Page 2 of A Case of Possession
“I do act like it, on occasion. This coat wasn’t cut on the Commercial Road. But my business is here, not the City, and certainly not in the West End.”
“I don’t see why you have a business at all. You don’t need any more money.” There was a definite note of accusation in Rackham’s voice.
Crane shrugged. “Frankly, my dear chap, I’m bored, and I would not be less bored in the West End. I need something to do, and trading is what I’m good at.”
“Why don’t you go back to China, then?” Rackham demanded. “If you’re so bored with England, why are you still here?”
“Legal business. My father left his affairs in the devil of a state. It’s taking forever to resolve, and now I’ve got distant cousins popping up out of the woodwork demanding their cut. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” Rackham scuffed a worn leather toe against the skirting board. “I suppose there’s been no recurrence of your troubles?”
“You mean the matter in spring? No. That’s all resolved.”
“Day dealt with it.”
“He did.” Crane had been afflicted by a curse that had killed his father and brother, and Rackham had put him in touch with Stephen Day, a justiciar, whose job was to deal with magical malpractice. Crane and Stephen had come very close to being murdered themselves before Stephen had ended the matter with a spectacular display of ruthless power. Five people had died that day, and since Crane had no idea if that was general knowledge or something Stephen wanted kept quiet, he simply added, “He was highly efficient.”
Rackham snorted. “Efficient. Yes, you could say he’s that.”
“He saved my life on three occasions over the space of a week,” Crane said. “I’d go so far as to call him competent.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Day? He’s a pleasant enough chap. Why?”
Rackham concentrated on straightening some papers against the corner of Crane’s desk. “Well. You were with him at Sheng’s last week.”
“I was,” Crane agreed. “Did you know I’ve taken a thirty percent share there? You must come with me again sometime. Tonight, unless you’ve anything on?”
Rackham, who never turned down free meals, didn’t respond to that. “What did Day make of Sheng’s food?”
Crane repressed a grin at the memory of Stephen’s first encounter with Szechuan pepper. “I think he was rather startled. It didn’t stop him eating. I’ve never met anyone who eats so much.”
“Have you had many meals with him?”
“I’ve bought him a couple of dinners as thanks. Is there a reason you ask? Because really, my dear fellow, if you’re after any particular information, you know him better than I do.”
“I know he’s like you,” Rackham said.
“Like me.” Crane kept his tone easy. “Yes, the resemblance is striking. It’s like looking in a mirror.”
Rackham gave an automatic smile at that. Stephen Day had reddish brown curls to Crane’s sleek and imperceptibly greying light blond, and pale skin to Crane’s weather-beaten tan; he was twenty-nine years old to Crane’s thirty-seven and looked closer to twenty, and mostly, he stood a clear fifteen inches shorter than Crane’s towering six foot three.
“I didn’t mean you look like him,” Rackham said unnecessarily. “I meant…you know. Your sort.” He switched to Shanghainese to clarify, “Love of the silken sleeve. Oh, come off it, Vaudrey. I know he’s a pansy.”
“Really?” This wasn’t a conversation Crane intended to have with Rackham or anyone else. Not in England, not where it was a matter of disgrace and long years in prison. “Are you asking me for my assessment of Day’s tastes? Because I’d say they were none of my damned business or yours.”
“You dined with him at Sheng’s,” repeated Rackham, with a sly look.
“I dine with lots of people at Sheng’s. I took Leonora Hart there a couple of weeks ago, and I defy you to read anything into that. Come to that, I tookyouthere and I don’t recall you gave me more than a handshake.”
Rackham flushed angrily. “Of course I didn’t. I’m not your sort.”
“Or my type.” Crane let a mocking hint of lechery into his tone and saw Rackham’s jaw tighten. “But even if you were, my dear chap, I can assure you I wouldn’t tell your business to the world. Now, is there anything I can do for you?”
Rackham took a grip on himself. “I know you, Vaudrey. You can’t play virtuous with me.”
“I don’t play virtuous with anyone. But since Stephen Day’s love life is no concern of mine—”
