Chapter 18
GEORGE
By the time they set off, the sun was fully up, and as the morning wore on, the weather only improved.
Other than a few wispy clouds, the sky was clear and the day warm.
The higher they climbed, the colder and gustier the air grew, but George was thankful for the cold wind ripping through his hair and drying the sweat on his brow.
The landscape here was bleakly grand and awe-inspiring, so very different from the gentle Wiltshire countryside he was familiar with.
“Look at that,” Theo breathed as they crested a rise and a new vista opened up to them. His expression was one of pure, unreserved joy. Theo smiled often, but this was different. He was open and unguarded in a way George wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.
“You love it out here, don’t you?” George observed.
Theo glanced at him, a little self-consciousness creeping in. “Do you find that odd? Some people do. My father always says he can’t understand why I want to go up a mountain when I’m only going to come back down again.”
George felt annoyed on Theo’s behalf. “That’s an idiotic way of looking at it.”
Theo’s mouth ticked up on one side, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is it?”
“Yes!” George said. “As though you’re doing something only to undo it again.”
Theo chuckled. “I think that is rather how he sees it.” He came to a stop then, pointing ahead. “This is where the path starts getting more difficult. Follow me and be careful where you step.”
He led the way up a narrow, steep path, and soon they were scrambling, seeking out handholds to steady themselves.
Theo climbed quickly, and George’s thighs were soon burning with the effort of keeping up with him, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.
In short order, though, they were standing at one end of Crib Goch, staring at the long, bony spine of rock that stretched ahead of them, not so much a path as an edge to balance on, with steep, craggy falls on either side like broken teeth.
For George, it was an intimidating sight, but apparently not for Theo who merely adjusted his knapsack and set off along the ridge.
George followed, but after a few yards, he hesitated.
The ridge was very high, the fall a long way down.
Though the rocks were dry, the weather fine, and his boots stout, it was still a thought, to set off across that exposed blade of stone.
Theo turned around, looking back at him. “Are you all right?” he called, brows drawing together in concern. “Do you want to go back?”
George wasn’t sure if he was all right, but he didn’t want to go back.
He wanted to do this, for Theo, and for himself, so he called back, “I’m fine.
Just let me catch up to you.” And then, heart slamming, he was setting one foot in front of the other as he carefully, watchfully, made his way over the ridge towards Theo.
By the time he reached him, Theo’s grin was broad. He set an approving hand on George’s shoulder, saying, “Good lad.” Which, absurdly, made George’s belly tighten with something that felt like a mix of pride and longing.
“Stay close to me,” Theo said then, and set off again.
They made their way carefully across the sawtooth track, George sometimes resorting to scrambling on all fours, using his hands to steady himself, even as he marvelled at Theo’s upright body and easy gait, the unconcerned way he would turn around to check that George was managing to follow, and not struggling too much.
Twice he returned to George, once to offer a steadying hand and once to offer guidance as to how to balance his weight and where to step, but for the most part, George managed it himself, and as they progressed along the ridge, his confidence grew, his bearing gradually straightening.
He even relaxed enough to look all the way down to the lake that gleamed darkly blue against the green foothills, far below them.
As they approached the end of the ridge, George saw there were some sizeable pinnacles to be navigated, and he slowed, eyeing this new obstacle uncertainly. Noticing his hesitation, Theo halted beside him.
“This part looks daunting, but don’t worry. We won’t go right over the top—there’s a safe way around the side.” He smiled at George reassuringly. “I’ll be careful picking our handholds, and there are natural ledges we can use. Just follow me. I’ll go slow and lead the way. ”
George managed a tight smile. Something about his expression made Theo's gaze soften. “Don’t worry. I’ll be watching you carefully.”
George swallowed. Theo was always friendly with him, but this was different.
There was care in his gaze, and the craven, needful creature inside George that yearned for affection wanted more.
Thankfully, Theo didn’t seem to notice his reaction.
He was already turning away and calling over his shoulder, “And you’ll be pleased to hear that after this we’ll be having lunch. ”
“Thank God,” George called after him. “I’m starving.”
Theo laughed, and George set off after him.
He stayed as close as he could manage as they clambered around the pinnacles, carefully watching where Theo placed his hands and feet and doing his best to mirror his movements exactly.
