Luck let a gentleman see...
Characters: Claire Delacour-Weasley & Duff Wood
Authors: kate_lamb and leigh_lamb
Date set: January 2035 (Claire is 31 & Duff is 28)
Rating: Anyone
Summary: Duff and Claire run into each other again.
Claire sipped at her glass of burgundy, completely immersed in the portfolio in front of her. Her business lunch partner had had to cancel on her; something about a last minute trunk show for Wizarding Vogue, but Claire was loathe to let reservations at Le Duc du Barry go to waste. While she knew her brother would have wanted her to come to one of his places, she liked to frequent many establishments in London that weren’t owned by family.
She shifted the sketches, glancing over the fall designs. Furs were back in... wonderful.
Claire did love a good mink.
Having spent the morning with the press, Duff was glad for the privacy afforded by Le Duc du Barry. It was part of the job, one his father had excelled at in his day and Duff did a pretty good job of the schmoozing himself, but it was draining and he appreciated the relative anonymity this establishment provided him.
As the maître d' showed him to a table, a familiar face caught his eye. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Claire Delacour-Weasley, but she was as striking as ever. At his request, he was redirected toward her table.
“The lovely Claire Delacour-Weasley,” he said by way of salutation. “What a pleasant surprise, running into you.”
One blonde brow rose at the familiar voice, and Claire glanced up from the portfolio to see Duff Wood, someone she hadn’t seen in... Merlin, it’d been years. Of course, she’d heard all about him; the man went through witches as often as she changed her knickers, and he was a darling of the tabloids. Every picture was him with some new bird on his arm.
The pictures, however, did not do him justice. He’d grown since they’d last seen one another, and the passing years had been kind to him.
“Duff Wood,” she replied, nodding her head in greeting, “it’s been a while. What brings you around?”
“I was just planning to enjoy a quiet meal by myself, but if you’re free, I’d be glad for the company.” Duff’s lips curled as he remembered the time, years ago now, he’d managed to convince Claire to go dancing with him. It was a fun evening, but he was still a boy for all intents and purposes back then. He was too focused on having a good time to give much thought to the potential of a relationship.
She gave him an appraising look, then smiled, her lips giving a small curl upwards. Why not? “As your luck would have it, my associate had to reschedule. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Brill.” He slipped into the seat across from the lovely blonde witch, ordering a glass of the same bold red his companion was sipping. Eying the sketches spread out before her, he inquired, “Are those your designs?”
Claire gathered up the sketches and slid them neatly back into the portfolio. “No,” she replied, “I was looking them over for a colleague. The lines for fall are nearly ready for production, and fashion month is just around the corner.”
Nodding, Duff lifted his glass to his lips. “I didn’t think they were your style. They were well put together pieces, but not the usual flair I’ve come to expect from your designs. That chartreuse number you did in the silk shantung last spring was especially striking.”
“Ah bon? And how do you know that was my design and not my Maman’s?”
“How long has my mother been dressing in your mother’s clothes? I’m familiar with your mum’s designs. Yours have a little more avant garde feel to them. Your mum’s are are beautiful and classic, but you take more risks.” Duff liked fashion. He liked to look good, and he liked to make sure the woman on his arm looked good. He did his homework.
One blonde brow rose in surprise. She would not have expected the man sitting across from her to know the first thing about fashion. Of course, the suit he wore was impeccably tailored, but that did not always mean the wearer knew anything about their clothes. It was like Alex; just because she wore beautiful clothes that their Maman had designed didn’t mean she knew the first thing about them.
“You’ve done your research,” she commented lightly, taking another sip of her burgundy. “I must admit, I am impressed.”
“The bludgers haven’t knocked out all my sense yet,” he teased, “and I like beautiful things.”
‘Only most of it,” Claire replied, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “So, what brings you to Le Duc du Barry?” This restaurant wasn’t normally the type where single men came to eat alone.
Chuckling softly at her little dig, Duff shrugged. “I spent the morning surrounded by the press and I wanted to go somewhere private enough that I could relax afterward. As soon as I get home I’ll be answering messages and people will want me showing up at this event or that one. It’s nice to get a break in the middle of the day when I can.”
“Such is life in the public eye,” she commented. Her life was in the public eye as well, though not to the same extent. Designers only gained face recognition when they became household names. Her mother had achieved that level of success; Claire, though recognizable, was not as famous as her mother.
