This Other Country E-Book

John Wiltshire

• Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Nikolas is the sanest, straightest, person Ben knows, so can anyone tell him, why is he on a gay therapy course? Nikolas Mikkelsen could make a very long list of unpleasant things he's endured in his life. Then order it from 'nearly killed me' to 'extremely horrific and don't want to do again'. And what did it say about his forty-five years that being hit by a tsunami would be a considerable way down this list? But nothing, not torture, imprisonment, nor starvation has prepared him for what he now has to endure for Ben Rider's sake-attendance on a residential, gay therapy course. At least he has a new contender for the top spot on his 'my awful life' list.

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

THIS OTHER COUNTRY

MORE HEAT THAN THE SUN #4

JOHN WILTSHIRE

WWW.DECENTFELLOWSPRESS..COM

Copyright © 2021-2023 Decent Fellows Press

ISBN: 9783757950071

Second Edition

All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the Author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This Other Country, Copyright © 2021-2023 Decent Fellows Press

Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

Prologue

“Come in, gentlemen, please. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

The doctor held the door for the two men who walked into his office from the plush waiting room. They both towered over him, although at five foot eleven he’d never thought of himself as short. They wouldn’t have struck him at first glance as either gay or a couple, and as his speciality was relationship counselling for gay men, he considered himself something of an expert. One of the men was incredibly striking: scarred with an aggressive, impatient air about him. Dressed in what the doctor immediately recognised as bespoke tailoring, he appeared the more dominant, coming through the door without apparently considering allowing his partner through first. He chose and took a seat without being asked, which in the doctor’s view was unusual in these circumstances.

The second man was extraordinarily beautiful. It was the only way anyone could describe him. He had wide-set green eyes in a smooth face with cheekbones that drew the gaze, until he smiled, and then that was the only place you could look. The doctor was something of an expert on gay men—his job rather led to this expertise—but he’d never had a man so attractive in his office before. He shook himself slightly and noted more professionally that this man was some years younger than his partner and was dressed in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt that had clearly seen many washes. He was vaguely familiar, as were a lot of the doctor’s clients. Again, this went with the territory, given he ran, amongst other things, a counselling service for men in sexual crisis from one of the smartest addresses in London—he had a lot of celebrity clients. These men didn’t glance at each other as they sat opposite him, and he noted they leant slightly away from the other’s chair, as if mere physical presence were oppressive.

Given all these considerations, he decided he’d never met a more mismatched couple in his many years in the business, and that he had his work cut out for him. There was nothing like a challenge to start the day.

The scarred man was now studying the certificates and framed photographs on the wall, his hands relaxed in his lap. Trying to decide an appropriate opener, the doctor couldn’t get a reading off him at all. It was as if the blond giant were there in body alone: he exuded no discernable emotion whatsoever. The younger man was far easier to read. He was staring at his nails, picking at the side of one of them, his foot tapping on the carpet. The doctor decided to go with something very simple.

“Gentlemen, to start with, I’ll outline how I like to work. This isn’t an easy process by any means, and it’s very important you’re both comfortable where we go on this journey and with the vehicle we choose to—”

“Please be concise, Doctor.”

His mouth still open a little from the interruption, attempting to untangle the heavily accented vowels, the doctor coughed to cover his annoyance with the blond-haired man who hadn’t even had the courtesy to turn from his examination of the certificates.

“Yes, thank you. I’d like us to all talk together for a while, but then I think it’s always beneficial for me to speak with you one to one. It gives each partner the freedom to express—”

“I’m not comfortable with that.” The scarred face turned to him at last. The amber eyes were cold with remote calculation. The doctor raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this so early in his sessions. Most men coming for couples’ therapy were far more nervous and unsure of themselves. He coughed lightly again and glanced at his notes.

“Mr. Mikkelsen. I assure you, it—”

“We speak together, or we don’t speak at all.”

“Don’t answer for me. You’re always doing that!” The younger man shot the older one a furious glance then added a little contritely,

“I think it’s a good idea to have a chance to speak separately. That way we can—”

The older man interjected a harsh, barked laugh. “That way you can tell him all the terrible things I do and say? I don’t think so.”

“Gentlemen, please. Can we focus for a moment on why we’re here? Put aside your anger. You’ve made an important first step by booking this appointment. It shows you’re trying to move forward. Let’s not waste this opportunity. I want you each to think about why you agreed to come here today and let the other know what you want out of this session. Ben, may I call you Ben? Perhaps you’d like to go first.”

“I just want him to—”

“Use his name, please.”

“I want Nikolas to decide what he fucking wants. I want a boyfriend—not an employer with an overactive cock.”

“Don’t swear at me. And don’t be crude.”

“You’re not my boss anymore! Stop telling me what to do!”

“Right. Mr. Mikkelsen, Nikolas, perhaps you’d like to tell us why you agreed to come here?”

“I agreed to come here because if I didn’t I would probably not get laid tonight.”

