He can't think of any less welcome guest installing himself so permanently in so short a time.

It was a sacrilege. Like seeing a slug crawl along a petal of one of the roses that Lady Croft loves to smell on a lazy summer's day. He learned gardening just to keep those roses thriving for Lara - and he now has to learn to tend to this vermin.

He can't blame Lara for seeking to hire an expert in computers and electronics. The world was rapidly becoming an electronic one in the late '80s, with profound implications for her business/passion; a business in which staying ahead of the competition was essential. Athletic flitting is well and good, and Lara is unparalleled in that; but to know where to flit - that is the challenge to which technology is rising.
Many young men and women were recognizing the exciting possibilities of a computerized world, and diving into the new industry with enthusiasm. With her reputation and her money, she could have had the best. But no, she had come home that wretched evening hauling a half-drunk wreck of a man - early thirties, Hillary's own age, he guessed, but with a much more lined face - and handed him over.

"Hillary, meet Bryce. I've hired him as my new technology consultant. Could you clean him up and drop him into a bed until he sobers up?" She turned on her heel and headed to her room, leaving Hillary holding the rather odiferous man by a filthy collar.

Hillary had done as she asked - rapidly, none too gently, and with no attention paid to the man's weak protests. He hauled the newly clean and naked man to the guest bedroom, turned the key, and spent the next hour trying to persuade Lara that she had better options. That the London Zoo held better options. But when Lara wanted something, she became the frosty and implacable Lady of the Manor, and for no reason that Hillary could determine, she wanted Bryce.

And the month that had passed hadn't changed her mind.

Hillary paced restlessly in the entrance hall. Bryce was moving in. He had gone to his apartment to collect his "things," and Lady Croft had asked Hillary to help him unload them. Hillary would no more consider not doing what Lady Croft asked than he would consider not breathing, so here he stood. Here he paced. He heard the rumble of a vehicle over the cobblestone driveway, and steeled himself.

The rumble stopped. He heard some clanks and muffled cursing. A minute later, a head of dirty-blond hair poked through the door, followed by a thin body almost matched in bulk by the plastic computer case, monitor, keyboard, and trackball that he was trying to carry with too few limbs.

Hillary sighed and extricated the case and CRT from Bryce's arms. "This way. Lady Croft set aside a study to be your workroom, and invited you to choose one of the guestrooms." He managed to make it through the speech without any of the words sticking in his throat. He was nothing if not professional.

"Aw, no worries, mate; me trailer is good enough for me to live in." Ah, there was some hope, if the blighter was not going to be living in the mansion.

They unloaded the rest of the trailer - a decrepit stainless steel number, relic of a bygone era, attached to a lorry that was as much rust as it was metal. Hillary left Bryce fiddling manically with a pile of equipment, a beatific expression on his face. It was time to prepare Lara's tea. As Hillary walked out, he heard her walking in from another door and speaking with Bryce. "Settling in well?" Her upper-class, melodic, smooth tones gave way to Bryce's grating tone like a Chopin cello solo leading in to a kazoo. "Right on, Lara; it'll take me a few days to get it all set up, but this is a cracking good space you have here!" They spoke for all the world as if they were old friends newly reunited. Hillary closed the door on them with a stiffened back.

xxxxxx

Lara was back in her study when he brought her tea. He set down the tray without a word, and was about to make a swift exit when Lara held him back with a gentle hand on his.

"You're not happy with Bryce."

"No, madam. We talked about this a month ago, you will remember."

She sighed, let go of his hand, and looked off into the distance. "You only call me 'madam' when you're upset with me." She paused, and the only sound was the ticking of the old wooden clock that sat on her desk. "Bryce is Selva's son. You remember her. I don't know why the tedious old trout was so important to father, but she was... and before she died, I promised her I'd look after her son." She looked up and met Hillary's eye. "It will be good for us, too. I did some background checks before I took him on; he's brilliant. Just lazy. Would you please try to get on with him? For me, Hillary."

He couldn't argue with that, and she knew it. He sighed and nodded.

"Good!" She sat up and clapped her hands. "He has to return that lorry to his friend - be a dear and take the Aston-Martin along with, to give him a ride back." She tucked into the tea and scones with gusto.

xxxxxx

Bryce was enchanted with the Aston-Martin. He slid into the leather passenger's set with the wide-eyed reverence of a teenager removing a bird's bra for the first time. A grin filled his face as he rolled down the window and listened to the roar of the engine. The lines, Hillary couldn't help noticing, filled the grin around his mouth and the laugh lines around his eyes. This man smiles a lot, he noted.

The smile didn't slip as he said, "You don't like me, man, do ya?"

Hillary looked over, startled at the bluntness. "Oh, it's all right," Bryce continued, "most folks don't like me at first." He looked back out of the window at the countryside that was flying by. "I get the feeling that you don't like me for a reason, though, mate."

"Lady Croft asked me to make you welcome, and I will do as she asks." Hillary was damned if he was going to be dragged into this.

"Ah, Lady Croft." The full title didn't fit well in Bryce's mouth. "Unusual bird, isn't she?"

Hillary bristled. "Lady Croft is most talented and accomplished." In stark contrast to some here.

"Ah, I've heard that. Mum didn't like her, so I knew we'd get on. How long have you known her?"

"All of her life. My father brought me up to serve her father, Lord Croft, and I served Lara when he died."

Bryce let out a long whistle. "Bloody hell, mate, she's what, twenty-seven? That long? You must love either the job or the money."
Hillary looked steadily at the road ahead.

Bryce smiled cannily as he studied Hillary's face. "Or the bird." Hillary snorted.

"Don't worry, man. I'm a free spirit, me; I'll be movin' on in my own good time. I don't settle down." He turned back to face the approaching manor.

xxxxxx

When the car stopped, Bryce had some trouble fumbling out of the seatbelt. He reached for the door handle, but the door opened on its own, and a hand easily big enough to encircle his upper arm hauled him out of the car.

"Three things," Hillary said, holding his arm in an iron grip. "One. Lady Croft. Not 'that bird.' Two. No swearing in the house. Three..." he considered the hyper man. "I'm putting you on decaf."

"Right on, mate." Bryce paused. "Er - I can't promise I'll remember all that. But I promise to try to get around to remembering."

Hillary sighed. "That will do. Now go clean up that mess you left in the study."

Which proved to be yet another thing Bryce would never quite get around to.