by Allan, S. H.
“It’s gone eleven.”
It seemed to dawn on Finn that the room had been restored to its usual pristine neatness, the only traces of the previous night a few brownies wrapped in cling film and a bulging plastic sack of bottles. “I’d have given you a hand,” he said.
“Sit down a minute, will you?”
“Ah, don’t give me a hard time, babe. My head’s splitting. I didn’t know you were up.”
Charlie felt an odd sense of disassociation, of unreality, as if he were an actor in a badly directed play. He looked at Finn slumped at the opposite side of the table, long legs sprawled. Pale, unshowered, his hair spiking wildly in all directions, he appeared to Charlie peculiarly beautiful then, so desirable. His heart began to thud at the thought that he might be about to bring the temple crashing down on their heads. Better, perhaps, to leave it, to wait and hope that the scenery would eventually change? Better to settle for part of this lovely man, to share him for a while, rather than risk losing him entirely? Better to retreat into the background like patience on a fucking monument, smiling at grief?
“What?” Finn asked, smothering a yawn.
“Are you planning on leaving me?”
“What?”
“Are you planning on leaving me?
Pushing himself slowly upright, Finn said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Straight enough question.”
“Why the fuck would I be planning on leaving you?”
“Alex.”
“Alex? What about Alex?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“What, you think there’s something going on between him and me?”
“Isn’t there?”
“No! Christ, Charlie!”
There was an unmistakable ring of truth to it, but it wasn’t the whole truth. “But you’d like there to be. Wouldn’t you?”
Finn Lydiard was an imperfect creature. Fabulously untidy, he had a tendency to snappishness, to sulk when thwarted. Some miswired neural connection made him laugh when he received a shock or unwelcome news: he’d laughed when he heard his father had been admitted to a coronary care unit. He laughed then, right in Charlie’s face, a short, nervous bark. But set in the balance, outweighing his flaws, was his essential honesty: at heart he was a truthful man, and he had never lied to Charlie. And so, for one fatal second, he hesitated.
Charlie got to his feet. His legs were shaking as he walked past Finn and headed for the stairs.
“Charlie!”
If he had been a character in a play, he would have dragged a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and flung a random selection of clothes into it. Tearful but dignified, he would have swept past his lover, pausing only to spit out one last killer remark. But Charlie simply sat on the bed and stared at the floor, so dumbfounded by pain he was unaware Finn had come into the room.
“Charlie, can I explain?” Bone-white, only two hectic spots of color high on his cheekbones, Charlie’s face remained utterly impassive. “Please.”
Even to himself, his voice sounded like an old, old man’s. “What’s to explain? You want him, have him.”
“I don’t, that’s the point. I don’t want him.”
Charlie lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. “Just fuck off.”
“No.”
The poisoned silence held, baleful, pregnant with impending disaster. Tentatively, Finn put his hand on Charlie’s ankle, jerking it away as he kicked out.
His voice clotted with tears, Charlie said, “Will you just leave me alone?”
“Oh God, don’t cry.” He reached out to the bedside table and yanked a sheaf of tissues from the box. “Don’t cry, Charlie, please. Here.”
Charlie ignored him. He took off his glasses and swept the heels of his hands under his eyes, then stared through Finn as if he didn’t exist.
“Okay. I’ve fucked up big-time, I realize that, but you’re going to listen. Will you listen? You owe me that, at least.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Finn took a degree of comfort from the fact that Charlie had stayed on the bed. “I don’t want Alex. He’s nothing to me. I’ve never laid a finger on him. I’ve never done anything with him. Yes, yes, I admit for a time I was tempted—Jesus, will you stop fucking crying and listen to me!” After a moment, he started again, keeping his eyes on Charlie, ready to pounce if he moved. “A couple of weeks after he joined the firm it, was obvious he was… well, he was interested. And I was flattered. I admit it, I was bloody flattered, a guy like Alex interested in me. I enjoyed the banter, just messing around, having a bit of fun. It was a game, nothing serious, like you and the guy with the eyes in the deli. And anyway, I reckon what really turned him on was the thought that he might be hooking the CIO. Career-enhancing move. Whatever. But… well, after a while I began to think, why not? You’d never have known. It was exciting; the thought of it excited me. I’m sorry, Charlie, but I’m trying to be truthful here. I thought, one time, just once, before he moves on. He’ll be off to Dresden in a couple of weeks, working with Helen. He’ll be gone by the time we get back from London.”
