Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

Age Before Beauty

Mr. John Oakby Snr - as much as Imogen was starting to dislike him as a person - was an exceptionally attractive man, and could serve as a promise to whoever was to grow old near his son that they would have quite a pleasant view to enjoy in thirty years or so. Dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit; his snow-white hair with one streak of ebony above his forehead, cut and styled to perfection; his beard trimmed; and his jawline masculine - he ran his glacial blue eyes over the room.

"Thomas, I'd rather be going." His tone was lazy and a tad exasperated. "I'm sure you have matters to attend as well."

"Imogen, should we order pizza, or it's too early?" the Mayor said in exactly the same tone and looked at his watch.

Imogen cowardly glanced between the two men. She'd had the pleasure of seeing the older one just a few times before, at some formal events, and her presence had never been acknowledged, just as it wasn't at the moment. Except, the circumstances of their current co-presence in a room were quite different, weren't they?

Imogen searched through possible lines she could supply at the moment - and decided on not saying anything.

"Your childish demonstration of temper does not surprise me, Thomas." The Older Oakby was still standing in the door, his pose utterly relaxed. "If I acknowledge that you're once again unhappy with me, will I be allowed to finally leave in peace? I have already telephoned my cook, and the evening meal for the boys will be ready promptly."

The Mayor gave Imogen an unreadable look, and then to her shock patted the sofa upholstery near him.

Imogen blinked. On one hand, tucking herself into his side in a surreally domestic scene might have been a fantasy that had crossed her mind once or twice in the last fortnight. Their 'association' hadn't included anything of the kind, limited to the work interactions, and Imogen's visits to his bedroom - and the adjoin rooms - during the same work hours; but Imogen had imagined, tentatively, and purely theoretically that it would feel endlessly pleasant to just sit with him, read a book, or watch telly. On the other hand, she was a hundred percent sure he'd done it only to irritate his father. Imogen felt rebellious. She didn't fancy to be the equivalent of him listening to Depeche Mode as a teen just to spite his father.

She shifted her weight between her feet, but didn't move.

"Goodness gracious, Thomas, do you have to turn everything into a farce?" Oakby Snr sighed theatrically and walked in. "I could never understand your sensitivities."

He took the armchair across the low table from his son, and slowly looked the Mayor over.

"Well, let us hear it. Since you insist on dragging it on." He gave a dismissive wave of his pampered long-fingered hand. "Tell me why you think my grandsons are supposed to stay here with you, as opposed to enjoying the comforts of my fully staffed household."

The Mayor finally met his father's gaze.

"I don't see the point in discussing it. Imogen and I will take care of them, and Deirdre will be released on Tuesday. You can take your leave, father. Surely you'd rather not have two small children run around your house, and tread dirt all over your Safavid carpets."

Imogen wondered if they knew that they had just narrowed their eyes at each other in the exactly identical manner. The scene was starting to look like a Doctor Who mini episode, or one of those memes of 'then and now.'

"I don't see how a single man with no experience can take better care of the said two small children compared to a large trained staff," Oakby Snr sneered.

Imogen wondered if she had somehow acquired the Cloak of Invisibility without noticing it. The Mayor clearly had noticed the 'Imogen segregation,' and muscles danced on his jaw.