the great hall back in the day. It’s huge and whitewashed, with a high ceiling and windows through which the light pours in. There’s a battered suit of armour standing to one side, and the walls are lined with rather grim portraits of grumpy-looking men and women. I wander over to examine one particular monster.
“Hello.”
I jump and spin round to find a small dark-haired man standing there. He has a sharp face and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. “I’m not nicking the silver, if you’re worried.”
He grins. “It’s a load of old tut anyway. If you want to nick one of those portraits though, do help yourself.” His accent is Irish.
I laugh nervously. “Oh no, that’s funny.”
“It’s not a joke. Take that one.” He nods at one of the grimmest pictures. It’s of a man dressed in Tudor clothes, and his expression suggests he’s contemplating gruesome murder.
“His eyes follow you around the room. No one believes me,” the stranger says.
“I believe you,” I say fervently.
He grins at me again. “I’m Oz. Silas’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, the earl.”
He nods carelessly. “That’s the one. He’s easy to recognise. He’ll be the one looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and borrowed his clothes from a tramp.”
I smile. “I’m Felix. I’m with Max Travers.”
“Is he here? I’ll have to lock the alcohol away.”
“He’ll still find it,” I say with a laugh. “He’s like an alcoholic bloodhound.”
“Journalists,” he says in a tone of doom. His grin returns. “I’ll take you up to your room.”
“Oh, thank you. Max has gone out to the car to get the bags.”
He shrugs. “He’ll find you. He’s been here before.”
“Will he find me next week? Because this house is bloody huge.”
“We’ll probably have wedding guests turning up a month from now looking haggard and traumatised.” He turns and gestures for me to follow him, and I fall into step. I quickly lose track of where we are. Staircases run here and there, and we twist and turn until finally, we rock up outside a room. Oz opens the door and gestures me in.
It’s a big room with a mullioned window and a four-poster bed made up with white bed linen and a faded rose-patterned eiderdown. A big vase of scarlet-coloured roses emits a gorgeous scent.
“It’s lovely,” I say, going to the window. The view is of a back lawn that stretches down towards trees and the sea beyond. “Although I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to find my way back to it.”
Oz laughs. “I’ve lived here for a year, and I’m still finding bits I’ve never seen before. Last week I found a lovely little music room with a grand piano. It looked like something from a Jane Austen film. Left it, and I’ve never been able to find it again. Silas hadn’t a clue about it.” He smiles at me. “There’s a rehearsal tonight, and then after that, there’s a meal. It’s informal, so don’t bother dressing up.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m at a complete loss as to what to do. I wander around the room, opening and shutting drawers and finding a little en suite bathroom in the process. Eventually, I yawn and settle down on the bed.
I didn’t intend to go to sleep, but when I open my eyes and check my watch, I find I’ve been asleep for a couple of hours. A quick glimpse of the room shows me that I’m still Maxless and bagless. I nip into the bathroom and freshen up, slinging cold water on my face. As I’m drying off, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look my usual self—too thin, too much hair, and eyes big in my face. I shake my head and straighten my slightly crumpled T-shirt before wandering out of the room. Hopefully, I’ll find some helpful person ready and willing to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Unfortunately, there’s no one, so I cautiously set off down the corridor. And then down another. And another. This place is like a very genteel rabbit warren. Corridors run off here and there, leading into dead ends and more rooms. Finally, I happen onto a staircase and catch the sound of voices from down below. Following them, I descend into a wide hallway. There’s a doorway from which the voices are coming, and when I go through, I find myself in a vast room filled with people talking loudly. Glasses are clinking, and the atmosphere is loud and happy.