“One day in the far-flung future,” I said with a smile, raising my glass. He did the same, but I noticed some hesitancy in his movement. Although Monsieur wasn’t exactly a young man anymore, I could still see him running the club for decades to come...so why exactly was he bringing all this up now? “Is there anything wrong?” I found myself asking, not even blinking as I tried to read the expression on his face.
Of course, his expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Of course not, Alex,” he replied, sounding as confident as he always was. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he then finished his wine and gestured for the waiter to bring us the bill. I watched him do it without saying a word, just breathing in deeply as I let everything sink in.
Never in my wildest dreams did I expect for Monsieur to propose something like this. But I had to be honest: it wasn’t an unwelcome proposition. Even though I had never lusted after the role, it was kind of amazing to imagine myself as running the club.
“But one thing at a time,” Monsieur laughed, laying one hand on my shoulder as we stood up. “Right now, let’s just make sure our next event is a success.”
“Aren’t all of our events a success?”
“Yes, they are.”
3
Neil
“Can I please take your coat, sir?”
“Of course,” I said, carefully folding my jacket and handing it to the usher. “Thank you.” With a polite nod, he took the jacket from my hands and disappeared down one of the hallways, only to be replaced by one of his colleagues.
“Right this way, sir.” This one was a man with a serious demeanor, wearing an impeccable long coat to match the expression on his face, and he led me down a corridor until we finally stopped before a set of heavily ornamented double doors. Pushing them both open with a blend of formality and theatricality, he then stepped to the side, allowing me to finally step foot inside the club’s main lounge.
My first reaction was one of surprise. The large leather sofas, a staple of the place, had somehow disappeared and given way to a large table of solid wood that occupied the center of the room. Lining the wall were tables laden with such a variety of food that even the pickiest of eaters would feel at home—from Italian white alba truffles to beluga caviar, it seemed like there were no limits to the food Monsieur would procure. But there was more than just extravagance to it: the plates had been arranged flawlessly, the silver cutlery laid on the table with such precision I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me a ruler had been used.
From above, chandeliers of solid golden frames bathed the whole room with their brightness, the light bouncing off their gems and adding an aristocratic feel to the whole affair. Even the furniture, all made of solid wood that had been polished to a fault, added to the elegance of the room. Had an aristocrat from the Highlands wandered into this club, he would have cried out his approval.
I looked around for a moment, a sea of familiar faces returning my gaze, and I quickly dispensed a series of handshakes as some of the other Patrons lined up to greet me. The usual comments on my attire didn’t take long to arrive—everyone always seemed fascinated by a man in a proper kilt—but I took them all in with a smile. I had always refused to let my heritage fall by the wayside and, even though that made me feel like an outsider at times, I still prided myself on my roots. Not that I could hide them: whenever I grew too excited, my usually neutral accent acquired a noticeable Scottish twang.
Everyone seemed relaxed, more than unusual, but that was to be expected: this was the kind of event only meant for the Patrons, after all, and no Consorts would be allowed on the premises. That seemed enough to remove everyone’s edge.
“Neil,” I heard a familiar voice say right from behind me. “You came.”
I turned on my heels to meet Monsieur’s amused expression, a hint of a barely perceptible smile dancing on his lips. “I told you I would, didn’t I? It’d be a sin to miss a proper event like this.” I sounded like a confident man, one who was sure of what he was saying, but I knew Monsieur could tell right away I had flirted with the possibility of skipping today’s event.
“Indeed,” Monsieur replied, shaking my hand. “And I’m very glad you followed through on your promise. You might not have missed the club, but the club has surely missed you.”
“That’s not fair,” I laughed, grabbing a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “I’ve missed this, Monsieur. It’s just hard carving up the time to come here.”
“The good things in life don’t come easy, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” I agreed, joining Monsieur as he scanned the crowd in the room, his always attentive gaze taking in the scene over the rim of his glasses. Hearty laughs burst in the air from time to time, adding to the symphony of constant conversation and the sound of silverware dancing on porcelain plates.
The club was a place unfamiliar with the passage of time—if not one removed from the world entirely—and the ebb and flow of these elite events seemed to remain unchanged from the first time I had stepped place inside the building.
The entrées were an experience on itself, and I suspected they were the artwork of some foreign chef hired for the occasion. Of course, drink flowed freely as well, and the attention paid to whatever was served was flawless. The service bordered on mystical: I still had no idea how Monsieur had discovered that I had a penchant for Madeira wine, but the fact remained there was always a good selection at hand whenever I was present.
Patrons chatted in small groups and, even though the mood was a soft one, I knew the conversation would continue deep into the night, fueled by expensive whiskey and Cuban cigars. While I had no doubt there was some hobnobbing going on whenever the Consorts weren’t present, I also felt most of the Patrons simply relished the presence of other like-minded men.
Some would describe an event like this as ‘boring’, but they’d be hard-pressed to have any of the Patrons agree with that adjective. After all, you knew exactly what to expect every time you walked through the club’s doorway: quality, finesse, and discretion. And, if you were lucky, a relationship with one of the Consorts.
“That lad...he’s your protégé, isn’t he?” I asked, discreetly gesturing to the young man mingling with some of the Patrons on the far side of the room. A tall man with dark hair, there was a certain nonchalance about him. His well-kept stubble added to it, almost as if shaving was somehow beneath him, and he had smart eyes rimmed by long, dark lashes. With his imposing but slim frame, his body the perfection most Patrons looked for in their Consorts, it was certainly hard to look away from him.
“Alex Hughes, yes.” Nodding solemnly, Monsieur fell into a meditative silence. “The club wouldn’t be the same without him around.”
“I’m not surprised. He has the best of mentors, after all.” With a smile, I tipped my glass toward Monsieur. “He’s your recruiter, right?”
“Among other things, yes. Alex is young, but he has a good eye for detail. One day, who knows? He might even end up running this place.”
I said nothing, immediately realizing where all that was coming from.