Chapter Text
When the third unexpected delivery vehicle arrived at the front door of Halstead Manor, and Mr Lawrence commented that he’d had to re-direct it to the farm, Eddie decided it was finally time to ask what the fuss was all about. The first was from Harrod’s. The second from Fortnum’s. And the third, the one that finally bestirred Eddie from the fire in his study and the latest issues of Financial Times and Foreign Policy, came from Thelma West.
“Wait, Thelma West?” Tamsin had asked, from the foyer.
“So it says, madam,” Mr Lawrence told her.
Tamsin narrowed her eyes in Eddie’s direction and marched into the office. “Edwina,” she asked, licking her teeth as though they dripped blood, “what saucy little minx are you buying diamonds for?”
It was a grey, damp, miserable day. Eddie had to change into Hunters and carry the old duke’s James Smith & Sons with the solid ash stick and the sterling lap-band. As a boy, it had seemed enormously heavy to him on the rare occasions he’d been allowed to carry it. The rain pattered on it lightly as he crossed over to the farm. The mud sucked at his boots. He scraped them at the entry, after keying himself in, and changed them for the slippers he wore inside. (Jimmy was surprisingly fastidious about dirt from outdoors; he believed that moulds and spores and insects from the dairy could wreak havoc on his crops.) So his steps were mostly soundless, when he entered the farm and saw an explosion of gifts.
There were hampers and hatboxes. Boxes and bags. And flowers: tulips, hyacinth, lilies, and a single stunning explosion of one hundred white roses. It was this last, above all, that caused the first tendril of fear to take root in the dark corners of Eddie’s mind.
“Did someone…die?” Eddie asked.
Jimmy, carrying a very tiny box and placing it next to a tray of homemade brownies, paused mid-step. “Did you not know, Your Grace?”
Eddie’s dread expanded exponentially. “Know what, exactly?”
“What day it is?” When Eddie didn’t answer, Jimmy actually paled. It was tough to see under all the ultraviolets, but his eyes suddenly seemed huge and his skin had a touch of grey. “Fuckin’ hell. You truly don’t know. So sorry, Your Grace. ”
The sinking feeling in Eddie’s gut told him what Jimmy wouldn’t say. He just wanted to be wrong. He hoped, fervently, that he was wrong. “What day is it, Jimmy?”
He heard the click of a bootheel behind him. “It’s my fucking birthday,” Susie growled.
Eddie turned. The birthday girl looked surprisingly casual: she wore a deep green cashmere sweater-dress, cowl-necked, over thigh-high croc-embossed chocolate boots, under a camel-coloured trench coat featuring woven leather collar and cuffs. Her lips were distractingly glossy: un-tinted, but gleaming. Shining. Slick. Wet.
“First, happy birthday.” Eddie pointed over his shoulder. “Second, why exactly…?”
“Mr Kawasaki’s taken ill.” Susie folded her arms. Her chin jutted out. “I was supposed to visit Dad, today. Jack and I. We always do. On birthdays. But then Mr Kawasaki went to A&E in need of emergency gallbladder surgery. So Dad’s lunch plans went pear-shaped. Ergo, he re-directed all his deliveries. And Jack’s. And the…organisation’s. Here. Which he told me about approximately…” She checked her phone. “Two motorways and three trunk roads ago.”
“Again, Mr Kawasaki’s condition is rather unfortunate, as is the change to your father’s menu, but I fail to recognise why-”
“They knew I’d be here,” she said, flatly.
“Here, and not your…” It occurred to Eddie that he had no idea where Susie lived. Or what kind of home it was. If it was a flat or a townhouse or possiby some very charming cottage somewhere with a thatched roof, heated only by flame, where she was doubtless chilled at night and needed warming up-
“It’s the 20th of April,” Susie said, as though she were speaking to a child.
“Indeed,” Eddie said.
“So I visit the farms, on the 20th of April.”
“Every year?”
“Yes, every year. Every 20th of April. Are you taking the piss?”
Eddie blinked. Where was this hostility coming from? Was he supposed to have remembered her birthday? He didn’t remember anyone having told him the date. Perhaps it was in one of the old duke’s ledgers. Or Mr Lawrence’s ledgers. Perhaps he needed an assistant. Or a valet. He’d been delaying a search for a valet until the Glasses had left his land. Now he regretted it. Maybe he needed a Jeeves.
