Conscious Decisions of the Heart

by John Wiltshire

  Gregory beamed at them both. “See? We can be civilized. No need for all this unpleasantness. So, Lyosha, Lyosha, let me look at you. Ah, life in this soft little country agrees with you. I see you across room and I think, that new Aleksey, maybe I try hug, maybe I even try kiss—so I do. You no like kiss me before, so I think you been practising. Hey, Mr Rider—Lyosha been practising the kissing? But you are so thin! Hmm, that suit though…You are not on civil servant wage now, I see. Like poor Gregory. Ack, but it is very good see you again. I cry at your funeral, you know. Yes! I did! Me! Gregory Malenkov! They laughed at me, but Grisha cried for you. You left my bed very cold, Aleksey, very empty.” He shook his head sadly then grinned. “Maybe if we both survive this little meeting of yours, you warm it for me again, yes?” He turned quickly to Ben before Nikolas could comment on this. “You are just like him, you know. When I first meet little Aleksey. So young, so hungry, so sure of himself. You are very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr Rider? Dmitry took much time to die. Long time to burn. And very sad knees. No need for that. Ah, we order. Good.” The waiter had arrived totally unnoticed by either Ben or, it appeared, Nikolas. Gregory dived into the menu, chuckling to himself at the oddly named items.

  Nikolas finally risked a glance at Ben. Ben’s heart gave a little flip at the expression—apology, fear, sadness, guilt, all of them on the face of a boy who’d been given no choices in life—and whatever he’d been planning to say or do just dissolved on that heart-rending look. He raised one eyebrow in an amused question and moved his foot over to rest on top of Nikolas’s, pressing it. Nikolas glanced down for a moment, closed his eyes for privacy and strength—and perhaps thanking his own gods for the unconditional love he knew he didn’t deserve—then opened them. With a contrite, private smile just for Ben, he slipped his foot out from under and returned the gesture. This tiny exchange, which said so much between them, appeared to give Nikolas back his self-control. He picked up the menu and ordered swiftly for both of them, then leant back, considering Gregory.

  Gregory finished ordering and handed the menu to the waiter. He took a sip of wine, but it turned into coughing, and he coughed alarmingly for some time, before wiping his eyes with his napkin and taking a longer swallow. He looked between Nikolas and Ben then appeared to pick on Ben as his most amusing target, for he turned to him, topping up all their wine, peering at the bottle and chuckling. “Good label. Your boss have good taste. Good taste in you also. They tell me how pretty you are, but I say no, not possible, he English, and English all weak with their chins and teeth. But you, you are superb. No, Lyosha? He superb. He good fuck? He look it.”

  Nikolas managed to laugh, and it sounded authentic enough even to Ben who knew all Nikolas’s laughs. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of Mr Rider, I suggest you try something else, Gregory. Perhaps you’d like to talk about my proposal now, or shall we continue to behave like children scoring points in a sandpit?”

  Gregory winced, theatrically wounded, then took a sip of his wine. He appeared to like it and finished the glass, as if he were drinking water. “I come work for you? Upstanding British gentleman?” He hummed the national anthem and made a mock salute. “I don’t think so, Lyosha. Be like you working for Mr Rider one day. You forget who saved who from prison. Who clothed who? Who fed who? Who took who to bed and fucked him because he miss his papa’s cock?”

  Nikolas shot to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. He stared at Gregory, then very carefully picked up his napkin and dabbed his lips. “Please excuse me.” And with that, he left.

  Ben stayed with a chuckling Gregory for a few moments more, and then said neutrally, “You must excuse me, too. Sir Nikolas is my boss, my responsibility. I should check on him.”

  For the first time, Gregory betrayed that he was slightly less sure of himself than he had appeared at first. He was clearly reassessing the information he’d been told about his old colleague and this pretty man. Ben rose. “Please, order some more wine.” He bent and picked up the chair, left the table very calmly, as befitted an employee worried about his boss, and followed Nikolas to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was empty except for Nikolas standing in front of the mirror, staring very intently at his own reflection. Ben came and stood next to him, also staring at the image in the glass.

