Sir Cecil was waitingat his table in the large open dining room of his club, theAthenaeum, as Robert approached him—a few minuteslate.
“Scotch?” Cecil asked as Robertsat.
Robert nodded and Cecil held up two fingers to the waiter who knew what hewanted.
“How did it go withCabot?”
“Disappointing, I am sad tosay.”
“Ah… I thought as much. One of my least promising prospects foryou.”
“Then why didn’t you say? Waste of a whole morning,” Robert said a bittestily.
“Because he has one of the largest readerships, and I thought if he went along, it would be a good base foryou.”
The waiter brought thedrinks.
“TheDoversole is especially good here today. Very fresh Stevens assures me,” Cecilsuggested.
“With buttered potatoes and peas, if you please,” Robert instructed thewaiter.
“I’ve sent your manuscript to the editors. Should have it back in a month or so. Hopefully, I can have galley proofs for you in another two orthree.”
“Beastly slow process, is it not?” Robertcomplained.
Cecil wagged his head. “It is, but there is no rush. You do not have your surrogate author yet either. It will take some time to set up that whole process once you find the suitablecandidate.”
Robert sighed, and took another swig ofScotch.”
“Who are you interviewing this afternoon?” Cecilasked.
“The second of the three names you gave me—Sir ReginaldBurbidge.”
“Ah…” Sir Cecil said with a certain air ofmystery.
“What does thatAhmean?”
Sir Cecil smiled. “He is a bit of a character, but a cracking good author, and a good prospect. He might be just what you are lookingfor.”
* * *
Robert’s afternoonappointment was with the author of the moderately successfulThornton Abbeyby Sir Reginald Burbidge—a tale of ghosts, mystery, andintrigue.
Sir Reginald lived in a splendid crescent house in Mayfair. Robert was greeted at the door by a butler and shown into a comfortable parlor with a warmingfire.
“Sir Reginald will be with you shortly,Milord.”
“Thankyou.”
The room was stately but somewhat lacking feminine charm. There were many shelves of books and a suit of armor and crossed pikes behind a shield above the fireplace. Robert speculated that Sir Reginald was most likely abachelor.
“Welcome,” a voice rang out and Robert turned from studying the weapons to see Sir Reginald coming towardhim.
They shook hands and Sir Reginald offered Robert a chair by the fire where there was a table set with teaservice.
Robert never remembered meeting a man so tall and thin. He had his thin wispy, mouse-colored hair parted in the middle, and his gaunt face was sporting more of a beak than a nose. It was large but not wide, with a hook and a slight twist as though it might have been broken at some time in the past. However, Sir Reginald had an intelligent and piercing gaze and Robert knew he was dealing with a man to be reckonedwith.
“Are you ex-military?” Robert asked with a nod toward theweapons?
