Twisted Love and Money

by Kennedy, Thomas

  Twisted Love and Money

  By Thomas Kennedy

  Smashwords Edition

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Twisted Love and Money

  Copyright 2010© Thomas Kennedy

  Twisted Love and Money

  This book is a work of fiction and none of the characters are intended to portray real people. Names of characters, places and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  By the same author:

  Dark Drink and Conversation

  A warm tale of conversation, murder and mystery

  More Dark Drink and Conversation

  A warm tale of conversation, kidnap and mystery

  Love on the Dark Side of the City

  A Romantic Thriller set in Dublin, Ireland

  The Irish Detective

  Hard-boiled detective stories.

  Druids Raptors and Egyptians

  Children’s fantasy adventure

  Twisted Love and Money

  By Thomas Kennedy

  Chapter One

  “The project is still on schedule,” the Architect explained.

  Jeremy smiled encouragingly. He listened to the details as he cut the sticky bun in half. Lovingly he spread the butter and then taking a slug from his mug of tea, he sat back and admired the scene as the Architect rattled on.

  God, it’s great to be back in Dublin, he thought.

  “Do you know, it’s twenty years since I sat in this spot,” he said, cutting across the Architect.

  “Is that right Jeremy,” the Architect smiled agreeably. “The Quantity Surveyor…” he added, but Jeremy cut across him.

  “Shag the Quantity Surveyor. Drink your tea and have your sticky bun.”

  “Jeremy, I did not come to Dublin to do sticky buns. I am supposed to be building the new ‘Jeremy and David,’ Dublin store, old man.”

  “I know George, you build all my stores and you do it well. I don’t need the details unless you have a problem. Do you have a problem?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. You know me Jeremy, I get it done.”

  “So have your sticky bun.”

  George smiled and shut up.

  “I used to come here, to this cafe, when I was at U.C.D.” Jeremy added

  “U.C.D.?” George raised an amused eyebrow, “is that something like AC, DC?”

  “F’ off,” Jeremy replied good- humouredly, dismissing the oblique joking reference to his homosexuality.

  “For your information Darling,” Jeremy pressed a finger on the back of George’s hand as he spoke. “I was at University, University College Dublin U.C.D., old man.”

  George smiled; he could handle Jeremy, and said, “I did not know you had graduated?”

  “Those were the good old days. Do you know I wanted to be a priest?”

  George guffawed, “You a priest. “Weren’t they lucky that you gave it up!”

  “Piss off.”

  “Sorry, no offence.”

  “It’s all right George, none taken. I wasn’t always Gay. Correction, there was a time when I was not aware of Gay. Homosexual was a word in the dictionary, not really understood. I was a very serious young man from a religious family. I genuinely wanted to be a priest. I did Philosophy for two years at U.C.D. as part of my studies. Sex, well that was something other people did.”

  “You are full of surprises, Jeremy. I thought you started out as a shop assistant and worked your way up.”

  “In the rag trade. Luck would have it that when I ran away to England I got a job in the rag trade.”

  “What happened that you chucked the Priesthood? I mean...?”

  “Oh, I discovered I was not right for the religious life. My mother is a very strong woman. She wanted a priest for a son. I fell for it. Then as it got near the time for vows I had a change of heart. Also I became aware of personal inclinations, which made me unsuitable. Like I said I took religion seriously in those days. In the heel of the hunt I lit out for London. The rest is history.”

  “And the mother?”

  “Never forgave my departure, never understood.”

  “Your father?”

  “He died when I was young. Cancer. My mother brought up me and my brother and sisters against all the odds. She made me a scholarship lad. Pushed me hard. I was an honours student all the way. Ended up training for the priesthood with a scholarship for U.C.D. I was a real mothers darling. She put a lot of her cash into me, God love her. I don’t know to this day how she made ends meet. A will of iron.”

  “Do you still see her?”

  “I keep in touch by phone. My married sisters look after her to the extent she will let them. I haven’t been home in twenty years. Every time I talk to her she still goes on about it. About my leaving the priesthood, going to London, breaking her heart.”

  “Does she know you are gay?”

  “No George, and if you ever meet her, don’t enlighten her.”

  “Don’t worry. Look old man, I have to get back, do you mind if I push off?”

  “No, work away George.”

  George threw back the rest of his tea, left the sticky bun and gathered up his papers.

  “This will be a first class clothes shop Jeremy. I mean that in the best sense.”

  “Do your thing George and we will do the rest. David is coming on Friday.”

  “Give him my regards,” George threw in as he made to depart, “I’ll be in touch before Friday. You and David make time to come and see the premises on Friday. You’ll be amazed at the progress.”

  “Will do George,” Jeremy replied and George was gone.

  The reference to his partner David made Jeremy frown. David, his partner and lover would arrive on Friday morning.

