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The next morning, Merlin comes into the shop at ten o’clock to find Will upset and waving a piece of mail in the air.
“Just look at this!” he says, shoving it into Merlin’s hands.
“I don’t understand,” Merlin replies, reading the letter. “Why would they suddenly raise the rent on us? And such a drastic amount?”
He runs his hand through his hair, reading over the letter again. The news is disastrous; there is absolutely no way they can pay such a steep price—they’re going to have to look for a new shop, and moving will cost money.
“The building has evidently changed hands,” Will says, looking like he’s going to be sick. Merlin knows that Will sends money home to his widowed Mum in Ireland every month and can barely afford the rent on his tiny studio flat as it is. “I can’t believe Mrs. Fitzgerald sold the place. She always said she wouldn’t! Fuck, Merlin! What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Merlin says miserably, leaning against the counter and staring at the letter as though he can will the words to change.
“Maybe you can talk to Arthur…he’s got money.” Will looks hopeful.
This is not something Merlin wants to do. He knows Arthur will gladly loan him the money—hell, he’d give it to Merlin if Merlin would take it, but their relationship has never been about money. Part of what makes Merlin special to Arthur is that Merlin doesn’t see Arthur for his wealth and never has, and Merlin intends to keep it that way.
“Maybe I can take out a loan,” Merlin speculates.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Arthur?” Will asks, puzzled. “Less trouble. No interest?”
Merlin’s mobile rings. “Speak of the devil.” He pushes the button. “Hi, Arthur! Will and I were just talking about you.”
“Thought I felt my ears burning,” Arthur quips, but Merlin can hear the tightness in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” Merlin asks. “And what’s all that noise in the background?”
“I’m at the airport,” Arthur tells him. “Last minute change of plans…Jacobs has been assigned the Freemont account, and I’m going with Morgana to China.”
“What? China? For how long?” Merlin stares at Will, eyes wide.
“I don’t know, Merlin.” Arthur sounds miserable. “Maybe a month. This was all dumped in my lap this morning. Listen, the plane’s boarding. I’ll call you when I get to the hotel. I love you.”
The line goes dead, and Merlin stares dumbly at the cell phone.
“That fucking bastard,” he breathes.
“Arthur?” Will frowns.
“No, his father. He did this on purpose. He must have smelled our happiness and devised a way to mess it up.”
Will sits down on a stool. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”
“That sonovabitch is always looking for a way to keep us apart,” Merlin fumes. “No,” he shakes his head, “I just can’t ask Arthur for the money, as much as we need it. It’s always been important to me to show Arthur that I love him for himself only and that his money plays no part in it. I hope you understand.”
Will sighs. “I guess we ought to head to the bank and see about that loan, then.”
Merlin smiles ruefully. “I guess we’d better.”