Page 4 of Drink Up, Darling
The door creaked open and just as Dariel could make out the grand staircase and red-carpet runner, a figure emerged from behind the wood. Mr Peters himself, surely.
He was dressed in a neat grey suit and was of average height; broad shouldered and round bellied, with greying but still thick waves on his head, woven with golden brown tones to match his equally full and well-maintained beard. It was his eyes Dariel noticed first though, a bright but deep shade of green, hidden behind a round set of tortoise shell glasses. His eyessmiled.
“Ahh, Mr Hale! I was worried you’d gotten lost!” Mr Peters beamed, both arms outstretched as if to invite a hug. Dariel awkwardly grinned back, not too intensely, and nodded his head in greeting, both hands gripping his bag.
There was a mild beat of awkwardness as Dariel stared at the warmth and vivid colour of the interior whilst still being stood out in monochrome, but Mr Peters eventually stepped aside and ushered for Dariel to enter.
“Do come in! It’s freezing out there, I hope you weren’t standing for too long. It was absolutely pouring earlier, awful wind too, glad to see it has died off. Come on, you’ll soon warm up!” Mr Peters continued to talk merrily as Dariel stepped over the threshold, and the door was closed behind him with a loud echo.
Mr Peters brushed off the cold from his shoulders as Dariel’s gaze wandered to the vast emptiness of the home; hyperaware of the eerie sense ofnothingnessthat had quickly creeped up his spine.It was decorated the way you would expect a well-preserved stately home to be, reds and golds of grandeur, however nothing of the design suggested it was lived in andloved.No personal touches, no hints of the man before him, just stone walls and too high door frames. It was completely silentsave for their shoes on the polished, chequered floor, and Mr Peters’ continuous one-sided conversation.
Dariel hadn’t intended to be rude, he simply had a habit of absorbing new surroundings before introducing himself.
“Let me take your bag, I’m sure you’ve been travelling for a while, it’s time you relaxed and made yourself at home.”
“Thank you,” Dariel said, handing his case to Mr Peters and watching as he simply placed it to his side. Dariel presumed a butler or maid would perhaps take it up to his room. He hadn’t sensed anyone else in the building, no more heartbeats or breaths, but it was a large house, perhaps they were just too far away.
“Let me take that gorgeous coat too, this house gets surprisingly warm. Stunning, by the way. It’s a beauty. One of your own?” He seemed almost excited. In awe.
Dariel nearly snapped his client’s hand away in shock, but he remembered he’d hidden the flask at the bottom of his locked case, so the jacket was hiding no secrets. He let Mr Peters slide the feather jacket and under coat off, noting how careful and delicate his hands were as he shrugged them off his shoulders. They were quiet for a moment, his client’s warm hand briefly making contact with his bare neck, making him shudder. It stunned him, the detailed brush of hands over his body, heat rising to his cheeks. Then just as quickly as the moment arose, it passed, and Dariel’s coats were now in the hands of his client, who folded them over one arm and told him he would hang them in the room down the hall.
Dariel finally processed the question. “Oh, sorry, yes. It’s mine, I designed it.” He breathed out heavily and shook his head to remain in the present.
Mr Peters beamed, stroking a keen hand over the fabric. “Oh, marvellous. I thought it might be.” He directed Dariel towardsthe east wing of the house and began to explain a bit about the rooms ahead.
Dariel allowed himself to be led down the corridor, taking in every detail of the building surrounding him: the maroon wallpaper up to shoulder height with a cream trim, the bare stone wall rising to the ceiling beneath it, and the extravagant picture frames lining the walls with paintings of people Dariel did not recognise.
“I don’t get many visitors, as you can probably tell,” Mr Peters said as he led Dariel down to one of the many south facing rooms.
“You have a beautiful home,” Dariel said in response. “It’s a shame it is not visited more often.”
There was nothing about this man that indicated hostility, so Dariel allowed himself to slip into the comfort of the way he normally spoke. “Apologies for my tardiness, you have a lot of winding paths, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Mr Peters laughed from his chest. “Oh, tell me about it, gardening is a nightmare.” He opened a door leading into a library room with walls lined from floor to ceiling in dark wood shelves, with a giant stained-glass window overlooking the blackness of night on the wall to the left. A large reading lamp in the corner was the only other brightness in the room, along with the roaring grand fire surrounded by marble and a mantlepiece holding a brass clock, but it provided enough ambience to make the room inviting. Two chesterfields were positioned over a Persian rug in the middle of the room, a low table between them, making the fireplace the feature of the room.
“I’m sure you pay your gardeners handsomely.” Dariel continued the conversation, hoping maybe it would lead to an explanation on the staffing situation in this place. It did not.
“Oh, indeed! I cannot be trusted with anything sharper than a butter knife—it’s terrible honestly. Highly embarrassing.” MrPeters cleared his throat. “Please, make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee, something alcoholic? I have quite the variety of beverages available.”
Dariel stepped into the room fully and walked around to one of the chairs, awaiting approval to sit before setting himself onto the soft leather. “Honestly just some tap water will do me right now, if you don’t mind.” He hated being awkward.
“Of course, sir. Coming right up.”
Dariel stopped him before he left the room. “Please, no ‘sir’. I am just a man. Dariel is fine.”
Mr Peters nodded in the doorway, taking in a deep breath. “Dariel, then. And please, call me Godwin.” Another bright smile followed.
Dariel invited the silence as he awaited Godwin’s return, letting himself sink into the Chesterfield, tipping his head back with a sigh. He scanned the bookshelves for anything he might have recognised; he was never a big reader, but would occasionally pick up some recommended works. Nothing stood out though, just the dizzying height of the ceiling.
The fire crackled as a log broke and Dariel jolted upright to stare into the blaze. A faint scent of cinnamon graced his nose momentarily and he wiped it away with an itch. The amber glow of the fire seemed to brighten the more he stared at it, entrancing him entirely.
John! Please! Help!
He shook his head abruptly to scare off the thoughts, black shadows curling over his shoulders again.Not nowhe thought as footsteps approached.
The door creaked open fully, and in came Godwin with a tray holding a glass of water, a teapot, and two mugs.
“Here we go. Hope you don’t mind but I’m in the mood for a herbal tea, you may have some if you want!” Godwin placed the tray down, popping Dariel’s glass on a placemat in front of him, then sat himself opposite Dariel with a relaxed sigh, adjusting his waistcoat as he did so.