“And I do believe they have a strict ‘no fangirls’ policy at the door.”
Duff’s lips twitched. “Does that mean you’re not a fan?”
“If you’re playing against the Harpies, then no, I’m not,” Claire replied. “Besides, if I were, I’m not the type of fangirl who usually follows you around, professing undying adoration and offering my knickers.”
“I suppose I can’t have everything,” he teased with a grin. “Pity, too, I bet you have very pretty knickers. You know, being a designer and all.”
“Too bad you will never know for sure.” Claire gave him a sweet smile and took another sip of her wine.
Eyes wide, Duff pretended to be affronted. He knew he had a reputation, and there was a lot of truth to it, but there were also occasions where the women he was seen with were just people he did business with. Investors or from companies who wanted him to be a spokesperson. Sometimes they were just friends he could call on to attend an event when he didn’t want the hassle of some woman desperate to be seen with a celebrity.
“And what have I done to be so unceremoniously cut off the list of men who might ever have that chance?”
“Aside from the supposed revolving door to your bedroom?” she queried. Claire had heard the stories from many different sources; the tabloids, for one, though they weren’t exactly trustworthy. But she had also heard it firsthand from business acquaintances; several of the models who had worked the last Delacour show spoke admiringly of Duff’s... qualities.
Claire had no desire to be a nameless face, one in a long list of conquests.
Side-stepping his questions, she replied, “I’m only interested in certain types of men.”
Had she not shut him down, Duff might not have pressed the issue so far, but now he was intrigued. Clearly Miss Delacour-Weasley had formed a very specific opinion of him, despite the fact they hadn’t spoken in years. Whether he deserved the full severity of it remained to be seen.
“Setting aside the revolving door for a moment,” he began, “what ‘types’ are you interested in, and what ‘type’ am I?”
She gave him a calculated look. There was a challenging look in his eyes, and his tone held just a hint of...hurt? No, she must have imagined that.
“To answer your second question,” she replied, “you like beautiful ‘things.’ To a man such as yourself, women are disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits. Your position in life coupled with your looks affords you the opportunity to play the field, so to speak, and you do it with great finesse, breaking hearts at thirty paces. Of course, you’d never mistreat a woman, but long-term possibilities are sacrificed for the pleasures of here and now.”
Taking another sip of her wine, she finished, “And as for your first question, I don’t think I’ll make it that easy on you and answer it.”
Duff sat thoughtfully for a minute, mulling the things she’d said. Claire hadn’t spoken with disdain, but it was clear she was putting a protective wall around herself, as if he might slip some Amortentia into her glass and whisk her away for carnal pleasures.
Not that carnal pleasures with the woman across from him would be any kind of hardship, but it was true, he could get that most anywhere if he wanted to. He was not setting out to break any hearts today.
“But that account, I sound like a right bastard,” he said genially, pausing to allow their orders to be taken when the waiter returned. “I don’t believe I referenced any women when I spoke of beautiful things, though. As I recall, we were discussing fashion. I won’t deny that have a great appreciation for the charms of women, but I’m curious where you’re getting your information. You seem better informed than the rags.”
“Several of the models in my mother’s employment have been privy to your... charms,” she said. “What can I say? Word gets around.” As, apparently, do you.
“Were they broken-hearted?” he asked.
Monique was still holding out hope that one day, the man sitting across from her would admit his undying affection for her. Then again, she’d always had a few screws loose. “One was, I believe.”
His brow furrowed slightly. Duff tried never to lead a woman. Inevitably a few would believe what they wanted anyway and end up hurt. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he told her sincerely. “It seems a bit hard to lay the entirety of the blame on my doorstep, though. I assure you I’ve never coerced a woman into bed.”
“I believe you,” Claire replied. She fell silent when the waiter came by and refilled her wine glass, sending him a small smile and a murmured, “Merci.”
When the man had left, she took a sip of her drink, letting the rich wine dance over her palate. It soothed her, in a way that few things were able to, and allowed her to gather her thoughts accordingly. A long moment passed before she said, “I’ve not the time to engage in casual love affairs. Your conduct with the opposite sex is of no concern to anyone but yourself, and I certainly do not judge you.” Her own brother was no better than the man sitting across from her. “That is why I said what I said earlier.”
