Chapter Text
It was a simple prospect — buying a new suit. But Henry had a nasty little habit of turning simple items into complete chores. He always had, blaming it on natural anxiety, coping, and other words gleaned from his patient-if-long-suffering therapist. The core of it was truly a lack of necessity and a lame gesture at thrift.
“Please,” Pez began between sips of latte. “For the love of all that is good in this world.” He tapped the business card set between them on the cafe table. “Call the gent.”
Henry exhaled slowly, emphasizing his patience. “My wardrobe is just fi—.”
“There is not enough time left in the sun’s lifespan for us to get to the precise bottom of your flawed perception here, Haz.” Pez leaned forward and, were there a dividing line on the table, pushed the card just over it into Henry’s side. “Take the card. Lurk about his shop. You won’t regret it.”
Henry pocketed the card, frowning. There wasn’t another option when staring down his best friend of fifteen years. “Dare I ask what Warner’s done to so deeply offend your sensibilities this time?”
“Dare,” Percy replied.
Henry sighed. “What’s wrong with my tailor of eight years, Pez?”
“Simple.” Pez set down his cup and folded his hands in his lap, as serious as he ever was. It was unwarranted, really, and Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You have enough navy blue and grey to outfit the royal fucking fleet.”
“And?” Henry arched a brow, reaching for a sugar packet. Assam instead of his usual earl grey, and a bit over-brewed at that. He was picky though.
“And you’ve wasted enough money buying incredibly bland, incredibly expensive suits.” Pez huffed. “I know you favor a neutral color palette and certain classic details, but for Christ’s sakes man.”
Henry hummed, stirring his spoon in even clockwise turns. Percy wasn’t done yet. He could tell — one of the benefits of such a long friendship. He knew when to shut up.
“You are too young, too fit, and too queer to go about your life dressed like your brother’s wretched uni set.” Pez leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I’m not asking for Elton or Liberace, but just a bit of variation on the theme would be nice to see. Every once in a while. God didn’t give you those eyes and that hair for it to be squandered.”
“Is there a god?”
“The universe then.”
“I regret ever meeting you and introducing you to my siblings. Period. End of sentence.” Henry raised his cup, savoring the scent of bergamot. A headache was beginning to pinch. They had this conversation about once every three months, like cartoon characters riding past the exact same cactuses over and over. The more it went on, the more Henry wanted to face plant into one of those imaginary cacti.
“Please. You’d be lost without me.” Pez scoffed. “It could have seen to it you look like your brother instead of your dad.”
“Are you quite finished?”
“Not unless you’re taking me up on my offer.”
“Fucking christ, Pez, you’re the only one who ever notices!” Henry let out a little exasperated laugh. Not enough to draw attention, thank goodness. He couldn’t stand that. “You’re the only one who’s got a bone to pick. Not one single person cares more than you, and not one single person cares what I show up in so long as I’m tastefully and—.”
“Boring as plain oatmeal.”
“— Fully dressed.” Henry pursed his lips.
Pez uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “They’re not dating you, dear.”
“Of course they aren’t.”
“They might like it if you’d live a little.”
“I prefer to be unobtrusive while working.”
“Your clients prefer you handsome and doting.”
“And..?” Henry sipped, holding the tea in his mouth a moment before swallowing. Just to keep a steady head.
“ And ,” Pez continued with over-exaggerated emphasis. “You be exactly that in a linen, or an evergreen, or — god forbid — a gorgeous lilac.”
Pez pressed his lips into a thin line. Henry replaced his cup on the table and squared his shoulders. For a long moment, the pair of them locked eyes and would not let the other go. A routine moment in their friendship; a prickly, concentrated battle of wills acted out through silence that they’d been doing since grade school.
It broke when Pez set his cup down with a clatter. Dropping a wad of bills on the table, he stood abruptly and flung his coat over his arm in one smooth motion. Ever the showman, even in his own aggravation. “Stand up. We’re going.”
“And we were having such a lovely time…”
“Your chosen profession gives you more than enough to outfit yourself well. So, quite frankly, shut up, Haz.”
“No, I shan’t.” Henry followed the other man’s lead, standing and shrugging into his coat. “ But . I will let you drag me around to this man’s shop if it will get you to shut up about the whole thing.”
Pez rounded the table for the door, grin too catlike to be innocent. “Delightful.”
“Well, now I’m worried,” Henry snickered, falling into step behind his friend.
“The only thing you have to fear is my persistence.”
