The Amorous Nightingale

Chapter Four

    When they dined at the Dog and Partridge in Fleet Street, it seemed to Christopher that dogs and partridges were almost the only creatures that were not served as part of their meal. Fish, fowl and meat of every description were brought to their table in strict rotation so that Jasper Hartwell could inspect, admire, decry, sample, spit out, order or reject, according to his whim. He was a generous host, encouraging his guest to eat heartily and drink deeply. Hartwell set the tone, gourmandising shamelessly and barely pausing to allow one course to be digested before forcing another down his throat. Rich food made him more talkative, fine wine took him to the verge of hysteria. Hartwell's bizarre appearance already made him the unrivalled centre of attention. His wild laugh and excitable gestures ensured that everyone in the inn watched him with ghoulish curiosity.

    Christopher Redmayne was at once pleased and dismayed. He was glad to be invited to dine by his client, especially as Lodowick Corrigan, the troublesome builder, had been deliberately excluded from the invitation. At the same time, however, he was worried by Hartwell's readiness to blur the line between employer and architect, to treat the latter as a friend with the same gluttonous appetite and the same vices. Christopher could simply not cope with such a huge meal on a regular basis. Nor could he show anything but polite interest in Hartwell's merry tales of his nightly visits to brothels and gaming houses. The suggestion that he might accompany his host on a nocturnal escapade was deftly deflected without giving any offence. It was an art he had perfected by dint of refusing similar blandishments from his brother, Henry, a man of rakish inclination with the money and the leisure time to indulge the wanton urges that were his constant companions.

    Eager to keep his relationship with Jasper Hartwell firmly on a professional basis, Christopher tried to guide him around to the subject of the house. It was not easy. Concentration had long since deserted Hartwell. He had reached the stage of giggling uncontrollably for no apparent reason. Stupor was only a few glasses of wine away.

    'Why did you choose Mr Corrigan?' asked Christopher.

    'Who?' replied Hartwell, pulling a face.

    'Lodowick Corrigan.'

    'Never heard of the fellow.'

    'Mr Corrigan is your builder.'

    Blank amazement. 'Is he?'

    'You know he is, Mr Hartwell. You brought him to my home this morning so that I could meet him. We passed a pleasant hour or two together. Mr Corrigan seemed to be…' Christopher searched for a word to cloak his disapproval of the man. 'He seemed to be sound. Very sound.'

    'The soundest man in the building trade.'

    'You remember who he is, then?'

    'Of course, of course,' said Hartwell, before guzzling some more wine. 'Lodowick Corrigan came with the highest recommendation. As did my architect. I pay for the best so I expect the best. If I had sufficient Latin, I'd translate that sentence and use it as my family motto. But I am no Classicist, alas. Latin baffles me almost as much as Greek. But the point holds, regardless of the language in which I express it. Only the finest of its kind is good enough for Jasper Hartwell. Well,' he said, chewing a mouthful of venison, 'you are living proof of the fact.'

    'I'm flattered to hear you say so.'

    'I recognise quality when I see it.'

    'Thank you.'

    'The Hartwell eye is unerring in its accuracy. Why, look at my apparel. Am I not the most elegant gentleman alive? I have the gift of selection. As with my clothing, so with my choice of employees. Pure instinct. No sooner did I catch sight of you at the theatre that afternoon than I thought, This young architect, Christopher Redmayne, is the man for me. That is why you are here.'

    'I am deeply grateful, Mr Hartwell.'

    'You are here but Corrigan, being of a lower order of creation, is not. A builder cannot enjoy the same privileges as an architect. He is a mere employee whereas you are also a friend. I will give the fellow a ride in my coach but I would not condescend to break bread with him. Apart from anything else, he has the most appalling hands. Did you notice all that dirt under his fingernails? No,' he continued, letting out a sudden laugh, 'Lodowick Corrigan is a prince among builders but he will never aspire to occupy a place among my intimates.'

    'Who recommended him?'

    'Several people. He has a fearsome reputation.'

    'For what, Mr Hartwell?'

    'Maintaining the dirtiest fingernails in Europe.' He shook with mirth and banged the table with both fists. 'Forgive me, Mr Redmayne. I am in humorous vein today. Let me be serious for a moment,' he said, making an effort to control himself. 'Lodowick Corrigan is renowned for building houses on time and to his clients' exact specification.'

    'I'm glad to hear it.'

    'You will have no problems whatsoever with him.'

    'Good.'

    Christopher was not as reassured as he sounded. The meeting with the builder had disturbed him profoundly. Instead of being able to work harmoniously with the crucial figure in the enterprise, he feared that he would have to fight every inch of the way to have his wishes fulfilled. Further discussion with Hartwell was pointless. The man now lapsed into maudlin reminiscence and all that Christopher could do was to compose his features into a semblance of concern and nod at regular intervals. Hartwell suddenly reached out to grab him by the wrist.

    'I must confide in you, Mr Redmayne!' he gasped.

    'About what, sir?'

    'Affairs of the heart.'

    'But you have been doing that for some time,' said Christopher.

    'Those were mere trivialities. Passing acquaintances. The joyful conquests that all men need to remind them of their manhood. I speak now of true love, of devotion, of - dare I say it? - commitment. Nay, I would go even further and talk, for the first time in my life, of holy matrimony. That is how stricken I am. How ensnared. How desperate. I am even ready to contemplate the surrender of my bachelor life.'

    'You have my warmest congratulations!'

    'Sadly, they are premature.'

    'Does not the lady in question requite your love?'

    'She is not even aware of it as yet.'

    'Have you not declared yourself?'

    'Only with my eyes and with my palms. I have applauded her until my hands have been stinging with pain. She deserves it. She is sublime, Mr Redmayne. A saintly creature. Everything I could possibly want in a wife.' He gave an elaborate shudder. 'But there are certain drawbacks.'

    'Drawbacks?'

    'The lady is already married.'

    'Ah, I see.'

    'And she is beset by other suitors.'

    'Does not her wedding ring keep them at bay?'

    'No, it only seems to excite them all the more. A thousand wedding rings would not deter one particular lover. Indeed, were she not already in possession of a husband, the cunning fellow would certainly provide her with one forthwith then cuckold him mercilessly.' His whole body sagged. 'Do you catch my drift, Mr Redmayne?'

    'I believe that I do.'

    'A right royal obstacle blocks my path to happiness.'

    'Then I can guess at the lady's name.'

    'Is she not all that I have said?'