by Clare London
The old man turned to Greg. “Saw you with that young London fellow last night. Cut a fine figure on the dance floor.”
That young fellow? Like I’m not even here! Perry tensed up, but Greg just nodded. “Yes. I saw you there too, Cameron. And how’s your Mairi these days? Is she visiting with Fiona?”
“Nay. She sent the bairn alone t’ us for a holiday. They won’t let her take time off herself. I’m nae keen on her staying in that place.”
That place? Perry raised his eyebrows in question.
“Mairi is Cameron’s daughter, Fiona’s mother,” Greg murmured in explanation. “Mairi’s a widow, and working as a theater sister at a mainland hospital.”
Cameron gave a cheerful hack and spit into his hankie. “Not sure of ’em over there, lad. They’re nae like us.”
“No, indeed,” Perry agreed, though he wasn’t exactly sure who the statement had been directed to. Greg’s hand, resting almost on the small of Perry’s back, tapped him once, quickly, as if he was warning Perry against too much sarcasm. You have no idea, Perry thought, remembering the vicious banter he survived in the London office. Right now, he was just being polite.
“Boy,” Cameron said sharply. It took Perry several moments to realize Cameron was talking to him now. “Here’s my Mairi. You’ll want t’ see her.” Cameron reached into the inside pocket of his old coat and brought out a surprisingly glossy photo. It looked like one of the makeover sessions that were offered on the Internet. Perry was prepared to forego any professional critique, but it was actually well done. Of course, that was mainly because Mairi was a very pretty girl.
“She’s lovely,” he said with warmth. “You must be very proud of her.”
“Aye. She’s very pretty,” Cameron said, his voice warm.
“Well, not just that,” Perry said quietly. “I actually meant, because she’s got a responsible and prestigious job.”
There was a sudden silence in the room. Aileen stared at him openly now. Bridie was obviously trying not to laugh, and Greg looked torn between running for cover and protecting the poor young outlander he’d thrown to the Scottish wolves.
Cameron frowned. “So. Are ye one o’ those hom’sexuals?”
Perry had no problem being asked, even that bluntly. He just hoped the man’s gruff words expressed interest rather than insult. Maybe Greg was nervous too—he’d gone as motionless as stone. “Yes, I’m gay.”
Aileen just blinked, still staring at him.
“Cannae say I understand it,” Cameron continued. “Not when ye got the ladies t’ look at. Take my Mairi, for instance.”
Perry tried to imagine old Cameron in the same family as the lovely nurse in the photo but totally failed. And he’d always thought he had such a vivid imagination.
“Grampy!” came a wail from the car outside.
“The bairn!” Cameron turned swiftly and left the shop without so much as a good-bye.
Aileen, however, paused a moment longer, her parcel now under her arm. “Come t’ afternoon tea, boy,” she said to Perry, her eyes twinkling again. “We’re neighbors, y’know.”
The Mackies? So that’s who they were. Perry had never yet bumped into anyone from that croft. “I’d love to,” he said politely. “But I’m not here on North Uist for long.”
Aileen nodded, her gaze flickering between him and Greg. “We’ll see,” she said, then turned to follow her husband and granddaughter. “We’ll see,” drifted back as the door closed behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BACK at the cottage, Greg made straight for the wine. Perry settled on the sofa with a hot coffee instead. It was only lunchtime, after all, though neither of them took much interest in the sandwiches Perry had made.
“Cameron Mackie is like an unofficial laird of the village,” Greg said, having taken a large gulp of his drink. He sounded awed. “He’s been here for as long as anyone can remember. His word is law. Dougie’s terrified of his temper.”
“He seemed a perfectly pleasant man to me.” Though Perry had quickly identified the gleam in the old man’s eye, showing his mind was as sharp as a man forty years his junior. But it amused Perry to see Greg out of sorts.
“How did you dare?” Greg asked.