“That is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“Well.” Pez paused on the threshold to button his coat. “I think you’re also afraid of my being right.”
Henry let that pass without an answer. He pulled on gloves and followed out onto the sidewalk, feeling the edge of the card pressing into his skin.
The shop was tucked into a corner just off Bond Street — fairly impressive real estate considering Pez said the man was new to London and his shop had yet to gain a more devoted following. Henry bit into his cheek as they waited to cross, taking in the historic facade and antique window glass, carefully traced the painted letters of the sign.
Claremont Fine Tailoring
It blended in nicely, Henry thought. If he hadn’t been told it was new, there’d be little reason for him to suspect it hadn’t been there for centuries. As they crossed and strode to the door, Henry could admit his prickly distaste had come down by a good fraction — not that he’d dare tell Pez that. The man would do enough gloating if Henry deigned to buy anything.
A small bell rang above the door as Pez swung it open. A voice called one minute from somewhere deeper in the shop.
“Take your time,” Pez called back. Then, he rounded on Henry to clap him on the shoulder. “Take a turn of the place before I force you to get measured.”
“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?” Henry murmured back.
“No, never.”
“Very well then.” Henry wandered away, removing his gloves and stuffing them into his coat pocket.
The layout was deceptively simple, clear-cut. Ready-to-wear and tailor-to-fit garments on one wall, a table of neatly folded shirts nearby. A display of ties and pocket squares was placed in front of the main windows, framed on either side by glass cases filled with tie bars, cufflinks, lapel pins, brooches, and even pocket watches with matching chains. Many of them looked vintage or antique to Henry’s lesser-trained eye, same as the collection of umbrellas and canes near the apothecary counter-turned till. The lights were set to imitate the natural light. A ginger and cedar candle burned from a protected little spot.
“Morning, y’all. Sorry for the wait—. Well hey.”
Henry turned away from a soft navy jumper towards the new voice. His own — breath, words, and all — caught in his throat at the sight of the owner.
He was unmissable in a wine red jumper and charcoal trousers. The considered lighting of the storefront made his tan skin and soft looking curls glow like a Leyendecker study. Dark eyes were framed by dark lashes that shouldn’t have been so obvious from across a room.
“Good morning, Alexander,” Pez greeted warmly, stepping in for a one-armed hug. “How are you today?”
The man took the embrace in stride, his smile growing wider. He was shorter than Pez — meaning he’d be shorter than Henry — but wasn’t lacking for it. His broad shoulders and sturdy legs made Henry wish he’d brought his tea with him. He turned back to the table in front of him, examining the jumpers and cardigans, wondering if the tailor’s — Alexander’s — was as soft as these.
“Oh, you know. Skepticism and snobbery abound, and then they try something on.” He laughed to himself, leaning back on his heels. “It’s dismantling all the bullshit that I enjoy the most.”
“Only the first thing we have in common,” Pez replied easily. He glanced knowingly over at Henry, there and gone in a blink. “I’m afraid I might be adding to your list this morning, but you’ll find he’s a far easier mark than some others.”
“Hush,” Alexander laughed. “You know how much I love a challenge.”
When Henry cheated a look again, the man was striding towards him. His smile was easy, but reserved now. A soft tape measure hung from around his neck. The face of a vintage Longines watch glinted on his wrist, right above where his fingers were tucked into his trouser pocket.
A moment later, that same hand was held out for Henry to take. “Alex Claremont-Diaz. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, erm.” Henry felt his cheeks flush pink and pushed past it. He took Alex’s hand, hoping he could continue without truly mortifying himself. “Henry. Fox. Lovely to meet you as well.”
Alex’s smile seemed real enough, especially as he nodded over his shoulder. “You’re friends with Okonjo over there?”
“Indeed, for far too long if you’re curious.” Henry pulled his hand away to rest on the collar of the navy jumper again. The softness was grounding; helped him keep eye contact with Alexander instead of catching all of Pez pulling faces behind him. “He’s been singing your praises for months now.”
Alex grinned. “But it’s taken months for you to come in?”
American, for certain, with a defined lilt just under his vowels. Sarcastic and teasing, probably wicked with his tongue in more ways than one — a sure weakness of Henry’s. Pretty boys who didn’t mind being a bit rough with him; being a little mean then loving him up after to smooth it all over.
Henry’s flush deepened as Pez stifled a laugh. “I’ve got no excuse for myself. Naturally stubborn…”
“And extremely suspicious,” Alex finished with a good-natured grin. “I know the quote, Mary Poppins.” He squared his shoulders, tilting his head with a natural sort of confidence. It spun up a craving in Henry’s gut so quickly, it nearly knocked him back. “So. Now that Okonjo’s finally gotten your butt in the door, what can I do you for?”
