Ben wrinkled his nose and didn’t reply. It was infuriating having someone know your life better than you knew it yourself.
Tim seemed willing to let Ben’s implication slide, given his condition, for he immediately asked, “How is it going, anyway? Have you regained some memory?”
“Bits and pieces. Nothing very important.”
“Isn’t that the way for all of us? We can remember a damn song that was playing but not the name of the person we were dancing with.”
“How did we meet? Were you in the army, too?” His doubtful glance made Tim chuckle.
“No, thank God. You were ordered to fuck me to get into a terrorist cell you thought I headed up. Then you were ordered to kill me.”
Ben chuckled. “Good one.” He glanced over at a small gesture from Tim. “What? Fucking hell!” After a moment he added, “That wasn’t when I was in the army. No way would I’ve—?”
“No, after, when you worked for Nikolas. I don’t really know much about what you guys did before ANGEL. I came on board when you got back from the Philippines. You’d know more about the department’s work than I do.”
The department?
“Yeah, course. So…”
“Ben, I can’t talk to you about this. He’s told us all not to. I’ve probably said more than I should already.”
“Jesus! What
is it
with you fucking people! What’s he gonna do? Kill you all if you don’t do what he says?”
Tim stopped on the canal path and regarded Ben for a moment. Ben walked on defensively. He assumed the look was because he was behaving badly. He was, and hated himself for it.
Tim caught up to him. “I’ve been doing some reading up on memory loss in some of my old psychology books.”
Ben quirked his lips in apology, recognising a polite way of changing the subject when he heard it. “And?”
“It’s interesting but still a very unknown area.”
“Nik reckoned it wasn’t like fiction—that I wouldn’t have a sort of ‘oh my God moment’ when I see something that brings it all back.”
“Well, as usual with Nikolas—and this is something you’ll remember one day—he’s wrong. There have been a number of cases where that exact thing has happened. One woman lost her autobiographical memory, just like you, played a game of tennis, and when she missed a shot it all came flooding back to her—she’d missed a shot like that in childhood, apparently. Another man went for an operation, and lying on the operating table brought his memory back.”
“That’s good then?”
“Most cases of amnesia are fakes, of course.”
“Fake? What do you mean?”
“Well, people—for whatever reason—decide to have a reset in their lives. Some choose a whole new identity and it’s pure luck—bad for them, I suppose—that they get recognised and their old lives intrude.”
They carried on for a while, Ben digesting this information. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything except pretty much everything, because he’d kill me if I told you.”
“Are you gay?”
Tim laughed. “Okay, being gay I can talk about—we actually already have talked about it. Extensively. Although, on second thought, don’t tell Nikolas that either. Yes, in answer to your question, I am.”
“Can you…is it possible…? I mean…Can you have sex with another bloke but
not
be gay?”
Tim stopped and toed the ground for a moment. “That didn’t take him long. Two days? That must be a record. Okay. Well, I think the jury is still out on that one. Some people would say yes, of course: experimentation. Some people would say if you have sex with another guy you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re not gay.”
“What do you think?”
“When we first met, you were entirely amoral about sex. You used it like a weapon to further your aims. Then you fell in love and that switch turned off overnight. So, if you ask me, I’d say there’s more complexity in human sexuality than we’ve got time to chat about over a walk to the pub. I read a story the other day about a woman, a lesbian, who was in a relationship with another woman, but then had a sex change and became a man, and
then
left his wife who’d been his lesbian partner and took up with a man—as a man.”
“Huh?” Ben was struggling. “Why didn’t she—he—she just stay a woman?”
“My point exactly. Who knows the human heart?”
“I guess that explains why I like wearing dresses—What? Why are you laughing?”
§ § §
“Where’s Katie?”
“She isn’t coming. What do we know?”
Squeezy and Jackson eyed each other blankly. Without Kate, they were clearly at something of a loss. Nikolas had always suspected their updates to him on most subjects came courtesy of Kate who did all the research and then handed it over to them to present.
“Where is she?”
“She’s left. I’ll be taking on someone new.”
