The trio arrived at Selma’s West End apartment just past ten. Selma had been reading by the light of an oil lamp. She was pleased, as always, to see her friend Cordelia, delighted to see Mr Purefoy again, and, though she hid it well, she was absolutely elated to see Jasper.
“Cordie! Oh, and Mr Purefoy, Mr Merchant!”
Selma blushed at shied away a little at the sight of Jasper, but beckoned them welcome to her home. She rushed about the den, tidying up knickknacks and googaws that were lying about. She lit another lamp and tuckered her book away.
“Well, what brings you three to my abode at this hour?”
She brushed her hair behind her ear and tried to catch Jasper’s eyes. It was easy enough, since he had yet to take his eyes off of her since she had come into his line of sight. He grinned like a Cheshire cat as he whipped the poem from his breast pocket.
“Ah, my dear Selma, my sweetest heart, I have composed for you a sonnet, fashioned from my infatuation for you, and I hope to recite it that I may receive, in earnest, the reciprocity of emotion that I share for you.”
Selma giggled.
“Oh, dear me, by all means, Mr Merchant, please read this poem of yours, lest you die of desire.”
“Oh please, Selma, call me Jasper. We should be more intimate henceforth.”
Jasper cleared his throat and unfolded the paper. He readied himself, a slight notion of nervous sweat began to bead upon his brow.
“Ah such a night we had met, a night as such I’ll ne’er forget,
A mighty stroke of love’s wing, and my heart, your name did sing,
Such music it is to my ear, my heart leaps when you are near,
Your face is like the sun at morn, to not see it, my heart would scorn,
You eyes like pools of water so clear, would I never sully with painful tear,
Your hair is more precious than gold, your heart in my hand I would like to hold,
Your admiration I wish to win, if only to see you once again,
To love thou would be sweet succor, to be with you forevermore
Gaily my heart sings your song, beside you is where I belong,
None other shall my heart admire, lest it become a funeral pyre,
I pray the gods would see this through, to bring my love along to you,
And together we should live our lives, me your husband, you my wife,
Oh Cupid, pull from your quiver, a lover’s arrow and deliver,
all my love, as strong as a river, to my Selma, now and forever.”
There was a long moment of tense silence. Jasper began to feel absolutely silly about his poem. He worried it was too forward. He had just met Selma, but there was something bewitching about her. He began to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Oh, Jasper, you are just the sweetest!”
Selma sprung upon Jasper and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
“I have never had a man write me a poem, let alone one the likes of Shakespeare Byron!”
Selma squeezed him tight and happily took his hand in hers. She glowed with radiant joy and seemed to almost bounce with exuberance. Jasper hadn’t been able to process the sudden rush of emotions, and was now catching up, his facing changing expressions from bewilderment to excitement to euphoria. He looked down at his hand and then at Selma, who returned his gaze with tender affection.
“Well then,” Cordelia exclaimed, breaking the silence, “isn’t this just a picture of perfection? I knew that you two would strike off famously. Didn’t I say as such last night, Selma?”
Selma jumped in glee.
“Oh, you did, you did! And here I am with a handsome, intelligent young man as a suitor! Ah, were my heart wax, t’would melt in my chest! I feel like bursting!”
Jasper could only manage a goofy grin. He was too stricken by his good fortune to even acknowledge anything else but Selma and her warmth.
“Oh, Jasper,” Selma continued, turning and placing her hands on his shoulder, “you have my affection, and your heart is mine! Whether fate or fortuity, we have been brought together!”
She stood on the tips of her toes and placed a loving kiss on Jasper’s cheek. His whole face turned red, but he still stood dumbstruck. Cordelia and Hilliard laughed, then sighed, they understood the hypocrisy of the situation. They unconsciously inched closer towards each other, hoping that the other would make the move.
“Well,” chirped Selma, “I am being a bad hostess. I shall fetch some and bread. Why don’t we all adjourn to the sitting room? Let us have a nice, quiet night of conversation and companionship.”
She squeezed Jasper’s hand and glided off to the pantry. Cordelia, being more familiar with the flat, lead the men to the sitting room.
