Coffee goes from deepest brown to caramel with the addition of cream. Balthazar watches the vortex of cream and coffee blend and sits back in one of the lounge's comfortable chairs. He smiles at nothing and everything.
The pleasant spring morning reminds him of London. There is moisture clinging everywhere, but it makes the city clean. He sits in the courtyard of the hotel's restaurant, a small nook garden with ten small seating areas and coffee tables, a slight smile on his face and a cup of coffee lifted for the first sip.
He is dressed in a black suit today, a charcoal black that is paired with cocoa brown sweater that matches his hair. His hair is short, shorter these days to seem a bit more polished -- but only in the most casual sort of way.
Balthazar ap Iowerth looks up from the sip of is cup for the arrival of his morning appointment...
She shows up, in white blouse open at the neckline and tailored trim black trousers, a bright blue scarf tied perkily about her throat. It is terribly 1940s starlet; one half expects Gene Kelly to show up at any moment and start singing and dancing with her as she crosses the lounge floor.
It is not a coincidence that she is here. She is, in fact, looking for you - but she acts naturally about it, without the hostility of her brother or the sheer and outrageous shock of your lover, who happens to be her little sister. Gillian West simply arrives, and allows her presence to speak for itself, looking over the rims of her glasses with half a smile. "Hi there. Mind if I sit, or is this going to be a standing interview?"
He was looking up and finishing a sip. You always were nothing less than perfectly stylish. Setting his cup aside, Balthazar rises out of courteous habit. "Please...Hi," the greeting is equal parts warm and knowledgeable. You know. He knows that you know.
Balthazar takes a seat in the chair. The cup of coffee isn't used as a shield or a prop. It stays on the small table. "It's...good to see you, Gillian." And you can tell that for a moment -- that actually surprises him. Balthazar smiles at it, and then turns that smile on you. "The last time we were at a cafe, it didn't end well," he chuckles quietly.
She sits down and takes a perch on her seat, in fact, tilting her head to one side. "Well, it looks like you're over it," Gillian tells you, with a chuckle of her own. "Which is good. I hope you weren't too upset, but... it looks like you and Maddie've gotten over it, if there was anything for you to get over. Maddie was more upset than you were, I think."
She motions to a waitress before continuing. "Hi! I'd like a cup of tea, please. Irish Breakfast if you've got it - oh, and just some wheat toast. No, no butter, thanks. Diet." She wrinkles her nose, then turns back to you, looking you up and down as assessingly as when she first met you. "So." Her lips twitch. "You made a big impression, Balthazar. Or should I call you Baz, too?"
"It's hard to argue with someone who brings you lasagna after flying a few thousand miles," he smiles a little. Yes, she did that. "There was something for me to get over. It took a couple of weeks of moping, if I'm being perfectly honest," the smile slants, his accent drawing a few of the syllables out while others are fire-edged and quick. "I hope that she's over it. I don't want to be the cause of sisters not speaking. I hope I'm not, at any rate."
There's no point in the coffee getting cold. Balthazar picks it up for a sip, holding it on his thigh. Eyebrows lift at the subject of impressions. "I made a big impression," he acknowledges. "Not necessarily a good impression. I think I'm fifty-fifty, at best. Your grandfather and grandmother are lovely people. Your sister is," he pauses and smiles quickly. "I can't count her in the plus column; that would be cheating. Your brother, your parents? I don't think they're all that impressed actually," his mouth twitches with a knowing half-smile at that point. "Or happy about it at all."
He doesn't speak for you. He has no idea how you feel about it.
"Baz is fine if you want. It's easier to say... so... which are you, Gillian? Are you in the good impression or bad impression line?"
She listens with something like surprise in her eyes, then regret. "I'm sorry if you moped, but I'm glad you're past that now. I love Maddie - she's my sister, and that does mean we'll have our ups and downs, our ins and outs. It's just the way things are. But she's talking to me again, so I don't think she's still holding a grudge. She," she grins at you mischievously, "got what she wanted, right?"
She drums fingers idly on the table, then settles back as her tea and toast arrive. She thanks the waitress with a warm smile, then studies you over the rim of her cup as she lifts it, looking thoughtful. "Well, I'm a bit surprised - you can't blame me, or anybody, for that. If granddad didn't approve, he'd have kicked you out last night - but that doesn't mean he approves, exactly. He's giving you time to prove yourself, I think. And he made sure last night," she grins again, affectionately, "that you know which one of you is in charge. What do I think? I think Maddie's not going to know what to do with a title, and she's going to have trouble getting used to it or even knowing what to do about it. I also think that it's a silly question, but I want to ask you if you know somebody else I've met."
