Page 71 of The Wallflower Manifesto
The tension was severed by the appearance of Silas, looking harried and impatient as he made his way to the table. It was so rare of him to join them for these morning meetings lately that Freddy leaned back, grinned, and said, “Oh! All rise.”
Silas, rather than responding, just swatted his brother on the back of the head, looked around in mild outrage, and asked, “Did no one order a plate for me?”
Freddy pushed over his own barely touched plate and encouraged Silas to “have at it.”
And so continued their weekly ritual.
“What is his Christian name?”Freddy appeared like an ambush, apron askew, whisk in hand, several hours later at Abe’s office door. “Cresson’s?”
“Jesus, Bentley, don’t scare me like that,” Abe replied with immediate annoyance. Then, “It’s Joseph.”
“Joseph,” Freddy repeated to himself, nodding. “Well, he asked for it.”
“Oh, leave him alone,” Abe said without any real desire for Freddy to leave Cresson alone. He chuckled to himself as he met the other man’s eye, rising from his desk. “Poor lad. You know Silas is shipping him off to Portugal?”
“Really? Why?”
Abe followed Freddy back into the kitchen, sniffing at the air where an assortment of bubbling pots were playing harmony to the sounds of the early evening on the street beyond their windows.
“God knows, something to do with his client’s estates. And, erm, we should talk about that client. Have you ever heard of him? Dom Raul de Faria?”
Freddy paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Don’t think so. Ought I have?”
Abe sighed. That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. He pulled out a chair at the little table near the stove and sank into it. “He’s an acquaintance of your mother’s,” he began, formulating an entire scene to set before realizing there was absolutely nothing to be gained by dragging this out with unnecessary context. “He’s courting her.”
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Anger, maybe? Indignation? A rapid-fire sequence of barbed jests?
Freddy just stopped whisking for a moment to consider it, his eyes floating out to the window.
“I would have told you earlier,” Abe continued, bracing for the explosion, “it was just that you seemed overwhelmed for a time, and I didn’t want to worsen it.”
“No,” said Freddy, waving the whisk impatiently, a few flecks of his roux spattering on the floor. “No, that’s fine. Have you met the man? Observed him?”
Abe felt like a rabbit trying to sneak past a bear cave, keeping overly still in confusion over how this was unfolding. “I met him,” he said evenly, “I liked him. Seems like a good man, and he is clearly besotted with your mum. He called her hisfofo.”
Freddy turned to him, looking almost as though he wanted to laugh. “The devil does that mean?”
“I do not know,” Abe said. “But if he’d called me that, I probably would have run off with him on the spot.”
“Well, you are a harlot,” Freddy said dismissively. “I’d expect nothing less. Millicent would likely have a few choice opinions on the matter, however.”
“She certainly would have,” Abe replied with a flicker of a grin. “Honestly, Bentley, the fellow seems extremely sincere in his interest. I got the impression that they’ve known each other for a long time. Perhaps he was a rival of your father’s.”
Freddy winced, rolling his right shoulder like something had just landed on it. “God forbid,” he muttered with no real feeling. “Well, then I suppose that’s good news. Maybe that’s what her secret reason for coming back to London was. You solved the case.”
“Did I?” Abe responded, uncertain.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Freddy sighed, going back to his cooking. “What does it matter anymore?”
“Freddy!” Abe heard himself exclaim in a voice that was quite unseemly. “What is the matter with you?”
“What do you mean?” Freddy asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Nothing is the matter.”
“Yes, that’s the problem!” Abe exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table. “I amconcerned.”
“Don’t be,” Freddy said in that same neutral, perfectly reasonable voice that set off every alarm in Abe’s body.
For a time, there was no conversation. Freddy cooked and Abe watched, anxiety threading through his chest that he couldn’t quite qualify anymore.
