Lord Bumbridge

Griffin slapped his glass down on the table and fought the urge to belch loudly. He was not used to drinking beer, but he'd felt inclined to drink the pint that Gustav, the chef, had ordered for him before he arrived. And after that it would have been rude not to have the second pint. Those, in combination with the Jack Daniels he'd consumed at the Opera House earlier were making him feel a bit tipsy. He was glad that Gustav had suggested The Grotto as a meeting place though. Griffin had only been here once before and that had been after hours of prior drinking with Rex and Todd, so the memory wasn't exactly clear. At this point he was now more interested in watching the flights of the beautiful Glowmoths at the top of The Grand Cavern than he was in listening to Gustav whinge on about his domestic life with the Bumbridges.

Lord Bumbridge tapped at the green door of the Shop with No Name and heard the familiar clippety clop sound of his daughter’s high-heeled mules. She opened the door and ushered him into what appeared to be a reception room, with cedar wood panelling on the walls and a cream marble floor. There was nothing much else of note in the spartan reception apart from a desk, a potted fern and a picture of a loved up couple in a gondola. Lord Bumbridge noted with pride how lovely his daughter looked, with her mane of thick hair, the colour of Gunbridge Bells brick and moss green eyes, just like his.

Lord Bumbridge put down his copy of The Times and took a long sip of whisky. He was seated on a red leather sofa at the Sandrock Road branch of The Institutional Club. Actually it was inaccurate to call it a “branch”, as it was the main and original location of the club for the wealthy Tunbridge Wells elite. One of the younger members had dubbed it “The Mothership” a few years ago and unfortunately the name had stuck. Now all members were expected to use that vile name, as well as calling the town centre branch “The Annex”, which was only marginally less repugnant.

Lord Bumbridge and Hammond Eggs sat at a small table near the kitchen of the Salon du The. The tea room would not be busy for another half an hour or so, giving them enough time to discuss Institutional Club matters without being overheard. Lord Bumbridge looked over to the front of the restaurant to where their respective wives were sat.