Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
by
Joel
Some of the Characters Appearing: Mark Henry Foster 16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and still growing Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams 17 just about 18, 6ft and well-proportioned Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster Alias Toad: just growing and wondering Laurent de Villiers [Crapaud] French, growing and full of knowledge Shelley Price-Williams Horse-mad and blonde Ivo Richie Carr At St Mark's: chunky and cheeky with it Adam Benjamin Carr Ditto, as his twin Bryce (Babyballs) McArdle A sullen overlooked over-muscled Aussie rugger player Toby Barker A bright boatie and actor David (Dingley) Dell The Augustus Pennefather organ scholar Oct '98-Jul '01 Annabelle Lewis A friend for all seasons and terrifying Ladies' Lacrosse player Alexandra Coutts Annabelle's 'friend' and not to be trifled with Charles (Clarissa) Fane-Stuart The 'Servant of the Chapel' and Footlights star Mirabelle Fane-Stuart Mother Dr Eric Mays Master of St Mark's College Francesco Matteoli Designer and Uncle of Mark and Francis Aldo Leopardi Companion of Uncle Francesco Ernesto di Cremona An Italian cousin Guido Faldi The hairy 17 year-old poolboy at the Matteoli villa Senora Faldi Guido's Mum: Uncle Francesco's cook
- Further Revelations
As we went across the quad to the dining hall Tristan tapped my arm. Trundling along the path by the Hall wall was the lumbering figure of Babyballs. As we approached on the diagonal we met at the steps into the Hall. "Hi, Bryce," said Ivo in a cheery voice, "How's it hanging?" A low mutter and a curl of the mouth was the only response as he clumped up the steps and only managed to just pass through the narrow half-door. "He should try that sideways it might be easier. Moron!" said Adam, with a snort. I remembered the over- weight lady opera-singer's retort when in the same situation. "He ain't got no sideways," I said with a fake American accent. "Lovely," said Ivo.
Over lunch Ivo decided we would walk to the station. We could have a quick look at the outside of the Fitzwilliam Museum as well as seeing the exteriors of other colleges on the way. So all was decided. It was also going to be useful as I had plenty of questions which needed answering. I was rather reticent about the first. It was fairly plain I wouldn't be the only candidate. Pinch-Bum, or whatever his name was, had said about someone the day before. But was he just for a History place, or was he a Pennefather aspirant?
Ivo looked at Adam after I hesitantly asked the question, did they know? "We didn't like to say but Ivo found out there's three candidates," said Adam catching hold of my arm. "There was one on Thursday who just came and went, he didn't stay overnight as far as we know. And there's one on Monday but again that's all we know. Anyway, Marky, you'll be here whatever."
Three candidates, two down and one to go. Still as he said I would be following in Grandad's footsteps. Ivo must have read my thoughts. " If you didn't get it you might be able to have Grandad's old room 'cause Fatso McArdle's only got one more year." He sniggered. "It'll have to be fumigated and the wank stains scraped off the floor boards no doubt. But I wonder if there's any juice left in those little peanuts?"
Tris had pricked up his ears. "Is it true about him, then? It's not just a nickname?"
Ivo shook his head. "Bryce has been taking steroids since he was about fourteen or fifteen so I heard. They certainly shrink your balls because when I've seen him in the showers after a match they don't even hang. They're like his were..." he pointed at Adam who was grinning away, "...when he was eighteen last year..."
Adam's grin disappeared. "Eight you mean, I hope. If we weren't outside King's I'd show you. I've always been proud of my knackers. We all are aren't we Marky? Big lugs, big balls."
"Shut up," said Ivo, "We all know you're an exhibitionist. And make sure you wear tighty-whities under that kilt thing for Charley and not that dirty old jockstrap you hang out of."
"What have you got to do?" asked Tris interrupting the interchange
"Not much, just stand around and look pretty. Clarissa's promised her patter will be suitably filthy especially when Adam passes her the basket containing the asp."
"Is he really funny?" Tris asked.
"Oh yes, it's all full of one-liners, double-entendres and so on. A bit like Frankie Howard but better."
Having laughed heartily at 'Up Pompeii', if he was better he must be good.
"What was he like as Helen of Troy," I asked.
"Stupendous!" said Adam. "Clarry was all tarted up in this flimsy dress and reclining on a chaise-longue and there was Toby Barker as Paris lumbering around behind her in a leather skirt thing and a breastplate and a huge sword down by his side. She was saying how big and clumsy he was with him in all that armour bumping into things and crushing her little knick-knacks, ...he's huge anyway... 'I've had him up to here...' she said putting her hand on her throat, '....and down to there, too. But he's a bit soft, in the head, I mean, can't keep his end up whatever one does with him... But he's lovely with it...'" Adam was doing a full-blown imitation with falsetto voice, actions, the lot, much to the amusement not only of us but passers-by too, except for one man who took one look and crossed the road. "...'keeps a girl amused at all hours especially when he whips out that great dagger of his and pins me to the table..'"
