The Bruise_Black Sky

by John Wiltshire

  §§§

  By eleven, all the youngsters had left, chaperoned back to their respective dorms. The consumption of alcohol increased noticeably amongst those remaining. Many parents or relations were only now arriving, having come from other parties or bars. At one point, Ben discovered Nikolas missing. Carrying the beer and vodka he’d just bought through the crowded room, he made it outside the marquee to the cool June air. It was a blessed relief. The music was still loud enough to make his head spin, and the evening’s drinking was beginning to catch up to him.

  He felt a presence at his side and then one of the drinks was plucked from his hand. “Spasibo.”

  Nikolas had slipped out for a smoke, as Ben had suspected.

  “Babushka is sitting with the Russians.”

  “I know. She wanted me to come meet them, but I didn’t think it wise…”

  Ben snorted quietly at the thought and slid his arms around Nikolas’s waist, face-to-face, pulling him in close. Was there a more erotic sensation in the world than sliding your hands in under the dinner jacket of a powerful man, feeling his muscles through his linen shirt, his hardness below? Nikolas took a drag on his cigarette and blew some smoke between them. Ben leant in and caught the last tendrils with a kiss.

  Dark, a little way to the side of the marquee, they were private enough to risk one kiss. Nikolas dropped his empty glass onto the grass and pressed his hand to Ben’s back, his pleasure in the kiss very evident. Carefully, clearly mindful of the cigarette, he cupped Ben’s cheek. They hugged closer. The track changed in the marquee to something slow and sensuous. Nikolas sighed and rested his chin on Ben’s shoulder, rubbing slowly up and down under Ben’s jacket.

  Before they knew it, they were swaying to the music, entwined, fuelled on alcohol and desire. The same height, they fitted together perfectly, all raw-boned power and grace, and the scent of musky cologne and cigarettes.

  Disbelievingly, Ben saw that they were canopied by a mass of stars, the Milky Way spiralling above them in the clear summer sky. Nikolas was kissing slowly around Ben’s ear and down his neck in time to their slow steps.

  In all the years he’d known Nikolas and all the things they’d done together, Ben wondered if this moment was the one he’d remember at the final count of days. It was an occasion for declarations of something, proposals perhaps…A time to say—

  “Fucking hell!” Ben creased at the waist, his hand flying to his head.

  The smell of singed hair was suddenly pungent on the night air.

  Nikolas swore, grabbed the dregs of Ben’s beer and poured it over his head.

  He snatched Ben up to inspect the damage. It was only a small burn and not on Ben’s face, which he clearly thought was the most important issue to be discussed—not the fact that he’d set Ben alight in the first place.

  Ben wasn’t sure whether he was more outraged by the singed hair or the soaking. He dragged a laughing Nikolas back into their tight hug and rubbed his beer-drenched hair in Nikolas’s face for a moment, until Nikolas fought free. He didn’t struggle very forcibly. Ben shook his head. “How am I going to punish you, hmm? Any suggestions?”

  Nikolas pursed his lips, theatrically thinking. “You’re not very good at punishing me, Benjamin. You don’t have the dedication it takes to be severe enough. And yet you have a master to learn from.” He suddenly looked more serious and added, “Does it hurt? I’m sorry.”

  Ben kissed him, just a quick brush of lips for reassurance. “I’m good. Probably saved me from making a fool of myself.”

  Nikolas indicated to the empty glasses that needed picking up and carrying, heading back inside the marquee. “What do you mean? Fool about what?”

  Ben was about to reply when they were stopped in their tracks by a voice behind them saying loudly, “Aleksey? My God, Alex?”

  §§§

  The woman was part of a group that had just arrived.

  She was very tall and slim, too thin almost, beautifully made up, with thick auburn hair twisted in a chignon. Ben immediately thought wig, although he realised he should have been thinking something more pertinent to her hail. Diamonds highlighted her ears, catching the coloured lights from the marquee. She came closer, clutching a fur coat closed over her throat, and repeated, “Aleksey?”

  Nikolas stepped forward and replied in English, “I’m sorry. You’re mistaken. I had a brother called Aleksey, but he is dead. Many years ago.”

