TEJRAN - U MIGHT BE A PLAYER BUT IM THE GAME

chapter 7

It’s a cold and gloomy Tuesday afternoon. Exhausted, I lean against the chimney stack of the old tin mine and stare out toward the sea. The sky is dark and ominous, and a bitter Cornish wind slices through me. A storm is brewing, and the sea rages and crashes against the cliffs beneath, the sound booming and echoing through the ruined building. The first freezing spots of sleet from the coming storm spatter on my face.

As children, omi, Meenu, and I used to play in and around the ruin of this tin mine that stands on the edge of the kundrra estate. Omi and Meenu had always played the heroes, and I was always the villain. How apt. It was typecasting, even then. I smile at the memory.

A considerable fortune had been made from these mines, and the profits swelled the Kundrra coffers over the centuries. But they were closed in the late 1800s as they became less profitable, and the workers emigrated to places like Australia and South Africa, where the mining industry was flourishing. I spread my hand over the worn stone of the chimney stack, cold and rough to the touch but still standing after all these centuries.

Like the earls of king k…

My visit has been a success. Parvez had made a good call insisting I visit both estates. And I’m beginning to reevaluate my doubts about him. He’s done nothing but steer me in the right direction. Perhaps he does have the kundrra earldom and its continuing prosperity in his heart. The staff now know I’m behind them and that I don’t want to make radical changes. I’ve discovered that I’m very much an “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” devotee. My smile is rueful….I’m also too lazy to be anything else, for now. But truth is, under omi’s authority and shrewd management the Kundrra estates have been thriving. I hope I can keep them that way.

I’m weary from being encouraging and upbeat for the past few days and from listening to everyone. I’m not used to expending such positive energy. I’ve met so many people here and at Angwin in Oxfordshire, people I’d never met before who work on each estate. I’ve been coming to both of these places since I was a child, and I never had an inkling how many people work behind the scenes. Meeting everyone has been draining. All that talking, listening, reassuring, smiling—especially when I don’t feel like smiling.

I gaze at the path that leads down to the sea and think of omi and me as two young boys racing to the soft, sandy beach below. Omi always won…always. But then he was four years older than me. And then in late August, armed with bowls and buckets and anything else that would hold them, we three children would pick blackberries from the brambles that lined the path, and our cook, Jessie, would make blackberry-and-apple crumble for supper, omi’s favorite.

Omi. Omi. Omi.

It was always omi.

The heir. Not the spare.

Fuck.

Why race through the icy lanes on a freezing night?

Why? Why? Why?

And now he lies beneath cold, hard slate in the Kundrra family crypt.

Grief tightens my throat.

Omi.

Enough.

I whistle for omi's gundogs. On command, Jensen and Healey, two Irish setters, return from their romp along the path and come bounding toward me. They are named after cars. Omi was obsessed with all four-wheeled vehicles, especially fast ones. From an early age, he could strip an engine and put it back together in no time.

He was a true all-rounder.

The dogs jump up at me, and I rumple both sets of ears. They live at Kundrra Hall on the Kundrra estate, cared for by Danny, omi’s housekeeper. No. My housekeeper, for fuck’s sake. I’ve contemplated taking them back to London, but my apartment is no place for two working dogs used to roaming the Cornish countryside and the thrill of game shoots. Omi adored them, even though they are useless gundogs. And omi loved a shoot, too.