The Bohemian and the Banker

by Bonnie Dee

  Nigel tucked away the note and thanked Culpepper. He felt awkwardly touched by the man’s confidence.

  That evening, he handed over the list to Jay, who had the day off from singing. Jay looked it over. “Oh I remember this place.” He smiled briefly. “But I don’t think I want to go back there. The owner and I… Well. The rest sound entirely shady, which is perfect. Let us go out immediately.”

  Nigel put on his hat and coat, and they headed into the drizzling fog to discover a part of London he knew nothing about.

  He couldn’t drink and dance, not the way Jay could. Nigel sat at a rickety cloth-covered table in a corner of a restaurant while Jay charmed three men and a woman who sat at the table next to them. She wore bright clothes and brighter lipstick. Nigel had never sat so close to anyone so colorful, and she fascinated him—though even in somber London proper men’s clothes, Jay seemed more vivid.

  By ten o’clock Jay and the woman were singing together. By eleven, Jay was dancing on the large table pushed into a corner. He wasn’t alone. Several other men thumped and kicked and bellowed along with him.

  The musicians, a pianist and two violinists, slammed out all sorts of odd tunes, mostly waltzes, Nigel supposed.

  Nigel drank ale, watched and smiled. The establishment—restaurant? pub? small music hall?—was hardly well lit, but when Jay came back to the table, panting for breath, Nigel could see the light shining in Jay’s eyes turned them bright and wild.

  The tonic Jay took was having an effect.

  Should he say something? Nigel didn’t want to be a scold, but he worried. “You ought not mix that ale with your, uh, medication.”

  Jay tossed back the rest of the beer in his glass and set it down firmly on the table. He stood with hands on hips. He’d pulled off his jacket so he wore shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. The shirt was white and seemed to glow in the dim light, and his hair was a mess. Lithe, lovely and…annoyed? “What’s wrong?” Nigel asked.

  Jay waved a hand in irritation, and even that small gesture was elegant. “You’re not enjoying yourself. You’re not dancing.”

  “I’m watching you dance.” Nigel leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “I derive more pleasure from that than you can imagine. I like watching you enjoy yourself.”

  Jay’s glittering eyes softened. “I wasn’t having that much fun. I was trying to make you jealous, you know, flirting with them.”

  “Oh.” Nigel picked up his glass and drank the flat ale. “Why?”

  Jay laughed. “Because I have had too much to drink, I suspect. And because I wanted to see you display passion.”

  “I show you passion every time we are alone.” Nigel’s heart beat faster. Why would Jay want him to behave like an idiot? A few days ago, he wouldn’t have said anything. He might have held on to the surge of anger, but the words came out. “Jealousy is ugly. And…and I don’t understand why you want me to turn into a savage.”

  Jay shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t. Not anymore.” He dropped into the chair next to him. “I should have known it wouldn’t work.”

  Jay longed for another drink, but knew Nigel’s face would crease in worry. He traced a pattern on the tablecloth with his forefinger.

  “Why did you want to make me jealous?” Nigel asked.

  Jay met his eyes. When in the name of holy hell did those large dark eyes become so gorgeous? He should have noticed them right away when they’d first met. He hadn’t seen. He’d been blind. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “I think perhaps because if you danced with another man or woman or horse or anything… If you looked at anyone else the way you’re looking at me…” His voice trailed off. He’d be a fool to admit the power Nigel held over him, but then again, this was Nigel. He was safe, yet he wasn’t dull.

  This man he’d thought was plodding and stolid when they’d met, carried passion buried deep within him, and he longed to see it in every aspect of their lives, not just the bedroom. But if he danced on tables or picked fights with Jay, he wouldn’t be Nigel, would he?

  Jay sighed and picked up the empty glass to drain the last drops. “I think I want to be able to snap my fingers and have you come to heel every time I do.”

  Nigel laughed, and it wasn’t a happy sound. “I do come to heel, Jay. You know that. I have since the night we met.”

