Page 7 of The Payback Plan
Good Christ. He gave himself a mental shake. He sounded like an eighty-eight-year-old Brexiteer lamenting the good old days not a twenty-eight-year-old foot-loose-and-fancy-free bachelor with a massive inheritance, oodles of charm, good looks and excellent contacts.
When had he become such a fuckingcurmudgeon?
‘Could I…’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘Come in? It’s freezing out here.’
Of course she was freezing. All that stood between her and the brutal January squall was a useless cardigan and a statement of murderous intent.
A little voice whispered,Curmudgeon, and Oliver suppressed a sigh.
‘Of course… sorry.’ He stood aside. ‘Come in.’ And then, ever the gentleman, he said, ‘I’ll bring your bags in.’
As he stepped outside, the biting wind caught his dirty blond hair and tossed it around. The ominous grey sky was already darkening as day began its descent into night, the lights illuminating St Nicholas’s chapel on the headland already glowing. He stared at the three battered, ancient cases in dismay.
Just how longwasshe staying?
Dragging them in, he deposited each one next to the free-standing hat rack which his father had taken from some film set or other. The door banged shut after him as he set down the last bag.
She smiled as he straightened, the cage now on the floor at her feet. Herleopard print, fur-trimmed, welly-cladfeet.‘Thanks.’
Oliver nodded and there was a moment’s awkward silence as he took in his new house mate. His eyes shifted momentarily to the rodent – housemates.
They were both a sight, red hair and caramel fur tousled in such disarray it looked very much as if they’d been electrocuted. Catching sight of himself in the hallway mirror, Oliver grimaced at the state of his own hair. They all looked as if they’d been in a freak accident involving a three-for-the-price-of-one lightning strike.
He pointed. ‘What is that?’
She followed the direction of his finger. ‘A hamster.’
Thatwas a hamster? ‘I see…’ Did it have a gland problem?
‘He belongs to my nephew, Bunky.’
‘Bunky?’ It sounded like a nickname given to a posh kid by other posh kids at an even posher public school. And Oliver ought to know, his father had been an Etonian and all hisold chumshad incredibly infantile nicknames like Corky, Tuppy, Stiffy and Dumps.
‘Short for Bunkleigh. It’s a weird family name on my sister-in-law’s side,’ she said with a dismissive shake of her head. ‘Anyway, Bunky loves him to death. Likeliterally. He’s forever sneaking him treats. Caramel popcorn, Skittles, Peperami sticks. Dib Dabs.’
‘Hamsters eat sherbet?’
‘This one does. Devours the stuff. Thank God he doesn’t know how to snort it. Can you imagine that sugar high?’
Oliver thought the question was rhetorical but her sudden raised eyebrow made it plain she was waiting for a response. ‘Ah… no.’
Although now he’d probably think of nothing else.
‘Anyway, the vet said that if Flower wasn’t put on a diet, he’d die. To be fair, he was always on the chunkier side but well…’ She glanced at the creature with affection. ‘Things are getting critical.’
Yeah. Criticalmass. But that wasn’t really what Oliver was stuck on. ‘Your nephew called his hamsterFlower?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘What? You think he should call him something more manly? You think he should have called him Rambo? Or… Godzilla?’
Oliver flicked his gaze to the animal, his wind-frizzed fur not helping with his beefy silhouette.Pavarottiseemed more appropriate. ‘It seems a little…’ Delicate. ‘Fanciful.’
She bugged her eyes at him. ‘He’sfour.’
Checking the impulse to enquire about Bunky’s vision, Oliver prepared to demur but she was off again.
