A Different Class

Rebecca Taylor threw a pile of magazines into the half full bin bag in the centre of the lounge and groaned. It had been the longest two weeks in her life. And this was truly the first moment that she regretted her career choice. Having an obnoxious man thrust on your life for a few days would be anyone's idea of hell, but it had been so much worse for Bec. Due to a technical glitch and totally out of the blue she had got stuck with the infamous and controversial Sir Edward Groves living in her spare room for two whole weeks. 

She shook her head as she finished cleaning the mess, a full time job since he’d vacated her home that morning. It all seemed so unbelievable - like a low budget movie. Unfortunately it was real. 

The company she worked for, Davison-Eckardt Promotions, had been the major promoter for a new online celebrity satellite TV station. As part of their launch the website 'Watch-On' had organised to film a series of celebrities being house guests with “average Joe’s”, or that was what the tie line for the show had said. The online coverage was live, but the TV station showed highlights and life patches in a Big Brother style.

Bec had been involved in so many meetings, and most of the celebrity choices had been her idea. The more controversial the better, a disgraced children's TV presenter had lodged with Martin, a school teacher and  part time volunteer policeman. That had set the tone of the series, and much to her boss's amazement, it had been a huge success.  They had had phenomenal viewing figures, as well as tens of thousands of hits on their website, and over the twelve weeks and six previous 'duos', the tabloid coverage had been immense. 

Bec was golden girl at work, and life could not have been better. Her match ups were legendary, and the piece de resistance was a poor soul having to tolerate two weeks with Sir Edward. He was a titled peer, a distant relation to the royal family, a sometime politician and a supposed charity campaigner, and a complete nightmare. He regularly graced TV and newspaper alike with his one dimensional Victorian opinions on life and everything else. 

She had been called into the office a day before the launch of the last 'trial' to say that the planned house owner, a journalist, TV presenter and feminist, had been taken ill. It was a complete disaster as Sir Edward had been touted as the highlight to the whole series. If viewing figures continued this idea would become a regular feature, and Davison-Eckardt were credited with it's success, and as a result the company was growing in stature as each week passed. 

When she'd walked into the meeting with Stephen Davison the senior partner at the firm, she'd had no idea that she'd walk out as the replacement for the show. But she was the only one in the office who fitted the profile, being under thirty, female and single, and vocally opposed to the general mutterings of Sir Edward.

Rebecca had tried to fight being involved with everything she had, but her boss hadn’t taken 'no' for an answer. And she lost control of her world, the nausea and panic mounted, she’d watched as her kitchen, lounge and spare room were kitted out with video cameras and then the most brash, over indulgent, egocentric man she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting had moved into her small two bedroom flat.

Bec shook her head as she threw away the last copy of Horse and Hound, and the last champagne bottle - he really had been that stereotypical. The climax of the show had been his very vocal departure earlier that morning, and Bec felt ill and unsettled when she thought back to the prior two weeks. But she couldn't rest, despite spending three hours eradicating his presence from her home, there was the small matter of the post production press conference. Rebecca didn't imagine that this would be an opportunity missed by Sir Ed, after all he'd spent the whole two weeks moaning and groaning about EVERY thing. With a sigh, she grabbed her bag and made for the tube. 

“Rebecca!” Stephen her boss came across the reception of their Promotion's building gushing. Part of the deal with the 'lodger' was that she didn't work, they spent virtually twenty four hours a day trying not to murder each other, so it was the first time she'd seen any of her colleagues since the filming started fourteen days earlier.  “There’s a pay rise on the cards for you young lady, that was fantastic. You saved the day in explosive style.”

Rebecca shook her head and allowed him to hug her, he was a hulk of a man and she was swamped in his arms. Then he held her at arm’s length, “you couldn’t have found two less compatible people, really you couldn’t!”

“Yeah, I know!” she sighed. “It wasn’t the most pleasant two weeks of my life.” That was the biggest understatement of the day. 

“And you will be duly compensated for that!” he led her towards the front of the room, “You really saved our bacon Rebecca and the company will never forget that. And we're more than busy after the success of it all.”

