Chapter Text
“Can you not go any faster?”
Hazel eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, meeting the driver’s gaze.
“Sorry, sir. Rule’s is rules. We’ll be there soon enough.”
I suppose it is to be expected. This is what happens when one leaves the fate of their entire evening to the luck of the draw with a taxi driver.
Felix’s mouth pressed into a tight line, the tension around the corners of his eyes intensifying. Mentally, he made a note to prioritise hiring a driver of his own. It would not do to be seen about town in a common taxicab of all things, let alone arriving at important events in such a lowly mode of transportation.
Peering out of the window, Felix watched the hedgerows passing by. Hex reached into his breast pocket to pull out his little black book. Flicking through the pages until he arrived at the right section, he skimmed through the sharp, angular writing, refreshing his memory of all of the most important names he would need to remember for the evening ahead.
He had been in the city for nearly a month and had little to show for it. In truth, Felix had expected to hit the ground running when he had made the journey from Berlin to the world-famous city that was home to The Galeries Gourmet. And yet, things had proven to be far more challenging than he had ever anticipated. Invitations to the right kind of social events would open the doors to the right kinds of potential investors — something Felix was sorely in need of. While his stores back in Germany were doing well enough, he didn’t precisely have the liquid funds to launch the new, world-class flagship store he had planned.
All in due course, Felix assured himself as he gave the page one last, searching look, before slipping it back into his breast pocket. One good night is all that I need.
There is being fashionably late, and then there is simply being rude.
Felix took the steps two at a time as he hurried up towards the entryway, hands working to do up the neat line of buttons on his suit jacket. He grimaced as he heard the taxi peeling away into the night. He tried his best not to think about how the dark grey fabric wasn’t quite the right shade to appear formal enough for the occasion, not to mention what such a colour did for his complexion. While his wardrobe had been adequate for his investors back home, Felix found himself sorely in need of something a little more fashionable to attract the right kind of attention from a new, higher class of investors.
The doorman moved to open the door for Felix while another member of staff in a neat plat pencil skirt and suit jacket stepped forward with a wide smile that didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes. She looked harried, Felix thought, and beyond done with the evening. Felix felt as if he could relate.
“Welcome. If I could take your name please, sir?”
Felix’s suave smile tightened around the edges at the subtle dig. At such high society events, the staff knew the names and faces of everyone who was anyone. He did his best to keep his smile in place.
“It is Fickelgruber. I do not believe I have been to one of Mister Richart's charming little events previously, Miss…?” he paused, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
Satisfaction rose in his chest as he saw the moment her eyes widened, her attention shifting fully from her list to him. Men in his position rarely bothered with such trivial things as learning the name of the staff in their own estates, much less at their business rival's soirees. Felix thought that was a rather small-minded approach from men far too secure in their own importance to realise the potential a good connection could bring — no matter what their station.
“It’s Eleanor.” She sent him a smile — much smaller than the first, but with a hint of genuine warmth that Felix already counted as a success. He offered his hand to her, lifting it to his lips as she hesitantly reached out to offer hers in return. Lips brushed against her skin, Felix carefully making sure never to lose eye contact as his warm breath skirted across her knuckles. By the time that he stood, pink tinged her cheeks. “Right this way, Mister Fickelgruber, sir.”
Felix smiled, running a hand down the front of his suit jacket. The shoulders didn’t sit quite right on his shoulders, leaving him looking long and slim all over in a way that made him seem more spindly. He knew that it took away from his natural charisma, proving more of a distraction. It was one of the many things on his long list to fix as soon as he had the funds.
“Thank you, Eleanor. I appreciate—” Felix took a step forward, intent on following her. Before he could finish speaking, someone barrelled into him, a mess of soft orange-red curls obscuring his vision. Instinctively Felix reached out, hands grasping slender arms to stop them from falling.
“Oh! I am terribly sorry.”
“Are you quite alright?” Felix carefully loosened his grip, still staying in place lest they fall again. Wide green eyes looked up at him, pale cheeks flushed crimson as the young woman tried to straighten her dress.
“Fine, fine. Absolutely fine,” she laughed, voice strained. She took another step back, gently but insistently moving her arm until he let go. Felix took a step back himself, not wishing to cause any further upset. Smile tight, she didn’t quite meet his gaze as she dipped her head. “I apologise. Clearly, I was not looking where I was going.”
“No apologies necessary. I myself could have been paying more attention as well. Are you sure that everything is alright? Nothing twisted or broken?” he asked almost teasingly, careful to keep his tone light. Judging by her outfit, she wasn’t anyone of importance. The simple yellow dress she wore was hardly fitting for such a gathering. Out of the corner of his eyes, Felix could see Eleanor waiting to show him in.
