Conscious Decisions of the Heart (2 page)

Nikolas frowned, seemed about to answer in the negative but then hesitated. “That doesn’t count. He was a priest. There wasn’t enough food, but he gave his to―Away, anyway.”

“Okay. And another? Think. Not everyone you tor—you saw tortured broke and betrayed their loved ones, surely?”

Nikolas pursed his lips. He seemed reluctant to admit it but conceded grudgingly, “No, many people resisted and died rather than implicate others. I was always surprised.”

Ben swallowed, his earlier thoughts about this man’s past resurfacing like a gas-filled carcass, but he covered by bending down and kissing him. The kiss deepened, as it always did between them until, breathless, Ben finally had to pull away. “So, do you think I’m weaker than them?”

Nikolas closed his eyes, professing defeat. He gave a small dismissive wave of his hand. “I surrender. I give you permission to continue with your stubborn, unrealistic blind faith in my complete lovability. It’s quite astounding to me no one else has ever noticed just how loveable I apparently am.”

Ben straddled then folded his arms on Nikolas’s chest, looking serious. “That’s because they were looking in all the wrong places…” This time, Nikolas took control of the game, deciding Ben had enjoyed enough fun at his expense. After all, he was completely loveable, so there wasn’t anything he could do to Ben, however much Ben might protest, that would alter that belief.

§ § §

“I’ve been thinking.” Ben stopped Nikolas trying to straighten his wayward tie.

Nikolas shook Ben’s hands off and continued what he was doing with a frown. “This is hardly the time to start a new hobby.”

“Funny. Anyway. I was thinking about what you said about telling Gregory too much about us. Maybe it
would
be a good idea to keep him guessing—it might be to our distinct advantage if he doesn’t know where I stand with you or you with me. As far as he knows, I could’ve just been your employee sharing the house with you.”

“We
were
in separate bedrooms…”

“Oh, he reminds me of that yet again! I think I’ve apologised enough and in many varied ways. I remember, okay! I was thinking we should leave him guessing, that’s all.”

Nikolas stood back, considering Ben: suit, shirt, tie, shoes—even the hair—
his
will,
his
design. Ben was his creation and he
relished
this knowledge.

Ben, who clearly knew exactly what Nikolas was thinking, gave a slight smirk. “Do I pass?”

Nikolas shook himself. “Oh, yes, quite well.” He caught Ben’s gaze. “There’s merit in what you say.”

“Have you just agreed with me about something?”

“It was my idea in the first place if I remember rightly.”

“He’s going to find it hard enough to process the new you anyway, so keep him off balance about me.”

Nikolas nodded then added slyly, “Are you going to be able to pull it off, or will my inherent new lovability ruin your deception?”

“Oh, I think I’ll cope. So, are we ready?”

Nikolas pursed his lips and nodded.

§ § §

For all their attempts at normality, they both knew the next few hours were going to change their lives one way or the other. It was an unnerving feeling. They took a cab to The Mandarin Oriental Hotel where Nikolas had used his seemingly endless connections to acquire a table at Dinner by Heston Blumethal. Ben realized why he’d picked this particular place for their meeting when he saw the floor-to-ceiling glass kitchen frontage allowing them full view of the thirty or so chefs and, more importantly, turned the entire restaurant staff into witnesses to what went on at their table. It was definitely not the place for a covert meeting or an assassination. Even so, Nikolas chose a table by a solid wall and sat with his back to it. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous and played with his cutlery; something Ben had never seen him do before. Every few seconds, he flicked his gaze over the crowded dining room, scanning. He even drank the wine he’d chosen quickly, without appearing to taste it—something else Ben had never seen him do before. Finally, at one quick flick of his eyes over the room, Nikolas’s whole expression changed. He swallowed and stood. Ben stood, too, and turned, moving to just behind Nikolas’s shoulder. There were a lot of people in the restaurant. He glanced in the direction Nikolas was staring and saw a large man in the entrance. He seemed older than Ben had expected—in his sixties, at least, although he could’ve just lived a hard life. He appeared hardened, with muscle running only slightly to fat, giving him a strong, bulky appearance. He was taller than either Ben or Nikolas. His head was shaved to only a hint of iron-grey hair, but he had the skull for it, all sharp angles and planes. He stood carved from some ancient stone, immutable. He was watching them, and when he saw he’d been observed, his expression also changed. A huge smile creased his face. He began to come toward them. As he came, he opened his arms—a grinning bear descending upon them.

