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Uno and Fog: Sunday Dinner

August 20, 2019

My father’s penthouse makes mine look like a dump by comparison.  It looks like a manor plucked right out of the old country and dropped on top of sky scrapper, including fairly extensive grounds outside, with carefully manicured trees and shrubs.  There are several floors to it, the outside is all stone and leaded glass, the inside is dark woods, and darker rugs.

Complete with leather chairs, tapestries, art work from the renaissance and the old masters.  In the past there were old hunting trophies and even a few skins, but all that has been tucked away when it became passé and declassee.

My father has always been very aware of how the wind shifts and adjusts accordingly.

Malcolm greets us at the door, he has always been on retainer with my father as far as I can remember.  A gentleman’s gentleman as it were.  Although out of curiosity did look into his background and found that he real name is Jim.  Not James, or Jameson or anything like that but Jim.

I have never divulged that I knew his secret or that he kept appearances that were at odds with his origins.  He was always unfailingly polite, proper and discrete as well as competent at his vocation.

He greeted us at the door and took our coats.  He smiled politely as Abrielle thanked him.  I didn’t particularly care for bringing her with me, my father would certainly get the impression that I was romantically involved with her and getting serious, neither of which were true.

The entry had a portrait of my mother in it, looking regal, if not a little severe.  I had never been fond of it, and now more than ever I felt uncomfortable beneath her painted gaze.

Abrielle was still in the habit of gawking at everything like a tourist, which my father noted, without saying anything, when we joined him the sitting room.

He is a taller well built man that has kept himself in shape, unlike many of CEOs, with the hint of salt in his dark hair.  His eyes are sharp and I can see him assessing Abrielle.

“It is good to finally meet the woman that has been occupying so much of my son’s time,” Abrielle laughed politely, “can I offer you something to drink?”  He waved toward the liquor nearby.  He himself had a glass of amber liquid in a crystal glass nearby.

I had warned her about this, it was one of his many tests, he felt it was unbecoming of a lady to consume anything but wine, although he would never say that.  Don’t even start with beer, ales and lagers which were something a worker drank.  Not that he whole approved of men drinking either, and if one was ever careful to watch him drink in the company of others one would note that he sipped his glass occasionally but never needed a refill.

“No thank you.” She politely declines.

Its going to be a very long evening.  I hope The Fog is having a better time of it.

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