The Gilded Scarab (21 page)

I could get onto the flat roof from the bedroom windows, Feldane observed, taking me out there to prove his point. The French doors had as much security, almost, as the doors to the street.

“The roof is perfect for enjoying a summer evening,” said Feldane. “It could be a veritable garden.”

I eyed the three small plant pots in which Mr. Pearse appeared to have grown tomatoes, if the dried, wizened sticks propped against a sooty chimney were anything to go by. I couldn’t help the acidity creeping in. “So I see. Eden, blooming amongst the chimney pots.”

But Feldane was deaf to ironic mockery. He persisted in painting the coffeehouse with a brush dipped in the finest gilt, singing its praises all the way back down to the ground floor, where Mr. Pearse waited for us with a fresh brew at the ready.

Mr. Pearse raised an eyebrow. I grinned and nodded. “My offer stands.”

Feldane’s eyes almost had revolving pound signs in them. His pursed-up little mouth tried to beam. It was entirely the wrong shape for it. “It’s a good long lease. The freeholders have agreed to the legal transfer to you, as the nominee of Mr. Pearse’s choosing.”

We all shook hands on it, there and then.

And just like that, I was in the coffee business.

A
S
SOON
as we’d signed the preliminary papers and the agent had left, Mr. Pearse celebrated by nipping next door into the pâtisserie. He returned with the best little cakes Somers could supply. He put the plate before me with my usual mug of coffee.

“All right, Rafe?”

I came to with a start. I realized I’d been sitting in my usual chair staring down at the floor. “I’m very well, sir.” I grinned at him. “Having a moment of what-have-you-done-you-fool terror. I’ll get over it. It’s a big step for me, you see.”

“I can imagine.”

I tapped the side of my spectacles. “I knew these would bring about a change in my life, but this particular change has taken me by surprise. Not buying the coffeehouse, per se. But do you realize now I have a place that’s mine? Something solid and permanent… I’ve never had that before.”

His smile was gentle and very kind. “Yes, I had the impression you were a Stravaigor to the backbone. A wanderer and a sojourner.”

I nodded. “For the last ten years, my home was the Imperial Forces and wherever they chose to send me. All we Stravaigors are the same when it comes to wandering. It’s no coincidence our family motto is
errant in aeternum—
eternal wandering is in our blood. We’re all vagrants and vagabonds.”

“And now the vagabond has come home. I can understand your fears. It will be a very different life for you.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Eat your cakes, Rafe. You’ll feel all the better for them. Cake is always the great comforter.”

He was right. The cakes were delicious.

The pâtisserie had a very small front end and no room for tables and chairs. Somers had said once he’d supply the coffeehouse if it drove trade his way. I hoped he was still of that mind. People liked to eat with their coffee.

“Will’s suggested it before. I thought about it, but never got around to doing anything about it,” admitted Mr. Pearse when I mentioned it. “I never had the heart for it. I’d think about doing it, but it all seemed so much trouble.” He paused and shrugged. “I wish I could hand you over a business in better health than this one, Rafe.”

“I wouldn’t be able to afford it!”

He acknowledged that with a grimace but was still fretting, it seemed. “I’d rather you did it without House funding. I don’t trust them, and I wish I knew what they were after.”

“God alone knows.” I glanced around my newest, biggest-ever gamble, and dammit, I couldn’t help smiling. “There’s no point in worrying myself into an early grave about that right now. I’ll have to wait to see what it’s all about and hope I can counter it when it comes.”

“Stay alert and do not trust them,” advised Mr. Pearse, and we pushed aside House matters while we drank our coffee and agreed on a formal date for signing all the legal paperwork.

I couldn’t stop grinning, throughout. Foolish, I know, to be so enthusiastic, but I was sure that this was going to work. I would make it work. The location really was ideal, and the land agent’s airy persiflage about potential was spot-on. The coffeehouse could be the perfect tourist trap. The tourists might not really know good coffee if their lives depended on it, but they’d be drained from their obligatory visit to the museum for a dose of high culture and in need of stimulants and restoratives. I planned to stimulate them with caffeine and restore them with Somers’s delightful little fairy cakes.