Ben stood up, folding his arms, walking to the window. The doctor frowned deeply. “Ben, honesty is always good, even when something is just said in jest…”

“Who said I’m joking?” The older man crossed his legs and checked his watch. “I have another appointment in half an hour. Can we please speed this up a little?”

The young man turned. “Why don’t you just fuck off then? You’re not taking this seriously. You’ve never taken one thing seriously in the whole time I’ve known you.”

“As usual you exaggerate. I take your moods very seriously. I have to live with them, after all.”

Ben sat back down, seemingly a little recovered in nerve. “No, actually, you don’t. Why don’t you go back to your wife? You give her more respect than you’ve ever given me.”

The doctor leant forward, scanning his notes very quickly as he did so. “You’re married?”

Nikolas pursed his lips as if he didn’t like the conversation going this way or being put under the spotlight. The younger one laughed. “Yeah. Exactly.” He turned toward the doctor and explained bitterly, “He’s supposed to be divorced, but all of a sudden he’s decided he doesn’t want a boyfriend—a relationship. Says he’s not gay. Says he’s thinking of going back to his wife. Spends the weekends with her.” He actually used air quotes to underline his frustration.

The doctor leant back once more and steepled his fingers against his lips, tapping them. “This isn’t so uncommon. I’ve had many patients in your position, Nikolas. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He consulted his notes once more. “Do you live together?”

The younger man huffed. “Sometimes. When he’s not back shacking up with the corgi.”

“Please, Ben, try to speak more in terms of how Nikolas’s behaviour affects you rather than attacking him.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you exactly how it affects me. It pisses me off. I don’t want a part-time boyfriend.” He brushed his knee deceptively casually. “There are plenty of other guys more than happy to take on that role full-time…”

The older man glanced at him and sneered in a low voice, “Blackmail now, Benjamin? You’re behaving like a sulky little boy, and I’m tired of it. You’ve been more than happy to share my bed—and whore around on my money—when it suits you. Well it suits me to have you still in my bed. That’s why I agreed to come here today.” At that, he folded his arms and seemed to emotionally withdraw from any further involvement in the session, staring once more at the wall of photographs.

The young man shrugged, picking at a thread in the torn knee of his jeans. He began to say something, but suddenly the other man rose and interjected abruptly,

“Come, we’re going.”

“Wh—? But I want—”

“If you want a free ride then I suggest you come now. If not, you’ll have to make your own way back. Good day, Doctor. This session has been extremely illuminating.”

The doctor stood uncertainly, shook the offered hand and watched as the impeccably dressed man left. He stared at the younger one for a while who mumbled in obvious embarrassment, “I’d better go. I—I didn’t bring my wallet…”

The doctor watched him move towards the door then ventured, “Ben? My best advice? Consider finding yourself one of those other boyfriends you mentioned…”

The young man smiled weakly and headed out to the adjoining room. The older man hadn’t waited for him.

It was the first time Doctor Julian Wood had ever counselled a couple to split. But as he’d thought earlier, they were the most unsuited couple he’d ever met.

Unsuited for each other.

Perfect, perhaps, for his requirements.

* * *

Chapter One

They’d planned to go and eat after their appointment with the doctor, but when Nikolas told Ben what he’d seen, they decided to head straight home. Despite this curtailment of their plans, they were in a particularly good mood, pleased with themselves, amused at how much fun they’d found it being rude to each other. They sobered as they entered the kitchen, though, seeing Squeezy’s expression—and Tim’s expression on Squeezy’s behalf.

“Well?”

Nikolas waved at Ben to put the kettle on, an irrepressible smirk on his face, as this ordering around so neatly mirrored the roles they’d just been playing. He sat down at the table and idly rubbed Radulf’s ears.

“You may be right.”

Squeezy waited for a moment then prompted impatiently, “And? What? What did he fucking say? What the fuck did you say?”

Ben chuckled. “He claimed I was a whiny bitch who didn’t put out enough.”

Nikolas pretended to be offended. “I think I said sulky baby, but there’s an element of truth to either—Ow.”

“You called me a whore…” He bent and kissed Nikolas’s ear, whispering something Squeezy wouldn’t be able to hear but which made Nikolas smile privately.

Then he saw Squeezy’s expression and sighed. Michael had been wearing that face a lot recently. Nikolas supposed this is what it meant to have friends—you got dragged into their problems whether you liked it or not. Ben liked Squeezy; Nikolas liked Ben. This apparently went with the territory.

Sensing the anxiety pouring off the other three men now, Nikolas reflected bitterly that the visit to the therapist had probably only made things more complicated.

If only he could go back two weeks…

* * *

Squeezy had a sister. Until two weeks ago, she’d had a teenage son. Eleven days ago, Jonathan had walked into a lecture room at college and shot three of his fellow students then turned the gun on himself—fatally. He’d been nineteen. The only clue to his motivation had been an email he’d sent his parents that morning. All it contained was the message: I will leave darkness behind me.

After the initial confusion and shock had died down, the attack had been labelled a racist atrocity by the press. The three students he’d shot had been members of the university’s Islamic student council.

