Weighing the Options

The skin on my back tightened like the outside of a sausage under the grill as the late afternoon sun beat down on me. I rolled my shoulders, feeling each muscle tense and release. I mentally counted them off; traps, delts, lats, biceps, pecs. I’d concentrated on them last night, and with today’s work they were sore again. I’d been working all the hours I could to make ends meet. Nicole just kept asking for more and more, but it was for my daughter, she said. My girl, Cara, had always been a sickly child, and since Nicole had kicked me out, it seemed Cara was just getting worse. I couldn’t say no if it was for my little princess.

Even though the work was hard, landscaping was quickly becoming one of the best jobs I’d ever had. I looked back over the flower bed I’d been working on since six this morning. It had been in a state when I started. The weeding alone had taken until lunch time. Now I was laying in the last of the bark over the clean topsoil and it looked like something fit for the telly. In the middle was a large empty plinth. At some point there would probably be a statue put there to match the others scattered around.

The rest of the grounds were stunning. Lawn paths wound around islands of now pristine flower beds. Each had a plinth which held a large white stone statue in the middle, like the ones they have in museums from old countries. The one just to my left had a standing man, completely naked except a towel he held, but he was missing one leg and one arm. They looked snapped off by the roughness of the stone surface. Just beyond that was a bust of a powerful looking man, but half of his face had broken away. The remaining half was well sculpted, with a strong jaw and proud expression.

The lead groundsman and I had spent the past month getting everything to look good. The new owner of the mansion hadn’t moved in just yet, but he’d sent teams of people to get the place ready for him as it had been vacant for almost a decade before he bought it. Housekeepers cleaned and sorted the inside of the twelve-bedroomed household, while Barry and I worked outside. The boss was supposed to be moving in this weekend, though.

When I’d moved into my new place it’d taken three of my strongest friends to get the sofa and dining room set inside, and then I’d unpacked everything myself in less than a week. Nicole hadn’t exactly let me take much from the house we’d shared. Just the things I’d picked out when we’d decorated years ago and then decided she couldn’t stand the sight of. I guessed being rich meant you didn’t ever need to unpack your own shit.

“Hey Jake.” Barry’s voice carried over the lawn. “How are you getting – holy crap! That looks amazing!”

I grinned at the old boy. His mouth hung loose as he looked over my work.

“Well done. I was just coming to let you know that the boss has turned up and is inside inspecting the housekeeping team’s work. He’ll probably be out here any minute. But he’ll be hard pressed to find anything wrong with what you’ve done!” Barry rubbed his hand over his jaw; his stubble rasped loudly on his calloused palm.

“Should I put my shirt on? Only I’ve got a little bit left to do in this corner and it’s a bit hot out here.” I motioned to the pile of cloth by my nearly-empty water bottle. I’d worn the wrong bloody shirt today and accidentally picked up the one that was too tight. It had been annoying me all morning before I’d stripped it off, knowing there wouldn’t be anyone else around to bother.

Nah, it shouldn’t be an issue. He seems an alright sort. Not at all up himself like they can get sometimes. If you’ve still got work to do then carry on. Just mind your p’s and q’s if he decides to speak to you, alright?” Barry raised his eyebrows at me, but seemed satisfied by my nod in response. He walked away, muttering to himself about young’uns showing him up. I smiled to myself at his grumbling.

I quickly sorted out the last of the bits I was doing and collected together all the tools I’d used and bags I’d emptied as I’d worked. I had my head under a particularly prickly bush, digging out a weed I’d missed, when I sensed someone watching. I twisted my head to look under my armpit to see two shiny black loafers not too far behind me. There was no dignity in how I shuffled back out of the bush.

“Good afternoon, sir.” I said as I straightened up and wiped my hands on the crusty rag I kept tucked into my pocket.

“Jake, I take it?” The man was much shorter than I was, and much older. Even stood tall, he still barely reached my chest. He was close enough that he had to crane his head backward to look me in the face. I guessed he hadn’t realised how tall I was and now wanted to step back to see me better. He couldn’t do that without looking like he was running away. The man didn’t seem like the type who ran away from things.

“Yes, sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The words were dredged up from somewhere in my memory. My mother’s voice rang in my head in a half-remembered lecture on manners. The man’s mouth quirked up to one side.

