Cartography for Beginners (20 page)

Jamie poked his head in. "Got a minute?"

"Always." Stuart rinsed his razor and tilted back his head to shave his jaw.

"I have ideas for the mural." Jamie came into the little loo and hauled himself onto the counter. He had a bundle of sketch paper in his hand. "Simon always likes when I do cityscapes for shows, so I've got one of London mocked up... it's changed so much since I was last here, I don't want to miss anything that's new."

Stuart looked down at the drawings. They were beautiful, colorful, like a London where magic lurked around every corner. Large enough to cover a wall, they would be breathtaking. "I like that. Would you want to do one of Paris as well?"

"I think so. Unless you've got suggestions."

"No, I don't think so." He rinsed his razor again and shaved the other side of his jaw.

Jamie didn't hop down from the counter, as Stuart expected, but watched him shave in silence for a few moments. "Dinner with your family, eh?"

"So it appears."

"Nervous?"

"I don't get nervous."

"Right," Jamie said. He watched for a few moments more. "I'm proud of you, you know."

Stuart raised an eyebrow at him. "Why is that?"

"Because earlier today you were insistent that you didn't want any contact with them, and now you're going out to eat like a normal family."

"It's more like a business dinner than a family dinner," Stuart said. He splashed on some aftershave. "Four strangers eating together."

"They're still your children."

"Jamie," said Stuart with a sigh, "I don't know what to expect. It may be me and Tallis having a conversation all night while Nicole and Amelie glare daggers at me."

"You've won over people before. You've got charm to spare."

"I doubt charm will be enough." He splashed water on his face. "I'll settle for civility."

Jamie said quietly, "I mean it. I'm proud of you." He got down from the counter and kissed Stuart's cheek. "Go be a father. I suspect you're better at it than you think."

"You suspect wrong," Stuart said, and Jamie laughed as he went out.

Once he was dressed, he stopped at Leo's room. The boys were digging through the wardrobe, holding up shirts and then discarding them, while Leo watched them, bemused.

"We're meeting for drinks," said Leo, and appealed to Stuart, "Tell them it's just drinks."

"It's just drinks," Stuart said obediently.

Micah said, "It's drinks with a cute guy," as he held up a black button-down shirt to Leo's chest. "Why do you only have black clothes?"

"Because black goes with everything," Leo said, "and everything goes with black. I don't want to wear this shirt."

Micah put it back and took out another. "Are you nervous?"

"No." Leo picked up the shirt he'd rejected and held it in front of him, critically eying his reflection in the mirror.

"I like that shirt," said Stuart.

"You've no reason to be nervous," Micah assured him. "Rupert seems nice enough, and if Jamie liked him -- of course, it has been ten years--"

"Rupert seems like a nice boy, and I'm not nervous." Leo put down the shirt and picked up the black T-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. Stuart leaned against the doorway, enjoying the breadth of Leo's shoulders and the muscles of his abdomen.

"I'll give you some mad money in case he gets fresh," he said.

Leo turned to him, still holding both shirts. "What if I decide I want him to get fresh?"

"Use it to buy him a drink. Go like that and he will defiantly get fresh."

Leo smirked and slipped on the button-down. "What do you think?"

"It's wrinkled," said Micah, frowning as he brushed his hand over Leo's back.

Stuart said softly, "You look fantastic," and Leo met his gaze for a second longer than he needed to.

"Thanks," he said softly, and told Micah, "Drinks. Friend. I'm old enough to be his father, so there's no chance of him getting fresh, and I expect I'll be back by ten. I have the directions," he held up the notepaper where Stuart assumed Jamie had written exactly what Tube station to stop at and corners to turn, "and I'll be home before you all go to bed."

"Do you have condoms?" Micah said and Dune held a shirt over his face, laughing.

"Good night, children," Leo said and went to the doorway. "Well?"

Stuart smoothed the shirt over Leo's shoulders and picked off some imaginary lint. "You shaved," he remarked.

"I did."

"I hope you have a good time tonight."

"You too," Leo said and then abruptly hugged him, burying his face in the side of Stuart's neck. Stuart hugged him back, bone-crushingly tight, and then let him go. "You should get on your way."