Felix waited patiently as the young woman — not so young after all. I would hazard a guess that she is at least thirty, Felix realised, now that he was able to get a closer look — seemed to get her bearings once more.
“Nothing twisted or broken, sir. Thank you.”
“There really is no need for thanks,” Felix sent her one last small smile, waiting until she began moving on her way, before making his way towards Eleanor. Felix straightened, shoulder set back, head held high. He glanced down at her before tilting his head to one side. “Please, lead on.”
“Really?”
Polished dress shoes slowed to a halt as Felix paused long enough to accept a fresh drink from a passing waiter. He was already on his third glass of dreadfully watered-down champagne for the evening. It was rather disappointing. He had thought that such a high-society event would at least have an acceptable level of drinks on offer.
As Felix paused to survey the room he took a delicate sip of his drink. He couldn’t help but overhear a group of three gentlemen speaking together far too loudly to be considered polite.
“Exactly! What on earth was he thinking? Everyone knows that Fortnum & Mason’s has been around for nearly two hundred years. Why on earth should anyone wish to switch to an interior little upstart, when there is already such a brand with history and pedigree, right there, at their fingertips?”
“New money is baffling. Truly.”
Hazel eyes narrowed, slender fingers clenching around his champagne glass. He had heard at least a dozen conversations in similar veins around the room throughout the evening, and he was sure that he would hear a dozen more before the night was through. He could not stand idly back and listen for a moment longer.
“Well, gentlemen, that is the difference between this so-called ‘new money’, established businesses, and old money such as yourself. Just because a brand has age and pedigree, does not guarantee that it has either style nor substance.” Felix flashed them a sharp smile, hazel eyes sliding effortlessly between them waiting to see if any of them had a rebuttal ready. When the uncomfortable silence was finally broken by a passing waiter, Felix was quick to make his exit.
He made a mental note to cross off yet another name from his potential investors' list. He hadn’t recognised any of the men before approaching, yet he was almost certain that had been Fawcett, which meant, according to what he had garnered through his research, that was almost guaranteed to be Thorne and Button with him.
Felix made a beeline for the bar, fingers lifting automatically to tug on his tie before forcing himself to stop fussing with it. He meant on the counter heavily, leaving his half-drunk champagne glass beside him as he signalled for the nearest bartender.
“Chocolate espresso martini. Make it a double, if you please,” Felix said, reaching into his breast pocket for his money clip as he spoke. Holding it in one hand, he reached for the abandoned champagne, throwing his head back to down it in one. The evening was turning out to be less of a roaring success, and more of a wet squib. He pushed down his disappointment; he could dwell on such things once he was back behind closed doors in the safety of his apartment.
“You really should be more careful.”
Tamping down his irritation, Felix couldn’t quite stop himself. “Do I know you?” he asked, tone far more stern than he had intended as he began to turn. He had not heard anyone approaching. Part of him expected the trio of men to have followed in his wake, ready to restart their little disagreement.
His eyes widened. There behind him, standing neatly in a dark yellow suit, was a familiar face indeed.
“Mister Prodnose. I have been meaning to make your acquaintance,” Felix said smoothly, placing his glass down. He held his hand out towards the other man, a sensual smile stretching across his lips. The shorter man glanced down at his hand, bemused. Felix waited for a beat, nerves rising until, at last, the other chocolatier reached out to shake his hand. “This is most fortuitous. Felix Fickelgruber, at your service. I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with you.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Mister Prodnose said, lips stretching into a brief smile that soon fell back into a more bemused look. “You do realise that you are not supposed to drink at these events.”
Felix paused, brow furrowing. “Surely you jest. If that were the cast, then why on earth would they make them so readily available?” Even as the words left his mouth, Felix felt as if the pieces were clicking into place. No wonder the champagne tasted so watered down. His shoulders stiffened. He could feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Ah.”
“Ah indeed.” Blue eyes watched him curiously from behind thick bottlecap glasses. “They are meant more as decoration. That is to say, they give something to do with one’s hands, if nothing else, rather than to be consumed in place of a little Dutch courage.”
“Thank you, Mister Prodnose. I rather got that the first time,” Felix muttered, voice low, embarrassment burning his cheeks. How on earth had he not realised that before? It should have been obvious. As if to run salt into the wound, the bartender arrived with his double chocolate espresso martini. Before Felix could peel off a sovereign note to offer the other man, Mister Prodnose reached out to stay his hand. Felix glanced at him, irritation rising once more.
“You do not tip at such events. It is considered gauche.”
Felix’s frown deepened. Pulling his hand away, he hesitated before making his mind up. He slipped a note beneath the base of his glass, neatly hidden from view from all the two of them. “I consider it to be more gauche to not show appreciation for good service.”
Slipping his money clip away, Felix looked down the length of his nose at the other man. Yet another disappointment this evening. I suppose one should never be excited to meet the leaders in their industry.