“You mean, answer him back? They’re just people, Greg.” Perry spoke bravely, but actually he was worrying now he’d been too cheeky. Would this make trouble for Bridie and her shop? Or perhaps for Greg himself? Perry felt a strange twist inside at the thought of that.
“It was bloody good entertainment,” Greg said and suddenly grinned. “You’re a bold young man, Perry Goodwood.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“What do you think?” Greg winked at him. That look was creeping back into his eyes, the one that broadcast how much he wanted to tumble Perry to the rug right now and get him naked, then slide his mouth right over Perry’s dick and—
“Do you really knit?” Greg said instead.
Perry shook himself out of his lustful dream. “Of course I do. Why would I lie about it?”
Greg’s expression was more thoughtful. “No, you don’t, do you?”
“Knit? I just said—”
“No, I mean lie. You don’t lie.”
The way Greg said it, it sounded like an insult. “I’ve been known to stretch the truth. I believe in the occasional, compassionate white lie.”
“Like telling someone they look good when they don’t?”
“No.” A shiver ran down Perry’s spine. The warning this time was more than just watching his tongue with powerful old men. Where was Greg going with this?
“What happens when you come up against someone who’s just too ugly to find anything complimentary?” Greg had turned his head so he was ostensibly looking at something out of the living room window.
“I never have,” Perry said firmly.
“Perry, don’t be stupid—”
“And don’t call me stupid!” he snapped back. “I have as much right to my opinion as you have. And I have never, ever, seen someone ugly. It’s a cruel and unnecessary word.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“No one’s ugly, Greg. Everyone has attraction, good features, a personality that can sparkle and charm.”
“Now you’re talking like one of those bloody magazines.”
“No, I’m talking from my heart.”
“You’re fooling yourself.”
Were they arguing again? Perry was suddenly scared—scared of what Greg was exposing, scared of saying the wrong thing, now they were… what? Not yet dating, yet definitely intimate. Where did that really leave him?
“No, I’m not,” he said carefully. “Everyone can look good, Greg. It’s not about clothes or makeup or a good haircut. Though, good grief, that can really help. It’s about the personality showing through, the confidence, the reaching out. Then a connection can be made, and it’s no longer just a two-dimensional photo in your hand but a real person, face-to-face.”
Greg still hid his face from Perry, but his shoulders were shaking.
“Tell me,” Perry said sharply, then toned it down to repeat, “Tell me what the problem is. Please, Greg. Tell me why you think this way.”
“I can’t.”
“Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
Greg shook his head vehemently. “It’s not that. Of course you bloody do! But I… can’t relive that now.”
Perry took a deep breath. “Looks to me like you never stopped living it in the first place. Come here.”
Greg peered back over his shoulder at Perry. His eyes were red around the edges. “Don’t fucking patronize me, Perry.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Perry said smartly. “Come here or there’s definitely no more sex, before or after lunch.”
Greg’s eyes widened, then his mouth twitched. He shambled over and sat next to Perry on the sofa, but his back was rigid, his hands clenched on his lap. Perry didn’t try to unknot him yet. He just put a hand over Greg’s and s
queezed gently in solidarity.
“It’s because of your brothers, right? The guys I met in London?”
Greg scowled. “You thought they were great, didn’t you?”
“Well.” Perry knew he should be honest. “Geoff seemed pleasant enough. And he’s pretty buff. I confess I had a crush on him when he was player of the year. Hey, I was young, right?” Greg was half smiling: that was a good sign. “Gerry seemed—excuse me—a bit of a prat. Too fond of talking over everyone, getting his own way. The twins were fun, though I think they’d be exhausting over a period of time.”
“God, yes.” Greg’s expression twisted with pain. “And so you’ve seen and learned more about my family than I have in the last five years.”
“You kept in touch, surely? They said you left home when you were old enough, but I can’t imagine—”
“Nothing. Not a word between us, apart from the occasional Christmas card, when I let people know where I was. Believe me, though, it was mutual. We don’t come from a history of closeness. My parents live in Switzerland and have more or less cast us all adrift. They sent me news of the family for a while after I left.”
