8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
Danny’s ginger head, poking round the half-open door to Nick’s office, waggled its eyebrows interrogatively, and laughing, Nick came to his feet and eagerly shrugged on his winter coat.
“That sounds like a plan,” he said, tucking his scarf into his coat and joining his friend at the door. “Where did you have in mind?”
With a flourish, Danny brought out a bottle filled with clear amber liquid.
“The lounge downstairs,” he proclaimed. “This is better than any whisky you’ll find around here! Even Boodles doesn’t have this in its cellar.” He turned the bottle reverently to show Nick the label, which bore a familiar red, gold and blue crest.
“That’s Osborne’s family coat-of-arms, isn’t it?”
Danny nodded happily as they trotted down the stairs to one of the No 10 reception rooms . Often called into use for informal get-togethers by the No 10 and Cabinet staff, it held an ample supply of drinks glasses of all kinds. Setting his bottle down on the side table holding a decanter and several crystal tumblers, Danny set about removing the cap and carefully pouring a measure into two of the glasses.
“Osborne gave me this as a Christmas present,” he said, all his attention on ensuring that both glasses held the same amount of the unique spirit.
“It’s a Tory tradition to hand out gifts at Christmas, apparently. I was a bit embarrassed that I couldn’t return the favour - well, we Lib Dems just don’t do that sort of thing, do we? - but Osborne was fine with it. Told me that if I insisted on being all Presbyterian and honourable about it, I could find him a present tomorrow, and anything would do, even a couple of tangerines to go in his stocking! One thing’s for sure - I’ll never be able to match this!”
Handling the glasses with as much reverence as a devout Catholic carrying a holy relic, Danny gave one glass to Nick and held the other up before his eyes, studying it with loving eyes. “This,” he said in hushed tones, “Is one of the greatest whiskies ever produced. This, Nicholas my lad, is a 34-year-old Macallan 1968, and bottles are as rare as gold dust.”
Reply
“Well, it seemed rude to turn him down,” explained Danny, flushing a little. “He said that his father had shares in the Macallan distillery, and the family had arranged for a barrel of the 1968 to be set aside and bottled just for the Osbornes. So as far as George was concerned” - Danny pronounced it ‘concairned’, which told Nick that he wasn’t as relaxed about this gift as he was pretending to be. Danny’s accent always strengthened when he was uncomfortable or tense - “As far as George was concerned, he hadna paid anything for the whisky, so he didna feel it was an expensive present, at all.”
Lifting his glass, Danny tasted his whisky and sighed, his eyes closing in pleasure. “Och, that’s smooth,” he murmured, and looking across at Nick, raised his glass, gesturing for Nick to raise his. “To Christmas!” he announced, adding mischievously, “And to Tories with expensive tastes in presents!”
Murmuring what he hoped sounded like agreement, Nick knocked back his whisky, hiding his wince at Danny’s half-joking toast and barely noticing the smooth mellowness of one of the best whiskies he would ever taste. He was too busy kicking himself for rejecting David’s present, the selection of which had clearly taken considerable thought, and for doubting David’s insistence that the giving of lavish presents was a Tory tradition.
Still, Nick thought, placing his now-empty glass on a tray near the door for the cleaners to collect later and following Danny out into Downing St.,I’m sure Cameron was only following the rules of polite conduct as he sees them; the man’s so damned charming that it’s impossible to tell when he’s being sincere and when he’s simply being … courteous!
I was only trying to keep myself… safe. Free of that magnetic charisma of his. Independent… it would be so easy to fall for David, and I daren’t. My relations with the party are bad enough without that.
I’ll apologise for my churlishness when I see him tomorrow. That should mend bridges well enough.
Funny, though - he really did look quite upset back there for a moment… no, he couldn’t have been. Not David I’m-Prime-Minister-and-isn’t-this-fun Cameron!
***
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment