Chapter 2
Chapter Two
It may have been a mistake letting the taxi drive off before he’d even knocked on the door, but he wanted nothing more to do with that bloke, and thought he’d rather walk all the way back to central London than endure more questions linking back to the fact he was obviously a queer man.
He could have used his manipulation to change the subject, but he’d quite frankly grown tired of it all.
It was always the same, he couldn’t escape it.
He wasn’t going to change himself for other people, so he grew to learn how to block it out, or at least try to.
The thought did pass him: what if this Godwin was worse?
What if he’d taken the journey to hell, only to be met with the real fire once he arrived.
But Godwin had made it clear he was a fan of Dariel’s work.
It was hard to tell when people were being sincere via email, but he had planned for most outcomes.
There was no going back now.
Dariel stepped up to the giant oak and iron bolted door, and slammed the brass knocker into the wood three times for good measure.
At first there was no answer, then a small light blinked off in the bay window to his left and he heard movement. Footsteps on polished stone.
Godwin had been waiting.
The door creaked open and just as Dariel could make out the grand staircase and red-carpet runner, a figure emerged from behind the wood. Mr Peters himself, surely.
He was dressed in a neat grey suit and was of average height; broad shouldered and round bellied, with greying but still thick waves on his head, woven with golden brown tones to match his equally full and well-maintained beard.
It was his eyes Dariel noticed first though, a bright but deep shade of green, hidden behind a round set of tortoise shell glasses. His eyes smiled.
“Ahh, Mr Hale! I was worried you’d gotten lost!” Mr Peters beamed, both arms outstretched as if to invite a hug. Dariel awkwardly grinned back, not too intensely, and nodded his head in greeting, both hands gripping his bag.
There was a mild beat of awkwardness as Dariel stared at the warmth and vivid colour of the interior whilst still being stood out in monochrome, but Mr Peters eventually stepped aside and ushered for Dariel to enter.
“Do come in! It’s freezing out there, I hope you weren’t standing for too long.
It was absolutely pouring earlier, awful wind too, glad to see it has died off.
Come on, you’ll soon warm up!” Mr Peters continued to talk merrily as Dariel stepped over the threshold, and the door was closed behind him with a loud echo.
Mr Peters brushed off the cold from his shoulders as Dariel’s gaze wandered to the vast emptiness of the home; hyperaware of the eerie sense of nothingness that had quickly creeped up his spine.
It was decorated the way you would expect a well-preserved stately home to be, reds and golds of grandeur, however nothing of the design suggested it was lived in and loved.
No personal touches, no hints of the man before him, just stone walls and too high door frames.
It was completely silent save for their shoes on the polished, chequered floor, and Mr Peters’ continuous one-sided conversation.
Dariel hadn’t intended to be rude, he simply had a habit of absorbing new surroundings before introducing himself.
“Let me take your bag, I’m sure you’ve been travelling for a while, it’s time you relaxed and made yourself at home.”
“Thank you,” Dariel said, handing his case to Mr Peters and watching as he simply placed it to his side.
Dariel presumed a butler or maid would perhaps take it up to his room.
He hadn’t sensed anyone else in the building, no more heartbeats or breaths, but it was a large house, perhaps they were just too far away.
“Let me take that gorgeous coat too, this house gets surprisingly warm. Stunning, by the way. It’s a beauty. One of your own?” He seemed almost excited. In awe.
Dariel nearly snapped his client’s hand away in shock, but he remembered he’d hidden the flask at the bottom of his locked case, so the jacket was hiding no secrets.
He let Mr Peters slide the feather jacket and under coat off, noting how careful and delicate his hands were as he shrugged them off his shoulders.
They were quiet for a moment, his client’s warm hand briefly making contact with his bare neck, making him shudder.
It stunned him, the detailed brush of hands over his body, heat rising to his cheeks.
Then just as quickly as the moment arose, it passed, and Dariel’s coats were now in the hands of his client, who folded them over one arm and told him he would hang them in the room down the hall.
Dariel finally processed the question. “Oh, sorry, yes. It’s mine, I designed it.” He breathed out heavily and shook his head to remain in the present.
