5 - Adir

       Claude leans back in the iron-wrought chair, letting his dark hair spill back to frame his well-defined features, his deep eyes wide to pull in the warm afternoon light. “Ahh... the sunlight is so lovely today, Adrian! The color is so warm and rich, it really is as if it coated the world in gold.” Where most would close their eyes to better feel the heat of the sun's radiance, he keeps them open, refusing to miss an iota of the visual world around him. In weather as this, I have brought us to the outskirts of the city, that the smoke-stained brick of old buildings should not hinder our gaze. The café is small, but very exclusive, and quite elegant, with an unparalleled selection of wines.
       “I should have you meet Jocelyn on a day such as this,” I comment, setting my glass of delicate golden elixir onto the spotless linen tablecloth. The sun refracts through the liquid, casting about monochromatic rainbows of aureate hues. “Her hair is the spun gold of a fairy tale princess, flowing all down her back to brush her ankles, when she lets it loose.”
       “I thought all of your set had dark hair?”
       My eyebrow jumps, and I stare at him fiercely – but the question was dropped idly, and his eyes are still lost in the far-distant azure heavens.
       “Not... all. Veri – I don't think you've yet met him – has quite pale hair. Jocelyn is in Paris just now I believe, though she visits from time to time.”
       “Ah.” He is entirely disinterested, and I let the subject drop, grateful he asks no further questions. Our hair was not once so dark, nor so pale and dull as Veri's, nor yet the carefully constructed and maintained false gold of Jocelyn, as she calls herself of late. She is still beautiful – we are all still beautiful – yet I know that so many of her perfections are but careful constructions of dye and chemical and exotic plant. I would hardly be surprised if she borrowed recipes and concoctions of the alchemists to aid in her endless ruse. It has been some years since I have seen her... She so loves the time-worn glories of old Versailles that she haunts the grounds alongside dear old Marie, drinking in the repainted decadence of old royalty.
       Ah, Versailles... we have not seen your kind in some time, and I almost doubt if we shall see it again. Democracy sucks the lifeblood from nobility, leaving it a hollow shell of political sway. Even England, though she yet wears the crown with determined dignity, finds herself tainted by the winds which blow across the dark Atlantic.
       “Dark hair suits you.”
       I am startled for a moment to hear Claude's voice, so lost was I in remembrance of times that were surrounded in true gold, not merely the reflected gold of afternoon light. The boy is gazing in deep thought at my complexion, the wave of my dark hair against pale skin. “I am glad that you think so. I do believe I can trust your opinion on matters of aesthetic detail.” I smile politely as I take another sip of my wine – it is quite a lovely Chardonnay, with warm notes of summer fruit coated in light spices.
       He smiles broadly – his emotions are far too blatant to allow him possession of much decorum. Ah well. I suspect he shall become a project of Meres' before long, though I hold the reigns for the moment. Meres will make better use of his artistic abilities – which are quite remarkable, we have all noted – though I hope to guide him nearer our manner of society first. He is yet rough around the edges, though he shows a great deal of promise in the subtleties of his nature. Beauty, he loves enough, and he does not seem to link it to any sort of mortality, which is even better. Which reminds me:
       “How is that priest friend of yours, by the by? I have yet to meet him, though I have heard so many remarks about him.”
       “All to the good, I hope?” His expression is like that of an eager puppy, and it is all I can do to not laugh aloud. Such naiveté! How charming.
       “But of course... He is an honest, upright, compassionate man of the cloth, who, happily, has a rare appreciation of the arts.”
       Claude beams, nodding. “All true. It is such rare coincidence that he and I met at all... but I had a small show opening, and several of his parish were in attendance, as they often are. He is about to be appointed to quite a wealthy church, so the upper crust of its membership are part of that set which is always trying to outdo the others in cultural acquisitions. They simply must attend every promising opening – whether it is a show they will praise or ridicule is hardly of consequence, for either outcome allows them to assert their most cultivated tastes.” This last, he says with bitterness, and he pauses for a long moment as he empties his glass. Scarcely a moment passes before a silent waiter refills the glass – this is why I make this particular café a habit of mine, the service is excellent.
       “They could hardly have given your work a poor review?” The boy blossoms under such simple flattery, that I find it difficult to refrain from such easy compliments. I shall be quite curious to see how he fares when, as is sure to happen, he falls from favor and the compliments are all pulled from beneath his feet.