“Well, this flowerbed looks fantastic. As do the rest of the grounds. You and Barry have done far better with the place than I was expecting.” He put his hands on his hips and stared out over the lawn like he was a ruler viewing his kingdom. His neat dark suit was out of place surrounded by all the greenery. I turned to stare out in to direction he was now looking, putting my back to him.

“It’s been pretty cool to work on this. Barry figured stuff out, I just did the lifting and shifting.” I shrugged modestly.

“Your hard work has paid off. I think I’ll be able to make decisions on what I want it all to look like in the future. Have you been doing landscaping for long?” The man pulled a buzzing phone from his pocket, and turned it off with barely a glance at the screen.

“No, I usually work construction, but there’s not a lot of work to be had at the moment, so Barry asked if I’d lend a hand.”

“Do you prefer to do construction, do you think?”

“I’ve had more experience in construction, but it’s been good to change it up a bit, I guess,” I shrugged. “As long as the money is coming in, it’s no skin off my back.”

There was a pause from behind me that made me glance back. He was running his eyes up and down my body. I became aware of how I was standing, leaning on the rake. I straightened myself up to seem more respectful.

“Quite.” His grey eyes glittered as his eyes flicked over my clothes. Or not. My face flamed when I realised my t-shirt still lay on the ground by my bottle. “It’s been nice to meet you, Jake – what was it? Jake Rowes?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, Jake Rowes. I am quite pleased with your work this evening and I would like to show you off to my associates.”

“What?” The surprise made me forget my manners.

“I’m having a little get together this evening with some friends and colleagues. I know some of them were looking for a landscaper, and others have ties with construction businesses. It may be beneficial for you to meet them. Network, find clients, that sort of thing.”

“No, sir, I mean, thank you, sir. For the consideration and that. But that’s not my kinda thing.”

“Come now, there’s no harm in making new friends. If you like, I’ll put you on the clock for your time and you’ll get paid for it regardless.” He flicked out his hand, a business card perched between two extended fingers, produced like a magic trick. “It begins at nine if you decide to come, and dress smart.”

To be polite I took the card. With one last grin he strolled away toward the house. I packed up quickly and hurried to my van.

Once home, I huffed and threw the business card in the bowl by the front door with my keys. In the shower – I would’ve showered anyway, I told myself – I thought about all the ways it could go wrong. But there were more ways it could go right. This might be my big break out of this cycle. Working to give Cara everything I felt she deserved, whatever I had left barely covered my own bills. On the day Nicole greeted me with my shit all over the front garden, I found out the company I was working for was going into liquidation. It wasn’t even two weeks before the divorce papers came through and the demands for childcare payments. I’d been running to stay afloat since.

Bossman had said to look presentable. I didn’t own anything fancy. The only item of clothing I owned that was worth anything was probably the suit I’d worn to my wedding. I hadn’t even looked at the navy Tom Ford suit since the divorce a year ago. I wondered if it still fit me. I had been trim on my wedding day, and then put weight on over the ten years we were together. Since being alone, however, I had managed to spend more time in the gym. There was no point in even thinking of going to a posh party if I didn’t fit the only decent clothes I owned. I pulled the trousers on like they’d chatted shit about me.

The suit fit the same as my wedding day. I looked myself up and down in the mirror, holding myself that little bit taller knowing how good I looked.

I could’ve done with a haircut, but it was only just a little bit grown out. My beard was scruffy but wouldn’t take too long to get it to look like that what I meant. I remembered way back in my early twenties, when Nicole and I first were dating and married, I was so proud of my appearance. I’d lost that part of my identity, though, when we’d had Cara. She was my world. If I went tonight and got a bit of money, maybe I’d be able to send her something nice.

With that thought I knew I’d made up my mind to go. I checked my watch. There was just enough time to finish tidying myself up and hop back into the van to head over. Once I got my beard trimmed and some gel in my hair, I pulled the card back out of the key bowl. The sleek black card had the words dented into the smooth surface. The boss’ name, Mr Millerton, was in gold letters on one side, and a simple number on the reverse.

I tossed my keys into the air and caught them as I took a look at my van cab. Mud from dirty work boots and fast-food wrappers littered the inside. I took a moment to clear it up a bit, as if Mr Millerton would inspect the inside of my vehicle before he allowed me in his house.

