Love in London by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Eight

Oz

I’m coming back when I see them. A bunch of idiots – probably from Eton or some similar kind of school, all of them yammering around together because their Daddies own half of Westminster. Or St. Moritz. I’ve known my fair share of idiots like that, both when I was a student myself and since then, in my adult life. They tend to be rude, loud, self-important, and absolutely insufferable.

But none of that is what triggers me to grit my teeth when I come out of the door and see them.

What triggers me is the fact that one of them appears to be trying to put his arm around Gabby – and I can see just how much she doesn’t like it.

“Excuse me,” I say loudly, striding over to them. “Who the hell are you?”

The group looks at me with laughing, mocking faces. I can see immediately that they’ve all had too much to drink, and it isn’t even that late in the evening. They’re dressed in full tails, which means they’re probably settling in for a night of it. Probably out on one of those ‘legendary’ nights that involves smashing up good establishments and then paying off the owners later on with Daddy’s money.

Pathetic.

“Alright, Grandad?” the one with his arm around Gabby’s chair says. I can see the relief and hope shimmer in her eyes at seeing me. “What’s it to you?”

I choose to ignore this comment, instead of focusing on what needs to be done. “Get back to your own table, boy,” I order him. “Or better yet, leave. This is a good restaurant. The doorman should have known better than to let you in, half-cut already.”

He sneers back at me. “The doorman let me in because he knows who I am,” he says. His group of friends don’t say much to back him up, but then again, they aren’t dispersing either. In fact, they’re just laughing along, chortling like kids, like they’re being naughty and having fun while the headteacher tries to tell them off.

They don’t know who they’re up against here.

“The doorman can’t possibly know who you are, because you aren’t anyone yet,” I snort. “What are you? Twelve years old?”

“I’m twenty,” he says, reddening slightly in the face. “And what are you? Seventy-two?”

“Bored,” I say. “Specifically, of you. Get back to your table and stop being such a brat. People come here to eat, not to have to put up with you.”

The waiter, beside me, is looking increasingly flustered, I can’t help but notice. He probably thinks we’re going to come to blows. I haven’t gathered enough evidence yet to suggest that he’s wrong, but I do know one thing. I’m going to be a lot more civilized about it than these oiks would be. And I can end this with one blow, rather than having to drag it out.

“No,” he says. “You know what? I don’t think you must be anyone, yourself. Because if you were, you’d know who I am, and you’d know not to mess with me.”

I almost roll my eyes at him. At least while he’s being confrontational with me, he’s gradually turning more and more in my direction – which is pulling him further and further away from Gabby. Not by much, but by enough to make a difference. She still looks terrified, though, which is making my blood boil more and more with each passing moment.

“Is that so?” is all I say, shaking my head at him to let him know how ridiculous I think he is. This child. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“One word to my father, and you’d be in all kinds of trouble,” he says, slyly.

“I very much doubt that,” I tell him.

“Oh, you will be,” he says, doubling down on his threat. “You’ll be in a world of trouble. People don’t like to mess with the son of Lord Almsely. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

Now I know I’m in the clear. For all his posturing, his arrogance, he really doesn’t have a clue.

“It’s incredibly crass to drop a ‘don’t you know who I am.’ Your father should have taught you better manners somewhere along the way.” I roll my shoulders slightly, getting ready for the inevitable. “And hiding behind your Daddy isn’t the manliest way to impress a lady, either. Why don’t you stand on your own two feet, boy?”

He gets up then, pushing the chair back with a scrape along the floor. The waiter has scurried off into the kitchen, clearly aware that a line is about to be crossed. “I can handle myself just fine,” he says. Then he does something that absolutely makes me see red, pushing me over the edge. He grabs hold of Gabby’s wrist off the table and yanks her up to stand beside him as if he’s about to walk out of the restaurant with her.

He’s not going to get a chance.

Fueled on even more by the sound of her terrified gasp, I take the one stride necessary to get into range and then launch my fist full into his face. He doesn’t even have time to react. He just sags backward, hitting the wall and almost bouncing off it, letting go of Gabby as his hand goes to his face. A second hit on the other side, and he drops to the floor, rattling the chair and almost tipping it over.

“You can’t do that!” one of his friends exclaims. The others are getting to their feet in a rush, thinking they might have a chance at taking me if they all come at me at once.

“My father’s going to hear about this!” the boy on the floor shouts. “I warned you!”

“Lord Almsely?” I snort. “You’re going to tell Lord Almsely that you had a run-in with Oswald Patterson, are you?”

The reaction ripples through them all one by one. They pale, going still. The boys that are still around their table look at one another doubtfully, unspoken words hanging on their lips, questions in their eyes. The one on the floor goes suspiciously quiet, too.

They glance back at me as one, as if suddenly thinking that they should verify my claim. Could I be Oswald Patterson? They must be thinking. They must be comparing photographs they’ve seen in the paper, trying to mentally gauge whether I really am who I say I am.

And they know that I’m telling the truth because their eyes drop to the table and there’s a sudden, definitive amount of foot-shuffling.

“Sounds like you boys had better leave,” Marco says from behind me, where the door into the kitchen sits. I don’t turn to look at him. I stand my ground, stance strong, ready to hit another one of them if I have to – but I know I won’t have to.

None of them have the guts to take me on, now that they know who I am.

“By the way,” I say, calmly, as the little snot who started this all picks himself up off the floor. His friends are already shuffling towards the door, trying to look as though it was their idea to go in the first place. “For future reference, that’s how you drop a ‘don’t you know who I am’ without sounding like a little arsehole.”

It’s a little immature of me, but I do enjoy how his face colors and he sidles past me silently, clearly wanting nothing more than to try to hit me back but too afraid to do it.

Only when they’ve gone do I let the tension leave my body. I step toward Gabby offering her a hand. “I’m terribly sorry about that,” I tell her. “I promise you, not all English boys are like that. Some of us have actually been raised well.”

She shudders slightly when she touches my hand, it’s like everything in her calms, her posture relaxing. “I can see that,” she says breathlessly, though she’s trying very hard to sound as settled as possible.