Chapter 10

London met Kurt with rain.

"Eliza!" Kurt called her once he came into the house and shut the door. Water was streaming off him; he hadn't bothered to take an umbrella.

"Sir, you're back!" Eliza ran out into the corridor. "You got wet!"

"Yes, please kindle the fireplace in the living room and serve hot tea." Kurt took off his coat, left the bag at the door, and went to his room.

Ten minutes later, dressed in home clothes, he went into the living room, where logs crackled in the fireplace, and on the table beside the armchair was a cup of tea. Kurt settled comfortably in his armchair and took a sip.

Eliza entered the room; she was carrying a fairly big, flat, rectangular box.

"Mr. Rhein, here are the letters that came while you were away," she said and gave him a few envelopes. "And this parcel is from Mrs. Danee." It seemed that Eliza faltered. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Looking at the package, Kurt realized what was inside.

"Are you sure that this is from Mrs. Danee and not from Mr. Danee?" he asked.

"Yes," Eliza nodded. "The messenger delivered it this morning and left a card from Mrs. Danee," Eliza said and pointed to a note in the corner.

"Okay, thank you. You are free to go, Eliza."

After a pause, she went away. Kurt slowly opened the package. A portrait of Eliza appeared before his eyes. She wasn't wearing her usual apron and strict black dress. The girl in the portrait was a rich and noble lady in a beautiful dress, trimmed with delicate lace. Kurt could not help admiring with what care and attention the finest lace was painted. It took a lot of time and work for sure! But what was more interesting to Kurt was why had Catherine and not Philip sent the portrait?

Kurt wrapped the portrait, so Eliza wouldn't see it. He remembered how she had felt when she found out about Philip's engagement. And maybe another time Kurt would not care for the romantic feelings of a poor girl, but now he felt differently. Therefore he hid the portrait.

For a while, Kurt was contemplating, looking at the blazing fire in the fireplace, and then he picked up the letters. There was nothing particular in them. Therefore, until the end of the evening, Kurt was on his own, but he didn't feel like doing anything. Exhausted from the sleepless night and the taxing journey, he eventually dozed off in his armchair.

***

The next day at lunch, Kurt went to Ellington's restaurant. In the morning, he had sent a messenger with a note that he wanted to meet with Philip if he was free.

The official reason was a fee for the portrait, but in fact, Kurt wanted to know something else. From the beginning, Kurt noticed Eliza's embarrassment and Philip's similar embarrassment, thus the news of his engagement was a surprise for Kurt too. But it wasn't the fact of the engagement that surprised Kurt. It was clear that the young man in his position should have followed the existing rules. His behavior and indifference to Eliza's suffering were more surprising.

First Kurt had thought that Philip's feelings had just faded away, and maybe the thing was attributable to the young man's windy nature or his youth... Although Kurt was very doubtful about this. Because whenever he spoke to Philip, the young man showed generosity, sincerity, and kindness.

"He could not have become a callous roue in one day! And I could not have erred so much!" thought Kurt as he sat down to lunch.

Philip entered the restaurant. He looked around, noticed Kurt, and moved toward him.

"Good day!" Kurt greeted him, intently examining the other man.

"Good day!" Philip answered and sat down opposite.

"Are you hungry? Today they serve a wonderful chop."

"No, no, thank you," Philip said and shook his head. "But I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. So you don't have to eat alone, I think I'll order a cup of coffee."

"Fine," Kurt smiled. He noticed that Philip looked tense. He impatiently tapped his fingers on the table, waiting for his cup of coffee. When he finally got it, he switched to it. His thin fingers slid along the curved handle; he twisted the cup in his hands and still didn't dare to take a sip.

"Are you in a hurry?" Kurt asked calmly, watching his companion. "Maybe you have something to do, and I asked you for this date at an inappropriate time?"

"No, no." Philip took a deep breath and finally took a sip. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Yesterday I received the portrait that you painted. Eliza's portrait." Kurt didn't have time to finish as Philip put the cup on the saucer with a loud clang. He looked at Kurt, and there was indignation, embarrassment, and excitement in his eyes. He breathed again abruptly and began to trifle with the cup.

"I," continued Kurt, "just wanted to know how much I owe you for the portrait."

These words only increased Philip's agitation.

"I!" Philip began loudly, and as if he were afraid of his own voice, he paused again. He looked out the window, sighed abruptly, and turned back to Kurt. "You don't owe me anything. Consider it as a gift," he finally said and lowered his head.

"Philip, I can't accept such a gift," Kurt countered. But he felt something in him had changed. He could not just watch; now, he truly sympathized with Philip. He didn't know whether to rejoice or not about this change. He didn't understand, whether this skill dazzled him or, on the contrary, made him more insightful. Now, however, following the old habit, Kurt behaved as usual, as if he didn't notice the confusion of the interlocutor and directed the conversation wherever he needed. But at the same time, he felt bad.

"... And... did she... like it?" Philip squeezed out.

At first, Kurt couldn't even find an answer. Philip didn't raise his head, and Kurt realized that he simply lacked the courage to look into Kurt's eyes because now all of Philip's soul was exposed on his face.

All became clear: Philip's behavior, the reason the portrait was sent by Catherine, and why now Philip couldn't look into Kurt's eyes.

And again Kurt felt the longing in his heart. It seemed that he understood what Philip felt. And he found out with surprise that it didn't give him a hint on how he should respond to this young man.

No, he isn't a roue, and he isn't callous. He is a good son and honors his mother, but he can't give orders to his heart. However, he tries to do the right thing.

"Eliza hasn't seen the portrait yet," Kurt answered.

Philip finally looked up at him, and there was a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes. They stared at each other in silence. Kurt's meal had cooled, as had Philip's coffee.

"Look, Kurt," Philip suddenly whispered. "Help me, I'm begging you," he said and looked pleadingly at him. "Please!" He grabbed Kurt's hand.

At this moment, someone came into the restaurant, but Philip didn't let go of Kurt's hand immediately. And even after he did, he kept looking at him expectantly. Kurt looked at the new visitor. At this moment, his longing turned into a different feeling, which for a second, captured him completely, denying the possibility of understanding anything. He was looking at the wolf eyes of John Fenrir.

It was like a bolt from the blue. John stared at Kurt and Philip, who didn't know who stood behind him. However, catching Kurt's eyes expression, he turned around and was stunned. The pause lingered.

"... I shall go," said Philip, rising from his seat. "We'll talk some other time."

He nodded to Kurt and walked past John, who glanced at him, and left the restaurant.

Kurt tried to pull himself together. It seemed to him that there was a storm raging inside him, and he was in a leaky boat trying to resist a huge wave. He found the strength to give a short nod in greeting to John, but he only grunted in response and left.

Kurt was alone. He didn't touch the food. Moreover, confusion captured him, and he could not get rid of it anymore. Since then, it haunted him. It could be a little softer or a little harder, but it was always inside.

Waking up in the morning, it was the first thing that he felt, and he realized that his life would never be the same again.

It frightened him. His stability and measured life, which he valued a great deal, were gone. He thought about the sufferings of Philip and Eliza, then remembered John and his look. And every time, he shivered. It was like an obsession.

He hoped that the work would distract him from all these thoughts. And in some way, he was right, but as soon as he found himself alone, these thoughts again pervaded him without giving him a chance to hide.