Squeezy, eyes on Nikolas, just confirmed quietly with a nod, “Nothing.”
It crossed Nikolas’s mind he’d underestimated this man.
He returned to the table and sat down.
Andrea Gillian waited until Tim and Squeezy had gone out and shut the door. “It’s some form of psychogenic—retrograde—amnesia brought on by situation-specific stress. It’s relatively common in soldiers, as you know.”
“Just like that he fucking forgets ten years of his life?”
“I don’t think he has entirely. He’ll have very mixed memories—some from recent and some from longer ago.”
“When will he snap out of it?”
“I don’t know. It can last for hours or…”
“Or what? Days? Weeks?”
“I was going to say years—but that’s more uncommon and more usually associated with childhood trauma. Abuse.”
Nikolas licked his lips. “Just like that. Ten years. Wiped out.”
Andrea Gillian gave him a little glance. “He may have been additionally susceptible to this, I’m afraid. It’s often linked to what’s referred to as a premorbid history of psychiatric illness…such as depression.”
“He wasn’t…”
“Aeroe? The suicide attempt? Devon? He’s still suffering nightmares and flashbacks from the coffin.”
“Fuck!” Nikolas rose and went to the counter.
“Why didn’t you tell him who you were?”
Nikolas didn’t turn around and after a few moments replied, “I couldn’t think what to say and then the moment passed.”
“It may have been the best thing you could have done.”
He turned and she continued, “It’s why I asked him not to look around the house. We really have very little knowledge of treating this kind of autobiographical amnesia, but it’s caused by stress and shock—it’s the mind’s protective glass, if you like, an attempt to prevent the glare of reality causing pain. We have to protect him from more stress.”
“And you think me telling him we’re…that I’m…will cause
more
stress?”
She seemed puzzled. “Well…he thinks he’s twenty-two. What was he doing when he was twenty-two? Not this. He wasn’t gay! That could…”
“Fuck. He thought he was being outed on national TV. They boasted they were going to kill him because he was gay.”
She appeared to think about this for some time. “That’s a considerable stress factor I’d not considered, yes.” She sighed. “As I said, it’s why I asked him not to look around the house…all the evidence of your life here together.”
Nikolas winced. He wondered. If Ben wandered around. What would he see? Not a single photo of them anywhere. The bed, yes, but it was neatly made, clean linen—he didn’t pay his cleaning service to leave cum-splattered sheets on his bed. The shower? He had three bathrooms, four bedrooms. Ben had nothing here other than a few clothes. No, he didn’t think looking around their house would cause Ben Rider—for that was, apparently, who he was again now—any problems at all.
“What am I going to do?”
For the first time Nikolas asked a question Andrea Gillian apparently couldn’t answer. For the first time he asked a question in a tone of voice that appeared to break her habitual veneer of callous indifference she’d adopted with Nikolas. She ran her fingers through her styled hair and said nothing.
§ § §
Some things, obviously, Ben had to have explained. He had to be told he was older than he thought he was and that he’d effectively lost the last ten years of his life. He was informed he wasn’t in the army—that he actually worked now for Nikolas. Nikolas told Ben he was a bodyguard—his bodyguard. Friend and bodyguard. He allowed himself this addition. Insisted Ben call him Nikolas. Ben wouldn’t and seemed happy calling him sir, as he once had, before things had changed between them.
Kate had been looking after Radulf, so they both arrived together. Tim had called and warned her, so this time she didn’t arrive into a scene of horror as she had on their return from Devon once, believing Ben was dead and seeing her friends broken and battered.
She needn’t have worried too much. Ben remembered Radulf and, more confusingly, he recognised her. He’d known neither of them when he was twenty-two. Nikolas couldn’t decide whether this was a good thing or not. Knowing Radulf was okay. He allowed Ben that.
Ben knew the dog was called Radulf, knew this meant wolf of the house, but appeared to recollect nothing about why or how he knew him. He didn’t know why the dog was blind, only that he was. The confusion made Ben upset and he took his anger out on everyone there. Andrea Gillian calmed things down with a glance to Nikolas.
Kate questioned him gently on what he recalled about her. Ben thought she was his girlfriend, although this clearly only confused him more, because, as he admitted with an anguished appeal, she looked so bloody old! Everyone found this funny and then felt awful and apologised to Kate, trying to explain. Nikolas didn’t need to do either, but then he hadn’t laughed.
