Given Time

by E. D. Parr

  Angel smiled wanly. “We’ll go to the house. Maybe his laptop is in his study.”

  Matt held Angel’s arm as concern filled him. He wondered if Angel had latched onto the lack of arrangements for the project as something to fill the hollow that he must feel from Rory’s death. “You don’t need to chase things up for me.”

  Angel gazed at him. “Do you want to come to the house or call it a day? I’ll understand if you have other things to do.”

  A wave of anxiety flew over Matt. He sensed Angel’s distress. “I’d stick with you.”

  Angel visibly relaxed. “Thanks. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It feels as if there are heaps of things to do and I’m going to mess it all up.”

  Matt softened his voice. “Hey, I can help. Anything you need me to do, just say.”

  Angel ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s go to the house. There’s coffee.”

  Matt walked by his side. As they approached the house, a strange feeling of déjà vu came over Matt, and it wasn’t because he’d laid flowers at the gate the day before. This was one of his strange feelings. He belonged here with Angel. They’d done this before or it was so set in destiny it felt that way.

  Chapter Ten

  Angel took Matt through the side entrance to the grounds, avoiding the flower-laden front gate. He cast a half-smile at the man beside him. “I don’t want to wreck any bouquets and wreaths clambering over them.” The feeling that he’d not shown enough grief rose in him. He tried to shake it off.

  Matt’s gentle smile soothed him a little.

  He unlocked the door and threw it open. “Come on in, Matt. We’ll make some coffee and rifle through Rory’s study.”

  Matt followed him into the house.

  Angel led the way to the big family kitchen. The mug and jar of instant coffee stood on the counter where he’d left them the day before. He added more water to the electric kettle and set it to boil. As he brought another mug from the wall cupboard where Rory kept the crockery, a wave of gratitude made him smile. It’s great to have Matt with me.

  Matt wandered to the small corridor that led to the back door and then came to stand close. He exuded calm.

  Angel turned to him. “Thank you for being here. Can I hug you?”

  Matt broke into a huge smile. “Can you? Hell, I’m desperate to feel you in my arms. Come here.” He held out his arms.

  Angel went into his embrace. He pushed close to Matt with a sigh of pleasure. He pressed his face against Matt’s. The shade of stubble on Matt’s jaw rasping on his skin, and the feel of Matt’s hard muscled chest he molded to combined to send streaks of pleasure tripping all the way through his body. Angel breathed in the masculine energy that bathed Matt. He turned his face and kissed near the side of Matt’s mouth.

  Matt lifted a hand and slid it along Angel’s face. He grazed his lips against Angel’s in a soft brush as he whispered. “You feel good.” He kissed Angel, his mouth a soft merging of sensation that hardened Angel’s cock.

  Angel closed his eyes and returned the kiss, taking another until they both broke away to breathe. “So do you—feel good.” He opened his eyes. “Bet the water’s boiled.” He wanted Matt, but the prickle of guilt about being happy when he was there for such a somber occasion forced him to push away.

  Matt loosened his hold. His eyes held desire and his erection bulged in his black jeans.

  Angel tore his gaze from the enticing sight. “I’ll switch the central heating on. I reckon there’ll be food in the fridge. We never had breakfast. Are you hungry?”

  Matt laughed. “Sure, maybe not for food…”

  Angel grinned at him. He spooned instant coffee into the mugs and poured the boiling water on them. As steam rose from the mugs, he went to the fridge and looked inside. It held nothing that represented a quick breakfast snack. He shrugged and checked the larder. The glass cookie jar was half-full of what looked like the fruit cookies available in the bakery on the Main Street. He brought the container to the counter and placed it next to the mugs of coffee.

  “We’re stuck with cookies, sorry.”

  Matt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Without warning, anxiety gripped Angel. “Matt, let’s check Rory’s study. I need to find any paperwork.”

  He brought Matt along the hall to the back of the house where his brother’s home office looked out onto the river. Angel opened the door and took a deep breath.

  Matt ran his hand over Angel’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. There’ll be something.”