“But you have no interest in allowing me to prove your opinion wrong?” Leaning forward, his voice was low, just for the two of them. “As I recall, I was a perfect gentleman when we went out that evening. Not as much as a hand on your bum.”
“That was also more than ten years ago.” Merlin, had so much time really passed since they had gone out? She was getting... a light shadow passed over her face at the thought. She was getting old.
Quirking a brow at him, she continued, “And you’ve given no indication that you wish to change my opinion of you.” And frankly, given her assessment of him, she would be surprised if he would even want to.
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “Did you suppose I was debating the issue for the sport of it? I don’t much care how I’m portrayed in the tabloids, provided it doesn’t affect my career, and I don’t generally devote much time to distancing myself from the ‘manwhore’ label that’s been attached to my back for years now. That you would prefer to trust the word of others over your own experience troubles me a bit, though.”
“And was I supposed to query your reputation at an earlier time?” she asked. “This is the first I’ve seen you in longer than I can remember, so forgive me if the word of others is all I’ve had to go on.”
“Well, we shouldn’t fall into that trap again,” Duff said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should see me again this weekend.”
“Oh, I should?” Claire’s expression was amused. “Is that a request or a suggestion?”
“Yes, one of those. Or possibly both. Whichever gets you to agree.” His eyes twinkled as he raised a brow in challenge. “It’s only fair that I be given the opportunity to defend myself.”
“Well, if it’s only fair...” she trailed off, lips twitching. What harm could there be in another date? She highly doubted that Duff was her type, but there was always the possibility that he would surprise her. “Alright, I don’t see why not. I’m available on Saturday evening, if you’re amenable.”
He hadn’t started his lunch with the intention of making a date, but Duff couldn’t think of any reason to lament the turn of events. That Claire was gorgeous, talented, and a bit of a challenge were all things he found rather alluring. “Saturday it is,” he agreed. “Shall I pick you up around seven?”
“Seven o’clock,” she nodded, reaching for the wine glass. After a long, refreshing sip of her burgundy, she let her lips curl upwards in a small smirk. “Don’t be late.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” he returned, leaning into the back of his chair with a satisfied air. He’d charmed the press in the morning and a lovely lady at lunch. This day was getting better by the moment.
Authors: kate_lamb and leigh_lamb
Date set: January 2035 (Claire is 31 & Duff is 28)
Rating: Anyone
Summary: Duff and Claire run into each other again.
Claire sipped at her glass of burgundy, completely immersed in the portfolio in front of her. Her business lunch partner had had to cancel on her; something about a last minute trunk show for Wizarding Vogue, but Claire was loathe to let reservations at Le Duc du Barry go to waste. While she knew her brother would have wanted her to come to one of his places, she liked to frequent many establishments in London that weren’t owned by family.
She shifted the sketches, glancing over the fall designs. Furs were back in... wonderful.
Claire did love a good mink.
Having spent the morning with the press, Duff was glad for the privacy afforded by Le Duc du Barry. It was part of the job, one his father had excelled at in his day and Duff did a pretty good job of the schmoozing himself, but it was draining and he appreciated the relative anonymity this establishment provided him.
As the maître d' showed him to a table, a familiar face caught his eye. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Claire Delacour-Weasley, but she was as striking as ever. At his request, he was redirected toward her table.
“The lovely Claire Delacour-Weasley,” he said by way of salutation. “What a pleasant surprise, running into you.”
One blonde brow rose at the familiar voice, and Claire glanced up from the portfolio to see Duff Wood, someone she hadn’t seen in... Merlin, it’d been years. Of course, she’d heard all about him; the man went through witches as often as she changed her knickers, and he was a darling of the tabloids. Every picture was him with some new bird on his arm.
The pictures, however, did not do him justice. He’d grown since they’d last seen one another, and the passing years had been kind to him.
“Duff Wood,” she replied, nodding her head in greeting, “it’s been a while. What brings you around?”
“I was just planning to enjoy a quiet meal by myself, but if you’re free, I’d be glad for the company.” Duff’s lips curled as he remembered the time, years ago now, he’d managed to convince Claire to go dancing with him. It was a fun evening, but he was still a boy for all intents and purposes back then. He was too focused on having a good time to give much thought to the potential of a relationship.
