by Robyn Elliot
“You know your stuff…are you into design, that kind of thing?”
Danny nodded, unfurling the black scarf from around his neck. Annelise couldn’t help noticing how immaculate he was, everything in its place, in order. There was a crashing sound from upstairs, followed by Stephane swearing in French, and they both looked at each other, pretending neither of them had heard.
“Art, more than anything; Matisse especially. My hero, in a sense,” Danny’s voice trailed off, his cheekbones flushing a little more, giving him some color, anyway. “Sounds stupid.”
Annelise got up and poured their tea. “Not in the slightest…I know a bit about him; didn’t he influence Picasso?”
Danny sat up, accepting the cup of tea gratefully. “He did, though some say the pupil excelled the teacher, in the end; for me, he was - remains – the master of light, color…Matisse, I mean. He never gave up on his love for creating beauty, even when he was ill and bedridden. His spirit didn’t give in, he remained creative until his dying day.”
Silence. Annelise looked at him, and wondered if Stephane had any idea how lucky he might be, if whatever was developing between him and Danny, became something really serious. God, he was nothing like all the others, so spectacularly nothing like them.
“Are you a painter, then, Danny?”
The tea was good. Assam, his favorite. And he liked this flat, good taste everywhere. Annelise, especially, he found he liked, to his relief. He was starting to get over the surprise of Stephane announcing they’d go back to the flat, so he could have a shower, then go out and have a meal. When Stephane had quickly added that Guillaume's girlfriend lived there too, Danny’s relief had shown on his face. Once he knew Stephane wasn’t going to leap on him, Danny had started to relax a little, laughing as Stephane related to him on their way to the flat stories about customers he had been monumentally rude to.
“Were you ever a waiter in Paris?” Danny had asked him dryly.
“No, they even scare me,” Stephane had confessed, causing Danny to give him a wry look, and increasing his curiosity about just what Stephane had got up to in Paris.
“Yes, all my life,” Danny’s reply now to Annelise, “it’s what I love, more than anything, I suppose.”
Annelise noted the pensiveness around his eyes, small lines at his mouth. She had tried to guess his age, 26 maybe, he looked kind of bohemian and arty. Apart from stiff clothes, the shyness of him; and she could now share Stephane’s perplexed reaction at learning he was a barrister.
“What made you become a barrister?” Annelise asked, no messing.
Tea mug in midair, Danny thought for a few moments. “People do keep asking me that.”
“Sorry.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean anything…but I think I should take the hint.”
“Hint?”
Annelise saw how Danny was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. She got the feeling she was pinning him down in some way, which hadn’t been her intention.
“That I’m a lousy advocate!” He laughed, but it was forced, a hollow sound. She could feel the wave of sadness sweep over him.
“Is there a chance, Danny, you’re being hard on yourself?”
Danny shrugged, and drank his tea.
They chatted about safer stuff. Designing, color schemes, the new furniture Guillaume was planning for the restaurant. Stephane padded down the stairs, hearing the easy talk between them. He knew he had been leaving Danny in safe hands, whilst he went and showered.
He came into the kitchen, to see Danny and Annelise leaning over the laptop screen, discussing all things creative. Seeing Danny looking animated, his eyes bright, almost relaxed, made Stephane smile to himself. That, and the way Danny colored anew as he looked at Stephane.
Stephane’s hair was wet, towel ruffled, his beard glistening slightly with the cold water he’d splashed onto his face; he wore a pair of jeans, his feet bare, a linen shirt, halfway buttoned. The light, subtle aroma of cologne swept in with him. Stephane returned his look, and moved his eyes to Danny’s mouth, wishing, as much as he loved Annelise, that she wasn’t here after all; so he could kiss that mouth. What a mouth, he was thinking, as he sat on a nearby chair, pulling on the clean socks he had been carrying in his hand. Beautiful shape, Danny’s mouth, the top lip quite thin, the lower full but not too full, just…kissably perfect, really. Stephane glanced at him again, as he finished pulling on his socks, and loved how Danny kept looking away, nodding at the computer screen, pretending, Stephane knew, that he was simply fascinated by what Annelise was telling him.