§ § §
Ben was tired. Andrea Gillian stressed it was symptomatic of his condition and not to fight it—he should sleep as much as he needed. Tim showed Ben to the room he and Squeezy used when they slept over. It appeared lived in—alarm clock, a book on the table, some clothes in the wardrobe that could easily belong to him. Ben wasn’t suspicious and wasn’t worried too much about anything he was told anymore.
It was all so confusing he’d decided not to try and pick out individual things that bewildered him—until he glanced in the mirror later, when he went into the en-suite to piss. His reflection terrified him, and he made a choked sound of alarm. He heard someone come into the bedroom and turned to see his big, blond boss. The man was gazing at him with an almost blank expression. Ben had always been good at reading people, but he got nothing off this man at all. He nodded back at the mirror. “Sorry, it was a bit of a shock, sir.”
“Good one or bad one?”
“I’m blond. Sort of.”
“It’s growing out. It was for the op.”
“Yeah, I got that. I’m fucking old, too.”
“Ben?”
“Sir?”
“Please don’t swear when you work for me. I don’t like it.”
“Fuck, sorry. I mean…yeah, okay, sir.” They stood and stared at each for a while, until Ben asked, frowning so deeply that the tall stranger almost disappeared, “Were we just speaking…?” His voice hitched up in panic, and his boss came to his side, a hand on his arm, very lightly reassuring him.
“Yes. Danish. You still remember.”
“Danish? I don’t know how to fucking speak Danish! Do I?”
“You learnt. In the time you don’t remember.”
“But I remember it?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s your accent? You’re Danish?”
“Yes, you learnt Danish when you came to work for me.”
“Oh. Wolf of the house. Radulf. I knew that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Ben turned to the mirror once more. “I’m so
old
.”
His boss,
Nikolas
, offered hesitantly, “I’m forty-five.”
Ben turned, his eyebrows lifted. “Fuck me.”
Nikolas turned sharply away and left.
Ben cursed.
He forgot he wasn’t supposed to swear.
§ § §
Nikolas made a sudden, unilateral decision, told Ben he could sleep on the way, and took him home to Devon.
There wasn’t anything very personal there either, he reflected, so it wasn’t going to challenge Ben’s mind unduly. He sent Squeezy on ahead, nevertheless, to move Ben’s clothes into one of the guest suites.
Nikolas elected to drive, which, despite being very tired, Ben clearly found odd. “What exactly are my duties, sir?” This was asked hesitantly as Nikolas took to the outer lane of the M4, the green English countryside spinning past them.
Nikolas took a while to reply but managed calmly enough, “Whatever I decide them to be. Mostly you protect me. I run a charity.”
This non sequitur confused Nikolas, and he’d said it, so he wasn’t surprised when Ben commented wryly, “That dangerous, is it then, sir? Charity work.”
Nikolas actually smiled. There was a first time for everything.
After another few minutes, Ben, gazing out at the scenery asked, “So, how long have I worked for you, sir?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years?
Christ
. That’s a long time, yeah? Is that a long time?”
“Quite long, yes.”
“So, we know each other pretty well?”
Nikolas glanced over. “Why do you ask? Are you remembering things?”
Ben blushed suddenly, just pinpricks of red high up on his defined cheekbones. Nikolas knew every flush in Ben Rider’s repertoire. He caused most of them, after all. Ben didn’t reply to the question and turned back to look out of the window.
After a few more miles, at exactly the same time, Nikolas asked if Ben was hungry as Ben complained he was starving. They both laughed, then frowned, then both coloured, and Nikolas acknowledged deceptively lightly, “You’re always hungry by this point and we always stop.”
Who would have thought it would be the banal, trivial aspects of their missing life together that would hurt so much? Was this like separation after death? If Ben were dead, would it be the remembering of him eating an egg and bacon sandwich and feeding bits to Radulf that would cause Nikolas’s grief-stricken heart to stop?
They carried on. Ben insisted he was fine and wanted to drive. It seemed harmless enough so Nikolas let him. He put the radio on and listened to the worsening situation in the Ukraine. More money coming his way. Good.
Ben drove steadily and carefully for a while, overtaking nicely and not sitting in the middle lane. Until he swore lightly to himself, cranked the vehicle up to a hundred and ten, and flashed his lights at a Porsche holding him up in the outer lane.
