Aladdins Awakening

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.

ALADDIN'S AWAKENING

By

Joel

CHAPTER 61

Part One

Vignettes From My Life

1. The 1980's

These were years both of sadness and gladness. Gradually the older generation departed. Pa, at eighty-three had a heart attack and died. There was a long obituary in the Times detailing many aspects of his Civil Service life I had had no inkling about. He had certainly deserved his knighthood! Both Professor and Mrs O'Brien passed away and the rather scattered family met up in Liverpool for the full Roman Catholic funeral for each. Mike was there for both, with his cousin Vince, and both were among the celebrants at the funeral Masses. There was a tribe of grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren present as well. Anne had never been able to keep up with the fecundity of her two elder sisters so there were generalised letters sent twice a year congratulating whomsoever had a birthday within the next six-month period with post-dated cheques!

Gramps and Grandma Marcham faded away and died within a year of each other which left Tony and me joint owners of Ulvescott. Mr Marcham's property fortune was immense but a great deal seemed to vanish as the government levied its swingeing inheritance tax. However, even with the tax, there would be no fears about the upkeep of Ulvescott with Sayed in residence, with Uncle Lester's money and now Tony's own increased wealth from his father. Then Uncle Edward and Auntie Della followed soon after. The news that Lady Thomson was also the celebrated writer, Della Arnold, caused quite a sensation as two of her last books had been condemned as salacious by some puritanical churchman. I thought, privately, and stated publicly to Francis, as we were staying at the villa when I read the volumes, that all that did was put up the sales and increase the number of sixteen-year- old boys of a heterosexual persuasion who could accumulate even more images for their nightly fantasies. All I got from Francis was the usual "Dad!".

We also heard that Beef and Tex had died in 1982. The message was rather garbled but it all happened within a month or so of each other. Francis said it was some new virus which seemed to be attacking gay men especially. He said he had wondered about Uncle Lester March at the time as pneumonia at that time of the year and in Florida seemed an odd thing to get. Then Chico the Porto Rican boy died, another innocent victim of the dread disease. It became even more serious for our family when in 1985 we heard that both Fabien and Buck were very ill. Fabien died first and a very distraught pair of Jody and Peter with Francis flew over to Montreal for the funeral. Stephen wanted to go as well but he was booked for a major role and couldn't just pull out. On his return Francis said the illness was rife within the gay community. Buck and Fabien had been faithful to each other except for a period of six months when they had gone separate ways after what Buck said was a meaningless spat. Both had taken a promiscuous path until realising their love for each other was still very strong and they had got together again. But, the damage had been done. Either, or both, had been infected in that short time. Buck was in a hospital when Fabien was buried. Buck died two months later. It was also around then when Tony said Rock the Cock had died. None other than Rock Hudson.

Francis had long talks with Jody and Peter and they were adamant they had never been with anyone else. Their love had blossomed between them while they were still teenagers and other than being with friends for simple mutual pleasures during those years it was not until that night after the wedding they had fully consummated their love for each other. Since then they'd had no sexual relations with anyone else. 'Look, but not touch' was their motto. They knew of a couple of friends who were unwell and all the boys in the company had been for testing. Jody and Peter were negative. They said they would remain that way. It was the same with Ibrahim, Brad and Rory. Each had only had sex within the group. We were worried about Francis. He and Tony were lovers and Tony had spent that time in the States. Tony had talked to me about his adventures when he was in Hollywood. He'd had plenty of lovers. That worried him as well. The group of young men around Uncle Lester were highly sexed as men in their late teens and early twenties are, and would suck and fuck two or three times a day with whoever wanted, and he wanted, too. Luckily, Tony was negative when tested, he must have left in time. With great relief Francis said he was negative as well. At some time in the late 80's Tony tried to contact one man in particular, one he'd had particular affection for, the Cody of that cryptic note. A letter came back from his sister saying Cody had died the previous year and that the family would pray for Tony's evil, filthy, degenerate soul as they did for that of their poor, led astray, pure-in-heart brother! Tony said, more than once, as the roll-call increased, 'there but for the Grace.....'.

After taking his School Certificate examinations at the end of the Fifth Year Tariq decided he would stay at school in Cambridge and not go to the boarding school in Scotland. Whether it was home comforts, or apprehension about fitting in with new faces, we didn't know, but he stayed and I think Perry was relieved as well. In 1982 Tariq and Perry celebrated their eighteenth birthdays. Just before that they had the end of term celebrations to commemorate the ending of their school careers. The pair had been to a big party for all their Sixth Form plus assorted girls from the neighbouring schools and elsewhere. Both Tariq and Perry lost their virginity the usual way that night. From a confessional session with Ibrahim and the entry in his diary it transpired that Tariq had fucked three different girls during the course of the festivities. Perry wasn't so lucky. He did have three fucks. All with the same girl and became the father of a baby daughter. The girl maintained it was his, saying she was a virgin before that evening and she hadn't been on the pill, although Perry said she'd told him she was. She had to be believed and she wanted to have the baby and, no, she didn't want to marry Perry. However, when the child was born she didn't want it and one of Perry's older sisters adopted her. Both Tariq and Perry had places at Cambridge colleges but that contretemps upset Perry and he took the next year out and went walk-about in Australia. The girl had lost her place at Homerton and in the end went to a college in London.

Tariq was very upset not only for Perry but also for himself. Not so much upset by the furtive fucks but by their consequences. Perry's ended in a pregnancy, his in a couple of visits to the special treatment clinic as one, or more, of his partners had passed on a nasty case of gonorrhoea. Those couple of visits really hurt his self-esteem and I found him weeping in his bedroom on several occasions. It was a touch and go matter whether he would leave home for a place in college like all the others. We promised Ibrahim that if he couldn't cope we would have him stay at home. He coped and made a couple of very good friends on his stair at Magdalen where he was studying Mathematics. I hadn't realised but Ibrahim had read maths at Oxford so there was some friendly rivalry between father and son.

Also in 1982 Lachs announced his retirement from whatever branch of intelligence he was working in. He got a military CBE in the Queen's Birthday Honours list, gazetted as Colonel. Still rather hush-hush. He moved straight to Ulvescott and he was back with his old friend who, although always busy with the estate, needed more company and stimulation.

We saw quite a bit of James and his family during holiday times. The twins were still a tandem pair and Iyad was a superb older brother. Because of the loquacity of the twins he'd picked up English very quickly. In any case he was bright and was determined to read Law at University when it was time. James's influence no doubt. The twins seemed to be more interested in art and crafts, both at the age of ten had won some national newspaper competition for a poster and had as the prize one of the new-fangled computers. This became their pride and joy and 'programming' became a great hobby.

Stephen, Jody and Peter made great strides, as it were, in the ballet world. As they were now in their thirties they had to think of what to do when dancing days were over. The three began by forming a partnership choreographing for shows and for television as a sideline. Lisa, having given up dancing to concentrate on looking after the two children, was a useful adjunct as she could train the dancers in the designed routines. Jody with his consummate flair was the driving force. They still lived at the flat and even though Ma was now very elderly she was baby-sitter and child-minder in chief. In fact the free-holders wanted to buy in the lease which had another fifteen or so years to run but with James's expertise and an injection of cash from Tony the lease was actually extended. Both Andrew and Peter, the two sons, were quite accomplished dancers themselves already and followed each other on scholarships to the Royal Ballet School at the end of the 80's.

1. The Nineties

One realises at some point that the years seem to roll by faster as one gets older. I had celebrated my sixtieth birthday on September the thirtieth 1989 and looking back was amazed how time had rushed by. My sons were settled. Francis, now forty-one, was happy in his chosen career. He did have rather a pleasant life, interrupted by patients as he said! He lived with Tony as his partner for life but still had time for Ibrahim and, especially, his great buddy, Brad. There was real affection between all of them and with Tony often away on lecture tours or teaching, Francis shuttled back and forth to and from the villa visiting us and Ulvescott, Ibrahim's home, very frequently. Brad remained resolutely at the villa. He had never gone back to the States and although his parents flew to see him at least once a year he was never tempted to return. We at last met up with my other cousin, Sam and his wife Juanita, who came and stayed a couple of times when 'doing Europe'. Sam was too busy making money on Wall Street for extended stays but their son Truscott, with his wife Estelle, almost made the villa their second home. As they were childless and Brad wasn't married, that branch of the line of Hamiltons and Fontanes would die out.