  “Ah, but lately I do too. If you were to snap and point, there I’d be.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “And I think that frightens me.”

  “Oh.”

  Jay supposed that Nigel would grin in triumph to know that he wielded such power over Jay. Instead, Nigel thumped back in his chair and blinked a few times. “Oh. Yes, that would be awful for you.”

  “What?” The pressure in Jay’s chest lessened. “Why do you say that?”

  “A person like you would not want to be domesticated.”

  Jay’s dark mood vanished at once. “Is that what you call it?”

  Nigel nodded solemnly. “You’re so happy and easy, I’d hate to see you feel wretched because of me. I promise not to dance with any men, women, horses, cats and dogs. But you can. You should.”

  “But that makes no sense.”

  “I don’t want to change you, Jay.”

  “Ha, and I was just figuring out the same about you.”

  They grinned at each other across the small table. Someone, a lanky lad whose name eluded Jay, sashayed over to them and touched Jay on the shoulder. “Come along, sweet boy, dance with me.”

  Jay shook his head, which swam, but only a little. “Not at the moment. I’m resting.”

  “It’s almost one,” the man said. “This place was supposed to shut down hours ago, so we might not have much time.”

  “Almost one?” Nigel rubbed his face.

  Jay wondered why Nigel looked so appalled, and then he recalled. “You must be at work tomorrow morning. This morning.”

  “Oh drat,” the man said. “The music’s stopped already.”

  He leaned against a column and watched Jay disconsolately. Jay jumped up. He grabbed Nigel by the forearm and dragged him up from his chair. “I was going to force you to dance, but I’ll take you home and tuck you into bed instead.”

  He pulled on his jacket and seized his overcoat and hat while Nigel did the same.

  “Ha, lucky sot,” the lanky one called after them as Jay and Nigel weaved around the nearly empty tables. The musicians were indeed packing up.

  How had it gotten so late?

  “Which one of us is he calling lucky?” Jay asked as he nodded good night to one of his new acquaintances.

  “I am the lucky one, of course,” Nigel said.

  Outside in the chilled air that was thick with drizzle and fog, Jay’s head cleared almost at once. “You should have told me you needed to leave hours ago,” he scolded Nigel as they made their way along the narrow street to Piccadilly to find a hansom.

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t check my watch.” Nigel pulled in a long breath. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Yes, for the most part.” As he’d danced and sung, Jay once again realized he missed Paris. The small, dingy establishment seemed a poor imitation of the places he loved, just as the music hall where he sang in London was a sad establishment compared to M. Dulac’s cabaret. And, of course, there was his silenced songbird, Jean Michel. Jay hadn’t worn anything but trousers since arriving in London. A man’s vest and coat were beginning to feel more like a straitjacket every day.

  He considered dropping the subject, but he wasn’t the sort to hide his feelings. Besides, this was a way to warn Nigel. “I miss my friends. I’d grown so used to thinking of them as nuisances, I’d forgotten they are truly my friends.”

  Nigel walked for a few minutes in silence, grumbling as he splashed into a puddle in the dark. He said, “There are other places on that list Culpepper ga
ve me. We’ll visit them.”

  “Hmm.” Jay felt like a brute—he must be more appreciative of Nigel’s efforts to entertain him. He tentatively asked, “Will you be able to work tomorrow?”

  “Certainly.” Nigel sounded confident.

  “When will you know about the promotion?”

  “Soon. I hope.”

  Jay tried not to hope Nigel wouldn’t get the job. He did hope, of course, but Nigel needn’t know. “You’re excited about that chance, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yes.” Nigel hunched his shoulders as rain began to patter down. Jay couldn’t even feel the drops.

  Nigel walked faster and said something. Jay trotted after him. “What did you say?”

  “It’s the opportunity I’ve been working toward since I took the position in the bank.”

  Jay couldn’t think of any sort of answer to that.