I had a lot to do and a lot to learn. It would be very different being the owner of a business after a life flying one of Her Majesty’s aeroships, but perhaps I’d finally got across that divide between flying and not flying. The break in my life was healing.

For the first time in months, I wasn’t aching inside for the wide blue skies I’d had to leave behind.

Chapter 14

T
HE
BREAK
with Daniel wasn’t nearly so clean.

Our last meeting had ended very badly. Only the thought of Mrs. Carr in her basement kitchen had kept us from having the sort of fight that would have had Daniel shrieking at me like a fishwife and me thinking very hard about knocking him down. As it was, I got dressed to an increasingly angry, vituperative monologue from Daniel. Silence on my part was my sole defense against giving in to temptation.

That had been more than a week before. I’d heard nothing from him since, and I most certainly had not sought him out. I was of the view a separation was good for both of us, and it would definitely be better for Daniel to realize he couldn’t control every aspect—any aspect—of my life. But a few days after I had signed the papers registering my intent to purchase, I had a letter from him. For some reason known only to himself, he sent it not to the hostel, which was still my address, but to the coffeehouse itself. Mr. Pearse handed it to me when I arrived.

I wish I could say I received it with indifference, but I’d be lying. The surge of impatience and resentment I felt surprised me. Daniel had been loudly and forcibly intent on establishing clear lines between his personal and professional lives, and of course I had no quarrel with that. We all have to be careful and discreet. But given he took that to the point of trying to order my life to suit his convenience and had had an embarrassingly melodramatic fit over the fact I wanted to buy Pearse’s, sending my correspondence there seemed somehow perverse. Cock-eyed. He had been so hysterical that writing to me there gave me the distinct impression he was carefully rubbing salt into his wounds and then wanted to hold them up so I could see what I’d done to him.

In short, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find that Daniel’s favorite reading was Foxe’s
Book of Martyrs.

Mr. Pearse must have seen my expression. “Trouble, Rafe?”

“No, not exactly.” I folded the letter into a small square and tucked it into my pocketbook. “A friend who quarreled with me recently and now wishes to meet me for luncheon.”

“To make amends?”

“Knowing him, to be noble and forgiving. I don’t know I’ll give him the opportunity. I do know I don’t want to be forgiven.” I put the pocketbook away. “You were saying something yesterday about varying the proportion of Kenya beans to get a better balance on the acidity. I was thinking about that last night. What would be the effect if you used the South American beans instead?”

Bless him, Mr. Pearse allowed me to turn the subject and didn’t press. We spent the day on experimentation, him sitting back and allowing me to make the coffee for the customers. It kept my mind off Daniel, at any rate.

I did reply eventually, of course, a day or two later. I was tempted to suggest we meet at the coffeehouse, since it appeared to be his rendezvous of choice when it came to seeing his ex-lovers, but I am not a malicious man. I refrained. I was adamant we would meet in public, though, to restrain Daniel’s more theatrical tendencies. So we met at the Tea Kettle in Wardour Street and were terribly civilized, taking tea and eating delicate little sandwiches while we laid bare our souls. Rather, while Daniel did. I preferred the sandwiches.

He was there before me and looked hard at me when I came into the café, perhaps hoping to see signs of repentance and remorse. I must have disappointed him. His mouth trembled, and he had to set his lips hard together. He didn’t look well, and the indignation that had kept me from pitying him melted away when I saw him. I wouldn’t be inveigled into continuing our association on any account, at least on its old footing, but I resolved to be kind in dealing with the aftermath.

The Tea Kettle is a safe venue for us. The front room is for the general population, but inverts are welcome in the back room. And, yes, I do realize the particular irony of that arrangement is delicious. But so is the food, and they have very high quality tea blended for them, if you like that sort of thing.