Jackson narrowed his eyes at Nikolas. “She can’t leave. She knows too much about us all.”
Squeezy frowned. “Knows what?”
Jackson amended, looking straight at Nikolas, “She knows too much about you. Can you afford such a loose canon out there?”
Nikolas traced a pattern on the table for a moment. He missed Ben being there and reading his mind, Ben saying immediately, “No, Nik, we’re not killing her.”
Did
not
having Ben there to say this mean he could do it and get away with it? Did he really want to kill Kate? He had a while ago. Would have if something hadn’t come up to distract him. Literally.
He picked up his stuck-together phone and contemplated it for a moment.
§ § §
Kate had excellent security at her apartment so Nikolas was very well aware she knew who it was at the door. He also understood he was, consequently, on CCTV. But it was still a huge risk for her letting him in. But then she couldn’t run anywhere he wouldn’t find her. She opened the door, as he’d known she would, and stood back, allowing him to precede her to the main room.
“Do you want a drink?”
Nikolas nodded, staring out at the impressive view. “Nice apartment.”
“Thank you. My boss pays me well.”
“Perhaps he values you. Your loyalty.”
“Perhaps he values his privacy, keeping his secrets.”
Nikolas nodded. “Perhaps. There’s another alternative, however. He may value your friendship.”
“He’s a very difficult man to befriend.”
“Yes, I can imagine he would be. A dangerous man to cross as well.”
“Yes.” She handed him his drink and stood alongside him. “What are you thinking?”
“That I could snap you in half without breaking into a sweat. You’re so incredibly frail compared to me.” She quivered as if with an unconscious urge to flee, but he laid a hand gently on her arm. “And I then thought about your camera security system. Lastly, it occurred to me that should such snapping occur, I would then not have you to take care of it for me—as you’ve taken care of me for so many years.”
“I betrayed you.”
“You admit it so readily?”
“Only weak people make excuses for the bad things they do.”
He nodded, this thought interesting him. He drank the whisky in one long swallow and handed her the empty glass. “I have a job for you. Some research.”
Her brows rose in surprise before she could calm her expression.
“I want you to read about a man called Sergei Dubov and his son. Consider carefully if you want to return to work for me and what another betrayal might mean for you. If you’re happy with those terms, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She followed him out with her eyes; he could feel them upon his back, then sensed observation from the security system as he left. Then, he had no doubt, she went to her computer to comply with his request.
§ § §
Kate ran her finger around the edge of the tumbler Nikolas had drunk from, making the exquisite cut-glass screech as if in pain.
Nikolas had given it to her—one flawless glass, and a story of its provenance that had made her eyes run with tears of laughter. She wondered if he remembered. Of course he did. He remembered everything.
Reprieve.
She had not expected this.
She had woken alone in a bed in the glass house, and the enormity of what she had done had made her flee like a thief in the night. Not what she had done to
Ben
. What she had done to this man, the one who turned up unexpectedly with gifts—a Birkin bag worth more than her first flat; perfume housed in a bottle so astonishing she’d had it photographed, the picture now hanging as an artwork in her bedroom; a crystal tumbler he’d persuaded a queen was a fake so he could steal it and give it to her—the man she’d now betrayed.
Kate considered the information she’d gleaned from the computer.
What it might mean to her.
Reprieve was not forgiveness. Not at all. But somehow it
felt
like it. In this, Nikolas had surprised her. Given her a glimpse perhaps of the man Ben Rider knew. Loved.
Upon reflection, she decided she’d have preferred Nikolas Mikkelsen’s fury.
She didn’t know what to do with his forgiveness. His kindness.
Her guilt.
§ § §
When Nikolas returned to the house, the others had left, and Ben was in the kitchen with Radulf. They were both examining the contents of the fridge hopefully. It was such a familiar scene Nikolas forgot for a moment. He went up behind Ben, slid his arms around him and kissed under his ear. “Did you enjoy your lunch?”
