Beginning to feel like a peeping Tom, Henry decided to make his presence known.
He pretended he had only arrived at that exact moment, greeting them in cheery fashion as he pushed open the gate.
“Morning, George! Morning, Jez! I’m just on my way to the surgery, thought I’d pop by and say hello.”
George’s green eyes settled on his visitor and Henry saw the bright spark of affection flare there before he turned and put the mug on the windowsill. Then he stepped down onto the dewy grass and strolled over to greet him.
“I was just thinking about you.” He smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Fitz.”
“Good morning, Mr. Standy-Bee.” Henry caught him around the waist and planted a big kiss on George’s mouth. “I still love you, by the way. I thought you might like to know.”
“That’s a nice start to the day.” George looped his arms around Henry’s neck. “And I still love you, in case you were wondering.”
“My dear old George.” Henry rested his lips against George’s ear and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have half an hour, by the way.”
“Cuppa?”
“Just had one.” Henry tightened his arms around George—boyfriend, lover, whatever they were. “I’d rather have a kiss, should one be in the offing?”
“How was the cat?” George nuzzled Henry’s neck. “I didn’t like to phone last night in case the news was bad.”
“Bilbo has used up one of her nine lives, is on a heroic dose of pain relief and now has an iron rod in her leg, but other than that, she’s fine.” Henry nipped at George’s earlobe and pulled gently. “And if I ever find the bastard who hit her and did nothing to trace her owners, I will put their balls in a vise.”
“You’re a hero,” he heard George whisper. “And I love you for it.”
Henry laughed gently and rested his head on George’s shoulder.
“I’m really not. It was me and Jonathan, in a well-equipped surgery, doing what we’re trained to do. And now the mice and birds and bats of Longley Parva will continue to be terrorized by Bilbo. Somewhat stiffly, at least!”
“And how did my man sleep? I know I look bloody awful, I was up half the night like a giddy girl!”
“I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited—about us—and when I did sleep, all I could do was dream of you.”
“Funny you should say that.” George’s lips dotted a line of kisses to Henry’s ear, the tip of his tongue sliding over the lobe. “I had a very nice dream about me, you and that out-of-bounds lake.”
Henry stroked George’s face, a rasp of unshaven cheek under his touch.
“When I walked past it this morning, I was so annoyed with myself for ever telling you off for swimming there—I was disappointed not to see you, dripping wet and almost naked in my garden.”
“Does that mean I’d be welcome to come back in the morning?” He nipped at Henry’s ear. “I promise to be dripping wet and almost naked whenever my Fitz requires it.”
“You can swim in my lake anytime you like.” Henry knew his body was responding to the closeness of George, the touch and the scent of him. But he wasn’t ashamed. Because he could feel George’s body react against him in the same way through their clothes. “Almost—or completely—naked, as you wish.”
“I only put the PJs on to come out and see Jez,” George whispered, his tongue darting into Henry’s ear. “Five minutes earlier and you’d have found me naked, thinking of my Fitz.”
Henry didn’t know where the voice came from, but he spoke anyway, hoarse and urgent. “Take them off.”
George affected a shocked voice to ask, “In the garden?”
“Who will see? Other than me and your little horse.” And dog walkers in the meadow, and ramblers and God knows who else. Henry slid his hand down inside George’s pajamas, tantalizing his lover with the lightest of touches against his erection. “Maybe in the kitchen, perhaps?”
“That would be up to Jez, vet’n’ry. If he’s happy to chill out here, then I shall accompany you into that kitchen and give you a glimpse of the Household Cavalry’s finest asset.”
Henry looked across at the foal, who went on chewing at the lawn, indifferent to the canoodling that was happening right in front of him.
“He seems happy enough, does young Jez.”
George smiled that impish smile of his and kissed Henry’s cheek. “The kitchen it is, then!”
He took Henry’s hand in his and they went up the step into the kitchen. Henry noticed that some of the herbs on the laundry rack were somewhat more nibbled since he’d last been in here, but his gaze soon returned to George.
“Come on, then, sexiest man in the universe—pajamas off and get over here to your lover!”
