Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Harry
It’s the pale light of early morning.
Toby is still asleep. It’s his second turn at sleeping. I was meant to wake him at four a.m. for his next turn as watch guard, but he was sleeping so peacefully that I couldn’t bring myself to disturb his slumber.
He turned in his sleep about half an hour ago, and now he’s facing me, his head resting on my chest, nestled into the cocoon of warmth we’ve created under the survival blanket.
I can see the curve of his face angling down to the edge of his wide, generous mouth. And I remember the feeling I had when I first saw Toby across the room in the ski chalet, his face illuminated by a smile.
I’d been transfixed, unable to drag my eyes anywhere else.
Despite our history of animosity, I am still capable of acknowledging his physical allure from an objective standpoint.
I’ve never been this close to Toby before, and now, in the early light, I find myself cataloging the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the few that cascade down onto his cheek.
His curls, which I’ve always assumed were uniformly dark, actually have a few dark auburn strands interspersed within them.
My father’s words reverberate in my head.
“If you want to be a politician, you need to be married to a woman. There is no other option, Harry.”
He’d said it to me when I was sixteen. I’d invited my friend Cedric home to our country estate while his parents were abroad. Upon reflection, I’d been less circumspect than I should have been about letting my gaze linger on Cedric’s body when we were swimming.
I’d been rendered speechless when my father said that to me, struggling to control my emotions.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Harry?” he’d asked when it became evident he’d left me at a loss for words.
I’d swallowed the substantial lump in my throat.
“Yes, Father. I understand.”
The only time he had broached the subject again was when I was about to embark for Cambridge University.
“No more of that boarding school nonsense. That’s something for boys. Now you’re a man, everything you do counts. Remember that.”
I have never allowed myself to forget. While I had the occasional discreet fumbled hookup at university, I always made sure it was with someone who was as deeply in the closet as I was. And I’d certainly never allowed myself to form any attachments.
Oliver Hartwell’s rise as an openly gay man in politics had surprised many, and I’d followed his progress even more intently than I normally would an opposition MP. Because he’d risen to the top regardless of his sexuality.
But he was a member of the left-wing Labour Party.
And even though the Conservative Party has shown some progression on LGBTQ+ rights, having the gay marriage bill and other pro-LGBTQ+ bills to its credit, I know my father imparted sound counsel.
If I want to be a Conservative prime minister of the United Kingdom, I can’t expect to get there without sacrifices.
I have never regretted following my father’s advice. Prunella and I have a good partnership based on mutual respect and understanding. She’s been the perfect political wife, and I like to think I’ve been a satisfactory husband in return.
While Prunella has encouraged me to look for a discreet partner outside our marriage, I’ve never felt it necessary.
Now, with Toby Webley pressed against me, I remind myself of my choice.
We need to get moving now that it’s light, but I still have a certain reluctance to disturb him because I’m sure Toby’s dreams are a more agreeable place than the reality he’s about to wake up to.
The first tendrils of the sun’s rays penetrate the gaps in the trees.
This might be your last sunrise ever.
I’m not normally a melancholic person, but equally, I’m pragmatic. Toby and I are alone in the wilderness with armed men hunting us. The probability of both of us seeing the sunset tonight is not particularly high.
Which of us are the terrorists targeting?
By all likelihood, it’s me. I’m the leader of the Conservative Party, and I'm on track to become the next prime minister of the United Kingdom. It’s not being arrogant to say I’m politically more important than Toby to any hostile powers.
Although Toby’s friendship with the future king and the Prince Consort might alter the parameters of the equation somewhat.
Assuming this is a kidnap attempt and not an assassination attempt, if they catch us, it’s likely they will eliminate whichever of us they don’t want. That fate could potentially be more merciful than the prospect of torture, interrogation, and being held for ransom.
Either way, it’s paramount that we don’t get caught.
I pull back from Toby, immediately feeling the absence of his warmth. For a second, my whole body twitches with a yearning to return to my previous position, to have Toby back in my arms.
