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Author's Chapter Notes:
As promised, Roy's view of Jim.

As Phyllis Lapin escorted Jim over to her small coterie of likeminded gentlewomen of a more advanced age—a clique ranging from the Dowager Duchess herself, the unfortunate target of Colonel Scott’s improvident interest, to Meredith Palmer, rumoured to have drunk the Duke of Wellington himself under the table at a military soiree in celebration of the victory at Waterloo—three sets of eyes marked his slow progress across the room. Pamela Beesly found herself regretting Roy Anderson’s approach (though she did not acknowledge it to herself, allowing herself only to think that she wished he had approached more circumspectly and appropriately, dissolving her annoyance at being interrupted in her tête-à-tête with Jim in her broader frustration with Roy’s lack of manners) and hoping fondly that she would see Mr. Halpert again at such another gathering, resolving to continue their acquaintance if it might be done in maiden modesty. Colonel Scott himself glanced over to see Jim being sat at the right hand of the Duchess and marked an inner reminder to himself that “Jimbag” was definitely a fine fellow, the sort who should be issued a first-round invitation to all future soirees, rather than stuffed in at the last minute when a few too many cards went unanswered, and that furthermore the Colonel himself might want to be publicly associated with such a fashionably acquainted young man. But the eyes that marked Jim most carefully were those of Roy Anderson, and they shone with concern and an innate dislike, for while Jim had taken an instant disapprobation to Roy, the feeling was entirely mutual and tinged with an unacknowledged but self-protective concern that was more instinctual than intended.

 

In sum, Roy Anderson liked being comfortable, and he saw in the Honourable Mr. James Halpert the first threat to that comfort that he had ever truly apprehended. He was uncertain as to why, and most definitely would have been incapable of explaining it if anyone had had the temerity to put him to the question on the point. But the feeling was there, lurking in the back of his mind like Nelson off the French coast during the War, and it coloured every interpretation he put on Halpert’s behaviour since their introduction—and, more importantly, on Pamela Beesly’s. He had grown accustomed to experiencing her undivided and uncritical attention—to being, as it were, the lodestar that drew the magnet of not just her heart but her eye, and of having the minor faults he might himself commit (minimal as he would have ever admitted them to be) disregarded and nontendered by her adoring gaze. He would have been the first to admit that he was imperfect, but he would have done so in the careless way of those who think that the mere acknowledgement of the possibility of fault should inoculate them against the need to take any further action to cure themselves of the fault so graciously admitted. His expectation, therefore, was that while he himself made no real effort to advance in the direction of an active fulfillment of the promises he and Miss Beesly had exchanged, she would remain as devoted and singular in her attentions as ever, and that his tender of affection and expression of intention to increase his portion to the desired degree that would permit their eventual union would be accepted as the true coin of progress towards that goal. They had fallen into what was, to him, quite a comfortable routine—her social contacts and grace advancing them both into circles from which he would have been quite barred on his own, and his easy manner securing him a continued place therein, without the necessity of actually undergoing the changes in life and style of living that would have accompanied real motion in the direction of marriage.

 

In Jim Halpert’s behavior towards his intended he saw, therefore, the first wisps of autumn in the summer of his content. Or rather say that he saw them in Pam’s easygoing acceptance of Jim Halpert and all he represented. Pamela was, as he well knew and breezily acknowledged to all and sundry, a “right piece of fluff,” and he was not unaware of the degree to which she generally drew the attentions of men beyond himself. In certain company, in fact, he could and would acknowledge that those very attentions made her all the more attractive to him—his employer and boon companion Mr. Darryl Philbin had heard more than one encomium on the subject. But all this enjoyment hinged on the simple fact that Pam Beesly did not appreciate this attention—that, if anything, it made her draw in on herself and attempt to appear (despite all logic and reality) another Phyllis Lapin, as if her five-and-twenty years were twice themselves. But when she talked to Jim Halpert, she was still herself, still Pammy—his bright and beautiful not-yet bride. And he could not blame Halpert for reacting to that as he himself did, but he could and did blame him for existing in Pam’s way, and seethe internally at the idea that Halpert imagined himself as good as Roy knew himself to be. So while the first two pairs of eyes were sympathetic, the third pair narrowed themselves in thought as he laughed at a joke of Meredith’s, wondering how to best be rid of such a rival.

 

Jim, of course, had no idea of the fact, and would have laughed it off if he had. But the laughter would have been hollow, for Roy Anderson knew Jim’s heart better than he would ever admit.

Chapter End Notes:
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