Thats where I keep my terrorist cache of explosives and weaponry, Nick said casually. Youd never guess I was plotting the overthrow of western civilisation, would you?
Your secrets safe with me, Ben replied with a smile.
The kitchen was spacious, airy and well organised, with faux-marble worktops, a solid oak dining table and matching bespoke wall units. The two friends worked quietly and efficiently, to the strains of soft choral music playing from Nicks hi-fi system. Male bonding had never been so gently domesticated as this. For Ben, it beat erecting an improvised jungle camp or circling the wagons in readiness for an enemy assault any day.
As Nick washed up the coffee cups, Ben took the platters of food from the tall American-style fridge and set it on the side to peel off the cling film wrap. The sandwiches were exactingly cut into little triangles, crusts trimmed away, colour-segregated into white bread and wholemeal; one third tuna and mayonnaise, one third ham and pickle, and one third some sort of anaemic-looking paste. For the vegetarians, Nick explained. Ben pulled a face.
Next they had to transfer tubs of stuffed olives, hummus and other dainty finger food from the delicatessen into bowls, which Ben found neatly stacked in a cupboard. Then came the drinks: wine glasses and a selection of reds and whites, some nice barrel tumblers and carafes of pressed fruit juice and lemoned mineral water for the non-drinkers. Ben didnt think Nick had got in enough bottles of wine, but he made no comment. The whole thing was a little too precious for his tastes: he said nothing about that either.
After that, the oak dining table had to be moved from the kitchen into the main room, and everything laid out nicely. Napkins, knives, forks, paper plates, and some straw coasters judiciously provided in case anyone did anything as horrible as set a glass down on top of one of the fine keyboard instruments. Most members of his social circle were far too cultivated to commit such a ghastly act, Nick explained, but you never knew. He told a horror story about some clumsy oaf who once elbowed a whole pitcher of Coke into the works of someones Steinway baby grand. Needless to say, that person was not invited today.
Dear me, Ben said, tutting. He had himself once broken into a music museum in Milan and there personally, deliberately, smashed the leg off a priceless historic pianoforte. A painful tale that he chose not to share with his friend at this moment, or any other. Ben had had his reasons for what hed done, but something told him Nick might not understand.
Soon afterwards the first of the guests began to arrive, and not long after that, the place was filling with the buzz of polite chatter and laughter. Nick had selected a different CD from the collection that filled an entire bookcase, and the choral music had given way to some kind of lively baroque stuff with booming cellos and crisp harpsichords.
For Nick, completely in his element, the proceedings were just getting underway. For Ben, though, his visit to his friends apartment felt as though it was coming to an end. Even as the first introductions were being made, he was getting itchy feet to make his excuses and leave. But he didnt want to appear rude. Hed stay just long enough to drink no more than two glasses of wine, munch a couple of sandwiches, pay his social dues, before telling Nick he had to make tracks.
Everyone he spoke to was part of the Oxford classical music scene, in one way or another. Ben was introduced to an organ restorer, to the manager of the Holywell Music Room where Ben had once attended a Bartók string quartet recital, and to a bunch of others whose names and occupations escaped his mind seconds after hed met them. One of the guests was a tall, slightly stooped, grey-haired university academic in a beige suit with a yellow bow tie, whom Nick greeted like a long-lost friend. Ben, Id like you to meet Adrian Graves. Adrian, this is Benedict Hope, an old chum from the House. Hes here for the reunion.
An old chum. The Nick Ben had known back then would never have used expressions like that.
Handshakes, blether blether, yakkety yak, delighted to meet you, how fascinating, will you be at the concert, all the expected chit-chat. Ben smiled and nodded his way through the intros and gleaned that Graves was Nicks former professor and a renowned musicologist and expert in ancient something-or-other, now semi-retired. Graves had brought along his wife, whose name was Cressida, or maybe Cynthia, or Camilla three passes of small talk and boom, it was gone from Bens memory. He studiously avoided saying anything at all about himself, and trusted Nick to keep what little he knew under his hat. Which limited Bens options for interactivity even more than his painfully obvious lack of involvement with the local music scene.
