The English Boys

by Julia Thomas

  He yearned to check his watch for the time, but caught Hugh’s mother’s eye and didn’t dare. Tomorrow, he would drive down to Brighton. He could hardly think of anything he less wanted to do. Not because his parents were there, of course, but leaving Tamsyn here, in the warm little circle of Ashley-Hunts, to enjoy Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as a family was a difficult cross to bear.

  When the three of them were in London, things were different. He often met Tamsyn on her own for lunch and they took long walks in their favorite places. She was fond of Kensington Gardens, which happened to be near his flat. One of the pools, although manicured within an inch of its life, had a natural effect that both of them enjoyed. There was also, within a long expanse of the wall, a small door, barely four feet tall, with a square window set on the diagonal and boarded up. He argued the door was an entrance to the lawn equipment, but she disagreed with him. The Duchess of Cambridge, she was certain, was just on the other side, probably feeling cooped up and restless in spite of the massive renovations that had been undertaken to make it a perfect royal home. He loved that about Tamsyn. She made him look at everything differently.

  The idea of leaving her in Gloucestershire was more than depressing. If they were on their own, he could have discovered what she really wanted to do for Christmas, and he didn’t for a moment think she would choose a poncy Ashley-Hunt holiday. Daniel had the strong suspicion that Hugh was going to propose to her, and he was afraid that he would find out about it days later when they’d gone home and settled back into their ordinary routines.

  He took a couple of steps back, and when that did not attract attention, he turned and went into the kitchen. He set his glass of wine on the counter and put his hands in his pockets, turning toward the window, feeling black and miserable. A moment later, he heard footsteps behind him.

  “The toasts go on forever, don’t they?” he heard Caroline Ashley-Hunt say.

  He turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave. I’ve had some things on my mind.”

  “I hope everything is all right,” she said. She put her glass on the counter as well and walked over to adjust a few canapés on a tray. “Do you think we have enough shrimp?”

  He glanced at the tray and nodded. “The food is amazing. You’re the perfect hostess.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  He knew what was coming, and he didn’t want to answer it.

  “Are Hugh and Tamsyn serious?”

  Daniel was terrified of saying the wrong thing. He didn’t want to lie to Mrs. Ashley-Hunt, who had been generous and kind to him through the years and genuinely interested in his life as he got older. He also didn’t want to reveal any of Hugh’s thoughts or motivations to his mother. It was for his friend to decide what to tell his parents and when, though it seemed clear enough to him that Hugh and Tamsyn were heading for an engagement. Perhaps most importantly, he didn’t like to discuss Tamsyn with anyone, no matter how well he knew them.

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  It was true enough. With Tamsyn, one could never be certain how serious she was. She had her little secrets, he knew.

  “Would you mind helping me with this tray?” she asked.

  If he wasn’t going to tell her anything, she wouldn’t continue to press him. He gave her his most charming smile.

  “I’d be happy to. You throw a wonderful party.”

  By the time they arrived back in the living room, the toasts were over and people were chatting and having another glass of wine. Three or four people reached out to take an hors d’oeuvre from the tray as if he were a waiter, and it was a couple of moments before he managed to set it on the large table with the others. Caroline had disappeared into the crowd, and he hoped the matter would be forgotten. He thought he would be fine, and then Tamsyn walked over to him.

  “I have something for you,” she said, pulling a package from behind her back.

  She didn’t wait for him to open it. Like a child, she pulled away the paper herself. It was a book: a pristine, shiny copy of The Age of Innocence. Daniel had never read it, but he had seen the film, a tragic story of unrequited love. He looked up at her. She wasn’t sending him some sort of message, was she? Did he even want her to? Wouldn’t it be simpler for all of them if he carried a torch for her without anyone suspecting?

  “It’s perfect,” he said, taking it when she held it out. “You know I love to read.”

  Hugh came up beside them and didn’t seemed to notice any particular significance to the gift.

  “Where’s mine?” he asked, his eyes glittering.

  “Oh, you’ll get yours,” Tamsyn said, making them both smile.

  “My gift for you is under the tree,” Daniel said. “You can have it on Christmas, and not before.”

  “Tell me what it is.”

  “Doesn’t that spoil the surprise?”

  “That’s fine with me. I hate surprises.”

  “It’s that horrid little scarf you liked so much, that we saw last week. The one with the metallic things dangling on the ends.”

  “I love that scarf!” Tamsyn cried. “You went back and got it? Aren’t you wonderful!”

  “Well,” Hugh said, reaching into his pocket. “If we’re giving gifts early … ”

  Tamsyn took the posh little box wrapped in a black velvet bow. She slid off the ribbon and lifted the lid, revealing a diamond bracelet inside. The diamonds were round, alternating large and small stones, set in platinum. Daniel couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow.

  “Merry Christmas, indeed,” he said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Nothing but the best for our girl, eh?” Hugh said.

  Tamsyn clapped the lid back onto the box and smiled. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Come on,” Hugh said, taking her by the arm. “I haven’t introduced you to my aunt and uncle yet.”

