Heart Knot Mine

by Lily Velden

  The temperature within the cab was stifling. Climbing inside had been like leaving the Arctic Circle and stepping into the tropics. It was so hot I contemplated removing my overcoat and scarf despite knowing what a hassle it would be donning them again at the end of the thirty-or forty-minute journey. I settled for removing my scarf and unbuttoning my coat. Settling in, I couldn’t believe how spacious the cab was—it was almost like a ministretch limo, if such a thing were possible.

  If the day’s weather was any indication, London in January was bitterly cold. The sky was dark and forbidding, and I sent up a little prayer asking that the rain hold off until I was safely settled at my destination. Still, it wasn’t as if I’d left glorious weather back in Chicago. The Windy City had certainly lived up to its nickname. I hoped Robert had taken my advice and worn several layers to combat its icy fingers.

  Glancing down at the pages again, I felt grateful to him. Robert and I had been e-mailing each other over the past month, ever since the swap had been formally acknowledged and signed off on. So far, he’d proven himself to be intelligent and helpful, not to mention thorough.

  I not only knew the names of his neighbors but also those of all the employees at a small nearby family-run grocery store, and those of the bar staff at what he called his “local,” which I now knew was a bar in the vicinity of his house. Though, I guess, if I was to blend in at all I’d have to get used to calling it a pub.

  In addition, he’d furnished me with a wealth of information, anything from what a reasonable cab fare between the airport and his house would be to the merits of various galleries and London landmarks.

  Taking a leaf from his book, I’d supplied him with similar tidbits, going so far as to suggest he make himself known to Seth at Redhead’s. I provided Seth with a small photograph taken from the Central Saint Martin’s website, asking him to look after Robert should he stop by for a drink. I even organized for Mitch and Miranda to pick him up from the airport and have him over for dinner on his first night in the country.

  It was a bit of a gamble, one I hoped wouldn’t come back to bite me on the butt, but I’d also filled him in on the other faculty members he would come into contact with at the college. Unfortunately, SAIC was as prone to petty politics and cliques among its staff as any corporation, or government office, for that matter. I was fairly certain I could trust him with the information as he replied within twenty-four hours with similar backgrounds on his colleagues.

  Some of his descriptions made me smile. Apparently, Stephanie Walters was an “interfering old biddy,” and Roger Dempsey a “pompous arse who walks around with a pole up his Khyber Pass,” while Harold Sumner was a “lazy git who wouldn’t know real art from a fifty quid Marks & Spencer print, even if it bit him on the arse.” A quick Google search informed me Marks & Spencer was a middle-of-the-road department store.

  My descriptions seemed quite tame in comparison. The most colorful I’d gotten was to describe Henry Watkins as a bit of a buck-passer and to suggest Robert steer clear of him as much as possible or he might end up writing Henry’s notes for the weekly staff meetings.

  Both Mitch and Miranda had declared themselves thrilled for me from the moment I told them of my decision to accept the offer to spend a semester teaching in England. They did, however, make me promise to Skype with them and the boys at least once a week. I smiled to myself, recalling Mitch’s playful cuff of Miranda’s arm when she commented on how handsome Robert was. I’d shown them the photo so they’d recognize him at the airport. She was right, though. He was good-looking in an old-fashioned Byronic sort of way. He’d have looked right at home as the hero of some Bronte novel. Better yet, with his a little on the long side, messy brown hair, strong aquiline nose, and soulful brown eyes he could be Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice fame.

  I wondered how he’d managed to remain single when he was obviously successful in his career, and handsome to boot. Surely English girls were as forthright as I knew their American cousins to be when it came to letting an eligible man know of their availability. If not, he’d be in for a bit of a shock when he ventured out to taste the Chicago nightlife. Hell, some of the women I’d encountered over the years had thought nothing of being the predator rather than the prey.

  My musings were interrupted by the cab coming to a halt in front of my home for the next six months. Rifling through the unfamiliar notes in my wallet, trying to extract the correct change, I felt relieved the driver quoted me an amount only one pound more than what Robert had said was reasonable. I didn’t want to start my time in England arguing with a cabbie.

