Never Forget The Importance of Style

4. Rainy night

Its curves were impeccable, so perfect and symmetrical and harmonious. Its burnished surface gleamed in the soft rays of light that still shone in through puffy muslin curtains, and behind the glass front the pendulum moved steadily back and forth, preparing the clock to strike seven. One could already hear it if one listened closely enough, the quiet twirr of springs being wound minutely tighter by every turn of the cog wheel. In less than ten minutes it would chime again.

The face that was reflected from the mirror beside the table clock was almost as symmetrical as the man-made object next to it. It belonged to a young man with regular features and a dark, sleek hair smoothed back over his head. He wore a deep blue suit that at first glance looked deceptively simple - although of course anyone with an eye for such detail could immediately see that it was exceptionally well cut, and fit its bearer perfectly.

Said dark young man was currently arranging a cold dinner for one on a small table, one hand supporting a half-full tray while the other placed various objects in their proper places with almost mathematical precision. After a while he straightened his back with a satisfied nod, gaze straying to the clock, and a tiny frown flashed over his forehead. Almost seven? Already?

The clock had also reached the same conclusion, it hummed to itself and began to strike seven, and at the same moment steps were heard. A tall, slim figure stepped in, stopped just inside the door and shook his head vigorously so that tiny droplets flew all around.

"This place gets the craziest weather..."

"So you were caught in the shower, sir!" The dark man hurried to receive the long coat. "I have your dinner ready as you requested."

"Thank you, Torell!" Leone brushed off the arms of his jacket and glanced greedily towards the table. "Mmm, delicious..."

He threw himself into the armchair next to the table and helped himself to the first sandwich.

Torell went to hang the coat to dry and peered suspiciously out of a small window. The sun was setting, its last rays almost obscenely bright as they stabbed through ink-dark, billowing cloud masses and made the wet landscape glitter. The town of Menam, huddled next to the Central Mountains that tended to halt the progress of clouds, was prone to capricious weather. The entire day had been alternately brilliant sunshine and violent rain, and obviously the latest downpour had managed to take Torell's master by surprise as he'd been returning from the club.

Well, Leone didn't look any worse for wear, and in any case his appetite hadn't suffered any. Torell was pleased to notice once more that his not insignificant skills in cooking were duly appreciated; the small mound of sandwiches had diminished visibly during the short time he'd been out of the room. But he also noticed again something else, something he'd observed for a while now: something was brewing. He hadn't been in his current position long, and yet even within the couple of months he had been able to pick up a whole lot of clues about the puzzle that was his new master. And yes, something was most definitely up.

Torell drew the thicker curtains, all the while watching Leone from the corner of his eye. His young master was devouring his cold dinner with glee, eyes half-closed, obviously preoccupied with something. That as such didn't surprise the dark servant in the least, he already knew enough to know that there was always something going on just under the surface. But this was slightly different from the usual.

He'd been observing the minute changes over the past few days, intrigued. It had been like listening to the table clock getting wound up, only much slower. By now Torell could almost see it when he looked at the younger man, feel the tightening of springs, hear the expectant buzz. It made him tense up as well, but in a very pleasant way.

He had been thanking his good luck every single day, ever since the day back on Reál when his elder brother, a superb goldsmith employed and highly valued by the prominent jewelry family of Ereanell, had mentioned that there might be a position for him. Before even hearing the words 'wealthy' and 'traveling', Torell had been ready to leap at the chance. He'd been freshly out of a job; his previous employer had married a rich heiress and decided that there was no need to keep his own valet, seeing as he was going to live at her family's estate that was practically crawling with servants.

So the promise of traveling had sounded really good. And when his brother had, moreover, obliquely hinted at the 'connections' that Torell might be able to provide to the young gentleman in question, and murmured something about certain 'business' said gentleman might occasionally have with the esteemed Ereanells... Well, Torell had been ready to do just about anything to get the position. And his first meeting with Leone had immediately convinced him that this was his gentleman.