“Your memory is returning.”
Ben grinned. “Why do I remember driving a Range Rover sport?”
“I’ve no idea. I definitely don’t own one of those.”
“Huh.”
An hour later, Nikolas had a moment of panic as they approached the slight rise to the collapsed gateway. Had he made a huge error bringing Ben here? Surely out of all places this one would bring Ben’s memory crashing back to him? He’d remembered it from being a child here, four years old. Could you forget remembering?
Ben apparently had. He pulled in on the hillside across from the house and then slid out of the car, staring. He licked his lips. “You…
that’s
your house?”
“Mine, yes.”
“My God, it’s…is it made of fucking glass? What’s that? Blue thing? Is that a swimming pool? Long one. Fuck, look at that bit coming out of the tor! How far are we from Okehampton? I know Dartmoor really well, don’t recognise that tor though. Is that a stable? Where do I live?”
Nikolas turned from contemplation of Ben’s beautiful house to study the familiar face. “You live in the house, too. All ANGEL employees have rooms.”
“So…” Ben blushed once more and toed the ground. “Are you married, sir? Do I guard your wife, too?”
Nikolas returned to the car. “I’m divorced.” He should call Philipa, advise her of the situation.
Suddenly, he sank his head into his hands. Advise her of the situation? He wished someone would fucking advise him of it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Squeezy had done a good job. Ben’s room was now one of the large guest suites that circled around inside the main living spaces. It was helpful having Squeezy and Tim there, because it seemed less strange for him to be living with his hired help inside the house. Ben was just one of the other men working for Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen, and although he was obviously extremely confused by everything still, the sleeping arrangements didn’t unduly alarm him. Nikolas told him he could go wherever he wanted in the house…that he was not restricted from any area, and wasn’t surprised when he returned to what had been their room later that afternoon to find Ben standing at their window, staring back over the rest of the house.
“Hello, Benjamin.”
Ben turned suddenly, some awareness flashing in his expression, but it was gone too fast for Nikolas to see if it was what he was so desperately looking for. Ben just nodded then and made some excuse about checking the whole house out—for security.
Nikolas sat on the end of the bed. “Are we secure?”
Ben laughed. “You live in a glass house, sir.”
Nikolas shrugged. Ben was watching him very intently. Nikolas wondered idly if Ben was thinking what he was, then remembered
this
Ben wasn’t gay. But then neither was he, and all he wanted to do was pull Benjamin Rider down onto the bed and remind him very forcibly why he actually had a hyphen in his name now. He lay slowly back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He was very, very tired. He felt the bed depress next to him and opened his eyes to find Ben’s gaze was on his stomach. As soon as Ben saw he was being observed, the gaze snatched back up to Nikolas’s face. “We’re friends? You told me we were friends?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember you at all.”
Nikolas rose and went into the bathroom, shutting the door.
§ § §
Ben lay back in the spot his boss had recently occupied. He could see the granite tor through the glass ceiling. The warmth of the indentation in the bed made him incredibly…Jesus, was he horny? How inappropriate was that? He wondered if Kate was coming down and, if she was, whether she was allowed to stay in his room. It seemed stretching it too far for his odd new boss to allow his employees to fuck under his own roof. He wondered if Squeezy still had the same girlfriend—some frightful Welsh harridan they all hated and made fun of whenever Squeezy brought her to the mess—and made a note to ask him.
§ § §
When Nikolas came out of the bathroom, his suit discarded on the floor and wrapped only in a towel, Ben was asleep on the end of the bed. Their bed. Nikolas sat in the armchair in the corner and contemplated this latest fuck-up in his life. His thoughts weren’t helped by the very obvious erection lying thick and long in Ben’s jeans. Not helped at all.
§ § §
When Ben woke that afternoon, he found himself alone in his boss’s bedroom and felt almost sick with disorientation. When he wandered back across the bridge over the swim lane to the main part of the house, he took a shortcut through another suite of rooms to find the TV room. He came across Squeezy and the man called Tim. They were pressed together against a wall. They were kissing. Even in Ben’s wildest imagination he couldn’t have called that a buddy-buddy kiss. You didn’t rub your crotch against your friend for any reason. You didn’t murmur in pleasure and share tongues with a mate either.