The Bohemian and the Banker

by Bonnie Dee

  Dulac glanced up for a moment, then, with a sigh, flipped opened a letter and arranged it on a pile. “Really, Jean Michel. It’s a pity that you must resort to these threats, my dear. You are most unlike yourself.”

  “I know. I’m not sure why.”

  “Love? Indigestion?” M. Dulac flipped open the big leather book that held dates, names and addresses. He ran a well-manicured finger down the page. “Very well, if you are going to be such an enfant, take your holiday and return to us when you can, as soon as you can. I would be more gracious about this and wish you bon voyage if you’re going away or tell you to enjoy yourself. But no. I have to shuffle my schedule and put in far less talented acts than your own at the very last minute, you animal. In fact, if I could, I’d be less gracious and fire you, but alas, you are too talented. Now go away and be urgent elsewhere. You are giving me a headache, alas.”

  Jay got up and gave M. Dulac a bow. “Thank you. I’ll be back after I’ve visited my relative in England.” He had to give the man some excuse after all.

  “Do that. But wait.” M. Dulac stopped pretending to be fascinated by the book. He raised his head and studied Jay for a moment with murky brown eyes. “Yes, you are pale and perhaps even too thin. I believe you’re right—you have no choice, and you must go. Alas, there goes my indignation, which is a much more comfortable emotion than worry. You are a selfish creature to make me worry about you now.”

  He rose to his feet and smoothed the front and the sleeves of his maroon velvet jacket. He always wore velvet and was always fiddling with his clothing. Then, to Jay’s shock, M. Dulac came to him and gave him a kiss on each cheek. The old man smelled of rosewater and stale beer. “If you go away, you must write to me or to Lagniappe or someone who will send word. I suspect you are the sort of man to walk away and never look back, but have pity on us, hmm?”

  Jay smiled, touched the old man seemed to give a damn. “I will. Thank you, monsieur.”

  Before he left the cabaret, he took one last look in his dressing room, rubbing his cheek against the soft fur on the cuffs of one gown, letting the beaded fringe of another sift like water between his fingers. He sat a moment at his table and applied a little rouge to his cheeks, a hint of liner around his eyes. A sharp stab of nostalgia pierced him, as if Dulac was right and this would be the last time he’d sit in this chair. He gazed into the mirror for a moment, wiped off some of the rouge, then rose and walked out of the room. Such foolishness. He’d be back here in a few weeks.

  Jay returned to the apartment feeling less flat than he had for several days. Perhaps the brisk walk helped clear his head, or perhaps the idea of getting out of Paris helped. Sometime on the way home, he’d decided to actually do what he’d said he would, and go to London to see his uncle. And if he called upon Nigel, it would be a casual visit, an acquaintance paying a call. What did gentlemen do when they called upon each other? Would a banker wish to discuss the economy? Drink tea or port? Talk about the weather? Suck each other until they passed out?

  He pushed his hat forward so the brim protected his face from the increasing rain.

  Ah, rain. This was good practice for his return to dear old Britannia. A casual visit, he reminded himself. He’d make peace with his past and perhaps catch a glimpse of Nigel. Perhaps he was just homesick and another fellow Briton might strike his fancy. That would be the best way to break this strange bout of malaise—a chance encounter that would truly remain casual this time.

  As he walked, he fished the vial from his pocket and took a sip.

  Chapter Ten

  In these days of locomotives and steam ferries, it was a mere skip and a jump from Paris to London via Calais and Dover, short in distance but thousands of miles away in Jay’s mind. He’d never regretted leaving his constricting country of birth for his new life on the Left Bank. From the moment he’d arrived and begun to meet people like Roger, Polisson and Lagniappe, Jay had settled into his real home. This was his place. These were his people. And the audiences who came to hear him sing songs exactly as he wished to, in the attire he wished to… God, he loved every one of them.

  Maybe it took seeing the fog-shrouded London streets to remind him of everything he had in his new life and why he’d left to begin with, Jay mused as he trudged toward his Uncle Curtis’s flat. Bleak and dark—the words described the neighborhood, the building and the room his uncle welcomed him into.

