Chapter 3

I returned to my humble abode with a letter in my bag offering me a job, subject to successful completion of butler training. I will not bore you with a description of my training. Suffice it to say that I found the tough tasks easy, and some simple tasks extremely difficult to take on board. The teaching staff hammered me with insistent enthusiasm, declaiming that a butler was the best of jobs, and one that merited the highest standards in the name of that profession.

They also boosted my English language skills beyond what school and the army gave me. It seems that it is important to know exactly what one might be asked to do. Knowing the exact meaning of the words is important – particularly if one wants to avoid complying with the intent. It is useful to be able to say, ‘Sir, I carried out your instructions to the letter’, and be able to prove it. If he understands his instructions wrong, it is not your fault!

I accepted the strictures on excellent performance, as that was within the ethos of the SAS. Every small thing was important in ensuring satisfactory completion of the overall task. Fortunately, my weak leg did not give me trouble, other than standing for considerable periods in attendance to my supposed employer. It ached during these spells of vertical attention, but I reflected that the pressure was similar to the requirements placed on soldiers on guard duty at Buckingham palace and other public venues. If anything, the exercise strengthened my leg muscles and improved my general fitness.

I passed the course of course, and accepted my diploma with pride, feeling I now had the tools to accomplish my more obvious duties in service. Any client should now be happy with my butlering.

That led to my return to the company office, for my next stage in assimilation into that body of interesting people. It was time for me to learn a bit more about them and their operations; especially as I am scheduled to be part of it.

I phoned to say I had my diploma, and when should I turn up at the office?

Mrs Margulies answered the phone, but told me not to go there, but instead go to another location the next morning at 9 a.m. She surprised me by giving me an address in a rather well-to-do part of London. Best as I could recall, it was all residential property, with damn few houses valued at less than a million pounds. At least that was the scuttlebutt in this man’s army.

With such an appointment, I made sure I was in my best bib and tucker for the occasion. Not to be fazed by this additional surprise, I splashed out on a taxi to the address, so that my arrival would be more in keeping with the class of person expecting to be seen there.

The location proved to be as I surmised – a large private house, with metal gates and a speaker system to request admittance. I exited the taxi, paid the cabbie, and approached the gates. There was a push button by the speaker grille, so I tried it.

A male voice said, “Yes?”

I responded, “John Freeman reporting for duty.”

After a slight pause, as if the man was consulting a list of permitted arrivals, he said, “Ah, yes. Please enter and come to the front door.”

The gates opened, folding inwards, allowing me ingress. I ingressed. [I digress: Yes, I am now educated enough to know that ingress is a noun, not a verb, but I liked the sound of it and thought I’d use it as if it was a verb. So, live with it.] I walked up the curved drive to the ornate front door, and examined it. A hanging bell ringer was beside the door, so I pulled it. The door was so solid that I failed to hear any bell, but within a few seconds the door was opened by a man in a butler’s uniform.

“Mr Freeman?” he asked. I admitted to that identification.

“Please enter, sir. I have been instructed to take you to the butler’s pantry and dress you.” He turned and walked off, clearly expecting me to follow him. I did.

We reached the kitchen area, and entered the “butler’s pantry” - that den overseen by the butler. It carried all the essential utensils and crockery for the house, and in the Institute’s “history of the butler” module it had been explained that at one time the butler even slept in the pantry as security for the silver items housed there.

His host spoke, “Mr Freeman, you are to don your butler attire and act as a butler during your visit, to show something of what you have learned.” He offered me a locker for my bag, and I made good use of it. Now I looked at him for my next instructions.

I accepted the uniform he offered, and unsurprisingly, it fitted me. I expected nothing less. Once I was ready, he spoke again.

“You are to present yourself in the drawing room, where Mrs Margulies awaits.”

Nodding, I did as I was directed. I led the way. He stayed a few steps behind, as my invisible shadow. I opened the door of the indicated drawing room, and quietly stepped inside. I came to a halt and scanned the room, moving my eyes across each side, taking in all the details I could amass in that short eyeful.

The walls were of panelled wood, with a picture rail running around the room about two feet below the plaster cornice. A door was placed in one corner of the room near an outside wall, but whether an entrance or a cupboard, I could not assess, other than noting the presence of a keyhole. There were several art works hung on the rail, but I could not say what works they were, other than a representative style.

Returning my gaze to the front, I beheld Mrs Margulies sitting behind a large rectangular desk, made of what appeared to be oak, with a smooth black leather top with a tooled surround. The kneehole was not open at the front, but there was a shallow carved symbol on the front panel. I appeared to be a coat of arms, but I did not have the knowledge to recognise its symbolism.