Charlie focused bloodshot eyes on Finn. “Once? What d’you mean, once? Once what? Take him to dinner once, fuck him once, what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I just thought… something… different, something new. A change.”
“A change from me.”
“A change from being… settled.”
“A change from me. Dull, steady, boring Charlie, tying you into our dull, steady, boring relationship. Our unexciting relationship.” He sat up and patted the quilt for his glasses. “Finn, if that’s what you want, that’s what you want.”
Finn took hold of Charlie’s wrist and hung on, gripping hard enough to bruise. “But it’s not what I want. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Yes, it would have been a… a kind of thrill, to be with someone different. These last few weeks, I’ve been pulling away from you. I’ve been trying to think it through. Would it be worth it? Really? To risk wrecking what we have, everything we’ve built together, for a cheap screw? Come home to you knowing what I’d done? I could have, but I didn’t. I didn’t, Charlie. I didn’t want to, not when push came to shove.” He smiled faintly. “As it were.”
But he did, didn’t he? He’d have had it up your arse any day of the week. And you’d have loved it, wouldn’t you? Getting fucked? Charlie felt a visceral clench of loathing for Alex so intense he thought he might throw up. “So this is why you’ve been so off with me. I see it now.”
Finn uncurled his body from the bed and walked to the window. He stood, arms raised, spanning the glass, looking down into the garden. “It’s more than that. I’ve never really thought about us, you know, really thought. It was like, I’m coming up to thirty-four, forty just around the corner, then fifty, sixty. The thing with Alex was a kind of wake-up call. Did I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, because if I did, it would only be you. One man, for always. Decision time.” He turned and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He smiled, a shy, almost humble smile that poured a little balm on Charlie’s sore and battered heart. “Not a tough decision. It’s you I want. It’s you I’ve always wanted. I’m sorry. I’ve been a total twat.”
Charlie swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stared at the floorboards. “It’s not all down to you. If you’ve been looking around, that’s got to be something to do with us, with me. I know what I am. I’m just an ordinary bloke. Thing is, I don’t know what to do to be exciting, to be the kind of bloke you’re looking for.”
“I’m not looking for any kind of bloke. I’ve already got him. Okay, maybe you’re not going to set the world on fire, but who wants to burn to death? You’re kind and warm and loving and… gentle and… steadfast. That’s what I’ll want when I’m sixty. It’s what I want now. I love you, Charlie Langridge, always have, always will.” Catching Charlie’s quick flush, Finn pressed home his advantage. “Forgive me?”
&nbs
p; Charlie sighed. “Go make me some breakfast. Then we’ll talk.”
THE concourse at Paddington station was its usual frantic whirl of activity: business types sweeping by, frowning into phones; bemused tourists studying the departure boards; a gaggle of Chinese teenagers, all multicolored hair and attitude, craning their necks to take in Brunel’s airy spans of iron and glass. The only thing missing was a nun with a guitar.
Finn shifted his bag to his other hand, waiting for Charlie, who had been held up at the barrier behind a stout, striking woman in a Nigerian gele who’d mislaid her ticket. “Bakerloo line,” he said. He set off toward the entrance to the Underground until Charlie tugged his sleeve.
“No, we’ll get a taxi. Come on.”
“It’s only a few stops on the Tube.”
“Finn. Am I organizing this or what? It’s your birthday present. We’re getting a taxi.”