"I know," said Stuart, and they went downstairs together, Stuart resisting the urge to ask Leo to stand up Rupert and come with him instead. "Are you sure I can't drive you?"

Leo took his jacket from the coat rack. "I'm fine with taking the Tube. I should learn my way around." He looked at Stuart as he zipped his jacket. "This way I'll be able to find my way home later."

"Or in the morning."

"I'm not going to sleep with him, Stuart."

"You liked him." Stuart crossed his arms. "I could tell."

Leo shrugged. "He's good-looking and easy to talk to. What's not to like?"

"Nothing, I suppose," said Stuart.

Leo put his hands on Stuart's shoulders. "Have a good night." He kissed Stuart lightly, pulled back to look at him and then pushed him against the wall and kissed him again, this time rough and hungry.

Stuart put his hands on Leo's chest, returning his kiss with equal desperation. He knew he should send Leo on his way, send him to Rupert without any reservations, but there was no denying he wanted Leo for himself instead. He wanted to say
Come with me, be with me tonight,
but then Ben shouted, "Guys! Dinner's ready!" and he heard the boys trundle down the stairs.

He pulled away from Leo and removed his hands from Leo's chest. "We should be on our way," he said, avoiding Leo's eyes, and turned quickly to leave so he couldn't see Leo's disappointment.

Chapter Twelve

The hotel where the girls and Tallis were staying had curving staircases and white marble floors, soft-voiced staff behind the counter and guests moving briskly up and down the stairs and through the lobby.

Tallis was easy to spot, near the archway to the Italian restaurant. She had changed the crisp red suit of earlier for a dress, something white and lacy, that made her look like a schoolgirl on holiday.

"Stuart," she said warmly when he was near enough. They kissed each other's cheeks, and she took his arm to take him into the restaurant. "Nicole and Amelie are waiting at the table."

"Am I late?"

"Fashionably," said Tallis, dimpling at him. She slid her hand down his arm to weave their fingers together. "They are so happy you're with us tonight."

"Happy or sharpening their knives?" Stuart murmured, but they were already at the table and it was too late to turn back.

There were two women waiting there, a blond and a redhead, one slender as a dancer and the other round and lush. There was something about their eyes, their voices, even the way they didn't need to finish their sentences to understand each other that said they could only be sisters.

They fell silent as Tallis brought Stuart to them, and their hands moved closer to grasp each other. "Stuart, this is Nicole," she said, gesturing to the blond, "and this is Amelie," indicating the redhead. "This is Stuart Huntsman."

For a moment none of them said anything. Then Amelie rose and kissed his cheek, standing on her toes to reach. Nicole followed suit with a quiet, "Stuart."

Stuart kissed them both back, his throat tight. "You are so beautiful," he said quietly as they all sat again, and the girls glanced at each other with matching faint smiles. "Nicole, you look like Joelle when she was your age. And Amelie--"

"I look like Jean-Claude," said Amelie. "Everyone says. And Jean-Claude looks like you."

"You look like my mother," Stuart told her, and she smiled at that. "Her name was Catherine Leclerc. Her family -- our family -- owns a vineyard in Champagne. The family label isn't widely known but it's well-respected." The girls looked at each other again, and Stuart said, "Should we speak in French instead?"

"We understand you," said Amelie. "Our mother made certain we knew English."

"I don't know what to say," said Nicole. "Suddenly we have our father -- and a grandmother and a family label, too?"

"I shouldn't try to impress you," Stuart said. "You don't care about the family label."

"Perhaps when we want something to drink," said Amelie. There was a gleam in her eye and a mischievous set to her mouth. Teasing, Stuart realized, and he relaxed. "So, our grandmother was Catherine. Who was Grandfather Huntsman?"

"Alec," Stuart said. "He imported their wine before World War II. During, so the story goes, your grandfather helped smuggle lost soldiers and so on out of France, and the vineyard was one of the safe houses."

"So the story goes? You don't think that's true?" Nicole said.

"I think it's not far from the truth," Stuart said. "I know when I was a boy many people came to our house to drink and talk about the war."

Amelie said, "I don't even know how old you are. We knew nothing but your name, and knew where to find you only because of Tallis."

Tallis watched them, her chin on her hand, smiling. "Through Father."