  Angel took comfort from that. He walked to the big desk. Rory’s laptop lay closed on the top. The lead for the electrical connection was in the jack. Angel opened the lid. He pressed a key and the screen lit up. “It’s on. Hell, there’s not even a password required.” He flicked his gaze to Matt in surprise.

  Matt walked around the desk and stood by his side. “That’s good, though, huh?”

  Angel looked around the room. He wheeled the extra desk chair and placed it next to the one behind the desk. “Sit with me, Matt. Let’s check the files.”

  Angel opened the documents file. A column of files built in the window. Each had a name that had to pertain to Rory’s previous work. Some way down the column Angel saw a file named ‘Loewe.’ He glanced at Matt. His expression meant to convey satisfaction at finding it.

  Matt nodded in unspoken agreement.

  Angel opened the file. Acutely disappointed by the one document on display, a sigh escaped him, but he opened the document.

  It listed ideas for the sculpture and a ‘note to self’ from Rory to confirm the booking for the work and exhibition space to avoid damaging the finished artwork in transit from his home studio.

  Angel sat back from the laptop and pushed his hands through his hair. He heaved a sigh.

  “Fucking hell, he never confirmed. I can’t believe it.”

  Matt put his hand onto Angel’s thigh. “Hey, what did I say? Honestly, I’m not angry. Maybe he got sick. That would explain it.”

  Angel sagged in the chair. “I hope there’s a will or some instructions about his estate.”

  Matt took his hand. “You need to grieve… maybe there’s a lawyer in town that Rory used for his will.”

  Even though mixed emotions, disappointment, puzzlement, tumbled through his mind, Angel enjoyed the way Matt held his hand. He turned to Matt. “I don’t feel the sadness I should, Matt. I don’t know why. I did at first when I heard the news. I cried myself nearly sick, but now I have this weird feeling. I wish I’d contacted him. Now there’s no time. I always thought there would be.”

  “Given time, what would you have said?” Matt’s low voice and gentle clasping of his hand helped Angel answer.

  “That I miss him. That I’m sorry we parted so abruptly and that I hope there was happiness in his life.” Angel gazed into Matt’s eyes until Matt leaned forward and kissed him softly. The touch lifted his spirits. I feel so much better with Matt around.

  He drew away from Matt. “It’s helped me to say the words even though he can’t hear them.” He attempted to get back to business. “You’re probably right about a lawyer.”

  He reached over to the desk drawer on his left and opened it. A thick manila folder lay on top of a sheaf of what appeared to be newspaper cuttings. Angel brought the folder out and leafed through it. Everything was there. A copy of Rory’s will, insurance documents, the deed to the house that named both him and Angel, the lease to Rory’s building in town, a list of people and offices, the lawyer, Rory’s doctor, and other people that Angel didn’t know. He took a deep breath. “It’s very tidy. Rory used to be so … so scattered.” He put the folder on the desk next to the laptop. “We left the coffee in the kitchen.” It sounded strangely hollow as he said it. The words seemed to hang in the air. He stood.

  Matt caught his hand. “You okay?”

  Angel stared out of the window to the river beyond. “I just want it all finished. Hell, what time is it?” The memory that he
’d asked the detective to bring him to see Rory’s body flashed into his mind. He snatched his phone from his jacket pocket. “It’s nearly one. Sorry, Matt, the detective will be here soon. I had no idea how late it was. I’d like to show you the studio here.” The imminent arrival of the police officer and the prospect of seeing Rory wrecked his tenuous composure.

  Matt quietly followed him around the house until, in Rory’s huge studio, he stopped and pulled Angel into his arms. “Do you want me to come with you? I can see you’re distressed.”

  Angel soaked up the comfort in Matt’s hug. “I can’t do that to you. I’ll be fine.” He half turned and waved a hand around the room. “See it’s empty. What do you make of that?”

  Matt let him go. “Could be everything finished is sold or in an exhibition. Surely the office staff in town would know.”

  Angel shook his head. “I should have asked. What will you do this afternoon? I don’t have your phone number.”

  Matt took out his cell phone. “I don’t have yours.” His eyes twinkled.