Ivo was laughing as Adam calmed down. "May not sound much, but it's relentless and the hoi polloi all love it. I think most of them don't realise Clarissa's really a male. Clarry had to do an encore when we saw her and poor old Toby was almost mauled to death when she clutched him and bent him backwards over the end of the chaise-longue and saying how much she loved the dangly bits on his armour. 'I never knew they made them so big' was her last line as poor old Toby's leather skirt thing flopped back over the tops of his legs."
"Lucky he was wearing his tighty-whities, too," said Adam.
"And you're willing to take part?" asked Tris.
"Gosh, yes!" said Adam, "Old Tobe's had more drinks bought for him since that than ever before!"
"It'll be great fun anyway, pity you won't be there to see it," Ivo said.
"How did he get this Toby to take part?" I asked.
"They're great pals. He has the same tutor as Clarry - they're both reading Philosophy." Ivo laughed. "He's a boatie, but a bright boatie and Charles being seen around with him means that Clarry isn't harassed by the dumber ones."
"Are they really dim? All those big blokes we saw when having lunch? " asked Tris.
"Difficult to say," said Adam. "Quite a few come from overseas, like Babyballs. They have to be graduates or accepted here for a degree. I know Bryce has got some degree already and he's reading Land Economy here. Useful when he goes back to Daddy's ranch, whatever. But whether Daddy will be pleased as he's only in our College XV.
Never got a look-in for a possible Blue."
"Yeah," said Ivo, "He's so bad-tempered, too, been sent off twice. One of the chaps in our team is reading Medicine and he says that's due to the pills he takes, just like his shrunken bollocks, and he said he doesn't give him much of a chance reaching forty the way he's going."
"It makes you wonder why he does it," said Tris. "And what about the boaties, 'cause you said about them being dumb, too?"
Ivo laughed. "It's the usual little war between the different groups of students. The Classics and Philosophy lot look down on everyone. The English and History nerds don't like the Nat Scis and anyone who's sporty comes in for general condemnation.
So everyone says things about boaties implying they're as thick as half a dozen planks and not very well endowed although most are big blokes."
"What do you call a boatie with a one inch dick?" Adam asked as he nudged Tristan. Tristan shook his head. "Justin!" crowed Adam. There were audible groans.
"Yep, and they think oilseed rape is what us rugger-buggers get up to on a Saturday night," said Ivo."
"That's enough," said Adam, "If you tell them now they'll know all the punch-lines before they get here."
We'd got to the Museum and I stood looking at the impressive portico. I wondered if I should ask about Charles. It might seem ungrateful enquiring about him as he'd been so generous and friendly the night before and again today. Adam was chatting to Tris saying there was plenty to see inside when I more or less plucked up courage.
I nudged Ivo who was reading the notice board about a forth-coming exhibition. "There's one more thing I want to ask...."
He turned and laughed. "I know exactly and I've been waiting... ...Is it about Clarry?"
I nodded and the other two joined us as we walked in a row up the wide pavement. "One thing is he doesn't really like us calling him Clarry. He says it makes him sound as if he's in the same league as Julian Clary but I think Charles is even better.
But you want to know.."
"...whether he's gay?" said Adam. "We don't honestly know. The more we know from being around him is that he is a very thoughtful person and a lot of that flummery and flamboyance is sheer affectation and he uses it to good effect as it scares off lots of people but it does make him vulnerable to others. Toby's a great friend of his and I don't think for a moment old Tobe's gay, he just likes him as a person. We've seen him chatting to Old Albert who's no fool and you can see the old boy thaw and young Jason worships him though they wind each other up...."
"...Yeah, another good friend is Dingly - he always acts as his accompanist and we mustn't forget Annabelle..." Ivo had taken over, then he chuckled. "...She's the stage manager and plays lacrosse and she's built....." He made extravagant hand movements which outlined a rather voluptuous female figure. "But as far we know she's about the only woman anyone's seen him with. And he's steered clear of the Gay Soc as I know the Secretary who's in my tutor group. So we don't know."
Tris was very thoughtful as he turned to Ivo walking beside him. "Would you guess I was gay?"
"I'm being very truthful. I don't know. Because I do know, it's difficult to say."
"Same here," said Adam, "And if it wasn't for the pretty pink handbag and that horrible green eye shadow I wouldn't know about my little cousin, either!" I gave him a quick swipe with my handbag - my black clarinet case. "No, neither of you act like Charles, nor any of the stereotypes you see on telly or in the films. I think you're just yourselves - but rather sweet with it!" He narrowly missed losing his vital possessions as I swung the case again. "Now don't get vicious, dear," he said in a perfect imitation of Charles's voice when peeved. "See I can do it when I want - I am very wanton most of the time."
"All the time," I said, "I remember....." I laughed. "I know you too well, Adam dear, I'd put you down as fifty fifty and there's a very nice boy who's been eying you up and down, I think with intent." I winked at Tris.