Jonathan’s links with far right organisations were being investigated, but Squeezy wasn’t convinced. He asserted Jono was one of life’s innocents—a gentle soul. Which had sounded odd coming from Squeezy, who wasn’t known for being a reflective observer of human nature. He had tried to tell the police this. His own background then came under suspicion. Being ex-army—ex-Special Forces—was a sure bet, apparently, for far-right sympathies. After all, the police reasoned, where did an otherwise normal nineteen-year-old boy get a gun?

Watching from the sidelines, Ben had been more than concerned. He’d undergone a very similar experience with the police investigating Nikolas’s disappearance in Denmark. While Squeezy wasn’t actually being probed by doctors with rubber gloves (or at least Ben hoped he wasn’t), he was being turned from victim into perpetrator, and that was a very unpleasant, soul-destroying experience.

A few days after the shooting, Ben had started following Squeezy. He had the thought that if Squeezy were accused of anything at least he’d have a witness now to back him up. He was alarmed, therefore, to watch as Squeezy appeared to be making a call on a therapist…a sex therapist…a gay couples’ sex therapist. Which was odd. Stranger still was the visit was at two in the morning, and Squeezy was using a side window for his appointment rather than the front door. Ben had circumvented the attempted burglary and had persuaded Squeezy to return to the London house.

* * *

Being roused from bed at three in the morning, Nikolas wasn’t in the best of moods. He was even less impressed when he saw Ben’s split lip and black eye. He didn’t mention either, realising just in time Ben wouldn’t appreciate being made to account for himself as if he were a teenager coming home from a pub fight. He listened patiently to Squeezy’s profane and rambling explanation, which distilled into the fact he’d known his nephew was gay—something the boy hadn’t told his parents yet. Squeezy had also known Jono had been seeing the therapist for some months, with a view to being helped deal with his feelings and to come out to his family.

Squeezy was convinced the boy’s terrible act that day in the halls of learning and these doctor’s visits were linked. Nikolas was fairly sure if he were forced to visit a gay-sex therapist he’d be shooting things too. But not unrelated students, which he agreed was odd.

In reality, of course, he could see no connection at all and thought grief and possible guilt were unhinging Ben’s friend. Squeezy wasn’t the most stable person at the best of times.

Which was why he was not impressed when Ben told him they were making a visit themselves to Doctor Julian Wood.

Even when told the whole plan—they would pretend to be a couple in relationship difficulties and he’d get to be rude and imperious to Ben—he’d refused. After all, he got to be rude and imperious to Ben anyway. It wasn’t enough incentive. Then Ben had pointed out what they owed Squeezy. That had brought Nikolas up short. He was indebted. Besides his life, he owed him a broken arm and a few other damaged parts. Ben didn’t know about any of these additional incidents, however, so he’d agreed, whilst stating he was only doing it as some therapy might actually make Ben more appreciative…And this had gone the way of all other such pronouncements…

So Nikolas couldn’t say he was in a particularly bad mood in the waiting room preparing for their therapy. He reckoned both he and Ben had worked worse undercover operations in their time. After all, he was still undercover as his dead twin brother. Life was full of amusing ironies when you looked for them.

The waiting room had magazines with pop culture articles on relationships, which he pondered with great interest, whilst at the same time indulging his favourite pastime of studying Ben. Therefore, he could memorise helpful advice—such as: “when discussing a problem, it’s helpful not to assign blame,” or “when you look very closely, most conflict often has little to do with the actual issue being discussed, but more often than not, it has to do with a fight over power and control. It's a fight over who is in charge” —whilst at the same time thinking how good Ben looked in his torn jeans and one of his old T-shirts. They liked wearing each other’s clothes. What did that say about their relationship?

“What are you smiling about? You’re supposed to be angry and pissed off.” Ben nudged him to seriousness.

“Do we fight over who is in charge, Benjamin?”

Ben snorted. “No. I have you exactly where I want you.”

Nikolas chuckled and turned the page. “Do we look suitably pissed with each other? I think you appear too much in love to convince the good doctor of our sincerity.”

Ben huffed and replied in an undertone, “I think you’re confusing love with total exhaustion. Eight years, Nikolas. It’s a very long time to know you.”

Nikolas tossed the magazine away with a comment in Russian he knew Ben wouldn’t understand and picked up a newspaper. After a few minutes, Ben snorted. Nikolas sighed. “What?”

“You can’t read that without your glasses. Stop pretending.”

Nikolas pouted and chucked it onto the table. “You do know this is a complete waste of time, yes?”

Ben slunk down a little further in his chair. “Yeah, I know. Squeezy’s totally clutching at straws. But it’s better than having him break in. We’ll see if there’s anything hinky with this—”

“Hinky?”

“—it’s a word—with this doctor bloke, and then Squeezy’ll just have to accept it.”

“The boy was probably confused and depressed, and watched too many American TV shows. It was a cry for help in a way. I suppose if you were gay you might be making quite a number of those.”

