Page 497 of Cheaters: A Dark Romance Anthology

“Allow your mother the luxury of spending time with her only child, please.” She tucked The Argus under her arm. “I cannot fathom why some are so red with anger over this filthy cemetery debacle.” She sighed. “Surely if an area is contaminated it should be shut down?”

All Harley wanted to do was escape the confines of his home and get his outing over and done with. “They can’t only shut down the Muslim cemetery, Mother. If the spread of smallpox is what they’re worried about, they should close all cemeteries. Christian ones too.”

His mother clicked her tongue. “Really, Harley. Don’t be so blasphemous.” She bent down to examine a wilting rose bush along the path and plucked a whitish-pink petal from it. “Your father sent word. He leaves for the Colony in a week.”

It was bound to happen at some point, Harley thought miserably, then chastised himself for thinking it. “That gives us at least two months to anticipate his homecoming. Is he well? Did he have a message for me?”

His father was a good man, but he was hard. The older Harley became, the more he noticed it and because of this, grew further away from him. His father was a businessman who worked hard to give Harley and his mother the lifestyle they had always enjoyed. He was calculating and harsh, as though numbers took up space in the crevices of his mind in replacement of human emotion. Harley, who flourished in the arts, was the complete opposite. But there were times Harley wished he was more like his father and less like himself. Times when he could have been sterner, and more logical in his way of thinking, especially when it came to Theodore.

His mother chuckled and turned her hand over, allowing the petal to float to the paving at their feet. “Only that he hopes you are behaving and have gotten over your bout of melancholy.” Before Harley could argue, his mother lifted her hand. “He also hopes that you’ll reconsider enrolling at Cambridge in September. He prefers you study somewhere other than the South African College. The very fact that you were commissioned to work on an illustration for that handbook proves your talent shouldn’t be confined to our Colony.”

The thought of returning to England with Its harsh winters made Harley’s flesh crawl, even In the heat. He was still thrilled to have been asked to illustrate a section of Oak Avenue for the 1886 edition of The Cape of Good Hope Official Handbook, but in his opinion that was even more reason to remain in the Colony. Opportunities were endless. “Rondebosch is my home. The entire Colony is. Perhaps he’d feel the same way if he weren’t only spending six months out of every year here.”

At last, they reached the gate. Harley unlatched it and swung it open, stepping onto the pavement. His mother offered him one of her weak smiles, the kind that said, ‘Let’s not argue.’

“Please return moderately early,” she said, adjusting the parasol in her hands. “The tailor and dress-maker are arriving at five o’ clock this evening to take our measurements. Don’t be late.” Harley must have given her a quizzical look because she sighed and shook her head. “The Rhodes party, Harley. At the Grand Hotel?” Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Please remove your head from the clouds. You still need to select a guest to accompany you. Why not take that charming Vosloo girl? She comes from interesting stock.”

The left side of Harley’s mouth quirked up. If only she knew. He shut the iron gate and bade his mother farewell with a curt flick of his hand.

Later, when he was down the street, Harley removed the cigarette tin from his frock coat, pulled one out and lit it with a Bryant and May’s match. He’d forgotten about the party, but it gave him even more of a reason to carry out his visit. Once he’d puffed on the Duke, he placed the straw hat on his head. His charcoal black hair was absorbing more sun than he would have preferred and he was beginning to sweat. In hindsight, he should have organised a ride with his family’s cabbie but he was already at the end of the street, within an arm’s reach of the bubbling fountain on a grassy island in the middle of the road.

Theodore — dastardly, discourteous and diabolical Theodore — only lived a few streets away.

Chapter Six

There was a time, not so very long ago, when Harley believed wholeheartedly that Theodore Quick was born for him. It sounded ridiculous now as Harley made his way down Russik street, carefully stepping over uneven slabs of pavement and nodding his head in greeting to a lady carrying a bundle of mielies on her head.

He paused to drop the butt of his third Duke on the concrete and ground it under his shoe. He wasn’t even smoking for enjoyment anymore. Rather, it was out of pure nervousness.

He once regarded Theodore as his one true love. It was an obsession unlike any other. After he and Theodore enjoyed their first kiss behind his mother’s conservatory, Harley had never felt such a swell of creativity in his young life. He became manic, sketching into the early hours of the morning. His hands were constantly stained black from lead as a long-lost muse he didn’t know he had whispered words of inspiration in his ear while he drew. Parts of the Colony he’d taken for granted or had been blind to became intriguing. He’d developed a need — no, a craving — to immortalise everything in his world on paper. The copper-skinned Cape Malays. The overcrowded docks. The god-like Table Mountain. All of it.

