Page 82 of Oz
I look into eyes that are so pale a blue they’re nearly grey. “And who is this?” she asks.
“Oz Gallagher,” I say and then hesitate.Does she have a title? How am I supposed to address her?The silence stretches and her mouth tilts in a cruel fashion.
Before she can say anything, Silas is next to me. “This is Oz,” he says coolly. “Oz, this is my mother.” He pauses. “You can call her Olivia.” She opens her mouth and shuts it quickly when he levels her with a look. “Now, Mother, how is it that you’re here early? Where’s Martin?”
“At home,” she says expressionlessly. “He’s got a golf match tomorrow, so I came early. Perfect timing for me to see my two sons.”
“See or petrify?” Ivo mutters and Henry laughs.
Olivia levels them with a glare. She turns back to me. “So, you are Silas’s house manager then,” she says. “And what qualifications do you possess to do this job?”
“Erm, well I’ve got a degree in Fine Art and the History of Art.”
“He’s already had an interview,” Silas says brusquely. “Let’s not perform another one.”
“Well, Silas, how rude. I was just making conversation. Please don’t talk to me in that manner in front of the staff.”
“Oz isn’t just staff,” he says, and her eyes narrow as she sees his hand take mine and squeeze.
“I see,” she says in a glacial voice. “How quaint. It’s uncanny how you grow more like your father as you get older. Wasn’t the fourth wife a maid here?” She sighs. “I can just see him chasing her round the servants’ quarters. So common.”
“I’m trying to unsee that,” Henry says wryly. “Thank you for the image. I’ll try and bleach it away later.”
“That’s enough, Mother,” Silas says and it’s loud and carrying. His mother and Ivo look startled and Henry looks gleeful.
“What do you mean?”
“Stop it with your horrible comments.”
She shakes her head. “Doesn’t the Bible mention the serpent’s tongue of a child answering back?”
“Don’t pretend you read anything but Jilly Cooper, Mother. I don’t think she covers the finer points of theology,” Henry says glibly.
“Enough,” Silas says. “Let’s get you settled in. Have you eaten?”
“I never eat after seven,” she murmurs and sweeps up the steps, the rest of us following her like courtiers.
As soon as we’re inside I excuse myself and race up the servants’ stairs to the first floor and her room. I rush in and sag with relief. Her luggage has been delivered and the room is clean and smells of the perfume from a vase of roses I’d cut from the gardens and set on the polished mahogany of her dressing table. I do a quick check around the room, straightening the fresh towels and checking the drawers. It’s lucky I do because Niall has left a very old copy ofMen, the gay porn magazine, in the bedside table.
“What in the ever-livingfuck, Niall?” I mutter and grab it out of the drawer. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you moron.” I pause, looking at the cover which might be the last edition they printed before they went out of business. “After I find out where you got this from.” I slam the drawer and whirl around as I hear voices coming down the corridor.
“So, you’re telling me that he’s actually doing this job and you don’t know his parents? I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”
“I have met his mother, but nowadays we don’t make meeting the parents a part of the interview process. Not unless we’re employing five-year-olds,” Silas says, and I can hear the patience in his voice and underneath the strain.
I wince sympathetically and then look frantically at the porn mag. Where the fuck am I going to put it? I look at the open window and for one wild moment I consider throwing it out but then they enter the room and it’s too late. I hold it behind my back in one hand.
She comes to a stop. “Oh, Oz, what are you doing in here?”
I stifle a grimace. She makes it sound like they’ve caught me rifling through her knicker drawer. “I was just checking you’ve got everything you need,” I say cheerily, edging towards the door with my hand still behind my back.
She eyes me suspiciously and then smiles maliciously. “Why, whatever have you got behind your back? Is it a gift for me?” The wicked old witch obviously thinks she’s caught me red-handed with some of her belongings.
“Oh, erm,” I stutter. My mind is a blank. Silas looks at me incredulously and I try to think while she waits, tapping her foot gently on the carpet. “I was just looking to see whether you needed any reading material,” I say feebly and want to punch myself. Some part of me is shouting abort abort, but the rest of me isn’t listening. “But you have,” I say hurriedly. “So, I’ll be off and hope you have a good night’s sleep.”
“Hold on,” she says commandingly. “I’m sure I can always have more to read. I usually like magazines likeVogueandHarper’s Bazaar. What have you brought me?”
“NotVogueorHarper’s Bazaar,” I say faintly. I back up to the door slightly and she shifts position like an animal tracking me for lunch.
