Chapter 7

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Chapter 7: Imperfections

It had been shocking to hear H. suggest that we continue cheating on our partners. Even as in the back of my mind I suspected he had engineered the hotel room scenario, I still harbored a hope that our lovemaking had been spontaneous, borne out of his irresistible need, just as it had been for me, and that he felt remorse for having cheated on his wife. His suggestion to continue meeting in secret, to continue to lie to our respective partners, was a clear announcement that I had been too optimistic. I had to face the fact that H. was, in fact, a deliberate cheat and a liar. Worse, I had to face the fact that he thought I was one too. It was this knowledge, more than anything else, that enabled me to hang up that first time, and then to steadfastly refuse to answer when he repeatedly attempted to contact me all day. Eventually the phone calls stopped, but the following afternoon he was waiting for me outside the office.

"Rick, please," he grabbed my upper arm urgently and implored, albeit quietly, so no one around us could overhear. "Please don't do this to me, to us."

I shook off his grip and gave him a cold stare. "H., you don't want to do this, not out here, and I won't do it anywhere else. We made a mistake, but it's over. I will not make that mistake again. Stop trying to change my mind. Things have to go back to the way they were. Now if you don't mind," I side-stepped around him and walked faster to the Underground entrance, hoping that this was too public of a place for him to follow and make a scene. Fortunately it was, and he let me go.

After that he stopped the phone calls and didn't show up at my office anymore. He didn't give up, though. Periodically he sent me notes. They were always typed and without a return address, but I had no doubt who had sent them. They were always plainly worded. "I miss you. Please reconsider." I ran every one through the shredder at work, resisting the temptation to bring them home.

I didn't tell anyone that he'd tried to contact me again. There was no point. Greg would have been worried, and Dré would have been his usual wanker self, even though for some unfathomable reason, he did not give me nearly as hard of a time over what happened as I'd expected him to. In fact, he was almost decent about the whole thing, and actually commiserated with me over my loss of Jasper.

"He wasn't the one, though, was he?" he theorized one night over pints at Molly's, trying to cheer me up in his usual roundabout way. It was just him and Vince and me, Greg and Viktor having gone elsewhere with Jasper, who still refused to see me. "I mean, he was a nice enough bloke, good looking and all, but looks and a nice personality aren't everything, are they? I could tell you two didn't have that connection, like Vince and I had from the start. He was always a little reserved, aloof, yeah?"

"Really?" I was surprised at Dré's assessment. Clearly he had seen something I hadn't, given that I always considered Jasper one of the most open men I knew. "Why didn't you say something, then?"

Dré shrugged. "It was just an impression, yeah? Not like I have a crystal ball or anything. Besides, he made you happy. What would have been the point?"

I drained my beer instead of replying.

"At least one good thing came out of this," he continued. I saw Vince's eyebrow go up, and I was glad I wasn't the only one surprised by Dré's statement. I sure as fuck couldn't see anything good coming out of what happened.

"Duck," Vince said cautiously.

"No, Vince. I want to hear this. Enlighten me, Dré. What good came out of me cheating on a great guy and destroying our relationship?"

"Well, truth be told, I thought you'd seen what an arsehole H. was before, when he got married, but obviously that lesson needed some reinforcing, so now that's been done. Now you see that he's not only a fucking coward, who's afraid to be honest about who he is, he's also a guy who'll cheat on his pregnant wife. Never mind that he only married her to get a legal heir, and didn't share that little tidbit with her before the wedding. He's a liar and a user and he only cares about himself - whatever doubts you may have still had about that, they must be gone now. So neither you nor we will ever have to deal with his shit again."

I couldn't work up enthusiasm to do anything other than nod weakly, and then offer to get us all another round. I saw Vince look at me with pity and I knew somehow he understood. Even if I managed to stay away from H. for the rest of my life, even after what he'd just done, he still had a piece of my heart that I hadn't been able to retrieve.

Since I couldn't hang out with Greg and Viktor, and Dré's attitude was wearing thin, I decided to venture out into the gay pubs and clubs on my own, looking for a new potential relationship candidate to take away some of the sting of what happened with H. and Jasper. I soon realized I had no idea how to do that. Sure, every time I went out I attracted any number of guys who wanted to fuck, but just about the last thing I wanted was to pick up strangers for meaningless sex, regardless of how good looking they might have been. Unfortunately, as soon as the prospects learned this, most of them disappeared faster than I could say dinner date. Tired of failure and nowhere near ready to give up, I decided to relax my criteria. If I wanted to meet anyone who was ready to give up the club scene, it would probably have to be guys who weren't so much in demand at the clubs.

