Page 3 of Drink Up, Darling
Plus, the money was a huge bonus. He’d not seen figures like that for ages.
“You a businessman of some sort then?” The driver finally piped up after another prolonged silence. Not a single car had passed them in a while, and it was clear they were getting close, even if Dariel could only see the silhouette of trees shielding the moonlight. He had no real idea where they were going, but thought it shouldn’t be too much further.
“Something like that,” Dariel responded absently, wishing if the man really wanted to talk, that he stopped sounding so quizzical all of the time. Like he was trying to figure Dariel out. It made him uncomfortable.
“Hmm. Interesting. Forgive me for prying, you can’t blame me for being a little curious. A pretty boy like you getting all glammed up for a two-hour journey to a posh house in the middle of nowhere. It’s not a journey I’ve done before, let’s just say.”
Dariel inwardly sighed. Instead of responding, he lit up another cigarette, his fingers shaking slightly.
The driver gave up after a few huffs and puffs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a passive aggressive manner.
After an eternity of winding paths and gravel roads, branches and weeds slapping the bonnet and scraping the side of the doors, the taxi reached a gate, one too ornate to be anything younger than Victorian made. The pointed arrow heads shotup towards the sky, illuminated by nothing but a singular 19thcentury streetlamp buried half amongst the oak and birch.
“This the right place, kid?”
Kid? I’m sixty-four.Dariel was used to the assumption he was young though; he couldn’t blame anyone for reaching that conclusion.
Before Dariel could ask to be dropped off there, the gates began to swing open with a squeak, and the driver didn’t hesitate before accelerating up the raised gravel path, throwing Dariel back into his seat slightly.
He hadn’t been able to see the house yet, he thought he may have caught a glimpse of perhaps a turret sticking out from above the trees, but it wasn’t until they turned the final corner when the manor truly came into view.
It was like entering a new world, the arching branches of the drive opening out onto a vast driveway before the house, the trees ending almost suddenly as the view from that height became clear. The house was lit, however only by the front two windows; the rest of the stone manor residing in the shadows of the night.
From this angle and limited lighting, it looked as if the house resided on a cliff face, perched upon a sharp drop into the oblivion of countryside, though Dariel was sure it was not. He knew it would be much more impressive during the day. The true view would have to wait.
Upon replying to Mr Peter’s initial email, Dariel was given the offer of staying the night to ensure a relaxed evening. He was of course hesitant at first, but after experiencing how tedious the journey was, he was glad he’d accepted. Even if it all turned out to be a scam, worst case scenario, he’d just have to kill him.
Dariel had heard the taxi driver gasp once the house came into view, but was too focused on processing it himself to make a comment.
“So, I believe this is you then,” the driver said, winding down his window and sticking his head out to get a better look at the place.
“Yes, thank you. I appreciate you driving me all the way out here, how much do I owe you?”
“You one of those male escort things?” the driver asked, his head still hanging out of the window. He continued. “You gotta be, surely. Dressed like that, coming out here to some posh bloke’s house. How much is he paying you? Is it by the hour?”
“How much do I owe you?” Dariel asked again, agitation in his voice and hand on the door ready to leave.
The driver popped his head back inside and turned to Dariel, a sneer attached to his face. “Isn’t it the receiver who normally drives to the prostitute? Or is this the secret location? Is this one of those big orgy things? Look, I’m not gonna tell anyone, I’m just curious, you know?”
He could snap his neck, drink him dry right there if he wanted. Make it quick, or make him suffer. Dariel could have done a lot of things in that moment, but instead, he smiled. “I haven’t done that since the eighties,” he said, then watched as the driver’s face dropped and his brow knitted itself into that of both shock and confusion.
He didn’t give him time to process or ask Dariel to repeat what he said. He wanted to let the thought ruminate, so he quickly reached into his pocket for his wallet, produced four crisp twenty-pound notes, threw them in the driver’s direction, and exited the vehicle.
“Keep the change,” he said, turning his back to the car and heading for the front door without a second glance.
Chapter Two
It may have been a mistake letting the taxi drive off before he’d even knocked on the door, but he wanted nothing more to do with that bloke, and thought he’d rather walk all the way back to central London than endure more questions linking back to the fact he was obviously a queer man. He could have used his manipulation to change the subject, but he’d quite frankly grown tired of it all. It was always the same, he couldn’t escape it. He wasn’t going to change himself for other people, so he grew to learn how to block it out, or at least try to.
The thought did pass him: what if this Godwin was worse? What if he’d taken the journey to hell, only to be met with the real fire once he arrived. But Godwin had made it clear he was a fan of Dariel’s work. It was hard to tell when people were being sincere via email, but he had planned for most outcomes.
There was no going back now.
Dariel stepped up to the giant oak and iron bolted door, and slammed the brass knocker into the wood three times for good measure.
At first there was no answer, then a small light blinked off in the bay window to his left and he heard movement. Footsteps on polished stone.
Godwin had been waiting.