Rebecca stood in front of the twenty or more journalists, as well as other members of PR, and the production company and answered a few predictable questions.

“What was the worst thing about having Sir Groves in your house?”, “Did he snore?”, “Will you be keeping in touch with Sir Edward?” 

Each question she answered with tact, “his bad cooking!”, “only occasionally”, and “probably not!”

She could have ranted for hours about his terrible personal habits….she'd felt repulsed when she'd found him cutting his toe nails in front of the TV, and of course there was the arguments about exactly what was on the TV. He hated sports and soaps, her two staples, instead loving antique shows and constant news. Then there was the thick burnt porridge on every saucepan in her home, oh, and he used a minimum of ten towels a day…then left them all over the flat. Add to that his sexist nature, he expected her to run around after him cleaning up, his unfounded rudeness at anything, most of it personal, and then loud telephone conversations all hours of the day and night, or his ridiculously unsociable hours. She could write a book about it, but knew that would sound petty and contrite, so she smiled sweetly.

Once she stepped out of the limelight she relaxed, and knew it’d be a long time before she’d step back into this level of attention again, she was even reconsidering her career. It was so far from what she signed up for, and it had been hell. No amount of financial compensation could make up for all she'd had to tolerate. And she was sure that the edited TV coverage didn't fully show how awful he was. 

Everyone buzzed around waiting for the arrival of the man of the moment. Rebecca dived in the bathroom needing time to herself she stood in front of the mirror and groaned. She looked dreadful, the two weeks had caused her to age. Rifling through her bag, she found a hairbrush and tidied her shoulder length copper locks, it was unruly at the best of time, but it seemed her hair was picking up on her tension and was curling randomly all over the place. 

Her face looked pale, but a little lip gloss seemed to brighten her up, as did a refresh to the silver eye shadow that outlined her blue eyes. She'd deliberately dressed for the occasion in a smart charcoal grey trouser suit and black blouse, she hated austere clothing, but it was appropriate for work, and definitely for this evening, damage limitation. Retying the scarlet scarf at her neck, her token rebellious streak, she took a  deep breath and stepped out into the chaos of Sir Edward's arrival.

Only he didn't come into the reception to the building as planned. A sudden commotion from outside, dragged everyone out in to the street. There was Sir Edward, on the back of a lorry standing on a podium with a microphone and banners...and a whole host of hangers on. 

Rebecca raised her eyes to the sky shaking her head as the gathered crowd fell straight into the trap. With excitement the gathered journo’s clambered to be the first to ask him a question and he lapped it up.

She leaned against the door frame and watched the hideous circus unfold with immeasurable dread.

“Sir Edward? Did you enjoy your two weeks as a house guest?”

He laughed in his annoying and over the top way, “I’ve enjoyed having root canals more!”

“What was the best part?”

“Leaving today, and going back to a proper home!” Chuckling greeted each rude answer.

“Would you do this again?” A young blond woman from a tabloid asked. 

“We raised £50,000 for retired greyhounds, which I am going to double as a gesture to these poor animals…" he gave a dramatic pause before adding, "but I would rather just donate the money in future!”

Bec started to fume, this was about to become ridiculous, they hadn’t got on, that much was evident, but the last thing she deserved was this character assassination.

“So Sir Edward, what was the worst part of the ordeal?”

“Ordeal was the word. I never thought I’d last two weeks in such a small, dark and cramped environment, let alone at the hands of someone who watches soap operas, has such differing ideas on food, cooking, hygiene...there was drinking from pints, eating on knees in  front of the TV, I mean there was no such thing as a soup spoon in the house, and then there was the conversations. I mean I know some young women think they are equal to men, but really!...It's down to this group of people that this country is going to ruin. Leave politics and sport to the men! That's what I say! To put it mildly, well it was just torture…but over now, thank God!” 

The laughs were now being stifled, and Bec knew that a lot of the humour was directed back at him, rather than with him at her, but it didn't hurt any less.

Another man, someone she recognised from previous press conferences smiled as he asked, "So Sir Edward, do you have any tips for the youth of today?"

