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Once again, Antony’s bedroom looked over the park at the back of the house – only it was not The Red House this time, just a house that Pritchard, who Bill used to be chummy with at school, happened to have inherited recently. An overall sensible chap – perhaps more so than Bill, in fact – Pritchard naturally wanted to make the dreary place look more lived in and not like someone died there after sapping all the joy out of it, so a party it was. Bill was invited, and invited to invite his friend Gillingham along. By Jove, he was glad of it, because for all the downstairs efforts Pritchard’s new place was awfully dark and gloomy yet, and so, in Bill’s opinion, the party had only two things to recommend it to anyone with good taste: the admittedly well-kept, sprawling verdant park and Tony.
Bill, being a person with decidedly good taste, made a point of enjoying both of the aforementioned things amidst the light dancing, the moderate drinking, the unduly lengthy card games and other entertainments Pritchard provided. He would frequently fetch Antony to come down for dinner, or wait for him to finish admiring a tome in the library or a vase in the hall so he could enjoy Antony’s either effusive or scathing commentary about it; he would also shout ‘Hallo, old boy!’ at his window at moderately reasonable hours – somehow Antony proved more amenable to their early morning or late evening walks if Bill was already halfway to accomplishing said walks, out and about and such.
Obviously, Antony was a clever devil and had promptly figured out Bill’s small ruse, but he didn’t deprive Bill of the pleasure of his lively company and casual conversations. Instead, he suggested that they decide on a regular time to lollygag in the park in the early mornings, and Bill thought this improvised routine was quite brilliant. So far, there had been no murder whatsoever, not even a theft, not even cheating at cards as far as Bill could tell, and wasn’t that a terrible bore. But the itch in his veins and the craving for excitement was easily satisfied by these strolls at the break of dawn, and then, what with playing tennis, cricket, charades and all the usual nonsense like talking politics and books with the rest of the group, Bill found himself having a fine time.
This morning, they met up at what was already ‘the usual hour’, veering off the drive towards the gardener’s lodge. Privately, Bill noted that Antony was looking remarkably put together, his black hair well-combed and his suit brushed and proper, and, while this was the customary way with him and Antony always looked crisp and cool, it was still a very good look, not at all overstaying its welcome in Bill’s eyes. As they hit the grass paths of the open park, all that frondescence particularly lush in the fragrant morning chill, Bill was struck by an epiphany which was enough to make him gasp. Of course, that was the reason Antony suggested they keep a regular schedule for their meetings! So he could take care to make himself presentable, brush his hair and all that – it had to have been a great inconvenience to rush though the necessary grooming when Bill was dropping in willy-nilly!
Taken with his discovery, Bill laughed, wondering how on earth the thought had not occurred to him sooner. Antony gave him a puzzled glance, and Bill smiled. He, too, was capable of deduction! But Tony, being the generous fellow that he was, surely had not had doubts about that. No, if Bill was going to astonish him with anything, it was discretion. He was not going to say anything about Antony’s perfectly legitimate vanity.
He was not going to say anything at all.
“I wonder,” said Bill, and then abruptly stopped himself.
Antony hummed thoughtfully and encouraged him to continue with a raised eyebrow. Bill noticed that the healthy ruddiness of Antony’s cheeks matched the blush-coloured stripe of his necktie very well, and then, finding no immediate use for this precious bit of information, slowed his steps in counterpoint to his rapidly beating heart.
“Well?”
“Well,” Bill resumed reluctantly, “this has been very nice, hasn’t it?” He made a vague gesture intended to encompass the jolly view and the two of them.
“Wonderful,” said Antony firmly, and the decisiveness in his voice made Bill’s heart swell with joy.
“I say! Tony, do you really mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“About the walks.”
“I meant what I said, Bill. Nothing else.”
“Well then! What did you mean?”
Antony flashed a smile at him, but did not answer.
Bill followed him eagerly, half a step behind, and really, it ought to have been a simple thing to put Bill out of his misery. But alas! Antony said nothing, just continued at a brisk pace, soles slipping on the dewy grass slightly. In Bill’s honest opinion, he was looking rather fetching, striding with purpose and cheeks flushed with exertion. With the sunrise licking at the horizon and painting the park a juicy pink colour, Bill considered telling his friend just that, but the comfortable silence between them felt particularly good, like a hearty breakfast, and the chirping birds made their walk decidedly pastoral and enjoyable. Besides, Antony was patting his jacket in an absent-minded fashion, searching for his pipe, and he had obviously begun to think about something different.
So Bill decided that he would bring this up again at a later date. It was devilish neat that Antony looked rather fetching all the time, and therefore Bill’s comment had no chance of coming across as irrelevant or inopportune.
Very pleased with himself, Bill overtook Antony in a few steps, only to turn around and produce a Ronson lighter from his pocket with a magician’s flair. He whistled softly, adding his own arrhythmic tune to the birds’ song, and thought that it was going to be a great day.