  Funny how they had matched? David was outrageously Gay and also loved to dress women. Jeremy was quiet and had been swept away by David.

  Inglewood Road, West Hampstead, Jeremy gave a sigh. They lived there in David’s flat for the first year. Great times.

  Jeremy reached over and took the sticky bun George had left behind. He’d made Bewley’s Café at least three times a week during his college days. Used up all his spare cash in those hard up days. Tea and a sticky bun and read the lecture notes, and discussions with equally poor and equally intense scholars about Philosophy.

  What was that discussion? Jeremy frowned in remembrance. What was it, the argument over Saint Thomas Aquinas?

  That day he had argued that Aquinas was not engaged on enquiry, asserting to his friends that before Aquinas begins to philosophize he already knows the truth, it is the declared Catholic faith.

  “Let us consider wisdom,” Phillip, his fellow philosophy student had argued, “Aquinas reasoned that the good of the universe is the good of the intellect, and the good of the intellect is the truth. The pursuit of wisdom in this sense is the most perfect, the most sublime, profitable and delightful of pursuits.”

  “His purpose was to declare the truth the catholic faith professes,” Jeremy had retorted.

  In retrospect the argument was part of the road to Jeremy’s departure from the path of righteousness. A beginning of his rejection of his path to the priesthood.

  Now the Cafe was very busy. The customers were all the
genuine article, Students, housewives, professional people, varying between orders for Breakfasts of rashers and eggs to tea and coffee with pastries and sticky buns. Stray tourists were dotted about but this time of year it was a venue for Dubliners.

  Jeremy was using Bewley's and it’s easy going Cafe style as his office, drinking copious cups of tea and meeting people. Fabric sellers, designers, and all the support they would need for the proposed new Dublin store. David provided the flair to the partnership. To Jeremy it fell to be the serious man of business, to keep the wheels oiled and turning and making sure that the cash flow and profits were in order.

  Jeremy finished up. He had an appointment at twelve, which gave him nearly an hour to kill.

  He decided he would go for a breath of fresh air, a walk across Stephens Green to Earlsford Terrace.

  He walked up the centre of Grafton Street, taking in the shops as he passed. His new store would be near the top of the street. In his estimation a bit of a dead part of a lively street, but the best site available. For his high price, high margin lines it would be perfect. He was optimistic.

  He had a simple philosophy for all his shops. He hired the best people he could find and paid them above the odds. He would weed them out after three months trial and keep the best. If the store did not work out his philosophy was, close it quick, and don’t hang on. Get out before the cash flow went to hell. There were plenty of good spots. You did your homework and if it was wrong, face up to it and start again after a reasonable period. It was a tough business and he was good at it.

  As he walked Jeremy tried to analyze his mood, sad, happy, restless, nostalgic at being back in his old City, all emotions mixing together, he was back in his old city after twenty years.

  Next week he would get up the nerve to visit his mother. Although he had kept in touch by phone he could not face her disapproval so he had kept away. But neither of them was getting any younger.

  He stopped a minute and listened to a group of young buskers. Then he threw some euro coins into the open guitar case and moved on.

  He was a multi- millionaire now, billionaire according to his Accountant, but he could not admit that. Valuations depended on the buyer and he was not interested in selling the business. Mind you he had enough millions in property. The property market had been so good to him.

  Funny how easy it had been.

  Then he had met David. David had persuaded him to join him in the rag trade. ‘Jeremy and David,’ became a fashion house. Money made money made money. Magic really.

  Jeremy crossed into the Green. He smiled when he saw the ducks and made his way towards the central pond. He’d sit and watch a while.

  He decided he wasn’t really sad, just scared. His appointment at twelve was important. He couldn’t wait. How it went would be critical.

  He’d lived with David for fifteen years now. And now at twelve he was meeting someone else. A little betrayal, no a big betrayal. And David was coming on Friday. Jesus.

  He sat on the public seat, recessed in off the pathway and looking out over the pond. Ducks of various sizes paddled about on the pond and came up to passers by, looking for pieces of bread.

  Coming out had been traumatic. It had struck him with shock in his second year in University. A girl, Barbara was her name. She had given out free pink carnations to every man who would take them. Jeremy in all innocence took one and wore it all day. It was only when the Monsignor was shocked that he had found out.

  The day was Gay Day. Gays who were coming out of the closet, as it was called in those days, were supposed to wear pink carnations to declare themselves. Barbara had made a point of offering carnations to all the clerical students, her idea of a big joke. There was uproar, but the indignation died in the laughter.

  They’d been caught out good and proper.

  The rest of the clerics had laughed it off. But Jeremy was in shock; a deep fright had bit his soul. Something had grasped his entrails. A realization.

  So he ran away to England. Then the misery, the drink, the start in the miserable job, his secret never to be revealed, The driving ambition to make money to be free from poverty and dependence on others.

