Page 18 of Oz
He shrugs. “He hated being here. Said it was boring. He also hated being told what to do. He was happy to take a wage but seemed to think he earned it on his back.” He winces. “It was a bit messy at the end.”
“Yes, I know that feeling,” I say softly. He shoots me a look, realisation on his face, and I nod. “It’s why I’m looking for a new job.” I pause before saying firmly, “I won’t do that again.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” he says softly. “I think we can work well together, Oz. I’ve got a good feeling.” His next words come slowly and almost reluctantly. “I suppose it’s good that we’re both on the same page about the inadvisability of workplace relationships.”
And just like that, we both agree without too many words not to act on the attraction we can feel. I fight the instinctive urge I have to argue with our decision because I don’t know where it’s coming from.
“Same page, same paragraph, same word,” I say slowly. I know that I’m lying. As for him, I have no idea.
Chapter
Four
Pick out the gems
Silas
I sit in my study, trying to attend to at least some of the paperwork, but my attention is drawn once more to the open French windows and the gardens beyond. Oz marched past the windows about ten minutes ago with Milo and Chewwy following obediently behind. Much to Oz’s bemusement, Chewwy has become fascinated with him and follows him everywhere.
Oz was talking twenty miles a minute, his hands flying and his face alternatively horrified and amused. I’m embarrassed to admit that I crept over to the window and watched them have a very animated conversation about the siting of rubbish bins and the fact that the raised curb is a lawsuit in waiting if anyone trips on it.
I’d stood concealed by the curtains, utterly enthralled by him. He’s very beautiful. That’s an obvious fact. He has shiny hair that’s as dark and glossy as the blackbird’s plumage that waits outside the kitchen door every morning for toast crumbs. His eyes are a clear bright blue that reminds me of the bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin that always sat in my father’s drinks cabinet. His cheekbones are high and his mouth is full and pink. He’s slender and small but somehow the force of his personality makes him seem bigger.
I’d watched them for a while until they’d concluded their list of failings and moved onwards with Oz’s low, slightly hoarse voice with its tinge of north London and a light Irish brogue sounding out above the more familiar tones of Milo.
I’ve then spent the last ten minutes reminding myself that, judging from my history, I am an appallingly bad judge of character and cannot be trusted to find a partner. I remind myself about the fact that Oz has obviously just come out of a relationship with his boss that ended badly. I then try to recall David and how fucking angry I feel at the mess he’s made.
When that doesn’t work and I find myself thinking about the sleeve of tattoos on Oz’s arm and trying to remember what the pictures are on it, I give up and bring out the big guns. Picking up the phone, I dial a familiar number and settle back in my chair, one ear still out for the sound of Oz’s voice. The phone rings a couple of times before a much-loved voice says, “Silas, is that you?”
“Henry, can you do me a favour very quickly?”
“Anything for you.” My brother pauses and laughs. “Is it illegal? If it is, I’m definitely in. I’m getting very bored of defending the law.”
“You make yourself sound like a knight,” I laugh. “Rather than a rich ginger lawyer.”
“Always with the ginger jibes,” he says mournfully. “I’d have thought during the thirty-odd years you’ve been my brother you’d have thought up better insults.”
I laugh. “Why bother when this one has always worked?”
“Well, my time is money. I’ve always wanted to say that. Makes me sound a bit like Michael Douglas inWall Street.”
“No, it makes you sound like an ageing old hooker. Stop it and focus on helping me.”
“What do you need?” he asks immediately. “If I can’t do it, then Ivo will.”
“You’d bring your lover into this?”
He laughs. “Try keeping him out of it. You know how fucking nosy he is.”
I laugh. “Okay, very quickly I need you to list the worst examples of partners I’ve picked from the beginning.”
“Since the beginning of time?” he says doubtfully.
“I’m not that old, Henry. Just the twenty-odd years of dating. Pick out the gems.”
“How can I do that? They were all bloody awful. That’s like asking me to pick between Darth Vader and Donald Trump. Both terrible but for different reasons.”
“Well, I know I’m a bad picker but I’d never have gone for Trump. That orange instant tan would have messed up my Egyptian cotton sheets.”
