Page 26 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Eleven

There’s a theatre right at the edge of England

Oz

For the next five minutes, I watch bemused as he stands in the middle of the road and directs cars left and right into fields, along with a great deal of laughter and that wide, friendly smile on his face.

A few times the driver of a vehicle has lowered his window with a frown, but each time Silas smiles and says something and the result is laughter and an easy-going acceptance of his requests.

When he gets back into the car I grin at him. “I really don’t know why I’m here. You’ve got an arsenal of your own with that smile and the understanding that people will just do as they’re told. Why haven’t you pointed it at the house?”

He starts the engine and we move off. “I’m glad I didn’t,” he says. “Look what I got.”

I shake my head. “Where are we going? Your date shouldn’t be kept in the dark unless you’ve blindfolded them.” He shoots me a look and I smile lasciviously. “Not that I’d know anything about that at all.”

He groans and reaches down to rearrange himself. “Thanks for that, Oz.” I laugh. “Anyway, we’re nearly there now so your curiosity will be satisfied.”

I look out of the window as we climb a steep and narrow sloping road and obey the directions of a man in a fluorescent jacket to park the car in a car park with a stunning view of the sea.

I open the door and slide out and immediately walk over to the fence. All I can see is the wide, glittering expanse of the sea. “It’s like we’re at the end of the world,” I exclaim, turning to him as he locks the door and comes towards me.

He slings his rucksack over his shoulder and stands next to me. “Not the end of the world. Just the end of England,” he says quietly. “Land’s End is a few miles over that way.” He grabs my hand. “Come on or we’ll be late.”

I turn to see people getting out of their cars and starting to flock towards an entrance to my left. They’re grabbing bags and even blankets.

“Are we going camping?” I ask doubtfully. He laughs and I turn back. “Not that I’d mind, but the last time I did that I was with Shaun. The tent got flooded and we ended up sleeping in his car on the beach for a week.”

He tugs me after him. “Who’s Shaun?”

His voice is rich and even but there’s a slight undercurrent to it. I want to say jealousy, but I’m probably wrong.

“He’s been my best friend since school. He and his boyfriend Richard are my closest friends.”

It’s not my imagination that his body relaxes. He flashes me a smile and comes to a stop.

“Ta da!” he says, indicating a sign with a flourish.

I lean forward. “The Minack Theatre,” I read. I look up. “There’s a theatre right at the edge of England. That’s cool.”

“It’s amazing. But it’s not an ordinary theatre. Minack means rocky.”

I nudge him. “Like the boxer?”

He grins. “Yes. At the end of England there is a small theatre dedicated to Sylvester Stallone, that brilliant classically trained actor of stage and screen. Don’t tell anyone or we’ll have a cult.”

I laugh, and we join the throng of people moving down a winding path.

The borders are full of fragrant plants and the air is full of excitement.

We join a queue and I wait patiently as he pays for some tickets at a booth, then grabs my hand and pulls me after him.

I look down at his fingers clasping mine and just have time to think how much I like this, when he comes to a stop and I look down and gasp.

The theatre is actually an amphitheatre set into the rocks.

Rows of seats carved from stone and set into the side of the cliff tier down to a stone stage.

People are moving and settling into their seats, their clothes a colourful exclamation mark to a place that belongs to a three-tone colour scheme with the green of the grass, the pale stone, and the deep blue sea that stretches out as far as I can see.

I turn to find him looking at me with a soft expression on his face.

“This is amazing,” I say quietly. I look down at the sea breaking onto rocks. “It’s almost like being in Ancient Greece.”

His face breaks into a wide, relieved grin. “Really? I’m so glad you like it. It’s not to everyone’s taste.”

“Why?”

“Well, because it’s a bit rustic. You’re out in the open so if it spits with rain you get it. There aren’t cushioned seats and curtains.”

I shake my head. “Have you tried bringing people here before?” I hold my breath because I don’t want to know I’m not the first.

“No,” he says, staring down at the busy scene. “I knew enough not to bother.”

I exhale my sigh of relief. “So, why me?”

“Because you’re different,” he says slowly. “And somehow I knew you’d like it.”

I cosy into the side of him and rest my head on his shoulder, looking out at the view and loving the way his arm instantly comes down over my shoulder and drags me even closer. “Well, you were right,” I say quietly. “I’m glad I’m the first.”