“Toby,” I say instead, putting a hand on his shoulder to shake him. “Toby, you need to wake up.”
The corner of Toby’s mouth twitches up. It looks like, by default, Toby Webley starts the day with a smile.
I’m quite certain his smile will have a short lifespan today though.
Sure enough, when he opens his eyes, utter bewilderment takes over his face. He blinks at me and rubs his eyes as though trying to clear his vision.
I see the moment when the memories of yesterday wash over him. His expression changes, and he struggles to push himself up on one elbow, taking in the rapidly lightening clearing.
“Why didn’t you wake me? It’s after dawn.”
“I was enjoying a few extra seconds of peacefulness before I had to endure your company,” I say. “You’re far more tolerable when you’re unconscious.”
Toby yawns. “The same sentiment definitely applies right back at you.”
The survival blanket drops away to reveal his crumpled suit. My clothes are indubitably worse for wear having spent the night on the ground too.
I’m shivering with the cold now that I’m away from Toby’s body heat.
I try not to think about that, instead attempting to straighten myself out, removing as many pine needles and clumps of dirt from my trousers as possible. I find my tie I removed last night and fasten it back around my neck.
Toby watches me with an amused expression. “Are you trying to impress the trees and birds with your immaculate dress standards, Harry?”
“Just because we’re far from civilization doesn’t mean we should become uncivilized,” I say.
“I hate to break it to you, but whatever super-strength hair product you use has finally given up.”
My hand flies to my hair. And he’s right. My hair has always been naturally unruly, and I have never felt completely dressed and prepared to take on the world until it has been subdued.
I comb my fingers through it in a valiant attempt to tame it, but from Toby’s amused expression, I’ve potentially only made it worse.
“So this is Harry Matheson, the untamed version,” he says.
“This is Harry Matheson, the version that has just spent the night sleeping on the ground,” I reply.
“It suits you, Harry.” He gives me a wink. “It makes you look less like a plastic mannequin and more…you know…human.”
I refuse to let Toby’s roguish charm fluster me like he’s intending it to.
“Wonderful. Now we’ve established your opinion on my coiffure, shall we get moving?”
Toby’s rummaging in the survival kit. “Do you want an energy bar first?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a full English breakfast stashed in that survival kit?” I ask.
Toby stares at me like I’m some undiscovered species. “Was that an attempt at a joke, Harry?”
“I can joke,” I say.
“I haven’t seen much evidence of that concept.”
“Anytime I need inspiration for a joke, I just need to read the Labour Party manifesto.”
He snorts. “And I just need to look at the Tories’ line-up of candidates.”
He hands me the energy bar, and I slowly unwrap it.
“How many bars have we got left?” I ask.
“Enough for a few days if we conserve them.” All humor fades from his expression. “Hopefully, we’ll get rescued before we run out.”
“We can only hope,” I say.
Toby finishes his energy bar, carefully stashing the wrapper in the survival kit. Then he scatters the firewood he collected last night and messes up the two piles of pine needles that were our beds.
“Leave it looking like you were never here,” he muses as he scatters pine needles. “Isn’t that the mantra of environmentalists when you’re out in the woods? It’s the opposite of what we do in politics, where we’re always trying to make our mark.”
My energy bar feels dry and flaky in my mouth. I have to work hard to swallow it.
I don’t know if I can handle a philosophizing Toby Webley on top of everything else right now, so I refrain from responding.
Instead, I finish the energy bar in a few more bites, take a swig of water, and then help Toby erase any trace of our presence.
I refuse to let my eyes linger on Toby as he bends over. I refuse to let the memory of how it felt to have my arms around him back into my head. Those memories need to be vanished forever, permanently expunged from my brain.
After we’ve deconstructed our campsite, Toby carefully packs all the survival items into the kit.
“Shall we set off?” I ask. I’m eager to leave here and get moving, not only to stay one step ahead of our pursuers but for another, more nebulous reason I’m reluctant to examine closely.
Toby slings the survival kit onto his back. “Sure. Let’s find out what today has in store for us.”