He shook his head in mild exasperation, but it wasn’t worth arguing, spoiling Charlie’s treat. He seemed so happy, almost fizzing with excitement. It couldn’t be the mere fact of their being in London; they’d visited the capital dozens of times, for business and pleasure. More likely it was relief, a joyous rebound from the worry and strain of the past weeks. Remembering Charlie’s grace, his generosity of spirit in forgiving his… lapse, Finn felt an almost overwhelming urge to take him in his arms and kiss him. Sweet, sweet guy. Instead he blew softly on the back of Charlie’s neck as they waited, shuffling forward in the queue until the taxi marshal beckoned.
“You get in,” Charlie said and gave brief directions to the driver.
After a minute or so of crawling through the traffic, Finn hunched forward and looked out through the window. “Hang on. Isn’t this Marylebone Road? This isn’t the way to Piccadilly.”
“No, it’s the way to St. Pancras.”
“St. Pancras? Why are we going to St. Pancras?”
“It’s where the Eurostar leaves from.”
Charlie grinned at the blank expression on Finn’s face. Timing it just right, he added, “I always thought it was weird. You’ve been all over the world, but you’ve never been to Paris. How can you never have been to Paris, for Christ’s sake? Everyone’s been to Paris.”
“I was meant to go once when I was a kid, but I broke my leg. Charlie?”
“That famous Manet? The one of the naked woman on the grass? It didn’t come over for the exhibition. It’s still in the Musée d’Orsay.”
“Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, yes….”
“I thought you’re bound to want to see it.”
“Oh, you—” Heedless of the driver’s fascinated glances in the mirror, Finn kissed his lover, a soft kiss, prolonged and lingering, until suddenly he broke away with a jerk. “My passport.”
“In my case.” Charlie threaded his fingers through Finn’s and pulled his hand down to the seat. “Relax, everything’s taken care of. All you have to do is enjoy the trip.”
“MESSIEURS.” With a sweeping gesture of his hand, the urbane gray-haired patron indicated that they should precede him into the suite. For sure, an unusual set of requirements for this agreeable young couple but nothing that had really tested his ability. He glanced briefly around, checking that all was in order. “Est-ce que tout vous convient?”
Charlie smiled, his eyes on Finn. “Un rêve devenu réalité, m’sieur.”
“Je vous en prie. Ce sera tout?”
“Oui. Merci.”
The door closed with a soft click. Charlie came up behind Finn and slipped his arms around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. Ahead of them, between tall, elaborately dressed windows, a magnificent pier mirror caught and reflected all the exuberance of a Belle Époque sitting room, gorgeous in cobalt and jade, aquamarine and milky eau de nil. Twin cameo settees, upholstered in moiré silk, one either side of a low console table, formed the focal point of the room. To the left was an imposing Empire sideboard and opposite, two low armchairs, their glossy hide a rich peacock blue. Dotted here and there, small tables in the Louis XVI style held a variety of objets d’art, bronze figurines and little boxes inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl. The crystal drops of a deep bowl chandelier trembled from an ormolu rim, old diamonds flashing, and in every corner of the room porcelain pots held lush sprays of maidenhair fern.
Charlie pressed his lips to Finn’s throat. “What d’you think?”
“A bit understated, maybe.” He gasped and jerked, laughing as Charlie dug him sharply in the ribs. “Okay, okay!” Turning so that he faced him, Finn gently stroked his cheek. “It’s amazing, beautiful. What made you think of it? How did you find it?”
“Oh, you know, just….” He caught Finn’s hand. “Come on, let’s see the rest.”
The twining wisteria pattern of the wallpaper carried through to the bedroom. They stared at the bed, its carved walnut headboard cradling a blowsy extravaganza of pillows. A teal silk coverlet fell in folds to the floor. Finn gave a low whistle, but Charlie’s gaze focused on the small spray of white flowers, modest and unassuming, almost lost in the splendor of satin and brocade.
“Jesus. And what’s that lovely smell?”
Charlie pointed. “There, look, between those pillows.”
Finn picked up the little nosegay and twirled it under his nose. “I wonder what it is.”
“I think it’s called Cherry Pie.”
“Is it? How do you know that?”
“You know me, a mine of useless information.”
“Come here, mine.”