The point is, though, I was safe to allow his hands to take mine, and to greet him with a chaste kiss to the cheek. He looked briefly hopeful, brightening visibly, only to deflate again when I shook my head at him.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, mouth making a little moue of discontent.

“So am I.” And I wasn’t really lying. I disliked the messiness of our ending. It needed cleaning up.

He nodded. He played with the sugar tongs for a moment or two, picking up a piece of sugar and dropping it, picking it up and dropping it, while we talked polite inanities until the waiter had brought our tea and the plates of sandwiches and cakes. Daniel at least waited until the coast was clear before saying, abruptly, “I take it you’ve bought the coffeehouse?”

“Yes. We’re signing the final papers tomorrow.”

His breath was shaky, and he wouldn’t look at me. “Well. There’s no more to be said on that head, then.”

“No, not really. I’m sorry.” When his mouth twisted, I had to add, “Daniel, please don’t worry. I won’t betray you to your colleague, you know. Indeed, you should know me better than that. I won’t talk with him about you. I won’t be so indiscreet he can make any sort of connection. Trust me. I won’t do anything to harm you.”

He pressed his lips together, put down the sugar tongs, and nodded, once, in acknowledgment. “I do trust you. I do.” Having deprived himself of the sugar tongs as a plaything, he turned to the teaspoon. He still didn’t meet my eyes. “And what about us?”

I chose my words very carefully. “I think you and I are at different stages, and want different things. You want more of me than I can give you right now. I’m not ready for the kind of deep commitment you can give me. That’s one-sided and unfair. I’m sorry, Daniel. It isn’t a good idea to lead you on into thinking I can offer you more. I can’t. I like you. I’ve had a wonderful time with you—”

“But you don’t love me.”

This was getting far too deep for my comfort. I did wish I’d given in to my baser nature and stayed away. And given I had known I’d be subjected to dramatics, I had only myself to blame. “I can’t say I’ve ever loved anyone, really. And you know, we haven’t known each other very long. I don’t think love is possible so quickly. Affection and liking… yes, of course. And I do like you.”

His mouth gave a little twitch. “It’s possible.”

I did hope he wouldn’t say it. I really, really hoped he wouldn’t say it. I would probably have to get up and run if he said it.

Thankfully, he didn’t. He shook his head and looked at me at last. He didn’t appear angry, the way he had in his rooms the previous week, but he did have that martyr’s look to him—the trembling chin, lifted bravely against the vicissitudes of the world, his eyes wet and gleaming. He drew a long sighing breath, and I winced, convinced I was about to be forgiven.

“I won’t stay long,” he said. “I have to attend the lecture this evening at the Aegyptian Exploration Society, and I need to prepare myself for that. A lot of my colleagues will be there, those who aren’t out in Aegypt for the season. I need to be calm and not let them see….” He stopped, grimaced. “Rafe… Rafe, I hope we can be friends.”

I patted his hand. “I think we are.”

He pushed his cup and plate away, untasted. “Good. Thank you.” He took a small package from his pocket. “I brought you this. I thought it might amuse you.”

“Daniel….”

“No, it’s all right. It’s simply something from one friend to another. Open it.”

A red leather case, stamped in gold with the maker’s name,
Abert, Zurich
. Inside was a scarab watch, like the one on his own watch chain, with wing cases enameled a translucent scarlet over an engine-turned guilloche ground, and a decorative line picked out with small diamonds. The wing cases opened to show the watch face, and when I turned it upside down, the beetle’s legs were folded up against its underside, beautifully cast in gold, with every feathery hair clear and crisp. It was a lovely thing.

“Daniel… it’s beautiful. I can’t take this.”

“No, please. Please do.” He got quickly to his feet, reaching for his gloves and cane. “In memory of the last six weeks.” He stooped, and before I could stop him, he brushed his lips against mine. He stood back, looking at me eagerly. I really don’t know what he expected. Some sort of epiphany on my side when I felt True Love’s Kiss? I don’t know. I only know that his eagerness faded, and he looked, suddenly, every year of his age.