JACK OF DIAMONDS

(CHAPTER 1 part 1)--THE ROAD TO MANDALAY....

Artie could see that the grounds of Mandalay Manor were kept neat, and trim. The brushes growing along the base of the foundation were all cut back from the windows--which should make for easier climbing, he reminded himself--but still, he was amazed at how the ivy always somehow managed to cling to the walls by leeching onto the masonry. He imagined the flowers lining the hedges blossomed in vivid colours of green, red, gold and purple--but they were gone now, he conceded, their season long over. The paving stones lining the circular drive were still slick with dew, the horse's flanks steaming in the morning light as Reggie slowed the cart to a regular walk.

"You sure it's no trouble for you then, Artie? This shouldn't take long."

"Christ, Reg! Will you just go?" Artie replied with a grin, looking up at the towers, gables, and gargoyles lining the gleaming rooftop. The roof tiles look like they could be replaced, he told himself, and he could see a window upstairs that was standing open. He looked at the wall leading up to the window, the large masonary ledges and balconies--handholds for easy climbing--and then looked at Reggie again, still grinning.

"Well, you're right, aren't you? Kitchens still need greens, mate," Reggie smiled.

"I suppose that's true. I just find it hard to believe they'd let an old reprobate like yourself in there."

"Can't say I know what that is, but I won't be but a minute; then you can help me unload. At least it'll get you out of the cold," he added, tying the reins to a pillar once he'd jumped down from the cart.

"I thought being in the country would mean lots of sunshine. If I would've known it was goin' to rain for two weeks straight, I would've stayed in London and never agreed to visit you in the first place."

"What, and miss all the comradery? When's the last time you saw any of those other bastards?"

"Can't say tracking any of those other bastards down was ever on the top on my to do list, Reg."

"Come on? What about Dickerson? Best crack shot I ever saw. I saw him blow a hole through a leaf once, at firty yards no less, on a bet for a bottle of wine. Best wine I ever had. A burgundy they said. You ever have burgundy?"

"Sure, lots of times."

"Well, excuse me. Not all of us grew up in the lap of luxury, you know. That was my first time drinking a burgundy. You can't explain how something like that tastes. Not wine. It's impossible. You can't describe flavour."

"Sure you can. They have people that go around the continent, and that's all they do. They taste wine, they eat at fancy restaraunts, and they write about it in fancy magazines."

"They do not! Who'd want to pay someone to do something like that?"

"The people that live in there'd do that," Artie said with a nod towards the manor. "They pay handsomely for someone's opinion when it comes to something like that." He blew on his hands, stuffing them under his armpits, hoping to keep them warm. "Look, just go...or let them know you're here, because this sitting out here in the cold isn't doing my old bones any good."

"Hell, I'm older than you, and I'm not even thirty yet!" Reggie laughed, stepping away from the cart.

"It's the damned trenches, Reg. After my first winter there, I didn't think I'd ever get warm again."

"I can't argue with you there," Reggie agreed, running his hand down the horse's withers and lifting the animal's hooves to check them.

It was a moment before Reggie ran around to the side door. Artie watched him dancing down the three short steps, where he knocked, rapping his knuckles hard and then blowing on them. Artie could feel the cold slice into him and hugged himself tighter, hoping Reggie would hurry back. The sooner he could get to work emptying the goods, the sooner he'd warm up, he told himself.

He watched as the head cook poked her out out of the door; wiping her hands on her arpon, she followed Reggie outside. As soon as she closed the door Reggie pressed her up against the wall, kissing her with a passion Artie couldn't imagine his friend having ever possessed. She put her arms around his neck, and Artie could see the steam rising off her hands in the cold air. She pushed him away and a moment later they walked up the small path together, toward the cart. She put her hand out to the horse, pulling an apple out of her apron pocket as she stroked the horse's side and made her way to the back of the cart. She looked up at Artie, and he smiled down at her, nodding.

"You must be Artie?"

"Artemis Spencer at your service," he added with a mock bow.

"This rain isn't doing anyone any good," Reggie was saying, ignoring Artie. "But we did manage to save more than half the crops."

"And when will the other half be ready?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"It's gone--I was hoping somehow the rain would hold off."

"And what do you expect me to do with this lot?" she asked, looking at the dozen boxes of vegetables.

"It's hasn't all gone bad. But it will if I leave it out in the field. Naturally, you're the first person I thought of. I thought, 'I wonder if she'll be wantin' some good greens on the cheap?' You could maybe make a stew, or maybe some soup? Don't think you'll be able to get away with a simple salad, not the way this stuff's wilted. Go ahead, ask Artie. He knows about all that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" she asked. She was looking at a box of Russian garlic.

"Food, an' stuff. Artie knows all about what it's like inside one of these fine houses."

"Do you, now?" She looked up at Artie with a critical eye, her hand going up to shade her eyes. "You ever worked a house?"

Artie shook his head, smiling.

"He didn't work one, Claire, he lived in one. We met in France, during the war, didn't we, Artie? This here's Artemis Spencer--"

"Yes, he told me."

"He's a distant cousin to some Lord, or lady, or something like that. He's not one for saying too much, so I can never remember what's what."

"Is that so?" she asked, looking up at Artie.

"Close enough," Artie laughed.

"Close enough? How do you know he didn't lie to you? For real, I mean? You ever meet a real gentleman, Reg?" she added, leveling a look at the man. "The fact he knows how to hold a fork all proper like--or which one to even use, for that matter--and you're willing to believe him? Just because he knows things you don't, doesn't make him a proper gentleman."

"Why would you lie to me about something like that? She don't believe you, Artie," Reggie said, looking up at him in the cart. Artie shrugged and looked up at the manor house. "Can you imagine that? Might as well be calling you a liar, for all that," he said, turning to look at her again. "You might as well be calling him a liar."

"I heard you the first time."

"I've been called worse," Artie grinned.

"Did I say he was lying? I said he could be. But hey, you met him over there and you say you can trust him, so that's good enough for me," she said, making her way back to the kitchen. She patted the horse again as she walked by. "You get this stuff unloaded, I'll give you some of last night's bread pudding."

"With custard, or cream?"

"Why would I offer it to you and not give you cream?" she smiled.