  She faltered but came closer into the light spilling from the tent. “What is this? Why do you say this?”

  Her accent was very strong, but her English almost flawless. Her eyes didn’t leave Nikolas’s face.

  Ben moved instinctively closer to Nikolas and felt the back of Nikolas’s hand against his hip—a tiny press. “My name is Nikolas Mikkelsen. As I said, I had—”

  “You do this to me?” She got up close and personal. “You told me all about Nikolas. I know who Nikolas is. You think my eyes fail me? What is this you treat me so? Aleksey? Answer me!”

  Ben stepped between them a little. They were beginning to attract attention, the woman’s party watching the scene with curiosity, one or two looking as if they might intervene. Ben made a small gesture of calming. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name…You are…?”

  The woman tore her gaze from the silent Nikolas and replied icily to Ben, “My name is Kristina.” She glared back at Nikolas. “I am Aleksey’s wife.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ben heard a ringing in his ears and wondered if it was an echo of his past self exclaiming that there was nothing Nikolas could ever do that would drive him away, stop him from loving Nik. Perhaps it was mocking laugher rather than a feedback loop, but it had much the same effect.

  Kristina suddenly flitted her gaze down to Nikolas’s belly. “Show me here.” She pointed to his hip, where Ben knew very well that Nikolas had a small cluster of burn scars. “Do you say your brother has—ack! I cannot believe you do this!” She narrowed her eyes suddenly. “You’re still in—?” She gave Ben some consideration for the first time, flicking her focus to him. “You are a soldier, too. Yes?” She then wrinkled her lip and shrugged as if dismissing them both, a fairly obvious cover for deeply hurt feelings. “You no change. Be whoever you fucking want, Aleksey. I no care. I no care about you then, and I no care now. I have party now. I dance and say fuck you.” She spun away, then suddenly came back and pushed her finger into his chest. “I tell Papa you say hello. He always tell me you fucking waste of free air.”

  She went back to her companions, took the arm of a tall, stern man with slicked, jet-black hair and murmured something to him. Despite her earlier bravado, he immediately escorted her back to one of the cars. A chauffer jumped out to open the door for her, and the two of them slipped into the back seat and drove off.

  Suddenly, Ben’s arm was seized and he jumped. Ulyana Ivanovna was urging them both inside. They were announcing the winners of the secret auction. It was so exciting! They allowed themselves to be led back into the marquee. Ben could feel Nikolas’s eyes upon him, but he knew that if Nikolas tried to say anything he would do something stupid. He couldn’t sort his feelings. They were tumbling, and when he tried to pull one to order, to examine it, it skittered away back into the tumult.

  Nikolas had spent his whole life lying to him. This was nothing different. Was it? This was just like Gregory. Wasn’t it? He’d hurt Nikolas far more with Kate only six months ago. Hadn’t he? This wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t.

  Those gathered formed a mass on the dance floor. Heat from the other bodies almost suffocated Ben. The music was still loud, until with a screech of feedback from the mic, the Rector called the room to order and it silenced on a discordant note. There was a titter of laughter at his mock regimental sergeant major manner. He smiled then and began to pull the bids out of the hat, asking the recipient and the “prize” to come up on stage to meet. People pushed past him. He heard clapping and gruff attempts to pass off embarrassment.

  He’d dr
unk too much and felt sick. Then he remembered he’d been doused in beer only a few minutes ago. The smell was awful now in the heat. He swayed.

  A hand clamped on his arm. Nikolas leant close and whispered, “I’m sorry. I can explain.”

  Of course he could. Nikolas could always explain.

  Someone called his name. There was a terrible screech of feedback again, and he was shoved and manhandled to the stage. Everyone knew ex-Special-Forces-expert Ben Rider and wanted to see who’d “bought” him. The sea of faces swam in his vision. There was a burst of hysterical laughter and applause, and then a handsome, middle-aged man came apologetically onto the stage next to Ben and announced something that made the audience clap again and murmur in excited whispers. He gave Ben a quick once-over and then turned his back to the milling throng and observed in a low voice, privately to Ben, “We should talk. You look as if you need some fresh air.”

