The Devil's Fever

17

Weston sat in the Whitehall Gardens, watching the detritus of the Thames drift its way through Westminster. It was a cold morning and Weston pulled his coat tight around his neck, clapping his gloved hands together in an effort to get the blood moving, or at least to stop them seizing up completely.

He had little doubt as to why Jeffers had asked to meet, the engagement announcement in the newspaper, and he was just using the case as a means to bring them together, they would get to the real nub of the issue eventually.

Alas, Weston would have to let him down gently, tell him he had no intention of running a surreptitious relationship behind the back of his new wife and Jeffers would have to come to terms with the shock as he had had to.

Poor Jeffers, he thought, wanting more than I can give him. He wouldn't be the first.

Weston's self worth had taken such a beating recently it was nice to at least feel admired again, wanted. He would thank Jeffers for that much at least.

They had agreed to meet at eleven and, of course, as Big Ben struck it's chime Jeffers turned into the entrance to the gardens. He looks worn, thought Weston, older somehow. Though, as Weston could testify to many times, a passion once satiated does so often lose it's allure. And he could not judge, he was sure the time since the last met had worn heavily upon him, too.

When Jeffers approached the bench Weston rose and they exchanged a gentleman's handshake, perhaps, thought Weston, lasting slightly longer than one usually would.

They both sat down and took in the view, neither appearing to want to be caught for too long taking in the other's profile.

London continued as London did and they as sat in silence.

"Bloody cold", proffered Jeffers, as a way to break the impasse.

"Yes. Yes awfully biting today", responded Weston. So this is what we have become? He thought. Two men sat discussing the weather.

But Jeffers would not be discussing the weather for long.

"I need your notes."

"Oh yes, yes of course", Weston tried not to smile, of course he'd open by keeping up the pretence of the meeting.

"Really?" The surprise was written bold across Jeffers' face, "when can I get 'em?"

"Whenever's convenient for you my boy."

Jeffers peered out across the river. He'd not expected the meeting to be over quite so quickly or quite so abruptly. In fact he now found it awkward they'd had a meeting at all, he should have just gone there and got the notes right away. Weston seemed to be comfortable in the silence, even smug. Each passing moment with no talk made Jeffers more and more uncomfortable. He filled the void. "Congratulations by the way, on the wedding."

A broad smile passed across Weston's lips. Finally, we are getting to the heart of the matter. "Oh, thank you. You saw the Times?"

"Yeah, saw all the people tryna tear down the slums too."

Weston prickled at the mention of it. Jeffers couldn't know about his talk and his failure, but surely he had recognised the links they had made appearing in the press. Weston gathered himself, this was no time, or place, to lose composure.

Jeffers looked to his companion, who's eyes looked long into the distant rumblings of the street across from them, and saw something in them he never had before. Defeat.

He wanted to jolt him out of himself, awake the man who's spark for living brought out joy in him, the man he had shared enjoyable hours with, the man he had shared a bed with. "Don't you want to know what I've found on the case? why I'm back on it?"