"Are you willing Adam?" said Tris joining in as Adam looked from one to the other of us, "I wouldn't mind sharing a double with you next year if Marky doesn't mind... At least it would keep it in the family."
Ivo was giggling. "Go on bro, call his bluff. I know what you're like and I'd share with him any time just to run my fingers through that gelled-up hair. Ooooh, lovely, I can feel it now."
"Speak for yourself. Just wait until I get you back in College," said Adam, 'Casting aspersions on my sexuality!" He looked at me with mock sternness. "And it's definitely not fifty fifty. With you I'm eighty twenty in favour." His face crumpled into a grin. "You'd turn anyone on. Pity Charley will be gone when you arrive 'cause I could see you upstaging Miss Thing-Whatever in a golden jockstrap and a big smile. And you can quote me on that!"
We'd turned into the road leading to the station. There were still more questions I had to ask.
"Sorry, but it's back to Charles again. He kept mentioning his Mother...."
"Mother crops up in almost every sentence," said Ivo. "She's a shadowy figure. As far as I know she's never visited and Charles turns up at the beginning of each term in a chauffeur-driven car so there's money about somewhere. He's only mentioned a father once and that was when we were telling him about the farm and how he ought to come down and see us and Dad would take him out shooting, or muck-spreading, or emptying the slurry pit. We were winding him up a bit and he was waving his hands about and getting rather agitated about killing all the poor birds and what awful smells there were in the country. It was, as usual, too theatrical to be serious, then suddenly he seemed to crumple. He said we were lucky as he didn't know who, or where, his father was. I must say we changed the subject sharpish and we've said nothing since."
"A bit of a mystery, Sherlock," said Adam poking me in the ribs. "'When did you last see your father?' is not applicable here. Not 'Cherchez la femme' but 'Cherchez l'homme'. See Ivo, I know the lingo!"
"Twit!"
As we approached the station the conversation turned to the summer vac.
We would all be meeting up at the Villa and they said they would prime Tris with all he needed to know about College there and they would put his name down for the Rugger Club anyway. We were told to be good boys and the evil-minded Adam made salacious remarks about me wearing Tris out over the next few months as we would both be celibate during term times next year. I thought privately of a few things that might happen to him while at the Villa to wear him out! Libidinous wretch! "We'll let you know how the show goes," and "Best of luck, Marky!" were the last things we heard as the train doors closed.
- Home and the Wait.
The train down to London was crowded. Friday afternoon and everyone was either going off home for the weekend or to the theatre or a concert for the evening I thought. We managed to get seats but facing each other and kept catching each other's eye as everyone was buried behind copies of the Cambridge evening paper, or had their nose in a book. I had the Stephen Saylor book so opened that and read most of the way. Tris just closed his eyes and dozed.
Getting across London on the tube and our other train was tedious as well. Going- home-time was in full flow for the commuters and I was glad to get off and walk the half- mile or so to our houses.
His house was in darkness so he came round with me to our back-door. Frankie must have been waiting. The door was flung open.
"Well, what do you know?" he demanded.
"Let them in!" my Mum called from inside.
Frankie graciously allowed us to enter. I dumped my bags unceremoniously on the kitchen floor and went over to where my mother was by the Aga stirring something in a large casserole dish and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Smells good," I said, "I'm starving!"
Mum smiled. "Pollo con peperoni, special tonight!"
She turned to Tristan who had also dropped his bags on the floor by the back-door. "Sit down, Tristan, the kettle's boiled.. Tea or coffee?"
He came over to Mum and kissed her too. "Thanks, tea, please."
Frankie was still hovering. "When you've finished all that I still want to know what happened.."
"You'll hear in all good time," Mum said as she poured the water into the teapot. "You could be helpful and get the milk out of the fridge."
The Toad was seething I could see so I kept silent. It was then I saw the silent figure of another young teenager. Laurent had heard the commotion and was standing at the inner door.
I went up to him and stared. My, he'd grown since I'd seen him last some months before. He was dark-haired, like Frankie and me, and had the faint smudge of the adolescent moustache on his upper lip. He smiled. We shook hands formally then I hugged him.
"I'd completely forgot you would be here and that thing there..," I said, turning and pointing to my brother who was making faces at me, "...didn't say you'd arrived."
"That thing is so joyed you are coming," he said in almost faultless English, having caught the reference and used it, "He says you must be very good. You will be a student?"
"Just like Tris," I said, "We'll be there together in a year's time all being well."
"Hi, Laurent," said Tris, coming over and shaking hands, too, "Glad to see you."
"Thank you, Tristan," said Laurent, "I am very pleased to be here again. Francis is taking me to the skate park tomorrow. I watch. I learn."
