Lexington Black

by Savannah Smythe

  'Sara's doing great. We're all on tranquilisers and it isn't for another three months.'

  'I guess the countdown is the one thing you can all do together with any degree of sincerity.'

  'Yeah. No-one can wait until the Big fucking Day is actually here so we can sleep properly at night.'

  By the time they ended the call twenty minutes later, Rob felt as if a great weight had lifted from him. So Lex was an asshole. The world was full of assholes. He resolved to enjoy the remainder of his stay and deal with his heartbreak when he got back on English soil.

  By lunch-time he had hired a car and was driving out of the city, up the coast towards Connecticut. All the while he was thinking about heading back to New York and seeing Lex for one last time. The temptation to do just that was almost overwhelming.

  He didn't get very far. About fifty miles from New York he picked a town at random and turned off the interstate to find a place to stay for the night.

  The town of Freehaven was postcard pretty, with Cape Cod style houses, and pink cosmos waving gently in the breeze coming off the ocean. Fishing boats clinked and bobbed in the harbour, steeped in the smell of fish and engine oil.

  He parked in the middle of town and walked down to the sea. He came to grassy sand-dunes and a long swathe of white sand. Fishermen hunched, their lines stretching over the waves, lamps ready for a long night ahead. A few families still remained, playing in the sand or flying kites. The sight of them nearly broke him. The last time he and Lex had been happy, they had been on a similar beach, doing the same thing. Lex had proposed and he had said yes, all the while knowing he was risking so much by doing so.

  The memory stabbed at him and he turned away. He walked back down the beach towards the town, heading down a different road to the one he had used before.

  It took him past the warehouses that lined the harbour. It was a bustling, lively environment, at the centre of which was a ramshackle bar with a stained wood deck littered with old fishing buoys, rope and sharks' jaw bones.

  As he walked towards it, his eye was caught by an old building, perched on a short spit of land that hugged the harbour. It was four storey's high and box-like, covered with Cape Cod cladding, with a small, white-painted, single storey building attached to it. He wondered if it had been a lighthouse at some point but he had seen that earlier, a pert red and white striped candy-bar of a light perched on the end of a sandbank much further out to sea. Something indefinable about the building appealed to him, so he walked the short distance out onto the spit of land to have a closer look.

  Then he noticed the FOR SALE sign.

  He kept staring at the building, thinking how pleasing it was to the eye. Its lines were clean and crisp, almost brutal, the yard defined with a weathered white picket fence. In the past, someone had made a house out of it, judging by the drapes at each window, but it looked desolate and in need of loving attention.

  He took a deep breath, savouring the tang of sea salt in the air. Strange how right everything suddenly felt, like a perfect-fitting coat he had been searching for. He looked at his watch. It was nearly half-five. He made a mental note of the name of the real estate agent and on impulse, began to walk rapidly in the direction of the main street.

  What are you doing? He asked himself as he broke into a run. He could see the building at the end of the road. As he reached it, a woman came out with a bunch of keys and began locking the door.

  'Wait, I need the details to that house!'

  'I'm sorry?' She looked alarmed.

  'Please, I'd really appreciate it. I've just seen it and ...' And what? He wasn't seriously thinking of buying it, was he?

  Her expression softened. 'You're English, right?'

  'Yes. Sorry. It's ... I don't know! Please?'

  'Aw, that accent gets me every time. You sound just like Hugh Grant!' She began unlocking the door again. 'Which house was it you were interested in?'

  'The one at the harbour. The long, thin one.'

  'The old lighthouse? That's been on the market for a long time.' She opened a drawer and pulled out a brochure. 'Can I have your details, Mr...?'

  Rob gave her the details she wanted, including his email address.

  'If you want to see the property, just call me. I'm Teresa Pitt.' She handed over her business card and the brochure.

  'How about tomorrow morning?'

  'Sure! 10 o'clock?'

  'Perfect.' He smiled at her. 'Thanks.'

  As he walked away, his heart was beating fast. The logical side of his brain was berating him, asking him what the hell he thought he was doing.

