Page 28 of Bad Influence
‘Don’t forget to call me,’ I muttered, as he walked around the car to get back in.
These words were to replay in my mind.
I pressed the entrance buzzer and, on instruction, said my name into a computer. The gates clicked into action, opening silently and smoothly to reveal a long gravel drive with manicured hedges in the shape of orbs on either side. It looked as though Edward Scissorhands had been at work. At the end of the driveway stood a magnificent Georgian manor house, the honey-coloured stone façade partially covered by creeping ivy yet failing to disguise a stately, symmetrical design, with at least ten windows on each floor. It was grand and impressive, just like its wealthy inhabitants. If it wasn’t for the rain, we could easily be in the Hollywood Hills, rather than the Surrey Hills, and I guessed that could be the reason Mandy had chosen this piece of suburban real estate as her English home. Palatial, it most definitely was.
My case crunched over the gravel driveway, signalling my arrival at the central portico, which was supported by two stone columns. Above it, a pediment adorned with intricate carvings framed the entrance. I could just about make out a family crest – a lion and laurel wreath – etched into the stone lintel, having survived a pounding from the British weather over the decades it had proudly stood there. I wondered who the original family were.
The heavy wooden doors opened, and a tall older woman appeared in the doorway. She was wearing jodhpur-style trousers and a waxed jacket. Her greying hair was pulled back into a bun, her smile warm yet no-nonsense. A pair of spectacles hung from a gold chain around her neck.
‘You must be Amber Green,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Gables Manor. I’m Philippa, the housekeeper.’
‘Great to meet you.’ I held out my hand, before retracting it when she wasn’t forthcoming about taking it. ‘I’m Mandy’s stylist.’
‘Hair, nails, clothes, topiary, interiors?’ she asked wearily. ‘We’ve had all kinds of stylists here.’
‘Oh, definitely clothes – as far as I’m aware. I wouldn’t dare go near those beautiful hedges.’ I glanced over my shoulder. ‘I’m taking care of Mandy’s wardrobe.’
‘Good for you.’ Philippa had a way about her that made me think she probably knew her way around a gun. ‘We all need clothes.’
Her unimpressed expression suggested that it was difficult for Philippa to comprehend why a celebrity neededall of these people just to exist. She struck me as the self-sufficient type.
‘Is that everything?’ She looked down at my case.
‘Yes, most of the clothes for Mandy will be arriving over the coming days by courier.’
She tutted. ‘Not very energy efficient.’
‘Actually, sustainability is really important to me – we’ll be borrowing vintage pieces wherever possible and sharing courier drops,’ I said cheerily. Philippa wasn’t going to break my spirit in the first five minutes.
She frowned. ‘I’ll take you to your quarters.’
Quarterssounded promising.
I was ushered inside the cavernous entrance hall, which smelt of beeswax polish and aged oak. There was wooden panelling on every wall and an impressive, sweeping central staircase in front of us, its balustrade intricately adorned with carvings. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, above a large, faded red Persian rug on which stood a polished round Baroque-style mahogany table, with thick books arranged neatly in a pile on top. The glass facets from the chandelier caught the light, making the whole space look dappled and far prettier in real life than you would be able to capture in a photo. It was like stepping back in time into the kind of country home you’d expect a lord and lady to reside in – not an American reality star. Through a doorway to my left I caught a glimpse of an expansive lounge, with three wide cream sofas arranged around a large stone fireplace, where an open fire crackled gently behind an ornate fireguard, an array of shiny gold pokers on a standsat on the right-hand side of the hearth. There was a grand piano in one corner and on the walls hung a blend of classic and contemporary artworks depicting English country life and portraits of stern-faced noble gentry who could well have been previous inhabitants of this home.
In an alcove in the hallway, a pair of Ray-Bans and a Prada baseball cap perched atop a white marble bust, the modern touches at odds with the tradition of the home. Philippa tutted loudly as we passed it, but I enjoyed this cheeky detail, amongst the stiff order of a home clearly kept in tight check, it showed someone around here had a sense of humour. I wondered who put them there.
Instead of ascending the stairs, Philippa led me through a thick wooden doorway at the end of the hallway, which housed a boot room with a cool flagstone floor, olive green tongue-and-groove panelling, and a long wooden bench seat under which stood enough pairs of green Le Chameau wellies to kit out the entire royal family. This room looked to have been renovated more recently, and I admired a newly upholstered bench seat in soft green velvet and how it contrasted beautifully with antique embroidery on two scatter cushions – a skilled layering of texture created by someone with a fantastic eye for design.
We were then out of a backdoor and walking across a small courtyard with a gravel path through the centre, to the left of which was a stable building, and to the right, a converted barn. Statues of nymphs peeked from behind a hedgerow ahead of us, their weathered features adding to the history of the house.
‘The gym is in the old stable,’ Philippa said, pointing it out. ‘Staff quarters are in the barn. The family and two assistants are staying in the main house.’
I wondered what she meant by family. ‘You mean Mandy and Jose?’ I clarified.
‘Mmm-hmm, plus her brother-in-law, Jimi, and executive assistant, Blair. I suppose you’ve met Jimi already?’ she said, a note of disapproval in her tone.
I nodded in reply.
‘As you can tell, the owners are meticulous about the details of this house.’ She turned the handle on a freshly painted stable door. ‘We try to keep it that way. Renters need to follow the rules in here.’ She tapped on a lever-arch file on a wide windowsill inside the barn. ‘The annexe is a more recent addition, and it’s curated to perfection. Everything is itemised.’
She turned to me as she made that comment, to check I had taken note.
Is Philippa thinking I might steal something?
Philippa led the way into a tastefully decorated, light and airy, vaulted open-plan kitchen and living area with exposed oak beams. The style was more modern in the annexe compared with the main house, yet there was still an undeniable touch of chintz with a fleur-de-lis pattern on curtains and carried onto the heavy window pelmets, which hung boldly around the windows, at contrast with the modern, muted, earthy palette of the overall scheme.
‘There are two bedrooms here, for you and Coco. She’s already in the main kitchen preparing lunch. If you look outof that window, you’ll see across to the gym – it looks out onto the formal gardens and hidden rose arbour – not that anything is in bloom at this time of year, it all looks rather sad. There’s a games room in there too, if you get any time off.’
