Page 48 of The Question of Us
“I can’t see Marty’s face,” I interrupted, “but he has his hand on Gazza’s arm, so I think it’s safe to assume the flirting is reciprocal. He also clearly doesn’t recognise Gazza and—wait... he’s leaning in. Shit. I wish I was a fly on the wall ’cause he just whispered something in Gazza’s ear.”
“What did he say?”
I huffed, “What about the word whisper, do you not understand?”
Mads groaned. “Yeah, fuck you too.”
“In a heartbeat,” I shot back, and he chuckled. I tried to read Gazza’s expression but it was hopeless. “Whatever he said, Gazza answered with a smile and then they laughed and started talking again.”
“Come on, Nick.” Mads was sounding more frustrated by the second. “You can’t just leave me hanging.”
“Sorry. But they’re just talking. There’s nothing to say. Hang on, the auctioneer is back and people are sitting again. Marty just handed Gazza something, a card maybe?” I chuckled at the come-hither look on Gazza’s face.
“What?” Mads demanded. “Why did you laugh?”
“Damn, your apprentice can sure pile on the charm. If I was Marty, I’d be creaming myself thinking I had this gorgeous guy in the bag.”
Mads groaned. “That idiot. Just wait until I get a hold of him. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”
“Okay, they’re both taking their respective seats. Marty said something to Freddie and the lunk turned around to eyeball Gazza.”
Mads gasped. “What if he recognises Gazza?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” I assured him. “He just nodded and said something to Marty, then returned to scrolling his phone. But just to be safe, I think we should leave while they’re still busy with the auction in case Marty decides to search for Gazza when it’s done.”
“Good idea. Tell Gazza, and we’ll meet back at the car. And Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“How was it? Seeing them?”
It took me a moment to settle on, “Complicated, but I’m okay. We’re all good.”
Fifteen minutes later,we were heading back to Kettleworth, the sun-browned pasture flying by at an alarming speed, which seemed reflective of Mads’ incendiary mood.
“Slow down, Aryton Senna,” I warned him softly.
Mads shot me an angry look but lifted his lead foot off the accelerator and we slowly tracked down to the speed limit. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned sideways in the passenger seat to try and referee the fallout from Gazza’s conversational stunt with Marty.
“I get that you’re angry, but what choice did I have?” Gazza argued loudly from the back seat, his flinty gaze burning two holes in the back of Mads’ head. “If I wasn’t sociable with the guy, I would have burned that potential bridge for good. He’s no different from almost all the other rich fuckers I’ve met over the years—an arrogant, smooth-talker, who thinks he’s god’s gift to men. He asked me what I was doing at the sales since I obviously wasn’t a buyer, and I told him I was moving to Melbourne to try and make my mark in the fashion or social media world. I told him I’d done a little modelling and taken a course in fashion design and was open to where that might lead me. Since I was driving down from Sydney, I thought I’d make a holiday of it and spend a few nights in the high country. I said that a Kettleworth barman had recommended the horse sales and carnival as a cool local event to check out, so I came.”
Mads huffed dismissively. “And he actually bought that crap?”
Gazza rolled his eyes at the back of Mads’ head and I almost laughed. “He didn’t question me about it, if that’s what you mean, but if you want to drive back, I can always go ask him.” Gazza stared pointedly into the rear-vision mirror with hisare you freaking kidding menowlook firmly in place.
Mads pulled a grumpy face. “I wasn’t questioning?—”
“Yes, you were,” Gazza retorted. “It’s not like I had a ton of time to come up with something amazing, is it? And since Marty said that he’d picked me for a model at first glance and that he had every confidence I’d kill it in the fashion industry in some form, I think I did pretty good. He also said that he could introduce me to a few people if I was interested, and that’s when the Friday party came up.”
Mads muttered something to the effect of, “Of course he bloody did. He wants to?—”
“Nope, don’t say it,” I warned, squeezing Mads’ thigh. He shot me a blistering look and I raised a brow. He muttered something about not interrupting and that he wasn’t a child. Figuring my balls were in deadly peril, I let the comment go. In return, Mads didn’t finish his sentence. Overall, a win-win.
Gazza released a long put-upon sigh. “I’m confused. We needed information and I got us information. Isn’t that what we came here for? This party Lee told you about is a big event. Marty’s friend Jacob is turning fifty and Marty’s expecting around a hundred partygoers. There’s catering, waitstaff, decorators—the full enchilada. It’s being held in his backyard under a huge marquee by his swimming pool. He made a point of emphasising how much it was gonna cost him.”
“Of course he did,” I muttered.
Gazza ignored me. “Marty assured me that the birthday is just an excuse to get a whole bunch of people together for a good time and that I’d be welcomed as hisfriend,so I needn’t feel awkward.” Gazza eyeballed the rear-vision mirror. “And all of that information didn’t cost me a thing, Madigan, other than needing a shower when we get back to the motel because the guy is a freaking oily sonofabitch. I honestly don’t get what your problem is.”