  The creative side felt as if it had sprouted wings.

  ******

  'The building is about 150 years old. It fell out of use as a lighthouse when the sandbanks built up and they had to build the new one further out. One of the fishermen lived in there for a while but he died a while back out at sea,' Teresa explained as they walked to the lighthouse.

  'Sorry to hear that.'

  'We're a close community, Mr. Martyn. We all grieve when we lose one of our own. Why have you chosen our town?'

  'I have no idea. It drew me,' he answered honestly.

  She nodded as if she understood. 'The lighthouse is a historical building. A property developer bought it, thinking he could use the site to build apartments. He didn't reckon on the determination of the local Historical Society and the people of the town, who all want to preserve it. And neither should you.' She fixed him with a look. 'If you're thinking of changing it architecturally, or trying to get around the preservation order, my advice to you is to look somewhere else. You will spend a lot of money trying to achieve something that isn't going to happen.' Her look was steely. He began to like her and the town more and more.

  'I hear you. All I want is a place to write and find some peace of mind. I want to do it up, bring it to life.' As he said it, he realised that it actually was what he wanted to do. It was what he had been waiting for, possibly for his whole life. He needed a purpose, and that wasn't to find the perfect partner. He didn't exist. Lex was ... He had no idea what Lex was, but he didn't want to make him the prime focus of his life.

  They walked around the building. It looked solid enough, its cladding intact. It was square, with white-shuttered windows on each side. At the front was a deck which led to a modestly-sized yard backing on to an overgrown tangle of grass and bushes. It was enough. He wasn't a great gardener, but it was something he could manage and enjoy.

  All the while, Teresa talked to him about the history of the building and the potential usage for each room. The ground floor held the kitchen and utility area, with wooden stairs leading up to the living room. There was enough space for a breakfast area and a small couch. The room was slightly dark but with judicious lighting and careful choice of paint, he could make it look a lot better. There was also a tiny toilet, which was handy as the main bathroom was on the top floor.

  The next floor up was a lot brighter, with a view of the harbour and a sliver of sea beyond the sandbar. It would make a charming space in which to relax and entertain. He nodded his approval and followed her up to the next floor, separated into two bedrooms and another bathroom. Again, it needed extensive decoration but there was plenty of room for guests. He didn't want to show how pleased he was as they went up to the top floor, where the view was stunning. The bathroom just about had room for a bath as well as a shower, but that didn't matter, because one could lie in bed and stare out over Long Island sound.

  'You can even see the new lighthouse,' Teresa said. 'And there's one more thing.'

  She unlocked a door that Rob hadn't noticed before, opening it to reveal a steel fire escape staircase which ran the entire length of the building, and took them up right up to the rooftop. She paused at the top of the stairs.

  'It isn't safe right now, and the roof will need to be re-enforced. Safety barriers, etc., but you'd have your very own sun-deck.'

  Would I need permission from the Historical Society?'


  'Oh yes, but if you ask them nicely, I don't think it would be too much of a problem. That's unofficial, by the way. Officially, I can't call it one way or the other.'

  Rob looked out over the edge. 'How come no-one else has bought this place?'

  'It's had plenty of interest but there's a lot of work to do. And the Historical Society has scared off a lot of people, to be honest.'

  Rob shrugged, unfazed. 'How far is it from New York?'

  'Forty-five miles to the centre of Manhattan. I know some people commute from here. The rail links are good.'

  He fired more questions at her. It was important as he had fallen in love with the place and needed to make sure he wasn't buying some pipe-dream that would leave him destitute.

  After a couple of hours he thanked Teresa and went to a cafe called Pearl's Palace. With a strong coffee in front of him, he sat with a notebook and worked out his finances. There were two problems. The first was getting a visa. The second was sustaining himself financially until he began to turn a profit from his writing. If he was going to do it, he wanted to buy the lighthouse outright, and renovate it straight away, without taking out a mortgage. He could do it, but it wouldn't leave him a whole lot to live on. Not that he was planning on a lavish lifestyle, but he wanted to be comfortable.

