Page 54 of Copper Script
Then he got out of there, went straight to his desk, dialled 190 for the Central Telegraph Office, and sent a telegram to 22 Great Percy Street.It read: WILDSMITH SHAFIS RESTAURANT GERRARD ST 7PM.
***
AT TEN PAST SEVEN THATevening, the wave of fury had ebbed somewhat and Aaron was sitting alone in Shafi’s, wondering if Joel would arrive, and whether he wanted him to.
He still didn’t know how to feel about that damned stupid perfect evening, except for ‘guilty’.He’d felt Joel flinch and withdraw when he’d turned down his offer, or assumption, and hated himself for it.Joel had been so generous, so easy, so warm; he had deserved more.Aaron had wanted to give more, to bury his face in the pale neck and beg to stay as long as Joel would have him.
That couldn’t happen, for more reasons than he wanted to consider at this moment.And this was the worst possible time to be continually distracted by illicit desires, by memories of the taste of skin or the sound of moaning, by the overwhelming urge to talk to someone who cared.
Joeldidn’tcare, he reminded himself.He couldn’t, because they barely knew one another.Yes, they’d fucked, but then, he’d fucked an undercover constable in a public lavatory: he wasn’t like Aaron, holding back from the sins of the flesh until it felt like that flesh had turned to stone.Aaron wouldn’t find the answer to anything in his arms, unless he counted the question, ‘How can I most quickly ruin my career?’
But all that aside, Aaron owed Joel a meal, and he wanted to see him.He’d wanted to see him so much that he’d delayed and delayed what he owed, until fury had driven him to send the telegram.
Perhaps he’d delayed so long that Joel had thrown his telegram in the waste-paper bin.Perhaps that was for the best.He usually ate alone anyway, and he came to Shafi’s often enough that he was on excellent terms with the owners.Rahim Mohammed was on the floor tonight, with his brother in the kitchen.
“You ready to order, Mr.Fowler?”Rahim asked.He was a forward-thinking young man who’d come to England to study, recoiled in horror at the food, and seen a gap in the market for feeding his equally appalled compatriots.Business was thriving.
“I’m hoping a friend will join me, so I’ll wait a few more minutes, if I may.”
“Something to nibble on,” Rahim decreed, and waved at the overworked waiter.“You’re well, Mr.Fowler?”
Aaron agreed he was, and asked after the family.They chatted for a couple of moments, until the doorbell jangled and Rahim looked over.“Is that your friend?”
It wasn’t a great deductive leap, since most of the clientele here was Indian, and the few other white faces belonged to regulars.“It is, yes.”Aaron raised a hand.
Joel’s cheeks were pinked from the cold, and he had a slightly wary look on his face which flickered into a smile as he saw Aaron, then dropped away almost immediately.
If he wanted to change his mind and leave, he didn’t stand a chance.Rahim scooped him up with an enthusiastic cry of “Mr.Fowler’s friend!”relieving him of coat, hat, and umbrella like a top-class pickpocket.
“Goodness,” Joel said, sitting down since he wasn’t being given a choice.“They seem to like you here.”
“I come a lot.The food is excellent and it’s very peaceful.”
Joel glanced round at approximately fifty Indians talking at full volume in multiple languages.“It is?”
“Well, I find it so.Everyone here is entirely concerned with their own business, and nobody gives a damn about me.Whereas there’s quite a few restaurants where a CID man walks in and half the clientele leaves.”
“And who could blame them.It seems nice, anyway.Smells marvellous.Is the food very hot?My landlady’s beef curry was a painful experience.”
“I don’t find it particularly hot.I believe the food is the type served in North India where it’s less hot than in the south, but ask Rahim.Are you averse to spices?”
“I was averse to that beef curry, but I’ll reserve judgement till I’ve eaten the real thing.You order.”
Aaron did so for them both, requesting a couple of bottles of Bass.He waited until those arrived, along with a plate of fried battered vegetables and some pickles and chutneys, before saying, “Thank you for coming.I wasn’t sure you would.”
“No, nor was I,” Joel said.“Actually I’d concluded some days ago that you were welshing on me, and had decided to tell you where to stick your dinner if you did ever trouble to get in touch.”
“Oh.”
“Then I thought, perhaps you’d fallen under an omnibus and were lying in a hospital bed.Clearly you aren’t, which is disappointing on the face of it.But since you telegraphed, and you owe me a meal, I thought I’d give you a chance to tell me how terribly busy you’ve been and why it was completely impossible to fulfil your obligations in a timely fashion.”
“You don’t hold back, do you?”Aaron said.
“Not usually.Do we eat these?”
“It’s the usual practice.Try them with the green sauce.”
Joel did.His eyes widened.“God.That’s delicious.”
