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And Alastair knew he shouldn’t be so fascinated. “Think I’ve taken enough of your time…” He didn’t really belong in this setting, a warm parlor in a family business that’d been passed down to someone who suited it.
“No, it’s all right,” said Paul. “You didn’t take me away from anything but tidying, and if I gave myself to that all day, nothing else would ever be finished.”
“All the same…”
“Stay.”
“Why? You don’t know me.”
“My business is getting to know people. Sometimes when they don’t want me to, but some get so loud over drinks. This…” he motioned with his own glass to the both of them, “is preferable to unwillingly listening to loud, drunk conversations.”
“You want to get to know me,” said Alastair, ending it on less of a question. He supposed that much was clear, or Paul wouldn’t have invited him upstairs. They could have found physical satisfaction anywhere.
“Yes,” said Paul. There was a subtle but unmissable note of desire in his voice, yet more genuine curiosity pervaded his expression than anything else. “Stay,” he murmured again.
Alastair’s reserve eroded. The murmur was more effective than any siren’s call. “That still doesn’t answer the why.”
Paul dropped his gaze, at that. “No reason, really.” It felt like a lie even if Alastair couldn’t explain the reasons. Boredom might be one, but he sensed there were more.
On a sigh and despite his better judgement, he said, “Fine. If you think Mr. Sykes won’t return, perhaps we should go downstairs? I don’t feel right taking the landlord out of his milieu.” He softly nudged Paul’s knee with his own. “If you know the area, perhaps you can help me come up with a way to help Muriel. All I really know are cellars and boats and backroads, and I don’t think any of them will be useful at this juncture.”
There was little in the world that would have enticed Paul to move away from that gentle nudge. He’d never been so overcome by such a small touch. He cleared his throat and said, “We really don’t need to go down. He didn’t suspect me, so I don’t think he’ll come back, but we can stay here.”
“All right. The problem is meeting her, especially now.”
“You might not have noticed, but I’ve a whole building at my disposal.”
“Which is right in the middle of everything.”
“Where does Muriel work these days? Has she said?”
“No.”
Alastair was lying again, judging from his delivery of the word, but Paul didn’t push him. “Well, it must be nearby. Sykes would never let her take work elsewhere until she’s gone and married. What if you met with her here? I don’t mean the taproom or the common areas… I mean, up here. Sykes isn’t welcome in my flat.”
When Alastair seemed to give it some thought, Paul persisted. “There’s a way to get to the stairs in back that she — or you — could use. All of our deliveries come round back, anyway. Wouldn’t be strange.” He brushed away the idea of Alastair using those stairs for a nighttime assignation.
His intentions to ignore such a ribald suggestion were dashed when Alastair met his eyes, and Paul knew he had the same idea. It was legible in the slight lift of his dark brows, the sudden heat in his expression. “Not a bad thought,” was all he said, though.
“Right,” Paul said. “Then… tell her. Somehow. I never see her, so… tell her however you can, set a time, and I’ll just try not to be surprised if the two of you are drinking my cognac when I come upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are you doing this?”
He couldn’t explain how he was motivated in part by phantom scenes of the two of them in bed. Likewise, he couldn’t tell the other truth, which was that, like Alastair, he wanted somebody to have a chance at bliss even if it couldn’t be him. He’d long decided he was too strange to be lovable. Sleeping the night with someone or stealing a few hours with him was a different matter.
Love wasn’t always, and didn’t necessarily need to be, present in those moments. When it was, he bloomed under it, but he didn’t expect it. Nonetheless, he did yearn for a friend who could love him completely. Whether it was possible was another question. Well, perhaps he could tell a version of that particular truth. The one having nothing to do with premonitions or the unnatural. “I think Muriel deserves this chance.”
Alastair took a moment, then nodded.
“You’ll need keys.” Paul slipped one from the ring at his belt. “This opens the back door. If you turn to the left, you’ll come to the stairs that lead up here.” He took another. “And this one opens my doors.” Holding them both out, he was surprised to see Alastair’s disbelief. “What is it?”
“You really don’t think I’m going to just rob you…”
“No.”
