flitted across his face as he read the label from one of the worst bottles down in the cellar.
Taking a break from a trumpet-less arrangement, Sam plopped on a barstool and mopped his sweaty face with a handkerchief. Henri slid him a fresh glass of water. “Highest order of German scum we’ve had in the place yet. Your girl to thank for that. She brings nothing but the best, eh?”
“They’re hoping her riches and social status will rub off on them. Not sure how far it’ll stretch since all her power is tied up in England, and at the moment they’re the enemy.”
“Something’s rubbed off on you. You clean up nice.” Sam’s eyebrows waggled with delight.
“Feel like a starched puppet.” Barrett tugged at the starched collar rubbing his neck. It was the most expensive suit he owned, and that wasn’t saying much, but Mrs. Bonheur had scrubbed and mended the pants and jacket to good as new. “Don’t fill those glasses to the top, Henri. Our guests are lit enough, I don’t need the extra spills on the floor.”
“No need to take your sour mood out on me. I don’t like having these crétins stomping around in here any more than you, though I can understand when they’re clamoring around your girl the entire night.” Henri filled the glasses to halfway and tossed the empty bottle in the bin below the bar.
“You’d think they’d stay far away from the English, but they’re the toast of Paris, aren’t they?” A toothy grin split Sam’s face as he drained his water glass. “She could do wonders for you, eh?”
“You two gossip worse than old women.” As per orders, Kat had swept him into the restricted upper echelon of society. Whether English or German, money and the right name got you into any door. Or in his case, her money and name. He didn’t have much to offer her but a pair of fists. A woman like her deserved the best of everything. And the best he was not.
He nodded to the men at the far end of the bar gesturing for their drinks and turned back to Henri. “Get back to work. Both of you.”
Grumbling, Henri took his drinks to the other end of the bar while Sam jogged back to the stage, leaving Barrett alone again. Solitude never bothered him. Years of being shushed in a pub corner while his da finished off a last pint made it easy to keep to himself. The barkeep had even offered him his first job in wiping spills from under the tables. Doubtful his English rose had ever stooped to such an existence.
He snorted. Kat wasn’t his. No more than he was hers. She was an inconvenience with a paycheck attached. A means for a fresh start. He’d never be caught in a back-alley fight with a snot-nosed politician’s son ever again.
“For a bar owner, I’ve yet to see you raise a glass.” Dressed in his finest monkey suit, Eric appeared next to him with full glass in hand.
Barrett leaned his back against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “I like to keep a clear head during business hours.”
“Here I thought Scots couldn’t stand up properly without a wee drink.” Eric laughed at his attempt of humor and slapped Barrett on the back. “Have one on me. Or should I say have one from me on the Führer.”
His rusty laugh chafed down Barrett’s spine. The bill for tonight was footed by the mighty Führer’s government, but they’d only paid for half of the expenses up front. Demanding perfection, Schmidt had assured him that the rest would be paid after the party. The rest of that money coming to the Stag was as sure a bet as Hitler giving up the war anytime soon.
“Thanks, but I prefer my own bottle of Ballantine’s after we close.”
“Ballantine’s? I’ve not heard of it.” Eric’s pale eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. Suddenly, his face lit up. “Maybe later I can join you to celebrate what a glorious evening this has turned out to be.”
How much had he had to drink already? His eyes were their usual pale blue without any glossiness, his words unslurred, and yet he appeared more relaxed and cheerful than ever before. Uneasiness pinpricked the back of Barrett’s neck.
“Good mood tonight, eh?”
“Ja, wunderbar.” Propping an elbow on the bar, Eric leaned close and pointed a finger to the opposite side of the room. “Look at my girl. So lovely, like a pearl among