Mr Peters beamed, stroking a keen hand over the fabric. “Oh, marvellous. I thought it might be.” He directed Dariel towards the east wing of the house and began to explain a bit about the rooms ahead.
Dariel allowed himself to be led down the corridor, taking in every detail of the building surrounding him: the maroon wallpaper up to shoulder height with a cream trim, the bare stone wall rising to the ceiling beneath it, and the extravagant picture frames lining the walls with paintings of people Dariel did not recognise.
“I don’t get many visitors, as you can probably tell,” Mr Peters said as he led Dariel down to one of the many south facing rooms.
“You have a beautiful home,” Dariel said in response. “It’s a shame it is not visited more often.”
There was nothing about this man that indicated hostility, so Dariel allowed himself to slip into the comfort of the way he normally spoke. “Apologies for my tardiness, you have a lot of winding paths, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Mr Peters laughed from his chest. “Oh, tell me about it, gardening is a nightmare.” He opened a door leading into a library room with walls lined from floor to ceiling in dark wood shelves, with a giant stained-glass window overlooking the blackness of night on the wall to the left.
A large reading lamp in the corner was the only other brightness in the room, along with the roaring grand fire surrounded by marble and a mantlepiece holding a brass clock, but it provided enough ambience to make the room inviting.
Two chesterfields were positioned over a Persian rug in the middle of the room, a low table between them, making the fireplace the feature of the room.
“I’m sure you pay your gardeners handsomely.” Dariel continued the conversation, hoping maybe it would lead to an explanation on the staffing situation in this place. It did not.
“Oh, indeed! I cannot be trusted with anything sharper than a butter knife—it’s terrible honestly.
Highly embarrassing.” Mr Peters cleared his throat.
“Please, make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee, something alcoholic? I have quite the variety of beverages available.”
Dariel stepped into the room fully and walked around to one of the chairs, awaiting approval to sit before setting himself onto the soft leather. “Honestly just some tap water will do me right now, if you don’t mind.” He hated being awkward.
“Of course, sir. Coming right up.”
Dariel stopped him before he left the room. “Please, no ‘sir’. I am just a man. Dariel is fine.”
Mr Peters nodded in the doorway, taking in a deep breath. “Dariel, then. And please, call me Godwin.” Another bright smile followed.
Dariel invited the silence as he awaited Godwin’s return, letting himself sink into the Chesterfield, tipping his head back with a sigh.
He scanned the bookshelves for anything he might have recognised; he was never a big reader, but would occasionally pick up some recommended works.
Nothing stood out though, just the dizzying height of the ceiling.
The fire crackled as a log broke and Dariel jolted upright to stare into the blaze. A faint scent of cinnamon graced his nose momentarily and he wiped it away with an itch. The amber glow of the fire seemed to brighten the more he stared at it, entrancing him entirely.
John! Please! Help!
He shook his head abruptly to scare off the thoughts, black shadows curling over his shoulders again. Not now he thought as footsteps approached.
The door creaked open fully, and in came Godwin with a tray holding a glass of water, a teapot, and two mugs.
“Here we go. Hope you don’t mind but I’m in the mood for a herbal tea, you may have some if you want!” Godwin placed the tray down, popping Dariel’s glass on a placemat in front of him, then sat himself opposite Dariel with a relaxed sigh, adjusting his waistcoat as he did so.
Dariel went straight in for a sip of water as if it would calm his nerves. He wasn’t afraid, he was just not very good at meeting new people—still wasn’t, after all these years. Maybe it was a trust thing, that had to be something to do with it.
The fire spat again as Godwin began to speak. “So, Dariel, I thank you for coming again, it truly is an honour.”
“Oh, the pleasure is mine, honestly. You were extremely generous with your offer.”
Godwin chuckled slightly, his eyes smiling again. “Oh, honestly, I value your work, my friend. I worried it would insult!”
My friend. Very confident, this man, isn’t he?
Dariel sucked in his lips. “So, would you prefer to discuss your ideas now or after dinner? I’ve got some samples and notes in my bag if—”
“After dinner.” Godwin cut him off. “If that’s okay,” he added, tone softening.
“Oh, of course.” Dariel sunk into himself again.
