Wychwood Day Eight

Later that day

One

It wasn’t Samantha standing at the foot of the bed, but Overstrand. The shock was like a punch to the gut. No, he thought, this can’t be happening.

“Hello, Sandy,” Overstrand said, a worried look on his face. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I heard all about what happened. I've only just arrived, and I wanted to check you're okay. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, but everyone is talking about how brave you were. I'm so sorry for what you went through. If there’s anything you need or want, ask. Anything. You look pale, so I’ll leave you to get some rest. I’m so proud of you. I’ll see you later.” Sandy tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Overstrand smiled at him and walked out of the room.
Two

Sandy dived under the duvet once more and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thumping and his mind in turmoil. Please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream, he repeated to himself over and over. But he knew it hadn’t been a dream. Overstrand had seen him in the nightdress. He would have to leave today. He couldn't stay any longer. He couldn't face Overstrand and wouldn't wait to be fired. If he had to walk to the station, so be it. He groaned when he remembered he still didn't have any of his clothes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How had he got into this situation? It wasn’t his fault, for God’s sake. His clothes had been ruined, so what else could he wear? It was all Samantha’s fault. She had started it. She would have to help him, or he would tell Overstrand she had pushed him into it. He remembered the call button by the bed and stabbed it repeatedly with his finger.

A few minutes passed before Samantha appeared at the bedroom door. Sandy had emerged from under the duvet and put his robe back on. 

“You have to help me,” he shouted at her.

“Whoa, Sandy. Why are you shouting?”

“You made me wear this.” He pointed at the nightdress. “And he saw me. I have to get away. It’s all your fault. You have to help me. Please.”

She frowned. “Hang on a minute, what is my fault?’

“Me, dressed like this. Wearing nightdresses. He saw me.” He was babbling and almost incoherent.

“Hold on. How is it my fault?” she snapped. “Did I ever force you to wear anything? You were happy enough to wear it all, as I remember. You could have said no, but you didn’t. It’s hardly my fault the washing machine broke down.”

“You have to help me, please,” he pleaded with her.

“Help you, how? And why?” she asked.

“He saw me like this. I have to get away. But I can’t go dressed like this.” He sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.

“Do you mean Sir Robert saw you?” She sat on the bed beside him. He nodded, his hands still covering his face.

“Sandy, look at me.” Her voice was warmer now. He didn't move, so she took hold of one of his hands and gently moved it away from his face. “What did he say?” Sandy looked away from her. “Was he angry? Did he shout at you? Did he tell you to leave?” 

He shook his head. “No, but I know he will.”

Samantha shook her head. “Hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Sandy threw himself back on the bed and closed his eyes. Was she going to fetch Overstrand? Oh God, if that were what she was doing, he would lock himself in the bathroom. But before he could move, the door opened again. Sandy kept his eyes closed because if he couldn't see Overstrand, then Overstrand wouldn’t be there. How old am I, he thought, five?
Three

“Sandy, It’s Annabelle. Please look at me. It’s all right. I’m here on my own. Samantha asked me to come and see you.”

Sandy squeezed one eye open and saw she was on her own.

“Did Sir Robert send you? Tell him not to worry. I’ll be leaving as soon as I get some clothes.”

“Sandy, you’ve got more clothes here than all the shops on Bond Street.”

“No. I mean my clothes. The ones I came with.”

Annabelle sat down next to Sandy on the bed and gently laid her hand on his arm. “Do you think Robert wants you to go?”

“Of course he does,” Sandy wailed. “He’s seen me like this, wearing this.”

“Listen to me, Sandy. He doesn’t want you to leave. There is nothing he wants more than for you to stay. The very first thing he asked when he arrived was how you were. He didn't ask how I was or how Fleur was.” She pulled a face. “Which was a bit disappointing, to be honest. Anyway, he came straight up here to see how you were, came back, and announced that we were all going to have a big dinner tonight. He started talking to Allegra about the menu and sent Mhairi to sort out the champagne and wines. Does that sound like a man who wants you to leave?”