Annelise felt the tension emanating from Danny, palpable, like putting a hand over a hot light bulb; it had started, when Stephane had emerged into the kitchen again, looking scrupulously scrubbed and startlingly handsome. Danny had raised his head, his eyes following Stephane’s movements, trying as discreetly as possible, considering Annelise was sitting right next to him, weighing him up, to gaze at Stephane. That was proving problematic, seeing as Stephane was doing exactly the same thing right back at him.
Her eyes shifting between the two of them, Annelise suddenly felt gooseberry in her own home. That, and being Danny’s chaperone, of course. Not that there was any chance of some quick, passionate sex over the table, even had she not been subsumed into the unlikely role of a maiden aunt. Danny’s shyness was more than just a barrier to Stephane’s uber-sexual confidence, Annelise was thinking along the same lines that Stephane himself had been; he was definitely, utterly, totally, and completely nothing like Stephane’s usual types.
She couldn’t even imagine Danny talking to a guy, making the first move, never mind making love with Stephane, with all his experience. She found herself wanting to reassure Danny, and let him in on a few secrets about Stef, to ease his anxiety - that he’d been celibate for over six, seven months, purposefully so, confiding he was sick of pointless, empty sex, that he needed something – someone – who he could be tender with…loving with. There was the other secret, of course. My god, there was that secret. The Krakatoa of secrets. Punishable by death, revealing that one.
Annelise glanced at Danny then, identified the unmistakable glow of…what…hell, it can’t be! Already?
Stephane came and sat at the table, looking between them. “She hasn’t been going on about furniture, by any chance?” he laughed, his eyes not leaving Danny’s face, looking at him intently.
Danny cleared his throat, glancing at Annelise. “Yes, I’ve been giving Annelise tips,” he said, jokingly.
“Ah,” Stephane nodded, still locking eyes with Danny, a slow smile spreading across his mouth, making Danny’s heart start to thunder so loudly, he was sure both Stephane and Annelise would hear its treacherous cacophony.
“Danny’s a painter…but then you know that.” Annelise could have bitten her tongue, but the words slipped out into the ether to do their work. Stephane’s eyes moved from her, and quickly back to Danny, who lowered his to the table.
Oops, thought Annelise, they haven’t even got to the getting to know you stage, and they’re ogling each other. She corrected herself. No, definitely not ogling. But gazing? For England. And France, of course. Yes, this was definitely one entente cordiale that might be worth something.
Danny cleared his throat, smiled at Annelise, and she could have hugged him, the expression on his face. “Well, it’s something I enjoy doing…I promise I won’t bore you about it, poor Annelise has had to listen to me waxing lyrical about Matisse.”
Stephane emitted a short burst of laughter, causing a frown to cloud Danny’s eyes, along with a confused, slightly hurt look. Seeing it, Stephane leaned forward, wanting to reassure. “No, sorry, I’m not laughing at that, Danny.” He swallowed hard, and Annelise got up from the table, needing as quickly as possible, to hide the snigger threatening to escape. Well, well, wonders never cease, and here was the eighth wonder of the world right in this kitchen. Stephane Clermont, awkward, and trying to make amends, thinking of another’s feelings.
; “It’s just,” Stephane hesitated, seeing Danny’s earnest expression, knowing that Annelise, as she pottered behind him, was doubtless fit to burst from wanting to laugh at him, “you talk so...well, like an English guy.” Danny’s brows knitted together, his pale eyes moving over Stephane’s face with a sharpness that, for a brief moment, Stephane imagined might be his courtroom face. And it was surprisingly impressive. So the crazy scientist won’t take any shit, beneath that quiet façade.
Annelise bit her lip, blew out her cheeks, and decided to make a quick exit, telling Danny it was nice to meet him, as she breezed out of the kitchen to the haven of the study – or the room that she and Guillaume had cleared out, and Guillaume liked to call it. She’d never thought to be so glad to sit down, and wade through Guillaume's account books and paperwork, not in a million years. But then that was BD – before Danny, making Stef suddenly awkward, and…God, really…wanting to please? Antoine had bemoaned – frequently and loudly – how Stephane never took his feelings into consideration, although coming from Antoine, it was like Stalin accusing Hitler of being a tad on the unfeeling side.
