Chapter 16

 

It was the third day of cleaning Dylan Rider’s house, and April was determined to make a start on his son’s bedroom. Elizabeth Lile, the housekeeper, had told her to only give it a lick and a promise as Henry Rider hated anyone touching anything of his.

They should be paying me extra for all this work on top of surveillance.

The whole house was immaculate so to see the unsightly mess of the son’s bedroom, irritated her. April hated mess of any kind. She was almost obsessive with cleanliness in her own home. She lived her life like that. Ordered and organised.

The room was a typical teenagers room, the difference being this was a bigger than average bedroom. The bed was a super king-size, and in a normal room would be overpowering, but not in this one. There was so much space. The décor was neutral, and the furniture contemporary. A long, what appeared to be, purpose-built desk dominated the full length of one of the walls, with an array of computer equipment spread out along it. It wasn’t your average hardware suitable for a teenager either. Thousands of pounds worth of sophisticated equipment pointed towards a computer geek.

The bed looked as if at least three people had slept in it; either that or it was never made properly. She ripped the duvet and bedclothes off and diligently replaced them all, straightening and tucking the sheets with neat envelope corners to secure them without creases. She turned the bedclothes back tidily and fluffed up the pillows. It wasn’t quite to a shop display standard, but it was infinitely better. The silky sheets were pure quality, an eight hundred thread count at the very least. Definitely not the thread count on her thin bedding, that was for sure.

 

There were two doors leading off from the bedroom. She peered in one to the left of the bed, and her eyes swept around a dressing room which was a complete mess. Despite rows of hanging space, there were heaps of jeans, tee shirts and underpants discarded on the floor. Looking at the hanging space, she could see at some stage the clothes had been segregated, so the jackets were clustered together, and there was a space for trousers. It was the same with the shirts, although there was an equal amount on the rails as there looked to be on the floor.

She moved towards the other door to the right of the bed which was the ensuite. Again, it was about as tidy as his dressing area. There was a selection of shower gels and colognes, many of them with their tops discarded. She noticed there was an assortment of products for the treatment of acne. High-end face washes, toners, a couple of jars of moisturiser, and a tube of spot concealer for men. Many were replicated more than once with a particular brand. There must have been hundreds of pounds worth lined up on the shelf.

The bath and washbasin were clean apart from some toothpaste stains which appeared recent. It was apparent whoever had the job of cleaning his bedroom and bathroom, only did the minimum.

She sighed at the task ahead.

More bloody sinks and toilets to clean.

 

She made a start, spraying the shower cubicle and scrubbing the standing area which was engrained with dirty foot marks. Once she was satisfied it was cleaner, she then turned her attention to the washbasin and scoured it until it gleamed, and finally moved onto cleaning and disinfecting the toilet.

It didn’t appear as if the huge corner bath was in use, so she left that. There was more than enough to clean without doing unnecessary jobs.

She folded the thick fluffy towels, and placed them on the chrome towel rail.  Glancing around at her handiwork, she was pleased with how nice it looked, but whether an untidy teenager would see it quite that way, she wasn’t sure.

 

She closed the ensuite door behind her and headed for the dressing room. It was a mess she was determined to sort. Each item of clothes she placed onto a hanger, and all the underwear strewn all over the floor, whether dirty or not, was tossed in the wash-basket. It didn’t matter how much Dylan Rider paid her, it wasn’t enough to distinguish which items were clean and which had been used.

As she stood back admiring how much better it was, she became aware of someone in the dressing room doorway.

She turned towards the gangly male glaring at her.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.

So this was the son.

Arrogant little sod.

“The cleaner. Who the fuck are you?”

“Henry Rider. This is my room and you’ve no business being in here.” He didn’t have the grace to look embarrassed by his tone.

“Haven’t I? That’s odd then as your father specifically asked me to clean in here. Said it was untidy,” she moved her head around the room, “I’d say he was being a tad polite, it’s actually a tip.”

“So?”

“So, someone’s got to clean it. I think it looks much better now, don’t you?”

“Like I give a shit what you think,” he scowled, as he walked away into the bedroom.

He took a seat at his computer desk with his back to her.

Ignorant little git.

She followed him. “No, I don’t suppose you do care what I think, but here’s the thing; I’m paid to clean this house for the next few days, but to be honest, I feel I’m getting my money under false pretences as everywhere’s so tidy. That is except your pit. So I thought I’d earn my money and try and get your dressing room into some sort of order. Sorry if that offends you, maybe if you kept it right, I wouldn’t need to.”

He turned in his swivel chair to face her. Irritation was written all over his face.

“Where’s . . .?” he frowned, struggling to remember the cleaner’s name. That is if he ever actually knew it.

“Sick,” she brushed her hands across the bed to smooth a non-existent crease in the duvet, “so, until she’s better, you’ve got me.”

“Well, you’ve done that now, so you can go.”

“Can I?” she tilted her head, “that’s very gracious of you.” She picked up her holdall of cleaning utensils and looked directly at him, but he averted his eyes. There was no mistaking it was Dylan Rider’s son, they looked alike, but unlike his handsome fit father, his face was covered in carbuncles and spots with huge heads on them which no amount of products would clear. She remembered Chloe as a teenager, her skin was exactly the same until they’d got a sympathetic GP who’d referred her to a skin specialist.

Despite him glancing everywhere around the room but at her, she continued. “I’ll be back tomorrow to clean again, and the next day. In fact, I’ll be in here every day unless your dad tells me otherwise. So don’t leave any more of your shitty boxers lying around. I’m not paid enough to pick those filthy things up.”

His brow furrowed and he shook his head, “Yeah, whatever.”

She was determined to have the final say with the little git. At the door, she paused.

“By the way, all the products in the world won’t get rid of your acne. You need to see a skin specialist and get a prescription for Roaccutane. That’s the only thing that’ll clear it up, those other products won’t. They’re a waste of money.”

 

Mrs Lile was coming along the landing towards her as she closed Henry’s door.

“There’s a coffee for you in the kitchen when you’re ready, Gemma,” she smiled, “I’m just popping out to the post office. I’ll only be ten minutes.”

“Thank you. I’m coming down, I’ve finished up here.”

“Did you see Henry?” Mrs Lile asked cautiously, as if she already knew he’d have given her a hard time.

“Yes, I did. Charming, isn’t he?”

They walked down the huge ornate staircase together.

Elizabeth Lile puffed out her cheeks, “Between you and I, he’s a bit of a troubled soul.”

“Why, what’s the matter with him?”

She lowered her voice which was completely unnecessary as they were alone. “He’s a bit odd, that’s all. Not quite all there, if you get my drift. I think these modern-day people call it autism or something like that.”

“Oh, right. I did think it a bit strange that he didn’t look me in the eye when I was talking to him. He sort of looked past me.”

“He never does,” she scowled, “you didn’t tidy his room, did you? I did say he doesn’t like things moving about.”

“I didn’t do much, just picked a few things up and made his bed.”

“That’s good. He goes off on one if anyone tidies his room. He can be a little touchy.”

“A little touchy?” April rolled her eyes, “I think that’s an understatement.”

She made a mental note to read up more on autism. When they’d started the process of planning the investigation, the son didn’t even live at the house, but now he was part of the equation, she needed to find out more about him.