As more people turned up and the buzz of chatter stepped up a notch, Ben retreated to the edge of the crowd on the pretext of grabbing a second glass of red wine and another tuna sandwich. He resolved to drink his drink and be on his way.
Being on the sidelines was more interesting to him. Ben was no psychologist, but hed been engaged to one long enough to pick up a few pointers. Brooke believed that you could learn a huge amount about a persons inner state of mind just by observing them, listening to their talk, noting the dynamics of their behaviour with others. Ben agreed with that idea. All his life hed had an eye for noticing the small things that most people didnt. And hed noticed something about Professor Adrian Graves the instant theyd been introduced.
Now Ben filled his last moments before leaving by watching him at a distance. What he saw confirmed his first impressions.
Something seemed to be gnawing at Graves. He was restless, clearly preoccupied, his face busy, eyes darting here and there as he took frequent sips of wine and stood around looking edgy. As Nick went off to greet the latest arrivals Graves was left talking with his wife. Whatever she was saying to him, he didnt seem to like it. His anxious face now flushed with irritation, he said something snappy to her that Ben didnt catch over the ambient noise, banged his empty wine glass down on a sideboard and stalked pointedly away from her. The way stressed-out people do in uncomfortable social situations, he hovered about the periphery of the room alone, pretending to be engrossed in the paintings, peering at the instruments. In psychology terms, Brooke would have described Graves behaviour as a kind of displacement activity. Like yawning or fidgeting or developing a sudden fascination for a blank space on the wall when youd much rather be somewhere else.
As Ben watched, Graves wandered over to the display cabinet, where he spent a long time staring at Nicks fake Bach manuscript as though completely captivated by the sight of it, coffee stain and all.
Ben wondered what was up with the guy. It was mildly interesting to watch him. But not interesting enough to warrant sticking around to see more. If Ben and Brooke had still been together, she could happily have spent the rest of the afternoon speculating about what sort of Freudian malaise was at the root of Graves behaviour. Left to his own devices, Ben personally didnt care all that much. He drained the last of his wine and then threaded his way through the crowd to where Nick was deep in animated conversation with a tall woman who looked like a skeleton in a black dress, a single olive on the plate in her hand.
Listen, Nick, I have to make a move, Ben said, gently interrupting.
So soon?
So soon?
Hope to catch you later, at the concert, Ben said. But just in case we dont get a chance to talk, heres my card. I wrote my mobile number on the back.
Nick took the card, looking disappointed that Ben was going. They said their goodbyes. Ben wished him good luck for tonight. Not that you need it. Then smiled at the skeleton lady, said a few nice-to-have-met-yous on his way out, and left the apartment.
Out in the quiet, empty street, Ben breathed a sigh of relief as the claustrophobia of the noisy party quickly wore off. Freedom at last, he muttered to himself. He stood for a moment, savouring the stillness and space around him.
Maybe hed been living in the countryside too long, he thought. What do you think? he said to a pigeon that was perched on Nicks Aston Martin.
The pigeon stared at him, crapped on the car and then flew off.
Chapter 8
Long ago
Sometimes it seemed to them as though the whole world was made up of nothing but words. Words, words, every day a storm of words, coming at you so hard and fast from all directions that you could barely digest the information in time for the next torrent. Lecture after lecture, until the voices appeared to merge into a babble of confusion that echoed around your head, enough to drive you crazy. Book after book, until the dots on the pages became meaningless and floated in front of your eyes and remained hovering there even in your dreams.
Which was what made these moments all the sweeter and more magical. Moments of pure stillness, where you could just drift awhile, and share a silence with someone so close to you, and simply be.
The wine theyd drunk earlier was cheap and rough, but neither of them cared. The night was warm, just the merest kiss of a gentle breeze through the dark cloister. She rested against his body with her arms wrapped around him, saying nothing, gazing into the deep black shadows, imagining that the glow of his cigarette was an orange star billions of light years away in a galaxy nobody knew about. Nobody but them.
