The Gilded Scarab (8 page)

Fairfax copied me and moved his daisy pin. “Best part of the meal,” he said, leading the way into the dining room, and grinned.

Chapter 6

D
INNER
AT
Margrethe’s made my forced retirement and return to Londinium almost worthwhile. The fillet of venison—cooked with juniper in a jus of spiced wine with chestnuts and served with a vegetable chartreuse—was beyond admirable, matched only by Fairfax as a dinner companion and some very enjoyable conversation. The Château Margaux may have lubricated our discussion a little, of course, since it was a very fine wine. A very fine wine indeed.

Fairfax was an excellent listener while I told tales of both South Africa and the area in northern India where I’d been stationed, close to Lucknow. In return, Fairfax talked about Aegypt and the Soudan. It appeared he was interested in Aegyptian history, but he was polite about it and didn’t overwhelm me with detail, preferring to talk about the things all the tourists liked to see—camel races, or dervishes, or receptions at the Khedive’s palace in Cairo. I liked that about the man. He was sensitive to others, obviously. Since it was a virtue I would never claim for myself, I appreciate it in other people.

Geography mixed with a little travelogue lasted throughout a first course that involved a seriously good Roquefort and cucumber mousse and a shrimp bisque, and wasn’t exhausted as a conversational gambit until around halfway through the venison course.

“It lasted rather better than the Margaux, as it happens.” I shook the last few drops into Fairfax’s glass.

The waiter rushed to the table when I held up the empty bottle, and a second bottle appeared like magic. It really was a very fine wine.

“I believe we may have to fall back on the arts,” said Fairfax. He ran his tongue over his lips to get the last remnants of jus. He waited for a response, but I believe I had stopped breathing, and it took a moment for me to jerk myself back to reality. Fairfax’s mouth twitched again. He tended toward small smiles rather than uproarious mirth, but that mouth showed his amusement. It curved at precisely the right arc. “A new theater opens the day after tomorrow. The Wyndham. The Prince of Wales will attend the opening night.”

“I saw something about it, yes. Somewhere on Charing Cross Road.” I took a deep breath and tried to look and sound as though the mere sight of a man licking at spiced wine jus hadn’t meant I couldn’t possibly rise from the table until my breathing evened out and various parts of me subsided into untroubled calm again. Theaters? I didn’t really care about theaters. Still, it might help with the calming process. “What’s the opening play? Are you going?”

“No, I won’t be there. The play is Robertson’s
David Garrick,
a comedy based on the life of the famous actor from the last century.”

“Right,” I said. Garrick. Good Lord. How in heaven’s name did they come up with such stuff?

Fairfax let out a small choke of laughter. “Not a history enthusiast, then.”

“No, but I’m fine with comedy.” We grinned at each other. “My turn. What about music? Opera aside, of course.”

“Of course.” Fairfax narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips—which again interfered with my breathing a little—before nodding. “Lottie Collins.”

What?

I felt my jaw drop. But before I could respond, the waiter arrived to clear our plates. It gave me a moment to collect myself. Really, we Lancasters pride ourselves on our sangfroid, and I was letting the side down badly. I nodded to the waiter. “Thank you! Do tell Henri his venison lived up to the maître d’s recommendation. My compliments to him.”

Fairfax smiled at the man. “And mine.” He slipped the waiter something that looked very like a folded pound note. “For Henri, with my thanks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fairfax. I’ll make sure he gets it.” The waiter flourished a menu. “Can I suggest the
ananas à la condé
? Henri has been experimenting with roasting the pineapple with spices and has developed a new pomegranate syrup that goes well with it and the rice.”

“Sounds wonderful. Agreed, Rafe?”

Really, I should not have been as discomposed as I was by the use of my given name. I do hope I didn’t blush, but I can’t be sure because Fairfax’s—Edward’s—mouth did that curving thing again without quite breaking into a full smile. “Not quite what I had in mind for dessert,” I said quietly and grinned when his cheekbones reddened. “But it will do in the interval.” Pause. “Edward.”

