“I’d better not. Mrs. Grindley will be waiting for me as it is. If she thinks I’m off getting drunk, I’ll be out on my ear by the end of the week.”
“Your landlady sounds quite a character. Is there a Mr. Grindley?”
“Not that I know of. Me and Sandy reckon she killed him off with her cooking. It’s certainly bad enough. But I really had better get going. She doesn’t like us being back late.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. When can you sit for me again? It would be tremendously helpful if we could meet again before the weekend.”
Evan would have come back tomorrow if Milo had been free, but they arranged to meet at the same time on Thursday. As Milo showed him out and waved goodbye, Evan’s head swirled like leaves on an autumn breeze. He’d been thrilled to find out that Milo was a man like himself, and he couldn’t help wondering if Milo found him attractive in that way. Evan supposed it was unlikely that an educated artist like Milo would fancy a rough son of a miner like him, but Thursday night still couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Five
When Thursday arrived, it was the worst of all possible days for Evan, as every speck of soot and smoke in the city combined to produce the dreaded London smog. After more than two years in the capital, Evan knew the dangers of a real pea-souper. It was perilously easy to walk into the path of an omnibus or car, their headlamps almost useless in the impenetrable fog. Worse still, no one knew how long the misery would last. The city could be enshrouded for hours or days, with no clue as to when it might clear.
Such climatic events were dismal for everyone, but they were torture for Evan. His respiratory system refused to function in such filthy conditions, and he found himself gasping for breath as soon as he left for work that morning. He was so close to collapse by the time he arrived, the ordinarily stern Mr. Bailey gave him a glass of water and told him to rest for a while. When he finally got on with his work, Evan glanced out the window as often as he dared, but the view remained unchanged from one hour to the next. A relentless wall of fog still enveloped the building when Mr. Bailey decided to close up half an hour early, and Evan had his own decision to make.
While Milo’s flat wasn’t far away, he knew it would be unwise to spend those extra minutes outside, and the sensible choice would be to go home and have a quiet evening. Evan wished he’d taken Milo’s number that day in the museum, and he could have used the shop telephone to tell him he couldn’t come. As it was, he had no way of contacting Milo, and he couldn’t simply not turn up. Besides, he’d been looking forward to this evening since he’d said goodbye to Milo on Tuesday, so he made the brave if possibly foolish decision to walk to Ponden Street.
Twenty minutes into his journey, Evan realized he’d made a mistake. He was only halfway to Milo’s, or at least he thought he was, as he was finding his way along the roads by the feel of the pavement beneath his feet and a large amount of guesswork. He’d stopped several times, leaning against railings and garden walls while he tried to catch his breath, and he’d been asked by a number of kind folk if he needed their assistance. Evan had politely refused, not wanting to delay their hazardous treks home or to endure the shame of arriving at Milo’s escorted by a well-meaning stranger.
Evan battled on, resting every few minutes, as every atom of oxygen seeped from his defeated lungs. He was practically on his knees when he arrived at Milo’s and jabbed at the named buttons at the side of the door, not caring which one he hit as long as someone let him in. Slumped against the doorframe like a wheezing consumptive, he almost fell into Milo’s arms when the door opened at last.
“Evan, what are you doing here? I never expected you to come on a night like this.”
“I couldn’t let-couldn’t let you know.” The warmth of the house was a shock to Evan’s beleaguered body, and his head began to spin. “I’m sorry, Milo. I ca-can’t breathe.”
Milo swept his arm around Evan. His sudden movement and his strength took Evan by surprise, and he stumbled as Milo shut the door behind them.
“My God, Evan, are you all right? Can you make it upstairs?”
If Evan was scared by his inability to breathe, Milo looked terrified. Evan tried to reassure him with a weak smile. “I think so. Just don’t let go of me.”
