“I’ve supper waiting, if you’d like. It will hold, of course, if you’d rather wait. There’s tea, or I have some wine open.” Farran gestured at the chair, or at the sofa.
“I— supper, certainly. If that’s not a bother. And I suppose we probably want to talk about some things. Also, I want to tell you about this.” She waved the book again.
It made him smile, and that was grand. His eyes crinkled when he was happy. “Have a seat at the table then, and I’ll bring things out. Nothing terribly fancy. We’re still learning each other’s tastes, aren’t we? Chicken, potatoes, some roast vegetables, a nice sauce.” He glanced at her. “We’ve not talked too much about food, actually?”
“No, and I suspect it matters to you.” Vega offered it a little cautiously, but got another of those smiles. “You mentioned your housekeeper?”
“Lena, yes. Right, let me get the tray.” He disappeared into the little kitchenette, or at least what she assumed was one, and came out with a tray, properly done up with silver covers on the food. “There’s a proper kitchen downstairs. The food is quite good, as a standard, though I admit, not Lena’s.” He set it down. The meal was certainly served nicely. The potatoes were the little decorative browned puffs that meant someone had gone to several steps of trouble. They sat beside chicken and roasted vegetables with a cream sauce. It smelled excellent, and Farran pulled out the chair for her before pouring wine and taking his own. He held up his glass. “To good things to come.”
It was a toast she could entirely agree with, and so she echoed it immediately. It took her a few bites to get the sense of the thing. Balanced, with a focus on things going together. She suspected it was rather like how Farran went at art. Certainly how she went at music, and that gave her a place to talk.
“We haven’t talked much about it. Some singers are very fixed on what they eat. This food is good or bad for the voice,this one bad for the figure. I’m not like that. Either way round. I like a lot of different kinds of foods, just like I enjoy a lot of different kinds of music. Chestnuts from a street vendor, a meal in an excellent restaurant. I’ve—” Her voice caught. “A little less experience with the smaller sort of home cooked meal. The cooks at home are cooking for several dozen at the smallest, and often twice that.”
“A different sort of cooking,” Farran agreed. “Lena is cooking for a dozen, maybe, most nights. Maybe twenty, during the War, we had more rooms taken for a while. Nothing fancy, soup and chicken, vegetables, something for pudding some nights.” He added, “We have pudding. That is perhaps a little fancy. And some of Lena’s biscuits, if we need a nibble later.”
His eyes were dancing, which suggested he’d gone to a certain amount of thought about it. “That’s something I’m enjoying about London. The range of restaurants. The arrangement here is that they cook breakfast, supper if I want it, and I’m on my own for lunch. Or sometimes I’ve gone out with colleagues. Smoothing the social connections, but also a chance to try different places to eat.”
“I hadn’t really thought how that might be part of your work. Or, I suppose, the sort of meals you have at gallery or exhibit openings?” Vega took another few bites, taking her time.
“Exactly. Though those are often bites, all the worries about dropping a bit down your suit or having something on your fingers or teeth. And not enough food to keep going. Those nights, here, I ask for Welsh rabbit or soup or something of the kind when I get home. Stasis charms at least make that easy. It’s not a bother how late I come home.”
“When you’re in Trellech, are you in rooms there?” Vega asked.
“I was. My landlady wanted to do some renovations, so I moved my things back to Thebes when I took on this contract.”Farran shrugged. “We’ll see after that. I can always stay at Thebes, or Tony has a spare room if it’s just for a night here and there.” Then he glanced up and added, “Of course, you might fit into those plans, and that would change some things.”
Her mouth curled up. “All right. Let’s talk about that. You get your present when we’ve cleared the table, then.” She took a breath. “The thing about being a singer is it depends who hires you. I could set up a fairly steady contract on one of the liners, if I wanted, but that’s rather tedious work, unless you really like life on a liner. Or you want to see different places. I did it for a year, early on.”
Farran tilted his head. “How much of that was being away from Albion, and how much of it was, I don’t know. A small cabin, seeing the same people all the time. People talking through your songs, I’m sure, if you were in a lounge or something of the kind.”
“As if I don’t get that now.” Vega glanced up and Farran had tilted his head, one eyebrow arched. It was a rather compelling expression. He didn’t disagree with her. That was the thing. He was just making it clear he perceived something different. “Oh, all right. Not at the Crystal Cave. The people who want to talk are down on the larger dance floor.” Then she added, before she forgot about it,, “Can we go to a museum together sometime? Somewhere you can talk about the art we’re looking at and tell me what you see?”
Farran blinked, and then he flushed an utterly delightful pink. “Really? Most people find me tedious like that.”
“I rather think I won’t. But if I did, that’s the sort of thing we should figure out sooner than later, anyway. So. A museum. You pick. Tomorrow, or next weekend.” She swallowed. “Please? I’d like it very much.”
“Now, of course, I’m not going to be able to decide which. Probably best next weekend, so I have time to pick something interesting. A little out of the way.”
“There.” She beamed, glad to have given him what seemed like the best sort of challenge. “Besides whatever other investigation we do, of course.”
“You do— pardon for speaking of business over a meal. You realise I’m entirely engaged in the problem, not as a consultant, but wanting to solve it. And make sure you’re not alone dealing with Vandermeer.”
“Other men,” Vega said, carefully, tackling one part of this before the rest, “would talk about keeping me safe.”
“First, you’re a performer in night clubs. I’m certain you normally have a solid line in keeping yourself safe. Though perhaps that depends on knowing the ground, having others around. But second, I have some skills, but mostly not relating to fighting. Other than the sort of fighting that happens in an auction with bids and counter-bids.”
The way he put it made her giggle for just a moment. “Fair. I like that you know your skills and your limits. It’s rather rare, actually, in men your age or quite a bit older.” She then considered. “One reason I like you enough to talk about something longer-term. Or at least seeing what it looks like.”
Again, he took the cue smoothly. “I like time with you, in all its forms. If you want to pay the expenses for whatever investigation we do, that’s certainly fair. Or consulting fees for anyone else, of course. But for my part, I would prefer time with you without needing to think about how we’re counting the time. The best sorts of puzzles often involve waking up at three in the morning and having a new idea.”
“And if, some night, you should do that in my ear, yes, I see how the accounting might become a tad complex.” Vega nodded, though she was decidedly amused at both his prioritiesand how he put it. “All right. I pay the expenses, that includes relevant meals out. Fair?”
“Fair.” Farran leaned back a little, setting his fork down. “Should I clear the table? And open your present?”
“Please.” Vega let him stand and clear. He really did have rather lovely manners. Subdued manners, he wasn’t at all flashy about them. But his hands were deft. He didn’t clatter the plates or the silverware. Watching him walk to the kitchenette gave her a lovely view of his backside, and more than a few ideas about what he was probably like under his clothing. She’d seen plenty of men scantily dressed backstage at various points. She had a wide range of experience to draw on.
When he came back, she pushed the wrapped book toward him. “Present, logistics, pudding, and then perhaps conversation about what we’d like to try together tonight?”
“Followed by the doing of whatever that is? Oh, yes.” Farran glanced up, his eyes warm, then looked back down, untying the ribbon and the paper nimbly rather than cutting it off. He peered at the book, then looked up. “Art history?”
