Strokes on a Canvas
Page 5
“There were a lot worse off than me, so you don’t need to worry.” Evan smiled at Milo. “But it’s kind of you to care.”
Milo didn’t smile in return, but edged closer to Evan. Their lips were almost touching when he whispered, “I care about you a great deal.”
Evan leaned forward the tiniest fraction, and they joined in a tentative kiss. They pressed a little closer before Milo eased away with a look of incredible tenderness.
“Goodnight, my dear Evan. Sleep well.”
Milo reached up to switch off the light, then rested his arm around Evan’s waist. He seemed to fall asleep almost straightaway, his breathing steady and his limbs quite still. While Evan would happily have kissed Milo again, and done a lot more besides, being held so close in his gentle embrace was the most heavenly moment of his life. He tried to stay awake, to enjoy the touch of Milo’s skin, the sweet scent of his hair and the sound of his breathing, but Evan soon joined him in his slumber, where he dreamed of long summer days with Milo on the sun-warmed sands that Homer and Plato once knew.
* * * *
When Evan woke the next morning, Milo was already up and out of bed. Evan could hear him moving about in the kitchen and he appeared before long, carrying a cup and saucer.
“I thought you might like some tea.” Milo perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling better? Or would you like me to call in at the shop to tell Mr. Bailey you won’t be in?”
“I’m fine, really I am. And thank you for the tea.” Evan sat up against the wooden headboard and took the cup from Milo. “You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”
“A cup of tea is no trouble, but are you sure you’re well enough for work?”
“Of course I am. Once the smog or whatever is out of my system, I’m right as rain.”
“That’s a relief. I was quite afraid when you arrived last night. I’d never seen anyone look so…” Milo seemed unable to find the right word and stood from the bed. “I’m afraid I have to leave for work now, but would you like some breakfast before I go? Some bread and jam, or an egg, perhaps?”
“You’ve done more than enough by letting me stay. And I’ll need to get myself ready if I’m to be at work on time.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s a clean towel in the bathroom, and if you change your mind about breakfast, help yourself to whatever you like from the kitchen.”
“You get off to work and don’t fuss over me.”
Milo took his tweed jacket from a hook on the door and shrugged it on. He eased the door open, then promptly shut it again.
“Evan, I’m sorry… I’m sorry I have to run out on you like this. My students have exams today and I must be in early. But do you think you could come over again this evening? I’d like to continue with your portrait, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. I’ll sit for you as often as you like.”
“It shouldn’t take much longer. I might even complete it by the end of the week. But if there’s the faintest wisp of fog outside, I want you to stay at home. I won’t have you risk your health for my sake. Do you promise me you’ll do that?”
“I promise. But Milo—”
Before Evan could ask him if he was all right, Milo hurried out the door. Evan sank back against the headboard. He couldn’t work out why Milo seemed so uneasy, after he’d been so wonderful last night. Perhaps he was still worried about Evan, when there really was no need. Milo was such a caring man, and Evan looked forward to seeing him again, with luck, in a few hours’ time. Looking over at the easel in the corner of the room, now covered by a paint-spattered sheet, Evan hoped with all his heart that the weather would be kind and the London sky would stay clear until that evening.
Chapter Six
After a seemingly endless day, the heavens were overcast but harmless when Evan left work, and he managed to catch Dennis, asking him to pass on his excuses for missing another Beston House meal. He ran all the way to Ponden Street, where he was relieved to find Milo more at ease than he had been but determined to finish the portrait as soon as possible. The chance of Evan being caught in another smog seemed to make Milo unbearably fretful. He worked through the evening and as much of the weekend as Evan could spare, profiting from the now cloudless spring sky and the copious light it poured into the room. The fine weather was good for Evan’s lungs too, but his time with Milo did nothing for the rest of his body.
Sitting immobile for so many hours sent spasms down his rigid spine and twinges of pain through his limbs. Milo thankfully knew how far he could test his endurance. Each time Evan thought he might lose all feeling in his legs, Milo would put down his brush and thank him for his superlative patience. But after a quick cup of tea and a bite to eat, Milo would return to his canvas, and Evan was glad when he announced, at six o’clock on Sunday evening, that he was as satisfied as he could be with his work. He’d already explained during one of their chats that artists are never content with their creations. There is always one more stroke of the brush that would elevate their effort to a true masterpiece, but the artist who wishes to evade the trap of madness knows when to put an end to his travails and his obsession.
Evan was nervous when Milo invited him to examine the finished portrait. He hadn’t laid eyes on it since Tuesday evening, and he hadn’t been sure what to make of it then. Milo’s style was exceedingly modern, and not what Evan was used to in his limited appreciation of art. He’d hoped he’d be able to praise the work with some degree of honesty, but as he stood in front of the easel, he found himself speechless.
The picture was no longer a muddled concoction of painted streaks and pencil lines, but an unmistakable likeness of Evan. It was the face he saw in the mirror each morning, with its crooked nose and unruly red hair, but it was also quite different. Evan couldn’t work out at first how the image diverged from reality. Then he realized, in both disbelief and delight, that his face had been transformed into something of undeniable beauty.
