Page 71 of The Devil Wears Orange
“London.”
“Oh, I love London,” she coos.
“Yes, it is a wonderful city. I do look forward to serving you, Mrs. Banning.”
“As do I,” she purrs, “as do I. You may go.”
“Thank you,” Jack says and stares at her for 8.4 seconds to make full eye contact. This is also Charlotte’s idea. If the rumors about Mrs. Banning are true, then it will be easy to play her. It was Charlotte who researched her, then warned him about her discovery. Mrs. Banning’s profile reads like one on the website “Who’s Dated Who” – a string of famous and wealthy men and the occasional woman. Jack listened to Charlotte, nodded periodically, though he wasn’t familiar with most of the names she dropped.
Before he left for Switzerland, Charlotte seemed a bit troubled and again warned him about Mrs. B. Did he detect a hint of jealousy on her part? He hopes so. Rashid’s plan, though Jack thinks is a good one, has soured him. It’s not lost on Jack that Rashid is attempting to rewrite the ending, paint himself as the hero in this movie that, by all accounts, is supposed to be co-starring Jack. Instead, Rashid has subjugated Jack into “servant” status. Shouldn’t Jack be the hero in this tale? He’s not the one who ruined Charlotte’s life.
Nowadays, villains get the girls. It’s all about the bad boys.
Jack wanders back into the kitchen. It’s not long before Laila calls out to him.
“Mr. Blunt, today you have been assigned to driving duties.”
He hasn’t been there but one hour, and already the plan is falling apart. He’s supposed to be scouting the place, and now they’re sending him out. “But, I’m not a driver. My expertise is in the home...”
“You’ll be driving Mrs. Banning into town... at her personal request. Mark is outside and will give you the key to the Bentley.”
“Yes,” Jack says, although Laila has already stepped away without waiting for an answer.
A back door leads outside to the stables and garage. Through that door, Jack finds Mark, the young twenty-something who had carried in the wood. Jack asks for the key to the Bentley.
“Which one,” Mark says.
“I was told the Bentley.”
“But which Bentley?”
Jack shrugs.
“The white one,” Mrs. Banning calls out from behind.
Jack spins to Mrs. Banning, who stands there with some sort of fur tossed over as a shrug. Even this high up the mountain, it’s too warm. She taps one foot, heels dig into the cobbled stones. “The car should have been ready. Let me make myself understood, Mr. Blunt, you wait for me, not the other way around.”
“I do apologize,” Jack says. “It won’t happen again.”
“It most certainly won’t,” she says. After a few moments, she glances at her watch. “Well? Get it.”
Jack hurries off and finds the white Bentley at the end of the five-car garage. Inside, he notes a driver’s cap on the passenger side. Is he expected to wear the ridiculous thing? He hopes not.
The drive into Ober, the tiny village at the foot of the mountain, is along a dangerous, winding, and narrow road. Jack is often forced to slow down and takes the curves into the roadway at a turtle’s pace. If the tires were to skim the edge, he’s not confident he could prevent the car from going over.
Silence fills the vehicle. Mrs. Banning sits behind Jack, where he’s sure she catches his every glance. He should stop spying on her, yet he can’t help himself.
“Where did you go to school, Mr. Blunt?” she says, breaking the quiet.
“Spencer Academy, Ma’am.”
“Experienced, are you?”
“Yes, Ma’am. After Spencer, I interned at the palace.” There is no need to add Buckingham. “Following my internship, I was employed at the home of one of the King’s cousins until recently.” He repeats the story he’s been given, one that can be corroborated thanks to a favor he called in.
“We run a tight home. They’ve told you about our annual grand ball in a few days? Everyone will be over-worked.”
“Understood. I have never disappointed the master of the house.”