  Standing on the sidewalk, my bags by my side, I gave myself a moment to take in the sight of my temporary residence. Robert had sent me photos, but when compared to what was facing me, it was obvious they hadn’t done it justice. The street was lined with houses reminiscent of brownstones; one butted up to the next, with no gaps whatsoever separating them. All were well-maintained, stately, even. They made me think of a line of aristocratic dames, and just like a woman in her prime, they appeared confident, elegant, and understated. Robert’s was constructed from dark-brown bricks with double-story arched windows painted white. Dainty black balustrading framed the stairs leading to his front door. A rather large brass doorknocker completed the picture. Nice. Very nice. Unpretentious, but definitely wealthy.

  Just as I glanced down at my luggage, wondering whether it would be safe to leave it on the stoop while I retrieved the keys, the sound of a door being thrown open made me look back up.

  “You must be Noah.” I recognized Mrs. Higginbotham, Robert’s neighbor, immediately from Robert’s description: small and round, with rosy cheeks and gray wispy hair, and the warmest smile this side of the equator.

  “Hello, Mrs. Higginbotham. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I found myself smiling broadly at her—she had that kind of smile, one impossible not to return.

  “In all my abundant glory,” she chortled. “Now let’s get you inside and settled before it starts raining cats and dogs again.”

  Before I could stop her, she grabbed my hand luggage and marched up the half-dozen steps to the front door of Robert’s house, and like a docile lamb, I followed her with my suitcase. Once inside, she led me to the master bedroom with such speed I hardly had time to register where in the house it was situated. All I could remember was thick carpets and art-lined walls. Then I was being given the guided tour, with her rattling off information so rapidly my poor jet-lagged brain had no hope of absorbing it all, so I ended up just smiling and nodding.

  “Now, Noah, dear, I took the liberty of letting myself in a little earlier and placing a beef casserole in the oven for you. There are also some green beans in the fridge you need only to zap in the microwave. I figured you wouldn’t fancy having to cook on your first night in, nor have the energy to hunt around for a nearby restaurant. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Why no, Mrs. Higginbotham, I don’t mind. In fact, thank you very much,” I replied, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness.

  Beaming at me, her cheeks positively aglow, she patted my hand as she bustled past me on her way to the front door. “My pleasure, dear. I’ll be off now while you settle yourself in. My phone number is on the pad by the phone if you need anything.”

  “Thanks again.”

  With one last wave, she let herself out, and I finally got the chance to take in my surroundings. Time to unpack and have a shower, I decided.

  WITH HAVING almost a week to settle in before term started, I decided to try out some of Robert’s more unusual sightseeing recommendations. He’d given a big thumbs-up to Chislehurst Caves, and so I made that my first port of call.

  Instead of stressing myself by driving Robert’s classic Austin-Healey sports car through unfamiliar streets—and on the wrong side of the road!—I opted to get to know London’s bus and rail system. The fact that most SAIC students doing an exchange with Central Saint Martins wouldn’t have the luxury of a vehicle was an added incentive
to get to know the transport system of the city. A quick visit with Mrs. Higginbotham saw me loaded up with not only explicit instructions on which buses and trains to catch—my Lord, the woman was a wealth of information—but also a thermos of tea and a piece of cake she called a Victoria sponge packed in a tiny lunchbox so the icing sugar didn’t scatter in the breeze.

  Feeling a lot like a child heading off for his first day of school, I trudged off, glad I’d chosen to wear a knit hat and scarf as well as a woolen overcoat, as the cold air had a bit of a sting to it. At least it wasn’t raining. It took a few changes of buses and trains, with the corresponding wait times, to make it to the caves, but I didn’t mind—sitting in a bus was an excellent way to see a city.

