"It's strange," Alexander said finally. "Owning this place used to feel like an obligation but I feel at ease visiting it now that the new owner is Laurence. He's made it…better somehow."
"It suits him," Oliver murmured, still not lifting his head.
"It does." Alexander's gaze didn't waver. "You, on the other hand, this doesn't suit you in the least. He said you've been coming nearly every evening, though you rarely speak to anyone."
"I prefer the quiet."
"He sounded concerned."
That pulled a hollow laugh from Oliver's throat. He tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"Well, he needn't be. I am not drunk. I am not making a spectacle of myself. He will not lose any members on my account."
"No one said you were a spectacle. But you've been sitting here like a man waiting for a summons to the gallows," Alexander regarded him for a moment in silence.
"If that is meant to cheer me, I'm afraid you will have to try harder," Oliver's hand tightened around the glass.
A servant passed near their table, offering fresh cigars. Alexander declined with a shake of his head. When the man had moved on, Alexander leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees to match Oliver's posture.
"Talk to me," he said quietly.
"There is nothing to say."
"You've been absent all week," Alexander continued. "You have not replied to my letters. And now you sit here, alone, staring at your whisky as though you intend to drown in it without ever taking a sip."
"Must you catalogue my failings like an inventory?" Oliver's jaw worked.
"If you would prefer, I can simply carry you home and spare us both the civility."
He did not open his eyes.
"Do as you like."
Alexander was silent again, and in that pause, Oliver felt the true weight of his own feelings press down on him. Indeed, he was in a sour mood. How could he not be, considering that he only had an empty home to return to.
"Is it about her?"
"You are not obliged to do this," Oliver said. "Truly, we can do without this conversation."
"You are not yourself, Oliver. You have never been a man to sulk in corners."
"I am not sulking," he muttered.
"No?" Alexander's brows lifted faintly. "What is this, then?"
He met Alexander's gaze and felt something in his chest twist painfully.
"I don't know what it is," he admitted. His voice was low, but the words felt like defeat. "I only know that she is gone, and I cannot decide whether I am relieved or…"
"Or what?"
"Or ruined," he muttered quietly. Alexander seemed to have not heard him, however, which in itself came as a relief. Oliver was not yet ready to speak about his feelings so candidly, especially when he himself did not know what to make of them.
"You know, most men who take refuge in clubs at all hours do eventually emerge again," Alexander said.
Oliver did not glance up.
"If you must know, Laurence was quite insistent that someone collect you. He worries about the reputation of his establishment," he continued.
