by Xavier Mayne
Chapter Twelve
Saturday, One Week until the Wedding
Ferry, North Sea
THE NEXT morning Mags was back at her table in the restaurant, alone, drinking tea as if it were bourbon. If she was pleased to see Bryce and Nestor resume their seats before her, she gave no outward sign. With just an eyebrow—raised imperiously—she ordered tea for them as well, and once they each had a cup in front of them she finally spoke.
“Did we enjoy ourselves last night?” she asked in the tone of voice one would use to inquire about a knitting club meeting.
“We did,” Bryce replied pleasantly. “Several times, actually.”
“Ah, youth,” she said wistfully. “One always hears that it is wasted on the young, but I rather enjoy watching the young waste it.”
Bryce set his cup down, stricken. “Oh, darling, if you wanted to watch you need only to have asked.” He turned to Nestor. “I feel just terrible we deprived her, don’t you? Particularly given the somewhat acrobatic performances our guest stars were capable of.”
Nestor nodded sorrowfully.
“Oh, piff,” Mags replied. “I’m at that age where hearing about it later is just as good as seeing it in person.”
“May God strike me dead before I reach that age,” Bryce said solemnly, gazing heavenward.
“She shall, I daresay,” Mags replied blandly, then sipped her tea and waited patiently for story time to begin.
They passed a leisurely breakfast while Bryce explained in great detail how he and Nestor had whiled away their evening.
“And so,” Bryce concluded breathlessly, for describing the various bodily arrangements was nearly as exhausting as performing them had been, “that’s when Nestor whispers in my ear, ‘This is what the old señora wanted.’ Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Not literally, of course, because those strapping waiters had me—both of us, actually—rather pinned in place. But as we thumped and crashed our way to the inevitable conclusion, all I could think was what a delightfully dirty old man that ancient broad turned out to be.”
“No higher compliment has ever been paid,” Mags sang out joyously. “Thank you for fulfilling an old gal’s wish.”
“The pleasure, it was ours,” Nestor murmured.
“I should hope so,” Mags replied and laughed until her voice was reduced to a raspy rattle.
The ferry’s horn lowed plaintively.
“We must, I’m afraid, take our leave,” Bryce said sadly. “We’ve got to take a train to get to the other train to jump on a camel or something.”
“You two have been a delight to this old woman’s heart,” Mags said seriously, as she took their hands in turn. “Would you please give those constables of yours my best wishes for their long happiness together?”
“Of course, darling,” Bryce promised. Then a light blinked on in his head. “You may join us, if you feel up to the trip. You could be the ‘something old’ for the ceremony.”
“As charming as your offer is, I must refuse. I’ve got roses that are no doubt running riot all over my garden, and there’s a church auction benefiting the local shelter for gay youth that I must help prepare for.” She took a breath as if winded by the very mention of what she had waiting at home. “If you will allow an old woman her sentiment, I predict that the two of you will have as many happy years ahead of you as I enjoyed with Harold. Just remember to be kind to each other, and to share the special things in life—especially sailors.”
“We shall, we shall,” Bryce twittered, bestowing a scented cloud of air kisses upon the old dame. “We’ve been honored to meet you, Mags.”
“Yes, yes you have,” she replied. She picked up her teacup and gazed out the window, settling into a peaceful silence.
Bryce and Nestor made their way from the ferry terminal to the train station, where they secured a pair of seats in a first-class compartment and were soon rattling south toward the capital. The view out the windows offered a range of scenery, from charming hamlets to green dales, but Bryce had eyes only for the quartet of young men in the compartment opposite.
Morning, at sea
IN THE morning—or at least the last twenty-two minutes of it before the hands on the grand clock in the suite met at the top of the dial—Donnelly stepped out of the bedroom to find Sandler and Ankur snuggled together on the sofa bed. The sheets were seriously tangled, evidence of the lustful tarantella the two had danced through the wee hours of the morning. Donnelly smiled at them as he stepped to the phone and ordered brunch from Rutherford. He went out onto the balcony to await its arrival.
He looked out over the ocean, smooth as a mirror and extending miles and miles to a flat line where darker blue met lighter blue.
He’s out there.
Donnelly had worked hard on putting Brandt’s distressing absence out of his mind. At times like this, with nothing for him to focus on besides the distance between them, a heaviness crept into his chest. But, he reminded himself, they would be together soon. He imagined what Brandt must be feeling at this moment, and he smiled. Donnelly had beguiled this long week into passing quickly, pushing himself to think of other things, undertaking distracting cloak-and-dagger intrigue. Brandt, however, would kick and fight and struggle, determined to not just psychically but physically subdue the week. This morning he would be preparing his victory lap around the ring, glorying in having thrashed and beaten each hour into the past.
It was ridiculous. And Donnelly loved him for it.
Behind him, the balcony door opened. “Sir?” Rutherford said gently.
“Good morning, Rutherford.”
“Would you like breakfast on the balcony, sir?”
“Yes, please.”
The butler stepped back into the suite and reemerged with a huge silver tray. He laid out a white tablecloth and arranged an elegant table with such speed and precision that Donnelly couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Join me for a cup of coffee before you go?” Donnelly asked once the preparations were complete.