“But…?”
“It felt alien. It was all about football tournaments and rowing challenges and London promotions, parties, girlfriends and wives. Sometimes several times over.”
“From what I’ve read about your brothers, I wonder where they find the time,” Perry suggested. Greg’s smile back at him was genuine at last. “How did it get so bad between you all, Greg?”
“I’ve always been the butt of the jokes,” Greg said. “My looks, you know?” He rushed on, as if he knew Perry would challenge that. “And I’m slower and clumsier than them all. Pretty crap at sports, no lover of partying, and useless with girls.”
“I’m not complaining about that,” Perry said softly, and squeezed Greg’s hand again.
Greg’s expression was sad. “Well, me neither, really. But that’s how we were all judged—how we appeared in public. Even George, when people knew he was gay, found cute pop stars to date. The media was part of our family from a young age.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t play the game, deliberately or naturally. It was best I got out of the way and left them to it.”
“But now they need you back?”
“Aye. Finally, someone wants all the Venturas, not just the pretty ones.”
“Stop that!” Perry was angry and pained, all at the same time.
“Perry. I’m talking about years of being told I was shit. All through school, and not just my brothers, but their cronies too. You don’t shake that off overnight, if ever. However, intellectually I try to tell myself it was just their game.” He gave one of his lopsided smiles. “Oh, there were happier times, when we were children. But as soon as Geoff started his football career and photographers began hanging around… well, my life turned miserable and stayed there.”
“You were a kid, that’s all, these things even out over time—”
“Look at me, Perry!” Greg’s voice rose. “My nose is still too big, my mouth crooked, my eyes too wide. I can’t cross a room without falling over something.”
“Heavens, you’re hardly Quasimodo.”
“But that’s not the point.” Greg sounded weary and irritated. “The point is that my brothers—”
“—were perfect. I see.” Perry took a deep breath and clasped both of Greg’s hands. “But they weren’t perfect, were they? They bullied you, Greg. They picked on you because you have a unique look, because you didn’t fit the mold. And….” It had to be said. “Because you let them.”
Greg stiffened. For a second, it looked as if he’d pull away.
Perry hurried on, “You’re so much more than looks, don’t you see? Look how you stood up for me!”
“Huh? When?”
God, Greg could be so… so obtuse sometimes. “When we were in the shop and Aileen Mackie fixed on me like a knitting needle spearing a bug.”
Greg chuckled. “I suppose so. The Mackies scared the shit out of me when I arrived. Thank God I don’t meet them often.” His expression softened again. “Perry. Thank you for listening. Well, you bloody well pushed me into talking, but you know what I mean. Sorry I’m nothing but a whiner.”
For God’s sake! “No, you’re not.” His own harsh, personal memories made Perry’s mouth go dry. “Self-esteem isn’t something you buy more of in Tesco’s. You hear me? When it’s been worn down, it takes a hell of a lot to build it up again.”
Greg peered at him, puzzled, perhaps, by something in Perry’s tone. “Perry? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. And so are you.” Perry rubbed his palms together. “And I’ll make you see that, Greg Ventura. We’re gonna work on it.”
“I’d prefer to work on something else,” Greg murmured. “You know. Right now, anyway. You said, after the shopping…?”
Perry frowned, pretending to be reluctant. Really, he just wanted to ask—no, beg!—Greg to take him to bed and roger the life out of him, at least until supper. There hadn’t been many stretches of time today when he hadn’t been thinking about Greg, and last night, and how good Greg had looked and been and said and done….
“Hm.” Greg’s expression gave a strange twist. “I see.”
Ah crap, he’s changed his mind….
But Greg slid a hand around Perry’s neck, grasped the hair at his nape, and tugged. “Don’t cut this,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Not while I have the chance to take you like this.”
Oh fuck! Perry’s whole body shuddered with delight, and he stretched his head back, leaning into Greg’s palm and baring his throat. “I certainly hope so.”