  “My boy. How like your dear mother you appear.” Curtis pumped Jay’s hand hard—no embraces or kisses between men here in jolly old, unless one counted the perfunctory meetings in certain cemeteries or “special” pubs like the Running Horse in Shepherd Market.

  Gray eyes similar to Jay’s glittered under a ridge of truly stupendous eyebrows as Curtis regarded Jay. “The shape of your lips, that slight tilt to your nose, and your hair… Nearly as long as a woman’s. Yes, you’re the very image of my little sister, Matilda.”

  His hair wasn’t all that long, though it did curl well over his collar, but Jay ignored the assessment and turned his attention to Curtis’s one large room with a bed hidden behind a screen in a corner. “I see you’re settled here. All your books about you.”

  “Ah yes.” The aged uncle cast a glance at the piles and piles of cheap volumes that made a maze of the room. One had to walk between them to get to the single armchair before the fireplace. There was no other chair so Jay pulled a wooden seat from the small dining table over beside his uncle’s armchair.

  The man sank deep into the sagging cushions and reached for a pipe he’d left burning on the table. Jay winced. Someday, no doubt, the entire place would go up in flames.

  “How are you doing, Uncle? Do you have everything you need?”

  “I get by. I have all my friends here as you can see.” He gestured to the books. “And my dear landlady makes sure I’m fed and watered.” He laughed. “My children have paid her to look after me, but they think I don’t know it.”

  Jay nodded, feeling slightly guilty about neglecting the old man, but then he’d never been close to either uncle or cousins, and they seemed to have their father provided for. He nearly mentioned Curtis’s request to borrow money to buy a bookshop, but it occurred to him the old man had already forgotten the scheme. No need to stir the pot if Curtis didn’t bring up the subject.

  “So, what brings you to see me?” His uncle puffed smoke along with every word.

  “Thought it was time to make a visit home. Unfortunately, it won’t be a long one. I have work to return to,” Jay said.

  “Of course. Nevertheless, it’s good to see you.”

  Silence descended. Curtis sucked on his pipe, and Jay cleared his throat, trying to think of something to discuss besides the weather. At last he asked after his cousins, but Curtis’s recollection of the details of their lives was sparse.

  “How is life in Paris?” A quaver shook the old man’s voice and his neck wattles. “And what is it you do there?”

  “I’m a singer in a nightclub.” He needn’t mention the part about dressing in ladies’ attire.

  “I remember your beautiful voice. When you were a wee lad, your mother would proudly have you sing for company. Unless your dad was at home. The man had no respect for art or for book learning at all. My sister married beneath her, we all agreed.”

  Having no wish to relive his vague memories of the hard man with the hard fists, Jay turned the subject. “Are you hungry, Uncle? I’d like to treat you to a meal. Is there any place you’d especially like to dine?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I rarely go out.” Curtis frowned at the dirty window as if lions and tigers dwelt on the other side. Perhaps they did.

  “Then it’s about time you had an airing. I’ll make sure you get there and back home safely,” Jay promised. “Come along, then.” He spoke to his uncle as he would a stubborn child, and the old man rose and allowed Jay to help him into his coat.

  Wit
h more cheerful coaxing, Jay got him down the stairs and the street to a nearby pub. He ordered fish and chips and two mugs of beer, and they sat at a table by the window where they could watch the passersby. Jay had but half a mind on the paper-thin conversation. The other reason for his visit to London kept springing up in his thoughts like a jack-in-the-box that wouldn’t stay boxed.

  Nigel Warren, that intriguing dark-eyed man with the serious manner and the unexpected playful streak. How might Jay contact him? He could hardly show up in his life unannounced. He should send a message first, but he didn’t even know Nigel’s direction. He did, however, know the name of the bank Nigel worked for, which he’d mentioned in passing. A simple matter to stop by Herries Farquhar and Co. and see if he might catch Nigel outside the building at the end of a workday. That wasn’t at all frighteningly sinister, Jay thought with a mental chuckle.