James, at forty, was a very successful solicitor. Emrys had virtually retired and Rhys was the senior partner. Richard, Rhys's son, was another mainstay of the practice and rumour had it that Alun's grandson, now fifteen, had indicated he wanted to study law at some time. It was interesting that the family's interest in law flitted back and forth down the generations. Not always father to son. It was also interesting that only two girls had been produced on the family tree for at least four generations and that one of the, Julia, had chosen to study law and was now a prominent barrister on the London Circuit with her husband Roger, a QC and Deputy Recorder.

Stephen, our golden, adopted, much-loved son, was still at the height of his career. The rave notices whenever he appeared in whatever role, in England or on the continent, were continuous and impressive. I marvelled at his stamina but as he said, so many times, he had been taught to pace himself and never overreach what he could do. His imperturbable attitude and his consummate skill were his hallmarks and were prized by the company. Jody, his brother in all but name, was also in great demand, now more and more in character roles. When he appeared on stage the audience knew immediately by the attention paid even by his fellow dancers that he was a superb artist. He held audiences by a single gesture or by a small turn, then by a leap which seemed to defy gravity. I loved to see Jody and we made many journeys to London, staying overnight at the flat with Ma and her motley crew, to witness performances, magical and out of this world. Peter, his partner and our son-in-law as it were, was another who had made his name. He had become an assistant ballet master, shuttling between the House and the ballet school where he taught the advanced classes. He and Lisa were also much in demand for their teaching skills as she more and more pursued her career in choreography for shows and TV.

Khaled still ploughed his lonely furrow. He was now one of the senior staff at the finance house making fabulous amounts for clients and earning what seemed like stupendous bonuses. He said he didn't need the allowances made by his family and they just accumulated in accounts in banks in places like Zurich, Frankfurt and the Cayman Islands. We often sat together in the evenings and discussed the events of the day. I think he was interested in the tales of academic rivalry and the back-biting which went on. He certainly had some entertaining tales to tell about some of his quite eccentric, very rich clients. All in all, he seemed content with his life and in a quiet way enjoyed fairly simple pleasures, books, the theatre and reasonably good company at home. I knew that he and Rory had been lovers for a short time before Rory found his soul-mate. Then, in June 1990 Lucius brought his nephew, Troy, on one of his frequent visits. The following weekend Khaled asked if Troy could stay over as they were going to the theatre and supper afterwards. We agreed, of course, and Troy stayed. Not just for that night, but he became a permanent member of the family. Troy was an optician and had his own business in the neighbouring town of Royston. He had a house there where he had lived chastely, as he said, until he set eyes on Khaled. He moved in while they contemplated where they might find somewhere to live. Later in that first week I'd prepared breakfast for us all before we made our separate ways to whatever work we were doing. Khaled was giggling over a letter he had just received.

Before he gave it to Troy to read he passed it to me. It was from James. Although James often telephoned he seemed more often to like to put his messages in writing.

My Dear Cally,

At long last! You should have had your eyes tested ages ago. I guess he's the lad I remember when I was in the Sixth Form. You must have known him then, but of course, you were in the upper echelons of the First XV and not having to deal with mundane matters such as us mere mortals in the Seconds, or in purgatory through some wrongly attributed form of misbehaviour. If I'm not mistaken he was known as Horsey Palfrey then. I remember he was fourteen or fifteen at the time and I had to coach the little b's in the Junior XV after school as a penance for something or other I'm certain I'd been so falsely accused of. Saw him in the showers more than once and he certainly lived up to the name even then. My word! The Arab stallion and the English thoroughbred! Oh!! Wow!!! Seriously, though, Diane and I send the heartiest congrats and want to see the pair of you here when you can make it - if you have the strength! The trio send love and regards. You can explain all to them and Iyad, especially! They think it's great - another uncle to buy them presents!!

Love from us all,

Squirt

Poor Troy, he did blush a bit and said he knew James very well. That tall, rather unkempt lad had been a favourite of the younger lads toiling in the scrum. I heard two tales about James I and Khaled didn't know. One, where the notoriously tight-wad James had wheedled quite a sum out of one of the Sports staff and had treated the whole of the Junior XV to burgers and coke from that, and his own pocket, after a really tough game they had won and he'd had to attend and, secondly, where he and the combined might of the Senior Second XV, all large, hairy and stupid, according to Troy, laughing at the thought of it, had tried to get the Second Master's Mini up onto the gymnasium roof, emulating a feat renowned in Cambridge circles where a Mini had appeared on a college roof one morning.

Unfortunately, although they had manhandled the car onto the path at the side of the gym they had forgotten they would need a crane, or at least a block and tackle, and had left it with a note saying the pixies had moved it from its proper parking place. As the path at the side of the gym was at least six feet above ground level the Second Master was not pleased and nor were the First XV, blamed and commanded to get the car off its perch.

Then Safar, our dear, most beloved Safar. He blossomed with the years, with his happy marriage to a most wonderful wife and the nurturing of his son, young James. He had remained in what might have been considered an academic backwater, content to tutor and supervise as a supernumerary member of the Music faculty. But, he was happy as he was doing what he really wanted to do. He was extraordinarily musical, something which some of his colleagues did not fully appreciate as he was very modest. His students adored him and his classes in medieval instruments were quite noteworthy. He did not need his stipend because of the allowances which came regularly from his wealthy family and so spent quite a sum setting up a flourishing workshop with an accomplished craftsman and two apprentices in one of the buildings at Ulvescott making, for the ever-hungry market, instruments, of the period. Charlotte still worked at the university library and both played in the University orchestra.

So there were my six sons, but I had grandsons as well.

James's pair, Jack, or Jak as he now spelled it, and Saf, were sixteen in 1989 and, as identical twins, still spoke, thought and acted identically. Diane had suggested, when they were quite young, that perhaps they might dress differently and bought them unmatched clothing but they had rebelled and demanded that everything should be the same for both. Every holiday, they and Iyad, came to stay for varying periods, probably turfed out to give James and Diane respite from their constant duophonic chatter. Iyad bore it stoically and was the very image of his father, both in appearance and in his personality.

A perfect foil for the effervescent pair. Iyad, now eighteen had elected to read Law too and was a student at Manchester, but still appeared on our doorstep during vacations and any occasion he could manage.

Over the years I had become the twin's confidante. Grandpa would always listen, or at least give the semblance of listening. I learned things from Junior School onward which they would never have told their father or, most definitely, their mother. We always had to make a pilgrimage to Ulvescott on every possible occasion. They revelled in the place and were always in Piers' room even though they let Iyad share the bed with them as they did often at home although they and Iyad had separate rooms. I didn't know so much about Iyad, he tended to chat to his father, but the pair were always most forthcoming with me. Jointly, severally and inconceivably individually, the pair had lost their virginity, with two girls from the village outside Chester where they lived, one summer's night when they were fifteen. They were not lacking in equipment because at even that age, having seen the articles flapping as they scampered to the bathroom on more than one occasion, they were, in Grunty's terms, well-blessed in the Thomson way.

I had learned of this loss as a week after the experience they came to stay and we had made our usual trip to Ulvescott. Iyad was coming on later as he was going fell-walking with a friend from school for a week. The morning after we arrived the twins were in rather a state. They seemed as if they had been startled by something and were also, at the same time, contrite. They followed me after breakfast into the garden.

"Grandpa," said Jak, he was the usual one to start a conversation and he sounded worried, "We have to tell you something....." ".....because we think we've done something very wrong," continued the other half, Saf. "It's about girls," went on Saf, "And we weren't careful..." "...and we're both worried because we've both been told we did wrong," completed Jak.

Saf looked quite woebegone, this six foot, hunky teenager. He shook his head. "We didn't sleep last night 'cause we both were thinking the same...." "...it wasn't he was angry, just sad and concerned for us," said Jak with exactly the same intonation and the same countenance.

I said we'd better sit down and they should tell me. They sat on two chairs opposite the garden bench I chose.

They then told me the whole story, at least Jak did, with few interjections from Saf, who nodded encouragement to him as the tale unfolded. He told of the dance, or disco he called it, in the Village Hall and the cider which some of the older boys plied them with. They had gone off towards the end of the evening with the two girls they had been dancing with as the girls complained they were hot and needed some air. In the shade of the little wood behind the Village Hall the two boys had lost their virginity, urged on by the girls telling them they were on the pill and not to worry. Two fucks each later, two very satisfied girls, and two more than satisfied boys, went back and discoed away the rest of the evening.

