Page 20 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

“He wasn’t … nice,” he says slowly. “He was homophobic, which gave him a great deal of scope for parental angst seeing as Henry is gay and I’m bisexual.

” He pauses. “He was so cruel. He could cut you down in seconds if you disappointed him, not to mention using his fists.” He sounds far away and then he shakes himself and shoots me a weak smile.

“Look at me spoiling our date. This is why I’m single. ”

I shake my head. “I asked, so that means I want to know. I don’t usually fake interest because my lack of attention gives me away every time. How did you cope?”

He shrugs. “I was away from it a lot. I was the heir, so I was sent away to boarding school very early. That made me feel worse though because it left Henry with him, and Henry is …” He smiles.

“Well, Henry is lovely. He’s dreamy and kind and very warm.

Which made him perfect for pissing off our father. I intervened as much as I could.”

“How?”

“I’d divert his attention and take the punishment or hold him back.” He jerks as if he’s said too much and smiles. “Needless to say, Henry and I had a very outdoor sort of childhood and if you were kind to us we remembered it.”

“I get it now,” I say softly. “I’ll remember.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully.

Silence falls for a second and then I stir. “So, you’re bisexual?”

It doesn’t come out as casually as I intend and he shoots a grin at me. “I am.” He pauses. “Wait. Are you bothered by that?”

He looks anxious and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. Should I be?”

“Other people have been,” he says grimly. “If it’s worth anything, I’m attracted to a person. I like a good sense of humour, nice eyes, and intelligence. I don’t like labels.”

I shrug. “I just like honesty,” I say firmly. “As long as people are truthful, I’m happy.”

He stares ahead at the road. “I will always be truthful,” he says quietly and I nod.

He steers the talk into general getting-to-know-you chat then, and the mood lightens.

We cover favourite bands and books while he steers the car adeptly down the narrow lanes.

London Grammar’s Hey Now is playing low and I hold my hand out of the car window feeling the wind buffet it and watching the rolling fields eagerly for a sign of the sea.

Everything I see looks brown from the heatwave and the sky is a clear denim blue.

I close my eyes and tilt my face into the breeze.

The car slows, and I look up as he flicks the indicator and turns down a long winding drive. “Going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, smiling at him.

He grins. “We’re going to view a competitor.”

I sit up, excitement coursing through me. “Is this a house?”

He nods. “Open to the public. Alexander, who is Lord Branton, lets a manager do it all, but it’s very established.

He’s also the most pompous twat I’ve ever met.

Niall and I were at boarding school with him and our fathers were close friends.

I thought we’d scope out their operation, pick up some tips if we need them, and then tell him I’m opening to the public too.

By five o’clock my father will be spinning in his grave. ”

The barely concealed glee makes me laugh. “ That’s your date?” He looks nervously at me and I stop and grin. “This is epic. Have you got my diary?”

“Of course,” he says solemnly and, following the signs, he parks where a man in a reflective jacket signals him to. He switches the engine off and we both look at the man who is officiously pointing at a family in a Ford Focus.

“Do we need one of those people?” he asks dubiously.

I look at the man waving his arms around. “I don’t think we need a human windmill, exactly.” He snorts and I smile at him. “But we will need someone to direct cars. And a shed,” I say as an afterthought. “And a portable radiator for when it’s cold.”

“My father would have expected him to burn his own belongings to keep warm.”

I laugh. “I don’t think your father would have got on with the European Court of Human Rights.”

“He’d have been horrified that they recognised anybody below the aristocracy as human, let alone having rights.”

I grab his hand and squeeze it. “Well, luckily I’m here with you today. I don’t think your father and I would have got on.”

“I’d have paid money to see it though,” he says, lifting our hands up and dropping a casual kiss on mine. “One can understand people seeing gladiators if it had been you and my father in the Colosseum.”

I stare at him, lost in the casual intimacy he shows, and in the fact that I just willingly picked his hand up. I never do that. Being cautious, I always wait for the other man to make overtures of affection. Which is why it’s completely alien to me when it actually happens.

“You okay?” he asks and I smile.

“Absolutely. Let’s go and steal secrets. It’ll be like Mission Impossible .”

“Weren’t a large number of them massacred in that film?”

I laugh. “ Yes. But that’s not what’s happening today.”

Following the many signs, we walk to the visitor centre. “It’s like he got these signs on special offer,” I whisper to Silas. “Do you think he’s got a man in the shed whose job is solely to make them?”

