Page 40 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

And as Silas would rather choke on his champagne than allow his laughter to escape, he began to climb.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE JOURNEYup was a short one. Silas may have stumbled once or twice, with Pitch at the ready with the bottle, jabbing it into his backside with far too much glee and telling him to ‘giddyup’ like he were a packhorse moving too slowly. But Silas intentionally kept the pace slow. The steep steps would be a problem for the prince with his uncooperative joints, whether he’d admit to it or not.

At the top, beneath a low ceiling, there was a short platform which took them to a charming white door painted with embellishments of gold. The door handle was a clear-cut glass, cool to the touch as Silas opened the door. He’d expected there to be only a balcony with their seats but was pleasantly surprised to see that they were entering an anteroom. He presumed the balcony lay beyond a lovely bamboo screen and assembly of potted palms, which hid the room’s occupants from prying eyes in the main auditorium.

‘Oh, marvellous,’ Pitch declared, pushing past Silas in a blur of smoke-grey and hushing taffeta. ‘I must say, I didn’t expect this.’

The room was dominated by a splendid blood-red chaise, roomy enough for three sitters at least and adorned with gold cushions.

‘Someone is quite enamoured with gold and red,’ Silas noted.

‘Someone knows how to stock a liquor cabinet.’ Pitch set the champagne down next to an array of crystal decanters and bottles, all perched atop a mahogany cabinet with slender turned legs and exquisite shell marquetry on its panels. ‘Can you pour our drinks while I make the call?’ He sighed with all the drama he adored. ‘I know you are trying very hard not to look relieved about me contacting Satty. But don’t get too excited, I’m not calling her –’

‘Pitch –’

‘It’s Thaddeus, thank you. Or is it Margaret? I’m utterly confused. Anyway, I’m calling Mr Ahari. I’m enjoying this evening too much to have the Lady screeching in my ear and demanding we come back at once, like we’re escaped fucking slaves.’

Silas doubted that was how the conversation would go, but he’d not argue the point.

‘Go on, then. Let’s be done with all that.’ Silas waved Pitch towards the other side of the room where a telephone perched atop a small but elegant oval table. The telephone’s base was wood, chestnut he suspected, with a large rounded brass dial, and the earpiece a chunky combination of both those materials.

‘Have my glass full by the time I’m done, won’t you.’ Pitch swept his hand across Silas’s back as he moved, a touch so light he thought it may have been accidental were it not for the lingering glance the prince threw over his shoulder. Silas only just stopped himself from reaching out there and then, taking Pitch’s arm, and pulling him in close. With the steady thrum of music and the scent of cigars and fine spirits on the air, the atmosphere was conducive to playing about. Telephone call be damned.

‘Put me through to The Atlas Public House, please,’ Pitch told the operator.

Silas wrestled with a cantankerous cork, one that was not yet ready to relinquish its stopping duties.

‘Who’s that?’ Pitch asked. ‘Oh, Kaneko…is Ahari there?’ A pause, then, ‘What do you mean, who is this? It’s Tobias. Get me Ahari.’

Silas shook his head at the daemon’s curt tone. From what he knew of the surly bartender, that tone of voice was not likely to get Pitch far. He walked towards the screen which hid the entrance to the balcony, bottle still in hand, wriggling the cork as he went and trying to persuade the object it was time to let go.

The entire area was little bigger than his bedroom in Holly Village, but just like that room, it was cosy and most definitely private. A perfect place to, as Ada had suggested, enjoy one another. Silas put his elbow into freeing the cork, trying to ignore the quickening of his pulse and put from his mind thoughts of tasting the prince again. How things went this evening was entirely up to Pitch as he continued to see his way clear of Gidleigh Park House.

The cork shot from the bottle and zipped through one of the potted palms to smack against the screen, making it wobble on its stumpy footings. Silas rushed to steady it.

‘Well, what time do you expect him back in?’ Pitch said, his annoyance bright and clear. ‘It’s nearly one in the morning, isn’t he too old for flouncing about? No need to use that tone with me, Kaneko. I can stay out as long as I bloody want. Fine…give him a message for me.’ Pitch had the cord twined tightly around a pointed finger. He was gripping the receiver like he thought it might fly away at any moment. ‘Tell him that Silas and I shall not be returning to the Village this evening… If I wanted to tell the Lady, I would have rung her directly, wouldn’t I? Isaac was to tell her we would be late. It’s hardly the first she knows of it. Fucking blazes, are you taking this message or not? Tell them there is no need to turn London upside down looking for us, we are fine. We have what we came to find, let them know that. And we shall tell them all about it on the morrow. Is that too many words for you to handle? Such language, Kaneko. Truly, I’m blushing.’

‘Pitch,’ Silas sighed. ‘Your champagne is getting warm.’

Actually the bubbles had spewed forth from the bottle rather quickly, and a good portion of the champagne was soaking the carpet.

‘No, there is no number to contact us on.’ Pitch continued his battle with Kaneko. ‘We are free spirits this evening. Going where the London nightlife leads us, and into as many beds as we can manage to play with as many cocks and cunts as we can handle. Just read the gossip columns tomorrow if you want to learn of our exploits. Our reputations shall be utterly ruined.’

Silas winced against his mouthful.

‘Fine,’ Pitch sighed. ‘Silas’sreputation shall be ruined, then. I’ll not argue your point about mine.’

Beyond the palms and bamboo screen, beyond the twin seats that sat like plain thrones upon the small balcony, a gentleman in an exotic Russian kaftan stepped onto the stage. His clothing was a deep burgundy with a thin belt slung around his hips, a lighter embroidered panel on his chest giving it a military feel. There was nothing military about his makeup though. His face was painted stark white and each cheek marked with penny-sized portions of black kohl. He welcomed the raucous crowd, and the whoops and hollers made it difficult to catch a word.

‘Welcome to the last extravaganza of the evening at the Crimson Bow, ladies and gentlemen. We have our actors ready and raring to entertain you…and I do mean raring.’

The crowd went a bit mad, banging on tables and sounding like a baying pack of hunting hounds.

‘Kaneko?’ Pitch shouted. ‘Are you there?’ He slammed down the receiver and turned to Silas with a broad grin on his face. ‘Done. Happy now?’

He strode over, and Silas handed Pitch a glass. ‘I am, though not because of your eloquent telephone conversation.’