  They were silent for quite a long time.

  Finally, Ben sighed. “Do you think he realises he’s just a fat, ugly old man?”

  Expressions flitted across Nikolas’s face, but finally he closed his eyes to his reflection, as if accepting Gregory’s words hadn’t fundamentally changed him. Ben pulled him into a hug then held his face and kissed him roughly—lips, cheeks, eyes, hair, ears—obliterating the earlier kiss he’d been given. He held Nikolas away. “You okay?”

  Nikolas gave him a very weak smile. “Define okay.” He held onto the back of Ben’s neck, rubbing a thumb across the short hair. “I told you that you shouldn’t have come.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  “I would.”

  Ben ducked slightly, catching Nik’s gaze and holding it—forcing Nikolas not to lose eye contact. “You’re not letting him get under your skin, are you?”

  Nikolas managed to hold the gaze. “Are you? He’s only begun. He’s only warming up.”

  “Is it true? You and Gregory were…”

  Nikolas closed his eyes. He didn’t appear to need Ben to finish this question. He nodded but began to say, “Not in”―and Ben finished for him―“the way I mean?”

  They laughed together, a little ruefully, and Nikolas leant his forehead to Ben’s. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

  “Nothing to tell. I don’t care, Nik. I don’t. The real you, remember?”

  “The real me.”

  “Come on, real you. And make sure you eat something, yeah?”

  Nikolas gave him a patronising eye roll. Ben nodded. “Yep, there’s the real Nikolas.”

  § § §

  When they got back to the table, there were three bottles of wine and the food had arrived. Gregory was looking very content and pleased with himself, tucking into some soup. He waved his spoon at them cheerily. “Lobster. Very good.” He nodded at Nikolas’s selection that appeared to be nothing more than green leaves in a pretty arrangement. “You no eat enough still, Lyosha. Mr Rider, your boss need eat more. Eh, Lyosha? Remember those tasty meals I found you eating? Ah, such simple solution to overcrowding of the prisons! I suggest it to your soft, little government, hey? No feed your prisoners; let them…what shall we call it…feed themselves? Yes, you fed yourself, Aleksey. Ah, sorry, you no like be reminded of hungry days when you no so particular what you eat. So, Mr Rider, please, I call you Ben, no? You call me Gregory, we all friends now, yes?”

  Nikolas took a long drink of wine. “We could be if you accept my offer.”

  “If I accept your offer, maybe my English be good as yours! Maybe I have lovely suit like you. Maybe I eat lobster every day like you! Soft country with soft people, no, Aleksey?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t hold you to staying in England, Gregory. Please. Feel free to go wherever you wish. Thailand, possibly. I always thought your tastes would run to Thailand.”

  Gregory smiled, but it appeared slightly forced. “No, I want stay here and enjoy all this. Like you.” He amended with a smirk, “Like you do.”

  “So, do we have a deal? I provide you with a new identity and life, and in return―”

  “In return I no kill you?”

  Ben looked up from studying the food he had no intention of eating. “You were spectacularly unsuccessful last time. Take a hint, maybe?”

  Gregory’s eyes widened, and he turned to Nikolas, palms held out imploringly. “You see how he treats me? Me! Your idol. Your mentor. Your…What was I to you, Aleksey? How I best describe it…?” He took a long, noisy suck of his soup. “Your saviour? Mmm, I like that. Yes. Saviour. So, where that waiter boy? You no eat your starter?” He pulled Ben’s chicken livers o
ver to his side of the table and ate them with a flourish, washing them down with more wine. “I want be Charles.”

  Ben glanced at Nikolas with a puzzled frown. Nikolas seemed just as mystified. The waiter arrived at that moment, so they stayed silent until he’d cleared the plates. He topped up their wine glasses, and Gregory took the opportunity to order a couple more bottles. When the waiter moved away, Gregory expanded on his theme. “I want be Charles Buckinghamshire. I think good English name. My English very perfect, and Charles Buckinghamshire perfect English gentleman. He have big house in country.”