  In other circumstances, Ben wouldn’t have agreed to accompany the guy outside. It was all too surreal, being bought by this man for a date on top of the events of the last half hour, but he did, as he desperately needed to be in the cooler air. He heard Nikolas’s name being called and took the opportunity to slip out of a side flap of the marquee, followed by the quietly spoken stranger.

  §§§

  Ben remembered a small fountain and fishpond Emilia had shown them that day and took off, striding across the lawns.

  The spray was cool on his face and reduced the smell from the stale beer.

  “You okay?” Ben nodded and turned to the man who’d trailed him, silently, on his quest for the water.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Emilia put my name in, but—”

  “Ben, don’t worry. This isn’t what it looks like.” The man held out his hand. “My name is Peter Cameron…” He paused, looked expectant, but carried on when Ben didn’t respond, “I’d kinda planned speaking with you anyway this weekend, but when I saw your name on the auction poster, I bid for a joke—well, shit, to support the school. My daughter goes here. She’s in the same class as your…daughter? Stepdaughter? Emmy, anyway. Lovely girl, by the way. Look, it’s late, I hadn’t planned on them announcing this tonight, and I can see you’re…tired. Could we maybe meet tomorrow and talk?”

  Ben had recovered from his shock somewhat and had also remembered his manners. He began to walk slowly back across the lawns. “Peter, was it? I’m flattered but—”

  “Ben, I was married for twenty years. I promise you, I only wanted an opportunity to speak with you…But, hell, if it gets you to meet with me, then yeah…Pucker up, buddy. We have a date…”

  Ben huffed ruefully. He was in the mood to be flattered a little and given a lot of attention. “Will you give me a clue what this is about, or are you going to hold me in suspense?”

  Peter chuckled. “I was hoping you might ask that.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a DVD. “Watch this tonight and then meet me for lunch tomorrow? I know where you’re staying—I’m not a crazed stalker, I promise—I’ll send a car for you.”

  “Are you impersonating an international man of mystery?”

  Peter patted him lightly on the back. “You have no idea.”

  §§§

  Nikolas’s “buyer” wasn’t present, because he’d had to go to bed at eleven. It wasn’t an auspicious start to their agreement, but ten pounds was ten pounds. Nikolas agreed he’d return to the school the following morning and meet with his mystery purchaser. He’d have said yes to anything to get off the stage and go and find Ben, but when he flung out of the marquee, Ben was nowhere in sight.

  He’d disappeared into the dark with a fucking pervert.

  Who the fuck thinks he can buy Ben Rider-Mikkelsen?

  Babushka was tired now, wilting in her—as she sighed happily—very stylish shoes. Nikolas immediately called a taxi for her and led her to a quiet seating area. As he could hardly go tearing around the vast grounds searching for Ben, he sat with her, head in his hands, pondering.

  Kristina.

  That was unfortunate.

  Unlikely and unfortunate.

  Kristina.

  He tried to remember how long it had been, which of his many lives had included Kristina. He’d been twenty-three. She’d been eighteen. A beautiful ceremony in the snow at her father’s dacha. Gregory had been his svideteli. And other things when they’d gotten drunk and slipped away from the dancing. He’d had to get married. For advancement, his job had demanded traditional family life—a front to mask corruptions and perversions. The revenge had been sweet, too…

  If she’d not blindsided him like that, he wouldn’t have denied being Aleksey. But old habits die hard. He’d almost started to think that Nikolas was his name, forgetting Aleksey under the passionate intensity of Ben’s unconditional love.

  There was an ironic thought. Ben’s unconditional love. He hadn’t been looking very unconditional up on the stage, or leaving with his pervert, come to that.

  Nikolas lifted his head and replied to something Babushka was commenting on about the ball. He saw her to the taxi, paid for it, and gave the driver instructions for the hotel.

  Then he went in search of Ben.

  He’d found him once in a million square miles of taiga. He could find him in one neat lawn.

