The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  Other figures emerged from the darkness, joining her. The bonfire crackled and sent sparks up into the night sky toward the top of Horse Tor. Nikolas watched them go and thought about fires in the taiga and death. He felt a presence alongside him and smiled. “Hello, Benjamin.”

  Ben was drunk again, but not so drunk he did to Nikolas what he clearly wanted to in the privacy of the dark. He merely nudged him and stood close, watching the revellers. “Great party, yeah?”

  “Yes. It’s good, Ben. If you’re enjoying it.”

  Suddenly, John came up, waving a champagne bottle, topping Ben up. “So, have you told him?”

  Ben gave John a very pissed-off glare then turned to Nikolas. “I was going to tell you later.” He paused and then added, “Sir.” Natasha heard this and came over, clinging to Nikolas’s arm once again.

  “Sir? Oh, my God, I love it. Call him sir again, Ben.”

  “Shut up, Ash.” He gave Nikolas a look of appeal and then blurted out, “It’s nothing, honestly, but I’ve decided to change my name. Ben Redvers. I’m going to have it done officially in Exeter this week.”

  Nikolas stared at him. John punched Ben’s arm. “Redvers back in the old house again.”

  Natasha began to sway away, snatching at her stepbrother’s champagne bottle. He tried to snatch it back, and they danced away into the dark, leaving Ben and Nikolas alone.

  Ben stood as close as he dared. “Do you mind?”

  “Why should I mind, Ben? That’s your name.” He shrugged. “Do as you please.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Fucking hell!” He turned away then back again sharply. “I’m not your fucking father, Ben. You don’t need my permission to do anything you want.”

  “Then why are you angry?”

  “Won’t it be odd when you get home? Having a different name?”

  “Home? What do you mean?”

  “Wh—” Nikolas faltered, and the thing he should have seen suddenly hit him. “You’re not coming back to London, are you?”

  Ben frowned. “No. Of course not. We’re going to live here, aren’t we?”

  Nikolas looked away into the night. “I think we should talk about this when you’re sober.” He knew the minute he’d said it that it was the wrong thing to say. Ben’s face contorted. He appeared to visibly swallow down angry words and then stormed off in the direction he’d seen his cousins go.

  The Guy shifted and sank further into the flames. Nikolas knew how he felt.

  § § §

  Nikolas stayed at the house that night, mostly because he didn’t want to see the place burnt to the ground and also because he couldn’t find Ben. He discovered the room Ben was using as a bedroom and lay down fully clothed on the bed. The party was winding down. Cars were arriving and going, people were shouting, and the music was still blaring. Finally, the door burst open, and Ben came in. His mood had improved. He was contrite, fun, loving, and totally insincere, because he was drunk and possibly high. Nikolas knew the signs well enough. Ben swore he wasn’t high, laughing as Nikolas tried to get him to calm down, so he could check his pupils. Finally, he pushed Nikolas off and proclaimed he was going to find somewhere else to sleep, somewhere more fun.

  Nikolas had had enough. He took Ben by the waist and flung him onto the bed. Ben protested for as long as it took for his brain to realise he was horizontal, and then he just passed out. Nikolas sat pondering him for a while, and then went around to make sure the place was empty and that it wouldn’t burn to the ground around them. He found one or two revellers collapsed in corners, ordered taxis and got them off the premises. If they woke up the next day with some unexplained foot-shaped bruises to their backsides, was he to blame? He thought not.

  Finally the house was empty, and he returned to the bedroom. Ben was snoring. He stank of alcohol, and Nikolas had the very distinct feeling he might be vomited on in the night if he shared a bed with him.

  Dawn was breaking over the eastern tip of Horse Tor. It was a beautiful place; he couldn’t deny its seductive power. He wasn’t sure at that moment the best way to fight this creeping influence. Ben Redvers. As Ben had once pointed out, who the fuck was that? It wasn’t his Ben that was for sure. The man comatose on the bed wasn’t his Ben either. He gave Ben the benefit of the doubt he hadn’t taken anything more than alcohol that night, but even so. Ben Redvers. Is that how he saw himself now? Is this what he really wanted?

