Chapter 13
The week dragged on, filled with pointless meetings at work where people didn’t listen to Malcolm, or worse, said exactly what he’d just said and then got praised for it. Every night, he’d bought himself a pint and a pie at the Bell, like he always did, listening to people like him talk about their lives, and he’d go back to his flat and read. Lately he’d been reading on Scottish history, and he didn’t even bother to lie to himself that it was for any reason except he wanted to know more about the land that Rory grew up on and lived on. At work, there was the latest catalogue to proof and plenty of other tasks to distract himself with, but Malcolm found himself musing on that one night at Tommy’s, over and over. There was really only one question and when his friend Lord Lawndry arrived for a visit, he almost blurted it out.
“How did you know that Mr Gilbert was worth the risk?” It wasn’t quite the same question—should he give up everything here at Sotheby’s and move to Scotland for a man with no guarantee that it would work or that he could find work—but it was almost the same question. Lawndry had lived with Mr Gilbert, a pair of confirmed bachelors, for years.
Lawndry’s face lit up, and damn, that was what Malcolm wanted. Someone who would think of him and look like that. Was Rory the one?
“In the end it was easy.”
“How so?”
“Losing him would have been worse than any other risk. He understands me. I know that I’m an odd person, obsessed with timepieces and often oblivious to how other people see the world, and he’s never tried to change me. He likes me and I like him and that’s everything.”
“And love?”
“Loving someone you like is the easiest thing in the world. He’s never tried to change me, when so many others have.” Lawndry flushed and waved his hand awkwardly. “Well, that’s basically it. I’m lucky that we muddle along together quite nicely.”
Luck. Malcolm didn’t believe in luck, he believed in training, preparation, technique. He was a champion because he worked harder than everyone to be better, stronger, faster than his opposition. He glanced around the room, around the office he’d spent so much of his adult life. At the door leading to the hallway where white men walked past him, ignoring him until he was useful, overlooking him for promotions time and again, giving the job to lessor qualified younger men with connections. All his training had become, not exactly worthless, but certainly under appreciated.
“I’m thinking of leaving Sotheby’s.”
Lawndry frowned. “I haven’t heard of anyone wanting a horologist. Who has offered you a job?”
“No one.”
“You are thinking of giving up horology?” Lawndry’s visage was a picture of puzzlement.
“Yes.”
“But you are an expert. One of the few in the world with knowledge on par with mine.”
It was true. “Yes, but unlike you, horology isn’t my passion, at least not to the same extent as you.”
Lawndry scoffed. “Nobbie would say that no one in the world has my singular focus for the subject. I don’t hold that against you.”
Malcolm laughed. “There is an opportunity to help someone set up a new business.”
“Is there a new watchmaker I haven’t heard of?”
“No. Lawndry, it has nothing to do with time pieces. But it might suit me. I’m good at organisation, and I think some of my skills can transfer over to a new challenge.”
Lawndry ran his hand through his hair, and Malcolm waited. Over the years he’d come to realise that sometimes Lawndry needed time to think through a new situation, he didn’t do well with surprises, and Malcolm had just thrown a giant revelation at him.
“And, I’m guessing that you are upset at being passed over for promotion. The Earl of Bancroft’s son has none of your experience. That job should have been yours. I put in a good word for you.”
Malcolm only nodded. Lawndry’s statement about him was true and he recalled how Lawndry had been upset about his lack of promotion, maybe more than Malcolm who’d merely been resigned to it happening again.
“Is this new opportunity with people who will appreciate you?”
God, how did Lawndry get to the heart of the matter so perfectly? “I sincerely hope so.”
“And that’s why you asked me about risk earlier?”
Not really, but perhaps the two were intertwined. He hadn’t even proposed the idea of working with Rory to Rory yet. “I ... Yes. I can’t decide if I should stay here where I know I’m good but all my experience is overlooked by the bosses, or if I should leave all of this behind and start again in a new field of work. Is it the newness that excites me, or is it frustration pushing me instead?”
“Come to dinner tonight. That sounds like a puzzle better suited for Nobbie to answer. He is good at people. I am struggling to see why anyone would want to walk away from a job where you get to spend all day with watches.”
Malcolm nodded. It was good to have friends. He should spend more time with them. He’d made that mistake with Tommy and he would be wise not to pass up this opportunity either.
“Tonight for dinner, then?”
“Yes. We would love to see you.”
Malcolm nodded. “Now ... I have a piece I think you want to see. It’s from the estate of a Mr Coddington and is quite unusual.” And Malcolm had a note to write... Because if he was going to discuss his future with Lawndry over dinner, there was one other person who needed to know what he was contemplating. And it wouldn’t be fair to surprise Rory with this, so he needed to write him a proper letter explaining what he was thinking and planning.
