have to meet him one day, don’t you?”
“Let’s see how things pan out. With the house, too.”
“Ooh,” said Kieran, reaching behind him onto his desk for an envelope. “And on that note, boss—I got you the original plans and history of the house from the Land Registry that you requested. Very interesting reading.”
“How so?”
“Did you know the house was commissioned in 1888?”
“I do now. But that’s kind of what we thought.”
“Hang on, that’s not the best bit. The house was commissioned by Lord Charles Hawesworth.”
“Okay,” said Leonard, shrugging. “Sorry, should the name ring a bell?”
“He was a lord, dummy. Don’t you find that interesting? Anyway, there’s more. But let me start at the beginning. Being the curious but adorable person that I am, I did some digging around and Lord Charlie’s father, Lord Theophilus Hawesworth—who the hell calls their child Theophilus—owned a bunch of textile mills in the Midlands. On the research, he is listed as an industrialist, philanthropist and social reformer. Oh, yeah, and did I mention that he made his fortune exploiting the working classes in Victorian sweatshops, making quality cloth for the upper-monied classes? Philanthropist, my arse. Charlie was his youngest of three.”
“Very interesting. Is there a point to all this?”
“Oh, it gets better. Lord Charlie became an architect and drew up the plans for the house, his own pet project, by the sound of things. Died of tuberculosis in 1897 at the ripe old age of forty-seven, poor sod. And guess who he left the place to?”
“Queen Victoria?”
“Ha ha. No, he left the place to one Harold Hampton Day. Your great, great grandfather.”
This piece of news caught Leonard’s attention.
“Why?”
“How the hell should I know? Give him a ring and ask him. After that, the property remained in your family.”
“Give me that,” said Leonard, snatching the envelope from Kieran.
“And that, Mr Day, is why you pay me the big bucks. So are you at least going to show me a photo of this hottie of yours?”
The question stalled Leonard. For the first time, he realised he had no photos of Adrian.
“Actually I don’t have one. But I tell you what. I’ll snap one next weekend, and show you next time I’m back.”
“The hell you will. You know how to add a photo to a text message. I know you do, I showed you. So send me a copy as soon as you snap one.”
“You’re a pushy little so-and-so, aren’t you? How does Kennedy stand it?”
“He’d be lost without me. So would you.”
Leonard would, too, but said nothing. If Kieran was as much of a fireball in the bedroom as he was in the office, then Kennedy was one lucky—if perennially tired—husband.
* * * *
Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