Ben shied away with an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the side of his neck. He recovered quickly and began to chat about Tim and ask questions about the meeting, but Nikolas felt a sense of bleakness in his heart he couldn’t dispel. Despite what they’d done with their bodies over the last few days, Ben was uncomfortable with a casual kiss and an affectionate hug. He sat at the table, listening to Ben, drinking the tea he was offered, and realised with something like shock that their situation was almost exactly the same as it had been for the first few years they’d known each other—only reversed. Now he was the one who wanted something Ben was unwilling or unable to give. Was this how it had been for Ben? All those meetings in hotels or snatched afternoons at Barton Combe? Sex, yes—plentiful and extremely satisfying. But Ben had wanted more and Nikolas had known it.
Ben had stopped talking. Nikolas flicked his attention back into the room. Ben was staring at him. He knew that look.
For the first time, Nikolas went to bed with Ben Rider wishing he didn’t have to—wishing they could watch a movie together, go for a walk, try to cook something edible, anything else but this, which had always been so easy between them. For the first time, what he was missing hit Nikolas with full force. He did what was required of him, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Ben didn’t even notice.
He apparently didn’t know Nikolas well enough to spot the difference.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They returned to Devon the next morning. The old familiar drive. Ben drove the whole way listening to Radio 1. Nikolas couldn’t summon the energy to make him turn it off.
He was very glad to arrive home, therefore, and even more relieved when Ben announced he was going for a run. They both needed Ben to expel some of his boundless energy. They both needed the peace and quiet and the headspace that distance gave them. When Ben emerged from the bedroom in some running gear, Nikolas merely grunted, “Don’t get lost, and don’t fall in a bog,” to which Ben replied with a derisive snort.
§ § §
Ben jogged slowly to the western border of the grounds, to where an old dry stone wall separated them from the open moors and sat on the lichen-covered rocks to tie his laces more securely. He eyed the moors, wondering which direction he usually went. He looked south, down along the line of the wall. He pouted over confused recollections. Someone who hadn’t experienced this would never understand. It wasn’t as if his mind was a blank page, more like a place filled with tendrils of memory, some almost substantial, some very hazy, but all twined together so the strong image was interrupted by a weak one that might not be related at all. If he couldn’t remember anything it would be easier. Now his head hurt all the time with the attempt to untangle the confusion, form fog into the rain of remembrance.
Very hesitantly, he began to run south. After a mile or so, he came to an obvious path to his left back into the grounds and followed it, ducking under ancient oaks. At last he came out into a clearing.
There was an old stone chapel.
§ § §
Nikolas heard Ben returning a couple of hours later. He’d taken the opportunity of his absence to swim for an hour and now he was organising Ulyana Ivanovna’s flights from Russia for Christmas before going for a ride. Usually Ben came in from a run and either went straight into the shower, or found him and dragged him to the shower, too. After ten minutes of neither of these happening, Nikolas went to find him to see if he wanted to ride as well.
Ben was standing in the kitchen, back to Nikolas, staring out over the grounds. Nikolas went up to him and slid his hands around Ben’s waist, tentatively, remembering the reception he’d received the day before. Ben didn’t shy away, but then he hardly acknowledged him at all. He was cold, which was unusual after a run. Nikolas frowned. “Go and shower or you’ll stiffen up.” He bit lightly into Ben’s neck and amended this to, “Go and shower and hopefully you’ll stiffen up for my return. I’m going riding. Or I could stay and help with the…stiffening.”
Ben nodded, not apparently listening. “I—” He turned in Nikolas’s arms and gave him a searing look. His eyes were red, as if he’d been exposed to too much second-hand smoke. He seemed about to say something but instead just swallowed and walked slowly away.
Nikolas watched Ben for a moment until he heard a car on the gravel and turned to see Squeezy arriving. It distracted him just enough not to follow Ben, and then he saw the glorious winter day and wanted to be up on the moors.
§ § §
When Ben came out of the shower, Squeezy was in the bedroom, rummaging in their wardrobe. “Where’s that fucking suit I borrowed for your cous—? That black one from that fuckingly expensive place?” At Ben’s silence he added, “I gotta go to a fucking funeral next week. Old CO before I joined the regiment. You okay?”