Sam grabbed Tristan by the hand and began pulling him towards the door but Wallingford got there before Sam and laughed.
“Good morning, my little flower,” he said to Gareth, and Tristan knew for certain that Wallingford was one of their clients. He felt sick to his stomach. It had been convenient to imagine that he was the only person that Sam had serviced in the brothel, stupid and naive, but convenient. Having it waved in his face in this fashion made him feel sordid in the extreme.
Alfie had spots of angry colour on his cheeks as he watched the exchange between the men. “I do not have the faintest notion of what is going on between you good gentlemen, nor do I have any desire to find out,” Alfie said, his voice dripping with disdain. “If you would excuse me?” he said, gesturing for Wallingford to move from the door.
Wallingford’s response was to close the door, lock it, take the key from the lock, and drop it into his pocket.