Page 10 of Oz
“He’s busy at the moment.” He shrugs. “Everyone’s busy.”
“Including Little Lord Fauntleroy?” I say sharply, hating that Milo’s obviously feeling guilty. “Is he sitting on a velvet cushion eating foie gras and waiting for the peasants to turn up and pay him money to look round the aristocratic building site?” Istare around, feeling myself build up a head of steam. I’m not a fan of the concept of aristocracy after a few years of coming up short against them in job interviews, and this strange earl isn’t endearing himself to me at the moment. “He didn’t even come to London to interview for a house manager. Just got a minion to do it,” I tut crossly.
Milo looks horrified. “Oh no, Lord Ashworth is actually–”
“Milo.” The shout comes from the door and Niall appears. “There you are,” he says abruptly and then notices me. “Mr Gallagher,” he says, his lip twitching as he takes in my outfit of skinny jeans, battered old combat boots, and a yellow t-shirt proclaimingIn My Defence I Was Left Unsupervised. “How lovely to see you. Settling in okay?”
“Like a bear for winter,” I say sourly. Milo shoots me a horrified look but Niall just laughs. He turns back to my companion. “Can I steal you for a second, Milo? I need your opinion on these plans.”
Milo flushes and stumbles over his words and I eye him surreptitiously.So that’s where the land lies. I look at Niall, big and beautiful and arrogant, and feel a bit sad. Milo doesn’t stand a chance with this man. He’s the sort to go for confident and assured.
Niall turns to me. “Do you mind waiting for Milo, Oz? We shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.” He points to the door he came through. “If you go out that way and follow the path you’ll get to the lavender garden. Wait there and Milo will find you.”
I nod and wander out onto a shadowed white gravel path lined with bright rhododendrons. A tree lowers its branches gracefully over the path, shielding two blue tits who are quarrelling crossly over a bird feeder. I walk slowly, the only sound the crunch of my feet on the path, and then gasp as I come out into sunshine and the most incredible sight.
In front of me is an old Elizabethan knot garden formed by beds of bright purple lavender edged with white roses and bay trees. I step onto the white gravelled path that edges the beds and inhale greedily. The air is heavy with the sharp, sweet scent of lavender. I wander over to a black iron bench at the side of the garden and lower myself to sit.
The sun beats down and a mischievous breeze dances over me, ruffling my hair and gifting me with the heavy scent from the blowsy roses next to the bench. When I look up I still at the sight of the house. I knew it was an Elizabethan manor house but my research didn’t tell me how beautiful it was. Built of golden stone with ornate gables and mullioned windows, it seems etched against the cornflower blue of the sky.
There’s something so utterly timeless about the scene. I could have been picked up and put down in Elizabethan England and not know it. The only sound is that of birdsong and a faint low buzzing. I cock my head to one side and lean forwards to look into the nearest lavender bush. For a second I just see purple but then I smile in delight as my eye adjusts and I see that the bed is actually alive with hundreds of bees busily hovering over the delicate flower stalks. It’s like I’ve been allowed to look into a secret colony hidden away in plain sight, and I stare for long minutes feeling oddly fascinated.
Finally, I settle back, feeling the heat beat down on me. I breathe in and a strange sense of peace steals over me. I’ve always been fidgety and on the lookout for more, but for the first time I can remember I’m actually content to sit quietly. It’s ironic that it’s in an old garden heated by the sun with my only companions the busy bees and the silent stone presence of an old house.
I shake my head at the absurd feeling that this is my place, and become suddenly aware of another sound filling the air. Anxious bleating. I stand up and look around. Next to the knotgarden are a few apple trees and an old wooden fence from where the noise is coming. I look around but there’s no sign of Milo, so I amble over, feeling the heat of the sun on my back.
The noise gets louder as I near the fence and I can hear the low soothing rumble of a man’s voice. Reaching the fence, I hang over it and find myself looking into a long, low field. A small sheep is dancing around agitatedly on the grass but my attention is all on the man muttering assurances to her and holding her tightly while he looks at her foot.
He’s tanned with dark, almost black hair which forms messy waves over his olive-skinned face. He’s bearded and has high cheekbones and a sharp blade of a nose. He’s dressed in old faded jeans and a red polo shirt that clings to his wide shoulders and long muscled arms. He looks up and starts.
“Shit!” His voice is deep and rumbly but I don’t get the chance to say anything as in his surprise he lets go of the sheep and she seizes her freedom with alacrity, bouncing and hopping away startlingly quickly for an animal with a limp. “Shit!” he says again.
“Sorry,” I say, jumping up and straddling the fence. “Let me help you.”
“There’s no need,” he begins to say but I jump down on the other side and grin up at him. And I mean up. I only come up to his shoulder and he dwarfs me.
“No problem,” I say. “She looks hurt and it’s my fault anyway for creeping up on you.” I grimace. “Like a great big sheep creeper.” I wave my hands. “Like something mother sheep warn their babies about. Beware the London Sheep Creeper. He’s a nose breather.”
He stares at me for a second and I just have time to register how pretty his eyes are. Hazel coloured, they glow almost green in the sunlight, clear and limpid like a forest stream. Then he bursts into laughter and I stare, transfixed and probably nothiding it very well. His laughter is warm and rich and has an almost gentle air about it. Almost comforting. I shake my head. He’s probably straight and I really don’t need to perv over him. I might get my head kicked in.
Recovering, he looks at me. “Okay then,” he says. His voice is deep and rich. There’s a posh drawl to it but it’s undercut by a local twang, as if the voice has a split personality. “Let’s catch Kylie.”
“Kylie? Who calls their sheepKylie?”
“She’s quick on her feet,” he muses. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m not sure the actual Kylie would be flattered,” I say dourly, and he laughs again.
At that moment Kylie darts out of a bush and runs at us. The ovine one obviously, not the Australian diva.
“Kylie,” my companion shouts. “Who’s a good girl? Come here, beauty.”
Kylie shoots him a very old-fashioned look, tosses her head and bounces off as best she can with only three healthy feet.
“You’ve got a way with the women,” I say dryly as we watch her little bum bounce up and down and her tail wagging furiously with the movement.
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.” He looks me up and down slowly and time seems to slow like being caught in treacle. “With the men too,” he says slowly and I actually shiver.Wow. He’s potent.
I open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but Kylie makes a running dart past me and before I can think, I reach down and grab her. She’s surprisingly strong, and for a second I freeze as I’m not actually sure what to do with a sheep now I’ve got one.