  The caves themselves were a bit of a revelation. The sheer size of them alone was overwhelming—a labyrinth of over twenty miles that one could easily get lost in. Thankfully, the tours were guided or I might never have found my way out. I shared the fun and informative attentions of the tour guide with only a handful of other people, which was great, as it allowed all of us to pepper him with questions. We were each given an oil lamp—no electricity in the tunnels. Personally, I just liked that it added to the whole “going back in time” atmosphere. The caves, the name of which was actually a bit of a misnomer as they were entirely man-made, had a long and varied history dating back to the thirteenth century, when they were started as a chalk and flint mine.

  During the blitz of London in the Second World War, they became a small underground city, hosting fifteen thousand people. The caves had had a dentist, post office, church, and even a small hospital.

  In contrast, they had also been used as a music venue in the sixties, with the likes of Jimi Hendrix and the Rolling Stones performing within their passages.

  At one point, Wolfgang, our tour guide, relieved us of our lanterns and switched them off, and I had to say, I was glad I wasn’t scared of the dark. The inky blackness was so thick and penetrating I couldn’t see the couple standing a mere foot to my left, let alone anything farther afield. She let out a gasp, and when Wolfgang relit our lanterns, I could see she was clutching her boyfriend’s hand tightly and hugging herself into his side. He looked at me and winked. I pressed my lips together to smother my laugh—the devious bastard had obviously known about this part of the tour and had counted on his girlfriend’s reaction. My nephews, Ricky and Jared, would have loved the blackout. I could picture them making ghostly noises to match the eerie atmosphere, but I wondered how most small children would cope with that aspect of the tour, particularly after our guide had already mentioned the caves were said to be haunted.

  A little over forty-five minutes later, the tour was done, and I was back “topside,” as Wolfgang called it, pleasantly surprised to see the sun had decided to put in an appearance. Its watery rays held no heat, but it was nice, regardless.

  I caught a train back into the heart of the city, eating the fluffy sponge cake filled with jam and cream that Mrs. Higginbotham had given me. Finding my way from the station down to the banks of the Thames was, thankfully, not difficult, and I spent the afternoon scouting out destinations to visit. There was certainly a whole slew to choose from. Top of my list, though, was Shakespeare’s Globe Theater.

  The wind off the river was cold, but I didn’t mind—it just made the hot tea in my thermos taste all the better. I could feel its heat fill my mouth before scorching a trail down my throat and settling in my belly. It warmed me from the inside. As I stood observing the activity around me, a sense of calm flowed through me—I’d done the right thing in coming to England. The change would do me good.

  4

  THE KEY baffled me.

  I’d found the soul mate, the yin to the yang, for every other key on the ring. But for three days I’d explored the house and not discovered the home of the small ornate brass mystery. Its elusiveness bothered me. I found myself wondering about it at the oddest times, like when I was exploring the city or training at the tae kwon do club I’d found less than a mile from my front doorstep. It nagged at me when I rode the Tube, and at night when I brushed my teeth. It stood out on the ring, its intricate Celtic design drawing my attention every time I handled the keys. It was impossible to ignore. It might have been small in comparison to its more utilitarian cousins, but its very uniqueness made it large in my eyes. Perhaps for that reason, I felt the need to find its home.

  I rolled a sip of red wine around inside my mouth before tipping my head back and letting it slide down my throat. I wondered what I should do for the evening. Pondering my options, I carried my plate to the kitchen and quickly washed it. After drying my hands on a hand towel, I pulled aside the curtain and looked outside. Seeing the steady rain, I sighed. The foul weather made my decision for me. A night in it was. Maybe it was time to check out Robert’s DVD collection.

  Sauntering up the stairs to the master bedroom with its huge king-size bed, I paused just inside the door, my gaze on the large flat-screen TV—Robert obviously liked to watch movies while lying in his mammoth bed. The state-of-the-art modernity of the unit was in direct contrast to the antique Chinese sideboard upon which it rested. The cabinet was beautiful: long and dark, with three sets of double doors decorated with delicately painted birds and blooms in creams, greens and gold.