Ben glanced over at him, frowning for a moment, but before he could comment on Nikolas’s assertion they heard the handle to the adjoining door being turned and he sat up straighter. They didn’t risk a glance at each other, slipping seamlessly into their roles.

Nikolas knew they skirted close enough to the truth to make their proposed fiction plausible.

Game on.

* * *

Chapter Two

Back from the therapist, therefore, wishing he could go back two weeks and not be roused from a very pleasant sleep, Nikolas waited until Ben had finished making the tea and had placed the four mugs on the table. He gave Squeezy a quick glance and asked neutrally,

“Tell me again what your nephew wrote in his email.”

“Some fucking apology about leaving nothing but darkness behind him—which he fucking has done to his mum. She’ll never get over this.”

Nikolas nodded. “That’s what I would have thought it meant too, and what I believe the police have assumed. So it struck me as odd, therefore, the doctor had a picture on the wall of himself with a group of friends and one of them was wearing a T-shirt that boasted: “Leave The Darkness”. I believe your nephew wasn’t admitting the effect his actions would have on everyone, apologising, as you say, but announcing he was obeying some kind of imperative.”

“Fucking—”

Nikolas laid a hand on Squeezy’s arm. “Sit down.”

“I knew that fucking doctor did something to Jono’s head! Messed him up! The fucker—” He shook Nikolas’s hand off and went out into the tiny courtyard garden, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched.

Tim stood up, watching him. “You should have let him break in and get the files! He’s been right all this time.”

Nikolas glanced over at Ben. “We have created a monster. Where is your professor of ethics, Benjamin?”

Tim ground his teeth in obvious frustration and pointed at Nikolas. “This isn’t funny! I don’t remember you being too concerned about behaving ethically when you thought I was a fucking terrorist!”

For the first time Nikolas understood exactly how Tim felt about Michael—he’d answered back and sworn at him. It was so unthinkable Nikolas was at a loss for words.

Ben hastily intervened. “We don’t need to break in, Tim. Kate will hack the files for us now that we’ve confirmed the doctor’s involvement.”

Tim nodded, looking as if he was on the verge of apologising, but he scrunched up his face instead and went out to Michael.

Ben apologised on his friend’s behalf. “I think he’s in love.”

Nikolas didn’t like talking about people in love, even other people—and especially not men—so he changed the subject swiftly. “I’ll call Kate.”

* * *

After some more tea, which was always needed in a crisis, Ben had been able to calm Squeezy down. Kate would find out what the doctor had written about the sessions with Jono. They just had to be patient.

Ben waited until the other two left, eyeing Nikolas as he peered hopefully into the fridge. He stood, coming closer bit by bit until he was pressed against Nikolas’s backside. He murmured slyly into the back of his neck, “So, afraid you weren’t going to get laid tonight, huh?”

Nikolas turned and smiled smugly. “Not really, no. I was acting. I’ve not had to worry about getting laid—such delightful expressions I learn from you—since I first met you.”

“Is that so? I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Maybe I’ll punish you for that sulky little boy comment.” He pushed Nikolas back into a chair and very purposefully straddled his strong thighs. He kissed him, easing his tongue in, finding Nikolas’s. Ben groaned with pleasure. “On the other hand, I think you’re forgiven.”

Nikolas slid his hands into the back of Ben’s waistband, cool palms to warm skin, making Ben shiver with repressed desire. “Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, did you go to the doctor with no underwear on?”

Ben kissed him again, feeling their arousal swell between them, almost one body, one reaction. “Yes, Nikolas Mikkelsen, I did. I wanted to get into character.”

“Lucky Character. Did he enjoy you?”

“Everyone does.”

“Perhaps I should try you out. See what I’m missing.”

Ben chuckled. “There’s not one spot on my body you’ve missed. But feel free to explore as much as you like.” Nikolas suddenly stood up, Ben still on him. He’d obviously meant to keep him there and carry him but instead doubled over and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor, much to Ben’s amused derision.

“Fucking hell, you’re heavy.”

Ben smirked. “Old man. Come on, I’ll help you up the stairs. Careful! That first step’s the killer.”

* * *

“Why are we as we are, Benjamin? Do you ever wonder?” Nikolas lay with his head on Ben’s belly, his hair being stroked. He twisted around to look at Ben when he got no response.

Ben was frowning. “What do you mean? Gay?”

“I’m not…no, what I mean is, why do we not need what that doctor offers? Why do we…work?”

Ben lifted his head and stared at him. The pause went on for an unnatural length of time until Nikolas shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

Ben shook himself. “You? Introspection? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“You’re very harsh, Benjamin. I think about a lot of things very deeply as you know.”

Ben began to laugh. “Oh, yeah, you spend hours and hours thinking about me and our relationship.”

Nikolas folded his arms, his air of injured martyrdom slightly ruined by the huge erection jutting up from his lean body. Ben pushed it flat to the ridged belly and lay on top of Nikolas, propped up on his elbows, studying him. “Maybe it’s because we don’t do the thinking thing we work so well.”