It was almost fully dark as I arrived back in the neighbourhood. Just the looming outlines of the dark trees stood like forgotten ghosts against the navy sky.

The house was set back from the road, with a large lawn edged by mature trees stretching out in front which had taken three whole days to trim. The house was one of those large pale grey stone buildings, built ages ago as a house that posh countryside people would stay in when they visited the city. I hadn’t realised any still remained as one house, as most around where I lived had been converted into multiple apartments or student housing. This one was softly lit in the dark, tastefully done so beams showed the fairy-tale architecture in the best angles. To the right there were about ten cars parked in a row with their bonnets facing to the road. All of them glittered in lamplight; all of them luxury vehicles. Sleek Aston Martins, sensual Bentleys and even a couple of sedate Rolls Royces sat side by side. Their windscreens were liquid ink in the dark, unmoving eyes watching distastefully as my dented Peugeot van dared to enter their presence.

Someone in a black suit trotted out of the large front door and down the stairs. I rolled down my window to ask where to park.

“I’ll park it for you sir.” The young bloke said, as he eyed the caked-on dust on the driver’s door.

“Are you sure? She’s not fancy like one of them. She’s a bit of a bitch, really.” I warned him as I put the handbrake on.

“No, it will be fine, I’m sure. The turning in the drive can be a little tricky and I don’t want to damage any of the landscaping with tyre tracks. They’d have my job if I let you try.” He opened the door handle to assist me out. I noted he was more concerned about the damage my van could cause the plants rather than the damage the plants could cause to my van. I quirked an eyebrow at him as I stepped out.

“No worries, mate. She’s all yours.” I tugged on my jacket to straighten it out. I wanted to look my best. “Oh – uhm. Do I need to tip you?” I asked uncomfortably.

The lad blinked and looked me up and down quickly. “No, sir, that’s not necessary. I’m paid well enough as it is. Thank you for the thought though. If you just head on through the front door, I believe supper is about to be seated.”

I nodded to him and carried on as he’d directed. The door was wide open, and the foyer of the house was beautifully decorated with dark wood panels on the walls and clean terracotta tiles on the floor. I forced myself not to tap my shoes of any mud, as I would have done with my work boots. My soft leather brogues were clean and polished – I didn’t need to remove any mud from working outdoors.

A bustling man ushered for me to enter further into the house and lead me to what looked like a study. Bookshelves filled neatly with books lined every wall. Burgundy leather armchairs and sofas were arranged around a lit fireplace. Men in almost identical black suits with crisp white shirts beneath spoke loudly to each other. Every now and then one would let out a full, round laugh; the sound that truly shows money and class.

“Mr Rowes!” The exclamation came from across the room. Mr Millerton excited pushed his way through the crowd to get to me. Others looked up to pay attention to both him and me as he got closer. “Mr Rowes, I’m glad you took me up on the offer.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Fantastic. Well, I must show you around. These are my associates who you will sit with at the dinner table.” Mr Millerton showed me over to the closest set of sofas, where two men sat on opposite sides of a heavy oak coffee table, swilling amber liquid in fine crystal glasses. A third man, much younger than the other two, was in a very sleek wheelchair. His right sleeve and left trouser leg were discretely folded up and pinned neatly, making the absence of those limbs somehow elegant. “Mr Rowes, please be acquainted. At the table you will be seated between Mr Stepanov and Sir Firsk, and opposite Master Liam Plummer. Mr Stepanov has a very lucrative estate business in Kent and Sussex. Sir Firsk is of the York Firsks. His summer house in the Lake District is sublime. Master Liam is relatively new to our circle, but he’s recently made excellent investments into progressive tech and medicinal companies.”

Each of the men nodded regally when they were called on, while the lad grinned up at me from his chair.

“Welcome to the cohort, Mr Rowes. It will be a pleasure to see how you play.”

A crisp bell rang out over the noise of conversation, and like cows to the trough, all the men shifted themselves from the deep, comfortable seats and made their way through to another room.

The long dining table looked like it was straight from one of those dramas Nicole used to watch all day long. Two large chandeliers hung overhead, tinkling softly as they moved. They threw out shattered prickles of light across the tapestries on the walls and the thick rug beneath my feet. A lavish, pointless floral centrepiece ran down the long table, the surface of which was crowded with more cutlery and plates than I had ever owned in my life.

