I Knew Him by Erastes

Author:Erastes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance, historical, between the wars, Roaring 20s, England
Publisher: Lethe Press
Published: 2014-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

“Shall we stay here?” I asked as we clambered from the train at Minehead.

“No,” he said, “although I would, for two pins. I don’t have a sou left, and I know you don’t. I saw you scrabbling around in your pockets to buy me the newspaper.” I opened my mouth to make a suggestion but he seemed to read my mind. “No. I’m not going to ask them to send the bill home. They—or rather Claude—would raise an inquisition about extravagance when we could have just come straight home.”

“Please don’t make me get on a bus,” I whined. “For the love of everything I hold dear, don’t subject me to a rural bus full of women carrying pigs and men with smelly extremities.”

Charles gave the loudest laugh I’d heard for days. “Oh, Harry.” The “I do love you” was implied and I took it gratefully. “I’m tempted to do so, just to see you react. This is Somerset, not Bangalore.”

I was saved from the horrors of a bus, as a “halloo” sounded so loudly and convincingly across the tracks that you would have thought the Devon and Somerset Staghounds were galloping towards the ticket office. We both looked around to find the dear, idiotic and beaming faces of Gilbert and Richardson.

Once we’d scurried across the bridge, Gilbert led us out to their car. “We arrived back yesterday. I said we should check whether you were in situ, but Richardson seemed to think you had nothing better to do than hang about and wait for our return.”

“Mrs Holland rang the Club,” Richardson said, obviously considering that we couldn’t have worked this out for ourselves. “And they said you’d most likely be on this train.”

“So very bright of you to piece it all together,” I said. “Academia should realise they cannot hold you, that you are clearly destined for Scotland Yard.”

We were racketing our way south, me in the front with Gilbert, when he turned to me and said, “Is it true what young Stephens said? About Singh? He’s dead?”

I nodded, then sat as Gilbert went through the litany of surprise, shock and regret on behalf of the deceased. I find this a curious emotion, that others can regret what someone did—or usually didn’t—manage to do in their lives. It seems rather intrusive, and what’s it got to do with anyone anyway?

“I’d rather not tell the whole story more times than I can avoid. It was pretty dire—”

“I can imagine. God,” Gilbert said.

“—so, if you don’t mind, I’ll just tell everyone about it once when we get him home.”

“Of course. Perfectly understandable. No one would want to relive that over and over, not if they didn’t have to.” He knitted his manly eyebrows together and stared furiously at the road as if it had annoyed him. If I hadn’t been playing the delicate card, I would have laughed, right there beside him.

It struck me as hugely funny that no one could see how much I loved to relive moments like that. Over and over.

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