  He spent the next hour on the phone, first to his bank. He was actually worth more than he had assumed he was, but it still wasn't enough to sustain him for more than a year at the most. Afterwards, he asked the waitress for a phone directory and sat with that and his laptop for well over an hour, doing research. In the end, the woman asked what he was doing, and listened whilst he explained what he had planned. When he had finished, she took up his paper and pen and scribbled on it.

  'Call this guy. He'll give you a fair quote for the renovations.'

  'Yeah?' He wasn't sure whether to trust her just yet. After all, it was obvious he was from out of town.

  'If he doesn't, I'll kick his ass. He's my son. And this guy is head honcho in the Historical Society. You want to get him on board ASAP, before anyone else gets wind of it.' She wrote down another number and tapped it with the pencil.

  'Thanks. This is brilliant. I'll call him now.'

  She put her hand on his arm. 'Never call him on a Monday afternoon. He's with a friend then and doesn't like being disturbed. If you want to upset him, that's the way to do it.'

  Rob grinned at her. 'A friend? You mean, a mistress?'

  'Well, I don't suppose he'd like being called that.' She winked at him.

  'He's gay? Great, so am I.' He jotted down "not on Monday afternoon" next to the number she had given him, aware she was staring at him.

  'You have a problem with that?' He asked when he looked up.

  Her eyes narrowed. 'You pulling my chain?'

  'Nope. Gay through and through.' It felt right to say it. If she didn't like it, it would be a good reason not to buy the place.

  Silence, then, 'I won't lie to you, honey. There are some people round here who don't understand folks who are a bit different, but you won't get any trouble from me. Live and let live, is what I say.' She poured more coffee into his mug. 'Why don't you have a pastry with that?'

  'Yes, please.'

  'Oh, you're so polite! Love that accent. I'm Pearl. And you are?'

  'Rob Martin.' They went over to the counter and he chose a cinnamon and apple Danish.

  'There you go, honey. On the house. When you move here, I expect to see you every damned week, and you'll be paying full price like everyone else.'

  He grinned at her. 'Thanks, Pearl.'

  The way she had said "when" not "if" was not lost on him. It was strange how at home he felt already.

  CHAPTER 17 - What Becomes Of The Broken-Hearted

  I examined my battered face in the mirror. Rob could pack a wallop, that was for sure. My lip was swollen where it had mashed against my teeth, and there was a deepening bruise around one eye. One half of me felt angry, humiliated and regretful. The other half was imbued with a sense of pride. So my angel could fight. Good. I wasn't interested in a man who didn't stand up for himself.

  The only person who would possibly know where Rob had gone was Peter, but I was aware that he might be reluctant to give over that information. I found him in his gallery, talking to a potential client. He shot a disdainful look my way and turned his back on me. It was not as if I did not deserve it.

  His reflection was pale, a stark contrast to the black shirt and skinny jeans he always wore at work. He looked as if he were in mourning.

  I hung around until he left the client alone to browse. As he approached me, I felt slightly sick.

  'I'm sorry,' I said before he could speak.

  'There's a first,' he huffed. 'Are you apologising because you want me to tell you where Rob has gone? If so, you've wasted your time. I don't know.'

  I felt a stab of annoyance that he had seen through to my original plan.

  'I could really use some help ...'

  I was halted by the look of absolute contempt on his face.

  'Okay, I fucked up. I over-reacted and I was wrong.'

  'Wrong? That's a bit of an understatement, isn't it? After the way you treated me, I wasn't going to stand by and watch you deceiving him a moment longer, especially after learning you had put a ring on his finger. How dare you think you can get away with hiding a secret like that? It's insulting! Why did you lie to him, Lex? Surely you don't have to do that to get laid?'

  I backed away from his onslaught of words. 'I love him. No, I'm crazy about him and I thought...'

  'You didn't think at all! I was with Gavin for so long because we trusted each other. Start an affair on a lie and it's dead before you even begin.'