“Knowing Alexander, he’s making him do it in his dinner hour.”

I grin and move close to him, feeling warm inside when he maintains his hold on my hand and completely ignores the scandalized look on the woman’s face at the ticket office as if she isn’t there.

“Will that be for the two of you?” she asks in a frigid tone.

“It certainly will.” Silas’s voice is normally a rich warm drawl that combines a tinge of Cornish in it along with the upper-class tones of his upbringing. Now, however, you could cut glass with it and the woman responds like one of Pavlov’s dogs, instantly straightening and smiling ingratiatingly.

“And would you like a guidebook?”

“I don’t know. Darling, do you want a guidebook?”

There’s a brief moment of silence before I realise that he’s talking to me. “Oh. Oh, yes, that would be lovely.”

Her nose wrinkles in consternation when she hears my accent but she scurries to get one and practically bows us out of the door. We find ourselves on a gravelled path and he stops and turns to me. “You okay?”

I look at him in consternation. “I’m fine. Why?”

“That old woman’s attitude. It was horrible.”

I laugh. “I’ve had worse and I’m sure you have.”

He shrugs. “Not much.”

I smile. “Well, of course you wouldn’t. You’re the son of an earl and you’re very masculine. I, however, am small and not, so believe me, I’ve heard worse.” His brow furrows with concern and I shake my head. “Let’s move on … darling.”

He laughs and moves closer. “I saw your face when I said that.”

“I didn’t realise you were talking to me.”

“Yes, but when you did, you liked it.” He grabs my shoulders and brings me into him. “Admit the truth.”

I laugh. “Okay, I might have liked it a little bit,” I admit. “But don’t go getting a big head.”

“It’s unavoidable around you,” he says solemnly, and I shove him.

“Come on. Mission Nosy Git is a go.”

We turn and walk towards the house. I have to admit it’s impressive. The grounds are immaculate and glowing green, even in this heatwave. The house sits in an Elizabethan ‘E’ shape, covered in ivy and looking down on the sweeping hills full of grazing sheep.

We crunch over the pea gravel and even that sounds expensive. I nudge him. “What do you think?”

Silas looks around dismissively. “Those sheep don’t look very well fed,” he says judiciously.

I shake my head. “Hand me my diary.”

“Why?”

“I’m making a note to put the anorexic sheep out of the sight of the general public.”

He snorts and throws his arm over my shoulders affectionately. “Come on, sassy boy. Let’s go and criticise the house.” He looks at the Aston Martin parked at a rakish angle on the forecourt and sniffs. “Bloody Alexander. Such a show-off.”

I nudge him. “I’d rather have your Land Rover.”

He looks at me doubtfully. “Really?”

I nod. “It’s got character, like you.”

He smiles helplessly. “Well, that’s the one thing that can be said for me. No money and a house falling down, but I’ve got character.” His face clouds slightly as he looks over the immaculate house.

“Can we be really mean when we judge him?” I whisper and his face clears.

“Only for you.”

I laugh, and as he guides me to the house, I take a second to relish the moment. The sun beats down on us and his arm is a wonderful weight. His hair blows in the slight breeze, and I can smell the scent of apples from his shampoo along with his cologne and a trace of clean sweat.

Then we cross into the shadowed depths of what I have to say is a very poky lobby. It’s flagstoned like Silas’s house, but where his is an open, sun-washed space, this is dark because of the carved oak wood panelling.

“That’s fake,” I whisper.

He’s instantly diverted. “ Really ? How do you know?”

“It’s from a different period and if you look up, it doesn’t reach the ceiling.”

He looks at me admiringly. “You’re going to be of so much use today.”

Guides dressed in navy skirts and white blouses that make them look like air hostesses wait by the door, and as we queue I look idly over a display case full of family silver which is engraved with a crest that looks very much like a budgie my auntie had once.

I snort, and he looks at me curiously, but we reach the front of the line so he turns to the woman.

“Ticket please,” she snaps and waits with a very impatient air as he rummages through his pockets to find them.

She sighs heavily as she accepts them and casts a sour gaze over him, pausing when she takes in his arm around me.

Her lips tighten but she says nothing. Instead, she gestures at the rucksack on his arm.

“That will have to go in the lockers we provide, I’m afraid.” She doesn’t sound afraid. She sounds happy. “We can’t have people walking round with bags that size.” I hate women like this and I hate that her horrid gaze is still locked on Silas’s hand on my shoulder.