It was crucial that everything continued according to plan, so when their embrace threatened to develop into something neither of them would want to stop, Charlie eased away and planted a kiss on the tip of Finn’s nose. “Steady on, handsome. I’ve ordered room service for half past nine. Just time to shower and unpack. You go first.”
“I’ve got a feeling,” Finn said, rubbing his palm on Charlie’s zip, “that there’s going to be an old-fashioned bath in there, very big, very deep, and there’ll be oils and lotions and… unguents.”
“Unguents?”
“Sure. Bound to be.”
Charlie gave him a slap on the arse. “Don’t take too long.”
WRAPPED in bathrobes, they sat in a loveseat at the larger of the two windows, Charlie’s legs on Finn’s lap. Charlie said, “If we go to the museum tomorrow morning, we can get a boat on the Canal St-Martin in the afternoon. They go from there. They’re nicer than the bateaux mouches—not so touristy.”
“I want to be touristy. I want to see it all. I want to go up the Eiffel Tower and buy one of those snow globe things you shake. God, this is fabulous champagne.”
“Belle Époque. Name seemed to fit, somehow. We’ll see everything you want. We’ll get a tour bus, hop on, hop off. Fancy going to Père-Lachaise, visit Oscar’s grave?”
“Yeah, I do.”
The knock at the door was so soft they nearly missed it.
“Dinner.” God, please, God, let them have got it right.
“SO WHAT do we have?” Finn looked at the domed covers on the sideboard with a grin of anticipation. “Something fabulous, bound to be. Can I look?”
“Go ahead.”
As he lifted away each cover and set it aside, his hand slowed, and his expression changed. Solemnly he considered the food, touching a fingertip to each silver platter. “Those little flowers. What did you say they were called?”
“Cherry Pie.” He gave it a few beats. “Heliotrope.”
“White heliotrope.”
“Yes.”
“Oysters. Foie gras. And that’ll be partridge, I think. Oranges, pineapple, bananas.”
“Yes.”
His voice shaking, full of wonder, he said, “It’s Teleny. You’ve made Teleny for me.”
Charlie smiled.
When Finn returned his smile his eyes were glimmering with tears. The classic piece of Victorian erotica had long been a favorite. “Oh, Charlie.”
“It’s not all down to me. There’s this Web si
te. You tell them what you want, and they fix it all for you, well, as best they can. I know the room should be red, and we skipped the bearskin, but it’s as near as, damn it.”
“It’s…. It must have cost—”
“Ssh, don’t.” Gently Charlie kissed Finn’s forehead. “Cheap at twice the price just to see your face. You do like it, don’t you?”
“I bloody love it, but what gave you the idea?”
“I was cleaning the bedroom, and it was in your pile of books. I looked at the cover, that fabulous arse, and it just… came into my head: Teleny, Paris, Manet.”
Taking hold of Charlie’s hand, playing with his fingers, Finn said, “This is the best present I’ve ever had, but I don’t want you to think you have to do stuff like this. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Once in a while won’t hurt. Anyhow, this is for me as well.”
Finn thought, For you? But who are you, Charlie? I don’t know you, not you as you are now. I thought I did, but I don’t. All this time. I thought I knew everything there was to know about you, but what I see now is a stranger, a lovely, entrancing stranger. And, oh God, I want you.
“Hungry?” Charlie murmured. He picked up an oyster shell and lifted it to Finn’s mouth, a sharp thrill knifing as he watched him swallow. “Good?”
“Mmm.”
Down, down between Finn’s pecs, Charlie drew the shell, grazing to the base of his cock. Up again, zigzagging his belly in a delicious scrape against the grain of hair, from one nipple to the other. “You remember what happens in the story? After they’ve eaten?”
As Finn finally grasped the entirety of what Charlie intended, his heart began to thud wildly in his chest. “Yeah.”
“Remember what Teleny does to Des Grieux? Turns you on, doesn’t it, reading about it? So fucking sexy. Beyond erotic.” Charlie’s gaze bore into him, only a halo of gray visible around the fathomless pupils.
Finn’s cock lost its heavy curve, rapidly straightening, lengthening. “You’ve never…. I didn’t think you wanted to.”