My new approach yielded me a couple of dates, but both turned out to be a complete waste of time. The first guy I had dinner with, Doug, spent the best part of the evening complaining about gay men, and how he couldn't seem to integrate any of his boyfriends into his straight-except-for-sex life. Other than apparently being out of the closet, he was much too much like H. for me to even contemplate as serious boyfriend material.

The second guy, Hugh, was more down to earth and seemed like a good bloke, though a little shy. We met at a pub, where he sneaked surreptitious looks in my direction, but gave no indication that he would ever get up the nerve to approach me. Finally I picked up my pint and made my way over to him, taking up the vacant seat next to him. I introduced myself and did my best to put him at ease with small talk. It took a little time, but eventually he relaxed, and by the end of the night actually asked me out to dinner, seeming pleased when I agreed.

We had dinner at a casual Italian restaurant and found we had a lot in common. He was easygoing and had a good sense of humor, and I actually found myself somewhat hopeful. Then we started talking about past relationships, and I made the mistake of asking what happened with his last boyfriend.

"Blaise? Oh, he was a real snake. Of course, he hid it well, so it took me a long time to catch on. Even when things seemed off, and I started to suspect, he managed to pull the wool over my eyes. When I finally caught him with one of the many blokes he was fucking behind my back, I felt like such a fool."

The scowl on his face was angry, but I could hear the pain in his voice and winced, thinking of how I caused Jasper the same kind of pain.

"I'm so sorry, Hugh," I said lamely. "You're not a fool, though. It's not foolish to want to believe in people you love."

"It's naive," he snorted and threw back his gin & tonic. "Know what's even more naive? He promised to change, and I believed him!"

I winced again, Jasper's voice of "burn me twice, shame on me" echoing in my ears. I had no idea what to say.

"Stunningly stupid, right? Thank you for not saying it, but you don't have to feel bad for thinking it. I mean, who does that? Who out there believes a proven liar?"

"Hugh," I started to say, even though I still had no idea what my follow up was going to be. I apparently didn't need one.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm not proud of what a chump I was, but I learned my lesson. It was reinforced when afterwards I found out he cheated on his previous boyfriend too. I'm never getting involved with a cheater again. They're all compulsive liars and you can't trust them for shit. Once a cheater, always a cheater, you know what I mean? They don't respect anyone, not even themselves. I'm so over that shit. From now on, I just want to see nice guys who appreciate the value of an exclusive relationship. Like you," he ended his tirade with a smile.

"Like me?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. I mean, you're a great guy, and I can tell you're honest. And you're looking for the same things I am. I'm sure you've never cheated on a boyfriend."

I actually considered lying. He didn't know and he would never need to know. I was nearly 100 percent certain that if we continued dating and became a couple I would never cheat on him. Then I remembered my inability to promise the same thing to Jasper, and if I couldn't promise that to save a relationship with someone I loved, how could I do it with someone who seemed like a nice enough guy, but still a near stranger? Besides, if I lied I would be playing right into his cliché, and the one thing he was right about in his assessment of me was that I was, despite the cheating, relatively honest.

"Hugh, I'm sorry to say I have," I watched his face fall with surprised disappointment as I spoke. "It's how I ruined my last relationship, actually. I wasn't like your ex - it was just one time and I told my boyfriend about it immediately, but I cheated. So I'm sorry for wasting your time. Had I realized how important that was for you, I would have said something sooner. For what it's worth, you seem like a good guy and you certainly didn't deserve what your ex did, and I completely understand why you feel the way you do now. I guess I'm just not the guy for you."

I signaled the waiter for the check and reached back for my wallet. The least I could do was pay for dinner.

Hugh looked completely stunned.

"Rick," he finally managed to mumble, "I didn't know."

"Obviously," I sent him a small, apologetic smile. "Neither of us could have known. But now we do, and better sooner than later, right? At least we haven't become invested or grown attached."

The waiter came over with the bill. Before Hugh could even offer to pay, I handed the waiter my credit card and waited while he processed it, then signed the slip.

"Thank you. Have a pleasant evening," the waiter gave us a nod and departed.

"You didn't have to do that, Rick, but thank you," Hugh said. "I just, I mean I don't know... Maybe we're being too hasty."

"No, Hugh, we're not. In your eyes I'll always be a cheater. You'll always be suspicious, and that's no way to start anything."

