Captive Magics

3 - Occupation

Caroline's chatter had spurred Leander to an occupation of sorts (that is to say, his time was occupied) but it was not one most people would have looked kindly on. He went to Upper Church Street the very next day and strolled up and down it a few times. The street was as respectable as they had agreed, large red town houses with pretty white sills and lintels, not quite in the lavish fashionable part of town but more a suburb on that thrumming centre of wealth and style. Not willing to be unfashionable but not too ambitious. It came complete with two sentry lines of peach trees edging the road, which softened the whole place and made it a very cool and pleasant walk. It was so cool and pleasant and quiet that Leander enjoyed walking it four times. He came back the following day, still unsure which house was hers.

The answer did not present itself, but new opportunities did. These arose suddenly one evening at the gentlemen's clubhouse he was in the habit of frequenting, and brought back a little of Leander's missing vim. The club appeared to be a large, respectable square house, set slightly apart in a leafy and fashionable street, but the nightly descent of officers on leave made it bawdy and raucous. How they kept the local residents from complaining was anyone's guess.

Out of the blue, the popular Captain Trenthurst and several other armymen arrived suddenly, on leave for the first time in months, and the gap left by Gunny might as well have never existed. What a grand thing, when he walked into his clubhouse expecting to see the same strange faces, and instead there were Trenthurst, Hatcher, Fawcett and Blythe, already merry and ready with a cheer as he came across his former comrades unexpectedly.

"By heavens!" he exclaimed, and gulped in shock.

"Aha! Forgot, old boy?"

"Is it that day already? Well here's a fine thing, I've been horribly bored and short of amusements, and now here you all are all of a sudden!" They roared appreciatively at this, slapped him on the back, and suddenly the world was a much better place.

"Working yet?" Trenthurst called over the noise of the packed club. Leander shook his head.

"Ah, no need to rush, you know?"

"Unemployed? You've been discharged for an age."

"Not that long-"

"Hatcher! Get the man a drink! He's got no money of his own!" he yelled, and they all fell about laughing. Everything was more amusing with Trenthurst around.

In no time at all the friends had claimed a table and started a highly competitive game of Old Snicket. Soon enough they were the loudest group in the club (a significant achievement) for there were stories and ribaldry to swap.

"You don't need your stick these days," Trenthurst suggested as he dealt the next round of cards. He broke off from scratching his moustache to laugh at Fawcett's disappointment over his hand.

"Pardon?"

"Your stick," bellowed Trenthurst over the noise, and illustrated with an exaggerated impersonation of someone limping, somehow without standing up from the table. Hatcher and Blythe fell about laughing.

"Oh. No, I'm building up strength." The injury had slipped his mind completely. Come to think of it, the sudden recovery was a bit of a shock.

"I was under the impression it was permanent," said Blythe, nodding at the ankle.

"So was I. But it still twinges sometimes," he lied anxiously.

"Twinges!" Trenthurst exclaimed, and they fell about laughing again. "Cushy little war pension, eh?"