A dash of color lifts to his cheeks. He smiles a little but says nothing to Maddie getting what she wanted. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. The color doesn't linger.
"It is easy to see where you and Maddie get the quality of inarguability. One doesn't argue with Preston West the First. He likes having his way. So do I... so ... it's something I understand. He didn't really need to assert that, of course, for my benefit or to ensure that Maddie would be treated well. I understand his need to do so, however. I have enough family politics with my own family. I will let West the Elder manage the politics in his own."
Balthazar sips at his coffee, leaning back i the chair to motion to the passing waitress. Another of these, please. He settles forward, smiling a little. "No. I do not blame anyone for their surprise. I was hoping not to surprise Maddie, not with that sort of thing. I was planning to tell her in England, but she took it well enough. Better than I thought. I didn't even want to tell you," he notes, "...back when I was trying to impress you. But... it's not as if she'll have duties to deal with. It's a title, a peerage." He rolls his shoulders a little. "What do those mean anymore apart from better seats on a plane or in a restaurant?"
The waitress returns with a fresh carafe of coffee. Balthazar is quiet as she pours, looking up to you through the scented steam of it. He is curious then, eyebrows lifting in a cinnamon sweep. "Ah... sure? You do know that just because I am the Duke of Bedford, I don't actually know that many people. It's not like I tour my lands like some errant knight." He grins at you.
I hate it that you are still so easy to talk to...
"Well, it's just as well you didn't tell me," Gillian answers practically. "It wasn't really my business; we didn't know each other that well, and to be honest, I can't say for sure that my head wouldn't have been turned by it. I'd like to think I'm better than that, but ... I don't know."
She chuckles at you, sipping at her tea again, and notes, "With my last flight to here and the flight back that I'm dreading, I wouldn't say no to better seats. Neither would most people. And, well, we're thoroughly American, Balthazar. Which means we like to pretend we're all rah-rah equality, but we don't believe it for sure unless we've got money enough to keep up with the Joneses and push the Joneses' noses out of joint good and proper, as you would say. My family's got that. We haven't got titles or blue blood - pretty much all our history involves leaving somewhere else because we didn't like it or we weren't wanted. That's America in general, in fact. So we have, as a nation, low self-esteem."
She puts down her tea, picking up her toast instead, grinning back at you with that spark of impish mischief. "It's entirely possible you don't know him, or even of him, but if you do - well, internet research only goes just so far. It's somebody who's helping me in my research, and I've ... made a bit of a devil's bargain with him. So if there's any hope at all that I can make sure I can hold my own with a bit of extra information... well, I have to take that chance, haven't I?" As if she was ever in danger of losing, right?
"Well, as Maddie and I were talking last night... it doesn't really go with the rock-and-roll lifestyle, being a duke," Balthazar says, a lazy trailing smile following after. "...But she's forgiven me my status in the Establishment. For which I'm grateful."
I loved you once; I didn't know you at all. It wasn't your fault I fell. But now I see the difference a little education makes. A heart that breaks before the introduction makes no sense. I love a girl I know a little better. And I'm a little less wet behind the ears. Now I know the difference between a little fancy and a lot of love...
Balthazar lifts his refreshed cup for a sip, and his face holds a confident quietude. You can't imagine where he gets it. And then his lips form a slight and disbelieving smile. "I can't believe that the Gillian West is asking me to help her cheat." He looks at you over his coffee. "I doubt very seriously that you of all people wouldn't be able to hold your own."
"Oh, stop." Gillian goes pink, and she smiles - but she also looks self-conscious. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I didn't mean it. It's - well, never mind. You don't have to if you don't want to, and like you said, you're probably right and you don't know him and haven't heard of him. I just figured... anyway."
She sips her tea, looking into it for what to say next, but she's not entirely at her usual speed; absently, she reaches for the sugar before readjusting away from instinct to take Splenda instead. "I'm not going to bother with sisterly threats. I believe you'll be good to Maddie, and if you aren't, by the time granddad and Pres are through with you, there won't be anything left for me to threaten anyway."
"If I hurt her, you are welcome to grind your stiletti into whatever's left of me. I'd deserve it," Balthazar quietly answers. "But I am certainly not planning on it. I think she is," he is smiling like a bit of a fool, even he realizes it -- so he looks into his coffee, his eyes lifting. "She is quite a bit fantastic." The sun is there. It is in his eyes. It is in the warmth of his smile. He's burnished bronze, just thinking about her. "I will be very good to her. I'm just trying not to... overwhelm anything. I get a little caught up," he chuckles quietly at himself as he sits back. Yes, you remember.