When he reached their table, he enveloped Nikolas in a huge hug then pulled away and ruffled his immaculately styled hair. Then he punched him lightly on the arm and hugged him again. He said something in Russian, too fast for Ben to catch, but Nikolas just nodded. Gregory pulled away again, shook his head despairingly, and then, to Ben’s astonishment and fury, he caught Nikolas’s face in his two huge hands and kissed him—long and very hard.

Nikolas didn’t exactly kiss back, but neither, Ben noted, did he pull away, nor seem to find anything in this greeting odd or distasteful. Gregory finally let him go, pulled out a chair for himself, and sat; then, for the first time, he appeared to notice Ben. His eyebrows rose, and he stood up again, offering his hand politely. He told Ben something in Russian. Nikolas, who was casting Ben wary glances out of the corner of his eye, murmured, “English, Grisha. Mr Rider doesn’t speak Russian.”

Gregory looked surprised but reiterated slowly, “Mr Rider. You owe me two men.”

Ben, who’d planned to be very professional throughout this whole meeting, was now, for some reason, not feeling so very mature. He smiled, replied, “Fuck you,” and sat down. Gregory only laughed as though Ben had told him the funniest joke, and he sat, too. Nikolas was the only one left standing. He kept his eyes averted from Ben’s and slid carefully back into his own seat.

Gregory beamed at them both. “See? We can be civilized. No need for all this unpleasantness. So, Lyosha, Lyosha, let me look at you. Ah, life in this soft little country agrees with you. I see you across room and I think, that new Aleksey, maybe I try hug, maybe I even try kiss—so I do. You no like kiss me before, so I think you been practising. Hey, Mr Rider—Lyosha been practising the kissing? But you are so thin! Hmm, that suit though…You are not on civil servant wage now, I see. Like poor Gregory. Ack, but it is very good see you again. I cry at your funeral, you know. Yes! I did! Me! Gregory Malenkov! They laughed at me, but Grisha cried for you. You left my bed very cold, Aleksey, very empty.” He shook his head sadly then grinned. “Maybe if we both survive this little meeting of yours, you warm it for me again, yes?” He turned quickly to Ben before Nikolas could comment on this. “You are just like him, you know. When I first meet little Aleksey. So young, so hungry, so sure of himself. You are very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr Rider? Dmitry took much time to die. Long time to burn. And very sad knees. No need for that. Ah, we order. Good.” The waiter had arrived totally unnoticed by either Ben or, it appeared, Nikolas. Gregory dived into the menu, chuckling to himself at the oddly named items.

Nikolas finally risked a glance at Ben. Ben’s heart gave a little flip at the expression—apology, fear, sadness, guilt, all of them on the face of a boy who’d been given no choices in life—and whatever he’d been planning to say or do just dissolved on that heart-rending look. He raised one eyebrow in an amused question and moved his foot over to rest on top of Nikolas’s, pressing it. Nikolas glanced down for a moment, closed his eyes for privacy and strength—and perhaps thanking his own gods for the unconditional love he knew he didn’t deserve—then opened them. With a contrite, private smile just for Ben, he slipped his foot out from under and returned the gesture. This tiny exchange, which said so much between them, appeared to give Nikolas back his self-control. He picked up the menu and ordered swiftly for both of them, then leant back, considering Gregory.