“No, I simply wasn’t aware-”
Jimmy’s lighter snicked on. “It’s 420, innit, Your Grace?” The other man drew a deep toke, then pointed at the neon sign on one wall. There, in glowing green, the same colour that Eddie could only assume his gills had so recently been turning, was the answer to his question. Jimmy exhaled, and directed smoke rings at the digits. “Feast Day of Saint Mary Jane.”
“Your birthday is April 20th?”
The lit end of Jimmy's blunt stabbed the air. “That’s why I thought you knew, Your Grace! It says so, on the sign!”
“Your birthday is April 20th.” Now Eddie couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. He turned to Susie. “You, Susie Glass, the princess of the puff game, were born on the twentieth day of the fourth month.”
“She’s an Aries-Taurus cusp,” Jimmy added, helpfully.
“That is…” Delightful. Adorable. Brilliant. “Perfect.”
“It’s what’s held Dad’s business back, is what.” Susie turned toward the task of organising her gifts. She separated the hampers from the other boxes, then started sorting the boxes. Judging by the labels on said boxes, Susie was both adored and feared among the broader gift-giving population. Eddie wondered briefly how many were from former lovers, and then dismissed the thought as not his business, and therefore unworthy of him. “He was about to take things to the next level, but then I was born today of all days, and he took it as a sign. I’m bad luck. Shit.”
She dropped the tiny box Jimmy had set next to the brownies like it was a spider. She’d removed the card attached. It fluttered down to the table, where Eddie picked it up.
Dear Ms Glass,
Taureans are known for their love of wealth, beauty, and endurance. A diamond symbolizes all these things in abundance. You would not accept my last gift; I sincerely hope this one is more to your liking.
With many happy returns of the day, yours ever,
Stanley Johnston, Esq.
“Gift? What gift?” Eddie asked. Endurance? What the fuck was that about?
“It doesn’t matter.” Susie wouldn’t even look at the box. “You take it. Give it to your mum or your sister or-”
“Oh wow, these are proper lovely!” Jimmy had already opened the box. Inside were two diamond studs, at least three carats each but likely more, Asscher-cut, set in brushed yellow gold. When he turned them, halos of tiny diamonds were visible in the mounting. “Diamonds are for April babies, you know.”
Eddie felt a sudden surge of wrath. It came from nowhere, like a surprise dip in atmospheric pressure, or a bruise he didn’t remember incurring. Tracing it to its source was like determining the terroir in an unfamiliar vintage. It took him a moment to place it. But the longer he stared at the diamonds glittering in Jimmy’s hands, the more he thought of Rosanne telling him about the gifts Uncle Stan had bought her, and the obvious expectations that came with them.
“They’re studs.” Susie’s voice brooked no argument. “I don’t wear studs. Studs do nothing for my face.”
Eddie found a new direction for his ire. “I’m sorry. What?”
“They don’t.” Susie wasn’t looking at him. She busied herself with the boxes. “Everyone has shapes and colours that work best for them. Studs don’t work for me. I wear longer earrings.” She flicked the hoops hanging from her ears. They were yellow gold with a second hoop of dark green jade sliding along inside. “See?”
“So otherwise you’d wear them.”
Susie set down a tin of caviar. She leveled an ice-cold glare in his direction. “Of course not.”
“What other gift did he try to give you, Susie?”
“It doesn’t matter. I refused.”
“What was it?”
“Why do you care? It’s none of your business who gives me what.”
“Oh. Well, then. By your leave, princess.”
Eddie gave an elaborate bow, turned on his heel, and marched up the stairs. Too late, he remembered he’d put slippers on and would need to change them for his waders. He ripped the slippers off while Susie stamped up the stairs after him. He was reaching for the waders when she spoke.
“What is your problem?”
“You know what my problem is.”
“Oh, do I? Because at the moment it seems like a multiple choice question. I didn’t ask to be born on this particular day. I didn’t ask Dad and Jack to send those things here. They did it for a laugh, is all.”
He let the boot in his hand drop to the floor. “Why would it be funny, Susie? Why? Because Mr Lawrence would have to spend all morning re-directing traffic? Because you practically live here already, so why not send your gifts here? Because apparently Uncle Stan knows it’s your birthday, but I, me, the person whose address this actually is, had no idea-”
“That gift is a threat.” Suddenly Susie was using every centimeter of her heels to their advantage, getting as close to nose-to-nose with Eddie as either of them dared. She pointed down the stairs. “He is threatening me. Somehow he learned my birthday, and he learned where I’d be, and he’s telling me that he has information on me that I don’t give out to strangers. He wants me to know he can find me. Anytime, any place. That’s what his fucking gift is all about.”