"Go ahead and ask me, Gillian. I don't mind. I just don't think you need to worry about getting an edge on some bloke, even if he is a professor. You sell yourself short to think so. If I can help, I'd be happy to, of course." Sitting forward, he grins, his hands cradling his coffee cup. "I'm not holding out in some sort of revenge. Go on, then," he lilts. "Ask me..."
She smiles at you, and if there's a wistfulness to her smile, it is not personal. It is regretful, yes, but for an Ideal, and not for the man across from her. Even now, she does not realize her brush, nor what with...
"I'm probably being silly. But - I don't know. I'd always rather be over-prepared than under," Gillian admits, cradling her cup in both hands as she looks at you over it, over the rims of her glasses. Her expression is owlish and serious, and the serene surface is marred by troubled depths. "Even if he's on my side, I like to know where things stand, and protect myself as much as I can. His name's Bran Davies, and he's a visiting lecturer from Cardiff, currently at Oxford."
She does not let it sink in; for her, there is no purpose in doing so. She continues briskly. "My advisor introduced us, and he's - lending his expertise in some aspects, for my thesis, as my research's taken some pretty unexpected turns. And - well, I suppose I am being paranoid, but academia can be kind of cutthroat at the best of times, and I'm ... well ... new."
So he has found you... and you have found him. A devil's bargain to be sure...
"What type of information are you wanting... personal or professional? Are you concerned he's some sort of con artist or...worse... some sort of pirate?" Balthazar's hands still cradle his drink. He is looking at you directly. "Or are you just looking for gossip?"
The line of questioning does seem to indicate that he knows something. What, has yet to be revealed. "I can understand you want to be careful with your work. But... I guess I'm not certain what you're trying to protect yourself from? I didn't really understand that when I was trying to go out with you either," he chuckles suddenly, "...so it has nothing to do with this Bran Davies..."
"I don't know what I'm trying to protect myself from, exactly. Not in this," Gillian answers slowly, brow furrowing into a frown. "I wish I did. I just ... I don't know. I'd tell you, but if I did, I'd be making you an accessory after the fact, and I don't want to put those kinds of entanglements on you, Balthazar. If nothing else, Maddie'd kill me."
"I don't want to be the Man Who Knew Too Much," Balthazar smiles warmly. "Not that I would ever be mistaken for that." He chuckles briefly, lifting the cup of coffee for a sip. He twists in his chair and waves down the waitress. Another refill requested.
"I know a Bran. I am related to a Bran. But I do not know if it is the same Bran. I have an uncle, a couple of years older than I. Very intelligent, rather crafty in his own way. I don't know about Oxford. We don't really talk to one another about what we do. I'm sure that doesn't make sense. Americans tend to tell one another everything. We don't. I'm not trying to be cagey about it, Gillian," he assures, leaning in as he does so. "I try to stay out of family politics and business. I'm a duke. I didn't say I was a good duke."
He smiles at that, warmly. He is, in fact, a most excellent duke.
"Mmm." Gillian absorbs this, still frowning. Her body language has shifted; it reveals her self-consciousness, an underlying perturbation of insecurity. "Well, I guess we'll see if it's the same one. It's - well, to do with the Romans. And it's a secret, so I can't talk about it too much. But thanks."
Her smile is a bit wan. "If you think of anything, let me know, okay? That's all I can ask. Anyway - I should head up and start packing. Daddy and I're going to D.C. soon."
Balthazar nods as the girl refills his coffee. He gives her a quiet thanks and then he rises in anticipation of his companion's departure. And because it's the polite thing to do. "Washington DC... I hope you have a lovely trip. And a safe journey back to Oxford." He pauses a moment. "It was good seeing you, Gillian," Balthazar says quietly, genuinely.
He doesn't ask about Oxford or Rome or secrets. He would simply rather not know. As it is, he knows too much.
"It's good, you know, talking to a friend. I will see you in London sometime?"
She smiles at that, expression righting itself to its usual sunny warmth. "Thanks, and the same to you. I hope so! Give me a call whenever, and I'll do my best." She slides her chair back, troubles put away for another day. "You know how to reach me, after all. Tell Maddie she's lucky." She winks, sliding the chair back in place and turning to go, toast all but untouched.
The sun peeks out at the corners of his mouth and bronze lifts to his face again with the darkening of caramel. "I can't tell her that," he chuckles. "It would make me an egotist. But... I'll tell her you said... congratulations. And... thanks. Good luck, Gillian..."
Posted by rowan at April 27, 2009 08:17 PM