George laughed and withdrew his hand from Henry’s. His fingers moved to the waistband of the slouchy black trousers, resting there for a few moments just above the shameless outline of his erection. These were the most stylish pajamas Henry had ever seen. Indeed, he wouldn’t have guessed such a garment actually existed, sharing the world with his own sensible striped cottons.
With a tempting slowness George lazily stretched his arms above his head, the muscles in his body taut, displayed for his lover. Then he reached behind his head and crossed his arms, affording Henry one of the most brazen displays of peacocking he had ever seen, even from Standy-Bee, whom every camera loved.
A soft smile touched George’s face and Henry challenged himself to meet his gaze rather than marvel at the physique he had longed for so many times. It was a battle he couldn’t hope to win. Now George’s hands were sliding down his tan, muscular chest, over the toned flatness of his stomach to the waistband of the pajamas.
As Henry watched, George nimbly unpicked the loose knot in the black tie that fastened the trousers. Then, finally, he drew them down, revealing the body that had filled so many of Henry’s dreams. And he wanted Henry too, there was no doubt about that—and if there had been, the perky erection that now offered itself was more than proof.
“I’m all yours,” George told him as he kicked the pajamas aside. “Think of me as your wake-up call.”
Henry slipped one arm about George’s waist and took the erection in his other hand. He gripped it tenderly, almost with reverence, then saw such heat in George’s eyes that he began to stroke it. Good, firm, swift strokes for the handsome, naked man who was sighing against him.
“Sure you’ve only got half an hour?” George’s voice was a tempting, low purr. “I’m usually good for a lot longer than that.”
“All day?” Henry kissed his way to George’s ear, whispering. “And all night as well? By God, your cock is magnificent. A stand-up member of the local community.”
“Ahem!”
Henry interposed himself between his naked, aroused lover and the woman who was leaning in at the back door. A pashmina was draped over her cream-colored blouse and her gunmetal-gray trousers had the sort of sharp pleats in them that could slice bread.
“Who are—?” Henry blinked in surprise. She wasn’t a local and Henry had absolutely no idea who she was.
“Am I interrupting, gentlemen? George, I tried ringing. And—the back door was open.”
“Tabby!” George peered over Henry’s shoulder at the new arrival. “Darling, you’re at least two hours early!”
She glanced at the face of her enormous watch.
“Yes, I am. Felicity was off on a school trip, so I was up with the lark and I thought—why not drop by with croissants and have a breakfast meeting? Only I wasn’t expecting to see your bottom on my arrival, nice as it is, lovey.”
“Fitz, this is Tabitha Shakespeare, the lady who came up with the idea to take my shirt off and started that ball rolling.” George seemed utterly at ease with this odd situation, and Henry found himself wondering at the ways of people in the media. “Tabby, this is Fitz, the chap with the cricket bat!”
Henry blushed as he realized her gaze had dropped to his trousers, her eyebrow rising. Then she grinned
.
“Oh, that cricket bat! Lifelong friends turned lifelong enemies, turned—well. That would certainly make for good telly. Edited for pre-watershed of course.” Tabitha took a step into the room, her kitten heels tapping on the quarry-tiled floor. “I’m Tabby, George’s producer. I’m sure you won’t be offended if I don’t shake hands.”
Henry shoved his hands into his pockets, to save them both the etiquette nightmare that they were now faced with.
“I’m Henry. I’m a vet.”
“Chuck us my trousers, Tab, be a love?”
Putting her hand over her eyes like a visor, Tabitha grabbed for the pajama bottoms and held them out at arm’s length. George took them and, with a very impish wink for Henry, made himself decent again. Or as decent as a man wearing nothing but a pair of oddly decadent pajama trousers could be.
“Lovely village, I must say. And an utterly bewitching little cottage, George! You must give me the name of your interior designer, it’s beautiful! Ha ha, that tea towel with the cars on it, isn’t it precious! Looks like it’s up there by accident! Wonderful! That’ll make such a lovely shot.”
“Her name’s Ma,” George told her, leaning his chin on Henry’s shoulder. “You’ll stay for brekky, Fitz?”
