e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
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Thomas could never get used to the mixed smell of yeast and sweat cumulating in Alfie's underground dungeon for years.
And he was ecstatic to be rid of the responsibility of coming back to that place the minute his chap emigrated to the sunny side of Margate. So imagine his surprise when he visited Alfie's seaside house. It reeked of, yet again, the smell of combustible fermented alcohol. The leader of the Peaky Blinders had to pause his breathing as he walked through the corridor of the beautiful estate overlooking the white sandy beaches.
"Huh." Alfie was not one to look baffled. But here he was, eyes wide, as he skimmed his fingers through the black and white pictures of their former employees – and lover, especially for Alfie - Arthur and John have accumulated for the past six months. Thomas hid his smile, "There they are."
"There they are. Alive and well."
"Alive and fucking well," Tommy croaked out as he tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. His eyes moved to observe the mountain of a man in front of him, how Alfie's eyes were a mix of regret and longing. Tommy was glad his gunshot didn't kill the alcohol mogul back when they met up on the beach.
For Tommy, Alfie Solomons is that one confidante you hate to the core, yet you share many things. They share a similar past by being members of oppressed groups, they both served the King in the military, and both have come a long way from where they climbed.
They're tethered most peculiarly. Separate, but the same.
"Let me ask you, right, who the fuck is that?" Alfie's finger pointed to the first picture. Back in March where Isabelle was seen cosying up with John Churchill.
Tommy squinted, "That's John. John Spencer-Churchill. Relative of Winston's."
Thomas noticed how Alfie's fingers gripped the papers tighter. See, the same.
"Huh." Second time now. His fingers played with the hairs under his chin, which Tommy noted, was much longer. Alfie set the pictures on the apothecary table, eyes still studying each figure. Each curve of a smile, facial expressions. He pointed his finger to Tommy, "Right, I want in."
Tommy feigned a puzzled look, "In what?"
Thomas knew those words would come sooner or later.
"Right, don't play daft. I want in this fuckin' spying of yours."
The Birmingham Devil nodded slowly. Rising to his feet, he turned to Alfie, "I'll send you anything I know."
The look on his long time friend's face was grateful, "Oh, how's your baby girl, Tommy?"
Thomas was already halfway through the corridor, "See you, Alfie."
He did not know what had happened between Alfie and the second daughter of the Grosvenors. Yet, it was clear the separation did not affect Alfie's affection toward the blond. If anything, being apart from the Grosvenor made his affection grow, rooting into something Tommy suspected as love.
