Free The Amber Room by T. Davis Bunn

floorboards and spoke in quiet, cultured tones. Ties and jackets for gentlemen, and appropriately refined dress for ladies, were required at all times.
    The restaurant reminded Jeffrey of the leather-and-wood lined study of a very wealthy man; the original oils adorning the walls were worth millions. The bill of fare was unabashedly English and leaned heavily toward succulent roasts, platters of steamed vegetables, ruby-toned clarets, and thick treacly desserts.
    Once they had ordered and were again alone, Alexander confessed, “I have known a growing pressure within me to come to terms with these new demands of faith—and yet, so often, I feel that I am groping in the dark.”
    â€œI find faith mysterious, too,” Jeffrey admitted.
    â€œWell, then,” Alexander replied, “perhaps we shall havethe pleasure on other cold nights of comparing our walks in the mists of misunderstanding. But for now, I need to speak of other matters.”
    Alexander lowered his voice. “In recent days, I have recognized that my strength and days are precious commodities, and health a gift that must be harbored. I therefore intend, as time goes on, to leave an increasing amount of the purchasing and travel to your capable hands. I shall reserve my time and strength for those pursuits that have not received the attention they should during earlier years. That is, if you do not object.”
    â€œI’m deeply honored,” Jeffrey replied.
    â€œOn the contrary, it is I who am grateful to the Lord with whom I am just beginning to have a nodding acquaintance for gracing my latter years with such a friend as you.” He took a brisker tone. “I shall remain increasingly in London, minding the shop while you are away. Thus the reason for my new flat. As you accept these new responsibilities, I should hope that you would take advantage of my experience.”
    â€œAnd wisdom,” Jeffrey finished for him. “Of course I will.”
    â€œExcellent.” Alexander leaned back as the waiter set down his plate. “Now, let us turn our attention to something more in tune to this splendid repast.”
    â€œThe chalice,” Jeffrey said. He nodded his thanks to the waiter and took a first whiff of perfumed steam.
    â€œPrecisely. The chalice has a most interesting history,” Alexander said. “It is one of the few elements of Christianity that has fascinated me over the years.”
    Jeffrey could not help but smile. “We’re talking about an antique. Of course you liked it.”
    Alexander did not deny it. “Part of the joy of collecting is the wealth of legends that spring up around the items. The older the piece, the more enchanting the stories. Imagine, if you will, that some magnificent object has stood in one corner or another, protected by nothing more than its owner’s greed or love of art—”
    â€œOr both,” Jeffrey offered.
    â€œI will thank you not to interrupt the flow of history,” Alexander said crossly. “Now look what you’ve done. I’ve forgotten what it was I wanted to speak about.”
    â€œGreed?”
    â€œAh, yes. History. Thank you. This object has stood surrounded by intrigue and wars and power struggles, heard secrets spoken from lips whose commands sent hundreds of thousands into mindless battle, observed the endless march of time.”
    â€œIf it only had eyes,” Jeffrey murmured.
    â€œYou have the romance of a horse’s nether regions,” Alexander snapped.
    â€œSorry,” Jeffrey said, hiding his grin behind his glass. “Just slipped out.”
    â€œIt must be something they put in American baby formula. Saps away the ability to wax lyrical about anything but the color green.”
    â€œThis was interesting, it really was,” Jeffrey soothed. “You were going to say something about the chalice?”
    â€œAre you sure you can stay awake for another few moments? Keep your mind