I followed Mr Stepanov past the many chairs, hoping he could direct me to where I was expected to be. Finally, he stopped by a chair and gestured to the one next to him. I almost pulled it out myself, but before I could touch the carved wood, a man stepped up and did it for me. I’d never been seated like this by anyone before. Awkwardly, I took my place by the table and felt the waiter bump the seat on the backs of my knees. I sat heavily as he pushed the chair in behind me.

“So, what is it that you do, Mr Rowes.” Sir Firsk said from my right.

A plate was placed in front of me with delicate flakes of white fish and an unrecognisable green sauce trickled over artistically.

“Well, currently I work in landscaping, but I’ve done a fair bit of construction before. Whatever pays, really. Odd jobs here and there.” I’d heard before that posh people start with the outside cutlery and work inwards, so grabbed the smallest fork and knife from the array in front of me.

“Oh, really? I have quite a few developments on the go myself. What do you prefer to do out of all your experiences?” The man was older, but very well put together. His demeanour was giddy and his eyes glittered as they seemed to never stop moving, taking in everything. He spoke as if he really wanted to know, rather than asking out of politeness or small talk.

“That’s a tough question.” I covered my mouth with the back of my hand as I chewed and swallowed the food I’d shovelled in as he spoke, using the time to think. “If you’d asked me last year, I would’ve said it was overseeing. I did that for a while on one of the bigger projects, you know the new housing down at the other end of the valley? Moreton Quarry? Well, I was in charge of quite a few of those buildings, making sure things was put together in time. It was really good to see everything get worked out. Sure, there was some problems sometimes, but it all worked out in the end. It made me proud to see those houses finished.”

“So, you enjoyed leading a project with many moving parts through to full realisation?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“But now? You said that was last year. What about now?”

“I’ve been working this past year doing up people’s gardens, and it’s been cool doing little jobs here and there. Some of the clients can be a bit frustrating sometimes – beg your pardon, sir.” As I said the words, I realised this man probably was friends with some of the clients I was talking about. He simply inclined his head and gestured for me to continue. I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. “The thing I’ve found I’ve enjoyed mostly is the gardening bits. I’ve never been one with a green thumb. It’s never really called to me. But my boss, Barry, is a good bloke. He really knows his plants. He’s taught me a lot, and I’ve gotta say, being out in the sunshine and fresh air every day ain’t bad either.”

“Sometimes we don’t find our passion, our passion finds us.” He delicately placed his cutlery on his plate and I copied him. Immediately the plates were whisked away from us by staff and replaced with a large plate featuring one of the biggest cuts of steak I’ve ever seen. I felt my eyes bug out as I tried to spot the steak knife in the options of cutlery.

“Impressive, isn’t it? One of our members is the largest national supplier of Wagyu beef. Mr Thompson over there.” Sir Firsk nodded toward a grizzled looking man almost at the other end of the table. He was probably about my age. He wore his greying hair longish and slicked back. He cut into the steak in front of him as if it had personally insulted his mother. When he sensed Sir Firsk and me looking at him, he turned to face us, revealing a long, gnarled scar running from his brow to his jaw. It branched several times over his cheek and over his eye socket. The eye on that side was clouded with stark white. As he chewed with his mouth open, a slow smile grew obscenely across his mouth. “Don’t let his visage put you off. He’s a good sort, really. He’s also one of our newer members. Only been with us a handful of short years.”

“How long has the group been going, then?” I hoped he’d take the bait so I could eat my food.

“Over ten years now, though not consistently. It began with the original four, those up there. Your Mr Millerton was one of the founding members. We never have more than twenty of us at any time. It’s a very exclusive club, you know.” One of the wait staff came to refill our glasses with wine, making him pause for a moment. “It’s been fun meeting all the guests we’ve had during that time. It’s so nice to sit down with someone and have no idea of the conversation you’re going to have that evening. Before this little club, it was always the same faces, the same conversations, until we all felt like we were on one of those little rat wheel things.”

“I agree.” A deep voice came from my other side. “Always numbers, business, nasty comments wrapped in fine words.” Mr Stepanov’s accent was barely there. In his tux he looked like he could give James Bond a run for his money, with dark slicked back hair and broad shoulders. There was something about him that instantly made me think of a boxer or wrestler. Or a street fighter. I knew, without understanding how, that I’d never be able to hold my own in a fist fight with this man.

