Page 13 of Oz
“You didn’t?”
He runs his finger contemplatively along the surface of his desk. I stare at his broad hands and long tanned fingers and swallow. “I think if you’d met my father you’d have got what you were expecting from a member of the nobility,” he says slowly.He looks up and the faint cloud that had appeared over his face vanishes immediately. He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m not like him.” He pauses. “I know I’m not here a lot–”
“That’s none of my business,” I immediately say.
“Well, actually it is. If you’re my house manager you sort of need to know where I am as you’ll need my approval for a lot of things.”
“You’re still going to employ me?” I gasp, and he frowns.
“Of course. Why not?” He shakes his head. “I like you, Oz.” He falters slightly. “I mean you’ve obviously got a sense of humour, which you’ll need, and you’re different.”
“Different good or different weird?”
“Bit of both. Both of which I think we need here,” he says tentatively and relaxes when I smile. He continues staring down at that restless hand. “Niall vouched for you, anyway.”
“I’m not sure why,” I say in a spirit of absolute honesty. “I think he might have had sunstroke or something.”
He laughs. “Niall’s a good judge of character. If he thinks you’ll fit, you will. I wish he’d had a say in employing–” He pauses.
“The previous house manager?” I ask softly.
He jerks, looking awkward. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But that’s all on me. I think it speaks volumes as to why I shouldn’t get involved in hiring anymore. And if I had any doubts I just have to look around and see the mess he left us in.”
I shrug, feeling something twang in my chest at the look of disappointment on his face. I don’t know why, but I don’t like the idea of someone hurting this man. My earlier judgement is fast vanishing. This is not an uncaring posh bloke at all. He has a warmth and a genuineness to him that’s almost palpable.
“Never mind.” I make myself wave my hand carelessly and his gaze seems caught on the black polish on my nails. For thefirst time I feel almost self-conscious at what someone thinks of my eyeliner and nail varnish.
He looks up at me. “I like that black. It’s glittery.”
I stare back at him for a long second, feeling astonishment swirl through me before bursting into laughter. “Yes. It’s as black as my soul and you’ll be glad of it because I’m going to ride roughshod all over the arrangements here. It’ll suit my image of being the Dark Destroyer.”
He laughs, and when it dies away, we stare at each other. Then he clears his throat and gets to his feet. Offering his hand, he smiles gently. “Welcome to the madhouse, Oz.”
I shake it, feeling that warm tingle run lazily through my blood again. “May God help us.”
He chuckles and I smile helplessly as the sun lays lazy stripes over our clasped hands, making my polish sparkle and pop.
The next morning, I wander out of my bathroom and over to the window in my bedroom. I switch the toothbrush around in my mouth and carry on brushing as I look down at my view of the lavender garden.
Milo had shown me to my room last night, apologising for its smallness and plainness in a way I can’t comprehend. I grew up sleeping in a bedroom that was smaller than the en-suite bathroom I’ve been given, and the clean pure lines of the room and the large window showing a view of the gardens seem like something I’ve seen in a hotel brochure. Not to mention the softness of the mattress. I’d slept like a baby cocooned in a nest of soft, scented covers, the only sound in the night the rustle of the trees and the distant sound of the sea.
Ten minutes later, dressed in skinny jeans, an old denim shirt, and my navy Converse, I trot down the stairs. Ten minutes after that, I trot down another set of fucking stairs, and then another. The place is like a bloody rabbit warren. Staircases run here and there with no rhyme or reason. By the end of the six months I’ll definitely have lost weight because I’ll have missed every fucking meal.
Finally, I reach the ground floor and follow the scent of coffee and sound of clinking cutlery. It leads me to the dining room which is a light-filled room set at the back of the house. Sun streams through the tall windows highlighting the old furniture that looks like it’s been here since the house was built. My eye catches on threadbare faded fabric and the thinness of the carpet.
At a huge oak table Milo is sitting eating toast and readingThe Times. I mentally roll my eyes and saunter in.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say cheerfully. “Took the wrong staircase a few times.” I look at his paper. “You’re like a walking, talking advertisement for private school, Milo.”
He smiles up at me, which is a nice change from the startled rabbit look of yesterday. “Help yourself to breakfast,” he says, pointing to a huge sideboard on which are set silver warming dishes. I lift the lids, seeing bacon and eggs. The bacon is grey and congealed in grease and when I prod the eggs with a fork they don’t move.
“I’d have a better breakfast at a service station,” I muse. I lift another lid and cringe. “What the hell isthis?” I mutter, pointing at the offending item.
Milo obligingly cranes his neck. “Kidneys,” he says happily.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “Kidneys. Who eats kidneys apart from Hannibal Lecter and Jeffrey Dahmer?”
There’s a low chuckle behind me and I don’t need to turn around to identify who has just come in. I just need to feel thetightening in my balls to know Silas is standing behind me. I cast a look over my shoulder and see him there looking fresh and fantastic in battered old jeans and a green and white striped shirt that makes his hazel eyes gleam greenly.
