Page 53 of By Any Means

Ah. That sort of provincial. Damn it, Chary, just be predictable and mean. “I won’t kiss you, then.”

Chary flushed tellingly. Pickable and ripe. “He’ll leave us be.”

“Else I’ll give ’im,” Laurie said, a little too earnestly.

Chary gasped. “You will not. You are not that kind of man.”

“No? Aren’t I?”

“I pulled a pistol on you and you reassured me, Laurie Tulley.”

“Filled with blanks! And I yanked you outta the way of a hansom cab, didn’t I?”

“But let go at once when I asked.”

Laurie harrumphed. He didn’t like to be seen so easily. He was supposed to be doing the seeing.

Chary seemed to know it. He turned away and pulled out a velvet-lined case of wine flutes. He teetered two of them on their bases upon the blanket, resetting them once, until Laurie held them still for him.

“Champagne?” Laurie raised eyebrows.

“Mrs. Simon does like me. Against all odds. You don’t have to drink it, though I think I must bring it back empty one way or another.” He leaned back to wrench the cork.

“Is it on ice? Don’t waste it.” Laurie held the shimmering filled flute in the edge of the light. “I feel like I’ve seen these before. It’s yours? Wright glass?”

“Mm.” Chary sipped. “Lead crystal.” He inspected his own glass. “Rotary cut, not pressed. This design—the Tartan—is from 1897. John Jacob Astor commissioned these for the Waldorf-Astoria.” He leveled a knowing look.

Oops. “You got me. Look, the food there’s great.”

“You know… I’ve never been?”

Laurie laughed. More lies. “No! Absolutely not. You have, too.”

“Earnestly, I haven’t.”

Huh. The truth? Accompanied by a true smile, a happy one. So much rest had done him good.

They ate and then stretched out with full, effervescent bellies to read (in Chary’s case) and write (in Laurie’s). It was… surprisingly peaceful. Laurie, inspecting himself ruthlessly, found he couldn’t begrudge this particular rich man his leisure. Work wasn’t a man’s virtue, but Chary was doing it to death with seemingly no need. And Chary’s leisure wasn’t the conspicuous kind. It was done out of necessity, not out of boredom or for social status. And everyone—everyone—was due some leisure, and respite, and play.

He underlined the word play twice, heavily; the nib spread warningly.

It drew Chary’s attention.

“What do you write so passionately? Nothing of me, I hope.”

Gotcha. Laurie unfolded from his sideways hunch over his notebook, wincing.

“Nope. Frank Doubleday wants my novel by the end of oh-six.”

Chary curled into a sit, his arm slung over his knee, book butterflied between his long fingers. “A novel. Doubleday & Page?”

“Yessir.”

“Who did he have to fight for Lawrence Tulley’s debut?”

Laurie laughed. “I dunno. Probably nobody, as he’s an acquaintance, and a friend of Sam’s.”

“Ahh, nepotism.”