Susie paused, as though deciding what to say next. Or how much of her story to tell. With her wearing boots and Eddie without shoes, they were almost perfectly at eye level. He could dive directly into those stormy seas as they washed over him. Most people thought of blue as a calm, soothing colour. Most people were tragically mistaken.
“He’s doing that because I refused him, Edward.” Her voice was hushed. Her jaw was tight. “He offered me a watch that cost millions — Churchill’s own 1518, if you must know — and I said no. And it got under his skin. So now he’s ruining my fucking birthday.”
Eddie felt the same crackling sensation he’d felt when stealing the car from Mercy’s shop: that anything was possible, that anything could happen, that he could do and have and be anything he wanted. That he might, actually, be good for something again. That he might even excel at something, given the opportunity.
“He’s threatening you?” Eddie’s breath was coming very fast and light. So was Susie’s. “He won’t take no for an answer? Is that what I’m hearing?”
Too late, Susie appeared to have some glimpse of the force she was about to unleash. “Edward-”
“He sent you a threat? On my land?”
“Slow down, soldier-”
“Did he touch you?” He leaned in, stumbling over one discarded slipper. Her hands rose up automatically to steady him; they landed on his shoulders and sank to his chest. They didn’t leave. She could feel his heart, probably. It was probably racing. Which was strange, because he felt exquisitely calm. His focus had narrowed down to three little words: Stanley threatened Susie. “When you refused him, did he do something? Did he-”
“We shared a cigar.” Her eyes found the floor. She swallowed. “At his party. He had me test his watch, in front of all his fancy friends, to see if it was real, to see if I was really an expert, so I had to touch him-” Eddie hissed like she’d scalded him. “-and you weren’t there; you were with Princess Elsa or whatever, and he said we should share.”
“Why couldn’t he just give you a cigar of your own?” Susie gave him a look that said even Eddie Horniman couldn’t possibly be so dense. He thought of her mouth curled around a cigarillo from his collection, the night they drank with the Wards. The way her soft cheeks hollowed around it. Deep down in some place he could now never admit existed, he’d briefly, for just a second, considered asking to split it with her. Had wondered how warm it would be in his mouth after having so recently left her own. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged. He could see the crown of her head, the tips of her ears, the swoop of her neck as she ducked to one side and avoided answering. “You were bleeding. There were more important things.”
“What, like telling me you don’t fuck the help?”
Susie recoiled like he’d slapped her. She stepped out of his arm’s reach. Her hands left his chest; he felt cold without them. He was suddenly aware of being underground. They were six feet down at least — on a level with the dead. And at the moment, Eddie felt like he belonged with them. He wanted to bury himself along with the words he’d just said.
“I can’t win with you.” Her face came up. Her smile was bitter. “Can I? Ever. I can’t do anything right. There’s no way for me to-” She cut herself off. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Forget it. I’ll get out of your hair. Laters.”
She started down the stairs. “Susie-” Eddie’s hand shot out before he was even aware of it. It closed around her wrist. Her skin felt eerily cool. She stared down at his hand as though it had burned her. “Stop. I’m sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean that. That night…” He remembered how steady she’d felt under his arm that night, how gently her hand cradled his ribs under his jacket, how the smell of her perfume was so druggingly sweet it seemed to blot out the pain. “That night was hell, and I was a prick. And I was a prick just now. I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were happy.” Susie spoke very softly, and didn’t look at him. “Lately. With the business, I mean. You seemed…pleased. About how we resolved the distribution issue. Together. But I was wrong.”
“No. You weren’t.” He tugged at her wrist and she came closer, warily. Her eyes still wouldn’t meet his. “We did resolve the issue. Together. And it did...” Mean something. It means something, when you give me the numbers and let me pour you a drink to celebrate, and we watch all the Ward children playing outside. It means something that they’re safe here, that we help keep them warm and fed, together, the two of us. It means something that we’re helping give those children a home, even if only for a little while, and every day they’re on my land is a day they’re not in Young Offenders’ or some foster care fuckshow. “It does,” he said, finally. “I am. Pleased. Let me show you.”