Rutherford smiled and nodded. He poured two cups of steaming black coffee from the elegant silver pot (there was another on the cart in the suite, because Rutherford knew his stuff), and he handed one to Donnelly. They stood at the railing and sipped.
“I’d like to thank you for everything this week,” Donnelly said.
“It’s my pleasure to serve, sir,” Rutherford replied modestly.
“I think we may have presented… challenges… beyond those you are normally called upon to handle.”
Rutherford smiled. “Discretion prevents me from providing details, sir, but let me assure you that a significant number of previous guests have also presented interesting… challenges.” He raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee.
“I wish Ethan could have been here for this trip. He hates being waited on, but you’re so good at it that I think you might have broken him of it.”
“Perhaps he can make the trip next time,” Rutherford replied. “I plan to be here for many years to come, and I have no doubt the two of you shall celebrate many years together.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Donnelly said. “I wish I could take you home with me.”
“I doubt there will be room in your luggage, with Ankur already packed away for Mister Birkin.” He winked over the top of his cup. “Thank you, sir, for the invitation. Now I must see to my duties, unless there’s anything else?”
“Nothing else, Rutherford. Thank you.” Donnelly finished his coffee as well. “Oh, if you could let Sandler and Ankur know that breakfast is here?”
“I will do my best to get them out of bed, sir.” He smiled. “But I am only one man.” With a warm chuckle, he headed back into the suite.
He may have been only one man, but Rutherford was somehow able to roust Sandler and Ankur from their slumber. They appeared, stumbling and blinking, just a few minutes later. The bright sun threatened to overwhelm them at first, and they stayed tucked close to the hull, looking mos
tly at each other and occasionally at the sea as they sipped tea. A fresh breeze ruffled the hems of their robes, and Donnelly was treated to an eyeful by the odd gust.
“You two seem to be having a pleasant day,” he observed, tearing a morsel off the top of a blueberry muffin and popping it into his mouth.
“We are having the most pleasant of days,” Sandler replied, and both he and Ankur beamed at Donnelly, radiating happiness.
“And the saddest of days,” added Ankur, his smile instantly evaporating. Sandler nodded his head in melancholy agreement.
Donnelly stared at them for a moment, but they simply went back to sipping their tea and looking at each other. “Um, what?” he asked when it became clear they intended to offer no further thoughts on the matter.
“Today is your last day on the ship,” Ankur explained gently, as if Donnelly might not have been aware.
“And Ankur and I won’t see each other again,” Sandler added.
Donnelly shook his head to clear it of the nonsense he had just heard. “Why in the world would you say that? There’s no reason why you can’t—”
Sandler held up a hand. “There is an insurmountable obstacle in our path, and so we must go our separate ways.”
“And what could this insurmountable obstacle be?” Donnelly had seen people overcome long odds to find love together, and he was baffled as to why Sandler and Ankur thought they could not do the same.
“I am leaving the ship after this voyage,” Ankur explained. “I must return home.”
“Okay,” Donnelly said, prompting him to continue toward the insurmountable obstacle.
“And then I am to be married.”
Donnelly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Sandler simply smiled at Ankur and ruffled his hair. “You’re going to be adorable in your wedding outfit. I wish I could see it.” Ankur blushed and kissed him.
“What the hell, you two?” Donnelly cried. “You’re not making sense.”
“My parents have arranged my marriage,” Ankur explained. “I’ve worked on this ship long enough to be able to buy a place near my parents’ home. After I am wed, my wife and I will live there.”
“You’re getting married to a woman?” Donnelly tried to will the shocked look off his face, but a quick glance in the mirrored window showed that he was not terribly successful. “I haven’t known you long, Ankur, but I don’t think many men spend the time before their wedding… well, the way you have with Sandler.”
Both men burst out laughing. “I told you he would say that,” Sandler said, and Ankur laughed even harder, nodding his head. “Look, Gabriel, I know it must seem strange, but Ankur and I went into this with our eyes open. The first day we met he told me about his upcoming marriage, and I backed off immediately, sure I’d gotten my signals horribly crossed.”
“But I convinced him that I took this job so I could….” He turned to Sandler. “What is it you say? About the crops?”
Sandler laughed. “Sow your wild oats.”
“That’s right,” Ankur cried. “My wild oats. It is expected that a man before marriage will harvest some oats. I chose to sow mine on Sandler’s farm, that’s all. I am sure I will love the woman that my parents have chosen for me—in the pictures they’ve sent me, she is quite beautiful.”
“But she’s a woman.” Donnelly didn’t mean to argue with Ankur about his own sexuality—he just wanted to understand.
“Yes, she is,” Ankur calmly replied.
“But doesn’t marrying her mean you won’t ever be with a man again? Is that what you really want?”
Ankur disentangled himself from Sandler and stepped closer to Donnelly. “But, Gabriel, isn’t that what marriage always means? That you choose to be only with the one you wed? Is that not what you plan with Ethan?”
“Yes, but—”
Sandler appeared next to Ankur, as if being five feet away from him were too much separation for him to bear. “And isn’t the choice Ankur is making just like the one Ethan’s making for you?”