With the woman who saw me— What did she see? Other than the mesmerizing sight of George’s behind?
“Look, I’m—I’m not really a media sort of person. I’m not sure I—”
“You absolutely should stay!” Tabitha gripped Henry’s biceps and squeezed as if she was testing the ripeness of the melons in Waitrose. “Gosh, have you done Countryfile? You’d be fantastic!”
Henry grinned awkwardly at George.
“He’s the one who does the telly. I’m the one who does the—” Hand jobs? “I’m a handy person to know.”
Oh, bloody hell.
“Joking aside, Fitz, you’ve got the right look.” George patted his own hand on top of Tabitha’s. “Sort of real-life All Creatures?”
“Hasn’t he just!” Tabitha’s amber eyes glowed. “Oh, my goodness, I can see it now. You could drive around Sussex in George’s car. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Fly-on-the-wall doc, get you on Springwatch, you’d have a tie-in book, and can you imagine the calendar? You could take off your top and hold a baby lamb for March!”
“No—I really can’t do that. Honestly, I couldn’t. I’m just Henry, I’m thoroughly boring, really. I’m sure no one would want to see me giving a cat its annual jabs and humiliating it in the scales because it weighs the same as a small car. I honestly—no, I couldn’t.”
“Such lovely eyes, George, hasn’t he? They’d be great on camera. Can you do sympathetic? You know, when you’re breaking bad news? Make all the viewers tear up? Oh, and we’d get that shirt off you in a jiffy. Second episode, of course, a mere hint of it at the end of the first, just to keep the viewers hanging on. This could really work, Georgie—don’t you think? Unless you’d rather I didn’t commandeer your boyfriend!”
Henry blinked. “You two get on, I’ll just—”
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” George kissed Henry’s cheek, looping one arm around his waist. “But I’ll leave it up to Fitz to decide if he fancies prime time on Sunday night.”
So presumably Tabitha knew about George’s tastes and wasn’t shocked by them at all. But then again, while television people probably weren’t shocked, people in rural backwaters probably were. And fathers like Henry’s—where did one even begin?
“Tabitha, whatever you may have seen, or not seen but assumed you saw, could you just…” Henry glanced toward the open back door as if the entire population of Longleys Parva and Magna were queuing up outside. “You see—I don’t think our village is quite ready for a gay vet.”
Tabitha dropped her large handbag on the kitchen table and started to take out a bag of croissants.
“Darling! I’m not going to out you. George keeps his private life private, don’t you, lovey?” Tabitha tapped her finger against the side of her nose. “So don’t worry, my lips are sealed. It’s a shame, though, because you do make a gorgeous couple.”
George offered Henry a winning smile, as though that alone might be enough to vouch for her. He trusted her, that much was clear, so there had to be something to say for that.
“Don’t forget about tonight,” he told Henry. “I’ll make us something suitably spicy and we’ll find out what the Rev. and his lordship really got up to.”
“As long as the animals of Longley Parva remain in good health, then it’s a date!”
Henry turned to Tabitha. He had just said date, in front of someone other than George. But Tabitha barely registered it.
“Butter and jam, Georgie? In the fridge?”
“From the village fête, no less. Award-winning, Tab.” George pulled out a seat at the table and steered Henry into it. Then he crossed to the back door and called, “Jez, I’ve got an apple for you if you fancy it!”
The cottage, already somewhat unusual, seemed to have reached a new level of eccentricity. George busied himself brewing tea and Jez wandered happily in to join them as though this was all perfectly normal.
“This will make such wonderful television!” Tabby laughed. “A horse, in the kitchen! And Captain George with his top off, too. Bonkers rural with a bit of sex sells so well. Village fête, did you say, George? Don’t suppose there’s any more coming up soon, or could we just set one up, get the locals to pretend? Or—if there’s one happening in a nearby village, we could always use that and just say it’s Longley Parva. It’s not like anyone’ll know.”
Henry peeled the greaseproof paper lid from the jam jar. “But the people of Longley Parva will.”
