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“You should smile more,” Crane added to Stephen. “You’d be quite pretty if you weren’t so miserable.”
“That bloke needs a few square meals,” Merrick observed. “And a new suit. And about a week in bed.” “I was thinking along those lines myself,” Crane said. “I bet you were.” “Shut up.
“What’s going on?” Crane enquired in Shanghainese. Graham was a chronic eavesdropper, so they avoided English for even the most trivial conversations, mostly to annoy.
“Stephen,” said Crane softly, trying out the name. Stephen tilted his head back a little. “I...I don’t...” “Oh, you do.” Crane stroked his fingers possessively over the small chin. “You really do. Lovely boy.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” Stephen said weakly, and Crane smiled, knowing that was surrender.
Finally Stephen opened the door a crack and gave him a look of exasperation. Crane responded with a bland smile, and kicked the door open so hard that the other man had to leap back to avoid being hit.
Crane stalked forward. Stephen dropped back a pace.
He shoved, hard; Stephen squirmed sideways. “Not the desk, don’t knock the desk!” he yelped. “I’ve spent all morning doing that—” “The hell with the desk.” Crane shoved it, hard. There was a sad tinkling clatter as a tangle of something metallic collapsed, and Stephen gave a pained cry of protest, which Crane ignored, reaching for him again. Stephen ducked under his arm and sidestepped. Crane grabbed him by the shoulders, walked him back two paces and slammed him against a bookshelf.
“The next bloke takes a swing at my lord, I’m going to break both his arms,” said Merrick. “And that’ll give him trouble when he tries to pick his teeth up. That’s all. Nice talking to you, ma’am.”
“Heroic,” Crane told Baines contemptuously. “Old women, idiot children, bound men, you’ll take on all comers. There’s a three-legged stray dog hangs around the lanes here. Perhaps some day you could work up to kicking that.”