  For now, Nigel was his, and never mind the future. Jay had practice with that sort of avoidance. He looped his arm through Nigel’s and, ignoring the rising headache brought on by a need for medication, matched his steps to Nigel’s quick pace.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When life changed, it happened quickly, abruptly and without warning. As he walked whistling toward the bank, Nigel pondered this simple and obvious fact, which he supposed every person did at some point during the course of a life. Deaths. Births. Finding a lover. Gaining a promotion. Pivotal moments that were sometimes obscure until later when one looked back and saw clearly the fork in the road and the path not taken. He’d blundered onto that path back in Paris—one he’d never have picked for himself but now…

  A few months ago, he’d never have guessed at the changes careening toward him. He’d gone to Paris with his mind on nothing but business and discovered an entirely new aspect of life. Then Turner had put his name up for promotion. Most importantly, Jay had come to London to be with him. Such pleasure and joy. Such friendship and sharing of the mundane details of life. Nigel certainly couldn’t imagine returning to the life he’d lived before Jay exploded like a comet into it.

  He stopped whistling his cheerful tune to stifle a yawn before entering the bank. Almost two weeks of sleepless hours spent with Jay at late-night clubs and then wrestling in the sheets were taking a toll. One of these evenings, he’d have to stay home and catch up on his rest.

  Nigel entered the lobby of the bank with its vaulted ceiling and stately columns and vast marble floor that might put a cathedral to shame. It was a church of sorts, the church of commerce and finances. He was proud to be a priest in that sacred endeavor—and soon, a bishop. Nigel smiled at the thought.

  He tipped his head to the row of tellers in their barred cages and continued on through the door that led to the offices and the vault. Several of the junior clerks, Mr. Culpepper included, stood in a cluster muttering about something like fishwives in the marketplace. Always gossiping, these fellows, whenever they could sneak a moment from the watchful eyes of their supervisors. At the sight of Nigel, the group immediately disbanded, each man hurrying off to his place.

  He shook his head but smiled. Such improper behavior at work used to irritate him. Now he found it amusing. He supposed Jay had softened and changed him in many ways. Culpepper gave Nigel a brief nod and a wink before climbing onto his stool. Perhaps the junior clerks had heard about his promotion. Maybe it was going to happen today. Nigel went into his office where Reggie Porter glanced up from his work, then looked quickly down again with only a whisper of a greeting. Understandable. Reggie must have heard about the advancement too. He was jealous of Nigel’s success. But Nigel had put in many more years than the other man and deserved it more.

  “Mr. Turner has asked to see you when you arrive,” Porter said. “In his office.”

  “Thank you.” Nigel glanced at the clock on the wall to find he was nearly ten minutes late for work. Tardiness was hardly a quality he wanted to exhibit when he was being considered for the most important career change of his life. He be more careful and not allow Jay to drag him into last-minute lingering embraces before he headed out the door in the mornings. Well, things would change once he had this promotion to manager. He would recommit himself to work and keep his after-hours affairs strictly under control. It was possible to have everything he wanted, if he managed his time better.

  At his knock, Turner’s thin and rather petulant voice called, “Come in.”

  Nigel entered and bowed his head to the older man. “Good day, sir.”

  “Take a seat, Mr. Warren.”

  Nigel’s excitement at the prospect of hearing his promotion had gone through dimmed as he perched on the edge of the hard chair across the desk from his supervisor. The man’s attitude did not suggest good news, but then Turner’s demeanor was generally one of displeasure.

  The manager pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose and regarded Nigel. “Mr. Warren, are you committed to your work here at Herries Farquhar and Co.?”

  “Yes, of course, sir.” Now that his anticipation had faded somewhat, unease began to take its place.

  Turner steepled his fingers and continued to stare with those relentless brown eyes. “Because one would think from your behavior recently that you did not respect either yourself or the institution that employs you.”

