Page 10 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“Run the club well and the whisper network will give you what you want.” With the implication that he didn’t need to run membership open days or anything that risked the safety of current members. It was a good reminder, and Oscar breathed in and out slowly to quell the dramatic panic. The books weren’t terrible, just heading in the wrong direction which, hopefully, he could fix, and besides, Bennington didn’t know the situation. Oscar couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He picked up his spoon and had a taste of the soup.
“What do you think?” Bennington asked. Oscar had a couple more bites while he worked out what to say. The bland soup wasn’t what he expected. Bennington looked like he was trying not to show Oscar that he cared for his opinion. He may as well be honest since there wasn’t much point in anything else. He was here to learn, not to stroke Bennington’s ego. He’d much rather stroke his...
Chapter Five
Ambrose had eaten atWhite’s hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and since White’s only admitted men, every time he’d either been alone or with other men. It shouldn’t be different eating with Mr Mardin. This was the first time he’d ever watched someone so closely as they ate. Mr Mardin slid the spoon between his full lips with a sensuality that sent a little flash of heat across the front of Ambrose’s chest. And when Mr Mardin’s tongue darted out to catch the last little drip off his bottom lip, he breathed in deeply through his nostrils, hoping the heat spreading in his veins wasn’t obvious.
“The soup is fine.”
“It is a particularly fine example.” Bennington liked the soup here. It was filling and warming on a winter day like today, especially with snow falling outside the window, but Mr Mardin put his spoon down and folded his arms.
“My mother always apologises when she makes carrot soup. It is so difficult to get some of the ingredients here. I’ve never had the original because it’s impossible to get coconuts, but the version she makes with cumin and chilli makes this soup taste like the insipid bland base.”
He hadn’t expected that response, having always held up White’s and Crockford’s as the two clubs with the best chefs. Crockford’s had a French chef whose mackerel roe was the best dish he’d eaten in his life.
“Bland?”
“Several countries invaded my parent’s country to acquire the spices to make their food better, and this boring soup is what is held up as the best? There is barely a hint of spice in this soup.”
“Mr Mardin, perhaps a little quieter.”
“Oh, am I causing embarrassment by not fawning over the plain soup?”
Ambrose held his breath, but then Mr Mardin grinned.
“I’ll try to keep my disappointment to a more acceptable level.”
“Perhaps the collops are more to your taste?” Ambrose hoped so, although he could listen to Mr Mardin talk about anything. Even while expressing his ... disappointment, as he said ... he was animated and God, he wanted to kiss him again. Lunch was probably a terrible idea because now he wanted to negotiate with Mr Mardin for more time together, more kisses, more bending him over a desk and fucking his perfect ass. Mr Mardin sliced one of the veal collops and ate it, and Bennington tried to ignore how hard it made him as he watched Mr Mardin savour the morsel.
“It’s better than the soup. They have used a good amount of pepper and perhaps some cinnamon. The meat is nice and soft, although they’ve missed a trick by not adding some herbs to the white sauce, perhaps some sage or rosemary and fried shallots scattered over the top would give a little textural element to the richness of the sauce.”
“Quite the connoisseur, aren’t you?”
“I am fortunate that my mother is an excellent cook, and my father worked on the docks, so we had access to good ingredients.”
“White’s has the money to get anything they want.”