Now, in the quietness and stillness of Ulvescott, there had been an admonition and a realisation that things could go wrong. I knew, and they knew, that Piers was still watching, caring for the family. My grandsons bore that reminder of the family, our birthmark. I asked if they had used condoms. They both shook their heads. The girls had said don't worry, the pill is safe. I said quietly that they should never take that as a truth. I told them about Tariq and Perry without naming names. They nodded, they had heard the story somewhere. I said in that case there had been unhappy consequences for both boys. A pregnancy and a disease. These days there is more than those diseases curable by a jab or two. They nodded. They had heard of AIDS.

I sat with my rather upset grandsons. I said they would have to wait to see if there were consequences. I counselled them carefully to always take care. I told them then of what did happen. All those years ago, a boy didn't take care in the very bed they slept in. By marrying their grandmother after that, the next year their father was conceived. If I had worn a condom they would not be here. I, as they did, felt humbled. However, I said whenever opportunity came their way, unless they were in a loving partnership, it was their duty to take care. They nodded after looking a bit startled at the word 'opportunity'. I said until they heard there were no consequences they had better keep their fingers crossed, and even better, their legs crossed or tie a knot in it. "Gramps!" was the duetted reply, with a giggle. They felt happier having talked it through. I asked if they had any condoms. They shook their heads. On our return to Cambridge I bought them each two packs. I said I would talk to Dad. They nodded and smiled.

But that wasn't all. There were further revelations as well that same morning. Of course, it was 'that book'! They had both read their father's copy of 'Audacity'. Was it all true? Did boys really do all those things? I asked what they had done. Now that the other had been confessed and talked through there was no hesitation. It was Saf's turn. Both had discovered within days of each other when they were just over thirteen and a half that they were producing sperm. I knew that as they had made no attempt at hiding the stains on their sheets when they stayed during the summer holiday before their fourteenth birthday.

In fact, they didn't know but James had told me at the time, with his usual grin, that he had a pair of little lesser-spotted Newarks nesting in the back bedroom and their flutterings and chirpings were more than evident twice nightly and probably three times on Saturdays and Sundays. A couple of years earlier he'd said he was sure there was a small bald-headed Newark dropping his bird-seed regularly. Now, he said, it had developed much more plumage around his baldness and was certainly a greater-spotted Newark and the three, when sharing the nest, were very messy eaters.

But, even at sixteen they hadn't advanced any further than being a helping hand for each other, and had been instructed by their room-mate and mentor, Iyad, so I found. I asked if they understood what the boys in the book were doing. They nodded and said it seemed clear from all those descriptions in the extracts ln the appendix of the book. Did boys do all such things often? I said as far as I knew boys had always experimented with each other. With close friends usually. They knew from listening that boys at school wanked themselves and they'd got hints that some did it to others as they did as a pair and with Iyad. They said as they were always together they had never felt the urge to experiment with others at school, anyway you might get called 'pouf' or 'wanker'.

I got the impression they were looked on anyway as a bit strange being identical twins and rather aloof from the crowd. They said they didn't really have any close friends. As they were tall and well-built they were always in the scrum as flankers in the rugger teams. This was a sport to be played as you had to, it was compulsory. But even then there was no-one in the team or in their class they really knew well. Living in the village they bused into school each day and there was no one else of their age group at the same school. Anyway, they were much more interested in computers. Not just playing games on them but writing programs and finding out how they worked. But, anything further? They knew which lavs to keep away from in the city and had the usual scare stories about being caught looking at a waiting policeman, but, what about in private? I said that was a matter between friends, or brothers, or cousins. Golden rules, never impose and never harm. Two, tall, hunky youngsters, in tee-shirts and shorts on that lovely summer's day, hung on every word, smiled and looked at each other. They had each other.

In 1991 Tony's book, 'Paul's Odyssey' was published. The critics were somewhat muted in their praise. However, a few, probably not worrying too much that their own schoolboy experiences and practices might be revealed, praised it greatly. I found it to be written with love and affection for all those who deserved it and an acerbity without malice for those who did not. It sold extremely well and its almost five hundred pages must have been read and reread by countless thousands of teenage boys as well as their fathers. Tony said he was overwhelmed with the response. The number of letters, for example, which came from rather scared and frightened lads, many not sure of their sexuality and asking for further advice, was quite surprising. But there were many more saying how rewarding the book had been, it cleared up doubts and fears and helped many who had experimented like lots of boys in the book and who probably still felt a bit guilty. There were no threats of actions for libel. I knew Tom, Matt, Nobbo and Cleggy had read the book and revelled in the loving descriptions of the exploits of Bobby, Philip, Michael and John. I, as Peter loomed large, not quite so large in one respect as Philip, but still substantial! Anne said she now realised why I was so boastful and, if that was her brother's description as Peter's friend Val, I had little to boast about.

I know others at school with us read it too. Tony had a number of letters and I had one in particular from Henry Gale, now the successful owner of a string of supermarkets around the county and a notable City councillor in Kerslake, saying how grateful he had been on that morning when I had turned up unexpectedly. He said Tony's book had crystallised all his thoughts and feelings about his years at the school. He said the Henry Gale of the arrogant Sergeant Major wasn't the Henry Gale inside. Tony's description of the two 'mes' - printed from the description of me as I had told him about my own feelings - Henry said was the exact description of himself as a teenager. He said he had told his own sons to read it now they were grown up with their own boys and to read carefully about 'Walter Glendenning'.

When Saf and Jak came to stay after the book had been published and, obviously, had been read avidly by them, they were now eighteen, six feet three and more than a little hairy with it which was very obvious as we sat in the Cambridge garden in the sun.

There was no secrecy between them and Grandpa now. They were ready to go to Sheffield University as they were going to study computing in earnest and the course had been recommended to them. I heard of their plans. I had known from a 'phone call from Saf a couple of months after their night of ecstasy that all had been OK over the two girls, no pregnancies and no infections. I also knew from what they told me on subsequent visits that the supply of condoms had been used wisely and they knew where to get them discreetly in Chester. They were worldly wise. But, now they had spotted Grandpa in Uncle Tony's book. Was it all true? I said surely the printed word can't lie! They laughed. They said they recognised the descriptions of Ulvescott and giggled about the rosette. Was it true about the dog? Why ask, I said. I knew they were working up to something. On that hot day we went up to my study. I got out four diaries. They sat and read, lips moved, fingers counted.

"Piers has always been there," said Saf.

"He was there the night we did....", began Jak.

His brother looked at him and smiled. "He's shy, Gramps, we did as he must have done.. And you..... And Pops...."

Jak smiled, too. "We had to ask him and he said that he and Uncle Francis sealed their friendship and we had to tell you we knew."

"Did he tell you what I saw that night?"

They nodded.

"We did it there, too, the next time we went. We waited. We haven't told you before, but we know he was there watching over us. He and Miles. We made a pact that night we could never break. Pops said it happens in each generation and between good, true friends." Jak smiled. "Pops said you'd show us these diaries one day and where we had to look. Now you have. It's there isn't it?" He pointed to that fateful encrypted page at the end of the third diary.

"Gramps? It's like in Uncle Tony's book. We love each other and we are two boys. It's not just that we are brothers, I'm sure," said Saf, with that lovely open smile of his.

"But we also like girls," said Jak, smiling too, "But we're not certain what we might prefer in the end. At the moment it's just a case of letting off steam."

"In our case it's a bit more substantial than steam," said Saf, then clapped his hand over his mouth and giggled. He'd done a James. They both giggled and Jak slapped his brother on the knee.

I smiled back at the pair. I told them my analysis of the males of the family. They nodded sagely. As well as the birthmark I knew, and they knew, they had jointly inherited another aspect of the family line.

"When you're ready, you'll know who you can love and live with."

When James joined us to take his break from a busy life later in the week we were sitting having a nightcap after everyone else had gone to bed.

"Thanks, Dad, for listening to them. They're an odd pair and I think if they hadn't have had Iyad around they would have been odder. They are so identical it scares me at times." He grinned. "They've even done a Grunty over measuring. Nothing secretive. A very neat chart and they made Iyad join in. Not unwillingly I guess. He was sixteen when they started but they'd overtook him by fifteen and a half. They're Thomsons alright as we well know. And that's not all they've measured. Never told you this but....."

"...Wait a moment," I said, "Don't say anything more. Bring your drink up to my study."