Henry coughed delicately, clearing his throat. What couldn’t this man do him for? Henry’s chosen profession had made him particularly adept, but he’d bend over one of those clean glass cases if this Alexander asked once. He was a bit shameless, a bit lonely in spite of it all, and he could already hear Percy teasing him later.
“Well,” Henry began slowly, determinedly ignoring his friend. It wasn’t hard, keeping his gaze on Alexander’s beautiful brown eyes. “I need something new for a function I’ll be attending in a week or two—.”
“A week or two weeks?” Alex raised an eyebrow.
“Ten days, if we’re being precise,” Henry answered. “A friend of mine asked me to an engagement party as moral support.”
“How fancy?”
“The invitation says informal, but knowing this family, anything less than a suit jacket will be frowned upon.” Henry exhaled. “Percy seems to think my usual wardrobe is a bit… erm.”
“Tired,” Pez called from where he’d perched himself — a stool near a trifold mirror. “Boring. Accountant chic, Alexander dear.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “Yes, alright, you’ve made your point.”
“Have I? Because I have more.”
“No, I think you’re quite finished.”
Pez feigned disappointment. “Damn. Then he won’t know how sexless all that navy and grey is, Haz.”
Henry sighed, leveling a look at his friend. Bored and subtly irritated, perfected over long semesters trying to read in bed while the other man tried to goad him into fresh schemes every which way.
Percy merely stuck his tongue out, preening at himself.
Despite the humor in his eyes, Alex seemed to have the restraint to just nod. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, inspecting Henry a bit before his gaze slid to the jumper Henry’s fingers still rested on. “Navy and grey?”
Henry nodded.
“You like a neutral color palette?”
“Somewhat.” Henry chose the right words for the admission. “It’s what I was most allowed to wear growing up, so I’m afraid I’m uncertain about anything else.”
“That’s fair, but kind of a shame.” Alex’s expression was far more kind than Pez’s. Henry was the tiniest bit grateful. “With your coloring, you could wear quite a lot really well.”
Henry blinked. “You think?”
“I know .” The words brooked no opposition; clear and unmoving.
“Oh.” Henry knew he’d blushed before he felt it.
Alex thoughtfully looked at his own display, taking the colors. “Riddle me this, Henry. What do you feel most comfortable wearing?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, when you think about feeling good and confident, what are you wearing?” Alex’s eyes were back on him. “Like, what’s your favorite outfit?”
Henry exhaled slowly, waved a hand over his chest. “I’m wearing it?”
Alex hummed, thoughtful. His lashes caught the light as he blinked, slow and considering. “Take off your coat for me?”
Henry rushed to comply, staring as Alex took it from him and draped it over the table next to them. Henry bit into the softness of his cheek. It was as if he’d forgotten how to stand. “Work is a bit different—.”
“Can I touch you?”
“Oh.” Henry nodded. “Of course. I-. Tell me what you need.”
“I will.”
Alex took his time, arms crossed over his chest. He took a step back, looking Henry up and down. Patient, detailed, as if he was taking every single thread and fiber of him. His white collared shirt, precisely tucked in, and black pullover smooth over top; his black trousers, slightly worn from years of favoritism, and his Balmoral boots, which could use a fresh shine. Henry even caught his eyes on the gold signet ring for a moment.
All looking.
No touching.
If Henry wasn’t so fucking curious, it would have been truly agonizing.
“You dress like this regularly?” Alex asked, not a shred of judgment in his tone.
Henry nodded. “I’m not particularly adventurous.”
“I can tell.” Alex gave him a small smile. Encouraging, easy, just the barest bit of persuasive pressure. “But I think we can ease you into it. If you want to, that is.”
“If I want to?” Henry stared at him.
“Mhmm. I’m not in the business of putting people in something they don’t like.” Alex chuckled. “Hell, if I argued with everyone who darkened my door here, I’d only have one customer left and it’d be your friend over there."
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Pez said with a grin.
“True, but bankruptcy would,” Alex teased back, then returned to Henry. “Seriously. I have a few ideas and I’m hoping your game to try them, but.”
“But?”
“But if you’re more comfortable with navy and grey, I can work with that.” Alex spread his hands in invitation. “No hard feelings. No pressure. Scout’s honor.”
Henry smirked. “Were you a scout?”