All I hoped was 'I do not do' as two broken legs, a fracture of the left arm and severe concussion would probably ensue. Frankie had proudly displayed a very nasty bruise on his thigh only a couple of weeks ago which was the result of not quite gaining enough altitude in some new manoeuvre. The next day he was jubilant. There had been mastery of the feat. A successful coup! Anyway, I guessed there would be plenty of coups of a different kind in the next forty-eight hours. I looked at the Toad who had read my thoughts completely and curled his lip in disdain.
"Oh, Tristan," Mum said, "Your Mum and Dad have gone down to the cottage with Shelley. She's riding in a competition tomorrow - so I said I would feed you over the weekend."
"Jack says..." the Toad started saying as Tristan also began to say thanks to Mum. Frankie prefaced many sentences that way and I wondered what the statement was going to be as he grinned at me. I thought I'd put him out of his misery a bit.
"Well, I told you on the phone last night I don't know about the Pennefather thing but I can go if I get my A Levels to read Maths anyway." I turned to Mum. "Oh, I did find out today there are three candidates and I was the middle one - Oh, and Ivo and Adam send their love."
Frankie kicked my leg to gain my attention. "That's marvellous you going there," he enthused, "I phoned Gran this morning to tell her what you said last night and she's going to send me the money for a new skateboard for my birthday."
"But your birthday's not till much later - it's mine next week," I said
"I didn't mention yours but I told her I'd seen this super fanto board and she said she'd send me a cheque!" He bounced his shoulders up and down in anticipation. "Oh, she did say she would send you a photo of Grandad when he was a boy in the choir at St Mark's."
Tris was heaving with silent laughter and so was Mum as she busied herself with another pot on the Aga. Laurent had gone over to her and was given a spoon to taste what was in it. Looked like soup. Goodho! He nodded.
"Ivo and Adam have had their invitation to the Villa," I said talking across to Mum, ignoring the Toad, "They'll be able to stay in August after Ivo's been to Lyon for June and July to stay with that French family. Adam said he's going to help Uncle George on the farm to make sure he gets some money as he's broke."
The Toad was chuntering. The chuntering became audible. "...S'not fair! There'll be you and Tris, and Ivo and Adam, and I won't have anyone to keep me company!"
"You've never moaned before," I said, "We all did things with you last year. Ivo and Adam helped you with your swimming and I know Ernesto taught you some words even Mum might not know when you kept pestering him in the pool!"
Mum turned and waved a ladle at me. "You'd be surprised what a young girl hears on the streets of Palermo and I expect you picked up a few from that pool-boy as well."
Yes, I had. I'd tried out my rudimentary Italian on young Guido as Tris and I helped him clear the filters. He was dark, about seventeen as he had one more year to go in High School, hairy and very sexy. Tris and I had discussed him nightly and came to a number of climaxes with our descriptions of what we would like to do with and to him. Nothing further as he was the doted upon son of Uncle Francesco's much respected and respectable cook. But Signora Faldi might have been a bit upset when her dearest youngest son described the recalcitrant pool-cleaning device as 'macchina de merda' and had as favourite expletives 'che palle' and 'porca puttana' which I gathered were 'bollocks' and 'fucking hell' respectively. Still he was well-made and had a happy smile and.... Oh well, with Tris around I had no real desire to stray.
"And the other thing," I said, diverting that interesting, but dangerous, conversation and my thoughts, "You spent a lot of time harassing Signora Faldi for more food in the kitchen."
"Boy needs his food! Gotta keep my strength up!" the Toad sneered again, "Not fair..,"
As that strength was no doubt sapped not only by his swimming but his other arm movements in the comfort of his bed I mentally agreed that an adequate supply of food would be necessary. And I supposed he might think he'd be lonely if two pairs of exceedingly horny boys would be keeping each other company and taking comfort in joint or dual activity. I looked at Tris who was blissfully ignoring the interchange and was sipping at his tea and talking quietly to Laurent.
"Go and lay the table in the dining-room, Frankie," Mum said, "Make yourself useful for once."
Tris stirred. "We'll come and help you, Microbe, won't we Laurent?" he said, standing up, "Marky can take his stuff upstairs and sort himself out."
Oh, Tris, no wonder my little brother idolises you.
While they were out I told Mum about the audition and how nice everyone was. I left out the encounter with Pinch-Bum and although I said about Charles being Servant of the Chapel I didn't go into detail about his affectations.
Mum's pollo was gorgeous and there was plenty for four hungry boys, even for the Toad who listened intently while Tris and I filled in details of the visit. Tris said about the outrageous decor of Charles's room and said he'd told us his Mother was an interior designer.
"What did you say his surname was?" Mum asked.
"Fane-Stuart," I said.
"Thought I'd heard it or, at least, read it somewhere," Mum said. She thought a few moments. "Yes," she said, wrinkling her brow, "Yes, when I was in the hairdresser's recently, I'm sure. Must have been in a copy of Vogue or something like that." She smiled. "Mirabelle Fane-Stuart. There was an article about her doing some house in Mayfair.... And there were pictures." She pulled a face. "Bit over the top!"
Tris laughed. "Just like Charles' room and him!"
