the tuesday following the party

[billboyd]

Finding out where "Uncle Ian" lives isn't a problem, of course. He checks Nic's file (Monaghan, Dominic) and commits the address to memory. It's not difficult; it's in the Hills, and is unnervingly close to one of Dominguez's abodes

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[billboyd]

She says nothing, just looks at him over the rim of her tea cup. He isn't particularly interested in trying to stare her down, so he just lets her look, taking a drink of his own tea carefully.

It's good, proper English tea -- as he'd known it would be, coming from her, and he's willing to bet her 'Uncle' would make it just the same -- but he's so used to coffee now that it somehow doesn't satisfy. He drinks it anyhow, for the sake of politeness.

There's a book open on the table, something about stained glass, he sees with a bare glance, but it reminds him of the gown she'd restored, and since she clearly isn't going to facilitate any civil conversation -- a staple of any proper English Tea -- it's up to him to give it a go.

"I saw the work you did on Mary of Hapsburg's gown," he says simply, because it isn't like he has anything to use as a segue. "I'm obviously not an expert, but I did view both the before and after photographs, and it seemed like an amazing job to me."

So if you can do that, and if you love it-- and Bill

[billboyd]

She's gone tense and careful, and he supposes he must have done the same. He considers getting up and leaving. He doesn't want to go to a bloody museum with Kate, doesn't want to go to a museum with anyone.

But... for a few minutes, it had been good. Kate had smiled and he had smiled, and where will he go go be himself?

He looks at her, sees her looking at him, her gaze frank but not imposing. And he doesn't get up.

"Maybe sometime," he says, noncommital.