Page 8 of Bad Duke

I sit outside the apartment building that she shares with her brother. His address was on the file DCS Winslow gave me, and after checking the electoral roll, I know she lives here with him. Now that her brother has run away scared, I can’t help wondering if she’s feeling lonely.

I should be back at my club socialising and listening to people's bullshit, but instead, I’m here staring at a run-down apartment block on the rough side of the city. I drove Patrick’s Range Rover so I wouldn’t look out of place in my Bugatti, but it still sticks out like a sore thumb. Most of the cars parked around me have bricks for wheels and smashed-through windows. There are bars on some of the apartment windows and a tramp sleeping outside the door of the block that she lives in. I can’t decide what to make of the irritation I’m feeling, sitting here and thinking about her living among all this. I don’t know this fucking girl, and yet her selflessness seems to have left a mark on me that I can’t rub off.

I catch a glimpse of someone in my rearview mirror and have to do a double-take when I realise that it’s her. It’s been over two hours since she left my club. I’d assumed she was already inside when I pulled up here. But it appears not. She’s out walking these dangerous fucking streets, instead.

I slide down in my seat to avoid being seen, despite the fact the windows are tinted, but she pays me no mind as she passes me on the pavement in a world of her own. I stay down, watching as she walks up to her door, and stops to speak to the homeless guy who’s curled up in his sleeping bag. I see her searching around in her bag and then bend down to place what I’m guessing is money into his hand.

Is this girl even fucking real?

She comes to me tonight and offers to give herself to a complete stranger so she can protect her thick shit of a brother. She clearly has no money, yet she finds some to spare for someone more in need. And she does it all without seeming to need any gratification.

I can’t imagine how it must feel to be that way. I’m too fucking selfish, the people who surround me are selfish. I can’t think of a single person who I would put before myself, which is making me confused as to why I want to get out of this truck, cross the street, and scoop this girl up so I can get her away from here.

My phone starts to ring and when I see that it’s the Ruxleigh estate I frown suspiciously before I answer it.

“Mr Stanley.”

“Barnaby?” I’m surprised that he’s calling me at this time of night. I’ve always had him down as a Horlicks and bed-by-ten kind of guy.

“Mr. Stanley,” he repeats my name, convincing me that something’s wrong. I barely recognise his voice, it sounds so quiet and weak.

“I think you need to come home, sir. It’s your father.”

* * *

“I don’t get it. He was sat behind his desk just hours ago.” I shake my head at the doctor when he steps out of my father's room. Pico and Vinci, my father’s precious dobermans, are lying on the carpet beside his door showing me their teeth. He’s only had them a few years but each time I’ve had to visit they’ve shown their disapproval of me, much like their master’s.

“I understand this must have come as a shock to you, but your father has been sick for some time. It’s not uncommon for the body to have a final surge of energy before it shuts down. I, myself, was surprised to hear that your father left his bed today. It’s been a long time.”

I slide my palm over my face when it dawns on me that I’ll never see him again. I never expected to feel sad about that. Theodore Stanley wasn’t a nice man, there was never any love lost between us, which is making the hurt I’m feeling right now one of the many confusing emotions to hit me today.

“Thank you for your help.” I hold my hand out for him to shake and when he takes it, he smiles at me sympathetically.

“It was an honour, Your Grace.” He bows his head slightly, and as he walks away it suddenly dawns on me that I’m not just Alexander Stanley, anymore.

“Come, we have things to discuss.” Samuel clears his throat authoritatively before he stands up from the chair he’s resting in next to my father’s bedroom door. He has his briefcase in his hand and it looks as if he’s expecting to discuss business with me immediately.

“Not now. We’ll talk in the morning.” I start to move towards the stairs.

“Wait, wouldn’t you like to see your father one last time?” he asks, looking surprised.

“I didn’t want to see that man when he was living. Why the fuck would I want to see him dead?” I tell him, making my way downstairs and into my father's office.

I head straight for his drinks cabinet and help myself to the first thing I get my hand on. That file of potential brides is still resting on top of his desk and I laugh to myself as I drink straight from the bottle and flick through his suggestions.

None of them come close to being as pretty as the girl who was in my office tonight, and I’ll bet none of them would have a fraction of her bravery. I take my father's seat and swivel in his chair. Staring at the portrait of my grandfather on the wall, again. Something about his painting always fascinated me as a child. I built him in my head to be everything my father wasn’t. I imagined him being just as disappointed at how his son turned out as my father was with me.

But the truth is I’ll never know, people said he was a good man, but they also will say that about my father. Theodore knew how to manipulate people, in front of them he was whatever man they wanted him to be. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be anything other than who I am.

There’s a knock on the door and when I yell for whoever it is to come in, it’s Barnaby who hobbles inside.

“Mr. Hamilton has left, he told me to remind you that he’d be here first thing in the morning,” he informs me and I nod my head gratefully “I’ve had your old room prepared for tonight. Welcome home, Your Grace.” He smiles proudly before he closes the door. As I sit back in my father's chair and look back at the portrait of my grandfather, I raise the bottle I’m holding in my hand to him and promise that I’ll do better.

* * *

“Alexander.” Samuel nods his head curtly as he enters my father's office the next morning. His glasses are already perched on the end of his nose as if he means to get straight to business and he forges me a smile as he rests his briefcase on its surface and proceeds to take out his paperwork. I can hear the dogs scratching on the other side of the door. My father supposedly had them for security and Will informs me they were always by his side. He even had them sleep in his room with him.

“Since you are your father's sole heir, everything is rather straightforward.” Samuel ignores their whining. “His title, and his estate, including all its contents belong to you. As does his fortune and any stocks and shares he had invested.” He looks salty as he places my father's last will and testimony in front of me.

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