“Now you have better conversations?” I murmured, trying not to feel out of my depth.

“Yes. Now we have our eyes opened.” Sir Firsk giggled as he sipped his wine.

“There’s more to understand about mankind, Mr Rowes, than any of us at this table know. Your presence is invaluable. Are you wearing a vintage Tom Ford, by the way?” Mr Stepanov ran a knowing eye over my suit.

“Er, yes. It was actually my wedding suit, but it’s the nicest thing I own.”

“It’s in excellent condition too. One of his first designs if I’m not mistaken. You have a good eye for fine things, Mr Rowes. I think you’ll fit in around here very well.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I let both the men either side of me continue their conversations with other people. Glancing up, I saw Master Liam staring at me. His mouth was set in a quirk of amusement, but his eyes were tight with fear. Before I could suss out the reason for his expression, a new plate was set in front of me. This one had some sort of salad with vegetables I hadn’t ever seen before artistically arranged with a purple drizzle over the top. Once my view cleared, Master Liam was laughing heartily with the man beside him.

The meal passed with little more comment from myself. I listened to the men around me talk about powerful things like buying and selling entire companies, building houses, and the ever-fickle stock market. The money they spoke about was in the hundreds of thousands or millions. More money than I’d ever earned in my entire life collected together. I wondered again what I could bring to these men that might interest them.

As the dessert dishes were cleared away, Mr Millerton stood at the head of the table and raised his wine glass in the air.

“Well, my friends, the time has come for the frivolities to begin. As usual we have backgammon, billiards, and black jack in the sitting room, and some other games dotted around the parlour and the lawns. Please do enjoy yourselves this evening. We will have whiskey in the study for those who wish it, where we will introduce our special guest, Mr Jake Rowes.” He lifted his glass as he said my name, and everyone around the table copied him in silence as they turned to me. I felt a claw of embarrassment slice its way down my back as the image of being circled by ravenous wolves popped into my head.

The tension broke as everyone downed their drinks together and then stood to leave the room. Groups went through doors in different directions. They all seemed familiar with the house. As I hesitated, I spotted Mr Millerton motioning to me to follow him.

“Sir, can I go to the loo first?” I murmured to him when I came close. I felt like I was back at school asking to leave a lesson. He chuckled and then gestured to a door tucked away from the dining room.

It was brightly lit inside, decorated in cream colours with gold designs on the fixings. There were two cubicles and sinks, like a bathroom in a public venue. I didn’t know if it was normal to have bathrooms like this in private houses. I did my business and was washing my hands when the door swung open again. The scarred man who had been sat on the other end of the table stepped inside. My mind scrambled to remember his name, but all I could think of was that he had provided the steaks. The beef man.

I ignored his entrance, waiting for him to go into one of the cubicles. He didn’t. I glanced up in the mirror to find him leaning against the door staring directly at me. The scar running down the length of his face was angry and red, crumpling his cheekbone and jaw painfully. He was much taller than I had realised. He must have needed to duck when he came into this room.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” His voice was low and gravelly.

“What?” I startled.

“The scar. It’s a beauty.”

I was silent as I tried to think of how to respond to this. The water kept running from the tap in front of me. The beef man chuckled and dropped his gaze.

“It’s funny how quickly these things happen. Aren’t you going to ask how I got it?”

“Is it any of my business?”

The laugh he let out then was a full guffaw. I turned off the tap and patted my hands dry with one of the very soft towels that had been provided.

“I used to be like you,” he said. “I used to scrape by just enough. And then I was offered an opportunity to better myself and I took it with both hands. The games tonight will test who you really are, but if you’re anything like me you’ll grab on to the lifeline. Don’t let the short-term cloud your judgement. You have no idea what is waiting for you if you just take the chance.”

“I haven’t been offered anything.” I made sure to look him straight in the eyes as I passed to leave the room.

“You will be. You’d be a fool to turn them down.” I heard him murmur behind me as the door closed.

Mr Millerton was waiting for me in sight just down the corridor. He was chatting to a couple of the servants but waved and smiled to me.

“Just make sure all the tools are ready for use and Sir Firsk will attend to the rest.” He dismissed the two men when I came near. “Ah, Mr Rowes, please come this way. I have some business to discuss with you.”