Donnelly, caught off guard, could only close his mouth, it having dropped open at Sandler’s remark.
“Sorry,” Sandler said immediately. “That was rude of me.”
“No, I….” Donnelly stumbled, then regained his train of thought. “But Ankur isn’t choosing—his parents are choosing for him.”
“In my culture,” Ankur said, his voice gentle, “many marriages are chosen by the parents. And most marriages are happy because our parents know us well. You are right that I have not chosen the woman to whom I am betrothed, but I have the choice to accept my parents’ choice. I choose to follow their will, and I know I shall be happy. Marriage and a family are what I’ve always wanted.”
“When I saw you on the balcony a couple of days ago, it seemed like you wanted something else,” Donnelly blurted. He immediately began to apologize, but Ankur’s face showed no offense.
“I do very much enjoy my time with Sandler,” he said, smiling. “But you must have a very limited view of what women and men can do together to think I will never… enjoy such pleasure in the future. Don’t forget, we’re the ones who brought you the Kama Sutra.”
Donnelly spent a good couple of minutes coming up with objections to this entire view of things and then watching them crumble under Ankur’s placid confidence in his plan to marry a woman he’d never met. During this time, Ankur and Sandler took turns feeding each other scones. They were adorable. They were happy. He wondered whether that was all that really mattered.
“Well, it sounds like you two have it all figured out,” Donnelly said, watching them play idle lover’s games. “Good for you. Who am I to judge?” He poured another coffee and toasted their happiness—for the next twenty-four hours, anyway.
“Now I must get to work—the last day is always very busy,” Ankur said, brushing the scone crumbs from his robe.
“Will you come back?” Sandler asked. “For one more…?”
Ankur smiled sweetly. “It would be very late.”
“I would wait until dawn.” They kissed, and Ankur nodded before turning and going into the suite.
Sandler settled into a chaise lounge and sipped his tea. “Oh, what that boy does to me.” He sighed.
Donnelly sat down next to him. “It’s what you do to that boy that has me worried.”
Sandler smiled placidly. “I know your instinct is to rescue people from the tyranny of social norms, but we’re going to have to let this one go. He’s happy to be going home to get married.”
“I hope he will be happy. But when I saw the two of you on the balcony, he looked positively transported. I can’t imagine anything making him as happy as you did.”
“That’s a very sweet thing to say. And I have greatly enjoyed our time together—in my line of work there’s no time for second dates, much less any kind of relationship. It’s been good for me to remember what it’s like.”
“You mean what it was like with Trevor?” Donnelly asked gently.
Sandler nodded. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, they were a little red. “First love. It never quite leaves us, does it?”
“I’m lucky that way. I consider Ethan my first, and he’s never going to leave me again after the debacle that this wedding trip has become.”
“I envy you. You don’t know what I’d give to have a moment with Trevor, just to know he’s okay.”
They sat looking out over the water for a long while, each thinking of their first loves. The reappearance of Rutherford jarred them back to the moment.
“Sirs?” he said as he stepped out onto the balcony. “Would you like me to pack your bags for you?”
“That’s the kind of sweet talk that can turn a man’s head, Rutherford,” Donnelly cried. “How will I go on without you?”
Rutherford chuckled. “You will find a way, sir. You will find a way.”
That evening, Donnelly and Sandler sat down for their final dinner on board at their tucked-away table for two. Th
ere were fresh flowers and a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for them.
“I didn’t expect all this on the last night,” Donnelly remarked as the maître d’ seated them.
“The flowers are compliments of a Madame Maillard, who sends her regards,” he replied, “and the champagne is a gift from Mr. Romanov. Shall I pour?”
“Yes, thank you,” Donnelly said.
“A toast, then,” Sandler began, holding his flute aloft, “to our benefactors. Fabienne the Fabulous and Imre the Impulsive, and their shared delight in tearing open pouches.”
Donnelly burst out laughing but touched his glass to Sandler’s with a crystalline ring.
Once they had ordered, their conversation turned a little more serious.
“Where will you be off to, once we make landfall?” Donnelly asked.
“Well, assuming the volcano has settled down, I will probably have another job waiting for me when we get there. Either a pouch outbound or some commercial assignment. It’ll be back on the road for me.”
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to stick around for a few days? Perhaps to come to a little ceremony I have planned?”
Sandler looked surprised and thrilled. “I would love to, but you can’t just invite people to your wedding willy-nilly. I’m sure there’s a seating chart and everything.”
“There probably is. If there’s some pompous and circumstantial detail to be attended to, I’m certain it’s been handled. Either with cool efficiency by our wedding planner, or with hysterics and jazz hands by Bryce. Oh, and glitter. But nothing about this whole wedding has gone to plan, so I’m not going to worry about who sits where. Will you come?”
Sandler beamed. “I would be delighted to. But you simply must point your fiancé out to me the moment we step off the ship so I know who to hide from. Once he finds out we’ve been sharing a suite, who knows what he’ll do.”
“Ethan wouldn’t harm a fly,” Donnelly said with a laugh. “Though if he did, the fly would never see it coming.”