“Don’t worry.” Milo gripped his arm around Evan’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It took an interminable time to climb the stairs, as they shuffled and struggled from one step to the next, but Milo was true to his word and didn’t leave Evan’s side for a second. Despite the energy he’d expended, Evan felt a little better as they toppled into the flat, the constant support of Milo’s body soothing his burning chest. Even so, he fell gratefully upon the chaise longue, lowering his head between his knees and focusing on every vital breath. His lungs expanded a fraction more with each inhalation, and Evan was sure he’d pull through as Milo sat beside him.
“Is there anything I can do, Evan? Is there something I can get for you?”
It seemed an imposition to ask a man he hardly knew, but there was one thing that would speed his recovery. “Would you mind rubbing my back? It helps when Mother does it.”
Milo didn’t reply, and Evan thought he’d asked too much. Then Milo’s hand settled upon his back, circling slowly but firmly. Evan tensed at first and feared he’d have to ask Milo to stop, but after a while, he began to relax, his ribcage swelling as his lungs filled with air. “Thank you, Milo. That feels so much better.”
Milo continued to stroke his back, and Evan was tempted to stay where he was, enjoying Milo’s compassionate touch, but he knew it would be inappropriate. He sat up and saw that Milo still looked extremely concerned.
“I’m sorry I frightened you like that. I shouldn’t have come, but I didn’t want to let you down.”
“How could you put yourself in danger for me? And all for a silly picture. You shouldn’t have—” Milo drew Evan to him and into his arms. “You dear, dear man.”
A spasm of pain echoed through Evan’s chest, but he had no wish to escape Milo’s embrace as he relished the same exotic scent he’d breathed the first time they shook hands. Milo’s hair was soft, as were his lips, which brushed Evan’s cheek as he moved away, smiling but clearly shaken.
“What do you need? Can I fetch you a glass of water? Or are you hungry? Would you like some soup?”
“A glass of water would help, but don’t you want to do some painting before we eat?”
“Do you think I could work after this? I wouldn’t be able to concentrate, and besides, your sweet face is so fearfully pale. Whatever I painted tonight I would have to alter the next time we met.” Milo stood decisively from the chaise longue. “I will bring your glass of water, then in a while we’ll have something to eat. We can talk, we can listen to music, but I won’t have you exerting yourself. Sitting for a portrait is a tiring business, as you know.”
Evan saw there was no point arguing, and the evening proceeded pleasantly, and just as Milo had suggested. They listened to music on Milo’s new wireless, they ate chicken soup, which was precisely the nourishment Evan required, and they talked about this and that and nothing in particular. It was only when they returned to the chaise after their meal that the conversation turned to men they’d known, and Milo asked his affable if direct question.
“When were you first intimate with a man, Evan?”
He hadn’t even told Sandy about his sexual initiation, but Evan felt so easy in Milo’s company that he began his story with barely a moment’s hesitation.
“I was eighteen. Quite a late starter, I suppose. I never dared try it on with any of the village lads, even the ones I thought might be game for it. But then I read a story in the paper about a bloke who’d been arrested in a park near Derby for immoral acts in the gents’.”
Milo laughed. “Immoral acts indeed.”
“Immoral or not, I decided to go there. I knew it was dangerous, but I had to. I was desperate. I had to know what
it was like to be with a man, even if I ended up mugged or in jail. It was a pretty stupid thing to do.”
“A tad risky perhaps, but not stupid. You took your chance where you could, that’s all.” A slight frown darkened Milo’s face. “Was it a good experience? This man didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, I was lucky. He must have been twice my age, but he was still quite handsome. Black hair, green eyes, a small scar above his lip. He must have guessed it was my first time and was as gentle as he could be in the circumstances. It still hurt when he…you know, but I remember him kissing the back of my neck, and after a while it didn’t hurt anymore. I knew I’d made the right decision. Even if I was fated to do it with strangers in the least romantic of places, that’s who I was, and there was nothing I could do to change it.” Evan blushed at his own honesty. “I bet your first time wasn’t in a park gents’.”
