Taming the Lion (18 page)

Jon parked in front of the house. When he left the car, he made sure to take with him the bottle of vintage port he’d bought as a gift for his host.

The door had a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. It caused Jon and Kaspar to look at each other and smile. “Maybe I should get one of these for the house?” Jon mused aloud.

His knock was answered by a beaming Henry. “Jon, Kaspar. How lovely to see you. Do come in, both of you.”

Henry led them through to a cozily furnished drawing room, with heavy velvet drapes at the windows and wing-backed chairs whose soft leather had been worn to a burnished sheen. Jon had seen much of the furniture on visits to Henry’s previous home but there was an antique writing desk he didn’t recognize. He knew the Vice-Chancellor liked to browse the flea markets of Bath and Shepton and suspected he’d picked the piece up on one of his trips there.

Jon handed the port to Henry, who scrutinized the label before nodding in approval. “How thoughtful. This will go perfectly with a fruity little Stilton I have on the cheeseboard.”

Kaspar shot Jon a look that seemed to say ‘is this guy for real?’. He wasn’t surprised by Kaspar’s reaction. Henry often came across as a caricature of an effete, upper class English male, but Jon couldn’t help feeling the man played up the camper aspects of his personality depending on who he was talking to. Though Henry had been married twice, rumors had long circulated that he was bisexual. He did nothing to disprove them.

“Please, take a seat, gentlemen.” Henry continued with an expansive gesture. “I thought we’d all have a little aperitif, just to prepare the appetite. Kaspar, have you ever tried an Aperol spritz?”

Jon knew this to be one of Henry’s favorite pre-dinner drinks but he could see Kaspar was baffled.

“Ah, I love it when I can offer a guest a new experience. You’re going to love this, my boy. Oh, and please, help yourself to nibbles.”

Bowls of nuts and pitted green and black olives were arranged on the coffee table. Jon munched on a handful of salted almonds as Henry prepared their drinks, pouring measures of the bitter orange liqueur into tumblers before topping them up with Prosecco and a splash of soda.

“You never told me why you decided to sell up and move here,” Jon said, accepting one of the glasses from Henry. “Henry used to live in the Royal Crescent,” he explained to Kaspar. “It’s one of the most sought-after addresses in Bath.”

Henry sniffed. “Well, divorce is an expensive process and Susan was entitled to half of my assets…” He took a long swallow from his tumbler. “I won’t deny there are times I miss the old place. But being in the heart of the countryside has allowed me to indulge in pursuits that just weren’t possible in the city.”

“Don’t tell me. You’ve joined the local hunt.” Jon grinned.

“Please.” Henry pulled a disgusted face. “What did Wilde say about the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable?” He turned his attention to Kaspar. “How are you finding your drink?”

“Very good. I’ve worked in places where we’ve had bottles of Aperol behind the bar but this is the first time I’ve tried it.”

From somewhere in the house, a high-pitched bleeping sounded. “Ah, the potatoes should be ready,” Henry said with obvious satisfaction. “Now, gentlemen, how do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare for me,” Jon said.

“Rare, please,” Kaspar chipped in.

Henry smiled as if at a joke only he understood. “Well, if you’d both like to take your seats next door in the dining room, supper will be served in a few minutes.”

They went into the dining room to see that three places had been set at one end of the long table. A single candle in a silver holder acted as a centerpiece. Jon and Kaspar took seats opposite each other.

“Does he always act like this?” Kaspar asked in hushed tones.

Jon couldn’t tell if Kaspar was awed by the understated opulence of the room or the thought that Henry might return at any moment and catch them gossiping about him.

“Pretty much,” he admitted. “But don’t let his manner fool you for a second. Henry Mortimer is a frighteningly intelligent man with a very shrewd mind.”

The door swung open and Henry walked in carrying two plates. He set them down in front of his guests with a flourish.

“
Et voilà
. Tournedos Rossini,” he announced. “Prime filet mignon, served on a crouton, topped with a slice of foie gras and drenched in a Madeira wine sauce. Oh, I know what you’re thinking but the foie gras is ethically sourced. I’ll bring the potatoes through in a moment…”

As he disappeared out of the room again, Kaspar said, “What I was actually thinking was that this is an awful lot of fuss to go through when he could have just served the steak plain.”