A large picture window was positioned facing me, with the venetian blind drawn closed and flanked by floor-length curtains; otherwise Mrs Margulies would have been little more than a silhouette in front of the daylight streaming in. She remained seated, with a document laid out in front of her. Being too far away and unable to read upside down, I could not tell what the document was. The desk supported an anglepoise lamp to illuminate documents for reading, a notebook computer, and a document tray; otherwise the desk was clear of clutter.

I felt a nudge in my back as the resident butler urged me on, so I walked forward and stopped in front of the desk. The lady looked up, and declared, “Ah, John. From now on, you will be called Jeeves when you are on duty. All our butlers use this name, as company policy.

Next, I want you to close your eyes, then describe this room.”

Bemused at this instruction, I complied, and repeated to her what I had noticed after I entered the room. When I concluded, she asked, “What kind of artificial lighting in the room, Jeeves?”

For a moment I panicked, as I had not particularly noticed this, but I allowed my memory to recall shadows around the room, and came to a conclusion.

“I am not certain, ma’am, but the presence of certain shadows indicates a central lighting fixture, and not a modern one; certainly not fluorescent lighting.”

“Correct surmise, Jeeves. It is a central pendant fitting; you may be interested to know. Any further thoughts about the room?”

“The closed blinds are quite a good security measure, preventing any likelihood of external assassination, or parabolic listening to window glass vibrations. Closing the curtains would be even better for cutting down the possibility of eavesdropping.

The door in the corner, ma’am.” I continued. “It might be a cupboard, or else a door to another room. The presence of a keyhole suggests a cupboard, unless the intention is to make the room completely lockable for privacy.”

“A valid observation, Jeeves. As it happens, it is indeed a cupboard. Now, to go on from that, I want you to open your eyes and view this room from the assumption that it is the office of a target person. Can you do that for me?”

I opened my eyelids and blinked at the increased illumination. “May I walk around, ma’am?”

“Please do so, Jeeves.”

I took a slow walk around the room, looking for minor indications which I had not observed in my initial scan. The carpeting was quite thick, so I wondered if usage might leave traces. I bent my knees to get a closer look along the surface.

Ah. The pile showed where it had been regularly trodden, so I moved my position to get a better examination. There were heavily trodden pathways from the door towards the desk, as one would expect. There were signs of people walking to the window to open and close the venetian slats; again as expected.

Surely the pictures would be another point of interest? I looked and found slight indications of such, but one painting appeared to have been more often approached than the others. Interesting.

I switch my attention to the corners of the ceiling, looking for spy cameras in these likely places. Sure enough, there was one in each corner. I looked at the pendant light fitment, and between the bright lights hung there I thought I could discern another tiny camera. Shifting my viewpoint, I tried to see where it was pointing. I discerned that it’s view would be of the painting that was most visited. I drew my conclusions, and reported.

“Ma’am, my further examination of the room leads me to two possible conclusions. One might be that this painting” I pointed to it, “is extremely valuable, and is both viewed frequently and is under CCTV observation for its security. The other possibility is that there is a wall safe behind the picture, and is the reason for frequent visits and monitoring. The other cameras are general views, but this is the only camera with a specific interest.”

Mrs Margulies looked across at my fellow butler, and smiled gently. She returned her attention to me and said, “Which of these scenarios do you regard as more realistic?”

“The second, ma’am. Even with an important painting, observing it close-up is not normally the best viewing choice, so the carpet signs do not support that option. I would go for the wall safe, myself.”

“Correct assumption. Well done.” She cast her gaze to her colleague. “Jeeves, would you show our friend the safe?”

The other Jeeves walked over to the painting and swung it out to the left, revealed a wall safe flush to the wall. The boss lady now asked, “Comments, young Jeeves?”

I took a closer look, noting the digital panel on the front of the safe. I murmured, “Electronic high security safe. Probably one of the Karat range. A good choice for protection.”

“Any way of breaking in, do you think?”

“Difficult, ma’am. I think these have a thermal protection that locks them securely when heat is applied. As the power to the controls is by battery, I was thinking of how to trash the battery, but it may have a fail-safe with loss of power. One might regard this safe is almost unbreakable.”

Mrs Margulies smiled back.

“That safe has four batteries in a compartment at the front, for ease of changing, so I don’t think disabling the batteries would have much effect. At least you came up with an idea. That was good. I liked your activity with the carpet surface. That is the sort of thinking we like in our staff.

Do you think you are ready to tackle a mission?”

“I believe so, ma’am. Where to? Exotic places?”

“Somewhere more mundane. We have a request for a butler for a successful criminal in England, who now pretends to be straight. He spends part of his year abroad, which is where his major assets and records are kept, we understand. The request is for a butler to be part of his household, both in England and other countries as appropriate. Are there any countries where you are, shall we say, persona non grata?”