“I wasn’t that courageous, but then I didn’t need to be. I boarded at an all-boys school, where there was ample opportunity for experimentation, as long as one was careful not to attract the masters’ attention. My playmate was called Jeremy. He was an absolute darling, and still is. Funny and clever, and willing to risk the sports master’s fury by bunking off rugger to have fun with me.”
“Were you never found out?”
“Not by a master, but we did get caught when we were sixteen by Sudeley, our head of house.”
“What happened? Did you get into trouble?”
“Not exactly. Sudeley enjoyed the same sorts of pleasures as ourselves, and we bought his silence by satisfying his more outlandish desires.”
“You mean he forced you to—”
“Oh, no.” Milo smiled mischievously. “We were willing accomplices. Sudeley was a stunning young man. A rower and athlete with the most divine body. I swear I learned more about sex in those few months than I did in the next ten years.”
“Blimey. I wish I’d gone to your school.”
Evan pictured the young Milo in boater and blazer, preparing to go out into the world. Then a thought that had always intrigued him crept into Evan’s head. “Was there much chance for that type of thing in the war? I’ve heard there was.”
“Perhaps for some, but not for me.” Milo continued to smile, but his blue eyes clouded. “My only concern was keeping the men in my company safe. I didn’t always succeed, but I tried my best.”
“I’m sorry, Milo. I didn’t mean to bring back painful memories. It must have been a terrible time.”
“In truth, there was an awful lot of sitting around doing nothing. But when we were finally called to action, when a shell hit, when a grenade blew, when a machine gun rasped through the night, it was a worse kind of hell than Satan and all his demons could conjure. I’m only glad you didn’t have to live through it.”
“I wasn’t far off. I was sixteen by the end of the war, and I knew lads who lied about their age to join up. I never had the nerve.”
“Thank God for that, I say. Or I would, if I thought he existed. No benevolent deity could preside over such a sordid waste of life.”
Milo picked up his glass to take a sip of water, and Evan saw that his hand was shaking.
“I’m so sorry I mentioned it, Milo. Were you hurt during the war?” Evan hesitantly touched Milo’s knee, which was trembling like his hand. “You weren’t gassed, were you? Is that why you were so worried before?”
“No, I was spared that horrific experience, as were my men somehow. I suffered the odd nick from a stray bit of shrapnel and my fair share of dysentery, but I was far luckier than most. I think that may be the worst thing about war. It’s not the ways in which you suffer, or even the appalling things you see. It’s knowing that others emerged from the stinking mess in an infinitely worse state than oneself. Those poor souls were sent back to their homes deprived of limbs, of sight, of sense. And then there were the wives and mothers who were left to care for them, or to mourn the men who would never return. That is what wakes me in the middle of the night. Knowing that I have such a very good life, when others are…”
Milo fell silent, and Evan didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything he could say, but he gently squeezed Milo’s knee in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Milo didn’t seem to notice his touch. He stared ahead, his mouth slightly ajar, and Evan didn’t dare picture the images he saw, the faces he was remembering. Then Milo shuddered and was back in the room with him. He smiled and lifted Evan’s hand from his knee.
“That’s quite enough self-pity from me for one night. We should see what the weather is doing. It could be clear as day by now.”
Milo turned around on the chaise and pulled back the long mauve curtain. There might have been a brick wall outside for all they could see, not a single light from a streetlamp or window penetrating the gloom. Evan’s stomach turned at the thought of venturing into the choking fog again, but when he looked at his watch, he saw it was past ten o’clock.
“I’d better go if I’m to make it home for eleven. Mrs. Grindley gets the hump if we’re in any later, and I’ll have to take it steady.”
Milo stared at him as if he was out of his mind.
“Do you seriously think I’m going to let you go outside in this?”
“What else can I do? Mrs. Grindley will—”
“I don’t give a damn what your Mrs. Grindley says. I saw the state you were in before, and you are not going back outside. You’ll stay here tonight, and that’s final. You can have the bed while I sleep on the chaise. And before you protest, I assure you it’s perfectly comfortable. I’ve slept on it countless times.”
