Charles started fiddling with his fork, in search of a mechanism to push and click. He stammered that he’s still proving his worth, but his father discounted this argument with withering eyes. Fortunately, Alice Ledwell chimed in between two sips of wine.
‘Milton, dear, you wouldn’t tolerate being lectured on how to run your business, would you?’
Charles’ mother wasn’t coming to his rescue. Fundamentally, she agreed with her husband. But her socialite’s brain had zeroed in on the risks of laying into Clifford, the man blindly trusted by theirclosest acquaintances with their fortune.
Milton mused on the hypothetical situation, then admitted to it. He agreed not to call the firm for now but reminded Charles that opportunities have to be created, not expected. Charles nodded, apologised and skipped pudding, in dire need of clicking his pen that turned out to be MIA.
Charles comes to a blunt stop on the front patio of the pub. A note, written in barely legible scrawl, is taped on the door.
‘We will open at 4pm today. Thanks for your understanding.’
He switches theBolérotempo from an allegro to a presto. What kind of pub opens this late? Is it even legal in the UK?
‘Get a grip, Charles,’ he murmurs, teeth gritted. ‘It’s only twenty-six minutes.’
Twenty-six minutes. Twenty-six hours. He doesn’t believe in signs, but it has to be one. His pen is in there.
Out of skin to scratch around his nails, he paces between the outside tables, multiplying twenty-six by itself, then again, and again.
He’s just reached a seven-figure number when he spots the barman from the other day crossing the street. The guy’s amused brow costs Charles the thread of his arithmetic.
‘Someone’s thirsty.’
Charles swallows his desire to be swallowed up by the ground. ‘No, I’m… I didn’t expect to find the place closed, and I’m not great at patience.’
‘Sorry about that. We’re super short of staff.’
‘Don’t worry, I know what it’s like.’
Charles has no idea what it’s like, but he’s sleep-deprived and on edge, so in no condition to analyse where that comment came from.
‘I’m gonna need a minute to set up, but have a seat.’
The guy wedges the door open with a rubber block and disappears inside. Charles rubs his forearms six times and falls into step behind him, squinting to make his way through the darkness.
‘I’m not here for a drink.’
‘Great. You’re hired!’
Charles snorts. The idea of making small talk with strangers all day long is quite appealing, but Milton and Alice would find means to foreclose the place before letting their son pour a single pint of beer.
Already behind the counter, the barman turns on neon lights above the bar and background music, making the fusty room a smidge less fusty. ‘When can you start?’
‘I said I’m not great at patience.’
‘What makes you think you’d need some to work here?’
Charles puts his bag onto a stool. ‘The way you handled us two days ago.’
‘It was a one-off nightmare. We don’t see many snotty twats here. They tend to avoid this place.’
‘It must be peaceful.’
‘Heavenly.’
Havea seat. You’rehired.Heavenly. The barman’s Hs are overly forced and reawaken Charles’ cheese craving.
‘What can I do for you, then?’
