Gentlemen Formerly Dressed Read Free Page A

article concerned some international economic conference being held in London. The accompanying photograph was of Ramsay MacDonald, the British Prime Minister, with an American delegate. A figure stood in the background, half-turned and somewhat out of focus, but Rowland was sure it was Wilfred.
    â€œDid he say he was coming to London?” Milton asked, retrieving the drinks Clyde had abandoned.
    Rowland shook his head. “No.” He looked at the picture again. “What the devil’s he doing here?”
    Clyde and Milton exchanged a glance. It was entirely conceivable that Wilfred Sinclair had come to London anticipating a need to rescue his younger brother, but that was not a notion that would please Rowland. So, they didn’t mention it.
    But clearly Rowland’s mind had already moved in that direction. Irritated, he tossed the paper onto the couch. That he had very nearly needed rescue did not make Wilfred’s interference any less annoying. He was twenty-eight, for God’s sake!
    Edna stepped out of her bedroom, in a simple navy evening dress which skimmed gently over the curves of her figure. Her dark copper tresses were caught in a coil at the base of her neck. She smiled.
    Rowland forgot about Wilfred.
    â€œWhere did Mr. Beresford go?” Edna asked, looking about for the butler who had come with the suite.
    â€œI believe he’s checking on our reservations for dinner,” Rowland said. “It might be difficult to keep him occupied.” Beresford had already cleaned and pressed their suits, polished their shoes and mixed pre-dinner cocktails with extraordinary and yet unobtrusive efficiency.
    â€œWell, you might have asked him to help you with your tie,” Edna said, sitting on the arm of Rowland’s chair.
    Milton cleared his throat disapprovingly. The poet considered it a matter of colonial evolution that the Australian gentleman dressed himself.
    Sighing, Edna leaned down to deal with the bow tie which hung loosely around Rowland’s neck.
    â€œI thought I’d attend to it myself,” he murmured, as her fingers worked deftly at his throat.
    Clyde laughed. “I can barely tie a bow with the use of two hands.”
    â€œThere.” Edna considered Rowland critically. “How ever did you manage your cufflink?” she asked, noting that he was in fact now quite immaculately dressed.
    He grimaced. “I used my teeth, actually.”
    She smoothed his lapel. “Poor Rowly. You may have to start dressing more casually.”
    â€œCasually?” Rowland was clearly unenthused.
    â€œI’m not suggesting you go out in pyjamas… We could get you one of those polo shirts.”
    â€œI don’t intend to play polo,” Rowland said firmly.
    â€œOh, don’t be so stuffy, Rowly. They’re all the rage and they’ll be entirely adequate while we’re on the boat at least. The cast will be ready to come off by the time we reach Sydney and you can go back to your suits.”
    Rowland elected to leave the sculptress’ fashion advice alone for the moment. “Actually, I was thinking I wouldn’t go home just yet.”
    Milton and Clyde both looked up, surprised.
    â€œWhy ever not?” Edna demanded.
    After what he’d been through, they had all expected Rowland would be keener than any of them to go home.
    â€œI think I should speak to someone about what we saw… what’s happening in Germany.”
    â€œSpeak to whom?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” Rowland reached over to retrieve the Guardian from the table on which he’d discarded it. “Surely someone in His Majesty’s government will be interested in what their German neighbours are up to.”
    â€œHow do you propose to get an audience with a Member of Parliament?” Clyde asked sceptically. The Sinclairs wielded influence in Australia, but Britain was another thing altogether.
    â€œI’m not sure,” Rowland