Part
III
After
dinner, a fine meal of Poularde Strasbourgeouise and various other dishes he
couldn't pronounce, Orlando retired to his room. It was a magnificent room, on the
first floor, not more than three doors down from Viggo's studio.
It
was furnished superbly: a four-poster bed draped with thick blue silks and
velvets, a mahogany bureau and an adjoining bathroom tiled entirely with glossy
white marble.
He
hung his clothes in the wardrobe and divested himself of the evening's attire.
In the bathroom, he ran a little water into the sink and splashed it over his
face. It was cold, and he felt his skin tighten. Droplets made their icy way
down his neck, and the longer curls of his hair clung to the damp skin.
He
considered his reflection in the mirror; his eyes were dark. Lust coiled in his
belly, hot and shivery, like strong liquor. He hadn't lied when he had told
Viggo it had been a while since his last encounter with a man. He had, however,
been lying when he accredited his attraction to the wretched man as little more
than anonymous desire.
No,
it was more than that. Nevertheless – for now – it looked as though Orlando
would have to direct his attention elsewhere. This Dominic sounded rather
promising, he decided, walking back into the bedroom and climbing under the
soft, heavy covers.
He
turned the bedside lamp off, and promptly fell into a deep slumber.
The
following morning he was woken by the blunt sound of hooves on the road
outside. It was well into the morning; the sun was high. Orlando wrapped his
dressing gown around himself, and ambled downstairs.
"Good
Morning, Mr. Bloom."
Orlando
stopped to consider the lady before him. She was tall, and well dressed, and
her grey hair was pulled back into a dignified coil. The housekeeper, surely.
Viggo had said her name was … Emily?
"Good
Morning, Emily," he replied. "What is the time?"
"It
is ten minutes past ten o'clock," she replied. "Lord Mortensen
advised us not to wake you. Would you have some breakfast?"
Orlando
shook his head, "No thank you. I think I will consult with Viggo as to his
plans for today … where might one find him?"
"He
is in the morning room, with Mr. Monaghan. Follow me, Mr. Bloom."
Orlando
followed her into a large, spacious room with high ceilings and expansive
windows. Light bled freely into it, and crept across the floor like bright
golden silk.
He
spied Viggo lounging on the settee, and opposite him sat, presumably, Mr.
Monaghan.
"Good
morning Orlando," Viggo said, standing up. "You rested well, I
hope?"
Orlando
nodded. Mr. Monaghan, Dominic, stood up too. He was slighter than Viggo, both
in height and build. He had fair hair and a fringe that swept low over his
eyes.
"Orlando,
this is my dear friend Dominic; Dominic, this is Orlando."
Dominic
walked over to Orlando and shook his hand.
"Charmed,"
he said. His smile was bright, and his
eyes glittered with a thousand kinds of mischief.
"It
is a delight to meet you," Orlando said, noticing his firm grasp.
"Well,
this is excellent," Viggo said briskly. "Dominic will take you around
London today. As for myself, I have some things to attend to and I will meet
you both for dinner. Seven o'clock prompt at the Ritz."
"Splendid,"
Dominic said, and turned back to Orlando. "I have you all to myself today.
Go and dress, I have no desire to drag you around town looking like a scruffy
lunatic."
Orlando
grinned, "How about a well-dressed one?"
Dominic
laughed, "It depends. Is he rich? I have a reputation to uphold."
"Well,
I see you two are getting along marvellously. I will take my leave," Viggo
said, and left them alone in the room.
"I
suppose I shall go and dress, then, " Orlando said. A smile crept into his
voice, "What is the fashion here in London? I would not wish to embarrass
you, Mr. Monaghan. Brown shoes? Blue spotted ties? I hear they are all the
rage."
"In
Ascot, Mr. Bloom, or in your quaint little village, that would be most
appropriate." He grinned, "Here, however, we favour attire that is
more … tasteful. You have a grey frock-coat suit and silk hat, I presume?"
Orlando
rolled his eyes, "Of course. I am no classless labourer."
"One
would never have guessed," Dominic said dryly, glancing pointedly at the
hall clock.
Orlando
hurried upstairs and returned to the morning room not ten minutes later,
suitably dressed for the day's events.
"Excellent,"
Dominic said cheerfully. He collected his hat from Emily and they walked out
through the front door.
The
sky was high and blue, and the air pleasant to the touch, such as was fitting
of the weather in late June: before the rolling heat of July and the rainy
dirge of August. The street rang with the clatter of carriages and the bustle
of expensive fabrics.
"We
shall go by the poor-man's tram, I think," Dominic said. "My driver
was drunk as a mouse when last I saw him, and the horses rather seem to despise
my other staff, so I'm afraid our transportation shall be somewhat
limited."
"What
an amusing idea," Orlando said, kicking a stray leaf into the gutter.
"I have always wondered what it should be like to be poor and
hopeless."
"I
doubt you would last a day."
Orlando
smiled and opened his arms wide to the sun. "I think you are utterly
correct," he replied.
Next (coming soon)