Boyfriend Material(41)

“Yes, let’s,” she agreed. “I could eat an entire dressage team.”

Oliver and I eyed each other nervously, uncertain if we had a linking-arms type of relationship, before falling into step beside each other like estranged relatives at a funeral. Yep. I’d been demoted from “Don’t kiss me” to “I cannot bear the thought of physical contact with you.”

“So,” remarked Miffy as we made our way down another absurdly opulent corridor, “what have you boys been nattering about?”

Alex glanced briefly towards us. “Actually it’s been fascinating. Oliver was just telling us about the merits and drawbacks of jury trials.”

“That does sound fascinating. My father’s against them, of course. Terrible for dairy farmers.”

Oliver moved his hand swiftly to his mouth as if to stifle a cough. But I was 99 percent certain he was smiling. Unfortunately he wouldn’t look at me, so I couldn’t even share that.





Chapter 17


It turned out there were two dining halls—the Eden Room and the Gascoyne-Cecil Room—but Alex found the Eden Room, in his words, “chummier.” Although what precisely was chummy about mustard-yellow walls, wainscoting, and massive portraits of severe-looking men dressed entirely in black, I couldn’t say. The menu offered roast chicken, roast beef, roast pork, beef Wellington, roast pheasant, game pie, and roast venison.

“Ah,” exclaimed Alex, “lovely. Just like school dinners.”

I gave him a look. Maybe if I focused on how annoying I found Alex, I’d find myself more bearable. “Often had pheasant at school, did you, Alex?”

“Not often. You know, once or twice a week maybe.”

I glanced at Oliver, who was scrutinising the menu as if he hoped he’d somehow missed the non-dead-animal option. Was this a fake boyfriend job? It was probably a fake boyfriend job. And if I did it right, he might start paying attention to me. Fuck, I was pathetic.

“I should have mentioned,” I said gallantly, “Oliver’s a vegetarian.”

“I’m so sorry.” Miffy gazed at him with genuine concern. “What happened? Is there anything anyone can do?”

Oliver gave a wry smile. “I’m afraid not. But please don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

“No no,” Alex protested. “I’m sure it’s fine. Let’s ask James.” He made a gesture and a completely different butling person who still, apparently, answered to the name James appeared at his elbow. “I say, James. Queer business. Seems I’ve accidentally brought a vegetarian.”

James did one of those mini-bows straight off Downton Abbey. “I’m sure the chef can accommodate the lady, sir.”

“I’m not a vegetarian.” Miffy’s eyes widened in outrage. “My father’s an earl.”

“I do apologise, madam.”

Oliver made a charmingly bashful gesture. “I’m afraid I’m the difficulty, James. If you could arrange something along the lines of a garden salad, that would be more than sufficient.”

He took the rest of our orders, and twenty minutes later we were surrounded by various meats, most of them roasted, some of them in pastry, and Oliver had an actually quite pleasant-looking pile of leaves. I mean, I wouldn’t personally have wanted it for dinner, but I guess it served him right for having ethics.

Alex regarded Oliver with a pained expression. “Are you absolutely sure you’re all right with that? Miffy and I have plenty of Wellington if you want some.”

“It’s fine. I’m enjoying my salad.”

“If it’s the meatiness that’s an issue, we could mix it up with the cabbage.”

“I think it would still contain meat?”

So, my cunning plan to win Oliver over by being sensitive to his needs and respectful of his choices? That had failed hard. I pointedly shovelled a large scoop of game pie into my mouth. After all, if food was going in, words couldn’t be coming out. Which, given my contribution to the conversation so far, was probably best for everyone.

Miffy reappeared from behind the beef Wellington. “Well, I’m sorry. I just think that’s silly. I mean, what would we do with meat if we didn’t eat it? Just let it go off?”

“Well, that’s actually quite a complicated question.” Oliver deftly speared a radish. “And the answer is mostly that we’d slaughter fewer animals.”

“Then wouldn’t there be too many animals? What would we do with all the cows?”

“I think we’d breed fewer cows as well.”

“Bit of a rum deal for the cows then, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. “To say nothing of the farmers. We have some jolly lovely farmers on our land. They make a beautiful showing at the harvest festival and give us such nice hams at Christmas. And here you are trying to put them all out of work. It’s rather rotten of you, Oliver.”

“You see”—Alex wagged his fork playfully—“you’ve set her off on one now. And she’s right, you know. I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

Still determinedly masticating, I stole a peek at Oliver to see how was taking this, and he seemed surprisingly comfortable. Well, he was a barrister. He’d had a lot of practice being polite to posh people. “I do admit that the economic implications of large-scale shifts in the national diet are more complicated than people often give them credit for being. But the vast majority of meat we eat nowadays is unlikely to have been produced by the type of farmer you’re talking about, and industrialised agriculture is actually quite a significant threat to the countryside.”