Nikolas wasn’t particularly mollified by this suggestion. “We’re only together because we don’t think about it too much? I’m gratified and flattered by your devotion.”

Ben sighed. “When was the last time you thought about breathing?”

“What?”

“Breathing? Lungs in and out? Air? When did you last think about it? You’re like breathing. I don’t think about it, but I need it to stay alive.” A faint smile came to Nikolas’s lips.

“Then you’re like a heartbeat. I’ll miss you when you stop.”

Ben laughed then sobered slightly, trailing a finger around one of Nikolas’s nipples. “You did think I’d stopped. When I was in that coffin. Did you miss me then? You’ve never really told me.”

Nikolas raised his head a little to look at him then lowered it again, staring at the ceiling. “I haven’t told you, because I have no words for it.” He snagged his fingers into Ben’s hair and tugged him down for a kiss. Around the kissing, he murmured, “You know I’ve begun to dream, yes? That I don’t sleep well now.”

Ben nodded, clearly only intent on the taste and feel of his lips and tongue.

“Well, I dream of you every night. Over forty years of no dreams, and they turned on like a switch in my head after I watched you burn in the fire. Perhaps that says more than words.”

Ben lifted up and cupped his face. “Didn’t watch me burn. I’m right here, Nik.”

Nikolas nodded and wrapped his arms around Ben, kissing his shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of Ben’s warm neck. He never talked about the time he thought he’d lost Ben, because this is what always happened when he tried. He swallowed and raised his eyes, biting his lip for control.

With the intuitive knowledge of him, which Ben apparently had, he didn’t try to comfort him or get him to talk more, he just slid back and took him in. Nikolas gasped. Ben sat up, dug his fingers painfully into his hard stomach and began to ride him. Nikolas arched, nightmares of losing Ben forgotten in the extreme pleasure of having him here in the bed with him. He twisted, rolled them, re-entered, lifting Ben’s thigh and gaining better access. He felt a trickle of moisture on his cheek, a residue of the grief he couldn’t articulate and pressed his face to Ben’s chest, hearing the heartbeat as he jerked, bringing his thrusts in time with that steady, strong and reassuring sound.

Ben held Nikolas’s hair, running his fingers through it, tugging it for encouragement when he needed more, and then they were coming together. Nikolas lifted up slightly off Ben’s belly, allowing Ben’s cock to jettison freely over their chests while he groaned as he unloaded deep into Ben’s body.

When he was done, he lay heavily on the soaked, hot body beneath him. Ben’s fingers still played restlessly with his hair until with another pull Ben urged, “Let’s go home tomorrow—wait there until we hear from Kate.”

Nikolas nodded. When he was embedded in Ben’s body, soaked with his juices, he’d agree to just about anything Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen wanted.

* * *

Chapter Three

Home was a glass edifice of architectural wonder nestled incongruously into a sunlit Devon valley on the southern slopes of Dartmoor. An old manor house, dating back in sections to Tudor times, had once stood on the land, which had been granted to Ben’s family by William the Conqueror. Ben, come lately into this family and being welcomed by incest, intrigue, and murder, had naturally not been all that keen on rebuilding the old house when it had been destroyed in a fire. Nikolas, however, had seen the destruction as an opportunity for a new start for both of them. Or, if he had to be totally honest with himself—which he wasn’t all that often—a chance to make a statement about his relationship with Ben without actually having to come out and say anything at all. Until death parts us had lost some of its allure as an expression of binding commitment when he’d believed Ben to actually be dead. He preferred this declaration of light and life and all the things he’d thought he’d lost, Ben being both his light and his life.

So, with a little help from his impressively well-connected acquaintances, Nikolas had commissioned a unique house, which appeared to float from the very granite of the tor it was anchored to, like an exhalation of the rock itself. It was designed in two halves, and a swim lane joined them into a whole. This, Nikolas knew, was something particularly unusual for an English house, but as he pointed out to Ben, he wasn’t English. He wasn’t restrained by an Englishman’s worst trait: a puritan distrust of anything luxurious. Also, obviously, he was a billionaire, so he wasn’t curtailed in most other ways either. He wanted a swim lane so he had one built. The rear wing, the one emerging from the tor, was their private area: bedroom, bathroom, Nikolas’s study and Ben’s gym. The front wing was much larger and was used both to run Nikolas’s charitable foundation ANGEL and for their friends to have accommodation whenever they wanted. Its central hub was a vast kitchen and dining area, which for two men who couldn’t cook often seemed a bit of a waste, but one or other of them occasionally expressed a desire to learn, so that seemed enough of a reason to justify the commercial-grade stove and superb cooking utensils that graced the rack hanging from the glass ceiling. Leading off this central hub were spokes, or segments, each one containing a guest suite and these in turn led to the outer rim of the house, the living area, which encircled the whole construction and was open plan. This then created a circular meander from a main sitting room, through to a high-tech office, on into a music room with a grand piano, and then to a billiard room, a library, and a television room; these sections only divided by vast chimneys made of Dartmoor granite set into the middle of the floor space, each housing a log burner surrounded by leather seating.

