Page 13 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

Springing across the desk suddenly seemed like a very good idea to Aleksey. Also followed by a fist to that beautiful mouth. Then he pictured this annoying, crass, badly educated young man crashing and burning on his own arrogance at an entire weekend with Philipa’s friends and gave one of his best, practised, aggravating smiles.

Andthat’swhy he’d invited him to Barton Combe.

He blamed the cat.

* * *

Chapter 8

Six Months Before April

Despite Nikolas’s uncharacteristically romantic confession the previous night, Ben was still determined to come up with an acceptable holiday destination. He had increasingly warmed to the idea of the two of them going away together on their own as the day had progressed from its very early start. He’d woken before dawn for no apparent reason but had then been seduced by the thought of going for a run. After all, if his body was Nikolas’s favourite destination and pastime, Ben felt he had a duty to keep it pristine. Nikolas had still been deeply asleep. Although Nikolas frequently claimed he was always alert when sleeping, only closing his eyes but still very aware of any potential threats, Ben was yet to be convinced by these vaunting claims. As the guy who’d slept next to Nikolas for the past ten years or so, Ben reckoned his other half did a very good impression of a man utterly dead to the world. That morning, case in point, he’d been stretched out on his stomach, face turned to one side, no sound, no movement, no appearance of dreaming or hardly even being alive. Ben had been tempted, as in the past, to test the pulse at the side of Nikolas’s neck, but if woken, Nikolas would come up with a very good reason for Ben not to leave the bed. Literally.

Slipping quietly out of the house and warming up with a slow jog through the woods, he had encountered one of their new acquisitions—Hannibal. Ben had not seen him at first, for the bodyguard was almost invisible in the weak, slanting dawn sunlight which filtered softly through the old oaks, splendid in their golden-orange autumnal finery. He was patrolling, slowly checking and assessing the environment. He nodded at Ben, and they exchanged a fist bump, but Hannibal was working, and Ben warming up, so they didn’t stop to talk more.

At the chapel, Ben ran across Enid—almost literally. She was placing flowers on Ann Device’s grave, a site which was now regularly tended, scrubbed fresh and had recently been re-engraved with gilt lettering to proudly proclaim:Ann Device (nèe Hingston), born 1607, died 1688. Quaker. Thou art a child of light, hast walked in the light, and are beloved still.

Ben skidded to a halt and exchanged a few pleasantries. She was a habitual early riser—both from a lifetime’s belief in rigid standards of behaviour and through constant pain from her arthritis—and the most dedicated carer for the little chapel. She and Constance Hingston, Ann’s descendant, had bonded over snowdrops and embroidering hassocks, and Annie Hingston was now given devotion in the afterlife that Nikolas said she would have probably appreciated a little more of when alive.

When he’d done his duty, Ben resumed his run, but he didn’t get far beyond the first tor, where he always paused for a moment to remember the events earlier in the year and to check that the little straw cross was still protecting them, before seeing a figure running towards him.

Squeezy hovered uneasily between his new life at the cottage with Tim and his suite of rooms in the big house. He seemed unwilling to commit to the former if it meant missing out on any fun at the latter. He was supposed to be moving out of this luxury suite, but they had all noticed that for the first time in his life, Squeezy was tackling an activity with the speed of an arthritic snail. Tim always drove the short distance between their two residences, but Squeezy usually ran it, something he could do without apparently breaking into a sweat. He spotted Ben and they collided and had a small mock fight, which Ben let Squeezy win. They lay side by side on the springy turf, watching the effects of the rising sun on small clouds.

“Where’s Wassock?”

“Still in bed.”

“You wearing him out, Diesel?”

“It’s only just gone eight! Where’s Tim?”

Squeezy’s face fell. “I woke up and found him colouring.”

Ben was about to ask if they’d had Molly over for the night but realised in the nick of time that this wasn’t something a father should have to ask. He knew he had a long way to go before he won his good-parenting badge. Fortunately, Squeezy added, “He’s drawn the whole fucking place out on these boards and stuck little pieces of,” his voice became pinched and nasty as he gestured with his fingers, apparently trying to convey just how horrible the whole situation was, “fabric on them and then this morning, scribble, scribble, squeak, squeak. I thought we had fucking mice or something, but no, there he was with all these felt tips, fucking colouring.” He concluded gloomily, “I don’t suppose you want to swap?”

Ben rolled his head towards the other man, considering this with a frown. “What, you and Nikolas? Me and scribbler?”

“Sure. Why not? Not permanent, if you’re gonna get all girly about it, but just until the fucking,” again with the meaningless finger gestures, “fabric stageis over.”

Ben thought about this for a while. “I don’t think you’d notice the swap. Nikolas likes designing things with colours and shit, too. You’ve seen all those crap pictures he hangs all over the fucking place. Who do you think chooses all the furniture? Thecolour schemes? The towels and sheets? Not me.”

“Jesus. We’re both doomed.” Then Squeezy brightened. “Oh, a much better swap—putthemtogether.You and meshack up and leave The Old Woman and Wassock to each other. They can sit and knit their fucking slipcovers together.”

Ben chuckled. “I don’t even know what a slipcover is.”

“There you go—and we’d be perfect for each other.”

“I wonder if Tim would bully and tame Nik like he’s managed to do to you…” He only said it to provoke another fight and he got what he asked for. Squeezy rose furious but grinning over him and they wrestled for a while until Ben remembered he was supposed to be running. He wanted to get back before Nik got up. There was nothing he enjoyed more than waking Nikolas Mikkelsen after a run. Warming down took on a whole new definition.

Detaching from Squeezy, he scrambled to his feet and backed away, hopping on the spot to keep warm. Squeezy gave him a far more universal and easier to interpret gesture than the ones he’d been making previously and sprinted off towards the house.

After a good hour of challenging himself up and down some steep tors, Ben was returning through the grounds when he was greeted by the irresistible sight of Molly and the dogs playing by the stream. She wasn’t allowed under any circumstances to ride Radulf, but occasionally both she and the old dog appeared to forget this Nikolas-injunction, and this morning she was sitting on Radulf as he ate something Sarah was feeding all three. Ben hoped it wasn’t dog biscuits. Molly was odd enough.

“Mol-Mol, off. You know you’re not allowed. He’s too old.”

“He said I could.”

Ben almost laughed. It was exactly the thing Nikolas would have claimed, and they both managed the same level of complete innocence and believability.

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