Thirty-Nine
Sir John wakes from his nap and, after some cajoling, joins me for writing. We hit a roll, and only when Mrs Jenkins pops her head around the door do I realise it’s 6:45pm. I have exactly fifteen minutes to get ready before whoever this Henry character is arrives. Sir John told me in no uncertain terms that I was expected downstairs at 7pm sharp. I hastily pull a hairbrush through my hair before scooping it into a clip and refreshing my slightly smeared make-up. I pull on a dress and summery sandals, spritzing on some perfume and glancing in the mirror before dashing down to the hallway just as the doorbell chimes. It feels wrong to ignore it, but I know that if I answer the door rather than Mrs Jenkins, Sir John will be absolutely horrified by my “breach in protocol.” A harried-looking Mrs Jenkins, face flushed from steaming the beans, rushes past me as I continue towards the reception room, and I feel even worse.
“Henry!” Sir John booms as a tall, distinguished-looking man, who looks to be in his late sixties, walks in. His dark hair is streaked heavily with grey, and he’s got deep furrows across his forehead. He smiles as he greets me, and his blue eyes crinkle. “Alex, lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I blush, knowing that Sir John has mentioned some of my “merry debacles” to him, but he’s chivalrous enough not to mention specifics.
“Mrs Jenkins!” Sir John barks, a touch of the old Sir John emerging. “Don’t forget Henry’s coat!”
“I’ll look after that!” I offer quickly. “I think Mrs Jenkins might be quite occupied with cooking.”
Sir John glares at me, but before he can say anything I’ve whisked Henry’s coat out of his hands and retreated to the hall closet.
Henry is great company, it turns out, charming, intentionally amusing, a good listener – nothing like the old incarnation of Sir John, and I wonder how they know each other. I’m a little worried about asking, in case it’s somehow linked to Laura, but thankfully, Henry mentions that he’s an antiquarian bookseller – having escaped the drudgery of being a parliamentary clerk, which was how they first met.
“That’s so fascinating!” I tell him. “Do you have a speciality?” I ask, thinking if we get onto political books, I can fade into the background and let Sir John dominate as usual
“Oh no,” he answers. “I’m a generalist. Everything from Natural History to the Normans, from Physics to Photography. This morning, I sold a book on the biota of Finland, which was written in 1670, and another on the naval history of Europe from 1712. I’m an expert in nothing, unfortunately, but I know a little about everything.”
“Wow! That’s amazing!”
I’m about to probe further when Sir John, who has been looking thoughtful, pipes up, “What about architecture? Alex’s chap is an architect.”
“Ex-chap,” I add hastily.
“For now,” Sir John adds loyally.
“Ah yes, the unfortunate Anastasia incident. John mentioned.” I turn fuschia, but he carries on, “Tell me more about his interest in architecture.”
“Well, he works in quite a niche area – he’s much more interested in conservation than in new buildings. He absolutely hates the Walkie Talkie, for example. But is obsessed with St Paul’s. He actually lives in a converted chapel.”
“Really? Does he own it?”
“Yeah. He bought it with a couple of architecture friends, and they converted it themselves. Definitely a labour of love. It’s beautiful, though, and still has the original windows and everything. And you can see where the Baptismal font used to be.”
“Interesting. Where is it?”
“South Wimbledon.”
At that point, Sir John interjects. “Henry!” he says excitedly. “Do you think you might be able to source something suitable related to Alex’s ex-chap’s chapel?”
“That’s practically a tongue twister, John… but I can certainly try. Why don’t you drop by the shop tomorrow, and we’ll see what we can do?”
“Excellent!” Sir John exclaims. “That’s sorted then, Alex. Tomorrow, you can go visit Henry’s shop, and we’ll lasso Ryan back.”
He looks so delighted that I can’t bear to puncture his spirits. I’m not confident this will work, but I am determined to put my worries to the back of my mind and enjoy over-indulging in the port with Sir John and Henry, delighting in their many anecdotes.