“We don’t need to fake it up, Tab, because there’s a big push to buy a new thatch for the village hall,” George told her. “And I’ve talked the England lads into coming over and playing a single wicket match with the locals. The story of the Longley Parva Cup and all that, Fitz here is sort of the villain in that one! Ideally I’d like to unmask the thief at the end but if we can’t, well, we’ll still have a big pot of rural eccentrics to spoon from!”
Henry looked from Tabitha to George. Rural eccentrics? His neighbors, customers, perhaps even Henry himself? He really didn’t want to cause a rumpus, but the village was his home. George might have gone gadding off about the planet but Henry hadn’t, and he wasn’t going to see Longley Parva turned into a mockery just for television.
“George—what on earth are you…? You’re not going to make fun of people, are you?”
“Do you think, Tab, just to give the doc a nice ending, I should find out if anyone is willing to stand up and say, I nicked it?” George scrubbed Henry’s hair. “I mean, they don’t have to be the actual thief, just someone suitably wild-eyed who’s happy to pretend they were to blame? Nobody likes a mystery without a solution, do they?”
“Ooh! Oooh! I like it, George, I like it. Who do you suggest from your cast of hairy-palmed locals? Someone with an extra finger would be wonderful!” Tabby leaned back in her chair and laughed, smiling at Henry as if she expected him to join in.
George laughed and shook his head, still busy at the kettle. Yet he didn’t say no, Henry noted. He didn’t resolutely refuse to make the village look absurd.
“Because people in villages are all inbred and stupid?” Henry bit out the words. What the hell was wrong with George? Where had this side to him come from?
Tabitha hooted, a ‘champagne bar at Cowes Week’ laugh. “And you’re saying they’re not?”
Henry folded his arms. “But what if the papers got hold of them? Called them Thieving Keith or something? Made their life a misery turning up on their doorstep all the time, demanding to know why they stole the cup?”
“They’d be paid!” Tabitha grinned. “George, how are you getting on with that tea, lovey?”
“On its way!” George turned back to look at the table and reached out to stroke his hand over Jez’s mane. “Or would it be better if I said I d
id do it? The lovable rogue after all, or is that taking a risk with the Standish-Brookes brand? Fitz, can you introduce me to this Thieving Keith of yours, darling?”
“I just made him up. It was an example. It could be Robbing Roberta for all I know. Criminal Christopher. Jailbird Jenny. Purloining Paul.” Henry narrowed his eyes as he sawed his croissant lengthways, the words bitter on his tongue. “Stealing Steph.”
“Filching Fitz?” George put a teapot in the middle of the table and doled out mugs before he took his seat. “Don’t look so worried, darling, it’s a fun thing to be shown on Boxing Day. A perfect village, me in my regimental polo shirt, everyone looking a bit eccentric and terribly English. It’s not Big Brother!”
“George—you’ve sold the idea to me, anyway!” Tabitha poured tea into each mug and lifted hers in salute. “Cheers!”
Henry lifted his cup. It was only polite, after all. Even if his voice was devoid of enthusiasm.
“Cheers.” He patted George’s thigh under the table. “But just don’t— This village was your home once, George. Your mother still lives here. Don’t make fun of the place, don’t ridicule it just to churn out a television program. Because you’re not just mocking Longley Parva—you’re mocking me.”
“Does it sound as though I’m mocking the place?” George still smiled, but Henry could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I’m just trying to make good telly. I’m not going to televise a hanging, for God’s sake!”
“Fine. Make your documentary. Make us look like idiots because we’re not all sophisticated and urban like you. And watch what happens the next time you set foot in The Green Man. You won’t be the face of Longley Spitfire anymore. And you can leave all the money you like behind the bar, but not one of the locals will want to drink it. Anyway, I’ve said my piece. This croissant is very nice, Tabitha, thank you.”
Henry managed to pronounce croissant without a trace of a French accent. Tabitha’s eyebrows shot upward, then she grinned at Henry.
“Hold a village meeting, that’s what you rural types do, isn’t it? Let the locals decide.” Chewing into the croissant, she lifted her eyes to George. “That in itself would make for good telly, wouldn’t it, George—like that thing you did with the Icelandic sheep-shearers.”
The Captain and the Cricketer Page 13