Tonight was a very important night. Tonight was the night where Harper would prove to Philip that he could also cook. Of course, he was sure that Philip was not expecting fine dining, and Harper was not expecting to produce that, but Philip had cooked so often for Harper he had to make it perfect. So, he had made sure he wasn't on call at the Hospital that day, sent his two maids and footman out on a day off, purchased 2 lbs of mutton and all the necessary ingredients to make a simple mutton curry, and then used one of those pounds to make three practice batches. By the end of the afternoon, he was fairly confident it wouldn't be terrible.

So, as the appointed hour drew near, Harper retreated to the kitchen, a room he still felt incredibly uncomfortable in, and started on the meal. As he chopped the onions and mutton and began frying them in the curry powder, he could appreciate the mechanical nature of the task. It was calming and structured. But as it came time to add the water and wait for it to stew, he felt more and more pressure. He was nervous. No, he was incredibly nervous. He wasn't sure exactly why. Probably just a lot of imagined pressure on this meal. It was just a polite thank you that was all. Right? Why was this pot just not stewing fast enough!

A loud rapping on the front door jolted him from his thoughts and he realised that it had been more than enough time. Frantically he added a teacupful of milk, replaced the lid and rushed to the door, removing his apron along the way and throwing on his tuxedo jacket instead. Taking a second to breathe and smooth down his jacket, he threw open the door with a beaming smile. "Philip! Just on time! Please do come in."

Philip Aymslowe