Page 10 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

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 in Wall 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.”

He laughs and I hear his pen tapping. “Okay. How about Rupert? He drank all of Father’s port and then passed out in his study and we had to hide him behind the curtain when Father came home early.

” He pauses. “Or Katy who got so drunk at Mother’s third wedding that she threw up over the wedding cake? ”

I think hard, trying to conjure up their faces. “Okay, this is good. Although the latent theme of alcoholism in my dates is slightly worrisome. Keep going.”

“Phillipa, who you dated for a couple of weeks. She came for a weekend and left wedding brochures lying around everywhere. Beatrice, who didn’t leave any wedding brochures around because she was already married and whose irate husband made such a wonderful addition to my birthday weekend.

Or the charming Freddie who took out a credit card in your name.

If spending was an Olympic sport you’d have actually been able to claim that you’d slept with a champion.

” I laugh and he pauses for a second. “Why am I doing this?” There’s a stunned silence and I know he’s going to come to the correct conclusion.

When he speaks again his voice has gone high. “You’ve met someone.”

“ Henry .”

“Oh shit. How bad is it?” He coughs. “Should I come down there and help? Wait. Wait. Don’t let them meet Mother until I can witness it. I need a good laugh.”

I shake my head. “Calm down. No one’s meeting anyone because there’s no reason.”

“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you. Tell it to Mother.”

“She’s still in denial about my bisexuality. I’ll be dead by the time she comes round to it.”

“Or been eaten by feral cats.”

“What the fuck? I’m not that old. Anyway, the only cat we have is Mabel and she’s too fat and lazy to look at me as dinner.”

“Seriously, Silas. How bad could it be? I mean, I know you’ve had some bad luck–”

“He’s the new house manager.”

“Well shit, you’re fucking doomed then.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I know . I absolutely know that. It’s terrible timing and a shitstorm waiting to happen, but he’s just–”

“Just what?”

“Funny and alive.”

There’s a long silence before he speaks. “I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

“Pshaw. Of course you have.”

“No. No, I haven’t. You’ll talk about their faces or bodies or how they need you and that you can help them. But I’ve never heard you talk about someone like that.”

I shrug. “Well, nothing’s going to happen.”

He pauses. “Okay.”

I’m startled and a little disappointed by his ready acquiescence but I remind myself again that he knows me. “Anyway, I’m going,” I say. “How’s Ivo?”

“He’s fine.” I can hear the smile in his voice and it warms my chest. He’s been in love with our old stepbrother Ivo for years and they got together a couple of years ago. I’ve never seen a happier or more sarcastic couple. They make me smile.

“I love you,” I say affectionately.

“I love you too,” he says solemnly. “I’ll see you very, very soon.”

“In the blink of an eye,” I return, the way we always used to quantify our separations when we were sent to different boarding schools.

I put the phone down, smiling, and look up as the door opens and Niall sticks his head round. “Quick, come on.”

I stand up. “What’s the matter? Where are we going?”

“Stable block. Oz has cornered Mr Johnson the builder. It’s a bit like Tyson versus Holyfield.”

“Shit,” I say, crossing the study quickly. Then I pause. “Who’s winning?”

He shoots me a look. “Who do you think?”

“Oz, of course.” He laughs and I shoot him a look. “He’s very different from the sort of person you said you wanted for the job, Niall.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I know. But I sat in the interview room and it was like they’d all been made by Mattel.

Perfect and plastic. I was so bored and then he walked in and the room came alive.

And I thought how sick I was of public school Barbie and Kens.

He’s perfect for–” He pauses. “I just sat there and I thought, I want him.”

“You want him?” My voice is a little sharper than I want but I can’t backtrack because Niall knows me better than anyone. He should do. We were roommates at boarding school and all through uni.

He stops abruptly and turns to face me. “Of course not.”

“What do you mean by that? What’s wrong with him?”

He smiles while I stare at him. “Absolutely nothing. He’s just not for me.”

“Then who is he for?” I ask, but I’m distracted by the sound of raised voices and quicken my pace.

By mutual accord we stop before the door and poke our heads around.

Mr Johnson the builder is pacing agitatedly around the rubble-strewn room, pausing only to shout and wave his hands around.

Oz, meanwhile, looks as cool as a cucumber.

He’s leaning against the wall, his ankles neatly crossed.

I watch as he checks his nails and sighs resignedly while Milo, clutching an armful of plans, looks askance at him.

“Mr Johnson,” Oz finally says, and although he isn’t loud his voice cuts through the room and the builder stops. “Mr Johnson, can I call you Barry?” Milo mutters something and Oz nods. “Okay, I won’t call you Barry because apparently that isn’t your name.” He pauses. “Although it would suit you.”

I repress a snort of laughter and Niall turns a laughing face to me.

“What the hell are you on about?” Mr Johnson roars.

“Well, I like to be friendly,” Oz says primly. He turns a warm gaze on the man that obviously startles him. “I’m just so sorry for everything.”

“What?” The builder sounds worried now and his eyes are fixed on Oz who shakes his head in a very sorrowful manner.

“I’m sorry that times are so hard for you.”

“Times are so hard for me ?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Oz puts a hand up to his mouth. “That’s just what I’ve heard.”

“Heard? Heard where? Who the fuck is spreading rumours about me?”

“I really don’t know. Isn’t it terrible?” Oz sighs. He moves closer to the man and lowers his voice. “They’re saying you can’t complete jobs anymore what with the problems with your workforce and everything.”

“What bloody problems with my workforce?”

Oz looks at him confidingly and I want to shout with laughter. “Well, the rampant alcoholism amongst your men.”