There are not many things in life that get Harold excited these days as much as the arrival of a new suit. The anticipation of it coming always puts him in a good mood. They are made by his favourite tailor Giovani, in Italy, who has Harold's measurements and only needs to know fabric choice and colour schemes, and then a few days later the suit would arrive. He had admired the latest suit when it had turned up the day before. Now he stands looking at the suit, fingers caressing the fine stitching of the button holes, the attention to detail on the buttons and pocket flaps, the fineness of the fabric. The suit was black with a fine contrasting, black silk pinstripe. He was very pleased with this one.
Harold has a large number of suits and suit styles, each one matched to a specific alias. It wouldn't do for Mr Burdett to wear a suit intended for Mr Finch and vice versa. This particular one was probably best suited for Mr Crane rather than Finch as it was very formal. But he was excited to try it out and today was the perfect opportunity to wear it. Of course with every suit there must be a shirt and waistcoat to match. His shirts are mostly white but on occasion he wears a coloured one. Sometimes the waistcoats are made of the same material as the suit and some suits like this one have more than one to choose from. The suit hangs waiting for Harold to put it on.
The machine had sent him their latest number earlier, and by coincidence Harold had found out that the number would be at the same fundraiser that he and John would be attending later. John will be using his Rooney alias and posing as his asset manager. He will be Crane, a man not to be trifled with, stern, with a commanding presence. There are still a couple of hours to go before they have to leave, and John will arrive soon. Harold has plenty of time to linger over the art of getting dressed for a night out. It is one of the few real pleasures he has these days.
As he dresses he thinks about the things he used to do for fun. "Huh!" he thought there's not much to be done for fun anymore. He used to run for fun, but since the ferry accident that had killed Nathen, and injured him, he'd not been able to do it. His two small remaining pleasures were his suits and the rare find of a first addition book. Harold may live and work in the digital age but he thought there was nothing to compare with a real live book in his hand. Since he'd begun to do the things that Nathen had started, (with the help of, at first Dillinger and now John) saving the lives of innocent people, he'd not had much time for relaxation, not even to read his beloved books.
Even Grace had been put to one side. After the ferry bomb, she was left believing that he was dead. He'd hoped that he wasn't a cruel man by nature, and it had broken his heart to do it, but he'd felt at the time there was no other option. He needed to know she was safe, and if her believing he was dead meant she was safe, then so be it.
He sighed as he dressed. Removing his dressing gown he picked up his underwear. His boxers were of silk, dark cobalt blue, soft and smooth and comfortable. Briefly he looked out of the window, he wondered what the weather was going to be like later, spring was in the air but there were still some chilly evenings. So he decided to wear a white cotton undershirt, like the boxers, finely made and soft against his skin. Though there wasn't much feeling in the scars on his hip, shoulder and back the natural materials made wearing everything else more comfortable.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks, he held them up with suspenders, sometimes though, he left them off on days when his back was stiff and reaching to do the clips up was hard. That was the only thing about him that was stiff and hard these days he thought sadly. He put his hands on his knees and rested for a moment. For a second he felt sorry for himself, the last time he'd had sex was with Grace right after he'd proposed, before the ferry bomb. Sometimes he missed it and her, the soft feel of her skin, her warm breath on his neck as they had made love.
He sighed and stood up, a new suit called for a new shirt and he opened the package that contained the fine white dress shirt. He made a mental note to order more for Reese; he went through his suits and shirts like they were made of paper. The shirt was cool against his skin, as he did up the buttons he briefly wondered about Reese. Why on earth did the man keep the top two buttons of his shirts undone regardless of the weather? He smiled, he would feel undressed without all the buttons done up and a tie in place. John would only wear a tie under protest and then only undercover, tonight he would be wearing a tuxedo and a bow tie.
Harold had noticed though that when some women looked at John's face, they got a dreamy look in their eyes and slowly their gaze tended to drift down to his neck. He'd seen one or two females lick their lips as they did so. He had a pretty good idea what was going through their minds, but he wasn't about to ask Reese about it. If the truth was known, he wasn't surprised about the way the women (and some men) looked at John, he was, he had to admit, an extraordinarily handsome man. His dark hair was streaked with silver, his eyes were sapphire blue. He had high cheek bones and tanned skin. He was tall and athletic looking. He stopped for a moment where had that thought come from? Since when did he take note of how gorgeous John was? He could feel himself blushing. Hurriedly he picked up the suit pants and put them on.
He chose his belt from his favourites, black Italian leather not too wide, soft and pliant in his hands, comfortable to wear. Next he put on his black leather shoes, grateful they were also comfortable, especially when he had to stand for long periods like at this evening's function.
Next came the waistcoat, this one was different to his usual style, as there was no lapel on it, and it was more ornate in decoration. The back was silver silk, the front black with an intricate design picked out in a fine silver thread. Normally he'd have chosen a plainer waistcoat but this one's fabric was beautiful and he hadn't been able to resist it. The six silver buttons were engraved with a design that matched perfectly with the pattern on the garment.
His bow tie was naturally silk (was there any other fabric to use). The one he had chosen was silver grey in colour with a pocket square that matched the back of the waistcoat and the jacket lining. As he tied the tie, his mind wandered. Fund raisers were not his favourite place to be. There were too many people, making too much noise, and with looking out for their new number things could get complicated. He knew though, that he would be safer with John there at his side.
Before putting on his jacket he went over to his armoire, in the drawer was a small box where he kept his cuff links, he had quite a collection. He smiled there were some novelty ones there that Nathen's son Will had bought him for Christmas when Will was growing up. He'd kept them for sentimental reasons but didn't wear them anymore. He selected a pair of platinum squares with fine black enamel stripes. The final finishing touch was the addition of a silver pocket watch, the chain making a small loop from the button hole to the waistcoats pocket.
He paused and looked at himself in the mirror, turning this way and that, he thought the pants fitted very well, the button fly laid flat and smooth, the hem just touching the top of his shoes, he approved. He smiled at the memory of explaining to Reese that the pants should just 'shiver' over the top of his shoes. That had been fun, measuring John for his suit, he reminded himself.
The waistcoat was slightly longer than usual, the points at the front coming down over his belt concealing it. He lifted the jacket off the hanger and slid his arms into it. The silk lining ensuring that it moved with ease over his shirt sleeves. The last thing to do was change his glasses. The ones he was wearing he usually only wore at the house, they were round and nothing special. He's got new ones to go with the suit, carrying on the black and silver theme. In fact he had several pairs of glasses to match his suits. Taking another look at himself he was satisfied with what he saw. Now he was ready to face the world, the numbers and the enigma that was John Reese.