same.’
‘Have you been a member for long?’ I asked, hoping to turn Ambrose from his bullish course of conversation.
‘Six years,’ he replied, before stuffing a forkful of sole into his mouth. ‘Or is it seven? I forget—a while, anyhow.’ He mumbled his words, his mouth half full of food.
‘And you make regular use of the facilities?’
‘Too right old chap, and I recommend you do the same!’ he remarked. ‘The Apollonian is like a palace—in fact, I’ll wager it’s better than most palaces; all Portland stone, marble, electric chandeliers and plush ottomans. Imagine the cost of running such a home—yet for ten guineas a year we have joint proprietorship of all this. The library, coffee rooms and fine dining… everything. We have footmen in livery, mosaic floors and antique silverware. We can order wine from the stores that would cause the head waiter at the Savoy to question the extravagance. In short, John, everything is of the best, and it costs next to nothing.’ He grinned, and finished off his fish with gusto.
‘It all seems rather more decadent than I am used to,’ I said, ‘and, if I’m honest, I would feel that I was taking advantage were I to use these facilities too frequently.’
‘Well, it looks as if I’ve finally found a real gentleman in London,’ he laughed. ‘I can only assume that you retire of an evening to a palace fit for a Maharaja, surrounded by servants, silk cushions and gilded statues. No? Well, let me tell you this: a man can make his club his home if he is of a mind. I live and lounge luxuriously here as I please. I graze upon the masterworks of the best-equipped private library in the land; I enjoy conversation with some of the most dazzling wits of our time; I often sleep here in the rooms provided. In fact, the only thing I ever need to get through life is a toothbrush. And I’ve earned it.’ His jovial tone dropped to a more serious, conspiratorial whisper—the first sign that he had any sense of decorum whatsoever. ‘I have earned it, John, in the same way that you will earn it; because I am a member of Apollo Lycea, the inner sanctum of the club. When I use the order’s seal to endorse a report, it would not surprise me if the Queen herself took an interest in its contents. When I investigate a heinous crime, I put my life on the line for the good of the Empire. Do you see?’
I nodded. Ambrose was keen to jest, but he had come to the crux of the matter. There was a momentary pause in the conversation as the waiter came to clear away our plates.
‘You are not what I expected,’ I said, when the interruption was over. ‘Meaning no disrespect, Sir Toby described the order as “warriors”.’
‘Oh, we are!’ Ambrose exclaimed. ‘What you really mean is that I am no soldier, unlike you. So you are wondering what exactly it is that I do?’
‘I would not have put it so bluntly.’
‘Of course not, because of your breeding and military bearing and fine feeling.’ There was a twinkle in Ambrose’s eye—he was evidently intent on needling me. ‘I’ll tell you what I do for Queen and country, Captain Hardwick. I listen, I sneak, I skulk and even steal. I whore and I drink. The last two things I do more than I ought. Oh, and they aren’t actually part of the job, but you get the gist.’
Ambrose must have registered the look of disapproval on my face. He looked unabashed, and savoured the moment as the waiter placed the main course in front of us, and topped up our iced water and glasses of wine to the sound of distant violins.
‘Don’t worry, John,’ he went on, gulping his wine, ‘You won’t be expected to do any of the unsavoury stuff. We are all recruited for our own unique talents. I’m an adventurer of the worst kind—I was in all kinds of bother before Sir Toby ever found me, and I might add that he got me out of an awful pickle. You are… well, you’re an honest man, which makes you something of a rarity in this nest of
‘Have you been a member for long?’ I asked, hoping to turn Ambrose from his bullish course of conversation.
‘Six years,’ he replied, before stuffing a forkful of sole into his mouth. ‘Or is it seven? I forget—a while, anyhow.’ He mumbled his words, his mouth half full of food.
‘And you make regular use of the facilities?’
‘Too right old chap, and I recommend you do the same!’ he remarked. ‘The Apollonian is like a palace—in fact, I’ll wager it’s better than most palaces; all Portland stone, marble, electric chandeliers and plush ottomans. Imagine the cost of running such a home—yet for ten guineas a year we have joint proprietorship of all this. The library, coffee rooms and fine dining… everything. We have footmen in livery, mosaic floors and antique silverware. We can order wine from the stores that would cause the head waiter at the Savoy to question the extravagance. In short, John, everything is of the best, and it costs next to nothing.’ He grinned, and finished off his fish with gusto.
‘It all seems rather more decadent than I am used to,’ I said, ‘and, if I’m honest, I would feel that I was taking advantage were I to use these facilities too frequently.’
‘Well, it looks as if I’ve finally found a real gentleman in London,’ he laughed. ‘I can only assume that you retire of an evening to a palace fit for a Maharaja, surrounded by servants, silk cushions and gilded statues. No? Well, let me tell you this: a man can make his club his home if he is of a mind. I live and lounge luxuriously here as I please. I graze upon the masterworks of the best-equipped private library in the land; I enjoy conversation with some of the most dazzling wits of our time; I often sleep here in the rooms provided. In fact, the only thing I ever need to get through life is a toothbrush. And I’ve earned it.’ His jovial tone dropped to a more serious, conspiratorial whisper—the first sign that he had any sense of decorum whatsoever. ‘I have earned it, John, in the same way that you will earn it; because I am a member of Apollo Lycea, the inner sanctum of the club. When I use the order’s seal to endorse a report, it would not surprise me if the Queen herself took an interest in its contents. When I investigate a heinous crime, I put my life on the line for the good of the Empire. Do you see?’
I nodded. Ambrose was keen to jest, but he had come to the crux of the matter. There was a momentary pause in the conversation as the waiter came to clear away our plates.
‘You are not what I expected,’ I said, when the interruption was over. ‘Meaning no disrespect, Sir Toby described the order as “warriors”.’
‘Oh, we are!’ Ambrose exclaimed. ‘What you really mean is that I am no soldier, unlike you. So you are wondering what exactly it is that I do?’
‘I would not have put it so bluntly.’
‘Of course not, because of your breeding and military bearing and fine feeling.’ There was a twinkle in Ambrose’s eye—he was evidently intent on needling me. ‘I’ll tell you what I do for Queen and country, Captain Hardwick. I listen, I sneak, I skulk and even steal. I whore and I drink. The last two things I do more than I ought. Oh, and they aren’t actually part of the job, but you get the gist.’
Ambrose must have registered the look of disapproval on my face. He looked unabashed, and savoured the moment as the waiter placed the main course in front of us, and topped up our iced water and glasses of wine to the sound of distant violins.
‘Don’t worry, John,’ he went on, gulping his wine, ‘You won’t be expected to do any of the unsavoury stuff. We are all recruited for our own unique talents. I’m an adventurer of the worst kind—I was in all kinds of bother before Sir Toby ever found me, and I might add that he got me out of an awful pickle. You are… well, you’re an honest man, which makes you something of a rarity in this nest of
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