Greg licked his lips, his eyes almost too bright for comfort. “Good. We’re on the same page.”
When he let Perry go, Perry scrambled off the sofa and skittered to the stairs. His legs felt shaky and his belly ached, but no way did it have anything to do with indigestion from a rushed lunch. He turned, breathless, to see Greg at the living room doorway, smiling smugly at Perry’s eagerness. “Are you coming?” Perry said.
“What was it you said just now?” Greg’s expression was mischievous. “I certainly hope so!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
PERRY was turning out to be a surprise in so many ways. At least, he was surprising Greg.
Over the next few days, Perry accompanied Greg on his daily walks with Rory, where the dog still flirted disgustingly with his new friend, nipping around Perry’s heels with near ecstasy as they walked, when he’d usually race away from Greg. In the afternoons, if Greg wasn’t working, they’d visit a loch or Marty’s smokehouse or just stroll along the beach. In other spare hours, Perry would clean the house or help Greg dig vegetables in his small garden, and had even shamelessly tricked Greg with a vegetable pasta dish for supper. Greg never even realized it had no meat until he’d cleaned two platefuls of it. Perry was also picking up a slight Scottish accent, referring to Dougie as Doogie, and rolling the R in Bridie. The London edges were being rubbed right off him. What was more, the villagers had all taken to him in a ridiculously short time.
Perry was very charming, of course. That smile of his would lure sea birds off the loch. It made a mischievous dimple in his left cheek. And he seemed to be able to talk to anyone, even the awe-inspiring Mackies. Admittedly, some of the villagers didn’t understand Perry’s London accent—or pretended not to—and his clothes continued to cause high humor in the pub, even when Greg persuaded him to put that fleece sweater on top of his colorful shirts.
Most of all he seemed happy to be with Greg. It was stupid to find that so weird, of course—Greg wasn’t a complete loser; he had friends, didn’t he?—but Greg kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Meanwhile, Perry continued to boost Greg’s ego at every opportunity. Funny, it seemed genuine too. Perry teased him when he messed up, just like any good mate would—the banter between them was sharp and full of amusement. But when Greg did something well, Perry w
as quick with praise and admiration. It felt surprisingly good.
Perry took up his knitting again. The day after they’d met the Mackies in the shop, Bridie sent over some needles and patterns and a note from Aileen about the diamond design Greg had never known was called Argyll. Perry seemed fascinated by it and began knitting endless squares of the stuff, all in different—and Greg had to admit, very beautiful—color blends.
“What are you gonna make from them, though?” he asked Perry one morning. “Join ’em all up and make one of those granny blankets?”
Perry looked up from the craft niche he was creating around him on the living room sofa and frowned, but with a smile that took the sting out of it. “I’d like to create my own version of the design,” he said. “Something modern yet stylish.”
Greg peered at the large square of knitting Perry had already done that morning. He worked really fast. “Is that a rainbow?”
“Yes.” Perry nodded, obviously pleased with his efforts. He pushed the hair back off his forehead—he still hadn’t cut it, thank God. “I thought it’d look good on children’s sweaters. The colors are muted because of the type of wool, but that emphasizes the fact it’s handmade.” He held up the sample, musing, “I could adapt this onto fabric too, you know.”
“You think we should all wear rainbows?”
Perry raised an eyebrow. “Not this boldly, no. I know that won’t go down so well. But these shades could be woven into something more subtle, without losing the overall cheer.”
Greg just smiled. He didn’t feel like heaping scorn on the idea of his community sporting rainbow tartan or something equivalently daft. He just felt like… smiling.
It was good having Perry around.
BRIDIE called on Perry the next lunchtime to mind the shop. Dougie was away in Glasgow and Bridie had to take Lisa to the dentist. Apparently, Lisa was a complete baby and had to be nursed through root canal work. Greg had no idea what that was, but privately thought she was a wuss. At least until Perry returned and explained the procedure in graphic detail, and with a certain amount of glee at turning Greg’s stomach over afternoon tea and cake.