A few years ago
I grab my cufflinks. It's early in the morning, Cyril is still lying in my bed. 'Wake up darling' he groans, clearly not ready to wake up. 'Why???' 'You need to switch rooms, as always.' I respond. He stands up. 'next time, we're doing this somewhere more private.' 'I suppose you would have an idea if you'd say that.' I look at him with a smile, 'exactely, Also thought' I say in response to his annoyed face. He puts on his robe and kisses me before quietly leaving the room. I smile and look at myself in the mirror before leaving my room. My sister is sitting in the living room. 'You are up early.' I say. 'I couldn't sleep.' she answers 'Did I snore again?' I ask 'you sleep at the other side of the manor, surely I would heard it if you've ever snored Yves.' she says jokingly. 'I know Frances, I know.' I say smiling. 'you look awfully happy.' 'Do I?' I ask. 'Any particular reason. for that my dear brother?' 'Oh Frances, is it not enough to be happy every few days?' I respond. she laughs, Frances is a graceful young lady, I'd give her the world and more if I could. I look at her, and the glass on the table. 'How much? I ask. 'I just had a glass of Absinthe.' I feel my face drop, 'Frances, don't drink that. firstly we are not bohemian, or at least your aren't. My ties with Oscar don't matter. But that is another talk, don't drink it, that bottle is only here because it was gifted to me.' 'It's nothing to worry about.' 'you are not going to touch that bottle anymore Frances, I forbid you.' 'Sure I won't.' 'I mean it, I only want the best for you.'
Dear cyril,
That sounds wonderful, I'm sure he's more wealthy than I am. He seems wonderful. Attached with this letter is a bit of money and I was to ask you something quite unusual. When you're in France I'd like to take advantage of that and I'd love it if you'd buy a good French absinthe for me in Paris. There must be a lot of choice there. I wish I could've been there, I will assume you mean Freud when you're talking about the guy I've been ravin about. I love that concept of a dinner party. I might suggest that to some of our mutual friends. About that my father indeed knows the polignac family. I must say that it did sound familiar to me so I think I might've met Émile when I was young but his name was Émilien as I recall. I hope you found the correct church. Your devotion to the church has always been something I envy my dearest. Don't give it up for any hing, it makes you you. Just like my doubt makes me the way I am. I also wanted to send you a present for Paris, to remember me by and your beautiful description of pearls gave me an idea. This gift is made by the Blythe family so it must be good right. Well it's a pocket watch, a silver one with instead of a normal attachment it has a string of pearls, opals to represent the rain and diamonds to symbolise sunlight. I hope you like it and you'll wear it. The inside is also coincedentally covered with mother of pearl. And I swear I didn't know about the cutlery. I hope you'll cherish it!
Thank you for the great advice. I don't know if it'll work but I might even try. Although I would feel so guilty. I would basically use the girl. It's a bit manipulative isn't it? Sometimes I think the only hope I have is settling for a friend of mine as a wife. Don't most people set settle? I don't know Cyril it seems difficult not to break somebody's heart while trying to get to a designated point in your life. I'd feel guilty, but I might be overthinking it.
Your eternal sunlight and support,
your dearest friend, Yves montague.
I arrive at 34 tite street In London. I sigh, I had promised lot of people not to associate myself with him anymore. I take a deep breath. I ring the bell. A maid opens the door, 'Does he know you're coming?' she says. I shake my head, 'But we were, are good friends miss.' She nods and leads me to the living room. The whole room in filled with art and a lot of colour. Just like I remembered it. 'there is somebody for you sir.' I sigh and he looks up from his book. 'What a pleasant surprise!' 'I'm glad to see you again Oscar, I'm sorry for not writing you for such a long time. I must say I have followed every step of your way remotely.' 'You never fail to put things into words do you Yves?' 'I really wish that statement would be truthful Oscar.' 'You're being humble' ' 'You are the artist here Oscar.' he laughs and puts a glass of gin in my hand. I don't say no like I used to do so many years ago. 'I expected much from you Yves where did your talent go?' I smile 'Safely stashed away in the dark corners of my dressers. Nobody must read the problems, dwellings and opinions of the richest boy of the English society has. And my father would kill me if any of my writings would ever see the light of day.' 'you've never thought about writing under a pseudonym?' 'Oscar, don't pretend I had any chance of becoming anything other than a stuck upper lip society boy.' 'What makes you think you are?' I raise my eyebrows. 'We both know I am And I will always be.' He smiles and lights his cigarette, 'your friend Cyril had hope for you, ne believed you could become somebody who would change the world.' I scoff. 'You disagree? I thought you two were always on the same line. I smile 'He traded me for the streets of Paris and a rich boy who isn't scared to be utterly different.' 'So you came here looking for pity?' I smile and shake my head, 'I'm looking for somebody else, you might say I'm looking for a replacement, and this time I'd love to have one not so naive an the last child.' he smiles 'You're poisoning your own memories Yves' 'Let them fester, I don't want them anymore.' 'You loved him' he says I nod. 'So rue him, curse him, I shall indulge just like he does so graciously and tells me about it!' 'Are you sure." 'Couldn't be more.' he looks at me with pity. 'I'll be alright Oscar, do you know somebody?' he nods. 'Thank you, I'll write you when I know it for sure.' I put on my hat and Oscar shakes my hand. 'Don't push the ones you need away Yves, be careful.'
I feel tears prickling in my eye I don't want this but I do want to feel better than this awful feeling this feeling as if I'm drowning in a swamp of sadness.