The smile on his face was priceless, this was what he wanted, the chance to speak in his candid and opinionated manner, "why yes. Firstly, bad language and poor timekeeping are not the way to be successful in life, and secondly, slovenly behaviour, lack of manners and inappropriate, or worse a complete lack of etiquette are truly unacceptable. Fortunately, I no longer have to tolerate such inexcusable circumstances, it'll be a joy to mix with my own...and I'll never need to experience all that again!"

And has he looked to the sky in a mock prayer, Bec had heard enough, so she stepped towards the man she had grown to hate over the last two weeks. As she opened her mouth to protest with a string of profanities, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, and she was lifted off the floor. She'd slunk around at the back of the gathering, so when she started to kick and struggle no one noticed, and she was carried back into the now empty reception and deposited on the floor.

Spinning around Bec launched at her attacker with two clenched fists. Then she froze, as she took in the tall, impeccable profile of Nathaniel Groves, oldest son and heir to the Groves Empire. He was at least six foot four, a good eight inches taller than her, and dressed in Saville Row's finest, an extortionately expensive tailored pinstripe suit, as she looked up into his blue eyes, and perfect symmetrical features, the neat blond hair, she felt her anger grow. It was not her finest hour, bur frustration meant she threw a punch at his chest.

“How dare you? You and your father think you can control every eventuality? Were you afraid I was about to show the World what an arrogant, self centred prick your father really is?”

He shook her head, “to the contrary Miss Taylor!" Even his voice was perfect; clear and unaccented, he pronounced every syllable quietly but with authority. "I know father, I have seen what he is like, how he treated you, and despite being related, I cannot defend him. The world saw it too, and everyone knows that what you are thinking is correct. But he is the king of debate, and if you start a verbal fight here, with this audience, unprepared there’s a huge chance he’ll make you look stupid. That is what he is doing, goading you to prove him right. You deserve better than that. And remember that this is your job!”

“How do you know about that?”

He shrugged, “I know that father was meant to be staying somewhere else, a feminist as I recall?" When she nodded he added, "a better match in that she would never have been as polite and accommodating as you were, when they announced a change I looked into things, it seems you were strongly coaxed into doing this!”

She nodded, “you’re not wrong." She mimicked her arm being dragged behind her back and he smiled. For someone with such natural presence, a confidence that bordered on arrogance he had a great smile, broad white and perfectly straight teeth appearing through his full lips. 

"But what he’s saying about me….”

He placed a finger over her lips, “no one knows the manipulative hand of my father as well as me, and I think that you’ve come as close as anyone ever has at holding your own….let me get you a drink? Try and make it up to you in some way?”

Bec couldn't believe her ears and scoffed loudly, “why the hell would you want to offer me a drink? And why the hell would I want accept?” Nathaniel and his father represented everything she'd grown up to hate. Rich, privileged and egotistical with no regard for those they stand on in their quest for everything. Sir Ed had only confirmed those suspicions with his treatment of her. The thought of even a few minutes in the presence of anyone related to him made her feel faint with distress.

“Because I want to prove that not all the Groves family act like he does…”

She raised a hand to ward off any more words from him, “Look I have about as much interest in having a drink with someone like you as I would in chopping off my right hand!”

Nathaniel took a deep breath, shaking his head softly, “and with that comment you are sounding as judgemental and prejudiced as father. I'm not sure what you expect from ‘someone like me’, but I have to say, I'm more than happy to lower oneself to share a pint with you!” She didn't miss the sarcasm, the humour in his words, he was laughing at her AND himself. Rebecca instantly realised that this man was no mug. He had an awareness that his father lacked, and there may be some truth in his words that he was concerned in protecting her from making a fool of herself, as oppose to stopping her taking on his father.

Nathaniel was looking at her intently, and she found herself starting to laugh, “Ok, I’m sorry; I have just had a very fraught time. I didn't think I'd even have to think about anyone or anything related to 'him'.”

He laughed too, soft lines lightening the angles of his face, “Welcome to my world! Now are you going out that door,” he gestured towards the road, “back to that melee, or are you slipping out the back door with me for a relaxing drink?”

She paused for a moment, and then thought what the hell! And followed him out into a different street!