Red silk, old wood. Whisky from yesterday, cigar from the week before.
Bergamot at three is the only lift — more and the room loses its dust. Black pepper at three is the cigar; no need for tobacco proper. Myrrh at four is the old resin on the hearth. Vetiver and cardamom together are the whisky ghost.
The red drawing room at Waddesdon Manor. Silk walls, old wood, a whisky someone left half-finished. Talking to someone who'd been everywhere — far-off places, described from a deep chair in Buckinghamshire. The cigar is from the week before. It lingers the way good ones do.