"But if it was just one time and you told your ex right away, that's different," Hugh searched for ways to soften my announcement. "I'm sure there must have been extenuating circumstances..."

"There were," I nodded, "and I do hope that one failure doesn't doom me forever, but given what you just went through recently, I'm not the guy for you."

"I wonder," he said bitterly.

"Wonder what?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"I wonder if there are any gay men out there who don't cheat. It seems like everyone I've talked to has either done it or had a guy do it to them. Maybe I'm the one who's doomed. Doomed to look forever for something that doesn't exist."

"No, Hugh, don't think like that. I have friends in committed relationships who are absolutely faithful to each other. Just because you haven't found the right guy yet doesn't mean you should stop looking. Don't give up, especially not because of me. I'd hate to have that on my conscience too."

He nodded slowly. "Okay, I won't give up. Not yet, anyway. Thanks, Rick. You know, I wasn't wrong about you, not completely. You are a decent guy, I really wish..."

"We can keep in touch, yeah? You'll let me know when you find Mr. Right?"

"Right," he sighed. "I'll let you know."

We stood up and hugged. It felt a little forced and awkward, but also necessary, as it let us both walk away with the least amount of regret.

After Hugh I grew gun shy. What if everyone out there looking for a serious boyfriend would see me as damaged goods? What if no one was willing to see past my infidelity and take a chance on a future with a guy who demonstrated that he couldn't hold up his end of the bargain? I still went out in the evenings, because my empty apartment was too depressing, but other than small talk with other patrons or an occasional game of pool, I didn't interact with anyone. Even when I danced, I tried to get lost in the crush of bodies while making sure not to spend too much time with any one boy, deliberately moving away from anyone who tried to pursue me. I simply wasn't interested in the back room encounters dancing boys usually craved. Some guys were easier to brush off than others, but eventually they all got the message. Everyone but Asani.

The first couple of nights, I hardly noticed him. He was just another gyrating body sharing the dance floor. Eventually, though, I noticed that he shadowed me, dancing nearby, though never crowding or grinding up aggressively like some of the others. I tried ignoring him, but he soon became like the negative image in one of those optical illusion pictures - the one you can't ignore once you notice it. It didn't hurt that he was beautiful, with cappuccino skin, full dark rose lips, deep brown eyes and close-cut curly black hair. He dressed and danced well, made lots of eye contact, and slowly began to close the distance between us until we were actually dancing together. Finally one night we introduced ourselves, but didn't talk. The next night I contemplated staying home, concerned with what I was getting into, but in the end found that I couldn't stay away. I looked for him upon my arrival, but he was nowhere to be found. I started dancing anyway, feeling strangely bereft until I felt him dance up behind me and say "Hi, Rick," in a low, husky voice, right into in my ear. I turned around and didn't mind his hands settling on my waist or my own arms winding around his neck. I definitely didn't mind the way he kissed me, slowly and thoroughly, ignoring the music and pulling us closer together as we explored each other's lips and mouths.

Unlike the other nights we'd been at the club, we didn't stay on the dance floor the entire time. Instead, a couple of songs after that first kiss, Asani pulled me towards one of the tables on the periphery of the club and we spent our time drinking and talking. We talked about our jobs - he worked as an estate agent for an agency specializing in central London commercial rentals - and interests outside of work. We shared similar tastes in music and films, and conversation flowed easily. At the end of the night, instead of suggesting we go to his place or mine, he asked me out to dinner, an invitation I immediately accepted. On the way home that night I felt light and happy and, finally, hopeful again.

The following night we met for dinner and, once again, had a fantastic time. That evening he did suggest we go to his place and, curious to learn even more about him, I agreed. His flat wasn't large, but it was in a great location and the sparse modern furnishings made it feel bigger than it was. I didn't exactly spend a lot of time analyzing the decor, but I observed that his armless leather sofa lent itself well to virtually all sexual positions we were adventurous enough to try. He asked me to spend the night and I was tempted, but I had to work the following day. I left reluctantly, though not before making plans for the weekend.

