Nigel made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.There is no need to disabuse him of his hopes, at least not now.As they walked into the gentleman’s club, the familiar smell of whiskey and cigars washed over him.
A well-dressed servant with well-oiled hair bowed to Nigel and Alexander as they entered.
“Good evening, Mr. Walter.” Nigel nodded to the man as he handed a footman his coat.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Mr. Walter smiled obsequiously at Nigel before turning to Alexander “Your Grace.”
“Mr. Walter — tell me how busy is the club?” Alexander handed his own coat to the waiting footman.
“The dining room is rather full, but there is plenty of space in the bar, and I believe several of the billiard tables are available should Your Graces desire a game or two.”
Nigel glanced at Alexander. “I think the bar is as good a place as any to start. Could you have them send us a bottle of single malt?”
Alexander shook his head. “It will have to be wine for me, Maxton. Now that Rose is with child again, she has developed a rather… erm… strong aversion to the smell of Whiskey.”
“Wine it is. Bring us a good red. Something full bodied and rich.” Nigel clapped his hands together and made his way towards one of the free corner booths in the bar.
Alexander slid into the seat across from him and drummed his hands on the table thoughtfully.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Nigel asked.
“I was just trying to remember the last time we were here together.” Alexander frowned thoughtfully.
“You know, I am not sure. After all, the cellars at Emberly are rather well stocked.” Nigel smiled. “Although, there is rather more risk of interruption.”
Alexander laughed. “Indeed. There is little risk of that here.”
He chewed the bottom of his lip, a pensive look on his face as he said, “I think it was the night after father’s funeral…”
“Oh God. I have rarely been that drunk.” Nigel winced.
“It was your fault. You were the one who suggested we go for a drink to ‘drown our sorrows’.” Alexander pointed an accusing finger at Nigel.
“I said ‘a drink’. Not seven bottles of wine and half a bottle of scotch.” Nigel shuddered.
“And a bottle of port.” Alexander shook his head. “I still can’t stand the stuff.”
“Nor can I.” Nigel grimaced. “I only remember patches of the night.”
A memory floated to the forefront of his mind. They had been walking — well, stumbling — back from the club, a bottle of port being passed between them. Alexander had stopped suddenly, tears streaming down his face.
“Does it get better?” Alexander’s voice shook, and he was unsteady on his feet.
“The port isn’t that bad. I can barely taste - hic - it now. I think.” Nigel inspected the bottle in his hand, sniffed it, and made a face.Why won’t the ground stay in one place?“Perhaps it is that bad.”
“Not the drink.” Alexander shook his head emphatically and almost fell. “This… this pain.”
Nigel darted forwards, steadying his friend as his own legs threatened to give way. “No. Not really.”
“Oh.” Alexander’s voice was barely more than a whisper, full of pain.
“Well… no, that’s not quite right. It’s… it’s hard to explain.”Nigel screwed up his face, trying to force his thoughts into something coherent. “When my father died, I was still quite young. I was only a boy really, so it is hard to remember.”
“I see.” Alexander slumped.
“I remember my mother and her sadness. I was so scared that she would die of heart break.”I did not want to be an orphan.Nigel clenched his fists. “I spent so long trying to cheer her up. And I was so angry at father for doing that to her.”
“I doubt your father meant to cause your mother such pain,” Alexander said in a reasonable voice.