I switched the lights out and we went upstairs. All was still. James was intrigued. He sat on the other chair in front of my desk. I took out two documents. I handed him Cleggy and Nobbo's article from the medical journal. As a trained lawyer he read speedily. As a trained lawyer he knew to look for clues.

"Dad, is that you?"

I didn't answer but handed him Grunty's piece of paper.

"Oh.... my..... God!" he said as he read the three sets of figures. He turned to me, the biggest grin on his face. "And you've known about this...."

"....For years. You know I'd said that pair had done measuring. Grunty realised there was more to it. I told him. He found the article. I didn't even know it had been published. And then he gave me that other little document. Your brother tried to snatch it away and I learned that day why they called you Squirt."

"Wait until I get my hands on Frankie and as for Grunty!" He burst out laughing. "Oh, my God!" He said again. "That pair. They've done exactly the same. I found the measuring cylinder and the beaker in the garage one day a couple of years ago. I left them there but noticed they got moved around. Then they left their piece of paper in the box and they'd got poor old Iyad involved in that too. His average was 4.2 but theirs were identical over the ten, 6.1. Same as Frankie I remembered. They beat me by a smidgen....." He picked up the article. "....But not the celebrated JT. Oh my God! 6.3! Dad!"

We celebrated with another smidgen, from a bottle of prized single malt I kept in the bottom drawer for special visitors such as Tom or Sayed. Well, two smidgens, as we laughed and giggled over the antics of three generations of seekers after the truth!

Oh my God!

Stephen's pair were a delight. They loved living in that spacious flat with the constant stream of visitors. They had museums and music on the doorstep as it were and when they both passed their auditions for the Royal Ballet School they couldn't have wished for more. Andrew was thirteen in the February of 1989 and was already being marked out as a fine young dancer. Peter, at almost eleven, had been accepted to go to the school early and was as I remembered Stephen at that age. The pair were truly dedicated and relished coming to Cambridge as they not only shared a bedroom, as they did when at home, but could do class properly with the barre as Peter was determined he wasn't going to be left behind having just completed his first term. He was quite a dominant character and was renowned for speaking his mind or blurting out truths or half-heard statements - much like his Uncle James.

They, with the usual assorted family group, were staying with us at Christmas that year. Anne and I were in the kitchen with Stephen preparing breakfast for the assembled masses still snoring in their beds when the two lads came in, as usual, hungry and looking for food. As he waited for another cup of tea Andrew shyly said to Anne that he was growing up.

Peter's boyish treble voice piped up, "He wanks. All the time!"

Silence reigned as a very red-faced boy burst into tears. Stephen shot a reproving glance at Peter, and Anne, wisely, departed with a tray of breakfast for Lisa. Peter picked up another piece of toast. "It's true," he muttered, quite unabashed.

Stephen put an arm round the now sobbing Andrew. I was sitting opposite to Peter and looked at him. He carefully buttered the toast and took a bite and gave me a grin.

"Come on, Andrew, it's OK," said Stephen, "We've talked about it and it's only big mouth over there making comments. When it's his turn you have full permission to announce it from the roof of the Albert Hall with a loudhailer and laddo there can demonstrate his prowess in front of Prince Albert's statue for all the world to see!"

Wow! Stephen had certainly had the talk with the lads. No mincing of words there. Still, Stephen had been very open with me when he found he was proficient at the boyish art of self-enjoyment.

Andrew wiped his nose on the back of his hand and tried to smile. Peter put on an unholy smirk and looked straight at me. "It's not that," snuffled Andrew, "He said he'd tell Debbie next term. She'll laugh at me. All the girls laugh about the boys. They laugh at Carlo and Robbie 'cause someone told them."

"I didn't," said Peter, "Roly Cobb said about Carlo. He said it out loud at class but Madame didn't hear 'cause she's a bit deaf. He said Carlo had black rings under his eyes cause he wan...." He stopped and fixed me with his gaze. "Grandpa, I can say masturbate can't I, that's not rude?"

What does one say to a boy who will be eleven in a few days time. I was reminded irresistibly of his unknown-to-him great-uncle Flea. I recognised the look.

I recognised the pattern.

"As far as I'm concerned you can say masturbate, wank, toss off, or flog ones donkin," I said, much to Stephen's merriment and poor Andrew's consternation. "It's all the same as you will find out sooner than you think."

"Already have," the imp replied, "Tried it. Nothing happened so I don't see why everyone gets so worked up about it. Only difference is he just squirts like Roly and Carlo and all the others in the lavs."

"Shut up, Pete!" said Andrew quite vehemently.

"Roly says...."

Stephen took over. "OK, Peter, we can guess what Roly says. I've told you all boys are the same." Peter looked at me as if for confirmation. I nodded. "What boys do in private is up to them."

"It's not private in the lavs," said Peter, quite determined not to be silenced. "They do lock the door though and we all watch, don't we Andy?"

"OK, OK!" said Stephen, from the look on his face trying hard not to laugh. I was having difficulty too. Poor Andrew now had his head on his hands on the table. We had an eleven-year-old with the bit between his teeth, or perhaps with an open mouth and his brain not yet in gear.

"But they all do it," Peter finished up plaintively, "And its not fair 'cause Josh, Daz and me can't and we've all tried ever so hard."

Stephen, who single-handedly, in more ways than one, had caused umpteen spontaneous emissions and countless erections with his repeated performance of 'L'Apres Midi' was dealing with his voluble son with aplomb.

"Peter, just keep to yourself what you and all your little pals do. You'll find out in all good time what it's like to be growing up. You know. You've been told. You just have to wait until it hits you - and it will. Now, we all know about boys and what they do. I do and so does Grandpa. Remember we were boys, too." Peter looked at me again. I nodded again. "So, just ask questions and don't spread tales, OK?"

Peter smiled, the same smile I had seen so often on Flea's face when he had been teasing Stephen's father. I knew that Peter knew I knew as he gazed at me unblinkingly. Peter was teasing Andrew.

"And why does Roly....." came a question from Peter, ".....And why does Roly say he doesn't know which of Andrew or Carlo would make the better Sugar Plum Fairy because they have matching wands?"

Andrew raise his head from his arms. "Peter, shut up!" came a strangled gasp.

I counted young James, Safar's son as a surrogate grandson. He lived with his parents in the flat at the top of Tony and Francis's house. He had the sweetest nature, just like his father. He was tough too, and came in for some hard times at Junior School over having a foreign name and because he was quiet. But, slow to anger, and swift to counter any hurt. He was the champion of the under dog and was for ever bringing home other small boys who had suffered at the hands of larger aggressors who had been seen off by this seemingly, small mild boy. Brad had been his idol and he was heart-broken when he departed to the villa. Tris, who hadn't married but lived also in the house with his girl friend had time for him and Tris and Safar were also great friends. For his eighth birthday his grandfather had given young James a flute just like his father's and he soon became an accomplished player. At eleven he had passed easily into the school where his Dad and Uncles had been and loved coming into college to my room for a chat and a bit of tuition in French but, mainly, I thought, to pass on any news or gossip. He would even sit through supervisions with such an intense look on his face that no student ever took offence at his presence. A couple of my boaties took him under their wing having heard of one contretemps with a larger lad and he coxed one of the college boats in the Bumps at the age of ten all togged up in college scarf, sweatshirt and cap with great skill - much more than the rowers who caught crabs galore and lost dismally. He immediately joined the Junior rowing squad as soon as he went into the First Year of the school and became the mascot for the seniors. Having heard him coxing a senior eight more than once I knew he had a real inner strength. And, he was certainly not a dim boatie!

1. Christmas 1993

Time passes quickly when dealing with all the vicissitudes of students, of publishers needing manuscripts translated or reviewed, of family life, of general living in a busy community. Khaled and Troy were fixtures. They couldn't decide on a suitable house. We never worried. Both were delightful company and we all had similar interests which kept them and us busy around the city attending concerts, plays, revues and so on which are the hallmark of a lively university town like Cambridge. Troy liked cooking so with Benjy as his mentor plied all sorts of guests with succulent meals. In fact, our house was a magnet for family and friends so we had a constant flow. This was especially so at Christmas and Easter, not forgetting the summer if we weren't decamping to Rappalo, Rome, or Tony and Francis's villa near Grasse.

Christmas in 1993 was a case in point. We were expecting a houseful. The contingent from the London flat would be descending on the Monday before Christmas Day; those not required for performances and this included Ma.