We were still trying to get to know each other, so our weekend plans weren't elaborate, but they were enjoyable. We spent Saturday strolling around town, walking into shops that caught our eye to purchase clothes, books or music. I hoped I wasn't too obvious, but at times I'd stop in front of a shop window not so much because of the display, but because I enjoyed seeing our reflection and how well we fit and complemented one another. That night we went out to dinner and caught a newly released film we both wanted to see. Afterwards we returned to his flat, where we thoroughly satisfied our baser urges before falling asleep in his large, comfortable bed. By the time we dressed and showered Sunday, it was past noon, so we decided to have a leisurely brunch at The Breakfast Club. We relaxed and enjoyed each other's company, sharing the Sunday paper, on occasion pointing out an interesting article or a funny quote. It was all pleasant and good and, even though I knew I was getting ahead of myself, I found myself yearning to make Sunday brunch with Asani a regular event. Remembering Hugh, though, and not wanting to get too far before I disclosed what seemed to be my biggest character flaw, I decided to explain to Asani what happened with Jasper sooner rather than later. I did not, however, broach the subject as we spent the rare sunny spring afternoon strolling and lounging around St. James Park, loath to disturb our happy moments of near-couplehood serenity.

The perfect opportunity presented itself that evening, when we decided to pick up take-away and eat dinner at Asani's flat. He mentioned being glad that he could order from his favorite restaurant again, something he hadn't done for a while due to his ex's dislike of Indian food.

"Graham was so bland, honestly. Hated anything that hadn't been boiled to death and drained of any flavor. A quintessential medieval Briton. It drove me crazy and even more so my mum. She's from Tanzania, and is always using spices in her cooking. Graham absolutely refused to eat any of it. After a couple of times I stopped bringing him to my parents' house and we only met up in restaurants that had something on the menu he would find edible. Pain in the arse. If he hadn't been so open minded otherwise and such a good shag, I would have ended it eons ago."

"Why did you end it, if you don't mind my asking?" I queried.

"Oh, you know," he waived a hand in the air dismissively. "It was nothing dramatic, actually. We just got to a point where we'd exhausted our common interests. He met someone he enjoyed and tried to convince the both of us to all live together, but they were too similar. Living with one Graham was enough - I refused to put up with two. And the other bloke didn't want to be the odd man out, so..."

"Wait," I said, confused. "Your ex wanted to invite another man to live with the two of you? And that, in and of itself, wasn't enough to make you leave him?"

Asani gave me a long, inquiring look.

"Graham and I had an open relationship, so if either one of us wanted to sleep with another man, it wasn't an issue. And introducing a third man into our relationship wasn't a problem, in theory. It's just that Colin didn't suit me as well as he suited Graham."

"So you and Graham both slept with other men while you lived together, and you didn't consider that cheating?" I confirmed.

He shook his head. "Monogamy and cheating are such heterosexual constructs, don't you think? I mean yes, in a stereotypical heterosexual nuclear family it makes sense for a man to be with the mother of his children and not to father offspring with other women, just as it makes sense for the man to want the woman to only sleep with him to ensure he is, indeed, the father of the children. In a gay relationship all those things become irrelevant. In my opinion, when you try to stifle natural sexual urges, you introduce a source of conflict into a relationship that doesn't need to be there. Sex and love do have to go hand in hand. Sex is just a release of a physical urge, yeah? Multiple partners provide a much needed variety. I've had sex with many men I didn't love, and I know you have too, since we are not yet at a stage where we can seriously talk about love ourselves."

Asani's frank and matter-of-fact discussion of this topic took me so far out of my comfort zone it was all I cloud do not to gulp air like a fish out of water. In theory, his attitude towards sex should have made him even more perfect in my eyes. This was a man who wouldn't bat an eye if I spent an afternoon now and then in H's arms. But rather than feeling thrilled, I found myself appalled. Asani may have been enlightened enough not to feel jealousy when the man he loved slept with another guy just to relieve his physical urges, but I couldn't stand the thought. To me, an open relationship was no relationship at all. It definitely wasn't something I was interested in.

"You don't agree," Asani said flatly, correctly interpreting my silence and demeanor.

"No, I don't. Maybe I'm too hung up on heterosexual constructs, but I don't want the man I love, who claims to love me, to sleep with other men. And he shouldn't want to either. Commitment is important to me."

"Well," he said, shrugging, "it seems we have a philosophical difference that, in the long run, would be difficult to overcome. That doesn't mean that we can't keep seeing each other for now, right? I will let you know if I find someone else I want to be with, of course," he offered, as casually as if we were discussing plans to visit a museum. For a fleeting few seconds I considered it, reasoning that maybe if he got to know me, he would change his mind and stop looking for others. Fortunately, I quickly disabused myself of that notion. It made no sense to go into a relationship knowing that one person would have to change in order to make it work. And I knew I liked Asani enough that I would become emotionally invested if we continued seeing each other, which would make his inevitable announcement all the more painful.