Alex winked, raising three fingers in the air. “I promise to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, courteous, kind, cheerful, etcetera etcetera.”
Henry couldn’t help laugh. “Trustworthy, eh?”
“I’d like to think so. I did get all the way to Eagle Scout, if that helps me out any here.”
“I think it does.”
Henry could feel Pez’s eyes on him. He knew he’d be on the receiving end of some heavy gloating for the rest of the week, but Henry didn’t see another trust. He was weak for a handsome man with a good smile and capable hands, always had been. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, it seemed, was in possession of all.
Henry offered a small smile, reaching for his coat. “I trust you. Show me what I’ve been missing.”
Alex grinned brightly, enough sun for London’s lack. “Let’s get started then.”
Henry had no qualms about following Alex to a dressing room. Even less about shoving his coat into Percy’s hands with a pointed look. Alex explained that he’d give him each of his ideas one at a time, encouraged him to keep an open mind but be honest about likes, dislikes, suggestions that came to mind.
“It’s a collaborative effort,” Alex said. “Now, what’re your measurements?”
Henry gave them and Alex frowned, squinting suspiciously.
“Ain’t no way you’re a 44R,” he muttered, more to himself than Henry, as he pulled a tape measure from thin air. “Sweater off. I’m measuring you again.”
Henry did, following directions as well as he could so Alexander could do his work. He had to remember to breathe, keeping his trained on a bit of stamped aluminum ceiling tile to do so as Alex’s hands moved expertly. Measuring around his chest, neck, and waist. Running longways down his arm, across his shoulders, the length of his spine. The man crouching to take his inseam was a new kind of fresh hell. Glancing in the mirror briefly, Henry didn’t know how he managed to keep the hot pink flush off his cheeks. He silently passed his thanks to whatever higher power made that miracle possible.
“Knew it,” Alex said, lightly triumphant. “41R.”
Henry stared, nearly lost for words. “You’re joking?”
“Nope. Massive difference there.” Alex scribbled the last number on a notepad, tucking the pen behind his ear. “When was the last time someone took your measurements?”
Henry bit the tip of his tongue. “Clearly, too long.”
The truth was it had only been a few months and he hadn’t dramatically changed sizes since he was a teenager. Pez’s expression had calmed from ecstatically victorious to mildly-pleased house cat — a victory in and of itself, even while Henry tried to ignore him and every I told you so that was headed his way with all the efficiency of a curse.
“No kidding,” Alex draped the measure around his neck. “Alright, back in the fitting room. I’ll be back with the first idea.”
Henry kept his nervous fingers busy undoing the buttons of his shirt behind the curtain, grateful he’d worn an undershirt that day. He was fumbling with his boot laces when Alex returned, a few things in hand. The tailor told him to take his time and let me know if you need anything , and imagine playing dress up as a kid as a way to soothe the anxiety written on Henry’s face. Nothing could have possibly made him more endearing.
Until Henry dressed in what Alex had brought.
On the outset, it was the same sort of neutral and unobtrusive thing Henry claimed to prefer. A grey blazer, a sweater, a pair of trousers and an undershirt. It wasn’t until it was fully on did Henry see the true nature of it all together.
The jacket wasn’t just grey. It was pale and silvery, threaded through with periwinkle and lilac, adding interest without trying. On its own, Henry couldn’t see it, but paired with the sweater underneath — a springtime duck egg blue color and wonderfully soft to the touch — it was all clearer. The colors warmed one another up, made each obvious, and made Henry half-startle at his own blue eyes. The trousers were neutral ground — a similar paler grey — and rounded out once Henry toed into his boots again.
He looked good.
It fit well.
He felt awfully vain for how long it took for him to separate from his own reflection and step back out into the shop.
“Ah, Narcissus emerges,” Pez began, turning on the stool. “I hope you’re— oh.”
Henry fiddled with his cuffs. “You hope I’m what?”
Pez blinked. “You know? I’ve quite forgotten.”
“You? Forget your own snark?” Henry chuckled. “Thought I’d never see the day.”
“And I thought I’d never see you out of basic navy, and yet here we both are,” Pez drawled. “Alexander, babes. You simply must come see your handiwork.”
From the small back office around the corner, Henry heard Alex’s voice, low and business-like. “Yes, that’s right. You can pick it up tomorrow, any time from nine to four. If you won’t be coming in, just drop me a line so I know. Okay? Great. Thank you. See you then.”
A phone was placed back in its cradle, then footsteps drawing nearer. “What’s this about my handiwork, Percy?”
