by Clare London
This time Wendy looked blatantly at Titus and winked. “You owe me a tenner,” she said to her fellow actor. “I told you it was Aidan we saw in town that day with Dominic Hartington-George.”
“Oh! No! Wait!” Aidan didn’t know what to do or say. “It wasn’t me. Well… yes. And no. It was. Wasn’t.”
“Good Lord,” Titus groaned. “Man can’t string a sentence together now. Whoever said, ‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof’?”
“Proverbs,” Simon muttered, but no one was listening to him now.
“Aidan? I’ll meet you outside the Tube at two tomorrow,” Wendy said. Her tone brooked no argument. “We shall all go to the press conference together.”
“Will there be booze?” Titus asked, but no one bothered to answer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“WHO the hell’s coming to this thing?” Dom asked petulantly. “I don’t have time for this. Can’t you just show them some of my photos?”
Tanya sighed. “I see you didn’t leave your antisocial behavior behind on the summit. They want to see you, Dom. They want to hear what it was like, ask about the whole Hartington Hike project. And”—her voice grew steely—“you want to sell the photo account, don’t you? These are the people who’ll do that for you.”
“Reporters. Photographers. Hack writers. Ogling me like some bear in a cage.”
“Never a truer word,” Eric murmured, half hiding behind Tanya. “Looks like we may have to arrange another socialization session with the supermodel for our mountain man.”
“What did you say?” Dom snapped, turning on him.
Eric started, eyes widening. “I just…. Dom, I didn’t mean anything.” And then his eyes narrowed again, as if he’d only just heard the note of fearful hope in Dom’s voice. “Oh. Oh hell, so that’s how it is.”
“How what is?” Tanya asked, though she didn’t pause long enough for an answer. “Dom, I need you to come along to the studio an hour or so beforehand, okay? Just so we can see to your makeup and get the audiovisual presentation working properly. You know where it is, don’t you? Macklin Street’s not far from here.”
“Yes, I know it.”
Of course he bloody did. What twist of fate had made the Stefanowicz agency—Zeb Z’s agency—offer their photographic studio for free to Tanya’s company? No matter, it probably made commercial sense. After all, they’d worked together before, were close in location, and had occasionally helped mutual clients, like Dom himself. But it didn’t make bloody sense to Dom, on any level. Not that he was thinking very rationally nowadays.
It didn’t mean Zeb would be anywhere around on that day. Or would want to be. Why would Zeb Z bother to come to a press conference that didn’t involve him? He was a model; Dom was a mountaineer. Their paths had taken different routes before they met in person, and now they had again. The few weeks they’d spent together had been the exception, not the rule.
Except I want it to be the rule.
For God’s sake! Dom wondered if he were suffering some kind of mental breakdown, though he had to admit he’d never felt so bloody excited and alert to life around him. Well, most of the time. The rest of the time he felt like crap. He’d never been in such a volatile state. He was always restless just after a trip, as he acclimatized to routine life at home, but this was something much worse.
He hadn’t had the courage to contact Zeb. Not while he was away, not as soon as he got back. What was he scared of? But the kid had been so offish at the meeting with We Will Survive that it had thrown Dom off balance. He thought they’d been getting along so well, and then… it was over. So despite what he’d confessed to Gerald in a moment of weakness on top of a bloody mountain, Dom had decided to take the moral high ground and insist it was no bother to him whether he saw Zeb again or not.
And how’s that going, you blithering idiot?
Tanya had wandered off to talk to staff in the next office. Dom reckoned he had time to catch lunch at an Italian café around the corner, then pitch on over to the studio. No point in going home for the few hours between appointments. Besides, whatever his mood, and however much he complained, he wanted to show off his pictures at their best. Tanya had arranged with the studio to run a slideshow behind him while the parasites—sorry, the press—asked their questions.
“Dom?” It was Eric, appearing at his elbow and surprisingly tentative. “Sorry, old man. I didn’t mean to tread on your toes back there. I had no idea.”
“About what?”
