Chapter Text
Cormoran nodded his head towards the middle of the gilded room, towards a pair sitting opposite each other, the woman in a baby-pink tight dress, the man rotund, dressed expensively, and hair pure white.
“Grandfather treating a granddaughter to a celebratory graduation dinner?” Robin suggested hopefully. Cormoran snorted, which made her roll her eyes.
“What do you think, then?”
He cocked his head at her, giving her a look of, what do you think?
“Excuse me for trying to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
Cormoran smiled at her, amused because he knew Robin meant that. Even after all these years, at this job.
But she was wrong. Because the geriatric man—too old to get down on one knee—pulled out a velvet box and presented the obscenely young woman a diamond ring so huge, they could see it glint from feet away.
The young woman shrieked, and eyes turned to her. The wealthy patrons at The Ritz getting an eyeful as the woman clearly in her early twenties devoured the sextogenarian’s mouth in excitement over her good luck.
Robin sighed, as though thoroughly saddened by this. She knew she shouldn’t judge, but you never see it, do you? The tables turned, where the young, rich man, chooses an older, poorer wife.
Men are so predictable.
“Cheer up,” said Cormoran, topping off her champagne. “And get a good look because one of them will end up on our door, bet you a tenner.”
“You’re so cynical.” Robin quipped. “Maybe it’s true love. Maybe he’s an old bachelor who thought love was simply not in his cards until she came along.”
Cormoran looked at Robin, who seemed down somewhat. “Maybe.”
She gave him a look. “Don’t humor me.”
He laughed. “Some people might have that story, I grant you. Not those two, though.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because that’s Charleston Weber. He hired me before and that was already wife number three.”
“Fine. What about those over there?” Robin nodded at the three men to their left. They looked young. Casually dressed, but you can tell every thread on their body was luxury. Robin already surmised their story, but was curious what Cormoran was going to say.
“Two of them are a gay couple,” said Cormoran easily. “Fishing for a third—looks like they found one, then.”
Robin’s mouth gaped. “How did you know that?” Her guess was that they were a throuple—something Robin thought Cormoran wouldn’t have heard of, much less guess.
Cormoran sniggered. “They were at it at the toilet when I went in there, sending bloody signals…”
“Sending you signals?” Robin’s entire demeanor seemed to expand, amused and intrigued at the idea. Cormoran laughed. “I got the impression they weren’t being picky.”
“Gosh, but at The Ritz?”
Cormoran shrugged. “It’s everywhere, Robin. If you’re wearing the right clothes and order the right things, you can get away with anything anywhere.
“Those two are a good one,” Cormoran gestured for a couple in a tight corner. They look about Ted’s age. Their clothes were modest but smart. They look like they were having a ball, looking at the menu and whispering to each other before falling into covert giggles. And then Robin saw the man take the woman’s hand and place a sweet kiss on her cheek. The woman blushed and beamed, looking pleased.
“Brother and sister.” Robin joked. Cormoran, who didn’t expect that, barked out a large and surprised laugh.
“Husband and wife, but they run an underground trafficking ring.” she guessed again, which kept Cormoran laughing.
“Secret old lovers celebrating having murdered their respective spouses.”
“Alright, I get it. Is that what I sound like?” Cormoran challenged.
But Robin was enjoying herself. “Sometimes.”
“Mind you, your guesses are as good as any. But I happen to think they’re the real deal.”
“Real deal?” Robin asked, surprised at this coming out of Cormoran’s mouth.
“I was partly raised by Ted and Joan, and they were the real deal so I do know it when I see it.” He said matter of factly.
Robin didn’t know why, but she was pleased that Cormoran isn’t a total cynic.
“Evidence?”
“They don’t look like they frequent places like these, they’re having a whale of a time and they haven’t even started drinking.”
“I know what you mean. A milestone anniversary, maybe.”
“My guess, too.” Cormoran agreed. “There’s hope for the rest of us, then.”
After companionable celebratory champagne, they headed off, walking back out into London though in no hurry to part.
They walk past a closed shop, the darkness reflecting the bright London street.
Noticing their reflection, walking side by side, Robin couldn’t resist: “What about those two?”
Cormoran peered to where she gestured, finding them reflected onto the shop window. And he looked at Robin’s reflection, pretty by any standards, and he felt a surge of inexplicable pride that he knows her, that they are together whatever ‘together’ means for them at that moment.
“They’re mates,” Cormoran started. And Robin bowed her head, looking away from Cormoran at this, feeling a little foolish suddenly. “Can’t get a read on her, but him I think he wished they were…more.”
He had let it leak out now, the bold honest truth. Why keep holding onto the rest of it?
“I think he finds the woman to be the best person he’s ever met, but he’s worried that he might not be up to scratch.”
Robin, who during this was mostly looking at the reflection of her legs in the mirror, looked then at Cormoran’s.
“What about you?” Cormoran asked her. “What’s your guess?”
She cocked her head to the side, as though genuinely appraising their reflection, examining it. And then she slipped her hand in his, and he--almost on involuntary instinct—pulled her hand up to press the back of it against his lips.
And Robin, still looking at their reflection, leaned her head against Cormoran’s expansive bicep and said, “I think they’re the real deal.”