Conscious Decisions of the Heart (7 page)

And sent back:
Tim here & staying nite……..

The next text took a little longer to come in:
yr sense of humour never changes.

He replied:
neither does anything else. Promises, yes?

Yes

Where r u?

No idea; have aisle seat

Yr on plane?

Was debating walking 2 Russia this seemed better option.

How is he?

More annoying than u – have 2 go.

He waited for a few minutes, then when there were no more messages, he grinned at nothing in particular and went back down to help Tim admire the new bike.

§ § §

The evening was a little awkward because each knew what the other was thinking. Tim had clearly never met anyone in his own circle who stuck quite so rigidly to monogamy, and certainly not someone like Ben. Ben reckoned Tim secretly respected him for this—but he also knew how incredibly frustrated his unwillingness to play around made his friend. Tell Nikolas, don’t tell him—either way was apparently good as far as Tim was concerned. For as he pointed out (slightly sulkily), Ben fucking him wouldn’t affect Nikolas,
because Nikolas wasn’t there
! Ben didn’t see it this way, but he didn’t have the verbal skills to argue against Tim. He just knew what he knew but not how to express it. Expressing it would mean he’d have to speak about how Nikolas made him feel, the things they did together, the things they’d shared with each other but no one else. How could he talk about that? How could he describe the relief on Nikolas’s face when he woke in the mornings and realised he was safe—the look that was there before the mask of aloof unconcern slipped back into place. How could he describe how it felt to hold Nikolas when he was in pain needing him? Even trying to describe the annoying Nikolas—the one who badgered him, ordered him around, put him down, made fun of him—even that Nikolas was private, just his. So he volunteered nothing, just stared at the TV and refused to think about Tim’s ability to kiss or his slightly rounded belly.

He reckoned he’d have some months of celibacy ahead of him, so tonight was a good night to start.

He was incredibly relieved he’d held out against temptation when just as he was falling asleep— Radulf huge and snoring on Nikolas’s pillow—his phone vibrated again. He snatched it up.
Long flight. My Russian rusty. 1pm 4 u, r u asleep?

He grinned evilly and texted back:
2 much snoring other side bed

The reply came fairly swiftly:
??? !

Radulf

Again, funny. Am looking from hotel 2 Kremlin. Can see old office. Better than looking from there 2 here

How is he?

R u going 2 ask that every time?

Yes. I miss u

Just as well u had practice sleep alone recently

Funny.

What u been doing?

Shopping

Hope u not spend 2 much

Was two hundred thousand pounds too much?
Nope

Have 2 go.

Just like last time, Nikolas signed off without any more personal words. Ben tapped the phone thoughtfully against his lips then sent one final message:
just say it, u no u want 2

After some minutes, he got back:
there r many things want regard u at moment. That not top list. This very big bed. Night, Ben
.

Ben groaned. He’d wanted to get to sleep without resorting to the obvious, since Nikolas wasn’t there to work off some physical needs. But now, just thinking about Nikolas in a big bed on his own sent all his thoughts south. The bastard. He’d won again. Ben put a hand down. It was so unsatisfactory compared to having Nikolas’s hand there. Completely wrong compared to his lips. As for sinking deep into Nikolas’s―The phone buzzed again. He picked it up with his other hand and read:
Enjoy.

CHAPTER SIX

Ben’s plans took a severe nose-dive the next day when Tim, watching him pack, commented innocently, “Don’t forget Radulf’s passport.”

Ben huffed. “Yeah. Funny man.”

Tim frowned. “No, seriously, you can’t take him abroad—well, bring him back anyway—unless he has all his injections and stuff, and then has a passport to prove it.”

“Okay, where can I get that done?”

“Ben, it takes about a month to do it.”

“What! Fuck! We’re leaving this morning!”

“Why don’t you leave him here? I guess I could take him.”

Ben looked across at Radulf, and Radulf stared back at him. Ben shook his head. “Nah, he’s kinda part of the team now. Fuck.” He sighed and picked up the phone. “Kate? It’s me…”

By the time he’d said good-bye to Tim, Kate had arrived, paperwork for Radulf in hand. She eyed Ben warily. “You know this is totally
unethical
, let alone illegal. If that dog gets rabies and you…”

Ben kissed her cheek. “Yeah, he loves you, too. What’re you doing? Are you still working for Nikolas?”

Kate gave him a knowing look. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been working for Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen, but I’m not going there, okay? And, yes, he left me with things to do, and I seem get to large amounts of money arriving in my account every week. Hey ho.” She eyed him for a moment. “Does the name John Redvers mean anything to you?”

Ben frowned. “No. Should it?”

She shrugged. “Just something he left for me to work on. Where is he?”

It was Ben’s turn to shrug. She smiled sympathetically. “Just not here, huh?”

Ben nodded. He really didn’t want his ex-girlfriend to see he was moping for a guy. She suddenly gave him a hug. “I always knew, you know? No harm done. He’s totally irresistible. I do get it.”

Ben frowned again. “He is?” It wasn’t the word he’d have used, especially after last night.

§ § §

So, they had a new car, a new passport, and a ticket for Esbjerg and from there to Svendborg and from there to Aeroeskoebing. He hadn’t even heard of any of these places before but trusted in fate that they’d arrive eventually. He had a cool car, a cool dog—canine, military urban chic, after all—and a burning desire to succeed in what he was trying to do. That he was merely travelling to somewhere where he’d be able to immerse himself in the spirit of Nikolas had occurred to him. If he was, then who was going to stop him? If he couldn’t have body, spirit would have to do.