She gave him an appraising look, then smiled, her lips giving a small curl upwards. Why not? “As your luck would have it, my associate had to reschedule. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Brill.” He slipped into the seat across from the lovely blonde witch, ordering a glass of the same bold red his companion was sipping. Eying the sketches spread out before her, he inquired, “Are those your designs?”
Claire gathered up the sketches and slid them neatly back into the portfolio. “No,” she replied, “I was looking them over for a colleague. The lines for fall are nearly ready for production, and fashion month is just around the corner.”
Nodding, Duff lifted his glass to his lips. “I didn’t think they were your style. They were well put together pieces, but not the usual flair I’ve come to expect from your designs. That chartreuse number you did in the silk shantung last spring was especially striking.”
“Ah bon? And how do you know that was my design and not my Maman’s?”
“How long has my mother been dressing in your mother’s clothes? I’m familiar with your mum’s designs. Yours have a little more avant garde feel to them. Your mum’s are are beautiful and classic, but you take more risks.” Duff liked fashion. He liked to look good, and he liked to make sure the woman on his arm looked good. He did his homework.
One blonde brow rose in surprise. She would not have expected the man sitting across from her to know the first thing about fashion. Of course, the suit he wore was impeccably tailored, but that did not always mean the wearer knew anything about their clothes. It was like Alex; just because she wore beautiful clothes that their Maman had designed didn’t mean she knew the first thing about them.
“You’ve done your research,” she commented lightly, taking another sip of her burgundy. “I must admit, I am impressed.”
“The bludgers haven’t knocked out all my sense yet,” he teased, “and I like beautiful things.”
‘Only most of it,” Claire replied, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “So, what brings you to Le Duc du Barry?” This restaurant wasn’t normally the type where single men came to eat alone.
Chuckling softly at her little dig, Duff shrugged. “I spent the morning surrounded by the press and I wanted to go somewhere private enough that I could relax afterward. As soon as I get home I’ll be answering messages and people will want me showing up at this event or that one. It’s nice to get a break in the middle of the day when I can.”
“Such is life in the public eye,” she commented. Her life was in the public eye as well, though not to the same extent. Designers only gained face recognition when they became household names. Her mother had achieved that level of success; Claire, though recognizable, was not as famous as her mother.
“And I do believe they have a strict ‘no fangirls’ policy at the door.”
Duff’s lips twitched. “Does that mean you’re not a fan?”
“If you’re playing against the Harpies, then no, I’m not,” Claire replied. “Besides, if I were, I’m not the type of fangirl who usually follows you around, professing undying adoration and offering my knickers.”
“I suppose I can’t have everything,” he teased with a grin. “Pity, too, I bet you have very pretty knickers. You know, being a designer and all.”
“Too bad you will never know for sure.” Claire gave him a sweet smile and took another sip of her wine.
Eyes wide, Duff pretended to be affronted. He knew he had a reputation, and there was a lot of truth to it, but there were also occasions where the women he was seen with were just people he did business with. Investors or from companies who wanted him to be a spokesperson. Sometimes they were just friends he could call on to attend an event when he didn’t want the hassle of some woman desperate to be seen with a celebrity.
“And what have I done to be so unceremoniously cut off the list of men who might ever have that chance?”
“Aside from the supposed revolving door to your bedroom?” she queried. Claire had heard the stories from many different sources; the tabloids, for one, though they weren’t exactly trustworthy. But she had also heard it firsthand from business acquaintances; several of the models who had worked the last Delacour show spoke admiringly of Duff’s... qualities.
Claire had no desire to be a nameless face, one in a long list of conquests.
Side-stepping his questions, she replied, “I’m only interested in certain types of men.”
Had she not shut him down, Duff might not have pressed the issue so far, but now he was intrigued. Clearly Miss Delacour-Weasley had formed a very specific opinion of him, despite the fact they hadn’t spoken in years. Whether he deserved the full severity of it remained to be seen.
“Setting aside the revolving door for a moment,” he began, “what ‘types’ are you interested in, and what ‘type’ am I?”
She gave him a calculated look. There was a challenging look in his eyes, and his tone held just a hint of...hurt? No, she must have imagined that.
“To answer your second question,” she replied, “you like beautiful ‘things.’ To a man such as yourself, women are disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits. Your position in life coupled with your looks affords you the opportunity to play the field, so to speak, and you do it with great finesse, breaking hearts at thirty paces. Of course, you’d never mistreat a woman, but long-term possibilities are sacrificed for the pleasures of here and now.”