  “What’s funny?” Uncle Curtis asked. “You look as if you hold a happy secret.”

  “Of sorts,” Jay admitted.

  “A special lady? I know that look, my boy. I’ve worn it myself when I was a younger man.”

  Jay needed to talk. He hadn’t spoken a word about his little obsession to any of his friends at home, but his forgetful uncle would make a good confessor. “Someone I met in Paris, actually, and who I hope to see again here in London. It was a bit of a holiday romance, so I don’t know how my attentions will be received.”

  Curtis took a bite of the battered fish and crunched it thoughtfully. “You don’t wish to frighten the poor girl or break convention. I think you ought to talk to her parents first.”

  “No parents in the picture,” Jay said.

  “Her guardian, then.” Curtis paused. “Unless you think your wooing will be met with disfavor. I had to arrange clandestine meetings with a woman I once loved. Not your aunt, if truth be told. And not a day has gone by in the years since I forsook her that I haven’t wished I’d made a different choice.” He stared fiercely at Jay. “Never let love slip through your fingers, my boy. It’s the one thing that makes this existence worthwhile.”

  “Yes, Uncle. I believe you’re right.” Jay reached out to pat the old man’s gnarled hand, which rested on the table. “Although I’m not certain if it’s love. We only knew each other a couple of days.”

  “Magical days and precious moments.” Curtis’s eyes grew unfocused as though he saw his lost love more clearly than the nephew sitting in front of him. “Days a man relives in the winter of his life, but the memories hardly warm him.”

  The loss and longing in the old man’s tone brought Jay’s feelings for Nigel into sharp focus. He could admit at last that a connection had been forged in their brief time together. But if he sought out Nigel, would he feel the same, or would he be horrified that Jay had followed him to London and intruded into his regular life?

  “You are a romantic at heart,” Jay said.

  Curtis wiped his eyes and swigged his beer. “An old man gets emotional. In my day, a man was expected to make an advantageous match and provide for his family. No more, no less. There was little thought of love and certainly no running off to Paris to become a singer. You’re the lucky one, lad.”

  Jay smiled. “I am at that.”

  But Jay felt far less lucky the following day as he entered the lobby of Herries Farquhar and Co. The financial institution was impressively solid and trustworthy, with marble and gilt everywhere and tellers lurking like zoo animals behind caged windows. Jay had never had enough money saved to bother with opening a bank account. He felt out of place here even wearing the jacket, tie and proper shoes he’d purchased at a secondhand shop next to the Berwick Market. At least he’d had the foresight to change out of his usual attire, a collarless shirt with a scarf tied round his neck, casual trousers, and shoes without laces or socks. That last was practically a uniform for his bohemian crowd, proclaiming their disdain for convention. But Jay had been aware he needed a different sort of costume for this venue. One didn’t go to a ball dressed in a kimono.

  What had he thought he might accomplish here? Of course Nigel worked in one of the offices in back. Jay wouldn’t catch so much a glimpse of him even if he waited here all day—which he couldn’t do since the bank guard was already looking askance at him. The man probably thought he was casing the place in preparation for a robbery. Jay conceded, turned and retreated from the building.

  Now what? He could go back to his uncle’s flat and spend more time with the old geezer, but he might miss his chance to spot Nigel.

  Luckily there was a small park, a spot of green with a couple of trees and benches, across the street from the bank. Jay went and parked himself on a bench to await the bank’s closing hour.

  As the minutes slipped past and the time drew near, his excitement began to build. Any moment now, he would see that familiar dark head and pale face, that trim figure with the brisk, no-nonsense walk emerging from the building. Jay leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, hands dangling, and jiggled one foot impatiently.

  Any second now…

  Another day ended. It used to give him such satisfaction to walk out of his office knowing how much he’d accomplished, a satisfied, comfortable sort of feeling. Dinner and his quiet, clean home awaited him as he strolled slowly along the familiar path to his front door. A good life. A sedate, well-ordered life. A life a man could be proud of. And now…not nearly enough of a life to satisfy him. On a scale with orderly simple pleasures on one side and messy fierce passion on the other, the scales would tip toward passion unless one made a firm choice to come down on the side of order.