§ § §

By the time they landed on Aeroe, they were both jaded, sick of driving, sick of ferries, and generally needing a good bed and something to eat they could sit and enjoy without the world moving beneath them.

Ben found just the place. A restaurant in the harbour specialising in smoked fish. He took a table outside. It was very warm, not busy, and he immediately liked the odd, almost Toyland look of the place. Radulf ate fish very happily—he was Danish, after all—and when they were both full, Ben got up to pay. And then he committed himself to his plan; he spoke in his broken, basic Danish. When the owner heard Ben’s accent, he switched naturally to English. Ben shook his head, acted puzzled and replied in Farsi, sorry, he didn’t speak English. The man seemed surprised but switched back to Danish. With some help and going more slowly, they eventually both understood each other. He’d had his first Danish conversation.

He clicked to Radulf to follow him and went to the tourist information and repeated the whole exercise. It was painful. Everyone he met spoke fluent, if accented, English, and was only too happy to practise their impressive language skills on him. Only by constantly denying he spoke English did he force them to revert to Danish, but as his Danish was far worse than he thought, and he’d pretty much wasted the months he’d devoted to it, it was extremely hard to make himself understood or, worse, understand what anyone said back to him. Eventually, though, he’d some written addresses of people who rented out rooms in their houses. He could have stayed in the best hotel, but total immersion meant total immersion. He
had
to force himself to be in contact with people.

They climbed back into the car and tested out the international satnav maps he’d downloaded. They worked. Radulf now sat in the front seat, probably breaking every law in Denmark; having a fake passport and identity seemed to have gone to his head. They set off to find the first house. It was in the town, a tall house with leaning gables. Ben climbed out, and a youngish woman wiping her hands on a towel and holding back a toddler at her feet answered the door.

“Fru Olsen?” She nodded, and he explained he’d come about the room. She let him in, chatting too fast for him to understand anything. An older child was at the table, colouring, and a baby was in a high chair. He glanced at the room. He mentioned Radulf, and she misunderstood him at first. When he reiterated “
dog
” she shook her head and pointed to a chair. There was a large cat watching him. He shrugged and thanked her.

When he got back in the car, he realised he’d managed to make himself understood without even noticing it. He grinned, ruffled Radulf’s fur the wrong way and set off for the next address. This one was out of town, along the coast road, and then down a small road that appeared to be running straight into the sea. There was only one house, a long, single-story building with thatch. The garden was large and overgrown but had clearly once been a labour of love, worked and fought for from sand and salt. He took Radulf with him this time and opened the latch to the garden gate, making his way up the path. Before he got to the house, a voice called out, “
Hej
?”

He replied and discovered an elderly woman to one side of the house, dead-heading some roses. He explained, once more, he’d come to see a room. She immediately switched to almost perfect English, but he replied in Farsi. She considered him for a moment then nodded, and in English confirmed, “Yes, it’s the only way to learn. I did the same for my English. So, from now on, no more English, yes? We are Danish you and me.” She held out her bird-like, frail hand. “I’m Mrs. Jacobsen. Ingrid.”

He smiled shyly and nodded, and from then on he never spoke in English with her but in his halting and dreadful Danish. She spoke slowly and clearly and was willing to repeat things as many times as he needed, but she never once switched to English for ease. She showed him the room. It was down a long corridor and formed the whole end of one wing of the old house. It was very Spartan: a big bed covered in a white comforter; an old chest of drawers naturally bleached and faded by the sun; and old wooden floors, similarly aged. Best of all, though, it had floor-to-ceiling widows with doors which led directly out to the garden and, beyond a small gate, to the beach. He was about fifty feet from a grey-green, surging mass of ocean with empty grey sand stretching either way as far as he could see. He turned to her. She was watching him with curious eyes. He nodded. “Benjamin. Ben. Ben Rider. I’ll take it. Is dog okay?”

“Is it all right for a dog as well?”

He frowned. She repeated it slowly, and he got it. He said it after her, copying her accent. She nodded approvingly. “Yes. The dog is very welcome.”

Ben began to laugh. “You help me Danish?”

She chuckled. “I will help you with your Danish, yes. I have a very big garden.”

She looked at him expectantly. She repeated it slowly, then came closer and gave the lightest of taps to his bicep. “I have a very big garden.”

He got it and nodded.

CHAPTER SEVEN

That night, his few clothes unpacked into the old drawers, the doors open to the sea, Ben lay in the huge bed alone. Radulf, banned from the immaculate white cover, seemed happy enough in his basket on the floor. Ben felt again that huge sense of dislocation and hollowness he’d begun to feel every time he stopped moving, stopped going forward. He turned his head on the pillow to where Nikolas’s head would be lying if he were there. He could picture him down to the tiniest detail, the cluster of burn scars on his back he refused to explain, the pale inside of his upper arm which always seemed cool, his prominent collar bones, the hollow of his throat, his eyes…Sometimes, these looked as dark as the bitterest chocolate, but when the light caught them just right, they were amber, like a cat’s, watchful, predatory, beautiful. He put out his hand and placed it on the sheet just where Nikolas would lie. It was cool to the touch, smooth and empty. He closed his eyes to the emotion that was building and refused it. Then his phone buzzed. He hadn’t heard from Nikolas since he’d left for Denmark. He snatched it up and read
Sorry. Been travelling. How r u?