“It was a pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Tonight was an unmitigated disaster.
Felix allowed himself a moment of weakness to slip outside into the gardens for a quick smoke break. Searching through his pockets for his cigarette case, he selected one long, slender menthol. The scent alone eased some of the tension in his shoulders.
His night had not gone as he had expected at all. Each time that he thought something would go his way, there would be some new, tiny faux pas. How on earth can there be so many rules? Who has the time to learn them all? Is there some kind of class that I am unaware of for such things?
Reaching into his suit pocket once more, Felix’s brow furrowed. “You cannot be serious.” Searching again, he felt his frustration risking. Of course I have lost my lighter. Could this evening be any more of an unmitigated disaster?
Felix turned away from the neat white stone wall, gaze sliding between the groups scattered around the small courtyard in clusters. Surely one of them would have a lighter that he could borrow without making a fool of himself.
He made his way towards one of the larger groups; if nothing else, at least that way, he would be unlikely to interrupt a delicate conversation. He was not entirely certain, but he was convinced that he had seen at least men in at least two of the smaller groups teasingly brushing their hands together.
There is no need to interrupt anyone’s fun, he thought, as he came to a stop by the nearest group.
“Excuse me. One of you gentlemen would not happen to have a lighter that I could borrow by any chance, would you?” he asked, smiling genially as the conversation came to a halt, six pairs of eyes turning towards him. Felix stood his ground, waiting patiently for one of them to speak.
He murmured his thanks as a lighter was produced, the conversation picking back up slowly as Felix lit his cigarette and took that first sweet pull. Lost in thought as he began to plan how, precisely, he would frame his need to use their host’s telephone to call for a car, Felix almost completely missed when the conversation turned his way.
“He is simple. There is nothing more to it.”
“Now, now Neuhaus, I would hardly say that is fair. He is from an old family. Some eccentricities—”
“Some?”
“—are to be expected. What do you say, Fickelgruber, isn’t it?”
“Hm?” Felix glanced up, acutely aware that he may have stumbled into a conversation that he would rather not be a part of.
“Prodnose. You spoke with him earlier, didn’t you? He’s an odd sort, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s downright weird, more like.”
“Yes, yes, we know your opinion on the matter, Neuhaus. I wish to hear Fickelgruber’s assessment.”
Felix frowned. While his initial impression of Mister Prodnose had been less than stellar, he hardly thought the other man worthy of such casual disregard. So what if he had been a little blunt? The advice he had imparted to Felix would, he was sure, prove invaluable.
“I hardly think it is in good taste to gossip about the man like bored housewives looking for the latest scrap of information to tear down one of their own.” Felix took a long drag from his cigarette, relishing in the faint minty flavour for several long, glorious moments, before neatly stubbing it out. He tilted his head back, looking down the length of his nose at them. “I, for one, appreciate his candour. It is rather refreshing. If you shall excuse me please, gentlemen.”
Careful to keep his pace unhurried until he was well and truly out of sight, Felix’s face reflected none of the turmoil that he was feeling. Head held high, Felix avoided looking at anyone in particular as he made his way towards the entryway, hoping beyond hope that Eleanor would still be on hand to arrange for a taxicab for him.
“Excuse me.”
Felix’s eyes slid closed, pace slowing. He recognised that voice. He turned, a forced smile plastered on his lips as Mister Prodnose approached him.
“Hello again, Mister Prodnose. I was just about to leave for the evening; it has been a long day.”
“That’s quite alright. This shouldn’t take long. Fickelgruber, wasn’t it?” Mister Prodnose said, pushing on without waiting for Felix to respond. “I shall be blunt. You have potential. You are a little rough around the edges, but I do not foresee anything that cannot be fixed.”
Felix’s eyes widened, mouth dropping. The sheer gall of the other man! How dare he? Before Felix could say a word, Mister Prodnose reached into his inside pocket, producing a dark yellow and brown business card. He held it out towards Felix. Without thinking, Felix accepted, glancing down to see the familiar emblem of the other chocolatier.
“Not many people impress me. Even fewer in a position such as yours.”
Felix bristled.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to showing you the ropes, as it were. You may call my secretary to arrange something later this week.” Mister Prodnose tilted his head, hands reaching for his suit buttons, checking that they were all in place before moving to pass Felix. He got several paces ahead before he turned. “Oh! Before I forget. Your comment earlier; the staff are all more than fairly compensated for their time at events such as this. There is no need to tip. To do so is insulting to one’s hosts. It implies that they cannot afford to pay for their own staff. A pleasure meeting you.”
Felix watched as Mister Prodnose left without a backward glance. Felix glanced down at the business card in his hands, the other man’s words ringing in his ears. Yet another faux pas he had not even been aware that he had made. “Well, blast.”