  Angel gave him the number and smiled as his phone beeped in his hand when Matt messaged him. “Can I call you, when I’ve dealt with a few things? We could have dinner. I feel as if I’ve dragged you around all the sad corners this morning. I want to be with you tonight as if … as if…”

  Matt’s expression held tenderness. “As if we’re lovers … and we are, even if it’s new.”

  Relief flooded Angel. He immediately knew that’s what he wanted badly. “Yes.” His voice came out a whisper. He pushed his arms around Matt’s neck and rested his forehead on Matt’s. Happiness blanketed him. Matt’s light herbal cologne filled his head. Matt’s lips a fraction away from his were a sweet temptation. The way they fit against each other felt so right. Calm crept over Angel. He kissed Matt gently, pushing down the urge to ravage him with kisses that would lead to sex. His cock jerked all the same and he thrust his hips against Matt’s hard body. The column of his cock met the bulge in Matt’s pants and he smiled. “Hell, Matt, I can’t help wanting to fuck you hard.”

  Matt smiled and kissed him quickly before he moved away. “The feeling is mutual, but I reckon greeting this detective with a visible hard on might not be the way to go. You’re happier at least.”

  Angel tried to think his erection away. The doorbell echoed along the hall below them.

  Even though he expected the visit, the sound sent a spike of shock through Angel.

  “Call me.” Matt strode to the exit and the stairs, and Angel trailed behind him.

  Matt stood away from him at the front door and Angel opened it.

  The detective on the doorstep nodded. “Mr. Starc, Detective Inspector Taylor. Is everything okay?” He looked from Angel to Matt and back.

  Matt gave Angel a soft touch on the upper arm. “I’ll hear from you later.” He addressed the police officer. “I was about to leave.”

  Loss rose up in Angel as Matt left. He stared after the handsome man who already meant so much to him and seemed to be his anchor in this weird tumult of Rory’s death. Then he pulled himself together. “Yes, of course. Shall we go?” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt took the path that wound toward the riverbank. He pushed his hands into his pockets as he walked. The sheepskin jacket hanging in the corridor next to the kitchen hadn’t escaped his notice. The boots obviously left there from the last time Rory went for a walk had a sad air about them. Matt had no doubt that Rory’s illness had overtaken him before he could cement the plans for the collaborative art project. He went over the contents of their emails in his mind. An artist as renowned as Rory could probably ask for an installation space at the last minute.

  He stood on the path and gazed into the rushing water below. He examined his feelings. The best thing to come out of the whole episode was meeting Angel. Cool name, hot guy, nice too. I wonder if I should tell him there’s something in the pocket of that jacket. As soon as Matt had seen the sheepskin jacket when he’d stood in the kitchen watching Angel, he’d experienced one of his weird hunches. He hadn’t seen what else was in the desk drawer, but felt drawn to look in there, too. He hadn’t the courage to ask Angel at the time.

  He tried to conjure the experience again there on the riverbank in the hope of knowing what was hidden. He couldn’t make it work. Exasperated, he took off along the path. The wind had turned cool and contained wafts of rain. The path forked and Matt chose to walk back to the street. He left the sound of rushing water behind. His shoes made a muffled crunching on the gravel and layer of damp leaves left over from autumn. The path led to the T-shape of the Main Street and Matt considered going to the hotel and having lunch. His stomach churned from hunger and the usual edginess that went with his premonitions, but his instinct to help Angel won out. He walked to the flower shop. He ordered a huge wreath of white roses and lilies for Rory from Angel and, not knowing what else to do, he asked for delivery to the funeral home, thinking they’d know where to send it. He didn’t know where the crematorium was, or when the service would be.

  He exited the flower shop and looked around. The mist of drizzle that he’d felt in the wind had become rain. The light traffic swished by. Matt took a deep breath. He strode to Rory’s business office, his head bent against the raindrops. When he pushed in through the rotating door the woman he and Angel had spoken to earlier looked up.

  “Hi, you’re back.” She smiled.

  Matt approached the egg-shaped desk and pushed his hand through his wet hair to take it from his forehead. “I wonder, Dianne, do you know why there’s no artwork at all in Rory’s house. Angel thinks it’s odd.” He attempted to make his tone lighthearted. He’d picked up on Angel’s concern and hoped to alleviate it.