  Tamsyn was pulled away into the crowd. Someone, possibly Hugh’s father, had turned on music and the golden tones of Frank Sinatra filled the room. Daniel went to the back of the house and let himself out the door. Standing on the step, he patted his pockets, located his cigarettes, and lit one. It was trying very hard to snow. There were light, tinkling bits of drizzle but he withstood it, fixing his eyes on the trees beyond. It was dark now, pitch dark, with only the muted illumination of the lights from the house splaying across the lawn. The moon was hidden behind the clouds.

  He realized suddenly that he was angry. If he had been Hugh, he would have waited until a private moment to give Tamsyn something as expensive as a diamond bracelet, not whipped it out in front of someone else for effect. But perhaps, Daniel thought, it was for his benefit, not Tamsyn’s; a message to stay away from what was rightfully Hugh’s. Never, in all of the years he had known Hugh, had a girl ever come between them. Daniel had promised himself in Dorset that it wouldn’t happen this time either, but the situation was becoming more difficult by the second.

  Did Hugh really love her? Or had he seen that Daniel was falling for her and stepped in to claim the prize? Hugh was competitive, the way any healthy, successful twenty-nine-year-old was competitive, but that didn’t mean he was out to deprive his best friend of the girl he wanted most.

  Maybe it was best, after all, that he was headed to Brighton in the morning. He needed time to think. He certainly couldn’t do that here, with diamond bracelets being unwrapped under his nose. Daniel took a last puff of the cigarette and then let himself back into the house, going up the back staircase up to his room. He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to think about nothing.

  After a while, he heard a knock on the door and it opened slowly. Tamsyn peered around the edge with a smile.

  “Want some company?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  He propped himself up as she
sat down on the foot of his bed, pulling her legs under her and plucking at one of the frayed seams of her skirt.

  “Where’s Hugh?” he asked.

  He had expected a long night, knowing their room was next door. He could handle their relationship as long as they were reasonably discreet, when it was something he didn’t have to think about on an hourly basis, but knowing there was a single wall between them would be harder to bear.

  “The men are having cigars. I’m sure they’re wondering where you are.”

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  “What’s the real reason?” she asked. “Too chummy in there for you?”

  “I just didn’t feel like it,” he answered. He didn’t want to get into specifics with the one person who was the reason for his mood swings.

  “I loved the scarf,” Tamsyn said, kicking off her shoes and tossing them onto the floor. The thick carpet muted the sound. “I opened it after you disappeared.”

  “It’s hard to shop for the girl who has everything,” he teased.

  “You know what I like.”

  “Where’s the bracelet?” he asked, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. “I didn’t see you put it on.”

  “It didn’t go with this outfit, did it?” she demurred.

  He was hard-pressed to think of anything she owned that it would go with at all. There was an unspoken thought hanging in the air. Why didn’t Hugh understand exactly what sort of girl Tamsyn was? Or did he see something in her that Daniel just hadn’t seen yet, the future lady of the manor house and film star? Somehow, Daniel couldn’t imagine her any differently than she was at this moment.

  “Those were some pretty boring toasts tonight,” he remarked. “You put a brave face on it, though.”

  She laughed. “I think that’s my future, right there.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Do you always come to the Ashley-Hunt holiday party?”

  “Most years, yes. But I don’t stay on through Christmas.”

  “You’re leaving in the morning,” she said.

  “Have to put in an appearance at my parents’.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave. If you stay, we could take a snowy ride tomorrow or do something adventurous, like build a bonfire.”

  “You’ll have plenty to keep you busy here,” he assured her. “Hugh will see to that.”

  She moved from the end of the bed to sit next to him. Without a word, she reached up and touched his chin with her hand and turned it gently toward her. She lifted her face to his and their lips met. He was powerless to stop her. He knew then that anything she wanted from him was hers. He didn’t want to betray Hugh, but his friend was so far from his thoughts as to be completely inconsequential. She kissed him fully, and the spark was as sharp as an electric current. Daniel’s heart began to pound. As he moved his hand to cup her precious, elfin face, she suddenly pulled back. She smoothed back his hair for a lingering moment, and then stood, retrieving her shoes from the floor. Then she slipped out of the room without a word, closing the door tightly behind her.

  Twenty-Two

  It was difficult, after so many years of being out on his own, to live in the same house with his parents, but Hugh knew it was the best thing at the moment. He felt raw and moody, and the house, if not his parents, soothed him. There was a stillness here that belied the fact they were in the middle of London. Each of the rooms had a settled, relaxed feel, and the familiarity of many long years spent in them. He knew how soft or how hard each chair was; and while he enjoyed the art his parents had collected over the years, which included a couple of Cecil Kennedy florals and a William Biscombe Gardner, he preferred the antique furnishings his mother had collected: the mahogany tables and secretaries and enormous bedsteads that reached to the ceiling. The generous size of the rooms might not have been noticeable to him had he not found so many houses wanting when he had been searching for his own. The Mayfair house served as a guide to what any good home in London should be.