  Nikolas knew he’d never live in this house with Ben. How could he? Who would he be? What role would he take on? Benjamin Redvers’s live-in lover? Hardly. It wasn’t the way things were between them.

  This was the inevitable moment Nikolas had feared for six years: when Ben Rider woke up and realised he didn’t have to live anyone else’s life.

  He could live his own.

  § § §

  Ben didn’t wake until well past lunchtime. The hung-over, remorseful, puppy-dog act was wearing a bit thin for Nikolas, but once Ben had stopped vomiting he played it well, and Nikolas was slightly seduced into forgiving him and thinking all was well. They were just about to get into some Ben-is-very-sorry-and-what-can-he-do-to-make-this-better sex when they heard Natasha calling from below. Nikolas hurriedly helped Ben to dress, and they went downstairs, Ben’s dishevelled appearance explainable as a post-party-recovery look. They all appeared as if they needed to recover. Natasha had brought juice and a loaf of French bread for some reason. John had brought a bottle of champagne. It was an odd combination. Nikolas didn’t even stop to say hello. He veered to the kitchen and headed out into the fresh, clean, Dartmoor air.

  § § §

  Ben wasn’t in the mood for any of it. Not a picnic, not Natasha or John, and especially not champagne. Definitely not champagne. His throat was still raw from vomiting whatever he’d been drinking the night before.

  He knew he’d behaved very badly toward Nikolas, and it wasn’t like him. He couldn’t for the life of him work out why he didn’t just get in the car and go back to London with him, but something held him back.

  He liked being just…Ben.

  Although he’d once told Nikolas he didn’t want to ever be separate from him, that had been when he’d nothing to be separate with. Now he had all this. He had some idea Nikolas would now see him as more of an equal, that this would only improve their relationship—make him more attractive to Nikolas. As he’d asked himself only a few weeks ago, how did you keep the interest of someone like Nikolas Mikkelsen? Sometimes he felt like a frantic concubine, spinning endless stories to keep the tyrant happy. It wasn’t like that, he knew, but what would happen when he wasn’t beautiful anymore? What else had he ever had but his face and his body? What else did Nikolas see in him?

  Despite these thoughts, he didn’t want to see Natasha or John that morning. Nikolas was going back to London later that day, and, so far, all they’d done was argue. He forestalled their plans and apologised he was busy and that work was the reason for Nikolas’s visit. They pouted and complained that they wanted to go shopping, claiming he’d promised. Well, he’d made more important promises in the past, and he was going to keep some of those now. He bundled them back out to Natasha’s car and told them he’d see them the next day for the trip to the county court in Exeter. Finally, the house was quiet again. He went in search of Nikolas.

  He finally found him down by the old tennis courts. He was watching the rooks taking off from the huge fir trees in the woods. For one moment, Ben was reminded of one of the very first photographs he’d seen of Nikolas, when he was still Aleksey Primakov, at a cocktail party on a yacht, watching a bird, just as he was now. His heart gave a little jolt over just how much he loved this man. He came up sheepishly and didn’t try to hug him, just plunged his hands into his pockets. “Sorry. They’ve gone.”

  Nikolas nodded. “I must go, too.”

  “What? You’ve only just got here! Stay until tonight, at least. Please.”

  “I’m stopping in at Barton Combe on my way back.”

/>   “What! Why? You haven’t…”

  “Exactly. I haven’t been there for a while, and I want go now.”

  “Well I want to come, too.”

  Nikolas toed the ground. “That might be a little awkward, no?”

  “She still doesn’t know? About us, I mean?”

  “No.”

  “Jesus. Is there anyone in this entire world you’re happy about telling you’re in a relationship with a man?”

  Nikolas pouted, appearing to give this serious consideration. “Yes. But not my ex-wife.”

  Ben relented a little. He hadn’t been too happy about Kate, his ex-girlfriend, finding out about them either. He guessed it was just a guy thing. “Well, I still work for you, sir, so I guess I’m coming in that role. Just like the old days.”

  Nikolas still seemed reluctant to include Ben in his visit. Finally, he admitted, “I want to ask her about Camilla.” He waved his hand. “And all this.”