Ma at 87 was still the same. She had aged but was as upright as ever. One look from her and young Peter kept silent. She and the boys, however, adored each other and, since Pa's death she had concentrated all her efforts on keeping a well-regulated household for busy people with odd schedules. She was busy elsewhere as well. She had made friends with a couple of other elderly ladies who lived alone in the enormous flats.

Tea and gossip we said. It's keeps the world going round, she said. Her other joy was the close proximity to the Royal Albert Hall. Most weeks she was there a couple of times or more for concerts, recitals, ballet, you name it. All the attendants and the ticket clerks knew her. She always managed to get tickets near the exit nearest the flat. This was even for gala evenings when she'd wheedled a couple of extra for Anne and me or for inhabitants of the flat.

She did get her evenings mixed once. She sailed past the usual door attendants, not bothering to show her ticket, wondering why they looked a little puzzled. On settling in her accustomed seat she was surprised that the Halle orchestra was apparently going to perform in a small roped ring in the auditorium rather than on the platform where small dinner tables were laid out. As she contemplated the scene two very well-built young men with squashed noses took the seats next to her. "Bit like Tiger," she said, when recounting the story, "But worse." Apparently, she got chatting to the lads and found, of course, she'd mistaken the date. The Halle orchestra was next evening. This was a charity boxing show, not really very well attended as the promoter had just been sent to prison for fraud. The lads told her to sit tight and were most amused when one of the attendants came up to ask if Lady Thomson was OK. They told the chap they were her minders.

She said she had a riotous evening, including buying the two boxers bottles of mineral water while she had a large gin and tonic in the interval. They described what was going on and invited her to their boxing gym in Bow when they found she wrote books and afterwards saw her to the ground floor entrance to the flats. She said she gave both of them a goodnight kiss! She did visit the gym on a couple of occasions and said she'd had a most appreciative letter back addressed to the publishers, which Kanga had passed on, when she sent a copy of her next book "Bow Bells Ring Twice" to the pair as she hadn't let on about her pen name.

I'd read the book before hearing the tale and had wondered where she had got her inside information about that vital piece of equipment for boxers colloquially known as a 'Manchester Guardian'. I knew it couldn't be from Stephen and the other dancers, their dance-belts wouldn't have stopped a low punch and I don't think she'd seen Chris Prosser's cricket box which he passed down to Johnny. I made sure I borrowed that hard little cup, often still warm, to tuck into my jockstrap and wear in those hateful cricket matches when I had to go in to bat. Luckily never at the same time as Johnny. And where she got the idea of the plastic insert with the phials of sulphuric acid in it which shattered with said low punch beggared belief. One instinctively crossed one's legs and looked away from the page as one read the description of the screams which filled the hall, and the account of the rolling shrieking victim as his vitals were burnt away, which were all there in gory detail. Needless to say, the book was almost immediately televised thanks to the Clarke-Smollett production team and the script writing skill of Dr Antony Marcham.

So Ma was coming. Because the house was going to be full we'd put the usual single bed for her in Anne's study. I was in the kitchen when the car arrived. Ma had given up travelling by train, she hired cars and this time it would have Lisa and the two lads, plus luggage. Stephen, Jody and Peter were performing until the matinee on Christmas Eve. Young Peter came into the kitchen first. Of course, we would be celebrating his fourteenth birthday on Christmas Day.

"Hello, Grandpa," he said with his usual smile. He came round the table to me and I gave him a quick hug. Our usual greeting. "Got lots to tell you! I'm the Sergeant this year, you know that already. Too big to be a mouse like Dad was. Mum's got the tickets for you. Yeah, and my voice is breaking and I've getting an Adam's Apple now. And Andy's got the part as one of the Devils instead of being the boy with the trumpet, much better for him." He snickered. "And I'm wanking every day now. Properly!" He turned as his elder brother entered the room, mouth open ready to say something. "Andy dared me to tell you and I have! Fifty pence, Andy!"

"Oh, you little liar!" Andy breathed, "Don't believe him, Gramps - I didn't say that! I can't restrain him! I don't know how we all stand him!"

"It's all true, though, isn't it?" said Peter. He turned to me. "Only found out at the beginning of November. Daz said I was just a late developer. Andy said when I told him it should shut me up moaning. He's not kind."

Andrew shook his head resignedly. Just like Lachs used to. I gave him a welcoming hug, too. I nodded towards Peter, wrinkled my nose and tossed my head. He knew I understood. He smiled.

"Where's your Mum?" I asked him before more personal revelations were forthcoming from his brother. No doubt they would. Frequency, amount, distance squirted, fastest time, who with, competitions..... Name it, I expected any or all.

"She's with Gran and Nicolai helping Ma with the luggage and all the presents," said Peter, stepping between us and not allowing his brother to answer. "But I've got to tell you, Gramps, Andrew's very good. That's why they chose him to be a Devil." There was pride in his voice. The teasing brother was a loving brother as well. "Uncle Jody says so and he's Drosselmeyer and Dad's the Harlequin. Madame says keep it in the family, eh?"

I laughed. "I know he's good and being a Devil'll suit him, eh?" I winked at Andrew over his head. "And you'd better be good as well. Uncle Jody was the Sergeant first time we saw him so we expect great things on the military front from you. Anyway, what did you say about someone helping Ma?"

Ma was universally Ma to all comers and generations. Gran was Anne. But who was Nicolai. I hadn't been told. I felt sometimes the household ran on a 'need to know' basis. Often the boys had appeared with a stray friend to stay. "Didn't you know?" or "Mum said..." were stock replies.

All was revealed. Lisa came in followed by the stateliest young man I'd seen for ages. I didn't believe in reincarnation. I'd been told once I was probably a reincarnation of a pharaoh, but that was said, I think jokingly. But young Peter was so like his long dead great- uncle Flea and now, this young man was the absolute image of the recently deceased Rudolf Nureyev. He had the same floppy black locks, the high Slavic cheekbones, the full red lips and those eyes. He stood with a dancer's pose. Straight back, his head up, one leg slightly in front of the other and then he smiled. My God, if I had been about fifty years younger that boy would have been pursued...... My nightly wank fantasies would have been enhanced a thousandfold..... My trusty towel would have required almost daily laundering..... I snapped back to the real world. Lisa was speaking.

"This is Nicolai, Dad, he's over from Russia on a scholarship and I'm his chaperone."

Nicolai stepped forward and held out a hand. "I h'am verr..y pleased to meet you, sir. Peter he says I must call you.... Gramps, sir."

That smile again. He looked about seventeen or so. Same age and height as Andrew. But I wondered what boy could not have succumbed to that look. One of the students, pouring out his soul about his sexuality, having been steered in my direction by a tutor less use to dealing with such problems, had told me in great detail about his ability, correct or not, to spot like-minded young men. Unfortunately, his 'gaydar', as he termed it, must have been switched off that particular time as the young man he approached and bought a couple of pints for in the students' bar, resisted his advances and promptly set three of his equally nasty pals onto the lad and he ended up in the Cam behind Clare sans trousers. I didn't know if my gaydar worked, but Nicolai would have been worth a dunking if I had been wrong! >From the look he gave Andrew as he turned to him I didn't think I was wrong.

I was puzzled. I hadn't been informed. Who cares! With such a beauty in the house.....

Peter must have sensed something. "It's OK, Gramps. Nicolai doesn't speak much English so we're teaching him. You can help. We're having Dad's old room so it won't be any trouble and we can all do class in there. Oh, he does speak French."

He did speak French. Quite competently. I found he, like so many Russian dancers came from a small village, but his great-grandmother had been a dancer in the Ballets Russes way back and this tradition of dancing had been kept up in each generation. His mother had unfortunately had to retire early but his skills had been nurtured and he had been sent to England as an exchange student. The boys sat fascinated as we spoke together. He spoke a rather old-fashioned French and his accent was heavy but he smiled as he realised he had someone to talk to.

Of course, I had forgotten Ma who came in looking for the teapot. She always surprised me. She spoke to him not in her native French but in Russian. Ma had decided years previously to learn a further language, 'to keep the mind active' as she put it, and Pa had bought her a set of language tapes. Being Pa he turned up with Swahili or Punjabi or something similar. She opted for Russian when she took them back and because one of the old ladies in the flats she had befriended was of White Russian stock she had an on the spot coach. Trust Ma. However we decided Russian or French was banned. English and only English. I saw Peter smirk. Later that afternoon when I was in the kitchen alone with him I warned him if I heard one unseemly word from Nicolai I knew who to blame and Ma would be told. As Ma was to be obeyed he just giggled and looked at me with downcast eyes. I wondered what words had already been learned.