  Then David. David had seen through him and carried him away to a Gay world. Made him truly happy. David was the light of his life. He had never been with anyone else. And now he was going to betray him. . Had betrayed him already. Going to betray him again at twelve by keeping his appointment.

  With nervous energy Jeremy stood up and walked towards Earlsford Terrace. Then made his way back north of the Green towards number eighty-six, the student’s house beside the church.

  “Jasus, it’s converted into a restaurant,” he cursed sotto voce when he arrived.

  He went into the church, which was the next building along the square. No change here, dark, candle smell, comfortable silence. Strange it was twenty years since he went to church. He eased himself into a pew.

  He glanced at his watch, half eleven, fifteen minutes, then back to Bewley’s for his appointment. The Mezzanine floor at twelve.

  He closed his eyes in the silence. Slowly he relaxed his muscles to ease the tension. First he balled his fist tight and then let go to feel the tension ease. He screwed up his face and then let it ease out. Thankfully he was alone and unobserved.

  An Irish Tweed merchant had asked Jeremy to a party. They had met there, introduced by the Tweed Merchant. They had fallen into conversation, about horses. His new friend liked horses, horses and dogs, and also confided with a hearty laugh, to liking men. Drinks followed drinks and the party was lively and atmospheric. They had rolled out at well past midnight.

  Jeremy was enjoying the company, they were having a good laugh and the conversation flowed with ease. “I’m staying in a hotel,” he’d said, “like to come back for a coffee?”

  “No, come to my flat, I’ll do the coffee. It’s not far. Hotels are so impersonal.”

  So he had gone to the flat.

  Odd flat, three glass dogs and a couple of saddles, bridles on the sideboard. Everything horsy and outdoor.

  “You do like horses,” Jeremy had remarked as he removed a saddle to sit on the couch

  His new friend was short and stocky with a bluff open manner and expression, masculine and tweedy but not sexual, almost hale and hearty neutral. Jeremy found himself relaxed, unthreatened, enjoying the company after a week of business in Dublin.

  “Stay the night, don’t go back to a miserable old hotel. Sleep on the couch with the saddles or if you like we can share the bed.”

  The offer had come after the coffee and further chat.

  “The bed?” Jeremy had asked, abashed, curious.

  “The bed, don’t be squeamish. I won’t lay a finger on you. It’s just somewhere to sleep. Two are warmer than one.”

  Jeremy was a bit drunk. He certainly did not feel like sex. The idea of a bed with someone other than David intrigued him, the novelty. Why not, he would enjoy the company.

  Later in bed, a gentle hand touched him. He was shock still, not knowing how to react.

  “Please” Jeremy replied, “I don’t know what I am doing here.”

  “Let me try, just my fingers. I don’t do this with everyone, but I find you very attractive Jeremy. You have a lost boy, stray dog appeal about you. I like to gather strays.”

  He couldn’t explain why he let it happen. Away from David he felt free, loose. He’d been ready for an adventure, an encounter, without realizing it.

  Funny thing was, as he reached his forties he had found himself easing out, wondering how the other half lived, wanting to see into other lives. He and David lived in their own special world, their friends and their business.

  It was all so comfortable and so stable and predictable. The AIDS crisis had quieted them down. Promiscuity was high risk and stable relationships were in. All was well with his world. And he was discontented, restless.

  Jeremy could not pray, not even in that church where he had spent many hours in his youth.
He sat and tried to relax. Then he decided. He would go to the Mezzanine in Bewley’s. He would go and wait and keep his date. How he would cope with David? That would be another day’s, work. He stood up and left the church and strode purposefully back towards Grafton Street.

  The little round tables had high stools and in the centre of the tables the condiments were raised up on a mini table. He could see the area at the entrance to the Cafe. He would see his new friend before he would be seen.

  Then it was twelve and there was no sign. The entrance to the cafe through the shop was busy thronged with comers and goers. But not the face he waited to see. He began to feel anxious.

  “More tea sir?”

  The young waiter had a fey voice. Jeremy could see at a glance that he was Gay. Did the lad know it, he wondered.

  “Yes please, tea for two and two sticky buns, I’m expecting a friend.”

  Then he saw the hat, tweed with a feather. And the tweeds, God, if David saw the style he would just die.

  “Jeremy,” she gushed. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I wondered would you be here. I’m so happy you came.”

  “Me too Dorothy, me too. I guess it’s your fatal charm.”

  Dorothy O’Byrne laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. Then she sat down. His heart was racing. Cynic that he was, he wondered, at least for the moment, if he was madly in love. He was fascinated by the phenomenon she was. Something about her was different from other women. She was plain and not the fashion model he was more accustomed to meet. He sensed something about her, solidity, reliability, that was making him trust and like her.