Malcolm smoothed out his jacket. Again. He knocked on Lawndry’s front door and a very slender butler opened the door. The man had rather delicate features and ... Lawndry’s butler was a woman? How unusual, or perhaps he was a man. Malcolm had met a few men at the King’s Book Club who had been born as women, and a few women who’d given up all the trappings and privileges of being a man to become her true self. He shouldn’t assume.
“Mr Milson, I presume. The Lord speaks fondly of you and you fit the description.”
He nodded. He trusted Lawndry to give an accurate, yet kind, description of him. “Yes.”
“Come through to the drawing room.” The butler took his overcoat, and then guided him through to the drawing room. The house was warm, almost cosy for a fancy London townhouse. The house wasn’t in the usual location with the rest of the ton, instead situated among the newly built houses of enterprising tradesmen.
As he stepped into the drawing room, he lost the ability to speak. He’d been the one to invite Rory, but damnation, he’d forgotten how good the man looked with his slightly too long brown hair and those light brown eyes and freckled skin. Rory, damn him, wore a kilt with a red and green tartan sash thrown over his shoulder and somehow the traditional Scottish garb emphasised his lean height, his reach. A flush broke out on Rory’s cheeks and Malcolm’s heart galloped. At least he wasn’t the only one affected.
“I’m sorry that I’m late.” He’d spent too long fussing over his appearance, nervously hoping that Rory might attend, even though he wasn’t sure if Rory had even gotten his note. He didn’t have his direction, and he’d had to send it via the King’s Book Club, hoping that Heider would know how to find Rory.
“Welcome.” Lawndry stood up. “This is my Mr Gilbert. I can’t believe you’ve never met after all these years. We’ve been chatting to Laird Cockburn here about boxing.”
“It’s not often there are two Champions in my house,” Mr Gilbert came over and shook Malcolm’s hand. “I do love a bit of sport.”
“Oh nonsense Nobbie. You love the betting and the gossip.” To see Lawndry relaxed and teasing someone was rather special. It’d taken years to have a similar relaxed friendship with Lawndry, years of going over watch catalogues and collections together, and Malcolm was glad his friend had someone who understood how special he was.
“It’s true. I am a financial investor, and betting on sports or racing is merely another type of investment, although the risks are different and the results more immediate.”
Malcolm glanced over Mr Gilbert’s shoulder at Rory who had also stood up but was lingering behind their little group. “A financial investor, you say? Perhaps The Long Laird should tell you why he’s in town?”
Rory’s eyes widened as Lawndry and Mr Gilbert both turned around to stare at him.
“Why are you in town, Laird Cockburn?” Mr Gilbert asked.
“I own a coal mine but I don’t have the resources to make it functional again. It’s a long story.”
“I have time,” Mr Gilbert glanced at Lawndry. “Why don’t you show Mr Milson your collection? It sounds like Laird Cockburn and I have something to discuss.”
“I’d be delighted to look at your collection, Lawndry.” Over the years, he’d seen some pieces whenever Lawndry had brought them in for assessment or sale, and they’d discussed the collection at various times, but he’d never been here. Lawndry’s face lit up and he bolted from the room. Malcolm knew his friend well enough to simply follow him and he realised he was looking forward to having Lawndry talk at him for at least the next hour. He would always have a place in his heart for horology, it was the job that had let him down over the years, not the time pieces themselves. Lawndry’s enthusiasm was, almost, enough to override the curiosity Malcolm had for the conversation between Mr Gilbert and Rory. If he’d known Lawndry’s lover was an investor, he might have placed them in the same room before now. Who was he kidding? It was wishful thinking, he’d only met Rory a little more than a week ago. It just seemed like meeting him had given him the impetus to change the things he found his life frustrating.
“There are only two pieces in this room that are not for sale.”
“The Hobart?” Malcolm had only been a young man, new to Sotheby’s, when Lawndry and Mr Gilbert had arrived with this watch, the unique Hobart that had brought Lawndry and Mr Gilbert together and solved the mystery of Mr Gilbert’s odd name and family circumstances.
“No, Nobbie still wears that piece. I forgot that you helped us with that. It was a long time ago.”
Malcolm laughed. “Trust you to remember the watch and not the story of the people.”
“I remember Nobbie’s role.”
“Of course you do.” Malcolm had been the one to catalogue the entire original Hobart collection and that watch had been one of the few missing. He didn’t need to rehash the whole story.
“No, these two are not for sale. This is a Lechti that my mother made, and this one made by Harrison of the longitude problem.”
“That’s not H1?” Malcolm had seen that on display at Greenwich.
“No, it’s his personal watch that he made for himself. A simple fob but unique and made by one of the greatest time piece makers the world has ever known.”
Lawndry got the watch out of its cupboard and together they looked at it, and many others, until there was a knock at the door.
“Dinner is served, my Lord.”