Arrow House Cellar, 1933

Tommy had pulled you aside, out of the main room of his most recent black tie soirée.

"Arthur's in the wine cellar, he's not in a bad way, just down, asked me to send you," he said quietly, his hold on your elbow gentle but his eyes bore no softness, "he needs you."

The trek down to the wine cellar was almost cavernous, going deeper, deeper into the belly of Arrow House, afraid you'd never be seen again.

The noise of the party on the surface slowly faded, your approaching footfalls on the final set of stone steps leading down to the cellar alerting Arthur to your impending arrival.

"'m'in 'ere ducky," he called, "come to see your sorry old sod eh?" he grumbled, practically laid out on the concrete floor, his head only up by way of the wall he'd slumped against.

Soft string music echoed down from above, almost narrating the tender care with which he looked at you as you came into view.

"Let me stand up 'ere, gotta get a good look at your party frock angel, 'aven't seen it yet," he tried to stand but you stopped him, instead kneeling by his side, bringing him in to lean against your chest while you took up post leaning back against the cool stone wall.

He huffed through his nose, you felt his eyelashes and moustache against your chest, his eyes were slowly closing as a waltz was playing upstairs.

"You ought to be up there my angel, dancing all pretty-like.." he muttered.