Page 9 of Leather and Longing
This is what I need to figure out if I’m to help him.
Paul had reflected long and hard about his new employer. His training would be useful to deal with any physical issues, if any existed: what concerned him more at this stage was the state of Adam’s mind. He knew this was above and beyond his remit, but something about Adam’s state had touched him deeply.
I need to tread gently.Going in there, all guns blazing, would probably result in getting Adam’s back up. No, what would be required for this was subtlety—and manipulation.
Paul could be a manipulative bitch when he put his mind to it. And there was his first challenge—to get Adam to open that door.
He carried his bag through into the kitchen and dumped it onto the worktop. He spent five minutes familiarizing himself with the contents of the cabinets, making a list of what was needed.
What disturbed him was the lack of good nutrition.
Bloody hell, what is this man eating?There was little or no fresh produce in evidence, but plenty of processed food, dried soups, noodles… On one cabinet door someone had taped a list of Adam’s dietary requirements and Paul scanned this quickly. To his relief, there was hardly anything Adam didn’t eat but he did note an allergy to bananas. The contents of Paul’s shopping bag were safe, at any rate.
He spied the coffee machine and heaved a sigh of relief.There’s hope for this job yet. He’d brought along a packet of ground coffee in the hope there’d be some device to make it in. His search of the cabinets had revealed a packet of tea bags and a jar of congealed instant coffee. Just looking at it made Paul shudder. But before the coffee went on, there was something even more pressing that needed to be done.
God, this place needs a clean.
He had visions of giant dust bunnies seizing him with huge paws and dragging him down, kicking and screaming, into their lair, never again to see the light of day.
And there was still the matter of that closed door….
Paul reached into his backpack and took out his iPod and docking station. He’d thought long and hard about this, and it had taken an hour or two on Sunday to find what he’d been looking for, but he was pleased with the results.
He walked back into the hallway and searched for the nearest electrical socket. He found one beside a display cabinet betweentwo doors. After setting down the docking station and iPod, he scrolled through to find his compilation. Once he’d switched it on and made sure the volume was high enough, Paul returned to the kitchen and set about giving it a thorough cleaning. Through the open door he could hear voices pouring out of the iPod: Martin Luther King, Richard Nixon, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Enoch Powell, Winston Churchill… Paul had downloaded excerpts from key political speeches and put them together. The whole thing lasted about thirty minutes.
Let’s see if this piques his interest.
Ten minutes before it was due to finish, he set up the coffee machine, and soon the air was filled with the rich aroma. By the time the last drop had dripped into the pot, the recording was coming to an end.
Paul stood outside the door to Adam’s room and tapped quietly on it with his knuckles.
“Mr. Kent, I’ve made some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”
Silence met his words and Paul’s heart sank
And there was me thinking I deserved at least a Nobel prize for my ingenuity.
He turned to go back to the kitchen but stiffened when he heard movement behind the door.
“Yes.” The voice was deep with a husky edge to it.
Paul grinned.Still in the running for that prize, after all.When it became clear the single syllable was all he was getting, he scurried into the kitchen to pour out two mugs. He picked up one of them and took it into the hallway, pausing at the door. Without knocking this time, he pushed open the door and entered.
The room took up a corner of the house, with windows on two sides. Sunlight played through the glass, spilling into every corner. His attention was captured by the books, however. Therewere bookseverywhere: on the shelves that filled every inch of available wall space, populating every flat surface, even standing on the floor in upright piles, creating little skyscrapers or even cities. Books of all sizes, ranging from paperbacks to large coffee table books and thick volumes that looked as if no one had read them for years.
Someone loves to read.It struck him forcibly that the owner of these books was no longer able to enjoy them. Paul’s chest tightened, his heart aching. He couldn’t even begin to imagine a world without books. Such a place would be soulless without the beauty that words painted.
Adam sat in the armchair by the window, facing in that direction. The only thing that had changed from the previous Friday was his T-shirt.
Here we go again.
Paul walked up to the small table beside the chair and placed the mug on a coaster. “I’ve put your mug on the table here, about six inches from the edge,” he informed Adam. He straightened, waiting to see if there would be a reaction. When Adam said nothing, Paul repressed the sigh he was dying to let out and turned to leave the room.
As he reached the door, Adam cleared his throat.
“I met Nixon once, y’know. About six years ago.” A slight pause. “He was a real charmer.”
Paul wanted to shout out in triumph at the sound of that voice. Instead, he turned slowly to face Adam. He’d twisted in his armchair and was peering in Paul’s general direction, his expression neutral, eyes hidden behind those dark glasses, his hand gripping the arm of the chair.