“Well. You and Zeb Z. Looks like it developed in an unplanned way, am I right?”
Of course he bloody was. Dom just wasn’t sure he wanted it broadcast anywhere, when he’d made such an arse of himself. “Any point in telling you to mind your own business?” he asked gruffly.
“None at all,” Eric said, with a return of his usual spirit. “But any problems, and I’ve got your back, okay?”
DOM stood in the middle of the empty Stefanowicz modeling studio and wondered what the hell he was doing. After leaving Tanya’s office, he’d decided to pass on the Italian lunch and had grabbed a quick sandwich instead. It wasn’t that his nerves were affecting his stomach, but he couldn’t seem to call on his usually healthy appetite. He’d therefore arrived at the studio a full two hours before Tanya was expecting him, and no one from her company had arrived yet.
A flaky little chap on reception barely managed to check Dom’s name off on the visitors’ list without having palpitations, and didn’t seem able to tell Dom anything more about the event. Dom summoned up his most assertive tone—no problem, when the twink was quivering somewhere between abject fear and incomprehensible lust at the mere sight of him—and said he’d wait in the studio until his agent arrived. He’d let himself up the stairs to find the studio deserted as well. Later on in the afternoon, he was sure it would be full of cameras and props and rows of chairs for the visiting rabble. Probably urns of crappy coffee too. Over by the window, behind a stack of paneling, he found the leather armchair that had been part of Zeb’s set that day. He hauled it out into the main area and sat himself down. It was surprisingly comfortable for a bloody prop.
God, he was in such a bad mood! It really wasn’t justified. He’d just completed one of the greatest achievements of his life, and he wanted to share it with the public. This was all for his benefit; he forgot that too easily. It wasn’t fair on Tanya and Eric, and his other friends who had to put up with his grousing.
But the last time he’d been in here… he couldn’t help remembering the scene. Why shouldn’t he, when it had led to him taking Zeb to bed for the first glorious time? Initially it had been a passing inconvenience to get caught up in Zeb’s photo shoot, then a tease—and then something very much more. He recalled the heat that had suffused him as he saw Zeb do his stuff. Yes, it was great to see him naked; Dom wasn’t denying his healthy libido. But he’d loved watching the man twist and pose, acting out the part, even though there’d been a strange reluctance in Zeb’s attitude toward it all. They’d shared enough glances during the shoot for Dom to have felt they were attuned to each other, that they were getting the same kick out of it—that they felt the same way.
And what way’s that, Dom, you bloody fool?
He couldn’t say it aloud. It was something he’d never put it into words before, in the whole of his life. Yet he’d never considered himself a coward before either, and he found it was a strange kind of hurt.
Distant voices drifted into earshot at the bottom of the stairs, not loud enough for him to recognize, but he knew it was time to put his game face on and start the show. With a sigh, and after a brief trail of his fingers over the back of the chair, he walked back to the door to meet whoever it was.
However, they had paused down in the hallway, and Dom wasn’t sure whether to call out or go down to greet them. After all, he’d probably be in the way until they wheeled him out for his actual performance. So instead he peered over the
top banister, just to check whether it was Tanya.
Oh my God.
Is that Zeb? At the same time as Dom realized he’d subconsciously been hoping to see him, he also realized how unprepared he was for the emotional impact. Zeb was on the far side of the hallway, hidden by an awkwardly placed corner of the staircase. Only his left side had been in view, and for mere seconds, but the hint of his naturally graceful body had been enough to make Dom’s heart jump. And there was no mistaking that bloody annoying woolly sweater he was wearing! Zeb’s arm waved into view then away again, accompanying the conversation Dom couldn’t hear. His movements seemed more fey than Dom remembered, but the reaction in Dom’s groin was frighteningly familiar. Also the ache inside his chest.
Dom had a better view of the other person in the conversation—an older man with an air of confidence and maturity that Dom immediately respected. Maybe he was someone important in the studio hierarchy. He was handsome too, in an elder-statesman kind of way. Not Dom’s type, but maybe appealing to a younger bloke. There was something about him that declared he was gay. Dom had never trusted in this gaydar thing that Zeb had chatted to him about sometimes. But this guy… yes. Definitely gay. And Zeb, of course, was a younger bloke.