  I knew that now. Jesus, I still had so much to learn. I slumped on one of the square leather seats and stared down at my hand-made shoes. So much fucking money, and no fucking clue how to deal with love.

  After a while, Peter sat next to me and nudged my shoulder. 'Why don't you just go to him? What's so very hard about telling someone you fucked up and promising never to do it again?'

  'How about making a total fool of myself?'

  'I'd hazard a guess that's happened already.' Peter's voice was dry.

  'Do you know where he is? He isn't picking up his calls. He won't answer his door.' I spread out my hands, wishing the solution would just drop into them.

  Peter sighed deeply. 'I did talk to Justin last night. Apparently, the last person to see Rob was Philip. And that was at the Central Park Hotel the night before last.'

  I felt a cold hand clutch at my chest. 'What does that mean, exactly?'

  'Justin didn't say.'

  'Give me Philip's card,' I snapped.

  He arched an imperious brow. 'I think there's something you need say first.'

  'Please give me Philip's card,' I said, trying not to grind my teeth.

  'Something else,' Peter said sternly. He folded his arms and cast his eyes towards the painting we were standing next to. It was the truly nasty one of a woman's lady parts, left over from the weekend's exhibition. 'It was the only one that didn't sell.'

  'Why doesn't that surprise me?'

  'Despite what you think of my taste, the exhibition went very well.'

  So that was it. He was looking for an apology. Fine, I could do that.

  'I'm sorry I said your artistic taste stinks. It doesn't. Now please give me Philip's damned number.'

  'You don't get off that easily, Lex.' He looked at the painting again. 'It's a shame it didn't sell. I think it's rather good. Apparently, it was a portrait of his mother.'

  It began to dawn on me what he was getting at. 'No. You can't be serious.' I looked at the price. 'Twenty five thousand dollars? Are you fucking kidding me?'

  He sighed heavily. 'What you should be saying, Lex, is "Peter, I'd love to buy that painting."'

  'No way. If I wanted a cunt on my wall, I'd take a picture of you!'

  'Then you don't get my help.' He
turned away. 'Goodbye, Lex. Nice knowing you.'

  Deep breaths, Lex. Don't lose it. 'Please, Peter, don't do this to me.'

  'Gallery's closed now.' He gave a "talk to the hand" gesture as he went back to his desk. I glared at the hideous painting for a moment. The damned thing would give me nightmares and no mistake.

  But Rob was worth it. Was he ever.

  'Fine, I'll buy the painting,' I said loudly.

  Peter looked up from his desk. 'Cash or card?'

  'Bastard.' I went over and drew out my wallet. We did the transaction in silence.

  'And I hope that every time you see it, you're reminded of how not to treat your friends,' Peter said, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. 'He's at Central Park Hotel. Room 401. Nothing happened between him and Philip, by the way, but if he doesn't want to see you, it isn't my fault!' He called as I ran from the building.

  At the hotel, I was informed that Mr. Robin Martyn had checked out the day before. No, they had no information as to where he went next. The trail had gone cold.

  I walked down the street in a daze, wondering what to do. Almost without thinking about it, I walked back to Black Tower.

  Outside his door I paused, wracked with indecision. If I did what I wanted to do and use my master key to go into his suite, I would be crossing a line I promised myself I would never do.

  If he was there, he would never forgive me.

  If he wasn't, at least I'd know.

  Jesus, what if he had taken an overdose and was unconscious on the floor?

  The last thought galvanised me to run the short distance from the elevator to his door. I unlocked the door using the electronic key and went inside.

  He had gone. No clothes, no computer bag, just a few beers in the fridge. It was as if he had wiped the place clean like a criminal covering his tracks. I sat on the couch, wondering what my next move should be. If he really didn't want to be found, I would have to wait until he returned to the UK before I could contact him. An email or text just wouldn't cut it.

  As I was musing the problem, I noticed his phone on the coffee table. It was still on full charge. Decisively, I called his sister's number. Too late, I realised it was probably after midnight in the UK.