Theodore always worried that the two would be caught in the act by chambermaids during their frequent sleepovers, or by unsuspecting party guests whenever they’d escaped dull conversation and pompous moguls for moonlight trysts amongst wild peach and pompon trees. Harley had never cared. A love so forbidden it would even sour the bitter taste in Eve’s mouth only made him want Theodore more. Harley was too intelligent and bold to seek permission for how he felt, no matter how strange or curious it may have seemed to others. Or himself. He was a gentleman who knew what he wanted and how to get it. He would not quit until he received what he desired. It was one of the reasons a stoic man like his father eventually caved and agreed to Harley enrolling at the South African College for a Fine Arts degree, much to his disappointment.

Harley was slightly panting by the time he reached the end of Russik street. He was only then beginning to comprehend the effect being cooped up indoors for most of the Christmas period had on his limbs and lungs. He wiped his brow and arrived at the gate to the Quick residence. Like every house in the area, it was home to a lovely view of Table Mountain, which one never seemed able to escape in the Colony. Harley couldn’t help but be transfixed by the blanket of clouds atop the mountain, in parts a dark grey and others cotton white. The blanket seemed to roll off the side of the mountain, but at a glacial pace that defied the very concept of time.

Harley remembered why he was there and lowered his eyes. Theodore’s father specialised in antiquities, being the current owner of the South African Museum in the Library Building of the Company’s Garden. It explained why the residence was an unusual marvel of historical proportions, nearly square with four tall marble columns placed at the entrance. Its roof was flat, much like the mountain, and very Roman in its design. It seemed out of place on Russik street, almost as out of place as Harley felt standing in front of it at that moment.

What on God’s green earth am I doing here? He considered leaving, but the very thought of more walking at that time of the day exhausted him. So, with as much bravery as he could compile — which, if he were to be honest, wasn’t very much — he opened the tiny gate and stepped into the garden, carefully walking along the gravel path to the porch.

A Loerie called out to Harley from an imported Argentinian Jacaranda tree. Theodore’s father had ordered it for his wife a year before as a present for her birthday. Back on the street, behind the little gate, a cabbie trotted past. One of its passengers coughed viciously, only to be drowned out by the crunch of gravel beneath Harley’s shoes. He arrived at the front door, removed his straw hat, and took hold of the iron knocker.

Thibault, the French butler with a milky right eye, welcomed Harley inside with a stiff smile. He led him down a passageway, past a grand staircase and into one of the residence’s smaller sitting rooms. Thibault then left, stating he would notify Mister Quick Junior of Harley’s arrival.

Harley took in a nervous breath once the butler had left the room and tried to get comfortable on the couch. It was covered in crocheted floral patterns that burned Harley’s retinas, so he cast his gaze to the oak bookcase Theodore had once pushed him up against one evening when the two were playing cards, while the rest of the Quicks slumbered. It had been one of their most passionate moments.

The memory stirred something Inside ”arle’ but he told himself to behave. Removing the cigarette tin from his frock coat, he stretched out his tired legs and lit a Duke. The ball of anxiety from that morning had reared its ugly head, and Harley wondered whether showing up unannounced was smart. There had been no contact with Theodore for quite some time, and he was done losing his mind over trying to figure out why.

Halfway through his Duke, he heard footsteps from outside in the passage. He sat up and held his breath, heart raging behind his rib cage. The door opened and Thibault stepped through. He held it open for Theodore, who followed. Dastardly, discourteous and diabolical…

Automatically, Harley stood up and waited for Thibault to leave the room before exhaling. His mouth was suddenly sandpaper dry. He was parched. Concern was scribbled on Theodore’s sweet face as he wrung his hands and looked at everything else in the sitting room but Harley. His eyes landed on the oak bookcase and he visibly cringed.

“Harley!” Theodore said, his voice so high it cracked on the edges of Harley’s name. “My, what an unexpected surprise.” His eyes scanned the room once more, before finally making contact with Harley’s. “Unfortunately, you haven’t caught me at the very best of times.”

Harley sat back down on the couch. His legs were weak, and he worried they would quake. “That’s entirely my fault. Apologies.” He attempted a smile, though he didn’t need a mirror to know it was a small one. “I thought I might surprise you. It’s been very long. I haven’t received any correspondence from you in what feels like an eternity.”

Theodore looked down at his polished loafers. At that angle, his brunette hair shone in the light filtering into the room from the window. Harley always thought Theodore wore too much Macassar oil in his hair. “You really shouldn’t have walked all the way here.”

Harley shrugged and brought the Duke to his lips. His hand shook. Compose yourself. “It was nothing.”

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