The house was beautiful whatever the weather. Made almost entirely of glass, it let in the sunshine whenever Devon graced them with sun, but when it didn’t, and southwest drizzle swept down off the moors for long hours, there was nothing more enticing than to be inside with the wood burners fighting the dark bleakness outside.

Nikolas had taken to drinking again. But now it was wine only and only in the same quantity as Ben drank. Nikolas wasn’t in the habit of letting anything control him, and he didn’t see a reason why alcohol should be any different from the other demons, human and non-human alike, he’d fought and conquered. So he’d begun joining Ben with a glass—or two, sometimes three—of red wine as they sat in the evenings by one of the fires, or played billiards, or as he played the piano. He sometimes told people the grand piano had been his only personal extravagance in this house he’d built for Ben. He occasionally managed to say this with a straight face. Although he claimed he was rusty and played very badly, he played well enough to impress Ben, and that was good enough for both of them.

That Nikolas had actually indulged himself in many other areas of the house’s design and construction was most obvious in the grounds. He’d restored the tennis court and had stables built for his horses. His horses had now been moved from their royal stable block to this new one, and they didn’t seem to mind the change. They had adapted quickly, perhaps because they now were ridden every day on Dartmoor.

* * *

All this hedonism was balanced somewhat by their work with ANGEL. Ben sometimes had to remind himself Nikolas actually spent his own money on the projects they sponsored. Unlike most charitable foundations, they didn’t ask for money or help in any way. He constantly worried Nikolas would take on too many projects, that the ones they currently supported would be ruined if he bankrupted himself, but Nikolas only pointed to another conflict, another war somewhere or other in the world, and claimed there was little danger of his vast fortune, built entirely on misery, ever running out.

Ben slowed the car slightly as they navigated the ridge at the entrance to the grounds and then bounced along the unpaved, overgrown driveway that ran along the ridge until plunging down into the valley. By mutual agreement, they’d left this track and the original gate in the dilapidated state they’d been in when they’d first discovered the house. The disrepair always reminded them of the strange twists of fate which had made this unlikely place so central to their lives over the last few years.

There was nothing left of the old manor now, no indication of where it had stood or the secrets it contained. If sunlight and pure air could banish demons, Nikolas had done a pretty good job of giving Ben the weapons he needed to win that war. For Ben knew very well Nikolas didn’t sleep easy these days—he was often awake when Nikolas endured his nightmares, woken already by his own suffocating dreams of imprisonment in the dark, burning. Each time Ben entered this house, it was as if another chink of light was being let into his coffin, another sliver of darkness expelled.

The most amazing thing about Nikolas’s gift to him was just that: Nikolas had designed and built this house for him. Nikolas didn’t often say I love you, but when he did, it was memorable.

They weren’t the only ones who loved the house and returning to it after any time away. Radulf, in his darker world, had discovered other benefits of living in a house permanently flooded with light. He knew the rooms and all their contents so well now he could navigate around as if he were seeing the same world the others did.

Ben went directly to the kitchen. Nikolas trailed after, watching him, leaning in the doorway. “What do you want to do now…?”

Ben flashed him a look, knowing that tone only too well. He smiled privately. It was nice to be constantly wanted. But instead of accompanying Nikolas to the bedroom, as he knew Nikolas wanted, he sat at the table with his phone. “I’m going to call Kate. She’s spooky good. She may have something already.”

Nikolas huffed. “In that case, I think I’ll go for a ride.”

Ben nodded absentmindedly. Nikolas glanced at Radulf, murmuring, “We’re being ignored, dumbass, as usual. Do you want to come out for a run?”

Radulf lumbered up from his basket and followed the sound of Nikolas’s footsteps.

* * *

The dog had enough sight in one eye to distinguish dark from light and in bright daylight to be able to see objects and avoid them. Running on Dartmoor, therefore, was fairly easy for him, as there were few obstacles, and he could apparently make out the large shape of the horse in the bright light. He trotted happily alongside Nikolas up through the back of the grounds and then out through the dry stone wall to the moors themselves. Encumbered by the dog, Nikolas didn’t give free rein to his horse and kept him at a steady pace, heading up a valley toward one of the highest points around: Drover Tor.

As they approached the rocks, Nikolas called Radulf even closer, slowing to a walk. One of Dartmoor’s most notorious bogs lay deceptively serene and enticing just to the south of the tor, forcing them to take a less obvious route. It occasionally crossed Nikolas’s mind that Radulf might one day blunder right into this death trap. It wasn’t a thought he wanted to test.

It took them just under an hour, taking this longer track, to reach the top of the tor. For the last hundred feet, Nikolas dismounted, hobbled the horse, clipped Radulf to his lead, and climbed. The granite rocks were easy for a human but contained hundreds of hidden traps for a horse’s legs.