  “And your men?”

  Gregory waved his hand, and Ben almost snorted—it was exactly the same annoying gesture of dismissal he’d had from Nikolas for the last four years. “They no matter. I no want them. Very common, Chechen. Phah. I want like Mr Rider here—best of British bodyguard. I want British butler. Very proper with little silver tray and accent is that all m’lord?”

  The waiter arrived with the next course, steaks for Gregory and Ben, and braised celery for Nikolas. Gregory eyed the food and raised an eyebrow. “Where your meat? You like the meat. I remember you love the meat, Aleksey.” He laughed at his own joke, and began to demolish his ribeye. He held up a piece, chewing, contemplating his own genius. “Course, you had lovely vodka-pickled Chechen boy liver to eat…” He winked at Ben. “You no eat your steak? Tsk, tsk.” He looked between his dining companions and pouted. “You no much fun to go on date with.”

  “Do we have an agreement?”

  Gregory shrugged. “Maybe, maybe no. I have nice name. I have nice house. I have nice little butler with his shiny shoe. I want other things nice.” He smiled a little, contemplating a piece of steak. “Maybe I want you, Lyosha. You very nice, I remember.”

  Nikolas leant back in his chair, dabbing at his lips with his napkin, although he’d not eaten a single thing. “You’re being rude, Gregory. This isn’t like you.”

  “Like me. Ah. Yes. Because, of course, you know much about me. Last ten years not so much, I think. Ten years, Aleksey. Ten years a long time. I think you have it good here. You like this new Nikolas life, no? There, you have my answer. I have wants. I want name, house, and you. I say no more. We eat.” He waved toward the waiter and asked for the dessert menu. “What Tafferty? Aleksey, I like this Tafferty? Ack, I order and see. I very—what is that word?—eclectic, yes, I very eclectic in my taste. Ack, I tired of this English now. We speak in Russian.” And with that he fired off a long string of words at Nikolas, not addressing him directly but apparently absorbed by the ruby contents of his wine glass.

  Nikolas on the other hand didn’t take his eyes off Gregory as he spoke. At the end, he just nodded then turned to Ben. “We’re going, come.”

  Ben’s eyes flicked from the Russian to Nikolas, but he didn’t speak. As he stood, Nikolas reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes. Holding Gregory’s eye, he peeled off ten £50 notes and dropped them slowly on the table next to him, then with a frown and casual shrug, as if tipping an inconsequential porter and with no more concern for the amount, he dropped the rest of the roll. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. It’s on me, of course.”

  Gregory flicked his eyes to the notes then back up to Nikolas. “You big man now, Aleksey. I see that. You no little Lyosha for me no more. But we know where we stand now, yes? All agreed.”

  Nikolas nodded and walked away. Ben kept his eyes fixed on the Russian’s lowered head. The gun tucked into his waistband called to him. It would be so easy. Gregory smirked up at him as if reading his mind. “You should learn Russian, my friend. It is good language for matters of heart. They say Aleksey Primakov have no heart, but I always say you need to know where look, where he put it for safe keeping, then you find it easy. I see where he put it. You no use that gun here, eh? But maybe later. Maybe not.” He raised his glass to Ben and took a long, satisfied drink.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The ride back to the hotel was done in virtual silence. Nikolas looked very tired. Ben was just hungry, but that made him feel incredibly guilty, as he knew he ought to be thinking about something far more important than his stomach.

  “We may have been followed from the restaurant.”