"I appreciate your offer and I believe you would be honest with me," I admitted, "but I'm afraid that sort of an arrangement would not work for me at all. I'm not looking for anything casual."

Asani nodded. "I think I understand now why you acted the way you did at the club. You weren't just playing a game of hard to get."

"It wasn't a game," I confirmed.

"I hope you don't mind a bit of advice, Rick," he offered, "but I don't believe you're going to find the man you're looking for at the clubs. The boys in the clubs are too young and still want to play. I think the man you're looking for will be a little older, ready to stop chasing and to settle down."

I didn't go out for a while after parting with Asani. There didn't seem to be any point. I felt I was doomed to being alone no matter what I did. Vince called and tried to get me to go out with him and Dré, but I begged off, not in the mood to listen to Dré's judgmental pronouncements. I might have gone out if Greg and Viktor were going too, but Jasper was still in town, so other than calls and an occasional lunch, I was deprived of Greg's company. I decided to stop moping and stop avoiding my place, since I couldn't do so forever. And though it took a while, eventually I became comfortable being alone.

Oddly enough, it was H. who finally pushed me out of my flat again, though I'm certain that was the opposite of what he intended. The notes from him kept coming regularly, but those were easy to dispose of. H. must have figured that out, because after a while he got more inventive and started sending gifts. Gifts that were often too difficult for me to simply throw away.

The first was a bamboo arrangement that arrived at my office. I gave it to one of the secretaries, but she decided to keep it at her desk, so I still had to see it every day. The second was an assortment of what he knew were my favorite preserves. I considered giving those away as well, but I had no one to give them to except the ladies at my office, and the last thing I needed there was speculation about who sent the gifts and why I wasn't keeping them. So instead I brought the preserves home, and shoved them into a kitchen cupboard.

Gifts continued to arrive. A newly released CD by one of my favorite artists, a shirt by one of my favorite designers, a book I had always intended to read but kept forgetting to buy, a signed poster from an art exhibition we attended while we were still at university, a glass identical to one he once "accidentally" broke shortly after we got back together after he found me in the club with Jasper, to complete a set that had been a graduation present from Greg. The last gift was a particular surprise, not just because I imagined it must have taken him an awful lot of time and effort to find the exact glass, but because I'd always suspected he broke it on purpose as his petty way to demonstrate his dislike of my best friend.

I kept all the gifts out of sight, but even without seeing them I could feel their presence and it became oppressive, as if H. was always in the flat with me in spirit, if not in body. Constantly feeling him, along with the steady stream of reminders of how well he knew me, was doing nothing to strengthen my resolve never to see him again. Finally, out of desperation, I started frequenting pubs again. And that's how, one Monday evening, I met Kinkaid.

Ordinarily I didn't pay any attention to the other men in the pub, keeping my eyes trained on my own brew or, perhaps, on the bartender, if he happened to be attractive. I wasn't ready to try dating again, especially not random strangers, and it was easier to refuse advances if you never made eye contact. I wouldn't have noticed him either, were it not for his cuff links. It was unusual enough to see a man who still wore cuff links on a week day, let alone obviously personalized Scottish Clan crest cuff links. A friend of mine had once shown me his Clan crest cuff links, a wedding gift from his father, indicating they were among his most prized possessions, reserved for special occasions. Using that logic, I figured this particular Monday must have been a pretty important day for the guy sitting next to me, which piqued my interest.

From the cuff links my gaze wondered to his left hand, which rested on top of the bar. It was a large hand with long fingers that ended in manicured square cut and buffed nails. Certainly an attractive hand, if a hand could ever be considered attractive. The hand of a power player.

With mounting curiosity, I looked over just as he was taking a swallow of his beer. He was older. Judging by the salt & pepper beard covering the chiseled chin that jutted out in profile, I'd guess somewhere in his early to mid-forties. His narrow nose had the tell-tale bump and too straight look of having been broken and re-set at least once, and he had a full head of closely cropped but still very black hair. He wore a bespoke suit and shirt, and had a look of someone who only rarely, if ever, stepped foot in a pub like this. The expression on his face was dark, almost sullen. He drained his glass quickly and immediately signalled the bartender for another.

"Day not going well?" I asked, surprising myself.