From the top, Nikolas could make out the coastline with the Breakwater and Plymouth Sound hazy in the distance. The other way, he stared out right over their valley, and all he could see was the tops of trees. There was no indication of the house or the rest of the estate. He smiled. It was just how he liked it. He sat on the rocks and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Old habits died very hard for Nikolas. He made elaborate plans and decisions to give up, but he enjoyed smoking. He’d enjoyed it since he was ten and didn’t see why all the good things he had in his life now should be held in some kind of bargain with God against the bad. He’d used the same rationale with the red wine and that was working out pretty well too. He limited himself to one or two cigarettes a day, always at moments like these when he was completely alone. They helped him think.

Introspection. Ben had accused him of it the night before. And he’d been right—it wasn’t something Nikolas usually indulged in. The visit to the superbly named Doctor Wood had disturbed him.

He preferred his relationship with Ben to be like the house: invisible unless you knew where to look. When they’d first met, it had been completely secret from everyone. He’d booked hotel rooms for them to meet in. They’d had sex, and then they’d gone their separate ways, not even using the rooms to sleep in afterward. Gradually, he’d started inviting Ben down on weekends, but then the sex had mostly been out of the house—on the beach, in the grounds—except for the billiard room, which was understood to be his domain and had a good lock on the door. Then Ben had moved in with him. From that point on, Ben had been removing the metaphorical trees that hid the truth of their relationship. Soon, Nikolas knew, there wouldn’t be much left standing between him and a realisation of what they were—what he was. And he didn’t appreciate it.

Take yesterday for example. Tim answering him back…Ben kissing him in front of Tim and treating him as an…of course, Ben was his equal…Nikolas wasn’t implying he wasn’t. Or at least, not when Ben was actually present. But still…Nikolas scrunched his face and considered this concept of their equality for a while. Then he lit another cigarette. One wasn’t enough for such a deep level of contemplation.

Even pretending, he hadn’t enjoyed speaking about his relationship at the doctor’s office. What did that say about him? Why was he like this?

Sooner or later, Nikolas knew he was going to have to address the issue of whether he was…He’d been going on the later option—maybe when he was sixty—but events were spiralling out of his control somehow. Ben had kissed him! Mocked him! In front of Tim and that other idiot! Ack, but he was refusing to address the main issue. He’d teased Ben back. For one moment, he’d forgotten how things were supposed to work, and, entirely unselfconsciously, he’d made fun of Ben back as if they were…

Nikolas took a deep drag of smoke and filled his lungs, relishing the pleasure.

Smoking had been so difficult in prison. He’d had a nice seven-year habit going by the time he’d been committed—in young lungs, too. He’d had no intention of giving up, so, along with food, that had been another thing he’d had to work hard to be allowed to enjoy. If the prison had been filled with women, he’d have fucked them for a cigarette or a hunk of bread. It was no different. It didn’t make him…

But it hadn’t been full of women. It had been packed with men, and the next prison, and the one after that…A vast succession of men, which in its own way had formed another habit hard to break…It wasn’t all bad, however. He’d learnt early to use his power, to flex what psychological muscle he had, and he was not blind or stupid. He knew people desired him, feared him—gravitated to him. They would desire him, fear him and gravitate to him a great deal more if he’d let them. He’d never needed any of it, so held the world at arm’s length. But habits formed in prison had continued into his life in Special Forces. He fucked women when it suited him, but, like prison, Special Forces tended to be a world of men, most more than willing to explore games of dominance and obedience, reward and punishment.

So how did any of this make him…? He lit another cigarette. He had to conclude, therefore, having looked at it from all angles, he was definitely not gay. Ack, who needed fucking therapists? Pussies. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, checking the caller ID. He smirked. A text from his second favourite person.

:Have u learned 2 text yet?

He snorted and replied

: what do u think?

:Ok. Boring and slow. I have 2 do essay. Title: Can 9/11 b directly linked back 2 Soviet actions in Afghanistan? Help. Any suggestions—as actual Soviet person in Afghanistan…xxxxx

He stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth and texted

: I have perfect answer for u: No.

He waited, smoking happily, and got back.

:More words maybe?

:Yes and no?

:Thank u. How r u? school is brill

He squinted at this, shaking his head in despair. No one was supposed to enjoy school. But it had been one of his better moves, he thought, bringing Emilia from Russia to school in England—well, Scotland. A school recommended by Philipa, favoured of her favourite royal and perfect for a girl like Emilia who didn’t see the world in a conventional way. They had an unconventional relationship, Nikolas and Emilia. Neither understood it, so both left its possibilities hanging there to be examined at some later date. They were having too much fun to tie down what they were to each other in customary terms, and Nikolas, like Emilia, could never be bothered to conform to other people’s expectations. That he was a forty-five-year-old man and she was a thirteen-year-old girl with no relation to him didn’t bother them at all.

On a whim, Nikolas whistled for Radulf, and just as the dog turned, he snapped him with his phone camera. It was the dopey, ears askew and looking appealing expression that the dog specialized in. Nikolas shook his head despairingly again but sent it anyway. A few moments later she replied with a selfie. She appeared to be happy, coppery snakes of hair wild around her face and not stuffed into a hat now. He made a dumb face, took one of himself and winged it to her.