That meant a resume of the dinner and then we told of the exploration of the crypt - but without revealing Adam's find of the wanking habits of fifteenth century teenagers.
"Cor!" The Toad had said nothing until now. His jaws had been working overtime, though. "Can I come and have a look when you're there, Tris? And when Laurent comes over?"
Tris nodded. Little did he know what mayhem might ensue.
"By the way, Tris," Mum said, "You might as well stay the night. Your Mum and Dad won't be home until Sunday evening and as I'm feeding you, you can stay both nights." She looked at me. "As long as Mark doesn't object."
Mum, you are pulling my leg! Toad was grinning and picked up his now-empty glass and made as if to put it by his ear. Seeing the look on my face he desisted.
As I helped Tris carry out the dirty plates at the end of the meal he pecked me on the cheek and patted my bum. "Wait until later!" I said, "I might let you share my duvet!"
Toad said he was going to try out some new game on his computer with Laurent and tried to get past us as we came out of the kitchen. I grabbed his arm and Tris crowded him from the other side. "The glass!" I said with as menacing a tone as I could muster.
He looked from one to the other of us. "Only joking."
I put a hand into my jeans pocket and drew out my wallet. "I remembered the twos against threes." I pressed a five-pound note into his hand. "And don't come to too many blows with Laurent... ...over the game!" I think I put enough emphasis on 'blows' to let the message sink in that I hadn't forgotten my French. At least the Toad said 'Cor, thanks!" before escaping up the stairs followed by a slightly baffled, but soon to be enlightened no doubt, compliant Laurent.
Breakfast in our household was where we all generally congregated. With Dad playing in concerts on many evenings or giving recitals at music clubs, "to keep the pennies rolling in" as he said, we tended to see each other over cereals, scrambled or boiled eggs, toast and marmalade. Next morning was no exception. Dad was drinking his second or third cup of coffee when Tris and I emerged from our wanton slumbers and entered the kitchen intent on eating sufficient 'to keep our strength up' as Tris had said, imitating my brother's sentiment.
"Well, well, well," said Dad, "Congratulations! Your Grandad would have been proud of you." He grinned. "I am, too! Good lad, you'll do well."
Dad was usually a bit reticent in terms of praise. He had always kept an eye on my studies but I always felt the 'do better' was not far below the surface. I knew he'd had ambitions to be a concert soloist but realised the grind of constant practice and the peripatetic lifestyle were not for him though in his early days he had played concertos with several orchestras. Of course, I'd heard him play many times at home and in recitals with his friend Roger who accompanied him and I knew he was not only a supreme perfectionist but an excellent musician as well - I only hoped I would meet his standards.
I told him everything about my audition. As soon as I mentioned the musical don was Dr Al-Hamed his ears pricked up.
"Not Safar Al-Hamed by any chance?" he asked.
I remembered the Chaplain had said that name at the end when they were going off to tea.
"Yes, I'm sure it was. Dr Henson, that's the other one, the Chaplain, called him that."
"That violin I play in the baroque orchestra is one of his. I mean it was made by one of his craftsmen." Tris and I must have looked a bit puzzled. "He's very famous in that line for unearthing descriptions of old instruments and he's got a workshop at Ulvescott up past Cambridge where his craftspeople make superb copies. I've met him a number of times. He's a very good musician himself and comes from a very famous Arab family. I went to see him once at the workshop and was introduced to his father. He was their ambassador at one time but retired to the English countryside. Safar comes down to London for our concerts regularly." He laughed. "We're very much into authentic theorbos at the moment and he's found a couple of manuscripts with details of construction and two of our players have ordered new ones. What they'll cost is anybody's guess but he's always very generous. I think there's plenty of money there."
"I thought he was very nice and very sympathetic." I knew I could tell Dad. "One of the chords he played in the ear-test was the Tristan chord. I suppose I was a bit worked up about the whole thing and when he played that I almost cried. I said it was the Tristan chord and he got me to play the opening of the prelude. Then he said 'I can see that means a lot to you' then he looked at Tristan and said 'I can see why'. I shall always remember that. I think that helped me play even better. He understood me. You know what I mean don't you, Dad?"
Dad smiled. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. The first time I played the Bruch number two just after I graduated I'd just met your Mum and she was in the audience and I played it for her. And I know how much Tris means to you."
Poor Tris. He was a bit embarrassed and shuffled a bit on his chair next to me. I put a hand down and stroked his leg. He put his hand on mine. I think the strains of Tristan and Isolde would be heard later.
We told him about Mr Finch-Hampton and his rudeness and then - as no one else was up and around - we told him of the exploration of the crypt and what Adam had discovered which had remained a secret confession of that sixteen-year-old for five hundred and forty years.
"Adam was lying on the floor with his torch," said Tris, "And he saw there were tiny scratches under the Latin bit." I wondered what he would say next. "There were twenty-one over eight days so Adam said..."
