The Guard

By Hank Fredo

Robert is everything that the residents of Windsor Hill Gardens, an exclusive gated community in the English countryside, could want from their head of security. He's always available to help with any problem, even if it is outside of his job description. He sees everything that goes on behind closed doors and knows all of the wealthy resident's secrets. He is well aware that their perfect lives and happy marriages are nothing but a façade. What none of them realise is that their reliable security guard is holding onto secrets of his own.

During the week of the community's fiftieth anniversary celebration, Robert's life is turned into turmoil. The police show up to spy on one of the residents suspected of committing fraud, he notices his employees are secretly holding a gun, and suspicious people are hanging around the estate. Even worse, a face from the past threatens to spill Robert's secrets. But Robert is determined to keep the peace in Windsor Hill Gardens, no matter what drastic measures he has to take.

Nobody can get into the gated community without Robert's consent, but nobody can get out either.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: Aug 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223503347

Book preview

Chapter One

Monday

That’s the country club. It also has the tennis courts and the riding stables. And over there is the golf course. You have to be careful because there aren’t any cameras over there, Robert recited as he drove through the perfectly paved and clened streets of Windsor Hill Gardens.

He knew it all by heart, every single inch. He had to after being head of security at the estate for twenty years now. He knew which cameras covered which area and where dogs liked to run off and sniff around. He wasn’t a resident there, but he still felt like it was his land. It was almost his Shangri-La.

Right, no cameras, said the man in the seat next to him, already slumping in his seat as he stared out at the towering mansions, expanses of mowed grass, and the expensive luxury cars passing them by. Pyotr was a new hire and Robert was showing him around, as he had done with hundreds of people just like him before. His name and accent indicated he was from Eastern Europe, but Robert didn’t ask questions. So long as the employees came in on time and did their jobs, that was all that mattered to him. Their own lives were none of his business.

He could understand the man’s obvious resentment, to an extent. It was easy to guess that he hadn’t had much back wherever he came from, which was why he had moved to the UK and gotten a job working security at a gated community. It was the type of thing people only did when they were desperate. Seeing the park’s residents with their overpriced clothes, opulent decorations, and condescending attitudes no doubt angered him. Robert had thought the same thing when he’d started this job years ago, but he’d learned not to let it bother him. Some of the residents could be annoying and entitled at times, but most of them were just normal people. They did what normal people did; make mistakes and hold onto secrets.

What Pyotr would never admit that Robert had already acknowledged was that as much as they resented these people for the wealth they held, deep down they wanted the same thing. Not just the money but the power over others. The feeling that they were the masters of their own little kingdom. That was what everybody wanted deep down. All they really wanted was control over their own lives. They wanted freedom, and the only way to truly have that was to have money, like the Windsor Hill residents. They wanted to act like they were better than the rich, but the truth was they would reach out and take money and power if given the same chances they had. They would choose to live somewhere surrounded by high hedges where regular people weren’t allowed.

That woman looks familiar, Pyotr said as they passed by a woman in a long flowing dress, taking a walk through the park’s green spaces, inspecting every leaf and flower.

She should. She’d a famous artist. She’s won lots of awards and been on television a lot, Robert said, deciding not to bring up the frequent sex parties she hosted at her house. There are a lot of people like her here. Celebrities, CEOs, rock stars, football players. There’s even a minor member of the royal family here. A third cousin of the King or something like that.

You seem to be popular, Pyotr noted as Robert raised a hand and waved at the artist.

I’ve been here for a while, so they know me well. It always helps to get into their good books. On this job, you have to see everything and say nothing. That’s how you build up trust.

Let them get away with murder?

Well maybe not that far, but it does help to keep their secrets for them. Trust me, it pays off in the end. 

Pyotr turned away and inspected the swaying trees marking out the edges of the golf course. He obviously resented Robert’s words, but he would learn soon enough. He would need to if he wanted to last long at this job. This was why Robert had seen so many employees come and go over the years. Many of them just couldn’t cut it.