“It looks delicious,” Jon replied, prodding the thick slice of goose liver that crowned the meat with his fork. “Henry’s a bloody good cook and he likes the opportunity to show off.”

Henry returned with a small silver tureen. “Mustard mash. Not the traditional accompaniment, perhaps, but I think it adds a little
je ne sais quoi
. Help yourselves. And do dig in. Don’t wait for me.”

Jon nodded to Kaspar, who dolloped mashed potatoes onto his plate before passing the tureen over. By the time Henry took his place at the table, both Jon and Kaspar were tucking into their food.

“How is it?” Henry inquired.

“Delicious,” Jon assured him.

Kaspar just nodded and forked more steak into his mouth.

“I do like to see a man with a healthy appetite,” Henry commented. “Though, Kaspar, I’m fascinated to learn you’re from Amsterdam. Tell me, do they still have that delightful little classical record shop on the Utrechtsestraat?”

Jon had no idea Henry had spent much time in the city. But he spoke of bars he’d visited and walks he’d taken with fond familiarity, nodding with recognition as Kaspar threw out the names of a couple of the places where he’d worked. Unable to add anything of substance to the conversation, Jon concentrated on his food.

Henry had opened a bottle of Pauillac to accompany their main course. Jon hadn’t realized quite how much of it he’d drunk until he reached to refill his glass and found the bottle empty.

Slow down. Don’t forget you’re driving…

Henry had noticed the motion, however. “Out of wine already? Let me open another bottle.”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Henry,” he said. “I don’t want to get pulled over and breathalyzed on the way home.”

“I have a couple of guest rooms upstairs. If you need to spend the night here, it won’t be a problem. You wouldn’t be the first member of the department who’s had breakfast here the following morning…”

The comment seemed loaded with innuendo but Henry had left the room before Jon could form a response. He returned with a second bottle of Pauillac, already uncorked. Once he had refilled their glasses, he turned his attention to Jon for a moment.

“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you for a while, but tonight seems like the perfect opportunity.”

“Is this anything to do with Lucinda’s sabbatical? Because I spoke to her and I should be able to—”

Henry cut him off with an airy wave of his hand. “No, this will be of much greater personal benefit to you than covering a few of Lucinda Mitchell’s teaching modules. I’m aware the university as a whole needs to strengthen its links with academic seats of learning across the globe. As such, I’m looking to set up staff exchange programs across our various faculties. I’ve been speaking to the Dean of Columbia University, and he’s very keen to recruit visiting lecturers for their archaeology department. And as soon as he mentioned that, naturally, I thought of you…”

Had he heard right? Had Henry really offered him the chance to teach at one of the most prestigious universities in the United States? It would mean living in New York, and already his mind raced with thoughts of off-Broadway theater performances, shopping in Greenwich Village, eating in Little Italy…

The only thing stopping him from saying yes immediately was Kaspar. His lover had only just put down roots in Bath. Could he expect him to move halfway across the world when the post would be for a year at most? And if Kaspar stayed in England, was what they had strong enough to survive the separation?

“But if Lucinda’s going to be taking six months off, wouldn’t my taking this post leave the department short-handed?”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of the staff exchange. While you were in New York, one of the professors from Columbia would be teaching here.”

“Henry, I’m so pleased you want to put me forward for this, but I’d need some time to consider it. It’s a big decision to take on the spur of the moment.”

“Of course. But think about how it will advance your career. Not to mention that it’s bound to raise your standing among your peers.” Henry’s voice was low, seductive.

Is this how the devil speaks when he comes to make a deal for your soul?

“I know. I know…”

“Well, you can have a few days but I’ll need your decision by the end of the week. Now”—Henry was all avuncular charm once more—“I’m afraid I haven’t had time to make a dessert. Would either of you object if we went straight to the cheese course?”

Jon shook his head.