“Don’t keep me in suspense.” Milo stood beside Evan. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing. In fact, you must be some kind of genius. You’ve actually made me look handsome.”
“That has nothing to do with me, Evan. Thank your parents or Mother Nature, or God, if you must. I simply painted what I saw. An extremely attractive young man.”
“Don’t be daft.” Evan hoped he wasn’t blushing too much. “You must have changed something, but whatever it is, I approve. I hope it does well in the competition.”
“There’ll be so many entries, I doubt it will be placed. I’ll be thrilled if it receives a commendation.”
“I’m sure it will, despite its mediocre subject.”
“There is nothing mediocre about you.” Milo rested his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “And don’t you ever think it.”
Evan turned to look at Milo, who was smiling in an oddly serious way. He opened his mouth to speak, and Evan was fairly certain of the subject he was about to broach. Milo hadn’t mentioned their kiss since the night of the smog, and Evan hadn’t dared to bring it up, not wanting to disturb his artistic concentration. He was also afraid of what Milo might say. While he’d done all sorts of things with plenty of men, Evan hadn’t done much kissing before. Brief as it was, perhaps his kiss had been so inept it had put Milo off him for good. Evan braced himself for the worst as Milo finally spoke.
“Evan, I want to apologize for the other night. I should never have kissed you like that, and I am unreservedly sorry.”
Such an earnest apology was the last thing Evan had expected. “What are you sorry for? I enjoyed kissing you. I enjoyed it very much.”
“So did I, but I shouldn’t have let it happen. I hope you can forgive me for leading you on in such a way.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to.”
“I know that, but I’m afraid I may have led you to believe we could be more to each other than friends. And we can’t. I wish that weren’t the case
, but there’s nothing to be done.”
“Why does it have to be the case? We’re both grown men. What we do in private is no one’s business but our own.”
“Normally I would agree, but it’s not possible for you and me.”
Evan couldn’t believe he’d misjudged Milo so badly.
“You mean because I’m not rich and didn’t go to a posh school?”
“Evan, how could you think that? It has nothing to do with class or wealth. I don’t care if you’re the son of a miner or a millionaire. I like you enormously, and that is where the problem lies. If I liked you less, perhaps we could be lovers, but… I can’t explain, and I don’t expect you to understand, but as things stand, we can only be friends.” Milo’s smile was heartbreakingly hopeful. “We can be friends, can’t we? I can’t bear the thought of losing you completely.”
Evan hesitated, but the idea of not seeing Milo again was equally painful to him.
“Of course I’ll be your friend. How could I do anything else?”
“Thank you, Evan.” Milo’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, my dear man.”
Evan stayed with Milo as late as he dared, and although they talked constantly, they didn’t mention Milo’s romantic reluctance again. As he walked home, Evan mulled over the night’s events, trying to work out what made Milo so scared of falling in love. He could only guess that someone had hurt him in the past, and Evan instinctively despised the man, whoever he was, for standing in the way of Milo’s happiness and his own. With no other choice, Evan resigned himself to a pure and innocent friendship with Milo—a relationship he would nonetheless cherish, and one he could only have dreamed of a few short days before.
Chapter Seven
The following months passed in a social whirl to which Evan was quite unaccustomed. He and Milo spent several evenings each week together, as well as their Sundays, and any other time they had free. They went to concerts and films, mostly paid for by Milo, and sometimes to galleries, where Evan absorbed Milo’s artistic knowledge like a cultural sponge.
He loved the hours they spent in Milo’s flat too, talking and reading and listening to music, but he especially enjoyed those sunny days they went for a stroll in one of the parks. Evan described to Milo all the flowers and shrubs he would plant in the beds if he worked there, the fragrant tea rose and delicate aster being his blooms of choice. They even had the picnic Milo suggested, but without the champagne. Evan had insisted they stick to ginger beer, saying it would be bad luck to partake of the celebratory drink before the competition results were announced. In reality, he didn’t want Milo spending any more money on him. Milo had worked hard to be his own man, not reliant on his wealthy parents, and Evan didn’t want their friendship to compromise the independence of which he was so proud.
Evan was also reluctant to get anywhere near drunk when they were together. He adored spending time with Milo, but not being able to kiss him or touch him in the ways he longed to drove Evan to distraction. Afraid he might give in to his urges under the influence of drink, Evan used Mrs. Grindley’s puritanical streak as an excuse to stay largely sober, and his friendship with Milo had grown ever closer, if entirely chaste.
He was thinking of Milo when he left work one summer evening, and wishing they’d arranged to meet, as it was such a lovely day. Then he smiled as he saw Milo standing outside the shop, debonair in a dark brown suit with his hair all silky and slicked back.
“Milo! What are you doing here? We aren’t going out tonight, are we?”
“We weren’t.” Milo grinned. “But we are now. The competition results were announced this morning, and we have something to celebrate.”
