Page 21 of Drink Up, Darling
‘Well… I. Hey!’
Athens winked at him, and Dariel really did almost stop breathing.
How does he do it? Get through to me like that? And so easily…
Godwin coughed once more, which finally clicked in Dariel’s mind that it wasn’t a cough of illness, no, this was an awkward habit. He was nervous. Had been from the moment he opened the door.But why? He invited us.
“You must understand, gentlemen,” Godwin started, “I wasn’t quite sure either of you would respond. I’ve been in need of your assistance for a while, but had to take my time making sure you both were specifically who I needed, and I truly was ready to contact you. It is a big ask from both of you, and I expected to be ignored, so I didn’t want to come across too desperate in the email, choosing to keep it simple. And also…” Godwin dropped his gaze again, one of his hands having moved to his lap. Another sign of his genuine shyness. “I thought perhaps you both already knew each other.”
Dariel tilted his head subconsciously, trying to understand. It was a plausible excuse, though it had thrown him how he’d presumed Dariel and Athens were already acquainted. It didn’t seem that way when he’d introduced them earlier on.
Athens put his knife and fork down, swallowing his last mouthful. “I’ve been a long-time fan of Mr Hale’s work, but it has always been admiration from afar. We don’t even live in the same city,” Athens confirmed.
How does he know where I live?
‘I’m pretty sure the whole fashion industry knows you live in London, darling. Don’t worry.’
Dariel straightened himself out, pulling a lump of mascara from his lashes.
“My mistake then, you do appear to have gotten on well already. Perhaps you both just have good taste,” Godwin said, sounding almost pleased with himself. “How is the food?” He asked at exactly the same time Athens blurted out with: “How many staff do you normally have?”
Dariel responded with gratitude to Godwin’s question, though his host had immediately turned towards Athens’ bluntness.
“I’m sorry?”
Athens did not stutter: “Your staff, how many do you normally have working on the house? The gardener, chef, cleaners?”
“Oh,” Godwin said again, sinking inward. “I suppose I was a little vague about that earlier, and I owe you the truth.”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere.Dariel sighed.
Athens stared at their host intently, awaiting the response.
Godwin blinked seven times to the ground and folded both hands together.
He’s terrified…
“I erm… I let them all go.”
Dariel scowled at the same time Athens’ eyes widened.
“You fired them?” Dariel awaited clarification.
Godwin turned his attention to Dariel with solemn eyes, his kind face stoic but soft. His heart had begun to speed up at some point in the last few minutes and Dariel homed in to it. Homed in to every aspect of the man. The nervous twitch to his shoulders, the neatly trimmed beard woven with moonlight, his shining emerald eyes behind the bold framed glasses. Godwin had been nothing but a saint to them since they arrived. Dariel was looking at an ordinary man, but one holding onto many secrets. A man afraid.
“Fired sounds a tad harsh. They did nothing wrong,” Godwin said softly. “I decided I no longer needed them, so I found themjobs elsewhere. This was only a few weeks ago.” His eyes did not leave Dariel.
“So you’ve been entirely alone since then?” Dariel felt a sadness sweep over him.
Godwin almost laughed, disguising it as a smile. “I’m more than used to being alone, Dariel. I have been most of my life.”
Dariel let himself fully focus into the conversation with Godwin alone in that moment. He tried so hard to read the man, his chest constricting as he did so. “You chose this?”Why can’t I figure him out?
Godwin subtly nodded. “I don’t think anyonewishesto be alone in this way, but sometimes that is how life must be. It was for the best. They were good friends to me, but they deserved to be out of this prison. It’s too secluded, it wasn’t fair on them. I manage quite well on my own…”
“You see this place as a prison?”
Godwin did laugh this time, properly. He set his hands upon the table. “It is a prison of my own making, nothing more.”
