Chapter Fourteen
Even
filtered through tinted glass and vine leaves, that sun was fierce.
Sasha held his hands up to it. On his palms he felt the
differences, the gap between London light and this. Between the
sultry heat that boiled mahala summers into a restive,
trigger-happy hell and this clean brilliance... He'd never known a
land that was made for the sun. Even in the Languedoc, summer was a
visitor. Here it reigned supreme. Sasha closed his fingers tight
then opened them again, letting golden light cascade into his eyes.
If he could let the light fill him, he would be okay. He would be
Laurie's assistant in public, his lover in private, whatever Laurie
needed him to be. He'd wear a pair of bleached-out jeans like
Bailey, pick up some skimpy T-shirts and designer shades. He’d blot
out from his memory his old parka and camo-print trousers, hidden
in the London flat. He didn't need those now, in the city of
sunlight and angels.
There
was nothing in the life he'd left behind him that he couldn't let
go. Even his dearest-held responsibilities had been lifted from him
as if they weighed nothing at all. His senior officer at the
Guidance Council, concerned by his headaches and ill health, had
taken over the Cuza case without a murmur, wished him good luck on
his sabbatical. They couldn't hold his job for him, of course, but
interpreters were always in demand, and if Sasha were to reapply on
his return...
Perhaps
he'd been too serious. Perhaps he and Laurie both had been locked
into grim necessities for too long, turning their lives around from
homelessness and disinheritance to success. Why shouldn't Laurie
come out here, have fun and make his fortune? The London theatres,
like the Immigration Council, would still be there when they got
back.
A thud
resounded through the beautiful glassed-in entrance hall. Laurie
had gone upstairs. He must have started to unpack. If Sasha wanted
to prevent breakages and be able to find anything for either of
them, he'd better go and intervene. He'd better do something,
anyway—he'd been here for an hour, and so far hadn't managed to get
further than the hallway where Libby and Bailey had dropped them
off with their hand luggage. Someone was coming round later,
apparently, to show them how everything worked in the house.
Somebody else was coming to deliver the vehicle Mr Fitzroy had
ordered to be hired, and a further two somebodies—a housekeeper and
a gardener, both fully background-checked—would be arriving to
start on their duties that evening. It wouldn't do for any of these
people to find him sitting here amongst the rucksacks, clearly and
obviously lost.
He
looked around him, trying to take stock. This was a beautiful
house. From his brief outside view, it resembled a Spanish villa,
brilliant white stucco and arches, set into the hillside amid
exotic gardens. The hallway was tiled in cool white marble, with
conservatory walls that rose the full height of the building and a
fern-draped central fountain. Grapevines clustered in abundance
among amaryllis and bougainvillea and dozens of other bright
species Sasha had no hope of identifying, let alone looking after,
as he'd initially hoped he might before hearing about the gardener
and housekeeper. A dark-wood staircase curved up to the floors
above, each of its risers inlaid with gaudy tiles. It was a house
to enjoy, a house full of sunshine and beauty, except...
He got
up from the edge of the fountain where he'd been sitting. Quietly
he climbed the spiral staircase. In a big, bright room with
hacienda arches leading out onto the balcony, Laurie was struggling
with a suitcase zip. The bed was rumpled, as if the fight had begun
there and proceeded onto the parquet floor. Wordlessly Sasha came
to crouch opposite Laurie. Their eyes met over the suitcase. Sasha
extracted the shreds of torn cotton that had been clogging the zip,
and pulled it easily back. “This is a fantastic place,” he said.
“But what's with all the gates?”
Laurie
shrugged. He frowned for a moment over the shirt he'd managed to
rip in his struggle. “You mean the gates around the house,
or...”
“No. The ones up the street—the ones we drove through on our
way here.”
“It's just the way people live out here. The ones who can
afford to, anyway.”
“But why?”
“It's a gated community. We have them in England now, too. It
just means you know who's coming in and going out.”
Not in my England, Sasha wanted to
say. But he couldn't lay claim to any such place, could he? His
England—the version he'd found on his own, without assistance from
Laurie—had been a scrap of blanket in the doorway of a shop. “Okay.
What happens if I want to go out?”
“Didn't you hear? Libby's getting passes made up for us. You
just hop into the car and go wherever you want.”
Sasha
chuckled. “I feel stupid admitting this to you, but I suppose I
never thought about it, living where we did. I can't
drive.”
“Oh.” Laurie sat down on the edge of the bed. He pushed a hand
into his hair. “Well—don't worry. I'll take you wherever you want
to go.”