“Good, good.” Henry collected their dinner plates then took them from the room. He came back bearing a cheeseboard decorated with hydrangea leaves. As well as the Stilton he’d already mentioned, there were wedges of goats’ cheese and Montgomery Cheddar, crackers, ripe figs and a bunch of grapes.

“I also took the liberty of pouring the port,” Henry said, taking three glasses off the board and passing one to Kaspar then another to Jon. He raised his own in a toast. “To ventures into the unknown.”

Jon didn’t know whether Henry referred to the teaching post in New York or some other little scheme. The more time he spent with the man, the less he realized he actually knew about him apart from the carefully constructed persona Henry presented to the world.

He sipped at his port, becoming aware of a growing pressure in his bladder.

“May I use your bathroom, Henry?”

“Of course. It’s upstairs and on the right. You can’t miss it.”

Jon excused himself from the dinner table and left the room. At the top of the stairs, he pushed open the first door he came to, only to realize he’d made a mistake. Instead of the bathroom, he found himself in a small, sparsely furnished guest bedroom. He was about to leave, but an engraving that hung on the wall caught his eye.

He recognized the image from one of the illustrated plates in
A Complete History of the English Pagans
. It depicted Leweilun, the lion god who had been the focus of pagan worship around Stanton Combe. Something about the figure’s wild mane of hair and snarling features couldn’t help but remind him of Kaspar in the throes of transformation.

Henry had never mentioned having any interest in the early pagans, as far as Jon knew. The man’s academic specialism had been the Anglo-Saxons, and the battles between the kingdom of Mercia in the south and the Viking invaders of the north. Indeed, the three volumes Henry had written on the subject had pride of place on the bookshelf in the drawing room downstairs.

Perhaps he could bring the subject up casually when he returned to the dining room. For all he knew, Henry simply liked the picture as a work of art.

He looked for the first time at the display of objects laid out on a round table beneath the engraving. Candles, two bowls—one containing what looked like dirt, the other water—and a small, fine-bladed dagger. Jon had read enough books in the course of his research to know all these were elements that made up a pagan altar.

Nothing good ever came of snooping, he knew that, but he couldn’t prevent himself stepping closer to examine the table in more detail. There were other items, more personal ones. A watch, its hands stopped at half-past twelve, its face cracked. A penknife with a worn black enameled handle and dull blades. And a gold thumb ring. When Jon picked the ring up and examined it, he read an inscription running around the inside in delicate script.

To Jason, love Mum and Dad.

Jon shuddered and set it down again. A rational man, he couldn’t explain the sudden feeling of dread that shot through him when he held the ring. All he knew was that the thing shouldn’t be in Henry Mortimer’s possession. He had the feeling whoever Jason was, something very bad had happened to him.

He should leave the room now but somehow his feet were glued in place. Kaspar’s story floated back into his mind. Two men carrying something wrapped in tarpaulin and talking about a young man who wouldn’t be missed…

* * * *

What’s taking Jon so long in the bathroom?

Kaspar smiled at Henry, trying not to show his discomfort at being left alone with him. The man was paying him far too much attention. It made him uncomfortable, and the worst part was Jon didn’t even seem to have noticed. But from the moment they’d been welcomed inside Henry’s home, Kaspar had been aware of the Vice-Chancellor watching his every movement. Whenever he looked up from his plate, those cool gray eyes would be fixed on him.

The majority of Henry’s conversation throughout the evening had been directed toward Kaspar. It might have been nothing more than simple curiosity about his newest guest, but Kaspar didn’t think so. At times, it seemed as if Henry were deliberately excluding Jon from the conversation, asking Kaspar questions about Amsterdam that only a native of the city would be able to answer in any depth. If Jon realized what was happening, he hadn’t said anything.

To cap it all, a couple of times as he’d been serving drinks or clearing away plates, Henry had brushed his fingers against Kaspar’s arm. He’d been careful to make the contact appear accidental but Kaspar knew it was deliberate.

He couldn’t work Henry out. Was the guy coming on to him? He’d talked about having been married but that didn’t stop him from being interested in men. Maybe it was what had led to his divorce. Maybe his wife had caught him playing around with one of the students or another member of staff. Whatever, he gave off a vibe that made Kaspar uneasy.