“But he’s seen me like this,” Sandy almost wailed.

Annabelle looked at him with a puzzled expression. “You don't get it, do you?” she said.

“Get what?” he said.

“Have you no idea at all?” 

“What about?” Sandy looked at her blankly.

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “I will spell it out for you, as you so obviously haven’t got a clue. Robert likes you.”

“I like him, too,” Sandy said.

Annabelle sighed. “No, Sandy. I mean, he really, really likes you. God, I sound like a fucking eleven-year-old. You are going to have to trust me on this, but he doesn't care what you wear.” She shook her head. “No, that's not strictly true, to be honest. He does care, but take it from me, he is not at all worried about seeing you like this.” She paused, searching his eyes for any sign he knew what she meant. “Why do you think he put you in Lady Eleanor’s suite?”

“I don't know. Why?”

Annabelle struggled to keep her composure. “Jesus, Sandy. Do I have to draw pictures for you?” She gripped his arm hard to get his attention. “Robert likes you like this.”

“What? I don’t understand.” 

Annabelle repeated, “Robert likes you like this.”

Sandy’s eyes opened wide, and his hand covered his mouth in astonishment as Annabelle’s words sank in. “No, he doesn’t. You’re lying.”

“No word of a lie, Sandy. Guides honour.” She rolled her eyes. “Shit, I must be regressing to a teenager.”

“You mean he likes me like this?” Sandy gestured at the robe and nightdress.

Anabelle blew out her cheeks. “At last. Yes, Sandy. Like that.”

“Why, I mean, how? This is a dream, right? I’ve had weird dreams since I’ve been here.”

“It’s not a dream, Sandy.”

Sandy felt his face grow hot. “So it’s all been a set-up? My stuff disappearing and my clothes getting ruined in the washing machine, so I have to wear Lady Eleanor’s things? Is it to humiliate me? Some weird mind game you’ve all been playing at my expense? You, Robert, Samantha, and Mharie? All watching and egging me on as I make a complete fucking freak of myself. You must all be proud of yourselves to see me end up like this. Laughing at the stupid little queer boy dressing up. Well. I’ve had enough of you all, and this bloody house too. It’s creepy and haunted and terrifies me.” Tears of anger and shame rolled down Sandy’s cheeks. “I hate you all,” he wailed, hiding his face in the duvet.

Annabelle let Sandy’s sobs and anger subside before she spoke again. She spoke softly to him. “No, Sandy, it’s not been a game. Nobody wanted to humiliate you, and you are not a freak. If you tell me you haven’t enjoyed what’s happened to you here, I won’t believe you. It seems to me you’ve embraced something that was already inside you. You didn’t know it, and you’ve been given the chance to find your identity. I think you’ve found who you want to be. I’ve seen a transformation from an awkward academic, confused about who they wanted to be, into a beautiful woman. That has been wonderful to see, Sandy. Believe me, everyone here has only ever wanted to help you find yourself. So, no, it has never been a game.”

Sandy stiffened at Annabelle’s words. “I don’t believe you,” he said, sniffling.

Annabelle took his hand, but he didn’t pull away. “Tell me honestly. Did anyone force you to do anything here at Wychwood?”

He shook his head.

“Did anyone threaten you if you didn’t do something?”

Another shake of the head.

“Did you ever object to what was happening?”

Another shake of the head.

“So, you willingly went along with whatever happened to you?”

Sandy tried to stop himself, but he found himself nodding.

“Last question. Truly, have you enjoyed what has happened to you here?” She paused and added with a grimace, “With the obvious exception of last night’s events.”

His eyes searched Annabelle’s face, still suspicious that she might be playing games with him. He finally dropped his eyes and whispered, “You’re right. I’ve loved what has happened to me. I don’t understand why or how it’s happened, but I have found myself. I think this is what I have wanted for so long, but… He hesitated, “Annabelle, I’m frightened.”

