“Let’s get a Clark’s Garden in you,” Clark says, and gestures to the waiter, ignoring my groan. This is a beverage of his own design, comprised of rosewater and orangeblossom, as well as quantities of lemon juice, salt, black rum, and strong, carbonated ginger beer. It is not dissimilar to drinking a flask of cheap perfume, and God help you if you should spill it upon your shirt; you end up smelling like, not to put too fine a point upon it, Shipton Road.