Between us we explained to Nicolai who was who and who would be coming for the festivities. I hadn't heard about the big gathering on Christmas Eve and was still in the dark about all the bodies appearing for lunch on Christmas Day. I knew I had six tickets, in the choir, for the Nine Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve but wasn't sure who would be going..... Oh my!

Peter was being extra polite as we sat round the table in the kitchen drinking our tea and with him passing round the plate of excellent teacakes from Fitzbillies.

He looked around.

"Where's Jamie?" he asked. Young James was a regular visitor if he knew food was likely to be available. He had the usual appetite of the developing male adolescent. Fourteen last May he was now well into his growth spurt and was already taller than Safar. The small, quiet child was developing into a tall, quiet young man. How tall he would be was anybody's guess but there were genes for tallness in Charlotte's family. Her brother Martin was six foot six and had joined the police force as soon as he left school. James was filling out, too. He was getting broad shoulders from his rowing. I often walked down with him to the boathouse on the Cam when he was going to practice. His great pal, short and squat but tough like his father, was another young James, Grunty's youngest son know as Jimbo by his brothers. The pair were always together in the boathouse exercising or competing or rowing together. James liked single sculling and he was a real dab hand taking off, with Jimbo in hot pursuit, down river and up against the current. They always finished together. We'd already got young James's Christmas present. A newly designed rower's leotard with his school badge sown on.

Young James still came into college regularly to have a chat and tuition and was now very fluent. He'd spent the whole summer at the villa and according to Johnny McIver had helped Christophe, the seventeen-year-old gardener's boy, all the time when not sunning himself. He now had a fluent command of colloquialisms most of which I'd never heard or had only read in French novels and could only guess at as slang changes so quickly in any language and I warned him about using a few of them, especially in his oral examination. One afternoon we'd been discussing things generally and he'd used 'mec' and 'type' when describing people which was alright, but then I asked him if a particularly difficult construction was clear. "Mais oui," il a dit, "C'est clair comme dans le cul d'un negre!' The grin told me all!

"He's got a music lesson this afternoon but they're all coming to supper tonight," announced Anne. Young James, as well, as being an excellent flautist was already a more than competent pianist. Another thing he liked doing was playing duets with Gramps. He said I didn't moan at him as much as his Dad if he got things wrong. Safar, I knew, was a stickler for correctness. Jamie, again, was a good example of how two separate generations could have a close rapport. I was his confidante and advisor in many things, just like the others.

As stomachs were full, for the moment, I told the boys to take Nicolai upstairs with their bags. I followed them up and stood at the door as he surveyed the room, complete with double bed, bunks and the mirrored barre. Andrew said they would be sharing and patted the bed. Nicolai smiled at Andrew and said "Perr-fect!" Andrew smiled back.

Peter asked that evening at supper-time if we could go to Ulvescott to see Grandpa Lachs and to show Nicolai the house and could Jamie, sitting next to him and not to be left out, come too 'cause Grandpa Sayed would like him to be there as well? As I had to see Sayed anyway about signing another document about extending the lease and facilities on one of the workshops I said it would be a good idea, the sooner the better, and no doubt their grandfather could put up with him for an hour or so. Peter gave me the usual old-fashioned look, Andrew and Jamie grinned. I asked Khaled if he wanted to come but he said he and Troy were going over in the New Year with Safar, Charlie and James anyway so it would be an extra visit for James. He could collect some presents to take over in the morning. Anne said it would be just right. We would be out of the way and she and Ma could have a quiet time together and they could get things ready for Christmas.

So, we spent the evening explaining to Nicolai how Ulvescott was inherited by Tony and me and that Jamie's grandfather lived there as well as Grandpa Lachs. Peter rushed up to my study to fetch the framed family tree and showed that he and Andrew had been added although their Dad had only been adopted by me, Gramps, but his Dad, Grandpa Lachs, was on the tree as well because Gramps' Uncle Edward had married........... Whether poor Nicolai got the gist of the ramifications I didn't know and the boys only mentioned the author at the top as writing a 'funny' book. I knew Andrew had read 'Audacity' from what Stephen had told me but I didn't think Peter had, yet. And I wasn't aware that either had seen a copy of 'Paul's Odyssey'. Should I give them each a copy for Christmas? And what about young James?

I 'phoned Sayed and he said come as soon as possible so we arranged to go the next day, immediately after 'class' I told them, and we could stay two nights and we would be back on the twenty-third. And no slacking I told the trio. Dance clothes to be taken. Andrew smiled as he knew I would accompany their exercises on the grand piano in the drawing room.

Nicolai smiled. "I like zhat. I vish to see zhat house." He looked at the calendar which Peter had also, most helpfully, fetched from its hook in the kitchen. I noted a long list of names to be bedded and a longer list to be catered for. Nicolai pointed.

"Zhat is my.... day of birth, you say?"

"Birthday," said Peter looking at the pointing finger. Nicolai had pointed at the twenty-fourth. Peter pointed at the next day. "And that's my birthday!"

Oh, so we would be having double celebrations. It turned out that Nicolai would be eighteen, just a couple of months older than Andrew. And Andrew would be completing his schooldays this coming summer. How time flies!

Lisa conducted class with the boys next morning at eight o'clock. There were no moans about having their breakfast just after seven. She said she was going to be an assistant ballet mistress at the junior school in September so she liked having the practice with the lads. I sat on the bed and set the tape-deck off with the music and watched as the four went through that well-learned routine. Andrew and Nicolai were a matched pair. They were both about five foot nine. Taller than the previous generation of male ballet dancers. Both had superb physiques. Andrew wore a loose top but Nicolai took his off as they started and I could see his muscles ripple as he stretched and bent. Young Peter was still acquiring that frame and form of the others but even now he had a firmness and strength which I could see would be most impressive when he matured fully. There was a quiet determination in all they did.

When they finished Lisa went off immediately to Anne's and my room to shower in our en suite and the three boys stripped off their dance clothes before going to the main bathroom for a shower. I said I would take the sweaty clothing down and put it all in the washer and it would be ready for them when we returned.. They were so used to being seen in the nude they just took everything off as I sat there. Andrew and Peter had been seen by me many times. Peter's newly lengthening cock was very evident even from the previous summer when I'd last seen him displaying his wares. At that age, just four or five months' development was most noticeable and snail was now a small slug, and tendrils above were now a small, spreading sideways bush. Andrew was now at the end, or almost, of his developmental cycle. Like his brother he had inherited the gold blond hair of his father and of Lisa. Like his father he had inherited the generous flaccid length I so remembered from my times with Lachs and which, no doubt, young Peter would attain in due course.

As Nicolai turned to hand me his bundle of clothes I noted he was also well-endowed. Like the boys he wasn't circumcised. Perhaps that pendulous rosette made it look bigger and it was certainly dark-hued as it drooped over a nice-sized sack. His pubic hair and the abundant hair on his thighs and shins was much straighter than the small blond coils evident on the backs of Andrew's thighs. What was most striking was the colour. It was a deep, full black, set off in complete contrast with the whiteness of his legs, as he had no tan at all. Peter and Andrew had taken the opportunity of getting an all-over tan when they joined us for a fortnight at Rapallo last summer. They had discovered that a flat roof was not overlooked and lay there soaking up the sun in between diving into the pool or experimenting with Julio and Domenico's torture machines and so had emulated that bronzed pint-sized Adonis their father had become at Prato. Odd, they had both chosen white when I took them to buy Italian-style bathing suits!

There was much giggling as they rushed along to the bathroom with Peter leading the way and saying he was going to shower first as they would use up all the water. There was even more noise as Peter must have annoyed them and they were dealing with him. Nicolai's low-pitched voice was much in evidence. "You.. Peter... You need slap....." Jamie came along with his overnight bag and a bag of Christmas presents and immediately went into the bedroom where the boys were dressing. God, four, boys, the row they made all chattering together. I did hear Jamie say to Nicolai, who had wandered out of the bathroom last, towelling his hair, "Tu a un bon chinois, Nick!" Oh, 'tu' already and 'Nick'! But chinois? I heard Nicolai say "Zwhat?". No words, silence, pointing I expect. I knew. 'Chinois', oh yes, the politically incorrect slitty-eyed Chinaman, or cock! Young James was cornered by me before we set out. I said, two rules, no French, unless Nicolai didn't really understand, as we were trying to immerse him in English, he nodded, and no slang especially, even if Christophe or he 'se polir le chinois journellement'. My, didn't he blush! Then he grinned. "Tout les temps!" Safar and he had had the talk! And he knew Gramps knew.