Gregory finished ordering and handed the menu to the waiter. He took a sip of wine, but it turned into coughing, and he coughed alarmingly for some time, before wiping his eyes with his napkin and taking a longer swallow. He looked between Nikolas and Ben then appeared to pick on Ben as his most amusing target, for he turned to him, topping up all their wine, peering at the bottle and chuckling. “Good label. Your boss have good taste. Good taste in you also. They tell me how pretty you are, but I say no, not possible, he English, and English all weak with their chins and teeth. But you, you are superb. No, Lyosha? He superb. He good fuck? He look it.”

Nikolas managed to laugh, and it sounded authentic enough even to Ben who knew all Nikolas’s laughs. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of Mr Rider, I suggest you try something else, Gregory. Perhaps you’d like to talk about my proposal now, or shall we continue to behave like children scoring points in a sandpit?”

Gregory winced, theatrically wounded, then took a sip of his wine. He appeared to like it and finished the glass, as if he were drinking water. “I come work for you? Upstanding British gentleman?” He hummed the national anthem and made a mock salute. “I don’t think so, Lyosha. Be like you working for Mr Rider one day. You forget who saved who from prison. Who clothed who? Who fed who? Who took who to bed and fucked him because he miss his papa’s cock?”

Nikolas shot to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. He stared at Gregory, then very carefully picked up his napkin and dabbed his lips. “Please excuse me.” And with that, he left.

Ben stayed with a chuckling Gregory for a few moments more, and then said neutrally, “You must excuse me, too. Sir Nikolas is my boss, my responsibility. I should check on him.”

For the first time, Gregory betrayed that he was slightly less sure of himself than he had appeared at first. He was clearly reassessing the information he’d been told about his old colleague and this pretty man. Ben rose. “Please, order some more wine.” He bent and picked up the chair, left the table very calmly, as befitted an employee worried about his boss, and followed Nikolas to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was empty except for Nikolas standing in front of the mirror, staring very intently at his own reflection. Ben came and stood next to him, also staring at the image in the glass.

They were silent for quite a long time.

Finally, Ben sighed. “Do you think he realises he’s just a fat, ugly old man?”

Expressions flitted across Nikolas’s face, but finally he closed his eyes to his reflection, as if accepting Gregory’s words hadn’t fundamentally changed him. Ben pulled him into a hug then held his face and kissed him roughly—lips, cheeks, eyes, hair, ears—obliterating the earlier kiss he’d been given. He held Nikolas away. “You okay?”

Nikolas gave him a very weak smile. “Define okay.” He held onto the back of Ben’s neck, rubbing a thumb across the short hair. “I told you that you shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“I would.”

Ben ducked slightly, catching Nik’s gaze and holding it—forcing Nikolas not to lose eye contact. “You’re not letting him get under your skin, are you?”

Nikolas managed to hold the gaze. “Are you? He’s only begun. He’s only warming up.”

“Is it true? You and Gregory were…”

Nikolas closed his eyes. He didn’t appear to need Ben to finish this question. He nodded but began to say, “Not in”―and Ben finished for him―“the way I mean?”

They laughed together, a little ruefully, and Nikolas leant his forehead to Ben’s. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“Nothing to tell. I don’t care, Nik. I don’t. The real you, remember?”

“The real me.”

“Come on, real you. And make sure you eat something, yeah?”

Nikolas gave him a patronising eye roll. Ben nodded. “Yep, there’s the real Nikolas.”

§ § §

When they got back to the table, there were three bottles of wine and the food had arrived. Gregory was looking very content and pleased with himself, tucking into some soup. He waved his spoon at them cheerily. “Lobster. Very good.” He nodded at Nikolas’s selection that appeared to be nothing more than green leaves in a pretty arrangement. “You no eat enough still, Lyosha. Mr Rider, your boss need eat more. Eh, Lyosha? Remember those tasty meals I found you eating? Ah, such simple solution to overcrowding of the prisons! I suggest it to your soft, little government, hey? No feed your prisoners; let them…what shall we call it…feed themselves? Yes, you fed yourself, Aleksey. Ah, sorry, you no like be reminded of hungry days when you no so particular what you eat. So, Mr Rider, please, I call you Ben, no? You call me Gregory, we all friends now, yes?”