"It's all right," he replied, picking up the newly refilled glass and draining a good portion of it before setting it down again and turning to look at me. He wasn't exactly handsome. His face was long, the beard covering his chin narrowing into a soul patch beneath his lower lip, the short, black hair coming into a small widow's peak above the tall, slightly creased forehead. His eyes were a fantastic midnight blue, but slightly too sunken. His ears were large and stuck out a bit further away from his head than ideal. Still, there was something about him that exuded confidence and success, even on a day like this, when he was clearly trying to use the beer to drown something. "Why do you ask?" His voice was deep, a bit raspy, with just a hint of a Scottish brogue.

"I noticed your cuff links," I shrugged. "They seem like the sort of thing you'd wear for an important occasion, but your demeanor certainly doesn't show the satisfaction that comes with everything going according to plan."

He chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Everything did go according to plan, actually. I had a meeting with an important new potential client and I landed the business, which will mean lots of billings for my firm. Still, it would be nice to have someone to share the success with, you know, instead of having to drink alone?"

"There wasn't anyone at your firm who wanted to go out to celebrate?"

"Oh, sure, had I asked I could have gone out with a dozen different people, alone or in a group. That's not what I'm talking about, though."

I nodded, knowing it had been a dumb thing to ask. I focused back on my beer.

"It was a good observation, about the cuff links. You have an eye for detail. You know what these are?"

"Just that they're Scottish Clan crests. A friend of mine has a similar pair, though the crest is different."

"Really? Which Clan is your friend from?"

"Um, the Campbell Clan, I guess. That's his last name, anyway. I know that's a Clan with a rich history."

The stranger snorted derisively. "They like to think so, anyway."

"Which Clan are you from?"

"I'm a MacGregor. On my father's side anyway. We descended from kings, but there was a time when the Campbells took over our lands and outlawed our Clan. I wouldn't be so proud of that if I were your friend."

I could tell he felt strongly about what he was saying, so even though I thought holding on to grudges from hundreds of years ago was a little pointless, I made a sympathetic face.

"His family hasn't lived in Scotland in forever, so for them it's just an ancestral thing, I guess. It sounds like it's a little closer to your heart, though."

"Aye," he chuckled. "I grew up on MacGregor lands, with the ghosts of my ancestors whispering to me at night," his brogue suddenly became more prominent, which made his voice warmer somehow. "My mother, bless her, tried to teach me about her Clan too, even named me after them, but it was no use. The MacGregor royal blood is just too thick. I'm Kinkaid MacGregor, by the way," he said, offering his hand. I shook it, liking the contrast of his soft, uncalloused skin with his firm grasp.

"Cedric Diggory," I offered in return.

"Cedric, eh? That's a fine name," He approved.

"I never liked it," I grimaced. "Most friends call me Rick."

"Oh, it's a shame to make such a first-class name so common. I think I will stick to Cedric."

I should have been annoyed at his easy dismissal of my stated preference, but instead I felt pleased, a cozy warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the beer I was drinking.

"And do you always go by Kinkaid?" I asked. Saying the name tripped something in my brain, and I frowned as I tried to capture the thought. Then it came to me. "Wait a second, are you the Kinkaid MacGregor, of MacGregor Consulting?"

"Your servant, Sir," he bowed his head mockingly. "You've heard of my company, then?"

"I can't imagine there are many people in the business world who haven't. If memory serves," I tried to recall the article I had read about him, "you started out with just a couple of people working for you and built your company up into one of the best respected international consulting firms."

"That would be me," he acknowledged with no false modesty. "And you? What do you do?"

"I'm an analyst at Lloyds. Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. Just a gear in the machine."

He laughed. "There's something to be said for that," he commented. "At least you have anonymity. Success often comes with unintended consequences."

"Is that why you're here tonight instead of celebrating somewhere more public?"

"It's one of the reasons," he admitted. "And now, if you don't mind, let's stop talking shop."

"Of course," I instantly agreed. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave you alone."

I returned to my beer, draining the last of the amber liquid in the glass and looking for the bartender, who seemed to find me invisible. Kinkaid, on the other hand, got his attention with only a slightly raised hand. He pointed to my empty glass when the bartender came over to do his bidding.

"My friend Cedric, over here, needs another. And you might as well pour another for me too. Put it all on my tab."

"Yes, Sir," the bartender said obediently and set about his tasks.

"You didn't have to do that," I murmured. "I should be buying you a drink, for disturbing your peace."

"You didn't disturb anything, my friend. I just didn't want to talk about my work tonight. And you have me at a disadvantage. You know a lot about me, while I know practically nothing about you. Tell me about Cedric Diggory."