Page 36 of Inventing Vivian

“No need for that.” Benedict removed his own coat and set it over the arm of the sofa. “We dine informally.” He loosened his necktie.

“Very good, my lord.” Mr. Thomas smiled, hanging the coat back over the chair. The men started toward the kitchen. “Have you been to the hospital?”

“Yes,” Benedict said. He opened the door leading to the back staircase.

“And how did you find young Jack?”

“Much the same, I’m afraid.” The smell of Zhang Wei’s cooking grew stronger. “The nurse believes the affliction in his lungs was caused by breathing smoke and chemicals in the factory.”

Mr. Thomas pushed a breath out through his nose and shook his head.

Benedict stopped in the kitchen doorway. “Our ideas will take time to implement.”

“And they will be costly,” Mr. Thomas reminded him.

“I still believe they’re the right thing to do,” Benedict said.

“As do I, my lord.”

Benedict nodded. He was glad one person believed in him. An uneasy feeling squirmed in his gut as he imagined what his father would say when His Grace learned of the changes he planned to execute.

Zhang Wei turned from the stove as they entered the kitchen. He wore a cook’s apron and a wide smile.

“It smells wonderful,” Benedict said in Chinese. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited Mr. Thomas to join us.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Thomas,” Zhang Wei’s pronunciation of the man’s name added an extra syllable, making it sound like Thomas-ah.

“Thank you,” Mr. Thomas said.

Zhang Wei set bowls of rice and steamed vegetables on the table along with a stack of smaller bowls and chopsticks.

Benedict scooped rice into the small bowls and set them and a pair of chopsticks at each place. He and Mr. Thomas took their seats.

Zhang Wei sat with them. Being the eldest at the table, he lifted his chopsticks first and motioned for the others to eat.

Benedict used his chopsticks to put vegetables and dumplings on top of his rice. Seeing Mr. Thomas trying to balance the eating instruments in his hand, he was reminded of himself two and a half years earlier, unsure about the strange food and customs. He chuckled at the memory of the village’s children teasing him when he kept dropping food before it reached his mouth.

He rested an elbow on the table, showing Mr. Thomas the sticks in his hand. “Hold the lower one still and move the other.” He demonstrated, clicking the chopsticks together.

Mr. Thomas attempted to do the same, but he fumbled, and the top stick spun out of his hand.

“It takes practice,” Benedict said. “Would you prefer a fork?”

“Just give me a moment,” Mr. Thomas said. His brow furrowed in concentration as he moved the sticks. He finally held them at the very tips, pinching them together. Following the others’ example, he used them to pick up bits of food from the serving bowls.

Benedict lifted his bowl, holding it beneath his chin as he ate. “Oyster sauce?” he asked Zhang Wei.

The man nodded, putting a wad of rice and vegetables into his mouth.

“I’ve missed this flavor. You must have been to the Limehouse district again,” Benedict said.

Zhang Wei nodded again, chewing his food.

Benedict was glad his friend had discovered the area. It must feel like home to the man, hearing his own language spoken and visiting markets that carried familiar wares. “Have you made any friends there?”

“Some,” Zhang Wei said. He kept his eyes on his food, and the tips of his ears turned red.

Benedict had never seen his friend act so strangely. Was the man blushing? “Would any of them happen to beladyfriends?” He asked the question in Chinese, not wanting Zhang Wei to feel embarrassed in front of Mr. Thomas.

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