He led me through a short dark corridor to a room lined with books. A large desk made from a rich red wood stood in the middle and heavy, deep red curtains hung over the two windows. Mr Millerton pulled two crystal tumblers from a hidden cabinet and poured amber liquid into them from a decanter.

“Here, my boy. I just wanted to thank you for coming this evening. It’s a pleasure when we get new company.”

I took a long sip from the glass, letting the warm liquid chase the discomfort lingering from my exchange with the beef man. I wondered if this was the moment he had warned me about. If that had even been a warning.

“Well, thank you for inviting me and for the wonderful meal. It was very good. You have a lovely home.” The pleasantries tumbled out of my mouth.

“It’s nothing, my boy. The company I hire to organise my new residences are very good and know me very well by now. My more permanent home isn’t so good for entertaining. My business is growing, as are my associate’s. These past few years have been good for us, you see. But we’re aware it hasn’t been so for many, which is why we host these events. We can give as much as we want away in philanthropy, but this association operates with the expectation for a more personal touch. We like to be a bit more hands-on; you understand?”

“You have something you want me to be involved in?” I could tell he was trying to sell me on something, but I still couldn’t get a read if it was bullshit.

He grinned at me and sipped his own drink before sitting on one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of the unlit fireplace. He gestured for me to sit opposite.

“You are quite smart, Mr Rowes. You may have conceived that between my guests and I, we have the capability to alter your life in ways you’ve never even considered should you go into business with us, if that’s something you’d be interested in?”

“I am aware, sir, that the world you and I live in aren’t the same, no. What I know from my own world is that for someone like me, nothing is free. Everything has a price. I only wish you would be clearer with what your price is, sir.” My patience for this man was running out quickly.

“I appreciate your candour, Mr Rowes. Sometimes it is better to go into these things like a transaction. Though each of these offers is personalised in its entirety. For you, we are very clear that your professional expertise lays within construction. There’s a few of us who have certain developments in process around the city – some around the country. Currently we don’t have among our number anyone who is skilled in knowing the best way to lead these projects. Of course, we could easily hire externally for this position, but we are keen to source internally, and instead bring someone into our fold who we can trust implicitly. That person, we believe, could be you.”

“You want to hire me to lead some construction teams? This is the weirdest job interview I’ve ever had.”

“No, not an overseer. We want you to be the developer.” He sipped his drink. “We want to fund you to become the owner of a company which will handle our contracts, multimillion pound contracts. For buildings that we wish to build and own. We don’t want to hire someone else for it, we want someone among our association.”

“I don’t understand.” I rested the whiskey on my knee. I needed a clear head for this conversation. “You just want to give me a company, as long as I build whatever you guys want me to? Are these illegal buildings? Do they not have planning permission or something?”

“Oh no, your company and work will be all above board. Everything about your company will be legitimate. No, let me explain to you. Before Mr Thompson made my acquaintance, he was a quite handsome, young farmer. His cattle herd was going through some tough times, the meat business is very fickle, you understand. Then once he joined our group, we were able to fund him to import some of the best beef cattle in the world, and to upgrade his farm to treat the gentle cattle like kings.” Mr Millerton leaned forward in his chair. “We handled all of that for him. Now our restaurants have the most desired produce they possibly could. All thanks to Mr Thompson.”

“Okay.”

“And Master Liam. His propensity for programming and robotics wowed plenty of people, yet it was only money that pulled him back. He wasn’t able to open the right doors for himself. I saw so much potential in his abilities, I realised that with the correct investments, he would be able to make millions with his plans.”

“But what did it cost him to get that support?” I snapped. I wasn’t able to keep the frustration from my voice.

“Oh, only an arm and leg.” The smile that spread across Mr Millerton’s fine features was all teeth and no humour.

The realisation was like a drop of ice water in a still pond.

An image of Liam’s folded sleeve blossomed in my mind. His trouser leg tucked neatly out of the way. One of the wait staff had cut up his food for him so that he could eat with his one remaining hand. My mouth was dry, my throat hurt as fear and rage warred within me.

“I see. Mr Thompson paid with half of his sight, then?” I tried to keep my tone light, as if we were discussing something unimportant. I brought the whiskey to my lips, but didn’t drink. I didn’t want to have anything more from this house and these people.