  Nigel’s stomach dropped to his shoes. Something terrible was happening. He hadn’t been this frightened since he was a schoolboy sent to the headmaster’s office for an uncharacteristic transgression.

  “I apologize for being late, sir. It shan’t happen again.”

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve arrived a few minutes late or at the stroke.” Turner waved a hand. “But that is the least of our concerns.”

  Our, meaning not only Mr. Turner but others at the bank. Nigel swallowed and didn’t speak another word lest he make things worse for himself. What all did they know? Had they somehow heard about his houseguest? Who would have shared such information?

  “It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve made a new friend, a performer at Royal Holburn Music Hall. Such a friendship is most unsuitable for one of our employees.” Turner continued to stare as his words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning. He hinted at knowing the nature of such a relationship and warned that it was unacceptable.

  Nigel couldn’t speak because he couldn’t even think. His mind ran like a starving rat at the bottom of an empty barrel, round and round, searching for a way out. Who would have spoken of him and Jay to Mr. Turner? Culpepper! He was the only one who knew even a little about Nigel’s after-hours life. In service to his own advancement, the falsely friendly prat had turned on him.

  “I-I hardly know what to say, Mr. Turner. Yes, I have become acquainted with one of the singers at the Holburn. He’s an interesting fellow, and we have gone out together on occasion. That’s all there is to it.”

  “A man in that profession is hardly a suitable friend for any reputable person. One might question what you could possibly find in common.” Another suggestive pause as Turner waited for an answer.

  Oh, how Nigel wanted to yell that it wasn’t any of his business. His private life wasn’t the bank’s concern. So long as he did his job well, that was all that should matter. But of course he couldn’t say that.

  “I became familiar with Mr. Bertrand while attempting to make the acquaintance of Sally Springer, a dancer at the Holburn,” Nigel said. “The man offered to make an introduction, and as we talked, I quite enjoyed his company. We went out together several times after that.”

  Nigel had no idea why this lie bubbled up and out of his mouth. And it wouldn’t protect him, not really. Hadn’t he already said something about a friend visiting from Paris? He despised prevaricators, and this turned him into one with no excuse other than self-protection. Misery washed through him.

  Jay would understand why he lied. Nigel was sure of that. He never hid his own true n
ature, but he had to know that Nigel must.

  His misery only increased when, for the first time since Nigel had entered the office, Mr. Turner relaxed slightly. He sat back in his chair while continuing to regard Nigel searchingly.

  “Ah! Well, you wouldn’t be the first or the last young man to become interested in a chorus girl. But such an affiliation is not to your advantage. And I think you could see how some people might interpret your close ‘friendship’ with a male performer as meaning something else entirely. Why, if you hadn’t told me about the girl, I might have wondered myself.”

  Bile rose in Nigel’s throat as the transcendent relationship he shared with Jay was reduced to something dirty and small by Turner’s sneering tone. “I believe I understand, sir.”

  “Herries Farquhar and Co. has a solid reputation, and as an employee, you represent the bank at all times. What you do reflects well or poorly on the institution. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nigel gritted through clenched teeth.

  Turner tapped his fingers on his desk blotter. “I will tell you the truth, Mr. Warren. It was one of the other managers who spotted you in the alley of the theatre walking arm and arm with that man in what he considered far too friendly a fashion. The manager was engaged in a similar activity to yourself—hoping to enjoy the friendship of a chorus girl. Not quite appropriate either, but that’s beside the point. So, do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  Nigel nodded. Not Culpepper after all then. Of course not, or the man could have told Mr. Turner so much more, and would have exposed too much about himself in the telling.

  Turner continued. “As your manager, I’ve watched you work tirelessly at your job with never a waver until now, but these late nights and questionable associations must end immediately. Now for the good news. Within a week, you’ll be informed that the promotion is yours on a trial basis. The other managers agree that you must sever your connections at the theatre and toe the line. No more hijinks better left to young men at university. You can’t afford to indulge in such activities—not if you wish to remain in your position.”