“For both of us, then. Thank you, William.” Fairfax dismissed the waiter with a nod. He wasn’t autocratic, exactly… indeed, he was genial and pleasant to the waiter, but he showed no hesitation in doling out orders. Used to servants and instant obedience, perhaps. They recognized it too, and jumped to obey. Of course, folded pound notes may have had some influence there.

I waited until the waiter was out of earshot. “Lottie Collins? I’d gained the impression you were too refined to have a passion for the music hall. Do you sing ‘Ta Ra Ra Boom De Ay’ in your bath?”

“It’s a classic!” Fairfax… Edward sipped his wine, his mouth doing that amused thing again. I was beginning to think it a very good and attractive habit for him. “A friend of mine took me to see her a few years ago at the Tivoli. Sam said I needed to have my horizons widened.”

“It must have been before you became a member here, because Margrethe’s is the widest horizon I know.”

“Well before.” Edward added, apologetically, “I had a restricted upbringing, you understand. Going to a music hall incognito was high adventure. Exciting.”

“Ah. So what did that make Margrethe’s?”

“Forbidden fruit. And very, very exciting.”

It was as well the pineapple arrived and took up my attention for a moment, although I must confess I was rather too focused on the laden spoon disappearing between Edward’s lips and the way Edward’s tongue flickered out after each delicious mouthful. That too was very, very exciting.

I was, of course, politely brought up. I may not have been so carefully raised that a music hall was the most exciting thing I ever did—my father, surprisingly, had a liking for the halls and took Peter and me there most school holidays as a treat—but still I was brought up a gentleman’s son with all that implies of regular churchgoing and a thorough understanding of the catechism. As I may have mentioned, I was not an ardent soul, but watching Edward eat his pineapple brought me closer to religious ecstasy than anything I’d experienced in years. Nanny had taught me to pray before bedtime. Time to remember her teachings.

Heavenly Father, thank you for Margrethe’s and men like Edward Fairfax….

It was very odd how tight my evening trousers appeared to have grown. Phryne must have done something to them while she refurbished them. Perhaps they’d shrunk. I said, to take my mind off things, “I saw Lottie myself the last time I was in Londinium. At the Tivoli too, as it happens. I probably shouldn’t have been there, since it was a bare week after my father’s funeral, but I always claim I needed the diversion and mourning doesn’t become me. Besides, the old man would have understood. I can’t say I was impressed by the singing, but to see her dance was a revelation.” I made sinuous movements with my left hand.

“Philistine! I take it there is little chance of getting you to the opera?”

Well, if Edward Fairfax wanted a companion to sit and hold his hand in the dark while some stout woman of indeterminate age shrieked her way into the top notes, then it might be I was his man. But that had damn little to do with wanting to experience high culture, and a great deal more to do with the hope of a reward for virtue afterward. Still, I had better not appear too easy a conquest.

I pushed aside my plate. “I could help widen your horizons at the music hall, if you like. If it isn’t pretty boys and girls dancing, there’ll be an aerial trapeze or a unicyclist, or a prestidigitateur with his magic tricks, and yes, even singing… there’s something for everyone at the music hall.”

The waiter arrived with brandy and offered cigars before Fairfax could respond. I preferred my cigarillos. They were thinner and lighter than the fat Cuban cigars the waiter brought. Edward agreed to try them, and I let my fingers touch his when I proffered the case. Edward’s thumb stroked the back of my hand, a feather touch, when he accepted.

Ah. Perfect.

A smile. A nod. A jerk of the head toward the reception room and a raised eyebrow. Another nod.

“Although I should warn you,” Edward said, when we had concluded this silent telegraphic speech and were smiling at each other, “that regretfully I can’t stay the night. I’m leaving Londinium tomorrow for a while, and I’ll have to go at around two.”

Damn! Well that was a disappointment on two levels, both the immediate and for developing the acquaintance if our encounter proved enjoyable. Which I hoped it would.