A tinny song filled the van. Robert glanced at his smartphone in its holder and saw the name flash up on the screen – Beatrix. A name he knew well. Technically he wasn’t supposed to give out his personal phone number to residents. If they needed something, they were supposed to call the security office directly. If it was an emergency, they were supposed to pull the alarm which would send the security staff straight to them. But he had given Beatrix his number anyway.

Just a second, Robert said as he touched the Bluetooth receiver he always kept on his ear for situations like this. Beatrix, how are you?

Robert, I hate to call you out like this, but I have an emergency, the shrill voice filled the van.

What’s wrong?

My power suddenly went out, just like that! I don’t know what happened. I didn’t touch anything.

No problem, just stay where you are and I’ll be right there.

Oh, thank you so much, Robert. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Beatrix said before ending the call.

Looks like our tour will have to be put on hold, Robert said as he turned the van around.

But why? Shouldn’t you call maintenance? This isn’t your job, Pyotr said with a confused frown.

I know, but it’s only a small problem. I do it all the time. That’s another thing that helps – to go above and beyond. If somebody’s dog goes off their lead or one of the old ladies needs something moved or the teenagers have a loud party, they know to call me to take care of it.

But you are not being paid to do these things. You are only paid to be security.

Like I said, it pays off, Robert said as they pulled up outside Beatrix’s house – a mansion which looked more like a medieval castle. Pay attention, it might help you to watch this, he added as they stepped out of the van.

Beatrix flung open the front door and flounced to them the moment she heard the van pulling up. It was past noon but she was still in her silk robe, flowing behind her as she half-ran towards them in her jewelled slippers.

Robert, I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been terrible! There’s no power at all, she said.

It’s fine, Beatrix. It’s probably just the fuse. I’ll take a look at it, Robert said, picking up the tool box he always kept in the back of the van. It was supposed to be for the maintenance staff, but he always found it easier to carry it with him for incidents such as this.

Pyotr followed him, scowling at Beatrix with barely hidden contempt, as if she represented everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.

Who is this? Beatrix asked, wrapping her robe tighter around herself as she stared at him, giving him a glare of her own.

This is Pyotr, a new hire. I was just showing him around, Robert explained as he let himself into the house. He knew it as well as he knew anywhere else in Windsor Hill. Perhaps even a little better.

Really? Beatrix said, her nose wrinkling as she watched the other man enter her house. You know, my husband is also named Peter.

It’s Pyotr, he said, but Beatrix ignored him. Or more likely, she heard him but chose not to respond.

Are you from Poland? Which I’m fine with, by the way. The man who delivers my dog food is a Pole, too, Beatrix said as her pair of Pomeranians barked around their heels. I suppose this is better than picking strawberries. People call me a racist and perhaps I am, but whenever I go for a drive in the country I see rows and rows of them bent over picking the things. Africans too. It just makes me wonder why they can’t hire British workers to work the fields, instead of having foreigners coming over her and taking all of our jobs.

Robert glanced up from the fusebox, seeing Pyotr quietly seething. The movements under his cheeks indicated he was biting his tongue to prevent himself from giving Beatrix the verbal lashing she deserved. At least he had already learnt how to show restraint. That was another skill which would serve him well on this job.

I mean, we were just in Thailand and the only foreign workers at the resort were the managers. If they can get alone with hiring locals, I don’t see why this country can’t as well. And we had a lovely time. Have you ever been to Thailand, Robert?

No, never, Robert replied. Even if he did have any time for a holiday, the most he could afford on his salary was a weekend in a caravan. I’m happy enough here.

Yes, and we’re very lucky to have you, Beatrix said, letting her robe loosen slightly to reveal the cleavage about to burst out of her lace lined nightgown.

There we go, Robert said as the lights came back on and the television screen taking up on of the walls sprang back to life. It was just the fuse after all, he said as he collected the tool box he hadn’t needed.

Oh, thank you so much, Robert. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Beatrix said, letting her hand linger on his arm for just a moment too long.

It was nothing, Robert said. Beatrix