"Yes, we've kept in touch," Stuart said. "Do you want to know names and such?" At Amelie's eager nod he took out his notebook and drew a simple family tree. "Your mother and I, and Alec and Catherine are my parents." He filled in names quickly, as far as he could remember them, four or five generations. "There are more records at the vineyard for your mother's side. You must come when we're over there again. I'll be there at the end of the summer."

"Perhaps before the wedding," Nicole said. "I would love to see it."

"Speaking of generations--" Amelie got her phone from her bag, pressed a few buttons, and then passed the phone to Stuart. "Your grandson. Gabriel."

Stuart took the phone, his hand trembling again. The boy was chubby and handsome, and laughing at the camera. Stuart swallowed hard. "He looks like Jean-Claude at that age."

"Mother says the same thing." She smiled proudly, looking at the picture too, and then scrolled to the next one. "And here he is with my husband, Marc."

The young man had curly blond hair and an easy-going smile, and looked comfortable with the boy in his arms. "What does he do?"

"He makes movies," Nicole said. "He directs them. Amelie was in them until she decided to have a baby."

"You act?" Stuart asked Amelie.

She nodded. "I did, from when I was eight until Gabriel. Small films. Little nudity," she added.

"Oh, good," Stuart said. "I'll look you up on that movie database when I get home. And you, Nicole?"

"I am also not naked for work," she said.

Stuart laughed. "Also good. What do you do?"

"I am in the corps de ballet at the Paris Opera Ballet."

"That's wonderful!" Stuart exclaimed and Nicole looked pleased. "I'll have to go to the ballet more often to see you."

"That would be lovely. Now is your turn, Stuart. Tell us more about you."

Stuart looked down at the little picture of Gabriel again, searching for where to begin. Fortunately their waiter chose now to approach, and they had been too busy talking to even open their menus.

That distracted them again, so the talk went to favorite restaurants in Rome and Florence -- since the restaurant was Italian it was natural progression -- favorite foods in general, and then how the London holiday was going. It turned out it was far from the first time the girls had been to England, but since they hadn't known where to find Stuart they had never sought him out before.

"Marc proposed to me here," said Amelie. "In the Eye."

"That's a popular place for it," said Stuart. He had managed to deflect the conversation from his own stories, aside from artists he represented and places he had been, and had even kept mentions of Jamie to a minimum.

They didn't talk much about Joelle, he noticed. Their lives, Amelie's family, Nicole's friends and the ballet company, Jean-Claude, but not Joelle.

Finally, once their main course had been cleared away and the girls decided to share some tiramisu, Amelie leaned on the table and looked at Stuart frankly. "You are a closed book."

"Oh, you don't want to hear about me."

"But we do!" exclaimed Nicole. "That is why we are here!" She and Amelie exchanged another of those sisterly looks. "We have never really had a father. There have been men -- Mama didn't like to be alone -- but none were father to us. Jean-Claude was all the father we had."

"But now you want me," Stuart said.

"I'm a mother now myself," said Amelie. "I crave completeness. I want to know where I came from so that I can tell Gabriel."

"And I want that for my children," Tallis said. "There is no reason for this rift, not anymore."

"I don't know about that." Stuart drank his coffee. "Does Joelle know you're here, that Jean-Claude has written to me?"

Nicole said, "No."

"I wanted to find you when Gabriel was born," Amelie said. "Mother said not to. She said you wouldn't like it."

Stuart said softly, "I would have liked it," and was touched at how that made Amelie smile. "Look, I'm..." He shook his head. "I'm no hero, if that's what you're looking for. My father was the closest thing to a hero I've ever known. I sell art, I sell wine, I've never married, and I have no other children." He swallowed. Tallis covered his hand with hers. "I don't know what good I could possibly do if I were in your lives."

Tallis held his hand tighter. "No father is perfect. Not even mine."

He put his other hand on top of both. "Did she tell you that I'm gay?" and he could see by the girls' faces that Joelle had not. "In those days, when I was young, there was a certain image of gay men, and I didn't fit it in my own mind. I was in denial about myself for a long time. And when I couldn't deny it anymore, I left your mother." He started to remove his hands from Tallis's, expecting her to draw away, but she held them fast.