The room itself was fairly large for the size of the flat and was decorated in the height of the fashion at the time. The room was ablaze with deep burgundies and rich earthy browns. A large portrait of an elderly man wearing what looked to be garb from the previous century hung behind the fainting couch.
The man in the portrait had a soft, yet stern counterence, his eyes so blue they were almost grey. He wore leather riding breeches, a double breasted white waistcoat and a conical hat. In his hand he held a riding crop. The group took in the portrait, the most domineering decor in the room, and waited for the refreshments.
Selma returned with a bottle of gin, a bottle of port, four glasses and two loaves of bread. She gaily plunked the treats down on a serving table that sat in the midst of the chairs and couches.
“Well, cheers everyone.”
She sat herself down on a loveseat facing the exit and patted the cushion next to her, beckoning Jasper, who complied all too eagerly. Cordelia sat in a high back wing chair. Hilliard chose an identical chair next to her. Drinks were poured and passed around and the group settled in.
“I couldn’t help but notice the chap in the portrait there,” Jasper said, indicating with his glass of port. “That is a great ancestor I presume?”
“Oh yes,” chirped Selma as she sipped on her gin. “That would have been my grandfather’s father. Addison Gayheart. He is responsible for saving the family fortune. We had gone through a generation or two of bad luck when Great Grandfather Addison launched a risky venture of textile manufacturing. It took root, and the fortune was saved.”
“That would attest to its prominent placement in the room,” Hilliard quipped.
Selma nodded.
“It’s a reminder that fortune is fickle, but doing what must be done, even if it is risky, will take you far.”
They all nodded in agreement. No truer words could have been spoken. There was a pregnant silence as the friends sat and drank their drinks and ate their bread. Cordelia and Hilliard would take turns making awkward, longing glances at the other before quickly looking away.
Jasper was the first to catch on, his philosophical eye and romantic heart picking up on the subtle dance that was being performed before him. He squeezed Selma’s hand ever so gently and indicated with a slight nod toward the Hilliard and Cordelia as they danced their slow tango of who-will-move-first. Selma, being less than subtle, broke the ever deafening quiet.
“Oh, my you two,” she shouted, startling everyone in the room, Jasper included, “why don’t you just come out and say it?”
Cordelia gave Selma a look of both confusion and irritation.
“Say what? What on earth are you on about?”
“Oh, don’t play coy, Cordie, love. I can see it from here! You and Mr Purefoy here pining for each other.”
Both Hilliard and Cordelia blushed, shocked at the forthrightness of Selma’s accusation, and also at the embarrassment of being caught in what they had thought was a sly game of dare.
“Well now,” stammered Hilliard, try his best to compose himself. “Well, that is, Cordelia and I are good friends. Fast friends, you might say, and, eh…”
He allowed his thoughts to evaporate into the aether. He allowed himself to smile and, feeling emboldened by his friend’s romantic display, summoned up his courage. He gently took Cordelia’s hand and turned to look her in her eyes.
“Cordelia, I would say that I may be quite brash and forward, but I have enjoyed our time thus far. I respectfully ask that we might enter into a relationship of romantic persuasion?”
There was a brief moment of quiet. Cordelia looked at Hilliard in puzzlement and awe. Selma, giddy as ever, bounced in her seat, excitement running through her body as she awaited what she hoped would be an affirmative.
“Well,” Hilliard gasped, hoping he hadn’t put his foot in it, “feel free to decli-”
“Oh, of course you silly man! I was just wanting to string you along! I would love for us to court!”
“Oh, hurrah! I’m so excited. Look at us four; fast friends and romantic partners! Why, it’s storybook, I say.”
Selma couldn’t hold back her excitement. She jumped up, yanking Jasper along with her, and bounced in place.
“Oh, do let’s go out to celebrate! We should have a proper christening of these new relationships! Oh, let’s, let’s!” She clapped and bounced and clapped so that it was nigh impossible to have said no. The others acquiesced, and they all gathered their coats.
“Oh, I say we go to Nags Head! It is such a quirky little place, I think you all would love it!” Selma jumped and bounced and clapped some more, seeming to be full of perpetual energy. They all headed out the door into the London night, and towards Nag’s Head pub.