“You finally understand. Our association wants to better understand people. We want to know what’s going on inside their lives, inside their very being. Mr Thompson was one of our first members who joined. He was Sir Firsk’s request. He wanted to watch the muscles of a face move with no skin to mar the view. Mr Thompson was so kind as to oblige. Mr Stepanov wished to see the internal workings of the joints in the limbs. Master Liam donated his limbs to satisfy that curiosity. In return, they both received every bit of support they’d need to create their own fortunes.”

My heart beat so hard in my chest that it rattled my teeth on every thump. I wanted to run from here, screaming. I wanted to laugh in this man’s face. Yet something kept me still.

The doors weren’t even closed. Anyone could have walked in at any point. But we were left to ourselves. Happy calls between men sounded from the corridor. Two people were laughing as they had a good-natured argument over a point scored on whatever game they’d just played. Nothing was out of the ordinary out there. It was just another rowdy house party. I’d been to plenty of those in my time.

I could improve everything in my life. Nicole was long gone, but the idea I could give my daughter everything kept me in my seat. She would never know the struggles I’d felt. Mr Thompson’s voice came to me then. I’d be a fool to turn them down.

“Alright, speak plainly. I want to know all the terms before I agree. What do you want from me?”

Mr Millerton gave a tight smile, and for the first time he dropped his piercing gaze. He threw the rest of his drink back and stood, walking across to the dark window. The grounds were below, where I spent most of my working days. I’d never seen them at night, but they stretched out before us down the small slope from the big house. People walked gently around the trim lawns, admiring the statues in the newly planted beds. Hidden lights glittered, illuminating the crisp lines of each of the white marble people who took up space on the plinths.

Now that Mr Millerton drew my attention outside, I noticed that the empty plinth I’d been working near today was filled. There was something different about this statue, and it took me a second to realise the difference. I physically started when it moved. The man, painted completely white and wearing a loose cloth around his privates, was some sort of body builder. He shifted into another position, still facing away from the window. From here I could see all the muscles on his back stand out as he tensed them. One fist was brought to his chin and the other outstretched to his side. Once he settled had into the pose, he remained as still as death.

“I love these statues. The masters of antiquity had such a love for the human form. And now I enjoy the riches of their artistic vision. I don’t have the ability to recreate their work, but I do share their fascination with the body.” Mr Millerton sighed. He was quiet for longer than I was comfortable with, but before I could snap with impatience, he turned on one foot to face me.

“You were my request, Mr Rowes. I have always been fascinated by the muscles which allow movement in our spines and the upright posture which separates us from our ape cousins. I happened to notice today that you possess a very well defined and admirable musculature on your back.” Mr Millerton stepped forward. I don’t know if the room got dimmer, but I was very aware of just his face, every movement and touch of expression formed by the muscles in his brow and cheeks. It felt as though I could hear every letter enunciated by his tongue as he spoke. “What I am proposing, Mr Rowes, is that you allow us to flay the skin from your back, just the dermis and visceral fat layer, while you are conscious. Anesthetised, of course. We aren’t barbarians. But conscious, so that you would be able to run through some poses, allowing my associates and I to admire the movement of the muscles beneath. All of this would be done by a doctor, of course. And you would have the absolute best medical care to recover afterwards. And once you had recovered, you would have everything at your disposal to make your success as a business man.”

The seconds ticked by. Over the sound of the laughter and music coming from the open door, I could hear the ticking of a clock, counting down to some moment in time.

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Unfortunately, this is a one-time offer, Mr Rowes. You say yes now and we’ll book in your display at our convenience. You say no, and you’ll never hear anything from us again once you leave this room. You say anything of this to anyone, and, well. You know we have the means to make your successes, Mr Rowes. You can trust we also have the means to dismantle your world too.”

I breathed. Part of me couldn’t believe I was even entertaining this. I tapped my fore finger and middle finger on the arm of the chair as I flicked between my two options. Yes or no. Yes or no.

I wanted to gulp my whiskey, if only to stop the dryness of my mouth. Instead, I controlled myself as I took a leisurely sip. I was glad to see my hand wasn’t shaking even a bit. The warm, thick liquid flooded my tongue. I smacked my lips in appreciation of the fine malt.

“Well, Mr Millerton. When works best for you?”