Dad laughed. "Boys will be boys! Industrious youngster. How old? Sixteen eh? Not surprised!"
Oh my God! But then, Dad must have been a boy, but that was the first mention of what boys in general did. But then, Dad knew about Tris and me. We obviously had sex together. That had been so obvious even to Mum from that first occasion.
That conversation came to an abrupt halt as two bleary-eyed, but ravenously hungry, lads came into the kitchen with Laurent arguing in English and Francis answering in very fluent French. Bleary-eyed from what? Fourteen-year-old habits, no doubt. Yes, they confessed, but to new habits. They hadn't gone to bed until three a.m. as they had, repeat had, to find the next clue in the computer game they were playing. The clue had eluded them, thus the arguing. I think the skate park would be forgotten. No broken arms, legs, bruised bums, thank God, but bruised egos if the computer boffin who had devised the fiendish search for treasure was clever enough to withstand the onslaught of two very bright determined youngsters.
Tris said he needed a run to get him sorted. I was inveigled into shorts and top and was made to accompany him. Tris had borrowed a spare set of my things and we were just about to go out of the back door when Mum came down. She was all serene and happy.
"Nice to see all the family together," she announced, "especially with my son-in- law!"
A blushing Tris, with cat-calls from Toad and Crapaud, got a big kiss from Mum and a pat on his bum from me as I laughingly dragged him out of the back door.
On Sunday afternoon we three boys took a very triumphant Laurent to Waterloo to catch his train back to Lille. Triumphant as he had got one over on Frankie having solved the vital clue. Still Frankie was pleased and said he would e-mail Laurent if he managed the next level.
Laurent was quite fulsome in his praise. "My parents say you must all come to stay again. You are very good to me. Especially him," he pointed to Tris. "You make good big brother for me better than shitty sister I've got."
"Who taught you that?" Tris said. "If it was him he'll get what's coming to him," He pointed at Frankie who grinned and cowered. "Anyway your sister is very nice. She's getting married soon so you won't have her at home much longer."
"That is very true. But he says that word for everything. And I know I must not say it at home." He grinned at Frankie, "Tu connais, un morceau de merde, eh!" He turned to us. "My parents will send the invitations soon. You will be able to come. Your mother knows the date it is the twentieth-eighth of July."
I liked our trips to Lille. I liked French food as well as Italian and Laurent's father and mother were very much like Mum and Dad. Actually she was Swiss but he was typically French but with a great sense of humour. Laurent's two sisters were in their early twenties so Laurent must have been an afterthought or an accident. He was super-bright and a good match for the Toad who, quietly, was very good at French. So, the younger sister was getting married. The older one's wedding was a hoot as she had a lot of the students she had been at University with there and they sang and danced and really enlivened things up.
On the way back on the train we were in a quite empty carriage. I turned to Frankie. "You were about to say something when Mum said Tris's lot were down at the cottage. What was it Jack said?"
Frankie looked a bit sheepish. "Tris may not like it."
"Like what?" said Tris, knowing how to get Frankie rather bothered. "Come on, spit it out, Microbe!"
Frankie looked straight at me. But I just looked straight back. "OK," Frankie said and almost blurted out, "Jack says little girls like horse-riding 'cause they like the feeling of hard flesh between their legs...." He petered out and looked at Tris to see his reaction. Was his young sister getting some secret pleasure from this activity?
Dead-pan Tris asked, "So what? They're just getting ready for later..."
Frankie looked from Tris to me.
"I understand girls are very fond of hard flesh, but I wouldn't know," I said. "I think with the horses it's also the up and down movements, too, which also come later as well."
Poor Frankie. It dawned quite suddenly.
"You're taking the mick," he breathed. "But anyway, it's no good asking you two about girls. I need to know, though."
Horses forgotten. No, this was Frankie's hobby-horse. Better he kept to his other hobby for the time being. It was OK. He knew it was no good carrying on with his questioning. Perhaps 'Jack says..' might be able to delve into such mysteries with his Internet connection. That reminded me.
"Changing the subject slightly. When Tris is at Cambridge he'll have an Internet address. You can teach me how to send and receive e-mails."
I was a complete computer virgin. I'd opted out of IT as it clashed with the extra Music I could have. I did know a little bit but would no doubt press the wrong button and set the Pentagon ablaze. Frankie was now in charge!
"Easy-peasy," he crowed, "I'll set you up a separate account and address with mine or you can have a separate Hotmail account."
"Do as you please, but will you teach me?"
"'Cause I will, but it'll cost you!"
"You'd better teach him for free or I'll have to reveal to your mother what I found in your history folder that time I helped you with the English essay you had to write," said Tris.
Toad was scuppered. Tris had laughingly told me he'd deliberately clicked on something called pthree.jpg and brought up a picture of an unclothed young lady obviously scanned in from page three of one of the tabloids.
"Remind me, Tris," I said, which caused a complete deflation of the Toad.
"Jack sent it to me," Frankie said quietly, "And I forgot to delete it."