Taking another sip of her wine, she finished, “And as for your first question, I don’t think I’ll make it that easy on you and answer it.”
Duff sat thoughtfully for a minute, mulling the things she’d said. Claire hadn’t spoken with disdain, but it was clear she was putting a protective wall around herself, as if he might slip some Amortentia into her glass and whisk her away for carnal pleasures.
Not that carnal pleasures with the woman across from him would be any kind of hardship, but it was true, he could get that most anywhere if he wanted to. He was not setting out to break any hearts today.
“But that account, I sound like a right bastard,” he said genially, pausing to allow their orders to be taken when the waiter returned. “I don’t believe I referenced any women when I spoke of beautiful things, though. As I recall, we were discussing fashion. I won’t deny that have a great appreciation for the charms of women, but I’m curious where you’re getting your information. You seem better informed than the rags.”
“Several of the models in my mother’s employment have been privy to your... charms,” she said. “What can I say? Word gets around.” As, apparently, do you.
“Were they broken-hearted?” he asked.
Monique was still holding out hope that one day, the man sitting across from her would admit his undying affection for her. Then again, she’d always had a few screws loose. “One was, I believe.”
His brow furrowed slightly. Duff tried never to lead a woman. Inevitably a few would believe what they wanted anyway and end up hurt. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he told her sincerely. “It seems a bit hard to lay the entirety of the blame on my doorstep, though. I assure you I’ve never coerced a woman into bed.”
“I believe you,” Claire replied. She fell silent when the waiter came by and refilled her wine glass, sending him a small smile and a murmured, “Merci.”
When the man had left, she took a sip of her drink, letting the rich wine dance over her palate. It soothed her, in a way that few things were able to, and allowed her to gather her thoughts accordingly. A long moment passed before she said, “I’ve not the time to engage in casual love affairs. Your conduct with the opposite sex is of no concern to anyone but yourself, and I certainly do not judge you.” Her own brother was no better than the man sitting across from her. “That is why I said what I said earlier.”
“But you have no interest in allowing me to prove your opinion wrong?” Leaning forward, his voice was low, just for the two of them. “As I recall, I was a perfect gentleman when we went out that evening. Not as much as a hand on your bum.”
“That was also more than ten years ago.” Merlin, had so much time really passed since they had gone out? She was getting... a light shadow passed over her face at the thought. She was getting old.
Quirking a brow at him, she continued, “And you’ve given no indication that you wish to change my opinion of you.” And frankly, given her assessment of him, she would be surprised if he would even want to.
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “Did you suppose I was debating the issue for the sport of it? I don’t much care how I’m portrayed in the tabloids, provided it doesn’t affect my career, and I don’t generally devote much time to distancing myself from the ‘manwhore’ label that’s been attached to my back for years now. That you would prefer to trust the word of others over your own experience troubles me a bit, though.”
“And was I supposed to query your reputation at an earlier time?” she asked. “This is the first I’ve seen you in longer than I can remember, so forgive me if the word of others is all I’ve had to go on.”
“Well, we shouldn’t fall into that trap again,” Duff said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should see me again this weekend.”
“Oh, I should?” Claire’s expression was amused. “Is that a request or a suggestion?”
“Yes, one of those. Or possibly both. Whichever gets you to agree.” His eyes twinkled as he raised a brow in challenge. “It’s only fair that I be given the opportunity to defend myself.”
“Well, if it’s only fair...” she trailed off, lips twitching. What harm could there be in another date? She highly doubted that Duff was her type, but there was always the possibility that he would surprise her. “Alright, I don’t see why not. I’m available on Saturday evening, if you’re amenable.”
He hadn’t started his lunch with the intention of making a date, but Duff couldn’t think of any reason to lament the turn of events. That Claire was gorgeous, talented, and a bit of a challenge were all things he found rather alluring. “Saturday it is,” he agreed. “Shall I pick you up around seven?”
“Seven o’clock,” she nodded, reaching for the wine glass. After a long, refreshing sip of her burgundy, she let her lips curl upwards in a small smirk. “Don’t be late.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” he returned, leaning into the back of his chair with a satisfied air. He’d charmed the press in the morning and a lovely lady at lunch. This day was getting better by the moment.