“You won? Milo, that’s—”
“We didn’t win, I’m afraid. That prize went to an established artist most worthy of the accolade, but your picture took third place. Can you believe it? Third out of all those hundreds of entries. I couldn’t be more thrilled.”
“I’m so pleased for you.” Without thinking, Evan threw his arms around Milo. “You deserve this, Milo, you really do. You’re a brilliant artist.”
Milo laughed as he pulled away. “As my model and friend, you may not be the most impartial judge of my talent, but I thank you anyway. Are you ready to celebrate?”
“Absolutely. And here’s just the man I need to see.” Evan waved in the direction of the insurance office, where half a dozen young men were ambling out of the grand entrance door. “Dennis! Over here.”
Dennis left his colleagues and walked over to Evan, looking curiously at Milo as he approached.
“All right, Evan? You ducking out of another Beston dinner by any chance?”
“I am, but I do have a very good reason. My friend Milo here has come third in a painting competition. At the Royal Academy, no less.”
“Very impressive.” Dennis nodded. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Milo smiled modestly. “Evan is going to help me celebrate.”
“If you’ll tell Mrs. Grindley I won’t be in for dinner, that is.”
Dennis rolled his eyes. “Do I have to? The old bat’s getting suspicious. She reckons you’ve got some tart on the go.”
“Well, you can tell her different, can’t you? Go on, Dennis. Be a mate.”
“All right, I’ll do it.” Dennis shook his head as he walked away down the street. “The things I do for you, Evan Calver. I deserve a medal, I do.”
“Cheers, Dennis. You’re a pal.” Evan turned to Milo. “Now that’s all sorted, where are we going?”
“I did have somewhere in mind. An exclusive little club I’m a member of.”
“I hope it’s not expensive, Milo. You’ve spent enough on me in the last few weeks. A lemonade down the pub’s fine by me.”
“I said exclusive, not expensive.”
Evan wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to spoil Milo’s evening. He agreed and followed where Milo led him, which happened to be a fair distance. After half an hour walking through city streets, some bustling with people, some quiet as churchyards, Evan hadn’t the foggiest where he was. He began to feel a little bit frightened—not because he didn’t trust Milo, but because the alley they’d ended up in looked more like the haunt of gangsters and thieves than the home of a gentlemen’s club. They passed several dank doorways, in which shifty young men skulked and smoked, but Milo continued and Evan trailed close behind.
“Where are we going, Milo? Your club isn’t down here, surely.”
“It certainly is.” Milo knocked on a blue door less shabby than the surrounding ones, then he paused and knocked twice more. After a moment, the door opened and a middle-aged man in butler’s garb appeared.
“Mr. Halstead. We haven’t seen you in some time.”
“I’ve been rather busy, Soames, but I’ve come to celebrate some good news. I assume you still accept guests?”
“Of course, Mr. Halstead. May I take the gentleman’s name?”
“This is Evan Calver. He’s a friend of mine, and I can vouch for his character and his discretion.”
“Very good, Mr. Halstead. Do come in.”
They followed Soames down a set of stairs, the walls of which were painted the same deep blue as the door. It was almost like being back down the mine, and Evan was relieved when they emerged into a large basement room. Its décor was still dark, but wall lights gave the space a warm glow and a band was playing on a small stage at the far side of the room. Evan recognized the jolly tune and he tapped his toe to the beat as they waited for Soames to show them to their table.
Evan looked around the room, which had chairs and tables at its edges and a space in the middle for dancing. It wasn’t the gentlemen’s club he’d been expecting, with overstuffed armchairs and stuffier old men, but Evan wouldn’t have dared enter the music club without Milo at his side. It was the type of establishment frequented by the young and wealthy, who wouldn’t want the likes of Evan intruding on their fun, except perhaps to serve them cocktails on a silver platter.
“It’s a bit different from the Rose and Crown.”
“I can’t disagree with you there. What about the clientele? What do you think of them?”
Evan surveyed the men sitting around them. They were mostly in their twenties and thirties, some in full evening dress and others in suits, making Evan feel rather underdressed in his everyday jacket and trousers.
“I’m guessing they’re all fairly well-off.”
“Most of them are, but not all.” Milo nodded to a waiter who arrived with the champagne and proceeded to fill two glasses. “Look closer, Evan. What do you see?”
Evan was used to Milo posing questions about paintings, asking him what details he saw and how they made him feel, but he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be looking for here. The only common factor he could find was that their fellow customers were all male, but the same could be said of most pubs in London. He fixed his eyes on a table of four young men, hoping to detect the feature Milo was guiding him to. Then he saw it.
“Bloody hell, Milo. Those two blokes are holding hands.”
“They are indeed. This is a very special kind of club, Evan, where men like us can be ourselves.”
“But what if the police find out? They could get sent to jail. We could get sent to jail.”
“Don’t concern yourself, Evan. The lads in the alley keep a lookout and let Soames know if they spot any trouble, but it’s unlikely the police will come nosing around. The club’s membership includes some highly influential men, and as long as we are discreet, we are left to our own devices.”
Evan stared around the room, at men talking, laughing and drinking, and in one particularly dark corner, kissing.