Page 4 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Two

This is going to be a disaster

Oz

A few days later I shift uncomfortably in my chair and look around.

I still can’t quite believe that I’ve been summoned to an interview in a suite at the Dorchester.

Not with my CV, anyway. Even with the highly creative liberties I’ve taken with my job history, the holes seem very evident to me.

Still, if all else fails, I’ve obviously got a lucrative career as a fantasy writer in my future.

I sneak a quick look around at the other applicants sitting near me.

They’re eerily similar, like they rolled off a production line somewhere for earnest posh people.

They’re dressed in variations of expensive suits, and a few of them seem to know each other judging by the muted exclamations about people called Piers and India and recitations of evenings spent at each other’s country houses.

They look sparkly and untouched, and I look down at my own outfit of black pinstriped trousers with braces and a white shirt.

I fold my arms across my chest, feeling slightly self-conscious.

I’ve obviously been judged somewhat because most of them have taken a second look at my bright blue crocodile lace-up shoes and the tattoos from my sleeve that are peeking out from my shirt cuff.

I cross my legs and try hard to look serious and focused.

I think it probably comes off more as boredom, because that’s what I am. Bored to fucking death.

It takes a second call of my name from a nervous-looking man to register that the tedium is about to end.

I know it’s probably going to be replaced with abject humiliation, but at least I won’t be stuck in that room listening to what someone called Bunty did to Rupert while playing sardines at the weekend.

I leap to my feet with alacrity. “That’s me,” I say loudly.

The young man jumps nervously and waves me in.

I wander past him into the other room where a very good-looking blond man is reclining in a chair pulled up to a table.

In front of him is another chair which is obviously where I’m supposed to rest my bum.

I start towards the man, trying not to gawp too noticeably at the beautiful room and also trying not to notice that he has a copy of what looks like my CV in his hand and a smile playing on his full lips. Shit.

“Oz Gallagher?” he asks, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. “I’m Niall Fawcett. I’m the Earl of Ashworth’s estate manager.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say lightly, shaking the hand before stepping back and sitting in the chair he indicates.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Oz,” he says deeply. “Was your mother a fan of the book?”

“ The Wizard of Oz ? No. She just really likes Ozzy Osborne.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” He pauses. “I’ve been wanting to meet the author of this wonderful … CV all day.” The pause is noticeable, as is the smirk which is growing wider.

I raise my chin and sit straight in my chair and as tall as my body makes possible. If he thinks he’s going to intimidate me he’s going to be wrong. Better men than him have tried and been shot down in glorious flames.

I don’t want this poxy job anyway, I remind myself. I’ll just head off to The Crown and Arrows and get a bar job from Chris the manager. He’s been wanting in my undies for a long while. As soon as I think that, I relax into the chair and smile at the man. Time for some fun.

Something must amuse him because his lip quirks.

He sits back down and ruffles my CV rather dramatically.

“So, Oz, I see that you have a first class degree in Fine Art and History of Art.” I nod encouragingly and he strokes the side of his face contemplatively.

“And can you say that you’ve used this in a productive manner? ”

I shrug and smile earnestly. “It’s allowed me to work on Bernie’s Antique stall on Camden Market.

” I lean forward in the manner of someone imparting great knowledge.

“So many people trying to fence shit these days. Always trying to pass off total tut for Titian.” I smile and sit back.

“My name wasn’t Milo or Hilary and I didn’t go to Eton or Roedean.

Not many opportunities in the Fine Art arena for me. ”

He looks down at my CV. “And is it on that stall that you pursue what you say in here is your goal of preserving and defending the property of the aristocracy?” There’s a tremor of laughter running through his voice.

“No. That’s just a hobby.”

He coughs and sits back, enjoyment of this showing clearly in his face. “And you’re working where now?”

“Foxton, Brown and Associates,” I say calmly. “Or at least I was until a few days ago.”

“Oh, you’ve left?”

I nod happily. “I had a slight difference of opinion with my boss.”

“Which was?”

“I said he shouldn’t shag my replacement in our bed. He disagreed.”

The pale young man chokes on the water he’s just sipped, and Niall looks even more entertained. “That’s unusual, Oz.” Silence falls for a beat before he stirs. “Should I ask what your job description was, or would that be inappropriate?”