Peter sat next to me as we drove to Ulvescott with the other three in the back. The old Volvo had been chosen for its roominess and James sat between the older pair. Peter told me all about what he had done this last term. How they were rehearsing hard for the 'Nutcracker'. Even the lesser parts had to be rehearsed so meticulously as I knew from his father's descriptions when he was at the school. "It's hard work, Gramps," he said, "But I couldn't imagine doing anything else. Dr Fitch says I mustn't do too much though now for a bit because I've begun to grow. It's funny growing up. You wonder sometimes who you are. Did you, Gramps?"

"Yes, Pete, many times. Doesn't get better as you get older. I think it was worse for me when I was sixteen or seventeen."

"Yeah, Roly said that to Andy. He said he nearly gave up then because he couldn't stand the discipline. But he says he's glad he's stuck it now. He's got interviews in Malmo next term. He's tall. I want to stay here so I hope I won't be too tall. Dad says I'll probably be taller than him and Dr Fitch says his charts say I'll be about five feet nine. So that'll be alright."

The trio on the back seat were also conversing. Andrew was doing most of the talking and I could hear Nicolai's lower-pitched "Oh, Yhas, Oh Yes," as he understood or the "Zwhat?" when he didn't. Andrew made him repeat things as well. He was so patient.

"Gramps!" There had been silence from Peter for a time. "Gramps, it wasn't Andrew who told me to tell you that yesterday. Dad told me to tell you. I told him first before I told Andrew. Gramps, it was Daz said I should be able to so he was there when I tried it and it happened. I like Daz, he's my best friend. I think Nicolai will be Andy's best friend." He paused. "Like Uncle Jody and Uncle Peter."

"Not you and Daz?" I asked quietly.

He smiled and shook his head. "And that other time when I said things," he said equally quietly, "I was only teasing Andy but he got really upset. It took a long time to make friends again. I'm more careful now what I say. Would you tell him I got all upset, too? I said it but I think he's still a bit hurt and that's a long time ago. I told Dad and he said I should tell you as you would know what to say. I still tease him like last night but I try not to hurt him."

"I will," I said, "But, you tell him as well. Tomorrow you tell him again. You'll know what to say. And tomorrow I'll talk to him as well. You and James can talk to Nicolai then and help him with his English."

He nodded and there was a bit more silence. "Gramps. You won't tell Ma but he does know some rude things in English. He couldn't speak any English when he came and some of the older ones told him all sorts of things. They hoped he would say them but Andy told him not to." He giggled. "He did teach us some Russian rude things, though. It's not wrong though, is it Gramps 'cause all boys say rude things? James said something rude this morning. It didn't sound rude though. We laughed."

"Depends when and where and what," I said.

He giggled again. "I promise but it does makes thing interesting, though, doesn't it?"

He sounded just like Flea it was uncanny.

There was a little silence in the front but the low murmur continued in the back. Peter stirred. "You don't know Russian do you Gramps?"

"No," I said, "French, German, a bit of Italian and even less Spanish."

"So if I learn things in Russian you wouldn't know when I said them?"

"No. But knowing you I would guess."

He giggled. "I promise."

We had reached the outskirts of the village and came up to the gates. The cottage next door had been bought and made into a lodge. I suppose long ago it had been the lodge as it had once had a door opening into the drive which had been bricked up. With the needs for a guard this had been unbricked and the four bodyguards - all trusted ex-soldiers from Sayed's days as the commanding officer - lived there. One was keeping watch and as we approached the gates swung open. Electrically operated now. No expense spared! I drove slowly along the drive as the boys pointed out the lovely old building as we approached. As it was cold I drove the car straight into the garage. The boys, very gallantly took all their clobber and mine and we went in at the side entrance. Lachs was there waiting for us. His grandsons hugged him, standing tall against him. James got his own hug and then Nicolai was introduced. As he was shaking hands with Lachlan Ibrahim came through, beaming.

"Hello, hello " he greeted them mainly, "There's some food to keep you occupied before lunch. Mrs Evans has been baking all morning. Then you can take your things up." He went up to Nicolai. "I'm Ibrahim."

I wasn't sure if Nicolai was quite sure of all the Arab connections. He would learn. Tariq was coming to the Christmas Eve celebrations and then to Christmas lunch. We would explain then about the father/son relationship. But, he shook hands with Ibrahim and looked the still very handsome man straight in the eye. "Nicolai Filipovich Petrov, sir."

Mr and Mrs Evans were the pair who had been installed as chef and housekeeper years before when the Americans first came to the Manor and had stayed on at Sayed's insistence when he took on the lease. Mr Evans produced very good food - enjoyed by all including Sayed's Arab assistants and guards. But, Mrs Evans baked the most wonderful buns and cakes and I could see the boys tongues almost hanging out in anticipation. There wasn't much left after the gannets descended on the plates at half past eleven and lunch would be at one!

Andrew and Nicolai were to be in Piers' room with the other pair in the Horsebox, still adorned with its rosettes and certificates from seventy or more years ago. I thought that if Andrew and Nicolai were to be more than just good friends then this stay would be the turning-point. I left them showing and describing all the photos in Piers' room and especially the small portrait of Agnes Leferreur which now hung there as well, next to a copy of Mike's drawing of me. I went into the African room and dumped my things there and returned to Piers' room just as Nicolai was being told about my picture.

He smiled as I came over to him. "I shall be vee..rry happy here," he said slowly. "You are happy here, I know. You look good boy. Very strong young boy. All body good." He wrinkled his nose and nodded. "Yhas, all of body good!"

I'm afraid that set the other three off giggling. Nicolai looked offended. "I tell you. Your Gramps is good." He pointed at Peter. "He is gooder zhan you. Huhn! little boy you are. Need slap zwhen you laugh."

"Sorry, Nicolai, I didn't mean to laugh but that's our Gramps. With no clothes on."

"You haff no clothes on ev..ry day. We do not laugh! I.... compliment your Gramps. Zwhen my English is... better. I am sorry I say gooder then. When my English is better I can say it better." He laughed and looked at me, smiling. "Zhat boy need plenty slap. Permit. I slap!"

I put my arm round Nicolai's shoulder. "Thank you for the compliment. I think I looked good then. I know Peter very well. Do not slap. Tickle."

"Gramps!"

Nicolai laughed. "He scream! We put him on bed and he scream! Ev'ry time he scream!"

Peter nodded. "They do Gramps. Just because I say what I think."

"And you deserve everything you get," said Andrew, "You're always poking your nose in. It's a good job everyone's tolerant."

We left it at that as the boys wanted to show Nicolai the rest of the house. He was intrigued by the Horsebox and thought my room was 'ver....ry good!'. When we went into the drawing room Sayed was there to greet us. He had been dictating something to Walid who smiled, bowed and melted away. I let the boys introduce Nicolai and I could see he was impressed by this small, hawk-nosed, dark-eyed man who had that undefinable bearing. I bent down towards him and gave him our usual hug, then it was young James's turn. His grandfather gave him a hug that told us all of the great affection he felt for him.

After lunch I had to go and see the man running the furniture making business as it was his lease to be extended and also we had planning permission to extend his workshop as well. It was noticeable how thriving the workshops were. There were plenty of cars in the small car park with people buying, I assumed, mainly presents for Christmas.

The furniture man said he was always surprised at how good the trade was. I said I supposed we had only let to craftsmen and there was a knock-on effect. He smiled and said he had liked the place as soon as he took on the first old barn and everyone seemed so happy to be working here. Only two workshops had closed, only for a short time before others took them on, and they had gone as their workmanship wasn't of a high enough quality in comparison.

As I was talking to him I saw the boys looking at a display at the silversmiths. He and his assistant produced some lovely pieces and I'd bought things in the past for Anne and Ma. I wondered if there was anything the boys really wanted and when I wandered over they were inspecting some rings and also some fine silver chains. I said nothing but it gave me an idea. The husband and wife who ran the pottery workshop next door also seemed to be doing a roaring trade. All in all wherever we went all seemed very flourishing. I was very thankful that Bruce had made that simple statement about how all the wood could be used. From that small start the enterprise had extended beyond belief. Wood, silver, pottery, paintings, a farm shop, the musical instrument workshop and so on.