Not that he entirely managed it—Theo moved over the falls of rock with a practised, easy grace that George could not hope to perfectly emulate.
By comparison, he felt heavy-footed and inflexible, but he managed to keep up and to do mostly as Theo did, grateful for his careful slowness, and how often he glanced back to make sure George was all right.
It wasn’t long before they were descending the final pinnacle and making their way onto a flat, grassy area where, it seemed, Theo had decided they would be having lunch.
Leaving the rock-strewn path, Theo took off his knapsack, sat himself down, and began pulling out the contents.
George flopped down next to him, grateful for the rest. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his elbows, gazing out at the great, jutting peaks, the deep, green bowl of the valley, and that inviting, dark blue stretch of water below.
“What’s that lake called?” he asked.
“Llyn Llydaw,” Theo said, then added, “I’m quite sure I haven’t pronounced that properly.”
George snorted. “I expect it sounds more romantic when a Welshman says it.”
“I expect so,” Theo agreed, chuckling.
He began unwrapping the neat packages the innkeeper’s wife had stuffed the knapsack with. It was the usual fare—meat pie and cheese, buttered bread and fruit—but it looked twice as appealing as normal, after all the exercise and fresh air of the last few hours.
They ate their fill, enjoying the view as the stiff breeze cooled them.
“Can I ask you something?” Theo asked, passing George the water canteen. “It’s about Redford’s.”
Feeling wary, George uncapped the canteen and took a deep draught before he answered. “All right.”
Theo’s met his gaze, his own curious. “How did you get the references to join?”
George grimaced. He’d wondered if this might come up at some point.
Redford’s vetted its prospective members exceedingly carefully.
No one was considered without references from two current members.
Naturally, Theo would wonder how someone as inexperienced as George could possibly manage such a thing.
Shrugging, he told the truth. “I didn’t have references.”
Theo frowned. “That can’t be right. They don’t just let anyone walk in off the street.”
George had no idea how to respond to that. He drank from the canteen again, then capped it and passed it back to Theo, saying nothing.
After a moment, Theo added, “I’m not asking for their names. I was just wondering how you went about it. It’s fine if you prefer not to talk about it.”
“I don’t mind talking about it,” George said. “But it’s true. I really didn’t have references.”
Theo’s frown deepened. “I don’t doubt your honesty,” he said at last, “But I also know how strict they are about this and—”
“I had a letter of introduction,” George interrupted quietly.
“A letter of—What? From whom?”
“A letter of introduction,” George repeated. “From—well, actually it was from Mr. Redford himself.”
Theo stared at him, wide-eyed. George understood his reaction. To Theo’s ears this must sound like an absurd claim.
“But Kit Redford doesn’t even own the club anymore,” Theo said. “He retired last year. Sold the place lock, stock and barrel and left London apparently. No one even knows where he is now.”
“I know,” George said quietly. “He lives in Wiltshire.”
“Near your estate?” Theo asked, plainly astonished. George would have laughed at his reaction if he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of how private this information was.
“Actually,” he began hesitantly, “he lives on our estate. At Avesbury House”
Theo frowned harder. Slowly, he said, “Kit Redford lives with you?”
George took a deep breath. “He lives… with my father. They are—” He broke off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“Your father,” Theo echoed. “So, your father and Kit Redford are…”
“Yes,” George said. “Yes, they’re”—he couldn't bring himself to say lovers—“together. In the—well, in the romantic sense.” Christ, he was babbling now.
Theo just stared at him, flabbergasted.
“Kit came to live at the estate last year,” George added after a while. He cleared his throat, adding with forced brightness. “Do you know him? He’s very nice. Everyone likes Kit.”
“Not really,” Theo said slowly. “I met him briefly when I first joined Redford’s but I don’t think I spoke to him again after my first visit.” His brow furrowed. “Does this mean—does your father know about you?”
“That I’m like him and Kit?”
Theo nodded.
“Yes, he knows. Until recently, I believed he’d known for years, but then I learned he only found out when my brother blurted it out last year.” George huffed out a laugh that wasn’t quite amused. “Freddy was as surprised as I was to discover he had no idea.”
“Why did you think he already knew?”