“Laurie, you'll be working. I'm not about to trail along to the
studios with you.”
“Then... I'll get you lessons. We'll hire another car.” His
face fell. “I'm sorry, love. I haven't thought this out very
well.”
“Don't panic about it.” Sasha pushed the suitcase aside. Laurie
looked suddenly anxious, a long way from home. Sasha didn't want
that. “I'm sure there's plenty of buses and trains.” Not within the
gates of this well-heeled enclave, and the gates were a good mile
away from the house, with a dry, winding trail stretching two miles
beyond them back to the main road. If you lived here, you were
expected to own a car and drive. “It doesn't matter,
okay?”
“It does. I'm an airhead.”
“Well, brains on top of all that beauty just wouldn't be fair.”
Sasha plucked a kiss from the unhappy mouth, then another. With the
third, he felt Laurie's reluctant smile begin, and followed the
advantage with a hand to the back of his neck. “Shall we baptise
our palatial new home?”
“Mm. I don't know how I can be horny after all that travel,
but... yes. Please.”
“Want to show me how the shower works?”
Laurie
grinned, thoroughly distracted. “You demon. Wait till you see it.
It's bigger than our living room at home, and the water comes at
you from all sides. Come on.”
Sasha
allowed himself to be towed by the hand into a vast marble
bathroom. He gave half an ear to Laurie's happy explanation of its
virtues, automatically stripping down out of his travel-soiled
clothes. The bathroom had a balcony too, and a high arched window
from which he could see down into another green space, this one set
out around a vivid blue pool. A dark-haired young man was pacing
round the edge of it, trailing a net through the water. He wore
cut-off shorts and little else, and as if his nakedness had
suddenly sensed Sasha's, he paused in his work and looked
up.
Sasha
lifted a hand. He didn't know why, except that it seemed polite, a
greeting on enemy ground between two lost comrades. The thought and
the gesture were done before he knew it, and he turned away in
confusion. “That's some nice pool they've got next door. Think
they'll take the hint if I go round asking for a cup of
sugar?”
Laurie
joined him at the window. He pushed back a strand of wisteria and
looked out. “The pool's ours, you idiot.” Then he stiffened. “Who's
that kid?”
“I don't know. He's just picking leaves out of the water—maybe
he works here.”
“I didn't ask for him.”
“Laurie, for God's sake. What's all this with gates, and...”
Sasha wriggled his way between Laurie and the window, hitched up
his thighs to embrace him, drew his head down to block the view.
“And background-vetted staff? You used to leave your front door on
the latch when you lived in a bedsit in East Hill.”
Laurie
looked at him, eyes the colour of thunderclouds in the shade. He
cupped Sasha's face like a chalice. “Maybe I had less to defend
back then. Maybe I didn't appreciate it.”
“Well, thank you, but don't take it out on the poor pool boy.
He looks about sixteen, and he sure as hell hasn't got anywhere to
hide a gun.”
Laurie
kissed him. Sasha pushed up into the kiss, wrapped his arms tight
round Laurie's neck and allowed himself to be picked up bodily and
swung around into the shower. The jets were already pounding: he
gave a yelp of startled laughter as they caught him from both sides
and then above, then grabbed Laurie's wrist and hauled him in
behind him fully dressed. This was the key—to live in the moment
with his lover, to accept events as they came. His life was
unfolding beyond his control, but that was true for everyone,
wasn't it? And there was a certain red-hot joy in giving in. He
pushed Laurie up against one brightly tiled wall. For a moment he
held him there, lost in his beauty—God, you could chuck a bucket of
water over Laurie and he would just look like a sea god, black hair
slicking and tumbling, eyes taking on an ocean light. His shirt and
jeans were clinging to him, soaked denim picking out the shape of
his erection.
“Undress me, then.”
“What if I like you as you are?”
“Please, Sash. Strip me down.”
And
suddenly it couldn't happen fast enough, not for either of them.
Laurie gave a moan of desperation and grabbed for the buckle of his
belt. Sasha knocked his hands away and did the job for him, dragged
the wet leather out of its loops and threw it aside. Roughly he
unfastened buttons and zip and hauled the heavy fabric down
Laurie's thighs. Together they made a clumsy job of peeling the
jeans off over his bare feet. Passion overrode Sasha's normal
instincts to preserve what was good and he ripped Laurie's shirt
open, sending buttons flying, making him laugh in alarm. “God!
Sash!”
“Problem?” Sasha demanded fiercely.
“No. None. I wish you'd tear my skin off the same
way.”