She immediately texted

:U R smoking!

He winced.

:I’m telling Ben.

This was bad.

:What do u want not to?

There was a long pause.

:Bribery? U cant bribe kids! It’s illegal!

:Since when? So?

:2 come for xmas

:What about Babushka?

:She not seen Devon either

He thought about this. It was the only downside to bringing Emilia to school here—her grandmother had been left on her own once more. But she’d desperately wanted this chance for her granddaughter, so she had agreed. Emilia and Ulyana Ivanovna for Christmas. Why not?

:OK but I want very good present

:I will make u something in manual

:Deep joy

:Love you bye xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He smiled—Emilia had learnt early on that kisses, hugs, karma and any form of emoticon annoyed him excessively and never stinted, therefore, in their use.

:I never think about u- goodbye

He snapped his phone shut, chuckling at the thought of Ulyana Ivanovna seeing the house. He could teach Emilia to ride—and play tennis. It was getting boring beating Ben all the time. Now he could defeat Emilia, too.

* * *

Ben was still on the phone when Nikolas arrived back. He had his feet up on the table, and a succession of mugs around him with used teabags on spoons. Nikolas shivered with disgust and thought about calling for a servant before he remembered he didn’t have any now.

Ben hung up and took his feet down. “Jono’d been seeing the doc once a week for about six months. A couple of months ago the doc mentioned the possibility of him attending a residential course for a week.”

Nikolas sat down. “And?”

“He agreed to go. But I’ve just called Squeezy and asked him about it, and he claimed Jono’d been in Kenya, helping build a school.”

“Interesting. He wasn’t in Kenya.”

“Nope. Poor kid. He was on a residential, gay therapy course. But the really weird thing is, he was actually away from home for four weeks, not one.”

“So…where was he the other three weeks?”

“Exactly.”

Kate was good at what she did. By the end of the next day, she’d found fifty-seven of Dr Julian Wood’s patients had been recommended to attend the one-week residential course. Thirty-five men had apparently attended and returned home after one week, and some were still Dr Wood’s patients—to varying degrees; many had cut back the frequency of their sessions. But that left twenty-two men who’d attended the course but, as with Jonathan, had an additional unaccounted-for three weeks—no evidence of telephone calls made; no use of credit cards; no attendance at work. In itself, this was not particularly alarming, except of those twenty-two, twelve had returned home briefly and had subsequently disappeared once again, telling family and friends they were going travelling. Jobs had been resigned from, money withdrawn from bank accounts, and no contact had been made since. Of the remaining ten, six were dead—four by suicide and two by head-on car crashes, where they and the occupants of the other car involved were killed. Four men from the original twenty-two that had taken an extended stay at the therapy session were at home. She’d sent their addresses.

Interestingly, one of the four was ex-army. Ben told Nikolas they were paying him a visit. Privately, Nikolas was bored of the whole topic, but he knew if he didn’t go along with it, Ben would only continue to pursue it—most likely with Squeezy or Tim. This way, playing along, he at least got to influence the course of events and curtail some of Ben’s enthusiasms.

* * *

Andrew Weir had served sixteen years in the gunners and had left the army on early retirement as a major. He’d bought a house in Amesbury, just outside the artillery camp near Salisbury that had been his regimental home. Ben was studying his profile in the car as Nikolas, for once, drove. Nikolas glanced over. “He was a major?”

“Yeah. Probably would have made half colonel if he’d stayed in.” He looked up. “You gonna have a problem with him being an officer?”

“Me? Why should I have a problem with that?”

Ben looked askance at him. “Well, lots of soldiers don’t like officers, do they?”

There was a long silence, until Nikolas ventured with very uncharacteristic hesitation,

“What do you think I did in the army, Benjamin?”

Ben put the papers down and turned slightly in his seat. “What do you mean? You were a Special Forces soldier recruited into Zaslon.” He rolled his eyes elaborately. “Now I’ve told you, you’ll have to shred me.”

Nikolas quirked his lip but flicked him a look, his eyes off the road for a moment. “Ben, I was a major general when I left—the British equivalent would be a brigadier. What did you think? I was Sergei Primakov’s son…” The silence was even longer this time. Ben coughed lightly.

“A brigadier?”

Nikolas chuckled. “I thought you knew. My God, you thought I was a soldier?” He kept glancing at Ben, not sure whether to be amused or horrified.

“Is this going to be a problem between us?”

“Shut up, or it will be.”

“Or it will be…sir?”

Ben opened his mouth to reply, a horrified expression forming on his face, but Nikolas chided brightly, “Oh, look, you’re missing Stonehenge. Really, Benjamin, you have no appreciation for your own culture.” He pointed out the monument to Radulf, only in Russian so he could add a few comments about Ben, which he knew the dog would appreciate.

* * *

Andy Weir was very guarded at first, although Ben had called him that morning and explained he was making a documentary on gay men in the military and that he was interviewing as many ex-soldiers as would speak with him.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---