Now her eyes snapped up to meet his. “And how do you plan to do that, Captain?”
He smirked. Then he pulled out his phone, and in his most dulcet tones, asked it to find and call the number of Thelma West’s studio. When the call went through, he deliberately kept it off speaker.
“Hello, yes, thank you. I’d like to schedule an appointment. For today, if possible.” He was told it wasn’t possible, but asked to leave his name and contact information for the waitlist. “This is Edward Horniman. My request is regarding a package delivered by courier to Susan Glass here at Halstead Manor, this morning. Yes, I can hold. Thank you.”
It was working. It was cliché and gauche and beneath him, but it was working. First, they would check the day’s manifest. With the address, they would then look up the name. He could almost feel the person on the other end searching for him in Tatler. A moment later, the voice offered condolences on his father’s death, and told him that all the changes he’d gone through must be terribly difficult.
“Yes it was rather a surprise. For all of us. And it’s made us somewhat vulnerable to the wrong kind of attention, if you catch my drift. Case in point, a prospective business associate of my…”
He looked Susie up and down. My liege lady? My boss? My tenant? My partner? My friend? My tormentor? The gift was addressed to Susie, at his address. The implication was clear. Clear enough that he belatedly hoped Tamsin told Mother nothing whatsoever about the diamonds. The voice asked if she was a member of his “inner circle.” If she was “someone close to” him.
“Yes. We’re very close. She’s very close to me right now, in fact.” The person who had answered the phone giggled. Susie’s mouth dropped open. She was pink. In the circle of his fingers and thumb, her wrist was finally warming. He ran his thumb over her skin and felt some of the tension slacken in her arm.
“You see, this potential associate of hers has unexpectedly sent a beautiful pair of your earrings for her birthday today. And while obviously she’s delighted, it’s a source of some discomfort. It’s really a very extravagant gift, and, well, to be perfectly frank I feel the old chap’s trying to show me up. And I refuse to take it lying down.” On the phone, they were extremely understanding. “So you’d really be doing me a favour if you let us come in and choose something else, and I’ll be happy to make up the difference. You wouldn’t need to tell the other chap, would you? I’d hate for him to find out that way.”
Eddie would, in truth, not hate it. He would not hate it at all. He would relish it. He would pay someone to record it happening, when Uncle Stan found out Susie had returned his diamonds and taken Eddie’s instead.
Susie’d had enough. “Cap-” He dropped her hand and held a finger to her lips. They were soft and sticky as brandied cherries, and smelled like buttercream icing. Her mouth didn’t close; her breath hovered around his skin and the heat of it climbed up his sleeve and under his skin and straight down his spine. He swiped his finger over her mouth and put it in his own. Vanilla and forever chemicals. The faintest hint of cinnamon and mint. On the phone, they were checking a book or list or some other thing that took a small eternity while Susie’s eyes changed from squalling grey to summer violet.
“Oh, you do have some time this evening,” he said, voice cracking, when the call resumed. “Wonderful. Thank you. So much. You’ve been such a help. We’ll see you then. Cheers.”
He rang off. Susie’s cheeks were two high points of pink. He licked his lips. Smacked them. Like he was tasting a wine. “Dior?”
It took her a minute, but she shook her head. “Fenty.”
“It’s delicious.”
Susie swallowed. Her pulse jumped in her neck. He had the oddest urge to set his teeth there. “You should get the car,” she whispered. He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself. “Right now. You should go. And bring it around. Now.”
“Now?” He wasn’t sure why they were whispering. “Are you sure? Because that appointment is hours from now. We have lots of time.”
She nodded mechanically. “Right now. There’s something else we have to do, first. Somewhere else we need to go.”
Eddie’s heart flipped over. “Of course.”
His tongue rested against his teeth. They were so often on the same page; he barely had to say a word to her, sometimes. Sometimes they’d be listening to Freddy or Jimmy go on and their eyes would meet and it felt like touching shore — like knowing he wouldn’t drown. Only he couldn’t be sure, not until the very last second, if they were on the same page about this. But he could make his position, so to speak, as clear as possible within the limits of good taste.
“Far be it from me to deny you anything on your birthday, Susan.”
If you’d just ask me, he thought very clearly in the hopes she might somehow hear, I’d give you whatever you like.
“Mm-hmm,” Susie managed to say, before levering herself down the stairs.