Page 20 of Convenient Rivals

“On a mission to get me married before my thirtieth.”

“Does she seriously think you’ll meet someone, fall in love, and get married in the next two months?”

“I don’t think the falling in love part is important.”

“Imagine if you married Gregory Balfour. Oh, to be a fly on the wall if that happened.”

They both laughed. Although their mothers were best friends, they were also each other’s mortal enemies – the bizarreness of the upper classes. The idea of them being related, albeit through marriage, was too much to comprehend. Weirdly, the idea of being married to Gregory didn’t make him shudder in the way the general idea of matrimony did. That must be his libido talking. The idea of getting dicked down every night by Gregory made his skin prickle all over.

“Where did you go?”

“What?” he asked, realising he’d zoned out.

“Thinking of that Greg D, weren’t you?”

“It’s Gregory. He doesn’t like Greg.”

“Aww, look at you. Defending your man. Being all butch.”

“Fuck off!” he said, laughing.

When they’d both finished laughing, they got up, and he linked her arm with his own like he always did whenever they were together. That he was more than a foot taller than her meant they probably looked like a bizarre couple, but he didn’t care.

They said their goodbyes outside the restaurant as she headed home to her flat in Chelsea. Oscar lived in Knightsbridge, so they’d had lunch in South Kensington. Given it was December, the temperature was still twelve degrees, and the air was crisp, so he walked back home. He had no plans for the rest of the day. He was seeing his mother tomorrow, which would no doubt mean more talk of setting him up on dates. The only thing he’d concluded from this mission she’d been on since his last birthday was that his mother had terrible taste in men.

Victoria Montgomery was having tea with Lavinia Balfour when Oscar arrived, which just made him think of Gregory. Oscar kissed Lavinia on the cheek politely and said he’d leave them to it, then went into the kitchen to see Flo, who ran the house and was like a second mother to him. As soon as he walked in, he was hit with the delicious smell of freshly baked bread.

“Hello Mama,” he said.

She was startled for a second and then rushed over to Oscar, pulling him into a big squeezy hug. Flo was only five feet tall, yet she could squeeze the air out of Oscar without breaking a sweat. He’d never had hugs like that from his own mother. Not that she didn’t love him, she just wasn’t openly affectionate; it was the Montgomery way.

“I need to talk to you,” said Flo. She looked serious.

“What is it?”

“Not here. Let me get these in the oven and we’ll go for a walk.”

She brushed his cheek affectionately, but there was concern in her eyes. Oscar immediately tensed. Flo was rarely like this, and if anyone had hurt her, they’d have to deal with him. He wasn’t a violent man, but for Flo he would make an exception.

He helped himself to a freshly baked muffin, whilst she finished the cake mixture she was working on, dividing into it different sized tins. Was she making a tiered cake for a random Sunday? No doubt at his mother’s request. The kitchen was Flo’s domain, and he knew better than to question anything.

Flo was in her seventies and had been around since Oscar was a baby. She had a self-contained annexe on the grounds where she lived, and had done his whole life. If Oscar ever had the need for a full-time housekeeper, he’d poach her in a second, although his mother would never forgive him. The one thing his parents had never done was take Flo for granted; she was part of the family.

“Good, aren’t they?”

Oscar looked up, his mouth full of moist chocolate deliciousness. He smiled and nodded.

“I’ll box some up for you to take home. I’ve got lemon in the oven as well.”

This woman was the reason he went to the gym five days a week – worth it. Oscar popped the last of the muffin in his mouth and grabbed her coat from the cupboard, helping her put it on. He went into the hallway to grab his own, and when he got back, she had her gloves, scarf, and hat. He could barely see her face, she was so covered up.

“It’s not cold out.”

“For a young thing like you, perhaps.”

He followed her out, and they walked down from the house and into the gardens. Neither of them said anything for a while, just enjoying the fresh air. After a few minutes, it was Flo who spoke first.

“It’s Gregory Balfour.”

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