Page 44 of Oz
“Yes, but when you did, you liked it.” He grabs my shoulders and brings me into him. “Admit the truth.”
I laugh. “Okay, I might have liked it a little bit,” I admit. “But don’t go getting a big head.”
“It’s unavoidable around you,” he says solemnly, and I shove him.
“Come on. Mission Nosy Git is a go.”
We turn and walk towards the house. I have to admit it’s impressive. The grounds are immaculate and glowing green, even in this heatwave. The house sits in an Elizabethan ‘E’ shape, covered in ivy and looking down on the sweeping hills full of grazing sheep.
We crunch over the pea gravel and even that sounds expensive. I nudge him. “What do you think?”
Silas looks around dismissively. “Those sheep don’t look very well fed,” he says judiciously.
I shake my head. “Hand me my diary.”
“Why?”
“I’m making a note to put the anorexic sheep out of the sight of the general public.”
He snorts and throws his arm over my shoulders affectionately. “Come on, sassy boy. Let’s go and criticise the house.” He looks at the Aston Martin parked at a rakish angle on the forecourt and sniffs. “Bloody Alexander. Such a show-off.”
I nudge him. “I’d rather have your Land Rover.”
He looks at me doubtfully. “Really?”
I nod. “It’s got character, like you.”
He smiles helplessly. “Well, that’s the one thing that can be said for me. No money and a house falling down, but I’ve got character.” His face clouds slightly as he looks over the immaculate house.
“Can we be really mean when we judge him?” I whisper and his face clears.
“Only for you.”
I laugh, and as he guides me to the house, I take a second to relish the moment. The sun beats down on us and his arm is a wonderful weight. His hair blows in the slight breeze, and I can smell the scent of apples from his shampoo along with his cologne and a trace of clean sweat.
Then we cross into the shadowed depths of what I have to say is a very poky lobby. It’s flagstoned like Silas’s house, but where his is an open, sun-washed space, this is dark because of the carved oak wood panelling.
“That’s fake,” I whisper.
He’s instantly diverted. “Really? How do you know?”
“It’s from a different period and if you look up, it doesn’t reach the ceiling.”
He looks at me admiringly. “You’re going to be of so much use today.”
Guides dressed in navy skirts and white blouses that make them look like air hostesses wait by the door, and as we queue I look idly over a display case full of family silver which is engraved with a crest that looks very much like a budgie my auntie had once. I snort, and he looks at me curiously, but we reach the front of the line so he turns to the woman.
“Ticket please,” she snaps and waits with a very impatient air as he rummages through his pockets to find them. She sighs heavily as she accepts them and casts a sour gaze over him, pausing when she takes in his arm around me. Her lips tighten but she says nothing. Instead, she gestures at the rucksack on his arm.
“That will have to go in the lockers we provide, I’m afraid.” She doesn’t sound afraid. She sounds happy. “We can’t have people walking round with bags that size.” I hate women like this and I hate that her horrid gaze is still locked on Silas’s hand on my shoulder.
“Why?” I ask blandly and Silas’s arm tightens. I look up to find him studying the floor with a quirk to his lips.
“Well, I erm–” She hesitates, obviously unsure of calling someone a possible thief.
“Oh, is it because you think we’re going to steal the family silver because he’s hugging me?” I lean forwards. “If it’s anything like the tut in that display case over there, you’ve no need to worry. I’ve seen better imitations on Camden Market.”
“It’s not imitation,” she says crossly, and I nod.