  Ben folded his arms defensively. “You want to ask her about my family?”

  Nikolas gave him a sharp look. “Don’t take that tone with me, Ben. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have any of this. Remember that next time you need someone to punish for your own shortcomings and you lash out at me.” He seemed surprised that his thoughts had escaped from his mouth quite so readily. He began to walk back toward the house.

  Ben caught his arm. “Please.” Nikolas stopped. Ben came up and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t try to kiss him, just held him tight, the cold December air misting their breath as they embraced, enjoying the body warmth. “I’m sorry, Nik. I can’t seem to say anything right. I just want to be with you. I’ll drive you there, okay? I’ll even make myself scarce so you can talk to her. Anything, yeah, but let me spend the day with you.”

  Nikolas hung his head. “Jesus. How did we come to this? Of course, if you want to come. I’m sorry.” He suddenly clasped Ben around the neck and knuckle-rubbed his hair. “Maybe if my horses haven’t died of neglect and pining for me we’ll go riding, yes?”

  Ben immediately cheered up and mock punched him back, and all their self-inflicted woes just disappeared as if they’d woken up together in their normal, entangled way in London. Ben shook his head ruefully. “Pity we have to leave right now though.”

  Nikolas gave him a sideward glance. “Uh-huh. I really can’t guess what you’re thinking.”

  Ben raised one eyebrow challengingly. “No, you can’t. Last one to the top of Nik’s Knob is a pussy.” He took off toward the tor.

  § § §

  Incredulous, Nikolas watched him for one moment—Ben fucking Rider hadn’t been able to stand ten minutes ago—then sprinted furiously after him. Normally, he wouldn’t have stood a chance running against Ben uphill, especially when Ben had cheated and got a head start, but Nikolas knew Ben was still severely hung-over. Nikolas caught him just as they were over the pond and heading into the bracken. He tackled Ben down into the soft grass, climbed over him, trampling him, and started to climb. Ben heaved himself up, retched once or twice, swore loudly he’d never drink again, and sprinted after him. They were pretty evenly matched for the last fifty feet. Ben tried to knock Nikolas down as well, but he couldn’t get enough of a grip and only tore his shirt.

  Nikolas won, but it was a close thing. He sank to his knees, heaving for air. Ben threw up again. Then they saw the magnificent moors stretching out in every direction, sun and shadow chasing each other over the golden-brown indentations and rocky crags. Frost still whitened the grass in the lea of the lichen-covered rocks, that glistening rivalling the sparkling quartz trapped in the eons old tors. Nikolas rose to his feet, breathing in the cold, pure air. Ben spat and came up alongside to join him. Nikolas slipped an arm around his waist. “It is beautiful here, Ben. I understand why you love it.”

  “Why don’t you see if you can get the horses moved to a boarding stable near here? Until I can get a stable built for them, at least. We could ride when you come down.” He turned to Nikolas. “Maybe you’d stay then.”

  “Stay for horses and not for you?” He gave Ben a kiss, grimaced at the taste and slapped him on his backside. “Come, I’ve won. So, as my reward I’ll treat you to lunch in the hotel before we visit Philipa.”

  “Your reward is to treat me?”

  Nikolas was moving away, off the sunlit tor. “Since when has it not been, Ben?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  There was a little edge to their relationship all afternoon—during lunch and on their way to Barton Combe. Usually so companionable, they rarely argued for real, preferring mock arguments that always ended up with laughter and sex. This was different. Nikolas chose to drive, as he said he was genuinely worried at how tired Ben looked. Ben was staring out of the side window at the familiar route through the hedge-darkened lanes, remembering the previous times he’d been to Nikolas’s house. He suddenly stretched and relaxed a little. He felt better already, as if getting away from the house had eased some pressure in his head.

  They pulled up on the gravel in front of the beautiful manor house. Nothing had changed. Ben couldn’t believe it. Nikolas was staring at the house, too. He pursed his lips, seemed to mentally steady himself and climbed out. Ben followed behind. Nikolas was clearly expected, for he didn’t ring the bell but wandered in as if it were still his own house. The hallway was cold and quiet. He went straight to the kitchen, and a pack of dogs rose from baskets, wagging tails. Nikolas gave one or two a pat then straightened. “Hello, Philipa.”