  He especially loved the kitchen, run by Marthe. She had been their family’s cook as long as he could remember, and she was a marvel. Trays of chocolate biscuits always lay cooling on the counter alongside bowls of berries ready to be cooked into jams. Meals were stately affairs with numerous courses, and the refrigerator was always stocked with his favorite things regardless of whether he was there or not.

  Since Tamsyn’s death, he had perched on a chair in this kitchen for a part of each day, watching Marthe work. It was the only place to grieve. Though the old woman said very little, she commanded the room and used it in its entirety. Every bit of silver was polished and checked; china rotated so that one didn’t tire of eating off the same plate; small, modern appliances were suitably stored in the pantry along with enough food to feed an army. For Hugh, being there kept his mind on something warm and real instead of Chief Inspector Murray and the excruciatingly slow investigation. He had never had any patience, anyway, but something of this magnitude was almost too painful to bear.

  His parents were little distraction, neither of them knowing what to say to a bereaved son. They had been disappointed in his marriage to Tamsyn, he knew, but now that she had been murdered, things were different. They were sympathetic, though not overly solicitous. An Ashley-Hunt was expected to grieve in peace and come to terms with things in his own way. This was something he had to deal with in private.

  The police hadn’t yet discovered who had sent him the death threat. Every day, Hugh checked his email to see if another one had come, relieved each time to see that none had. He wasn’t aware of making enemies. In fact, he usually went out of his way to be friendly to everyone he worked with, and of all his friends, he was the most polite to people who worked in bars and shops. Their lives were miserable enough without those like him making it harder. No, the death threat was truly a mystery. His present situation made him worried and anxious, and he even resented the bodyguard posted near the front door. It was Carson today, he noted. He had come to know each one. He’d told his father not to bother, he didn’t feel threatened; but of course, the old man had insisted.

  The sun was shining, making puddles of sunlight on the floor where Duke, the old yellow Labrador, was lying, eyes closed, perhaps imagining his younger days when he was able to run about on a leash and ferret out rabbits and mice in the park. Hugh knelt down and rubbed the dog between the ears, which was acknowledged by a slight lifting of his eyelids and a vague wag of his tail. If Duke hadn’t been flagging lately, he would have taken him for a walk, but the old fellow was now beyond such simple pleasures. He could barely drag himself outside twice a day to attend to nature. Hugh made a sudden decision, going up to his room and wheeling his old bicycle from the closet. He had to get out of the house, even for a short time. Restaurants and pubs were off-limits; it would draw negative attention to be spotted out having even a simple meal or drink so soon after the funeral. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so his London set were crossed off the list as well. He couldn’t imagine how long it would be before he could have a conversation with someone that didn’t focus on the horrific situation in which he now found himself. He wasn’t a filmgoer, per se, unless it was the premiere of one of his own bits of work or possibly Daniel’s, so he couldn’t see himself sitting in a half empty, darkened theatre in the middle of the day simply to get out of the house. Still, he couldn’t be trapped inside another day.

  Tucking a pair of sunglasses into the pocket of his hoodie, he maneuvered the bicycle down the stairs, remembering many previous admonishments from his mother regarding the state of the paint on the walls. Making certain no one was there to see, he parked it behind a settee and went in search of Carson, who, as he had suspected, was in the library looking at book titles and listening for sounds from the front door.

  “Marthe’s made something marvelous today,” Hugh said, watching the man turn around. “Fresh lemon curd and hot scon
es. Perfect with a cup of tea.”

  He had noticed that Carson preferred tea to coffee, having spent a few days learning each bodyguard’s personal idiosyncrasies. This one was rather old-fashioned, a solid Brit who loved golf played with woods instead of irons and probably stood in the privacy of his own home when the Queen gave her Christmas speech.

  “That sounds rather good,” Carson answered, putting the book back on the shelf with a smile. “What about you?”

  “Thanks, I’ve had some. I’m going upstairs to read for a while.”

  “Then I may nip in and have a look.”

  Hugh smiled and headed for the staircase. Upon seeing the man walk toward the kitchen, he turned around and eased the bike out of the front door. No one else was in the house. His mother was having lunch with one of her endless friends and his father was on the links, where he could be found most sunny spring days when he wasn’t in the middle of a project. Hugh turned toward Hyde Park, as he so often had when he was younger. His limbs were stiff, so he took it more slowly than he otherwise might have, crossing Park Lane and South Carriage Drive through thick traffic. He hadn’t put on his sunglasses yet, which seemed as though it invited people to look at his face rather than grant him the anonymity he preferred. He pumped the pedals, his calf muscles tightening as he increased his speed.

  Before he reached the curb, he heard the sudden squeal of brakes and the scraping sound of metal on metal behind him. Shaken, he turned to see that he had narrowly missed being hit when someone had made a right turn into oncoming traffic. Three vehicles were affected, and no one appeared to be hurt, but his heart was thumping anyway.