Nor had he been disappointed... He glanced again at Leone. The blond young man was completely lost in thought and yet managed to look so gorgeous that Torell had to suppress a fond smile. Leone was haphazardly sprawled in his armchair, long legs stretched across the floor, holding a teacup in both hands. His straight, sand-brown hair was cut short but not too short; some rakish bangs had been left to hang over a high forehead. They were always threatening to fall down and get entangled with dark, curving eyebrows, under which pale gray eyes now squinted a little. A short, neatly kept beard framed a mouth that more often than not was drawn into a knowing smirk and was generally considered eminently kissable. Leone himself was only too well aware of the general opinion, Torell thought, but on the other hand, he also wholeheartedly agreed with it.

Right now it looked even more kissable than usual, because Leone's forefinger was absently rubbing his lower lip - something he often did when distracted. Torell perked up, imperceptibly but not any less efficiently. His every instinct told him to be on his guard, and yet he had no damn idea of what he should be looking for.

"Will you be going out still, sir?" Torell inquired tentatively, searching for clues.

Leone shook his head. "No. I'll be at home, Torell, and unavailable. I have the mother of all headaches."

Torell leveled an inquisitive look at his master and decided that that was a blatant lie. Nothing in the expression of the eyes or the set of the mouth indicated anything but smug satisfaction. "Very well, sir."

"So I'll be sleeping, and you will act completely as usual." Leone looked straight at the servant. "Except that I won't of course be having dinner at the normal time. And no bath before bedtime, I think I'll be indisposed."

Torell made a small bow, feeling how the knot of excitement somewhere inside him began to buzz. His skin tingled. "As you say, sir."

"Good." Leone pushed himself up and stretched his arms. "Good night then."

"Good night, sir."

Torell heard the bedroom door close softly as he picked up the used cups and plates from the table.

He returned to the little kitchen and to the daily chores, washed the dishes, had his own dinner and then decided to go and take a look at the main room of their small apartment. It was silent, the curtains drawn, everything in their proper places. Not much light was needed, after all his master was ostensibly resting, but nevertheless he lit a lamp on the low table. It would provide at least some light, should Leone wish to get up for a glass of something, and Torell would come back to put it off before retiring to bed.

Torell crouched beside the decorative fireplace to make sure that the last of the still glowing embers were properly spread out to yield all their warmth into the air. He tried desperately to concentrate on the task at hand, but his speculative gaze kept returning to the bedroom door. Finally he gave in and stepped closer to listen. Quiet, naturally; well, it would be. He knocked cautiously on the door, listened again, knocked once more.

No reply.

He pushed the door open. "Sir?"

As he had guessed, the room was empty. Bedcovers were pulled invitingly back - by himself earlier that evening - but there was no one under them. The pillow was untouched. Torell frowned as he saw the clothes that had been folded loosely on a chair, and began to sort through them. Some of them he hung in the closet, others he gathered into a bundle to be laundered. He even peeped into the closet but couldn't immediately spot anything suspicious. All the suits seemed to be there. So what the hell was missing? He didn't feel like rummaging in the drawers. Leone wouldn't like that.

The tingling inside him intensified, and quietly Torell returned to the kitchen to brew another pot of tea. He wasn't going to be able to sleep now, anyway.

Several hours later the servant woke up with a start and grimaced at the pain that shot through the side of his neck at the smallest movement. He'd fallen asleep sitting in the chair, head resting on one arm folded on the table, and the crick in his neck now made him cringe. He rubbed it with his fingers to ease the discomfort and sighed. Rain was again battering hard against the window - its steady, dull sound had probably been the final touch that had at last lulled him into sleep, no matter how hard he'd tried to fight against the temptation.

But what had stirred him awake? Torell stood quietly up, listened for a moment and then tiptoed into the living room. The lamp was still burning, he couldn't see anything amiss in its sparse light but he smelled something. Something slightly wet, a breath of cold night air. And yet the doors and windows were closed.

