Chapter 2 #3
“It’s not like that,” I finally say when we calm down.
Her eyes are sceptical so I make haste to change the subject.
“Jamie looks a bit like Zeke when he was little before his hair darkened.” I’d been fascinated by his family photos when I was a kid.
They’d offered me glimpses of his life that I’d been hungry for, being at that youthful stage where everything about your crush is interesting. “He’s lovely.”
Sophie smiles and pats her swelling belly. “I’m not sure I’ll be saying the same thing when there are two of them.” She leans in and says quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I cock my head. “That’s nice, but why?”
“No reason.” She kisses my cheek. “Welcome home, Georgie.” Then she walks into the house, calling for her son.
I stay outside for a few seconds, looking up at the old stone farmhouse. The original part of it dates back to the sixteenth century, but over the years, the family has added wings to it, and the end result is a charming sprawl.
Sophie emerges with her child. “Zeke’s on the phone. Go on in.”
I tell them goodbye, returning Jamie’s wave, and watch them drive away in a cloud of dust. Then I wander into the farmhouse, waiting as my eyes adjust to the cool, shady interior.
I remember the place as being nice but rather fussy, with numerous horse brasses and pictures of dead pheasants.
Now it’s completely different. Several of the walls have been removed, and the remaining walls have been stripped back to their original stone.
It’s light and airy, echoed by the comfortable cream sofas and rustic-looking furniture.
It’s a place that invites you to settle down and put your feet up.
“Do you like it?”
I jump and look around. Zeke is leaning against the wall, watching me, and something about his expression makes me think he’s anxious about my reply.
“It’s lovely,” I say honestly, and he relaxes. “It must have cost a penny or two.”
He shrugs. “It did, but Clive left me some money, which I spent on the place.”
“Really?” I say, although I’m not surprised. Clive had always thought a lot of Zeke. He couldn’t stand Simon, which really should have told me something.
He shrugs. “I used to pop over and help him with the farm. Mainly because he was the only one who talked about you.”
“That’s nice. He left me a lot of money from the sale of the farm. My mum insisted that it be invested, so I wasn’t tempted to spend it. I was very touched and surprised.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Well, because I was his stepson. Not family. And even that was only for a few years.”
“I doubt Clive thought of it that way. He was very fond of you.”
“I used to write to him every week. He preferred letters.” I feel a pang of grief for the old man. “I didn’t know he was ill. He kept it from me, or I would have come home sooner.”
I remember coming home for Clive’s funeral.
The church had been packed, and I was alone because my mum had refused to go with me saying it was bad taste for her to attend.
That has always been her excuse for anything she doesn’t want to do.
I’d sat at the back and caught sight of Zeke with Monica.
His dark head had been bent over hers, and they’d looked so perfect together.
I’d slipped out of the church as soon as the funeral was over and caught the first train back to London.
He says quietly, “That was his way. He didn’t like fuss. And it was very quick.”
“I’m glad of that.”
He smiles. “He used to tell me all these stories about what you were getting up to in London.”
“Hopefully, it was only the heavily censored bits. He’d have gone white-haired if he’d known the rest. That was nice of him to leave you the money. He always said you were a good influence on me.”
“I think it was the other way around.”
“Do you?” I say, startled. “I doubt your parents agreed.”
“And that’s where you’d be wrong. They liked you very much. They thought you lightened me up.”
I stare at him. “That’s nice, but maybe you didn’t need lightening.”
He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re pretty brilliant just the way you are.”
I stare at him, and his words in the car hit me again.
He’s gay. Zeke Taylor, the boy who starred in all my X-rated fantasies, is gay.
Well, I suppose looking back, my fantasies weren’t all that saucy, given that I was young and just the touch of his hand was exciting, but as an adult, I can really do better.
I cast my eyes over his long body and broad shoulders.
In fact, I’m doing better already. And he’s actually gay.
He's watching me with a strange expression on his face, and I rush into speech. “Anyway, I approve of what you’ve done to the farmhouse.”
He gives a funny smile. “Clive said in the will that it was an investment in my future for when I finally realised that my future had been staring me in my face for years.”
“What on earth did that mean? Had he become cryptic in his old age?”
“He was definitely not being cryptic.”
“Pardon?”
He shakes his head and doesn’t answer me, but I have the strangest feeling that he knows precisely what Clive meant.