“Frightened of what?”

Sandy sniffled again. “Everything; what’s happening to me, my dreams, this house. Then, what happened last night. It’s too much for me.”

“What dreams?” Annabelle asked.

He coloured, thinking about the last dream he’d had. “Every night since I’ve got here, I’ve had dreams like I’ve never had before. So vivid I thought they were real.”

“Good dreams or bad ones, Sandy?”

“Some good, some frightening. Like no other dreams I’ve ever had.”

Annabelle smiled to try to reassure him. “But they’re just dreams, Sandy. They’re not real.”

Sandy thought that he wished some of them had been real, but he kept that to himself.

Sandy finally asked the question he had been scared to ask. “Annabelle, why did he pick me, and what does he want?”

She sighed and said, “You will have to ask Robert that, Sandy. But I will tell you what I know. I do some work for him from time to time.”

Sandy nodded. “He told me, vetting people.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Did he? Well, yes, that and some other stuff too. He told me he had met someone he liked and wanted me to work up a profile so he could know more about them.”

Sandy looked puzzled. “Who was it?”

Annabelle sighed in exasperation. “It was you, of course. However, he didn’t tell me why at the time. It wasn’t an unusual request, so I did some background checking and produced a profile of you, which I passed on to Robert. Before you ask, I did uncover some things which made me wonder what his interest in you was, but he never told me why he wanted the information. I do this for Robert from time to time, but normally only when he wants to understand who he’s dealing with on a big deal.”

“What was in the profile?” Sandy asked nervously.

She shrugged, “The usual: family background, education, finances, friend circle, politics. A lot can be hoovered up from social media.” She paused and looked directly at Sandy, “And, of course, sexual orientation.”

Sandy groaned and covered his face with his hands.

Annabelle smiled, “It’s always useful leverage to know what skeletons someone has in the closet, and there’s always something. Don’t look so worried, Sandy. I’ve come across much, much worse. I was curious about Robert’s interest, but when I saw your picture, I understood.”

What?” Sandy spluttered, “What about my picture?”

She waved the question away with her hand. “Not for me to say, Sandy. That’s for you and Robert to discuss. Anyway, I forgot about it until I got Robert's invitation to meet you at Wychwood. He wanted me to meet you and see you in person.”

“Why?”

“Robert is a public figure, and therefore extremely vulnerable. He once let someone get very close to him who hurt him badly, and wanted to go to the media with a kiss-and-tell story. He wanted me to tell him if he was running the same risk with you.”

Sandy stared at Annabelle open-mouthed. “You mean me?”

Annabelle closed his mouth with her finger under his chin. “Yes, Sandy, you.”

“But he was married to Lady Eleanor.”

She gazed at him as if she couldn’t believe what he had said. “Sandy, you cannot possibly be that naive. Robert is bi.”

“No, he can’t be. I mean, I didn’t know…” Sandy’s voice trailed off as the realisation hit him that he had, deep down, known it. “Oh,” was all Sandy could whisper as he stared wide-eyed at Annabelle.

Annabelle stood and looked down at him. “Sandy, I’ve told you all I know. You will have to talk to Robert. Only he can answer the questions I know you have.”

After Annabelle had left, Sandy lay back on the bed, trying to take in what she had said. He still couldn’t quite believe it. She had said that Overstrand liked him. What’s more, she said he liked Sandy like this. The idea made Sandy tremble. She said Overstrand was bi, which tied a lot of things together. The video he had been sent of Overstrand embracing someone. The person whom he trusted betrayed him. Was the reason for the super-injunction? Could it all be true? Annabelle seemed genuine, but he still had lingering doubts. It would be a spiteful practical joke if she were lying. But if so, what was the point? He was a nobody. He couldn’t bring himself to believe they would do that to him. His head spun with it all. It was too much to cope with. What should he do? He realised there was only one thing he could do.