His hand tightens and then he releases me. “Let’s go and grab our seats. The performance is starting in ten minutes.”

“What are we watching?” I ask as we join the people heading towards the steps.

“ The Tempest . Is that okay? Do you like Shakespeare?”

“I do. I did him for A-Level and we had a school trip to see one in the West End. I loved it that much I dragged Shaun to a few more.” I laugh. “I’m not sure it was his cup of tea, to be honest. He used the theatre as a viable alternative to bed and just went to sleep. But I loved it.”

He pulls me towards the steps. They’re stone and quite steep, and although he takes them easily it’s more of a stretch for me with shorter legs, but he waits patiently, a smile of happiness on his face that’s hard to resist.

We reach the aisle he indicates and slip in at the end. We’re halfway up, with a perfect view of the stage. There’s an excited chatter around us as people settle onto the seats. Silas reaches into his bag and pulls out a large thermos flask and two paper cups. “I’ve got some rosé wine in here.”

I smirk and hold the empty cups he hands to me so he can pour the wine. “Won’t we be caught?”

He laughs. “No. Everyone does it.” I look around and grin when I see an extraordinary amount of thermos flasks being handed around.

He pulls out a brown paper bag that’s giving out a heavenly smell. “Are those Maggie’s vegetable pasties?” I ask reverently.

He grins. “Two each. They’re my favourites. And after that I’ve got two slices of Mrs Granger’s apple cake.”

I’m so charmed by this. I’m sure most men and women would expect the Earl of Ashworth to wine and dine them in splendour at expensive restaurants and nightclubs. However, this picnic with wine in paper cups and cake is perfect to me.

I take a sip of my wine, relishing the tart cold taste, and look down at the sea breaking onto the rocks and fountaining into the air. Seagulls dip low over us as if they’re tiny ticket dodgers waiting for the performance.

“It’s so beautiful,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so stunning and unusual. It has a nice feel to it.”

He nods, happiness in his eyes. “Last time I was here there were basking sharks in the bay. I spent more time watching them than I did the play.”

“Do you come here often?”

He nods. “A lot. I like going to the theatre, but I find London theatres so stuffy and stolid. I like the wildness and eccentricity of this. I’ve sat here through hot sunshine and pouring rain and loved it every time.”

He bends down and reaching into his bag again he pulls out two cushions.

“It’s like Mary Poppins’s carpet bag,” I marvel. “Why have we got these?”

“For your arse,” he whispers. “These seats aren’t the most comfortable.”

They’re stone seats with grass for a cushion and they seem okay to me, but he’s been here before and there’s a wealth of experience in his eyes. I take the cushion.

“Okay,” I whisper back. “I know you’ve got a vested interest in my arse tonight. Can’t have it going to sleep.”

He stills and looks at me and our eyes meet and catch. His darken and I watch him draw in a slow, measured breath. “No,” he mutters. “I need it wide awake tonight.”

And just like that, we acknowledge that he’s going to have me later on.

The knowledge forms a subtle undercurrent to the rest of the evening as we watch the play.

And even as Shakespeare’s beautiful words float out onto the air, I’m aware with a deep, visceral tug in my groin of the heat and strength of the body next to mine.

The sky darkens slowly from the soft lilac of twilight to the plush navy velvet of night and the sea provides its own soundtrack as it crashes onto the rocks. I shiver and lean closer because I need him rather more than I need breath.

“That was amazing,” I say quietly when the last bow has been taken.

“You really liked it?”

“It was wonderful.” I look around as people start to leave, climbing the stairs slowly until we’re among the last ones.

He sits back. “It’s got an amazing history.

It was the brainchild idea of Rowena Cade.

She pushed it every step of the way. She even heaved some of the rock down from her house up there.

Apparently, they had to light the first performance using people’s car headlights.

” He points to the side. “Over there are stone seats with the titles of the different plays that have been performed since the beginning.”

I peer over. “There are even little balconies,” I exclaim.

He rubs his neck. “Did you mind sitting where we were? I don’t like it up there. It feels like everyone’s eyes are on you.”

I stand up and pull him up after me, hugging him affectionately. “I loved where we were,” I say softly. “Thank you for a wonderful date.” I pause. “I mean, we weren’t hiding in a stranger’s drawing room and I wasn’t blowing you, but not everything can live up to that first date.”

“I don’t know,” he says hoarsely. “The night’s young yet.”