Page 30 of After Felix
I feel Max’s eyes on me. I glance at him and the pride in his face warms me. I sidle a little closer, and he throws his arm over my shoulders as we follow Henry and Ivo into the big house.
Once we’re inside, I look around while the three men talk idly about the wedding and people I don’t know. I catch the name Gabe and then Asa Jacobs.
“Asa Jacobs is coming to this wedding?” I gasp.
Henry turns to me, laughter in his eyes. “Want me to sneak you into his bedroom so you can sniff the sheets?”
“Henry.” Ivo sighs.
I laugh. “Just give me the sheets when he’s finished with them. I’ll make them into a set of curtains.”
Max shakes his head. “You do know that Ivo and I were respected war journalists, don’t you? It’s bemusing why you’re so excited about meeting an actor.”
“Not just any actor,” I say solemnly. “Asa Jacobs. With all that hair and that arse. And let's face it, you were just roaming the world indulging in your natural nosiness.”
Ivo breaks into loud laughter. “You know him well.”
“Definitely in the biblical sense,” I muse.
Max drops a kiss on my head. “I’m going to get the bags.”
Henry nods. “We’ll go and find what room you’ve been put in.”
I’m left standing in a pool of sunshine. I think this room would have been known as the great hall back in the day. It’s huge and whitewashed, with a high ceiling and windows through which the light pours in. There’s a battered suit of armour standing to one side, and the walls are lined with rather grim portraits of grumpy-looking men and women. I wander over to examine one particular monster.
“Hello.”
I jump and spin round to find a small dark-haired man standing there. He has a sharp face and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. “I’m not nicking the silver, if you’re worried.”
He grins. “It’s a load of old tut anyway. If you want to nick one of those portraits though, do help yourself.” His accent is Irish.
I laugh nervously. “Oh no, that’s funny.”
“It’s not a joke. Take that one.” He nods at one of the grimmest pictures. It’s of a man dressed in Tudor clothes, and his expression suggests he’s contemplating gruesome murder.
“His eyes follow you around the room. No one believes me,” the stranger says.
“I believe you,” I say fervently.
He grins at me again. “I’m Oz. Silas’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, the earl.”
He nods carelessly. “That’s the one. He’s easy to recognise. He’ll be the one looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and borrowed his clothes from a tramp.”
I smile. “I’m Felix. I’m with Max Travers.”
“Is he here? I’ll have to lock the alcohol away.”
“He’ll still find it,” I say with a laugh. “He’s like an alcoholic bloodhound.”
“Journalists,” he says in a tone of doom. His grin returns. “I’ll take you up to your room.”
“Oh, thank you. Max has gone out to the car to get the bags.”
He shrugs. “He’ll find you. He’s been here before.”