“Stephane, that might have something to do with the fact I’m English,” Danny’s clipped response, and the even tempo, the lovely timbre of his voice, together with the tight expression around his mouth, tipped Stephane over the edge of not sure and plunging headlong into, oh, yes, definitely, please!
Seeing Stephane’s discomfort, slowly, a smile began to spread over Danny’s lips; and that smile, how it transformed him, his eyes brighter, making him look young. Very young. For a moment Stephane had a pang of panic. Was he too young? In lots of ways?
“You got me,” Stephane said, lowering his voice slightly, making it sound dry, husky.
Danny sat back in the chair, his eyes meeting Stephane’s steadily, despite the flush over his cheekbones. “Have I?”
This time, Stephane sat back, and felt a warm pulse of sensation start in the base of his spine, move upwards, and start making his brain send signals to another essential organ. The signals sent juddering waves into him, right through him, around him, to the front and the back of him. Short of a chubby kid hanging suspended in the air, clutching a mini bow and arrow, the heart of a certain Frenchman was flipping and somersaulting without any such divine assistance. And if it had been able to pick up heavy objects, it would have done the best clean jerk any Olympic weightlifter would have been proud of.
Right back at you, thought Danny, oh yes. You arrogant, full of it, look at me…sexy, gorgeous animal, you.
“I did know, actually.” Stephane got up, took his coat off the hook on the door. He watched Danny, as he pulled on the slightly battered leather jacket.
Danny’s frown returned, and the little moment of triumph receded.
“About?”
“That you paint.” Danny got up, neatly returning the chair underneath the table, making Stephane press his lips together to stifle another outburst. Seeing Danny still giving him a puzzled look, Stephane showed a little mercy. Just a little.
“Your answer machine…the guy delivering your canvas.”
Realization dawned. “Oh, “Danny nodded, smiling again.
Stephane gave him a knowing, narrowed eyed glance. “Not omitting that woman asking if I’d shagged you sideways…unless that’s a new art form, of course?” Stephane grinned, tilting his head to one side.
Danny decided not to let him get away with that one. Besides, he found he was enjoying himself, he hadn’t felt this good for…couldn’t remember when. “I couldn’t say, but I’m always willing to learn new ways to express my art,” and he glided past Stephane, going into the hallway as if he had the Turner Prize cheque tucked under his arm.
So you want to play it that way, my gorgeous virgin barrister, and Stephane followed him into the hallway, in the wake of Mr. Hastings’ barb.
“Bye, Annelise, thank you for the tea,” Danny said, trying to sound super casual, despite the fact his heart was racing just as fast as it had been three days ago, only this time he was convinced he might be having a benevolent kind of heart eruption.
Annelise spun round in her chair, got up, and leaned against the doorway. She had heard the tight little dueling from next door, and wanted to pin a medal on Danny’s lapel. Stephane hovered, wrapping a scarf about his neck, zipping up his jacket. Why was London always so bloody wet and cold? Not that there was much of a drop in temperature at the minute, his eyes moving over Danny’s back, upwards to the curling, strawberry blonde hair, the way he carried himself.
“No problem, it was lovely to meet you.” Annelise gave Stephane a knowing look, as he stood behind Danny, his eyes moving over Danny with increasing appreciation. “Stephane will have to bring you over for something to eat one night soon.”
Danny’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned then, catching Stephane in his protracted admiration.
“I will,” Stephane affirmed, and they were doing it again, gazing, as if no one else was there, and Annelise rolled her eyes, wondering how she was going to break the news to a disbelieving Guillaume; that his baby brother was, quite possibly, falling for a guy who looked like he’d stepped from a Thackeray novel.
As opposed to Antoine, or the others. Less Thackeray, more Hello with a bit of OK for some added culture.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you all right with this?”
Danny nodded, sipping at the wine, glad of it, calming his nervousness. “It’s really nice, Stephane.” And meaning it.
