Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 17. Monty arrives and Greg is late

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James was definitely facepalming. He even had his hand to support his temple - his own method of demonstration in the most facepalming situations. Like this one.

Montgomery Roderick Hovers had appeared surprisingly early, but it was generally his habit as far as James could remember. He hasn't seen the chap since last year's races and was not exactly eager to see him any more often, even though they were rather close at school right up to the moment when James fell for Lizzy Stenford. Monty immediately invited her on a date just to anger him out. He was 15 back then, James was 18. And was stupid enough to kiss the light-haired green-eyed younger boy when they were playing "truth or dare" on Gay Fawkes night.

He should have chosen "truth" that one time, definitely. 

 Monty seemed to like him back then, but James was very specific in getting into a relationship with someone who liked him very much. It created too much of difficulties later into the perspective, so Monty was never actually his lover. Though, after all these years, was still sending him rather inappropriate Christmas gifts and cards. In a form of a joke, of course. But that was never anything to laugh upon. The worse of all was they far cousins. Very far related ones, the fourth line, but their grandmothers were good friends. And now Monty used this excuse every single time he needed to use any excuse at all. And James was numerously asking himself why exactly hasn't he cut the ends yet. Perhaps he still felt guilty for that kiss.

Monty lost most of his fair hair already, gained some weight, and his eyes somewhat lost their hues. He had thrown his coat to Miss Amina's hand and hugged James as they were indeed friends. James coughed and stepped away. "Monty. I'm glad you could come and see the house. Tea?"

"Or something more warming."

"I'm afraid, I can't join you with it. Do you mind if we have later dinner? My friend Gregory is running slightly late."

"Your friend, huh? Would be nice to be introduced."

"Of course. Miss Amina, please, ask Gregory on his return when the dinner should be served."

Monty raised a brow.

Gregory was not going to make Miss Amina's life easy. When she answered the door bell and opened the door, he did not show the slightest intention to give her his parka. Not fair. But as Mister Wilkins was always saying - 'think with your head, ladies and gentlemen, new day means new decisions'. He was her professional idol.

So she made the decision to practically run after Mr. Bay when he tried to escape. "Mr. Bay, welcome home! Should I tell Lord Blacke and Sir Hovers you will be joining them for dinner?"

"Er, why would I?" The rain from Greg's parka was dripping on the parquet, he needed a shower and a bathroom in general. And maybe, a couple of aspirin pills. 

"Lord Blacke instructed to serve dinner when you are back, sir."

"Please, don't call me sir, I feel terrible enough, swear."  Greg gasped. "Fine, I'll be ready in 15, no, 20. Would be 40 if I need to wear a tie! I don't have a tie. I shouldn't wear a tie for dinner, right?" He realised he was blabbing and also Amina's face convinced him being wrong about a tie. So he made up the widest and happiest smile. "Fine. Fine. Thank you. 20 minutes, okay? Thank you! Don't tell Wilkins I left footprints on the floor!"

"But you coat..."

"I'll dry it in my room, no worries! The fur is synthetic, too!" 

Miss Amina smiled with triumph  following Lord James' prospective fiancee with her gaze. She was the first one in the team who suggested the Scottish guy would stay around, and  has already won over seventy pounds on bets. She was totally fine with Greg's manners and challenges they posed.

It took Greg 23 minutes to dress up and become satisfied with his appearance. His ew jeans and Wilkins' new shirt looked so cool together. He took a minute to put on some toner, concealer on the puffed nose, and a lip balm. 

His satisfaction lasted for exactly three minutes required to reach the dining room. 

James and his guest were both dressed like at the Downton Abbey dinner. Evening suits. With ties. Is it called black tie? No, it is not. He just read. It was not. The Friday evening would be a black tie. Or a white tie? So complicated. 

Fuck it.

The realisation he hasn't yet asked Wilkins about table manners stroke Greg the moment James stood up. Silverware was polished blinding. Greg felt the urge to bow but wasn't sure how to do so, so just skipped the step entirely. "Good evening. Um. Sorry, I'm late. Trains. The schedule wasn't correct. You didn't tell it's an official dinner, James."

He was blabbing again. And realised the name slipping from the lips when it was too late.

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