Page 31 of Short Stack 3

“If you say so.” I dodge away from his pinch and settle back in my seat. “I remember now. You’re photographing him.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Ivo doesn’t do much photography anymore because he’s so busy with his painting.

“It’s a favour for him.Vanity Fairwanted to do a spread on him, and he asked for me to do the photographs. Said it’d make it easier.”

“Surely, he’s used to all that by now. He’s been famous for a while.”

He shrugs. “Maybe that’s why. Sometimes it’s nice to have a good mate around instead of strangers.”

I eye him as an idea suddenly occurs to me. “Did you shag him?”

“No.” His denial is adorably indignant. “I don’t fuck all my friends.”

“Okay, Pinocchio. I’m just amazed it took us so long to actually sleep together, given you were cutting a sexual swathe through your entire friendship group.”

He catches my hand and raises it to his mouth, dropping a gentle, almost courtly kiss on my fingers. “You are my exception in everything, Henry.”

I don’t even try to repress my smile. He’s far too charming for his own good.

Derbyshire is beautiful, with green, rolling hills dotted with sheep and cows. We drive along narrow, winding roads, often getting caught behind caravans, which usually drives Ivo demented. However, he seems remarkably serene today.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I say in what hopefully isn’t too accusatory a tone.

He gives me a lazy smile. “Yes. Jimmy is good to drive.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what Seb named the van.”

“He named his van after hisboyfriend?”

“When he bought it, he said it was because it would take him to places he’d never dreamed about. Now, he just says it’s because it’s expensive and difficult to drive.”

“Maybe they’ll get it together,” I say hopefully. “They do love each other. That’s very clear.”

“Love has never been the problem. Living together is the thing that causes the trouble.”

I look at Ivo affectionately. I’m so lucky. Living with him is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s my lover, my co-conspirator, and my best friend all rolled together.

He signals to turn into a lane, and I look around. “Where are we?”

“About ten minutes’ walk from Chatsworth. This is the road to the site.”

“Really? Howwonderful.”

He snorts. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever sounded more insincere, but now I’m remembering you meeting Eric Phillips.”

“A dreadful man who was made slightly less odious by the fact that he was dropping thousands on one of your paintings.”

He chuckles. “Anyway, the site butts onto the old wall around Chatsworth. Apparently, we get a key.”

“To the house? That’s extraordinarily generous of the Duke of Devonshire.”

“No, the grounds. We can go through at any time. A lot of reviews mention how serene it is at night.”

“Unlike myself. Have you forgotten my distaste for soft ground?” I shake my head as he bursts into laughter. “Ivo, it’s a phobia.”

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