  “That’s right. His current work for sale is here and there’s a gallery in the city that has an exhibition. Rory has slowed his output this last year.”

  Matt sat on the nearby fashionable low-slung chair. “Did you know he was ill?”

  Dianne’s expression grew sad. “Yes, but not the severity of it. He told us he’d put his affairs in order in the event he went into hospital for an operation. We knew he had heart disease. We thought Angel knew…” She looked away.

  Matt caught the glisten of tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She raised her face and nodded slowly. “I know. It’s all very sad.”

  “I should get going. I thought I’d help Angel out with a few answers.” He stood. Outside, Matt took the path to the hotel. With each step, he grew ever more excited about seeing Angel that night.

  ****

  Angel was back in the family house. The visit to the morgue had been cathartic. As soon as he saw Rory lying there covered to his chin with a soft green sheet, he’d felt calmer. Rory looked peaceful. It made Angel think that the sparsity of paperwork and lack of artwork lying unfinished in Rory’s studio was purposeful. Rory had cleared the table. The only thing that bit at Angel now was the fact they’d remained estranged. He took the list of phone numbers from the manila folder and sat at Rory’s desk to call the lawyer. Five minutes later he’d discovered the lawyer had all the instructions and Rory’s real will. There was nothing to do but go to the reading.

  He closed the folder and gazed at the rivulets of rain running down the window. His cell phone rang. For a second he experienced a wave of happiness thinking the caller was Matt. It was Samantha.

  “I’m coming over tomorrow.”

  Angel smiled. “I’m glad. I’m floundering around trying to arrange things—for instance, who to ask to the service in the crematorium.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take over some arrangements. I bet you haven’t considered drinks and sandwiches after the service.”

  Angel grimaced. “No. Take over Samantha. I know I should do better, but I’d be relieved.” As he spoke, he idly opened the desk drawer. The sheaf of newspaper cuttings drifted up and down again in the draft from the drawer open
ing. Angel reached in and picked up the stack of papers. He put them on the desk.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow, oh, are you staying in the house?”

  Angel heard her through a mist of surprise. The newspaper cuttings were all about Matt Loewe. “Er, no, I’m in the hotel. You’re welcome to stay here, Samantha. The heating’s on, to air the place. There’s not much food in the fridge.” He spread the cuttings out across the desktop and on top of the closed laptop.

  “No worries. I need to shop and I have Rory’s housekeeper, Nora Carter’s, number. I’ll call her. She might be willing to help cater a gathering to celebrate Rory’s life.”

  Angel tore his eyes away from the display of information about Matt. “Thank you so much. I miss him. I’ve missed him all this time.”

  She made a soft sound of sympathy. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Angel dropped his phone onto his lap after they ended the call. He snatched up a cutting. It detailed rising star photographer, Matt Loewe’s first Paris exhibition. The next held a short bio and interview with Matt. So it went on, cutting after cutting, as if Rory had stalked Matt. A wave of apprehension flew over Angel and then on the next cutting Rory’s handwriting in pencil.

  ‘No more cuttings available from the library. Use internet and print out—will add texture to the collage. Contact Loewe Thursday. Contact Angel when the art is finished.’

  He must have been making a bio collage for the exhibition when they’d finished the artwork. He was going to contact me. Elation made him smile. Matt’s right—Rory must have become unwell and not finished the arrangements.

  He gathered up the cuttings. One escaped his grasp and he chased it along the desk. He read it as his fingers closed on the margin. The cutting was from an art journal. He recognized the logo on the bottom of the page. Rory had circled the heading. ‘Matt Loewe comes out to the art world as lover, Jason Nettle, dumps him in public spat.’

  Angel checked the date of the piece printed under the author’s name. Roughly two years ago. He stacked the cuttings. He left them under the manila folder. He toyed with the idea of reading the copy of Rory’s will and then didn’t. He stood and went to gaze out the window. Twilight hovered. Did Rory want me to meet Matt? It feels that way. A shiver ran up his spine. Angel wasn’t used to spooky thoughts.