Henry turned towards Alex’s voice, not missing the way the man’s walk seemed to hitch as he laid eyes on him. Were this anything more than business, a transaction, Henry would have melted at the attention.
“Damn.” Alex looked him up and down again, appreciative of his own work. “I mean, I knew I was good, but this is a whole new level.” He clapped his hands, squeezing the palms together happily. “How do you feel?”
“Honestly?” Henry huffed a laugh. “Fantastic. Something I haven’t been able to claim in a long while.”
“I’m glad.”
“It’s subtle, but the difference is massive.”
“That’s exactly what I was going for.” Alex stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Henry’s bicep, guiding him towards the trifold mirror. “Here. Check it out from all angles.”
“Gladly.”
Henry had never enjoyed being the center of attention, for anything. Whether it be awards for good grades — as someone whispered apple polisher or swot from behind him — or for his piano playing — as his grandmother corrected his posture and song choice — Henry preferred to keep to himself. Perhaps it was safer, perhaps it was hiding, but the truth remained the same even then.
He didn’t want anyone to be looking at him. He wanted them to be looking at his client. What else was the point of shelling out for an escort to your grandson’s engagement party or daughter’s annual garden tea? To be seen, with someone handsome, but still. Henry was merely set dressing.
Henry was decidedly not set dressing in this. He smiled at his reflection, feeling the barest twinge of guilt for acting so vain. He couldn’t help it. He really did look good.
“You know, Haz,” Pez began from his perch. “I do believe you’re standing straighter than before.”
Henry shook his head. “I’m not.”
“I think you are,” Pez countered. “Either way, something’s different and I don’t suppose it’s the smile on your face either.”
“Are you angling for something, Percy?”
“When am I not?”
Henry sighed. “Truer words.”
Pez hummed happily. “I’ll let you hold onto your gratitude for later. Once all those wealthy old ladies have seen what you really look like.”
Alex smoothed a hand over his back and tugged lightly on the vent openings. “Wealthy old ladies?”
“The party’s thrown by my friend’s great aunt,” Henry said quickly. “It’s more of a society do than it is a real party for the couple getting married.”
“Hey, say no more,” Alex replied with a breezy tone and matching smile. “If it weren’t for that whole set, I wouldn’t have any business.” He moved around to tinker with the lapels. “Man, I don’t think I’ve ever had an order that didn’t need alterations.”
“No alterations?” Henry squinted at the man’s reflection. “Are you quite sure?”
Alex grinned, wickedly pleased as his eyes drew over Henry’s figure. “I mean, unless you like a medium break on your trousers or something, there’s nothing I really need to do.”
Henry swallowed, head fuzzy. “That’s certainly unusual.”
He’d gotten used to shelling out eighty to ninety pounds in alterations on his suit jackets, an extra twenty for a clean hem. His own reflection coming into focus, Henry wondered if he should have developed the language for exactly what he liked; wondered if his university-aged self had been taken for a ride because of his woeful inexperience.
“Not if you’ve got proper fucking measurements taken. Which, you didn’t.” Alexander — Henry was discovering — was wretchedly, endearingly honest. “All seriousness, thought, it’s like you’re the guy they built the pattern blocks off of, Henry. It’s buck wild.”
Painfully honest.
Perhaps deliciously honest would be more apt.
“Do you, erm, perhaps—,” Henry stumbled, tongue feeling too big for his mouth as his eyes caught the key resting on Alexander’s chest — as well as the line of waist and shoulders. Henry was a bit greedy when he liked to be. “Take bespoke orders?”
Alexander’s beautiful dark eyes lit up, and Henry knew he was sunk. The man, it seemed, would own his heart — and wallet — for the foreseeable future.
And Henry knew he wouldn’t mind it.
Not one bit.
Henry said he didn’t have favorite clients. He’d been asked plenty of times – by the society ladies who made up his day calendar, by the men who pinned him to expensive hotel mattresses late at night – but he staunchly stood by his claim. He never picked favorites, he insisted, then brushed it all away with a kiss on the cheek or a fresh drink. The topic never to be broached again.
If Henry did pick favorites – and, to be clear, he absolutely did – Mrs. Olympe Kaira would be one of them.
It was a regrettably short list, but she was near the top.
