Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 22. Cappuccino meets black and confessions are made

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Greg gazed upon James with the silent plead. 

James met his gaze and shook the head. "I must apologise, dear Gregory. I consulted with the family therapist in London regarding your case, and she advised to avoid the longer road. This is what we survive on, for today once.

Greg looked around the surgeon's cabinet filled with some pieces of antique furniture and one wall carpeted with certificated and diplomas in three languages. Like the classical hall in some opened-to-public part of Pemberly.

So he smiled to James desperately trying not to giggle. "Um. We will survive, I suppose."
"Thank you. Your health is an absolute priority."

The doctor in sharp-blade whitest coat returned with some printed papers providing them to James at first. Not surprising, though. Greg would do the same. 

The clinic where he had left all his saving two days before was a public hospital comparing to this one. He kept wondering how he should offer James to return medical expenses but still couldn't manage to find the right words.

So he hasn't offered. Yet.

His cuts were glued with some sort of medical glue and covered up so carefully he could even tie his laces by himself. Taking some time. But he could.

Greg pushed his sneakers under the chair as far as possible. He hoped it looked casual.

"Everything seems to be fine, gentlemen. Nothing wrong with blood analysis..."

"You've already got results?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, sir. They are not perfect due to wrong timing, so my advise would be to get through general heath check-up when possible. Just to be sure."

The doctor's face made Greg to take away his own gaze. And mumble something before they left. The doctor said it was an honour for the clinic to be recommended for James by the colleague.

They left, and Greg was let in the car by the driver. He wanted to get some coffee. Maybe, with some really junk cookie. Maybe, at the pitstop. Just not to forget.

"That was too much, um, sir. I mean, it's just some cuts. Amina did fine. Miss Amina, I mean."
Also, he was drowsy and wanted to fell down in his room to sleep through the drowsiness and shame. Not heading towards some scary rich aunt. Somehow, he imagined her being like Lady Catherine De Bourg. "What should I, um, how should I address your aunt? Spare an advise, please, save us both from disgrace."

"Why should you... ah."

James, who saw nothing unusual in the situation was actually in a pretty good mood, considering the night events. He also started thinking that the marriage could be not such a bad idea after all. It would take some steps, of course, and he might need to ask Gregory out first before proposing, but it felt like he knew him longer than it was actually truth.

The proposal idea was new and it was still rolling in his head from the moment he saw that wedding commercial on the Instagram last night. Engagement would have allowed them to be in the official relationship openly and long enough for Gregory to get education, to get the people in the circle better. And would give them the benefit of The Daily Post articles escaping them most of the time.

And he was also a bit lost in the thoughts, so he just gently squeezed Gregory's healthy hand before turning to him and smiled, without actually letting it go.

"My aunt, Lady Priscilla Longborn, is in possession of the Thornby Estate. Mrs Longborn then."

"How old is she?"

"83. I'm absolutely sure, you will like her."

"Why is she Mrs?"

"Well, I guess because her husband was a Longborn." James laughed. "Let's stop for coffee. It was a long night."