“Not at all,” I say, waving my hand in a very cavalier manner. “Let’s see. I organised his diary, booked his travel arrangements, made his coffee, and had sex with him whenever he wanted.” I lean forward. “Mainly when he wanted, I’m afraid. I’m too much of a people pleaser. It’s a problem.”

The other man is staring at me as if I’m a mirage while Niall just smirks. “Interesting,” he murmurs. “Not quite what you’ll be required to do in this job, I’m afraid.”

I seesaw my hands. “Swings and roundabouts.”

He snorts. “Indeed.” He flicks my CV up and down, fanning himself leisurely. “The position that you’re interviewing for is that of the house manager of Ashworth House. Can you tell me what you think this entails?”

I shrug and smile winsomely. “I imagine it’s a bit like being a tour manager, only with less drugs and hookers.”

There’s a stunned silence but then his face cracks slightly.

His eyes light up. “Such an interesting description,” he purrs.

“Milo, make a note of that for the next job advert we run.” At the sound of his name I shoot Milo an apologetic look, but he seems oblivious, ignoring the irony and writing busily in his notepad. I sigh sadly.

Niall leans forward, licking his finger and paging dramatically through my CV.

“The estate you’d be working on is going through a bit of a transformation.

The Earl of Ashworth is intending to open the house and gardens to the general public for six months every year.

As you’d imagine, that entails a lot of building work and organisation to get it ready.

The last manager left rather suddenly and under a cloud.

Have you any experience in organising workmen? ”

I lean forward and smile ingeniously. “If you look at my CV you’ll see that I organised the decoration of a flat in the Crandon Block in Tottenham.”

He bites his lip. “I saw that. It was quite … fascinating.”

My lip quirks. Bastard, I think admiringly, but I lean back and smile calmly.

“So how is this experience going to help in this job, Mr Gallagher?”

“Well, it demonstrates patience,” I say sagely.

“Have you ever dealt with the council?” He shakes his head.

“Well, I can tell you that after one and a half hours of a very tinny rendition of Adele’s Hello, the fact that I didn’t fracture my own skull with the receiver should tell you a lot about my level of patience. ”

Milo gives a choked snort but Niall smiles and rifles through to the last page. “And the owner of the flat who is providing you with a reference has the same surname as you. Is that a coincidence?”

“Not really,” I say placidly. “That’s my mum.”

Milo stares at me in mute horror but Niall smiles. “Interesting. What does your mum say about you, Oz?”

“Have you ever worked for a five-foot-four Irish woman?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Well, let me tell you that my mother is more demanding than Prince Charles but with better ears. If she was in heaven she’d be running it.” I shrug. “She’ll tell the truth.”

Niall stares at me, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I think that’s all from my side. Do you have any questions?”

I stare at him. No way have I got any chance with this job. Smirking slightly, I hold my hands out. “What do you think of my nail varnish?”

There’s a stunned silence in the room before he leans forward. “I think it’ll look good in Cornwall,” he says deliberately.

“ What ?” I jerk out.

He smirks. “Welcome to the staff of Ashworth House, Oz. I think you’re going to do well.”

“Are you mad?” I demand loudly. “I just gave the worst interview of my life.” Milo nods frantically and I gesture to him. “Yes. Even Milo knows this, don’t you?”

Niall looks at him and then back at me. “Let me introduce you to the young man you’ll be mentoring. Milo, meet your mentor, Oz.”

The two of us exchange mutually horrified looks before I turn to Niall. “Have you been drinking?” I demand. “You’re giving me a job and also the responsibility of moulding a young mind.” I shake my head. “You’re off your bloody rocker.” I pause. “What will his lordship say about this?”

Niall smiles. “I think you’re just what he needs, Oz.” He mutters something about being bored but I can’t hear him properly.

I shake my head. “This is going to be a disaster,” I say in a very doom-laden voice and Milo nods emphatically, but Niall just smiles.

“On the contrary, I think you’re going to be perfect.”

One week later finds me sitting on my suitcase in the dusty carpark which is attached to the extremely small Cornish railway station. It’s like one of those stations you see in the miniature Lego village at Legoland. Perfectly proportioned, but small. I smile. A bit like me.