Page 4 of Milo
Warmth crosses Silas’s face and he shoots me a quick reassuring look that Milo misses. “It’s Silas please, Milo,” he says in the warm voice he uses with sick animals. He smiles at Milo. “Welcome toChi an Mor. I want you to consider this as your home until you’re ready to go again.”
Chapter
One
Niall completely missed out on the memo that I’m a grown man now.
FIVE YEARS LATER
Milo
I hear my best friend Oz’s entourage before I see them. A cheerful whistle from him, the pattering of claws from his dog Chewwy on the wood floor, and the sound of a baby cooing. I smile and bend over the portrait in front of me and dip my swab into the solvent before rolling it delicately over the surface of the picture to remove the old layer of varnish. Slowly the old man’s dark doublet lightens to a rich green and I nod in satisfaction.
A strand of my long hair escapes my ponytail and I hook it impatiently back over my ear, making a mental note to get it cut. I consider making another mental note not to forget the first one, but I know the likelihood is high that this time nextmonth my hair will be even longer and more unmanageable until I approach a similarity to Mr. Twit.
The door creaks open and I hear Oz’s sigh. “This room is fucking freezing, Milo.”
Startled, I ask, “Is it?” I straighten up and hear my spine crack. Art conservation might sound glamorous, but it’s actually low paid and quite hard on the body. I think people imagine a beautiful room full of exotic paintings when it’s actually more likely to be working up a scaffold getting dirty in the cold and damp. As a consequence, I’m sure my spine is aging more rapidly than the rest of me. Currently, my body is twenty-seven and my spine is the same age as the pyramids.
He shakes his head. “I know you can be a bit absentminded, but surely even you’ve noticed the tell-tale signs of your breath in the air and your fingers dropping off from frostbite?”
“It’s not that cold. It has to be cool in here, but I probably wouldn’t notice anyway. Where I grew up, this is positively balmy.”
“Did you grow up in the North Pole?”
I laugh and, stripping off my gloves, I hold out my hands for the baby he’s carrying. “It’s going to get even colder in a second when you open that window because of the solvent fumes in here. Anyway, give me my precious,” I coo. “She hasn’t seen her Uncle Milo in hours.”
His mouth quirks but he hands the baby over quickly, watching me with an affectionate look on his sharp face. He opens the window, letting in the cold autumnal air, and settles his arse down on the old chair in the corner of my studio. He winces and immediately propels himself up. “Jesus. How old is this chair?”
“About the same age as my mother, I think,” I say, settling his daughter, Cora, in my arms. She coos and reaches for me,her brown eyes warm and curious and her dark mop of hair an exclamation mark over her forehead.
“Well, it’s time for it to go then,” he mutters. “Jesus, that spring got luckier with me than Silas has managed for a few days.”
I laugh. “Let’s keep it. I’ll make sure to sit in it and get a happy ending.”
“You’d have more chance of a happy ending if you moved out of this room,” he mutters, edging over to the portrait before recoiling slightly. “Bloody hell, is that a relation of my husband or a suspect in the Jack the Ripper case?”
I laugh and Cora startles slightly. I shush her and kiss the tiny fingers she holds up to my face. Moving next to him, I stare down at the picture. “He is a bit grim, isn’t he?”
“Grim? Caligula was grim. This is a new and previously undiscovered level of malevolence.” He cocks his head to one side. “Is it my imagination or do his eyes follow you when you move?”
I shake my head. “My remit isn’t to judge. Instead, I reveal what has been previously hidden.”
“While I’m sure that sounds romantic in your head, let’s be realistic. You’ve actually just wiped dirt off a grumpy old git’s face.”
I laugh. “I’m so glad my time at art college wasn’t wasted.”
He looks searchingly at me and opens his mouth but then closes it again. I stare at him. “Oh my God, what were you going to say? It must be bad if it’s made Oz Gallagher shut up.”
He laughs, and I look affectionately at him. I know he’s going to tell me the truth. Oz doesn’t ever shy away from that. He’s my best friend in the world and it comes as a shock to realise that I’ve only known him for a couple of years. He came here toChi an Morin all his wisecracking, sassy glory and proceeded to turn everyone’s lives upside down. Footloose and fancy-free, heonly intended to stay for a few months and ease the old house into opening to the general public. The best-laid plans always go wrong – or right – and now he’s settled with his husband Silas, the current earl, and they have a beautiful seven-month-old daughter.
He clears his throat and looks at me, and I straighten from kissing Cora’s forehead. “What?”
“I just think that you’re actually a bit wasted here, Milo.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so bloody talented. People from all over the country are starting to come here to consult with you, and rather than enjoying it you’re stuck in a small, cold room wearing ugly gloves and hunched over a hideous painting. It’s like something from a Dickens novel.”