Edward made another little grimace. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I should have mentioned it earlier and given you the opportunity to find a companion whose time is not so constrained. It’s still early, if that will prove a problem for you.”

“No. No, it won’t. I don’t deny I’d hoped for more, but I’m glad of your company so long as you are here.” After all, Margrethe’s lounges would still be busy when Fairfax had to leave, if I decided to try and make the acquaintance of anyone else. I pulled my watch from its pocket in my waistcoat. “It’s barely ten. We have four hours. I suggest we make the most of them.”

Again Fairfax’s mouth did that very kissable little twitch. “Very direct of you.” He got to his feet and dropped his napkin on the table, along with a gold sovereign for the waiter.

I joined him, hooking my arm through his as we strolled toward the lobby. The dining room was crowded now. More than one couple glanced up at us as we passed. Their expressions were appreciative, but they were focused mostly on each other and the glances were fleeting. The dark man from the Praecipias Lounge sat, still alone, at a table near the door. He looked more closely at us as we went past. Not at Fairfax much, though, after one hard glance, but at me. Odd. He did look a little familiar. Perhaps someone I’d met at Margrethe’s or one of the cheaper molly houses the last time I had been home. And odd, too, he hadn’t picked up someone. Margrethe’s was an expensive place if all a man wanted to do was eat and drink.

Charles the concierge offered us Room 12 and assured us we’d find every convenience there. Edward took the room for the night and had the costs put on his account.

“No, I insist, Rafe,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for curtailing the evening. You needn’t hurry away tonight because I must.”

I made some token protest, but truth be told, it was a weight off my mind. I could pay my way, of course, but it would leave finances tight for the rest of the month. It was kind of Edward. Considerate. In return, I paid for dinner. We climbed the stairs in a mood of mutual esteem, I think, at each other’s generosity.

The room was dimly lit and very richly furnished, all polished mahogany and dark green velvet. The curtains closed out the night, and a fire made merry in the polished steel grate, the firelight glancing off shining wood and glass. The bed was ready, the counterpane already turned down to show the clean linen sheets, and an array of scented oils in cut-glass bottles stood on a small cabinet at the head. Very inviting. Very hedonistic. I could take to the sybaritic life with gusto, really, given half an opportunity.

But Edward appeared strangely hesitant, now that we were at the point of no return. Or almost there, anyway. He stood near the fireplace, resting one arm along the mantelpiece, staring down into the fire. His other hand was fisted into his trouser pocket. He looked defensive. He didn’t look at me.

“Edward?”

He drew a breath so shaky I heard it from where I stood beside the bed. And another. He turned his head toward me at last, and the firelight sprang up to light the side of his face, limning his cheekbone in red-gold, sliding its way across the side of his neck and pooling shadows in the hollow of his throat, slipping more shadows under his cheekbones and edging the line of his jaw.

The firelight loved Edward Fairfax, breathed living gold into him.

The breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful in this light. Very beautiful.

“I said I’d been away a long time, just as you had,” he said. “The commitments I had… well, they involved other people and promises made that I couldn’t break. It has been a very long time since I was free to be with someone like you, Rafe. And although I’ve been back to Margrethe’s three or four times recently, I haven’t allowed things to go this far.” Edward’s smile, the little crooked turning-up of his mouth, was pained. “I think I’m a little nervous.”

I could understand that. My hands were trembly, and I had to keep working my mouth to moisten it, it was so dry. I may even have been a little nervous myself. Odd, though, how his honesty, the lack of polite evasion, prompted the same in me. “It’s been a while for me too. Not because I was ever lucky enough to find one person the way you did, if I understand what you say about commitment—the Lancaster luck doesn’t run that way. But still, the life I had, the Aero Corps… I couldn’t risk it. So it’s been a long time.” I managed a grin. “At least, a long time since it wasn’t furtive and quick and in the dark, as if it were shameful. Nothing as open as this. But what I remember of it, it’s a pleasure I would really like to taste with you.”