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“If he’s a thief, I’d guess it might not be.”
“Exactly.”
“Might I ask what he stole from Muriel?”
Sykes shook his head and took another drink. “It’s a family matter.”
Knowing better than to take Sykes at his word, awash with curiosity, Paul inclined his head. “Of course. I’ll not pry.” He smiled his false smile for the patrons he disliked; it always worked a charm. “I’ll offer my congratulations on her engagement, though.”
That roused a dry chuckle from Sykes. “She’s not looking forward to marriage, but she’ll do as she’s told if she doesn’t want to end up a spinster facing a poorhouse.”
The callousness made Paul’s skin prickle. He didn’t feel guilty he hadn’t proposed to Muriel, which seemed to be Sykes’ expectation even if it wasn’t shared by Paul’s parents; he’d always supposed his discomfort with marriage would have a poor effect on a wife. But he couldn’t wish her father’s attitude on anybody.
At least he was no longer dwelling on fornicating.
He found he didn’t know what to say, so he kept to more inane politeness that meant little, but would appease Sykes. “I enjoy Norwich, myself. My brother went into business there with his wife not so long ago. Perhaps things will turn out well for Muriel, and the change of scenery will do her good.” He remembered her as a boisterous, curious girl with a mass of dark hair and a loud laugh. She’d terrified him, but a dormouse could have scared him at the time.
“Perhaps.” Sykes pushed back his seat and stood. “Seeing as you’ve not seen him…” He moved to leave payment on the bar, but Paul motioned for him to stop.
“For your trouble,” he said. He knew the small gesture would make Sykes feel more esteemed than he truly was, which seemed wise. “You haven’t even finished it, after all. Consider it a drink from a friend.”
“Thank you. The bastard can’t have gone far.”
When Sykes had showed himself out, Paul rushed to the window and lingered out of sight as he watched the street. He waited for Sykes to disappear into another doorway, then crept to the trapdoor, wrenching it open. Alastair was leaning against the old ladder, gazing at him from under the brim of his hat.
“Well.” Paul pursed his lips.
Alastair said, with a nod to the space just under the bar, “Could hear everything from that end. I suppose you want to know the truth of it?”
“I’ll admit, I’m interested.” Paul actually wanted to know how Alastair felt arching beneath him. And to feel how soft his hair really was. Since a vision of his had never been false, he didn’t know whether to be encouraged or nervous.
But he could start with learning why he’d asked for safe harbor from Sykes.
Paul locked the front door so they could excuse themselves. Jack and Ned, who took rooms next to and opposite his own, would still be able to leave if they chose. Years ago, Father had installed a particular lock so he could secure the premises while allowing residents or guests freedom of movement.
Anyway, Paul didn’t think either of them was in, which was all the better if Alastair wanted to reveal dubiously legal things in confidence. Ned was prone to eavesdropping. Jack had been in residence for three months, but still wanted to make incessant conversation. Sometimes he tried to talk through the shared wall between their two bedrooms, which was jarring when one wasn’t expecting it.
As Paul unlocked his own door, he was pleased neither man was on the stairs or in the corridor. His windows were ajar to admit the breeze and they allowed for a good view of the beach and sea beyond. Alastair went immediately to the largest one in the back parlor, turning his back, giving Paul a good look at his long hair glimmering with a few threads of silver. After a moment of study, Paul decided there could be a decade between them, or possibly a little more than that.
“I love the sea, but I rarely get to look at it properly. Not from inside a cozy room, anyway.”
“Really?” said Paul. “I look at it all the time, but I’ve never been on a proper boat in my life. Would do, but… haven’t had the chance.”
“Were you born here?”
“Yes. I assume I sound like it,” Paul said. He smirked as Alastair turned to face him. Newcomers weren’t generally enthusiastic about the idiosyncrasies. Alastair grinned, showing well-kept teeth that hinted at means, and Paul’s expression faltered. By way of distraction, he mused on those teeth: one didn’t need to have respectability to have money.
He also wouldn’t be unhappy if those teeth ever bit him.
“You do. I haven’t spent much time here, but I hear it. That’s not a bad thing. Not to me.” His eyes were exceedingly kind. “My views might not be what you’re used to.”
Paul sat on a low sofa under the large window and walked closer to Alastair than was strictly necessary to get there. “Always seems a bit banal to bring up accents, doesn’t it? What’m I hearing? Edinburgh?”
“Close enough.”
“Haven’t been. But more often than you’d think, we get someone from the Athens of the North.”
“Jesus, are people still calling it that?” Alastair removed his hat and put it on a little end table. When he ran his fingers through his hair, Paul almost had to sit on his own hands because the desire to follow his was so invasive.