  It didn’t take long, for Ben was coming back across the grass with his purchaser. The man handed Ben something, which Ben took. He patted Ben on the back, and then made his way over to another group of people clearly waiting for taxies to arrive.

  Ben continued walking towards him.

  §§§

  Ben swerved past Nikolas without saying a word and went into the marquee to get blisteringly drunk.

  The bar had closed.

  This was a school, after all.

  It was time to go home. Go to bed.

  He decided it was time to go and find a pub then remembered they were in the back end of fucking nowhere.

  There was a bar at the hotel.

  He called for a taxi.

  Nikolas slipped into the back of the car with him. “You don’t mind if we share, do you? I believe we’re staying at the same hotel.”

  Ben wasn’t in the mood for games and ignored him.

  “Good party. Babushka enjoyed it. Who was that man? What did he give you? Are you going to speak to me?” Nikolas did a sudden raid on Ben’s pocket and pulled out the DVD. “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it porn?”

  “Can I have it back, please?”

  Nikolas put it in his own pocket. Ben retrieved it, and at the same time, Emilia’s emerald necklace spilled out onto the seat between them. Nikolas picked it up and let it run like liquid luminescence between his fingers. Ben turned his head away, bit his lip, and tipped his head back for strength. He felt a hand on his thigh but hissed, “Don’t,” and it was removed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ben nodded. He knew Nikolas was sorry. Nikolas was always sorry. A thought suddenly occurred to him, but he knew if he tried to speak he’d falter, and hesitation would lead to complete lack of control. But if he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t know, and he needed to know. “Children. Did you have children?”

  He expected Nikolas to immediately deny this, reassure him. That’s what they did—he asked the very worst question possible to have that fear smoothed away, and then all the minor things could be heard with something approaching equanimity.

  Nikolas furrowed his brow, playing with the necklace. “We had a son, but he died.”

  Ben’s eyes went wide, he blinked uncontrollably, his heart rate so fast he felt sweat running down his back.

  Nikolas added, “You call it…cot death, I think.”

  “A son.”

  Nikolas nodded. “I was away. I never saw him.” He shrugged. “A conceptual child. Is that the right word in English? Concept? Yes. It seemed to fit with the rest of my life—constructs and concepts. I have not given it much thought since.”

  Ben was followin
g the slink of emeralds passing through the elegant fingers and knew this for a lie.

  “Ben…” Nikolas glanced up at him but then cast his gaze back to the glinting jewels. “I have told you there is much about my past I haven’t revealed you. This is just one of those things. It’s all in the past and thus not relevant to us. To you and me. You have not disclosed me things in your past either. I cannot name one of your old girlfriends…except Kate, of course.”

  Ben had suspected that Nikolas was saving Kate for a special occasion. Since the incident six months ago, Nikolas had not used Kate against him once. But he’d known she’d be there, prepped and ready for just such a moment.

  He didn’t know how to handle this.

  For the first time since meeting Nikolas, Ben genuinely didn’t know what to do. He’d done the backing down, easy-going thing. He’d been trying the assertive, leave-if-you-want thing. What was he supposed to do with this?

  Because it wasn’t that Nikolas had apparently had a wife and baby he hadn’t told him about that hurt. It was that Nikolas genuinely didn’t get that he should have told him. That Nikolas, even now, professed it didn’t affect them. Even Ben, with his limited ability to assess human interactions, realised that the level of compartmentalisation Nikolas used with their relationship wasn’t what he wanted.

  Nikolas was everything to Ben. He wiped out all that had gone before, and he would be colouring his whole world until the very end—one way or the other. He was Ben’s default setting. But now, Ben realised clearly for the first time that to Nikolas he was just a…just one of the emeralds on the string running through his fingers. Each jewel beautiful, perfect, exquisite, but entire and of itself, never blending or incorporating anything else.

  One day, Nikolas would be walking with someone, and Ben would notice him and go over, calling out, “Nikolas?” and Nikolas would deny him. This part of Nikolas’s life would be over, and he’d have moved on.

  And Nikolas couldn’t see this.

  Ben watched the emeralds being passed between Nik’s fingers, green prayer beads, and wondered what Nikolas was praying for.