  After placing my glass of wine on the bedside table, I strode to the sideboard, and upon opening the first set of doors, one glance informed me the DVDs were arranged alphabetically. I ran my gaze over the titles and removed one or two possibilities before moving to the second set of doors and doing the same.

  The final set of doors stopped me in my tracks. There, on the bottom shelf, was an old-fashioned lockable box. As soon as I saw it, I knew I’d finally found the home of my mystery key.

  Considering where he kept the box, and its size and shape, I surmised it housed his porn collection. The fact he kept it under lock and key intrigued me. Was it to keep it safe from the prying eyes of his cleaning lady, who I had yet to meet? Or was it because it was one hell of a deviant collection? My curiosity got the better of me, and I quickly retrieved the keys. Surely, had it been off-limits, he’d have removed the key from the ring?

  All the labels were handwritten. Labels I didn’t read. Labels I only glanced at.

  With the wisdom of hindsight, that observation should have told me they were home movies.

  But it didn’t.

  I didn’t hesitate for so much as one moment. Not one.

  I pulled the first one from the box and slotted it in the player. Taking a step backward, I pointed the remote and hit play.

  And then life as I knew it changed forever.

  One minute my life was headed in one direction, the next it headed in another, totally new one.

  Robert Callinan was standing exactly where I was.

  The difference being I was fully dressed in sweats and a tee.

  He wasn’t.

  And I was alone.

  He wasn’t.

  Kneeling before him was a blond youth of maybe twenty-one, gripping Robert’s buttocks with his hands as he bobbed his head back and forth against Robert’s groin.

  I should have turned away.

  I should have hit the stop button.

  I should have done something.

  Instead, I stood, cemented to the spot, not breathing.

  I couldn’t tear my gaze from the screen.

  It wasn’t the shock of seeing man-on-man action, though I’d never seen that before.

  It was Robert’s face.

  The cords in his neck. His long arched neck.

  His Adam’s apple, pointed skywards.

  His closed eyes and his softly parted lips.

  And the sounds.

  It was the sounds coming from those barely parted lips.

  The sighs and gasps and moaning exhalations.

  They played harmony to the wet sucking sounds emanating from the blond.

  I remained frozen, my gaze riveted on Robert’s face and neck. I sw
allowed, trying to suck air into my starving lungs, and whimpered at my inability to drag my stare away. But his face… the naked expression of ecstasy… I’d never seen anything like it before. It was nothing like the bit of porn I’d watched over the years.

  It was more. So much more.

  And though my gaze was glued to his fluttering eyelids, I still somehow saw the way he curved his body to meet the guy’s sucking mouth, the way he curled his fingers in the youth’s hair.

  I wanted to move. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to drown out the sounds of their pleasure. I wanted my heart to slow down and my stomach to relax. I wanted my lungs to expand; I wanted them to contract.

  But most of all I wanted my dick to soften.

  Robert’s guttural groan as he came answered that prayer, just not in the way I’d hoped….

  As a shameful warmth spread at my crotch, my gaze traveled south to Robert’s groin, and at the sight of his saliva-coated cock still sheathed in the thinnest of condoms, my own gave one last spurt. I gasped.

  My punishment for invading Robert’s privacy didn’t end there. It didn’t end by a long shot.

  As my cum-soaked sweatpants cooled against my sticky skin, I watched as he returned the favor, sucking the blond to completion before positioning him on the bed and fucking him so thoroughly Blondie came again, shooting his load all over the bed, hands free.

  It was only when the screen went black that the spell he’d cast over me was broken, and I was able to stumble to the bathroom.

  Dropping my pants at the opening to the shower stall, I stepped under the spray before the water heated, welcoming the coolness washing over my traitorous body. I shuddered.

  I lathered and loofahed my body, but I couldn’t scrub the images from my mind. Nor could I erase my thoughts.

  Thoughts that showed Robert rocking into the proffered ass of the youth. He hadn’t pistoned into the guy the way I might have expected. It wasn’t rough and primal. It wasn’t animalistic. I struggled to pull the right adjective from the recesses of my mind.