Page 42 of Oz
I examine his face intently. He’s given that information away so casually but I know I’ll store it away like there’s a worldwide embargo on Silas details. Things are starting to become clearer about him. He looks sideways and catches me watching him. “What?”
I shrug and give voice to the question that’s been in the back of my mind for a while. “I was just wondering what your childhood was like.”
He shoots me a glance that’s heavy with something I can’t put a name to. “Why?”
I hesitate. “You seem to have been very reliant on the staff.”
To my amazement he laughs. “You’re right. It’s a good thing too, because if we’d been reliant on our mother then Henry and I would have died from neglect.” He sobers. “While with my father, I’d have rather explored that option.”
“Was he one of those helicopter parents the media keep going on about?”
“Only if the helicopter was an Apache helicopter and it was crashing on you.”
“Oh. Oh shit!”
He nods and carries on talking slowly. I think it helps that he’s not looking at me. “He wasn’t a nice man at all. You’d have hated him. He was every preconceived idea of the aristocracy that you came here with. He was arrogant and petty, narrow minded and petulant. He thought he knew more than anyone else, which is why you’re working yourself into an early grave trying to do up the house.”
“Not an early grave. You make me sound like I’ve got cholera.” He laughs. “Would he approve of all this?”
He laughs. “Fuck no. The thought would have given him apoplexy. We opened the house twice a year to let the peasants see how wonderful we were and then it was just us again trying to survive the guerrilla warfare he thought was child raising.” Iswallow hard at the shadow on his face. “He was terrible to the staff. They’d do some small thing and they’d be out on their ear, and as they lived in the house they’d lose their home as well as a job.”
“What was he like to you and Henry?”
“He wasn’t … nice,” he says slowly. “He was homophobic, which gave him a great deal of scope for parental angst seeing as Henry is gay and I’m bisexual.” He pauses. “He was so cruel. He could cut you down in seconds if you disappointed him, not to mention using his fists.” He sounds far away and then he shakes himself and shoots me a weak smile. “Look at me spoiling our date. This is why I’m single.”
I shake my head. “I asked, so that means I want to know. I don’t usually fake interest because my lack of attention gives me away every time. How did you cope?”
He shrugs. “I was away from it a lot. I was the heir, so I was sent away to boarding school very early. That made me feel worse though because it left Henry with him, and Henry is …” He smiles. “Well, Henry is lovely. He’s dreamy and kind and very warm. Which made him perfect for pissing off our father. I intervened as much as I could.”
“How?”
“I’d divert his attention and take the punishment or hold him back.” He jerks as if he’s said too much and smiles. “Needless to say, Henry and I had a very outdoor sort of childhood and if you were kind to us we remembered it.”
“I get it now,” I say softly. “I’ll remember.”
“Thank you,” he says gratefully.
Silence falls for a second and then I stir. “So, you’re bisexual?”
It doesn’t come out as casually as I intend and he shoots a grin at me. “I am.” He pauses. “Wait. Are you bothered by that?”
He looks anxious and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. Should I be?”
“Other people have been,” he says grimly. “If it’s worth anything, I’m attracted to a person. I like a good sense of humour, nice eyes, and intelligence. I don’t like labels.”
I shrug. “I just like honesty,” I say firmly. “As long as people are truthful, I’m happy.”
He stares ahead at the road. “I will always be truthful,” he says quietly and I nod.
He steers the talk into general getting-to-know-you chat then, and the mood lightens. We cover favourite bands and books while he steers the car adeptly down the narrow lanes. London Grammar’sHey Nowis playing low and I hold my hand out of the car window feeling the wind buffet it and watching the rolling fields eagerly for a sign of the sea. Everything I see looks brown from the heatwave and the sky is a clear denim blue. I close my eyes and tilt my face into the breeze.
The car slows, and I look up as he flicks the indicator and turns down a long winding drive. “Going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, smiling at him.
He grins. “We’re going to view a competitor.”
I sit up, excitement coursing through me. “Is this a house?”
He nods. “Open to the public. Alexander, who is Lord Branton, lets a manager do it all, but it’s very established. He’s also the most pompous twat I’ve ever met. Niall and I were at boarding school with him and our fathers were close friends. I thought we’d scope out their operation, pick up some tips if we need them, and then tell him I’m opening to the public too. By five o’clock my father will be spinning in his grave.”