“Milo, I’m not sleeping in your bed while you’re on a sofa, however comfy it is.”
“Very well. We will both sleep in the bed. It’s not exactly made for two, but we’ll manage.”
Evan opened his mouth to object, but the words refused to emerge. Even if nothing happened between them, the prospect of sharing a bed with Milo was too enticing to resist.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure. Now, would you like something to wear? I don’t bother myself, but I’m sure I have an old pair of—”
“I’ll be warm enough, don’t you worry.” Evan wore a sweater over his nightclothes in his glacial room at Beston House, but he wasn’t about to lie swaddled in striped cotton inches from Milo’s bare skin. “Do you want to turn in now?”
“Why not? You must be exhausted after the evening you’ve had.”
Without a hint of unease, Milo unbuttoned his shirt and undid his belt. Evan tried to unknot his tie with equal nonchalance and managed to remove it without strangling himself. He unfastened his shirt and stepped out of his trousers, sneaking glances at Milo as he undressed. He’d pictured Milo’s body in several highly enjoyable daydreams, and they hadn’t been far off the mark. His frame was slender, his muscles were toned and his skin was a sublime shade of gold, doubtless acquired under a foreign sun and in very few clothes. A pair of pristine white undershorts complemented his handsome appearance, while a jagged scar across his right shoulder only added to his manly allure. Evan folded his arms across his own naked chest and thanked heaven his saggy drawers were at least freshly washed.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some something to wear, Evan? You look cold.”
“No, I…” Evan supposed it would do no harm to tell the truth. “I feel a bit scrawny next to you. You’ve got such a lovely body, and I’m all pale and thin.”
“You have a splendid physique. Like a long-distance runner. Although I agree you might benefit from a touch more sun. It would be good for your health too.”
“I don’t get much time for lying in the sun, being at work all week.”
“You have your Sundays. You should go to the countryside or one of the parks. Read a book. Have a picnic.”
“A picnic? Who would I have a picnic with?”
“There must be someone. Sandy perhaps. Or if not, I would gladly accompany you. I might even bring a bottle of champagne
.”
Evan giggled as Milo drew back the lilac quilt.
“Can you imagine it? What would people say if they saw two blokes drinking champagne like a couple of sweethearts?”
“I couldn’t care less what anyone thought. I’d happily be seen with you in a park, or anywhere else for that matter.”
Milo’s seriousness took Evan unawares, and he couldn’t help but be flattered. “Then maybe I’ll take you up on your offer. If you win the competition, we’ll have a champagne picnic in Hyde Park.”
“I’ll keep you to that.” Milo grinned as he slipped into the bed. “Now get in here before you freeze to death.”
Evan hovered at the edge of the bed, unsure of the etiquette of sleeping with someone other than his brother, who had snored and farted and hogged the mattress each night for eighteen years.
“Do you want to ‘top and tail’?”
Milo laughed. “We can if you like, but I’d rather talk to your face than your feet.”
Evan sat on the mattress, then carefully laid his head on the pillow and stretched his legs beneath the quilt. He tried not to take up too much space, but it was impossible not to touch Milo’s skin, which was warm as freshly baked bread.
“Tell me if I’m squashing you, Milo. I’ve never shared a bed with a man before, other than Alfred, that is.”
“I hope you had a larger bed than mine, or that your brother is an uncommonly slight man.”
“I’m afraid not.” Evan shuffled around to face Milo. “The bed was no bigger than this, and Alfred’s built like a brick outhouse. I reckon I was the happiest man in the church the day he married and went to live with Ethel.”
“I’m sure you were.” Milo paused, his brow creasing with concern. “Did you have a very tough childhood, Evan? I hate to think of you suffering.”
“I wouldn’t say we suffered. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t live like paupers either. We never went hungry and were always properly dressed.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you lived in a hovel.” Milo seemed to think he’d offended Evan, which he hadn’t at all. “I only wish you’d had an easier start in life.”
Strokes on a Canvas Page 4