Mrs. Kaira was a French socialite living in central London on the dime of her twelve-years-deceased Greek husband. She dressed sharply, fashionably in Dior and Yves Saint Laurent she had owned since the early 60s. She liked blue irises, Burgundy properly aerated, chocolate and a cigarette with her coffee, and Henry. She very much liked Henry, and especially liked trotting him out to luncheons, teas, and cocktail parties as her great-nephew, even though it was well known her stepchildren rarely visited.
What she didn’t like was simpler: English fashion, summer heat, and her friend Eugenie’s boyfriend.
Henry appreciated her honesty more than he could properly articulate, but was also a bit afraid of it. It was the whole source of his nerves as he stepped from his car to pick her up. He was dressed in the ensemble Alex Claremont-Diaz had picked for him – duck egg blue sweater, silvery silk matka jacket, and grey trousers – and spritzed with his most expensive cologne. He knocked on the door, a bundle of blue iris in hand, feeling as if he was awaiting judgment.
Another thing he liked about Mrs. Kaira: she answered the door herself.
“ Bonjour, Henri ,” she said, already dressed and made up save for a turban over her greying dark hair.
“ Bonjour, Olympe . Êtes-vous prêt à aller? ” Henry replied smoothly. He rarely thanked his grandmother for anything. His rigorous French lessons were one of the very, very few things.
The older woman sighed dramatically, silver smoke curling from the cigarette between her manicured fingers. “I suppose . Come in while I finish my hair, mon chou .”
She swept away from the door, leaving Henry to step through and shut it himself. In another life, Henry thought, she would have been a brilliant Shakespearean actress. He told her over dinner and champagne once she could rival Sarah Bernhardt for dramatics. She’d preened at that, then tipped him an extra £300 at the end of the night.
“Shall I put these in water?” he called after her.
She paused her swanning up the stairs to lean over the bannister. A reserved smile crossed her features at the sight of the flowers. “Please. I’ll only be a moment.”
Henry nodded. “Of course. I’ll be waiting here.”
“I know you will be, good little boy that you are.” She made to continue, but stopped. She looked hard at him, cigarette still smoking in her fingertips, so far untouched. “What are you wearing, Henry?”
Henry swallowed. “Oh. I got myself something new. For the occasion, and the season too I suppose. I–.”
“You talk very much when you’re nervous, mon chou ,” Olympe said. She gestured over him from several feet up, a pleased look on her face. “It’s a very nice choice. Different, but I like it.”
“Thank you, Olympe.” He felt relief flush him, his smile feeling more at ease on his face.
“Why do you act as if it is so dangerous to wear something different?” she teased him, clicking her tongue admonishingly. “ Vous êtes un bel homme, mais n'avez aucune idée .” She sucked in a lungful of smoke. “Eugenie will be so angry, you looking so well.”
“Is that all you care about?” Henry teased back, already knowing the answer.
Olympe nodded once, perfectly serious. “Of course it is. She flaunts her stupid boyfriends, one after the other, all over this city, but my dear little nephew is the only man she cannot tug about for her pleasure.”
“Great-nephew,” Henry said.
Olympe dismissed his correction with a wave of her hand. “ If I have to suffer through their wretched conversation and her wretched laughter and terrible food, then forgive me for enjoying tormenting her with a handsome man she can’t have.”
Henry smirked. “If only she knew, eh?”
“ À bon chat, bon rat .” Olympe shrugged and pulled herself up. “I will do my hair, then we will see what Eugenie thinks of your new jacket. Oui? ”
“ Oui, madam.”
“If she likes it, I’ll give you a little more to go back to where you bought it.”
“Later, Olympe. We’ll talk all that later.”
“We’ll talk in the car. Put those in water, Henry.”
“Of course.”
After the engagement party, Henry did what he always did – he drove Olympe back home, escorted her up her front stairs, then left her with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a folded cheque in his breast pocket. Her usual £500 for a few short hours was bumped up to £800 with the promise he’d get himself more new clothing. Olympe had cottoned on to him charging her less the year before – for sentimental reasons, he assured her – and took every opportunity to put more in his palm than he asked for.
Eugenie had been thoroughly interested in him as he doted on his pretend grand-tante , bringing her coffee and little pastries, lighting her cigarette when she asked. Eugenie’s latest in a long line of young men was also interested, as Henry discovered when he excused himself to make a cup of tea. He was a bit ordinary, but had a family name with a bank account to match, so Henry offered a drink later that night at Lyaness.
If he played his cards right, Henry would sweep the day with a decent two thousand pounds in his bank account. More than adequate for his lack of true heavy lifting.
Unless, of course, Daniel was into that sort of thing. Henry didn’t judge.
Much.