  Ben glanced across at him and shook his head. “No, we weren’t. I’d have seen a tail.” Nikolas nodded, seemingly too tired to argue. To be sure, Ben got the driver to drop them a few streets away from their hotel at the entrance to Grosvenor Square gardens, and they waited, partially concealed, to see if anyone else stopped. When he was sure they were clear, Ben began to walk toward one the benches, far enough away from a streetlight so they could sit in darkness. He eased himself down and waited for Nikolas to join him. Eventually, he did, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, although it wasn’t cold. Ben said nothing. He just waited. Eventually, Nikolas sighed. “For God’s sake, say something, Benjamin.”

  “How old is he?”

  Nikolas turned his head sharply. “That’s it? That’s what you say, after all that?”

  “Well?”

  “I’ve no idea. How would I know how old he is? He’s fifty-eight, I believe. Why do you ask this?”

  Ben shrugged. “So when you met he was…your age.”

  Nikolas frowned. “I was nineteen. He would’ve been about thirty-five or six. Why these questions?”

  It was Ben’s turn to frown. “Nineteen? I thought―So, you were still in prison when you met?”

  Nikolas stood up abruptly. “I’m not comfortable sitting here. We’re too exposed. We should walk.”

  “Your leg okay?”

  “Yes, of course. I told you. All better.”

  “That was one of your worst attempts to distract me, by the way. So―”

  “This is all an old story. It’s not relevant.”

  Ben stopped and caught at his arm. “Not relevant? You have to be kidding me. I was the only one at that table tonight not back in Russia playing out old games. Tell me.”

  Nikolas shrugged his hand off and continued walking. “Gregory was Narodnyy Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del—you call it NKVD?”

  “The gulag guards? You were in a gulag? Christ, Nik…”

  “He was assigned there. For conducting of the executions. But he knew my father—had worked for him—and he…took a special interest in me. When things began to fall apart, he was recruited for more specialist work, and he took me with him. It’s all very simple and a very long time ago. Shall we return to the hotel now? My leg is hurting.”

  Ben ignored this. “And, so, what? You were…together for twelve years? Before you…faked your death?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t like that together. You make all things in your own romantic image, Benjamin.”

  Ben caught his arm again, this time not allowing Nikolas to shake him off. Nikolas turned to him, his face stony for a moment, but then he closed his eyes and put one hand to the back of Ben’s neck. “What do you want me to say, min skat? I told you once—you’re the only man I’ve ever willingly given my body to.” He laughed ruefully. “Until tonight, you were the only man I ever kissed.” He shook Ben slightly then opened his eyes and stared at him. “You try to make comparisons for things that can’t be compared. He was food, and he was safety. For a while, he was the life raft I clung to in a furious ocean. You are the conscious choice of my heart. Now, please, I’ll admit I’ve deliberately lied to you about one thing, my leg isn’t fine and it hurts. A great deal. Can I please be allowed to return to the hotel and lie down?”

  They walked slowly back together, both deep in their own thoughts. As soon as they got into the room and had greeted Radulf sufficiently, Nikolas went to the phone and ordered a wide selection of room service meals, without consulting Ben. He only commented dryly, as he replaced the receiver, “You didn’t eat. I was more worried by that than the psychotic Russian at the table.” Ben began to smile. It turned into a laugh. He caught Nikolas around the waist and, ignoring his protests, fell with him onto the bed. They l
ay on their backs, side by side, contemplating the ceiling.

  “So, good meeting then.”

  Nikolas chuckled. “I don’t know, and I’m the one who speaks Russian. I think he’ll go for it. He wants it desperately. I don’t think he went there tonight to agree. But when he saw me, he realised he wanted what I represent—what I have.”

  “I think he saw you and wanted you.”

  “He said that to anger and embarrass me and to get a reaction from you. Take no notice.”

  “Are you going to tell me what he told you at the end? The part I was deliberately excluded from?”

  There was a discreet knock at the door, and Nikolas pushed at Ben’s arm. “Please. I’m too injured to rise again.”

  Ben gave him a look as he stood. “That leg is beginning to get very convenient.”

  “Can a leg ever not be convenient? What a strange mind you have, Benjamin.” Nikolas managed to sit up and limp bravely to the table where Ben unloaded the food.