Page 86 of In at the Deep End

Owen snorted. “I doubt they’d miss us for a second, not with all the booze flowing around here.”

The cool evening air hit them as they walked out of the university, and both of them took a deep breath simultaneously.

Matt laughed first. “I thought it was just me.”

Owen gave him a sideways glance. “What was?”

“I’ve smiled so much my face hurts.”

Owen laughed too. “Oh, thank God.”

He blinked. “You too?”

“I reached my limit about an hour ago.” He scanned the street, looking for a taxi. “I spent the first half of the evening answering questions about Cyn.”

“And the second?”

Another snort. “Ben.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sleek black pants. “People were kind, but after the third explanation…” His smile lost some of its warmth. “I started watching people’s faces.”

Matt gazed at him. “They didn’t know what to say. I think they were genuinely trying to be sympathetic.”

“I agree, they were. But eventually I decided I’d done enough explaining.” He grinned. “I took refuge in the champagne instead.”

Matt chuckled. “Sounds like a wise decision.”

Owen peered towards the lights of central London. “Fancy rescuing what’s left of the evening?”

Matt arched his eyebrows. “That depends on what you have in mind. A night of clubbing?”

He guffawed. “God, no. I was thinking more of the American Bar.”

“At the Savoy?”

“It seems a shame not to make the most of it.” He smiled. “A cocktail or two?”

Matt grinned. “Why, Mr. Lane, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Well…” Owen adopted an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Are you the sort of man who takes off all his clothes and dances on the piano after two cocktails?”

Matt laughed. “No. I’m the sort who falls asleep in a corner.”

“Then I think we’re safe.” A taxi pulled up at the kerb. Owen opened the rear door for Matt. “Besides, I’d rather spend the evening talking to you than listening to people I haven’t seen for thirty years compare photographs of their spouses, children and grandchildren.”

Matt paused with one foot inside the taxi. “I’d rather talk to you too.”

Owen stared at him for a moment before smiling.

“Thank you.”

Owen quickly realised his plan was perfect. The American Bar was everything the reunion hadn’t been.

Warm amber lighting reflected on polished wood. Orange leather armchairs sat in little conversational islands, each paired with bright burnt-orange cushions that somehow managed to seem both luxurious and inviting. Behind the long gleaming bar, bottles caught the light like stained glass, while somewhere near the far wall, a pianist coaxed soft jazz from a black grand piano.

Matt gazed around. “I think this may be the nicest room I’ve ever had a drink in.”

Owen smiled. “It does have that effect.”

A waiter appeared almost immediately. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”