  Lady Philipa rose from the table where she’d been freshening up a vase of cut winter blooms. She tipped her head to one side, studying her ex-husband. “Good God, Nikki. What have you done to your face?”

  Nikolas smiled ruefully, but before he could lie about his scars, she came forward and took Ben’s hands. “You are in so much trouble, Benjamin Rider. Just because Nikolas chose not to come and see me, you could of, you know. You’d still have been welcome.” He kissed her cheek and handed over the flowers they’d stopped to buy. “Thank you, darling, they’re lovely.”

  “I did come, Philipa, but unfortunately you were always away.”

  “Hmm. Let me do that. You’re as useless as ever.” She took the kettle from Nikolas and began to fill it, waving them to the table. “You came to visit your horses and made sure I was always in Scotland. And they’re fine, by the way. Exercised every day and spoilt almost as much as you used to. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  She sat at the table and poured them tea. It was all vaguely surreal, but then Ben reckoned it had always been a game for Philipa and Nikolas, both playing their roles and happy to do so. They seemed very easy in each other’s company. But then Nikolas had lived in this house and been married to Philipa for far longer than he’d known him. He sometimes wondered about their relationship. When the visitors had left, when it had been just the two of them, what had they talked about? How much did Philipa know about Nikolas’s life? He longed to ask her, but as he was here in the role of Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen’s employee, it was hardly appropriate. What would it be like to sit here acknowledged as her equal, her superior—Nikolas’s conscious choice? Ben suddenly switched onto the conversation and realised they were talking about the Redvers’s house. Philipa, naturally, had heard about Ben’s sudden acquisition of the property. She had as strong a belief in fate as Ben, and they talked for some time about the odd coincidence of Ben knowing her and coming to Barton Combe over the years as Ben Rider when he was actually Ben Redvers, the missing son of a local landowner. When Nikolas had let them have their fun with spooky coincidences—absolutely knew there was something about you, Ben—and other very enjoyable topics of conversation for a darkening winter’s afternoon, he interrupted with the real reason they’d come to see his ex-wife. “Philipa, stop egging him on and tell me, please, what you know about Camilla.”

  Philipa rose and went to put the kettle on again, as the tea had gone cold. She pulled a tin of shortbread out of the cupboard. “Are you fon
d of her, Ben?”

  Ben glanced at Nikolas. “I hardly know her to be honest, ma’am. Why?”

  She returned to the table and placed the open tin by Ben. From her wry expression, it was clear she wasn’t expecting many to be left by the end of his visit. “She’s always been strange. Of course, there were an awful lot of rumours when she had John. I was only a girl, of course, but my mother would tell you more, or perhaps nanny. It was hushed up though.”

  “What? She wasn’t married? It wasn’t that scandalous, surely. We’re only talking thirty years ago.”

  “Oh, God, no, that wouldn’t have turned a hair. Not down here in this set. No, it’s that there wasn’t a man at all, you see. Nikolas, don’t look like that; I’m not talking Immaculate Conception. John Redvers isn’t the next Messiah. He’s old John Redvers’s son, or at least, that’s what the scandal mongers gossiped at the time.”

  Ben was puzzled. Nikolas leant forward sharply. “You’re telling us Camilla Redvers slept with her older brother? That young John Redvers is John Redvers the elder’s son?”

  She rose to take the pot to the kettle, freshening up the leaves and pouring more water. Ben was staring at Nikolas but was lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, he pointed out the obvious. “He’s the oldest son.”

  Nikolas gave him a hard look. “Don’t. If it’s true then he can hardly want to have it talked of or use it to claim anything. You’re the heir. Philipa, do you believe it?”

  She sat back at the table with the fresh pot. “Honestly? Yes. She was so much younger than he was. I can see it happening. Little John was about five months old when Elizabeth came on the scene. It must have rather ruined things for Camilla. She and little John moved out of the house, but she remained very close with her brother and then, of course, Elizabeth disappeared with her little boy and that was that.”