The tiniest creak from the bedroom made him inhale sharply, and quickly he crossed the room to knock once more on the door. "Sir? Are you there?"

The door cracked open, and before Torell even saw his master, he felt the coldness breathing from the dark shape peering out. "What is it, Torell?"

"Sir, just in case you're cold, there is water in the bathtub," the servant said in a low voice. "I ran it around your usual bath time, and it was boiling hot then. It should be still warm enough."

He heard a soft chuckle and the door was pushed wider open. "Oh, you're priceless, Torell... come on in!"

Torell stepped in, heart beating madly, and almost gasped as he got a good look at Leone. The younger man was wearing a nondescript black sweater and equally black old trousers, and nothing more. His shoes and a dark cloak were in a heap on the floor; he'd obviously discarded them before coming in, probably just outside the door not to leave wet footsteps on the stairs. His hair looked much darker now that it was soaking wet, and his skin was almost bluish with cold, but the eyes were glinting with something wild and ferocious.

The last pieces were rapidly falling into place inside Torell's head. He met the sharp gaze without blinking and gestured towards the wet bundle.

"I'll take that, sir," he murmured. "We need to get you warmed up, or you'll catch your death. Go have the bath now, just don't run the water out of the tub. I'll do that in the morning."

Leone nodded with a smirk and began to peel the sweater off. Torell waited until the other man had stripped down to his underwear, added the last pieces of clothing to his burden and turned to go. At the door he suddenly remembered something.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Leone, already on his way to the bathroom, stopped and looked questioning.

"Sir, could there be someone here in town who'd want to find out things about you?"

Leone's eyebrows crunched together. "Thoroughly possible. Why do you ask?"

"I didn't think anything about it earlier," Torell said slowly, "but at second thought it now strikes me as odd - while I was out shopping this afternoon, there was this woman who began to chat with me."

"A woman?"

"Yes, sir. A woman. Not a lady." Torell smiled meaningfully. "I thought she was just talkative, but I can't help feeling that she might've been trying to hit on me."

Leone's gaze raked the servant up and down and the corner of his mouth quirked. "Well, I don't think it at all impossible, my dear Torell."

"Thank you, sir. But nevertheless, it just occurred to me that someone might try to spy on you through me." Torell stood his ground and Leone nodded.

"Of course you might be right," he said. "But I can trust you, can't I?"

"You're my master, sir," Torell replied calmly. "What I wanted to know is, should I try to find out who it could be?"

"You might." Leone seemed to have quite forgotten that he was more than half naked, but Torell saw the gooseflesh and his lips tightened in concern.

"Very well, sir. I will. Please go to warm up now, sir!" Torell smiled apologetically, just in case he was being too forceful, but Leone just grinned. That encouraged Torell to add: "Too bad, though, that they haven't taken the trouble to find out about my preferences."

"What do you mean?" Leone tilted his head, intrigued, and Torell granted him a half-smirk.

"Oh, merely that I find male company far more interesting than females, sir. But of course I'll do as you wish."

"No, I have a better suggestion!" Leone laughed quietly. "You could make her aware of the fact - and then, if a suitably inclined relative or similar suddenly crops up, you can be rather sure that there's someone behind all this. Don't you agree?"

Torell chuckled in agreement. "That sounds like a very good plan, sir, and I'll be happy to do as you say."

"After all, there's no reason why you shouldn't have some fun on the side!" Leone winked, then stepped back to the bed and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. "Oh, and Torell..." Torell's breath caught as he saw the small velvet bag that appeared on his master's palm. "Do you think you could take care of this for me? I'm sure you're sending letters to your brother every now and then."

"Yes, sir." Torell took the bag and weighed it in his hand. Surprisingly heavy for its size, containing something hard and lumpy that shifted shape as he felt it. "Me and my brother, we're all the time writing to each other."

"You're a man after my own heart, Torell!" Leone stepped towards the bathroom door.

"It is my pleasure to bring satisfaction, sir," Torell murmured as he pocketed the mystery bag and padded silently to his room next to the kitchen.