Dom didn’t immediately acknowledge the disturbing feeling rising up inside him. Or maybe he didn’t want to put a name to it? As he watched, fascinated in a shameful, car-crash way, the older man leaned into Zeb until both their heads were out of sight. Zeb’s hand appeared on the other man’s shoulder, as if drawing him in, maybe to say good-bye.
They’re very close for a simple good-bye. Dom felt his teeth clench. Too bloody close.
The older man’s body pressed closer to Zeb. Dom could recognize the angle of a kiss as well as any other man, and it didn’t look like it was on the cheek. A deep kiss. A long one.
Presumably not a closed-mouth event either.
Dom didn’t know what to think. Well, yes, fuck, he did know what to think. Either Zeb had moved his love life on with alarming speed while Dom was away, or… he’d been with this bloke all the time. Their conversation had been relaxed, speaking of long familiarity. The older man had smiled at Zeb and moved in for a clinch far too easily for Dom’s liking. Looked like they were old friends.
Or old lovers.
Dom’s boot accidentally kicked the edge of the banister and the wood creaked loudly. He froze in place, still leaning over the rail in full view.
Downstairs in the hallway, the older man lifted his head, his gaze seeking the source of the noise. There was movement under the staircase as Zeb peeked out of his shelter. Dom was scrambling to move away from the banister, but he still caught a glimpse of the expression on Zeb’s face. A frown of puzzlement. Then a look of unmistakable recognition and total, horrified shock.
Several things happened at once. Zeb opened his mouth as if to call up to Dom, and Dom jerked back against the wall of the landing. The front door banged open and Tanya marched into the hall, calling a cheery hello. His name was mentioned, both by a male voice and by hers.
“Dom?” she called up the stairs.
“You there, old man?”
Tanya and Eric. Dom backed away to the studio, his escape route cut off. The front door banged again; maybe Zeb and his companion had left. Eric came thundering up the steps and Tanya’s lighter footsteps followed.
“No point hiding up here, Dom!” Eric crowed. “The crew are on their way. Fifteen minutes and we’ll be ready for sound checks. It’s nearly time to face the music, right?”
All Dom could think of was the fleeting look on Zeb’s face.
Facing the music.
Right.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“HERE,” Wendy said, fussing over Aidan. “Here are some free seats. Hurry up, they’re starting.”
She nudged Titus none too gently into one of the uncomfortable plastic seats at the back of the studio, and pulled Aidan down onto the seat on her other side. He muttered an apology to the older woman next to him, who was dressed in a smart tweed suit and wore ostentatious pearl jewelry, and whose handbag he nearly put his foot in. There’d been an engineering problem on the local Tube line, so they’d almost missed the start of the event. As it was, the rather snotty little twink on reception had only just been persuaded—by Titus in his Henry V persona, no less—to let them in.
Aidan hadn’t seen anyone on the way in apart from the twink. Even so, he’d pulled his hoodie over his head so that his hair was hidden and his face shaded. Ridiculous, to think that anyone would notice him, but it felt risky when he’d been here as Zeb not so long ago. He glanced around quickly, wondering if Zeb was back from Switzerland yet. Since the call on the day he and Dominic had met the men from We Will Survive, Aidan had heard nothing more about Zeb’s itinerary.
What exactly am I doing here anyway?
He wriggled awkwardly on the seat, wishing he had something more flexible under his bum, something more like the leather armchair that had been part of the shoot. But really, he had no business at the Stefanowicz studio at all now his “Zeb” time was over. This place was for the media crowd, full of bright, bold, decisive, extrovert young things, not him.
They were sitting at the back of the room, so Aidan could barely see over the heads of around fifty people, who he assumed were mostly journalists. But he couldn’t miss the semicircle of armchairs placed at the front, with standing lights behind them. A murmur through the crowd announced that people were filing into the room and moving to the armchairs. Applause rippled through the audience. Spotlights snapped on, flooding the seats. Cameras started flashing from the crowd in front of him.