She could feel the tightness of his muscles, and knew that such moments were the closest he could come to being relaxed, like a compressed spring that was never fully unwound. Ben never spoke about the bad things in his life, but Michaela sometimes saw the pain that seared his blue eyes like lightning in a summer sky. Things she was too young to understand, even though she was only eleven months younger than he was. Hers had been a sheltered life, up until now. His had not. That was all she knew, but she wanted to make him happy because she loved him with every molecule of her being, more than she could ever have imagined it was possible to love anyone.
Some days, it seemed he could never be happy. Tonight, she thought he could.
No words. Just being. Listening. Enjoying. The voice of the organ drifted down from the cathedral tower and echoed through the darkness of the cloister, mingling with the night air. In those hours when the college slept, nobody minded. Nick could play until dawn if he wanted to, because as organ scholar he had the keys to the ancient studded oak door in the far corner of the cloister, which led up the narrow staircase to the hidden chamber where the heart of the instrument lay.
Hed started his practice after midnight. Just messing around at first: the opening Hammond organ riff from the rock classic Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple had made Michaela chuckle. Jon Lord was one of Nicks organ heroes he often raved about. Johann Sebastian Bach was the other; and now the organ was filling the sweet night air with the haunting, cascading music of a minor-key fugue, its lines intertwining and swooping and soaring like the flight of birds or so she pictured it. The music seemed to pulse with its own life, making her think about the new life that pulsed inside her, so fragile, so tiny, yet growing imperceptibly each day.
Michaela hadnt told him yet. She hadnt told anyone. She was still waiting for the right moment, afraid of what Bens reaction might be. Terrified, too, of what her parents would say when she broke the news to them. She was only eighteen. So many plans had been made for her future. Now, she suddenly no longer had any idea what lay ahead. Doubts often gripped her. Would she and Ben have a life together? What would it be like? He could be so wild, even reckless. Michaela worried that her family would never accept him.
She reached up and ran her fingers through Bens hair. Ever so gently, he grasped her hand and kissed it.
I love you, she whispered.
I love you too, he murmured in reply, and the sound of it, and her total and complete faith in his sincerity, rocked her heart and made her want to cry with happiness.
If the baby was a boy, shed already decided she wanted to call him Jude.
Chapter 9
Ben returned to the college on foot rather than taking a bus. The April sunshine was warm, and he took off his leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder as he walked. He liked walking, because it forced him to slow down. And because he could smoke without getting arrested, even though he was almost out of Gauloises.
On Bens way back towards the city centre he walked by a beggar who was slumped in a doorway opposite St Johns College. He was a man in his forties with sunken cheeks and matted hair and a cardboard sign made from a torn-up box that said HUNGRY + HOMLESS PLESE HELP. No knife. That counted for something. No dog, either. Some of these guys used their pets to extract sympathy from folks, when in fact it wasnt the animals best interests they were most concerned about. Ben had once triggered one of them into a rage by giving him canned dog meat instead of money. But this guy looked as genuine as he did pitiful. Ben stopped and dug out from his pocket the fifty pounds hed taken from the crusty. Here you go, buddy, he said, and walked on as the guy sat there clutching his money and staring after him.
Ben spent the next couple of hours wandering through the grounds of Christ Church Meadow and down to the river beyond. The air was full of spring and the scent of daffodils as he followed the footpath along the bank of the Isis to the college boathouses, where he stopped a while and watched the shimmer of the sunlight on the water, letting thoughts and memories play freely through his mind.
For all the bittersweet emotions it kindled for Ben to be back here, Oxford was an undeniably beautiful place to live and he was happy that Nick had found his niche here, enjoying a normal and safe and happily closeted existence doing what he loved. Just like Simeon and Michaela, in the cosy comfortable warmth of the country vicarage not far from Oxford. Normal people, living out their blissfully sheltered lives. Until one day, the real world reached out and snapped them up and it was over.