       He smiles at me, and I see a touch of smugness has entered into his expression. It has not taken long for that aspect to arrive! “No, of course not. I had only feared they might fail to appreciate all the nuances of it – which was, of course, the case. Still, what they were capable of admiring, they admired with great zeal. I had guaranteed the sales of several pieces long before the doors were opened to more general admission.”
       “Did your priest make any purchases? Or has he not the salary to accommodate such luxury?”
       “Oh, I have made him a gift of one or two pieces – and been more than returned the favor, in the number of parishioners who have since become patrons.” His eyes gleam with pleasure at his own cleverness, and I cannot help but return the smile. “But he has commissioned a work of me, which the church is paying for – and quite handsomely, I must say. I suppose there are few hungry mouths to feed in their parish,” he muses, tilting his head back to the sky again. “They seem to feel they have already fulfilled any financial obligations, and are now free to decorate the place with earthly things, to better glorify the spirit.”
       I chuckle quietly, knowing full well the ways of the matronly mother church. I also know the subject of this commissioned work, and we all delight in the perversity of it. David and Jonathan... the greatest example of friendship and compassion and love in the Old Testament. And yet there are details of that relationship which would horrify the upright Christian man... Details which, through the priest's careful study and young eyes, are brought to light, and brought to the attention of an eager young painter, with eyes for more than just the priest's social influence, if I read him correctly. It is more than the pocketbook of the priest that is in danger of damnation around this boy, I believe...
       “If the priest – Father Douglas, is it not? I thought so – has such attentive eyes for the beauty of the world, you simply must bring him to one of our gatherings. Meres, as you know, creates the most lovely scenes.”
       “Mmm...” The boy nods absently, his eyes following the flight of a bird high in the air. Such dingy, ungainly creatures... though I suppose their motions are the most graceful the boy has seen in the air.
       “It is poor taste to speak of someone behind his back, my dear Adir.” A hand slides through my hair, and I lift my head to smile up at Meres.
       “It is hardly better taste to sneak up behind someone in such a manner, Meres! But do sit and join us – I have found the most lovely Chardonnay to compliment the light today.”
       A waiter appears with two chairs, and as Meres sits, the man holds out the second chair for a young woman.
       “Meres! You must introduce us – I am almost angry at you for withholding such beauty from me already!”
       Meres and I laugh at Claude's impetuous outburst, and the girl blushes prettily, lashes dipping low over violet eyes.
       “Claude, this is Miss Cerise Marie Walker, a recent acquaintance of ours. Nila had only just met you when she attended our last soirée, so we have not long withheld her beauty from you. Mademoiselle Cerise, this is Monsieur Claude Demetriou. He is an artist of growing reputation, and great talent. Cerise and Adir, I do believe you met at the rose party Luce held a week or so ago?”
       She and I nod, and I lift her hand to my lips for a delicate kiss. She is such a lovely, fresh flower – I do hope she does not lose the brightness of morning dew too soon, for she is a wonderful refreshment to the eyes.
       “What business has brought you so far out this afternoon? Or did the two of you, as we, simply follow the beckoning sunlight out of the shadows of the city?”
       “I was introducing Mademoiselle Cerise to a few acquaintances, whom I thought she would be pleased to know,” Meres replies, taking a sip of wine.
       “As well I was – I can hardly thank you enough,” the girl insists to him, her lovely eyes warm on his. “I am sure I shall learn a great deal in their company.”
       Meres smiles reassuringly at her, touching her hair tenderly. “I hope that you shall, my dear. Adir, you remember Madame Caraway, and her circle? It seems Cerise has similar abilities, and has had little chance to gain tutelage in their use.”
       I consider a moment, then nod. “The tarot reader, I remember... she seemed to know every medium in the city, as I recall. A good person for you to know then, Mademoiselle.”
       Claude listens curiously, head canted to one side. He has been so recently engrossed in the story of David and Jonathan, that I wonder idly what his thoughts are on Saul and the witch of Endor... but, another time.

       The afternoon trails by in a golden haze of delicate wine and light conversation, the sunlight suffusing all with comfort, as we relax into comfortable society. The children talk of their hopes and endeavors, as Meres and I carefully consider which paths to guide them to, for the further entertainment of ourselves. The two seem so young and fresh, but with budding promise of duplicity showing in Claude, and the potential of forbidden talent in Cerise, I think we shall find them a delight to watch in the months to come. A fine wine, sipped slowly, its thousand subtle flavors left to linger on the tongue...