  Nigel exited the bank, walking with his gaze on the sidewalk, scarcely aware of the people around him.

  “Good night, Mr. Warren. Hope you have a pleasant evening,” a coworker greeted him as he hurried past. The man had a new wife at home, a reason to rush at the end of the day.

  Perhaps he should get a wife, someone to share his life and give a little meaning to his daily toil. Someone to fill the silence of his evenings with companionship. Ah, but evenings included nights and although they might have separate rooms, he would occasionally have to visit his wife’s bed. He couldn’t imagine the awkward act that would take place there. It was too late to fool himself that such couplings might be sufficient.

  “Mr. Warren.”

  A voice startled him from the fantasy he’d begun to weave around his memories of Paris. Nigel looked up, expecting to see another coworker. When he saw who spoke instead, he froze, legs bolted to the sidewalk, breath halted in his chest. Blood rushed to his head, and his vision began to cloud before he remembered to seize a breath again.

  “You!” he gasped.

  Jay smiled his slow, sultry smile that hinted at secrets and two bodies entwined as he sauntered along the sidewalk toward Nigel. “Hello. I’m sorry to come upon you so unexpectedly, but I didn’t know how to contact you.”

  Nigel continued to stare, questions tumbling through his mind like a shower of pebbles, but none finding the way to his mouth.

  “I came to visit my uncle, and while I was here, I thought I’d see how my friend Nigel Warren was doing.” Jay’s smile dimmed slightly as Nigel still didn’t speak. “Was I wrong to do so?”

  “No! Not at all. I’m merely s-surprised,” Nigel stammered. “Surprised and pleased to see you again.” Remembering where he was, still in the shadow of his place of employment, he quickly glanced around to see if anyone might observe this meeting.

  “Not to worry, Nige. If anyone asks, you can say I’m an old chum from school. Nothing suspicious about two men talking. Shall we walk?”

  Nigel nodded dumbly and fell into step beside Jay. Instantly, he was taken back to their day at the Exposition, walking side by side, and, when no one was nearby, even daring to touch hands. Oh, and that Ferris wheel ride! The way they’d both flown through the night with their bodies on fire. He shivered.

  “I
didn’t know if you’d want to see me again, but I couldn’t stay away, not when I was so near you.” Jay lowered his voice still further, but Nigel heard every word. “I missed you. Quite a lot, actually. Which may seem mad considering the short length of time we spent together, but there you have it.”

  So brave. Jay didn’t hesitate to lay his thoughts out for Nigel to pick through. Feelings Nigel possessed too, but which he wouldn’t have dared voice, not if Jay hadn’t said it first. He would not leave his visitor dangling.

  “I missed you too.” Nigel chose his next words carefully. “The time in Paris has become almost like a dream to me, something so wonderful it must have been a fantasy I invented. I have thought of you every day since then.”

  It felt so good to be able to express his secret self at last when he’d feared he might never do so again that Nigel rushed on. “I’ve become restless. Work I used to enjoy doing now taxes my patience. It’s all I can do to sit at my desk for hours every day. I want something…more.” He trailed off, aware that he’d spoken too much, too freely.

  But Jay nodded along with his words. “I understand. Even the great pleasure I take in my music has dimmed. Like you, I feel restless, and yet I no longer wish to go out and enjoy the city. Nothing amuses me anymore. None of it is enough.”

  A woman pushing a baby in a perambulator moved past them, and they fell silent. Nigel looked at the red-faced, red-haired, black-uniformed nanny—a good Irish Bridget, no doubt—and at the tiny waving fist thrusting above the edge of the pram. The baby howled in anger, too hot and constricted by blankets and layers of clothing. The curse of being a civilized human being started almost immediately after birth.

  As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Jay resumed speaking. “I did want to check on my uncle. I told myself that was the main reason I came, but it wasn’t. I came to see you.”

  The words seemed to resonate in the air. A thrill of anticipation surged through Nigel. He needed to get someplace private with Jay soon, a place where they might talk and then touch…and other things.