Claudio from We Will Survive took one seat, smiling broadly. Tanya, in a glamorous designer skirt suit, took the next. Then a TV presenter, whom Aidan recognized as the front man for a lot of adventure programs, and a tall, bald, bearded man, who was built like a brick wall and had a tanned, weather-beaten face, sat down.
And then Dominic Hartington-George himself. The crowd clapped more loudly, though Dominic looked… how would Aidan describe it?
Uncomfortable.
Oh, but otherwise Dominic looked good. So good! He stood confidently, tall and broad in a plain blue shirt, jeans, and the jacket he’d worn the first time Aidan met him, with his curly hair a little longer than when Aidan last saw him, and his beard well trimmed. Dominic almost glowed with health, and Aidan’s heartbeat started racing. Was this going to happen every time he saw the bloody man? His breathing felt tight and his lap suspiciously warm. At this rate he’d have to hide in the flat until the news stories died down. But then there’d be Dominic’s book launch, and how it was the perfect gift for Christmas, so it would be all over the online bookstores. And then probably TV interviews as well, and maybe Dominic would even end up going on I’m a Celebrity in the Jungle with a Ballroom-Dancing Quiz-Show Presenter Who Bakes in His Spare Time. Aidan couldn’t help it; he snorted a laugh out of his nose.
The smart woman in the next chair looked in surprise at him. On his other side, Wendy jabbed him in the ribs.
“Sorry,” he mouthed to anyone who might see.
The interview session itself was a thrill for Aidan. He was immediately fascinated, especially when he’d heard so much about Dominic’s early plans and, of course, actually been involved in steps along the way.
Firstly, Claudio spoke excitedly about his company’s involvement. He described the marketing campaign with Dom’s photos that would be launching in their shops over the next few months. The expedition had obviously kept in touch with him and Felix, because he was able to talk about the route with confidence.
The second speaker was the other large man. He was also a climber—Gerald someone—who’d been on the expedition with Dom.
Aidan leaned forward in his seat to hear better. He’d been following the trip in the news coverage, but that was nothing like hearing from the people who’d really been there. In the news he heard about the weather and saw some of the photos sent back
to base, but as Gerald spoke, Aidan could almost imagine he felt the icy wind, and heard and smelled the crisp snow underfoot.
Gerald was very entertaining about some of the mishaps they’d had, and what remnants they had to eat when the decent stuff ran out because he’d forgotten to bring one of the packs Dom had designated for him to carry. Gerald told how they had a guide whose English was so heavily accented that his description of the ice surface as “firm” sounded like “farm,” and they had continuing visions of a herd of llamas following them like sheep behind a shepherd. And one morning Gerald had gone for a piss in the snow, and because all the blood in his body was being used for the climb, when he rummaged inside his trousers all he found was a shrunken acorn shape instead of his—
The presenter tactfully interrupted and moved the conversation to Dominic.
And that was where the interview became torture to Aidan. Dominic was the center of attention: all eyes were on him. He was surprisingly charming, considering Aidan knew how much he’d be hating this. He praised and complimented his climbing team and guides, talked very civilly about his father’s legacy, and thanked We Will Survive fulsomely for their support in making the whole thing happen. He was particularly grateful for the equipment they’d supplied.
“He knows not to bite the hand that feeds, eh?” Titus hissed over at Aidan.
Aidan knew it was much more than that. He recognized the zealous light in Dominic’s eyes as the slideshow of his photos started up behind the chairs. Everyone’s gaze immediately turned to the breathtaking view from the top of the mountain. Trust Dominic to ignore the expected, which was to begin with the planning of the expedition! Instead he’d started with the striking impact of its end. He then interspersed the more fabulous shots with fascinating insights into the team’s work, the equipment they’d packed and used, the towns they’d visited on their way to the Eiger, and the people who’d been their guides and support services.