Godwin poured himself his first drink and Dariel took close note at how precise he was. A napkin to catch the drips and to dry the tip of the pot. No marks, no mess, all very clean. I like that, Dariel thought to himself, smiling inwardly as Godwin continued.
“I’d rather we learn more about each other before we get onto the work! I want you to feel comfortable with me before we begin. Then we can discuss the best way for payment, the visiting schedule and whatnot.”
There was something about the way he said it that made Dariel’s stomach flutter. He had an attractive voice—low and almost husky sounding, mildly posh but not overbearing. Dariel had noticed this straight away, but only now did it sit with him. Godwin was a very… pleasant man.
Don’t start being inappropriate, Dariel. You know how you get when you grow too comfortable.
Dariel blushed, brushing away the thoughts as quickly as he could. “Yes, that would be nice. After all, I need to study your personality to really find you a wardrobe to match.”
Study your personality? Seriously, Dariel. Tone it down a bit.
It didn’t seem to faze Godwin though, in fact, it made him grin ever so slightly wider, brow raising. “Excellent!” He beamed. “Well then! No harm in a little introduction before we eat, I suppose. Tell me, what got you into fashion design?”
Dariel deflated at this, having been asked this too many times before, but he didn’t want to come across unprofessional—after all, this was the first time Godwin himself had asked this. It was just the ninetieth time Dariel had answered.
“Oh well, you know. I was never very academic.” That was a lie, but in the fabricated life of Dariel Hale, this was true.
“I couldn’t focus at school and never found any joy in anything other than the arts.
So, being the stubborn man I am—” (true for all four iterations) “—I only put effort into things that made me happy. And I never stopped.” Dariel made a ‘hmm’ sound, taking another sip of water for something to do.
“Now, you must understand, a lot of it was luck. Being at the right place at the right time, but it worked out.” Luck, yeah, sure.
Godwin looked at him like he’d cured world hunger. “Fascinating, truly fascinating. You simply persevered until you made it. Highly admirable, especially in this day and age.” He was being genuine as well.
“I suppose, again, I am very stubborn.” Dariel tried to dull down the adoration he had received. He wasn’t good at taking compliments. “What about you, what do you do for a living? Especially to own a home like this.”
“Oh, well. It’s a long story, actually.” Godwin shifted uncomfortably, his heart rate increasing slightly.
Dariel cocked his head. Why so secretive? “What about your staff, you can’t be alone in a house this size all the time, surely.” He decided to take a different approach, asking the only other burning question he’d had since he arrived. The house really did feel empty.
Thankfully, Godwin did have a direct answer to this. “Oh, I sent them all home for a few days. They don’t work for me all the time, besides, I didn’t want to overwhelm my guests!”
Two things stood out as being odd to Dariel.
It was an honest enough answer, but it only gave him more questions.
Why did he send everyone home all at once?
Surely he’d stagger it so he at least had someone in the building with him.
Not that he wouldn’t be capable of managing on his own, Dariel didn’t want to insult the man, but he must get exceedingly lonely.
In a house this size, Dariel knew even he himself would find it overwhelming.
So many things to keep on top of—even just dusting alone, there were how many rooms?
The second thing, and perhaps the thing that confused Dariel the most, was this: He was under the impression he was to be the sole guest with Godwin this evening.
He’d made no prior reference to anyone else joining them for dinner, so unless he was making a general statement about future visitors, Dariel was not the only person he’d invited this evening.
And by the manner in which Godwin had said it, it very much seemed to be the latter.
Dariel frowned. Godwin did come across as a trustworthy man, and Dariel had spent his life being exceptionally good at reading people right from the moment he met them, but he couldn’t help but feel as though something was a bit off.
He immediately wished he’d brought his case into the room with him, realising no one would have come to move it. His throat closed as he noted Godwin staring at him.
“Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale,” Godwin observed, but not obtusely.
“Quite well.” Dariel took a deep breath, palms sweating.
A bell sound suddenly rang through the house, breaking the tension Dariel believed he was single-handedly managing to create.
The front door.
“Ah!” Godwin was on his feet in an instant. “Two moments, that will be our other guest!”
He’d gone before Dariel had a chance to ask anything else.