Chapter 8
“So, do you do anything, Charlie?”
Charlie. He let his eyes close for a moment. No-one called him Charlie except his sister. He pulled in a breath and smiled. “I collect snuff boxes and I write books.”
Harry’s face lit up. “What sort of books?”
“Adventures. I write stories about travelling the world and finding adventure. Do you read?”
“I do. My mother taught me. You must lend me one of your books. I’ll tell you if it’s any good.”
Charles laughed. “Too kind.”
The laughter subsided between them and drifted into a comfortable silence. Charles stared into the fire and sipped his brandy. After a while he looked over at Harry to find his head lolled to one side and his brandy glass tilted precariously. He was fast asleep. Charles moved soundlessly over to his chair and pulled the glass from his fingers. He never moved.