That evening after a first-class dinner young Jamie and I entertained the gathering. I played two pieces, then accompanied James on his flute and we finished with one of the Spanish Dances as a duet. Sayed's face was a picture as he watched his grandson following in his father's footsteps. That small shy Safar in Rome had blossomed and now his son was showing equal, if not greater, talent. The boys went off to bed about ten. I said breakfast at eight and class at nine. Not a murmur. They knew the discipline. Walid quietly kept the glasses topped up for the five of us as we sat and chatted. I said I was seriously considering retiring when I was sixty-five next year. Sayed just laughed and said he didn't know when I found time to work anyway with the menagerie of all the sons and their offspring and all the rest of the hangers-on. I did say it kept me young. Lachs said he had been overwhelmed by the way Andrew had developed and he was looking forward to seeing the performance at Covent Garden. I looked at Ibrahim and winked. He would be there with his own opera glasses! I knew he missed Francis and he said he was flying out to spend February at the villa. Yes, Tony was going to the States for a lecture tour so Francis would need a bit more company! And Brad would like some, too.

I said how good young James now was with his French. Sayed laughed and said he'd heard from Safar that the gardener's boy was coming over for a month at Easter so I would, no doubt, have Cristophe added to the menagerie. I said the gardener's boy was actually the son of the local doctor so that was how Francis knew him. The lad had wanted something to do during the school holidays so it was an ideal thing for him as he wanted to study forestry or horticulture when he left school. I didn't say he taught colloquial French very well or polished his Chinaman regularly.

We all retired to bed about midnight. Three very old friends, tired, aging a bit but still glad to be alive, taking the stairs carefully. We'd all had rather a lot to drink. Ibrahim and Walid bowed and left us to go to their own quarters. I slept well. Relaxed. Content. Startled awake by my little alarm clock at seven. I washed and shaved and was down waiting for the boys to come for their breakfast. All four came in together. The three already in their dance clothes. They were all smiling and happy and from the looks that Andrew and Nicolai gave each other my guess would be that a friendship was being forged.

Exactly on nine class started. As the eldest, Nicolai was in charge. I had found a volume of excerpts from the ballets some years previously and had brought it with me. Young James put his flute together and for an hour we accompanied those three perfectionists. At the end there were a group of watchers, all mesmerised by the fluidity and inherent beauty not only of the movements, but of the boys themselves. If Nicolai and Andrew were to develop their friendship in the way it seemed to be going, as well as that partnership and matching artistry, then they had great careers together as a team before them. But, at some time in the near future Nicolai would have to return to Russia as his scholarship was for one year only. How would their friendship survive such a separation?

I could see young Peter following in his father's footsteps, too, and those of his well- loved namesake Uncle Peter, Jody's partner. I remembered so well that occasion when Safar had beckoned me to see Jody and Peter sleeping so contentedly after consummating that love for each other which still was as intense now eighteen years after. I know they looked on young Peter and Andrew as the sons they would never have. The boys loved and respected that pair, the ebullient Jody and the astute Peter. Young Peter was also a star in the making.

The boys spent the rest of the morning exploring the village and I took them with Lachs to the village pub for lunch. Bangers and mash, and lager for the eldest, as we did have a meal. As we walked back to the Manor I winked at Peter who took the hint and kept in front with Nicholai and let James chat away with Lachs even further on. Andrew realised, I think, that I wanted to talk to him privately and slowed down.

"D'you remember three years ago when you came to stay and you got upset about what Peter said?"

He nodded but said nothing.

"Peter's asked me to say how sorry he was for upsetting you and he thought he'd lost your friendship for a time. He wants you to forgive him. I don't think he's too proud to ask you himself he just needed an intermediary, but I know he loves you too much to feel you might still be hurt."

"Gramps," he said softly, "He did hurt me. Actually, it was my pride which he hurt. I hated him for that but I realised that was wrong of me. I knew I might say something nasty so I kept my distance. I've forgiven him. Anyway my life wouldn't be the same without him behind me and commenting on everything I do. Dad knows. I talked to him. He was a bit annoyed about what Pete said about us in the lavs. It's true, but it's nothing. We all see each other every day and we're all inquisitive." He giggled. "Now it's his turn. He'd better watch out because he's said enough things about Carlos and Roly before we moved to the senior school! Don't worry Gramps I'll tell him."

"I need to ask you something very personal. Don't answer if you don't want to but think about it."

"Is it about me and Nicolai?" I nodded. "Yes, I think we do love each other. I think we did from the first time we saw each other." He stopped walking. "Gramps, he couldn't say anything other than 'Hello' and I didn't know any Russian but when we shook hands and looked at each other we knew. Can that be true?"

"Yes, I think it can. But you have to be very careful. He'll be going back to Russia soon and you mustn't let any break-up, or anything you do, jeopardise your career, or his."

We resumed walking slowly. "I know that, Gramps. We laid together for a long time last night trying to say things to each other. It's difficult not having enough language." He stopped again and turned and looked up at me, two tears welled from his eyes. "We lay and just held each other and we both knew. Gramps, two boys held each other and kissed and we did nothing but it happened to both of us. We didn't do anything but it happened and we were so happy." He wiped his eyes and a smile happened. "Gramps, we fell asleep and we woke up this morning still with our arms round each other and we were stuck together. We could have stayed like that but we knew we had to get up. Gramps, we kissed again and he stroked my cheek."

"You are very lucky boys," I said, "But don't let things go too far. Is that the first time things have happened between you? Have you been in bed with him before?"

He smiled. "Only in Cambridge and with Pete in between us what do you think!" He paused. "I think he's worried too what will happen when Nicolai goes. He doesn't want me to get too involved. Yes, Gramps, Nicolai and I have done things in the lavs and the showers. All the boys do, but we haven't done anything else."

"Promise me you won't do anything else with Nicolai or anyone unless you know them and their history or you take careful precautions."

He nodded. "Dad's told us about his friends. We've been told, too, at school. I think I know what's dangerous." He shook his head. "I haven't done any more with any one."

"What about Nicolai?"

"He told me he hadn't either except he and two boys have done another thing. He said they've given each other.... You know, they've sucked."

"A blow-job?"

He nodded. He didn't seem concerned his old Gramps knew terms like that.

"Yes, all the boys say its good but I don't think they really know. I don't. That book of yours says about it, though, doesn't it? Those boys in the castle are just like us at school but we haven't done all those things."

"When did you read it?" I asked.

"Oh, a couple of years ago. Uncle Jody's got a copy in their room and I borrowed it. He just laughed when he saw me with it and asked if I was going to become an academic like you and if I was to find some more interesting things like that." He reiterated what another lad had said. "Funny, you don't need rude words, do you?"

"And if you and Nicolai wanted to go further, could you trust him?"

"He said he could not lie to me." We walked on a bit. "Gramps, if you asked him I know he wouldn't lie to you, either. Would you ask him if I can trust him. He can trust me."

Later in the afternoon I was in the library looking at one of the atlases, poring over places I had never been to and which seemed to have disappeared, Tanganyika,, Bechuanaland, Northern Rhodesia, when Nicolai came in and stood by me. I waited.

"Sir, I speak," he said, "I want to tell you."

I indicated the chair next to me and he perched on the edge. He shook his head. "I not lie to you. Zhat boy he know I not lie. I love Andrew. I am clean. With boys we do," He made wanking movements, "...many times. With two boys in Russia we..." He was groping for words, "That boy Roly say 'suck my cock', he say I should say. Those boys we suck cock." He shook his head. "No more. We say 'drochit', these boys say 'vank', is it, and we suck, zhat is all. The boy he knows." He nodded upwards. "Pravda!"

The truth! I leaned and took his hands in mine. He relaxed. "I trust you, Nicolai. But you must not hurt each other with your feelings. Understand?" He nodded. "I know Andrew loves you. But you will be going back to Russia." He nodded again. "Take care what you do. Be together." I smiled. "I know the boy. He is here all the time."

He leaned forward and very tenderly kissed me. "I tell the truth you know."

I leaned towards him and we hugged. "You will be my grandson too, soon, I hope."

We sat and looked at each other. He smiled. "You tell him I do not lie, plee..se."

As if by perfect timing Andrew poked his head round the door. I beckoned him in.

"Take Nicolai up to the bedroom and tell him how much you love him. Nothing more. Just talk and hold him. He'll tell you, too."

To be continued:....................