Page 44 of The Butler

My heart felt something the moment I’d shaken his hand when arriving on my yacht. After ten days the feeling hadn’t subsided. There was just something there and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there could be more between us.

Paul interrupted my quiet. “I just received an email from the Lake Como house, sir. Is it true you’re not going to Italy for vacation?”

I was sitting on the expansive deck of my Malibu house. It must have been a weekend because of the number of dogs on the beach. Mothers and fathers with kids running with the household dogs were everywhere. Paul, my butler, had thankfully disturbed me from my overanalysis of the past several days. “I’m sorry, Paul. It slipped my mind to inform you.” I watched in wonder as people strolled along the beach before turning my attention to him. “Tell me again why I don’t have a dog?” I asked.

“Because you’re allergic to pet dander,” he reminded me.

I would never get over how Paul knew every detail of my life. He’d worked for my family for so long that my personal information was second nature to him.

“It’s certainly not a problem having you here, sir. I enjoy when you’re in residence in Malibu. It gives me something to do.”

“I may be here for a bit, Paul.”

“Very well, sir. Shall I alert the kitchen staff?” he asked. “I’m sorry to tell you, but we do not have fresh vegetables or fruit. That includes your favorite tomatoes.”

The way Paul pronounced tomato always endeared him to me. My mother also put the same emphasis on theah versus ain her usage. “I’ll survive, Paul.”

“How about unexpected guests that we’ll need to plan for, sir?” he asked, extracting his ever-present notepad from inside his jacket pocket.

“There will be none for the duration of my stay. If that changes, I’ll alert you,” I said. I felt awful speaking dismissively with Paul like this, but I couldn’t focus on my day-to-day life right then.

“Very well, sir.” Paul turned to leave but hesitated and turned back. “May I intrude, sir?”

This was not how Paul usually interacted. In fact, he was forever on point with keeping the perfect distance. “Please do,” I invited.

“It has been your standard practice to inform me of your pre-planned locations at all times, sir. Of course, this is your home, sir, but my experience is that you are a man of driven purpose and if I do say so, you seem out of sorts, sir.” He had my full attention. Apparently my sharp stare had made him nervous, and he decided to not continue. “Excuse my impropriety. I’ll leave you now, sir.”

“Go ahead, Paul. I will not be upset,” I reassured.

“Frankly, sir,” he began. I noticed him swallow hard. “Well, I’m not used to you being here and sitting around for days on end in your current state. I’m worried about you, sir.”

This was one more reason I adored him. Paul didn’t miss a thing and I knew he only had my best interests at heart. His loyalty and care was immediately extended to me after my parents’ deaths. I felt at times that he was looking after me now that Mom had died. He knew how she fawned over her only child.

“Broken heart, Paul.” I was shocked by my honest admission, and I was sure he hadn’t expected that kind of truth telling either. “I’m hurting is all,” I added.

What happened next had never happened in any setting that I could remember. Paul was the king of butler etiquette and could have written volumes on how best to work with people of privilege. As much as we treated him as a member of our family, he was incapable of crossing some imaginary line he held in his mind as sacrilege if he did. He actually sat down on a chair beside me.

“Have you done everything you can do, sir?” he asked.

I, of course, was still shocked by the personal touch.

“I trust that you have, sir, but I’m only inquiring because I know that you never give up on what you want from this world.” Paul appeared uncomfortable sitting and speaking with me, but he seemed to have something he needed to say. “You’re very much like your father, sir.”

“Perhaps, Paul, but Dad found his true love with Mother,” I said.

“Not at first, sir,” he corrected. “Actually, it was your mother who came along and saved your father after a heartbreak.”

He had my attention. “Is that true?” I asked.

Paul was breaking another cardinal rule of discretion.

“I forgot you worked for Dad before he met Mother.”

“I am woefully beyond reprehension for discussing this with you, sir, and I do apologize.”

“It’s ok, Paul. Please go on.”

“I have nothing to base this on, but you are out of sorts, sir. In addition, you have admitted to it being heartbreak. So I’m reminded of something I overheard your father say many times.”

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