"Oh, and why had it been blown up to fit the whole screen?" asked Tris winding him up further. "Pity it was such a bad photo. All the little dots showed up."
"Jack's got better ones." Frankie said and then realised the whole import of that statement. I would get my instruction free, gratis and for nothing!
I had just got home on Monday afternoon about five o'clock when the phone rang. Frankie was in the kitchen looking for food and so answered it.
"Mark!" he yelled out as I was just going upstairs, "It's for you. Dr Henderson or Henson, I think."
Henson, I thought, Dr Henson was the Chaplain at St Mark's. I rushed downstairs back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone from a startled Frankie. "Mark Foster here," I said.
"Ah, Mark," came the low pitched, very cultured tones I remembered from Friday, "I have some news for you. You will be getting a formal letter from the Master but I am able to offer you the Pennefather Organ Scholarship for the three academic years starting in October 2001. I would be very pleased if you would accept. I can tell you in confidence your playing and already acquired musicianship was the best of any of the candidates, in fact, better than most of the many I have heard in the past. Dr Al-Hamed sends his best wishes and concurs entirely with offering you the Scholarship. In fact, he also asks me to convey his best wishes to your father and that there is a violin which has just been finished. He would be very privileged if your father would try it out and give his judgement on it." He chuckled. "In no way did Dr Al-Hamed working out that you were Gordon Foster's son influence any decision. So do you accept?"
What could I say? I just blurted out "Yes" and "Thank you" and stood dumbfounded while Dr Henson finished off by saying he was so pleased and would inform the Master informally.
Frankie took the phone from me and hung it back on the hook on the wall. "Is that the organ thing?" he asked, "At St Mark's? Have you got it?"
All I could do was nod. He leapt on me, almost crashing me to the ground. He wound his legs round me and hugged me. "Oh, Marky, I'm so glad. Congratulations!!"
He let go and rushed to the front room where Mum was hearing a student sing some Mozart aria. He burst in unceremoniously. "Mum, he's got it, he's got it!" and rushed back out again slamming the door ruining the poor girl's carefully controlled descent from some stratospheric high note. There must have been a few moments of hurried apologies then Mum appeared. We hugged and she cried.
Dad was phoned on his mobile. He was just having a snack before a concert that evening. A little while later a rather famous conductor phoned and said he'd been an organ scholar at a Cambridge college and now he made his money waving a stick, so there was always hope after a Cambridge education. Congratulations!
Frankie had disappeared and came back with a beaming Tristan. We hugged each other while Frankie stood patiently. As we parted he grinned up at me.
"Just this mean when you've gone next year I can have your room? It's bigger than mine and you won't be home much."
The Master's letter came on Wednesday. There were also letters from Ivo and Adam, a jointly scribbled one, and a very effusive one from Charles who was full of congratulations. Ivo phoned that evening, also, and filled me in with some the details as he had gone straight to someone in the know that afternoon, the Chaplain's secretary who, as a middle-aged lady with grown-up sons, had a soft spot for such a nice lad as Ivo. Adam was always very scathing about Ivo's ability to soft-soap the elderly, as he put it. Anyway, Ivo had to see her as he did the choir rota and she had spilled the beans
Yes, there had been three candidates. The first was at a very well-known Public School. He had made it very clear he only wanted the Organ Scholarship, he was a good player, but he certainly didn't want to read Music so had, in his words, chosen History 'as a soft option' as he wanted to experience a good social life after ten years at boarding school. This 'soft option' statement, plus an ignorance even of the period he was supposed to be doing for his A level, had not endeared him to Mr Finch-Hampton. The over-privileged, less than erudite, object as described by him during my interview with Professor Tanner.
But what had really cooked his goose was his overheard statement to his school-pal assistant that he didn't know Arabs knew anything about Western music. Apparently the Chaplain went incandescent and was all for getting two of the Porters to frog-march the bigoted youth off the College premises. The secretary said she'd asked him to tone down the letter he'd dictated to her which had been sent to the lad's headmaster.
The third candidate was also a very good musician but, after playing, announced he'd had a better offer at an Oxford college. Ivo then rubbed it in that I was the only choice they had after those two were eliminated so I had to have the post. Only joking, he said, Mrs Davies said you'd have got it anyway.
So, as long as I didn't bugger up my A levels I was assured of something one could only wish for. Gran was over the moon and, as well as the treasured photo of Grandad as a very precocious and knowing-looking thirteen-year-old, all decked up in chorister's ruff and surplice, I also got a cheque for a hundred pounds. I also had the embarrassment of the award being announced to the whole school by the Headmaster after I had played the usual entry tune on the school grand piano.
Term went on. Tris did his oral exams in French and German and I practised assiduously as I was determined to try for the Associate at Christmas. Mr Prentice said if I was going for the ARCM why not do the ARCO at the same time. The play lists were similar and he would willingly coach me. No problem except I had to practice more pieces and really get my improvisation going as well.