The small, cozy Italian restaurant, tucked away in one of the side streets near, without irony, Morton’s chambers, was discreet, low key, and just the kind of place Danny liked. Understated, elegant, the food and wine unfussy and delicious – like Guillaume's, he realized. It had pleased him that Stephane had brought him to a place like this. For Danny, that spoke volumes about Stephane himself.
But Stephane had fretted a little, as he remembered its proximity to Danny’s hated workplace. Danny quickly reassured him that he couldn’t imagine anyone he might know – not from that world, anyway – would be here. Certainly not early evening, either. They’d be in the Peach and Cutter, doubtless slagging off him as well as anyone else excluded from their septic orbit.
Katharine excepted, of course. Danny had felt a moderate stab of guilt that he hadn’t returned her increasingly concerned calls, other than a brief call back – on her answer phone – this morning, to assure her that, yes, he had seen his doctor (he hadn’t), he wasn’t dying any time soon (yeh, signs of life definitely there), and no, he hadn’t seen that gorgeous sex god again (full blown fib there).
The waiter had taken their orders. Efficient, low key. After he’d gone, Danny hadn’t been able to resist. “He was almost as good as you are.”
“Ha-ha. It sounds like you’re feeling better, then,” Stephane murmured, over his wine glass.
Danny thought for a few moments, aware Stephane was watching him carefully. “I am”. Danny returned his scrutiny, smiling.
The food came, and it was excellent. Although Stephane teased him about his vegetarian choice.
“In France you’d starve,” Stephane exaggerated, but only to a point.
“You’d have to cook for me, then,” and it was out of Danny’s mouth before he could stop it. Jesus, what’s happening to me, he was thinking, already knowing the answer.
Stephane was happening to him. And had been, since that rainy morning when Danny had had to wait for a cup of coffee, contravening every rule in the Hastings handbook about time management, with utter control over everything. Stephane had happened all right. Like a maelstrom, upsetting Danny’s linear life, creating a vacuum of uncertainty, with a side serving of excitement. Stephane had upset him, annoyed him, irritated him. It had taken one hell of a racing heart and palpitations that would have outdone the entire membership of Neurotics Anonymous stuck in a very small elevator, to have Danny wondering why the most fleeting thought of him, that insufferable Frenchman, caused him thes
e odd surges of bone trembling happiness.
Yes, happiness. Remember that, Danny, he’d thought, the same day he’d come home from the hospital. Remember what it felt like to smile, and laugh, and just feel fucking great.
Stephane chewed his food, thought for a while, then took a long glug of his wine. Looking up, his eyes searched Danny’s for a few moments.
“I guess I could…though at least make my life easier when I do, and eat fish…er, you do eat fish, don’t you?”
Danny laughed softly, and the sound was a seductive little tug over the material of Stephane’s briefs, as his master of the universe started sitting up and listening to Danny’s laughter. Fuck, I’ve got it bad, that, or I’m coming down with something, thought Stephane.
“No!”
Stephane put down his fork, sat back in his chair, laughing too. “You’re kidding me, yes? No wonder you’re so wiry, Danny.”
He hadn’t meant it as an insult. The opposite, in fact. Stephane wanted to see that pale, lean body, preferably in a very warm shower, damp, slender thighs wrapped around him. But Danny’s resurgent happiness retreated again, with the perceived notion that the stunning Frenchman sitting opposite him didn’t like his body.
“Hey, Danny,” before he knew he was doing it, Stephane reached across the table, and grazed his fingertips over the back of Danny’s hand. He stroked the soft skin gently, and Danny felt that touch as if a firework had been set off in his spine, to radiate outwards, sideways and downwards, very downwards. “I think you’re so beautiful.”
Stephane withdrew his hand, the caress over in an instant, but he held Danny’s gaze.
The slow flush moved over Danny’s neck, suffusing his cheekbones. Did Zeus sitting opposite just say he was beautiful? Beautiful Danny, the public school boy who had been tormented for his shyness, his life subscription to geekdom, not forgetting he was the son of a man who was one of the greatest Lotharios the cosmos had ever known? Yes, Zeus said it, thought Danny, swallowing down his food which had suddenly become stuck in his throat; because Stephane was sitting there, perfectly serious and looking at him as if Harrow’s finest might be the tiramisu.