Summer came. Nina's wedding was stupendous. Both Laurent and Frankie were chasseurs d'honneur, page-boys in very neat black dinner jackets, bow-ties and impeccable behaviour. Toad and Crapaud were off duty for the day!
Our trip to the villa in Italy was, as usual, a great delight. Almost a month just getting baked brown, keeping an inquisitive Frankie and an even more inquisitive Ernesto, who bunked in with him, entranced when we sun-bathed in the nude with Ivo and Adam, whose rippling muscles were a sight for sore eyes, cooling off in the huge pool, eating the most delicious Italian food, watching the now older and much hairier pool boy, listening to Aldo's tales of high-life with the fashion celebrities, but, most important for me, enjoying the most intense sex every day, twice or thrice a day, with the most lovely creature in existence, my Tris. When I told him this last he smiled and said it was exactly the same for him
We sucked, fucked, wanked, in a continuous cycle of loving encounters. We also included my lovely cousins in several sessions, where, in the end, the four of us slowly and carefully learned how to give and take the most profound pleasure which is possible between males when love, respect and genuine altruism of giving and receiving are present in full measure.
My cousins might act the part of macho males. They had both lost their virginity to the other sex and were very active now in their couplings from all accounts, but as they confessed there was much to be said to be adventurous and to experience that which most men preferred to abhor. They asked if we would take that final step with them. We were hesitant in case it broke the loving ties between us. No, they were adamant. They knew how much we loved each other, could they not sample the full experience? We said only if they were quite, quite sure. They promised us they were. We explained that we both like giving and taking, neither felt they were particularly dominant nor exclusively submissive, a preferred top or preferred bottom in the jargon. That night I coupled with Ivo while that final step was taken by Tris with Adam.
The next morning as we sun-bathed, with Frankie and Ernesto racing each other in the pool, we discussed the happenings of the night before. Ivo and Adam said their eyes had been opened by the intense love and the commitment of each of us to be at one with our partner in those acts. Being given, or giving, seemed to be equal in their estimation, too. Two nights later we experienced that double joy again: I this time with Adam and Ivo with Tris.
I think from our conversations a much better understanding of us all emerged. Both Adam and Ivo asked why we had never attempted to have sex with girls. Tris and I looked at each other and shook our heads. There was no attraction, there was no need, we had realised the personas we had been born with early on and had found the ideal other to share and be with again at an early age. Ivo said he thought he could easily fall for a male. He said he'd had many fantasies when at school about trying things out, especially with some of the older sporty heroes. Adam nodded and admitted he'd had a crush when he was fourteen on the Sixth Former who helped to coach their Junior XV. He'd tossed off many nights thinking of the lanky prick he had glimpsed in the shower and the thought that his hero might be stroking that lengthy object at the same time as his own rigid four inches was being worked on.
He'd plucked up courage when they were home during the next vac and told Ivo of his fantasies when they were lying side by side in bed just have brought themselves to individual climaxes. Though both had tossed off each other numerous times, and had also wanked the other three in their dorm, Ivo said that was the realisation for him, too, that males often had feelings for other males and it wasn't just curiosity about size, how often, duration, amount of spunk, or any of the other things which boys need to know about this most strange phenomenon. In fact, he'd had a long talk with a close friend at school only a couple of weeks before they left and this other lad had confessed he too had wanked many times not only to the pictures in the surreptitiously hidden girlie mags but also to remembered images of boys he'd admired. "Not lust," Ivo said, grinning, "But pure adolescent male admiration."
"And the need to get your rocks off, bro," said Adam, "That's important, too, and that's the basis of lust."
While at the villa Tris's Dad had phoned with his A Level results. There was a deathly hush until with a whoop of joy the phone was thrown for Ivo to catch and I was caught in a great bear-hug.
"I got 'em! I got 'em! Just what I wanted. Three A's!" Pent-up emotions from the wait overflowed. He wept.
Without a word I took him to our bedroom. No one else in the room had moved. All were smiling. All knew a most private ceremony of love was to take place. In the quiet of the morning we kissed and then took up our favoured position where we could lave and suck each other and feel each other's bodies so close, so needing, so giving, so receiving. We shared each other's gift with darting, curling tongues, savouring those well-remembered tastes which with our growing maturity had changed so subtly but were still so recognisably each others.
An hour later we emerged and six boys hugged each other and Aldo opened a magnum of champagne and Tris's triumph was most adequately celebrated.
It was the following night, the third occasion when four boys loved each other to the ultimate. Four boys found that stamina of adolescence to pleasure each of their three companions and to receive their due rewards within the space of just a few hours. Twelve times the youthful juices flowed and finally four young males, safe in the sureness of mutual fellowship and the bonding through love and affection, slept until woken by the hot sun streaming through their open window.
So, holidays ended, I started the final year of my schooling. An important year as I had great goals to achieve but also to learn to live apart from my greatest love. My Tristan.
To be continued: