The Knife That Twists Within Part 14
by Stefan
Nicholas returned the receiver to the cradle and looked at the phone with disappointment. Nobody was at home, neither Matthias nor Simon, assuming the number he'd been given was even correct. Bored he went into the kitchen, turned on the dish washer and looked out of the window at the fair weather, perhaps Matthias had journeyed to the country with Tina. Crossing the hall, Nicholas chose to occupy himself in Marcus' library. He scanned the titles stacked across the high shelves. Books of all genres were represented, though the collection of art books was the largest. Subjects included Art Noveau, Faberge eggs and Lalique jewelry, Italian art history, Vasari's curriculi vitae of famous Painters, and the history of painting. Other shelves housed complete editions of works by Shakespeare, Goethe, Zola and Kafka. There was an illustrated volume about the emperors of Rome and Voragine's Legenda Aurea. He found Oscar Wilde's letters to Lord Alfred and finally pulled out a heavy book about Greek Mythology. There he became absorbed in an image of Belvedere Apollo, now standing in the Vatican Museum. He read the legend of Hyacinth, who was loved by Apollo and killed by a mistake with a discus. In another story Nicholas read of Kyparissos and Apollo. Kyparissos was often in the company of a tame stag, when it was inadvertently killed he became sick with grief. At his lover's urging, Apollo changed Kyparissos' body into a cypress tree, still a symbol of mourning in Greece. "So good old Apollo was gay too?" Nicholas muttered. "I would never change my lover into a tree!" But then something caught his eye and he pulled out another book. Leafing through it Nicholas found the paintings of Edward Burne-Jones. He marveled at the young Atlas, turned to stone and doomed to carry the Earth. The description indicated the painting had been done with gouache, so he jumped up and took the book with him to Marcus' little atelier under the roof. With his brushes and paints scattered about him, the book open beside him, Nicholas lay on the floor copying the painting. He grinned as he changed Atlas' tiny penis into a well evolved cock which hung freely between the strong legs. Examining his work, he decided it was not bad at all. Downstairs the phone rang. Breathless himself from rushing, Nicholas heard only breathing on the other end. "Hello?" he repeated again and again, but heard only the steady draw of breath made by the caller. Unnerved, Nicholas set the receiver down and waited for a second call. Perhaps the line was not functioning properly. But no second call came and after a time he returned to the attic. For the rest of the day Nicholas read through or slept over several open books. It was past midnight when he was again awakened by the phone. With a jolt he remembered that Marcus had said he would call and leapt for the phone, but again there was no one speaking on the other end. Frustrated, Nicholas hung up and dialed Simon's number. Again, there was no answer. The clock indicated it was 2 in the morning, certainly not the right time to call Marcus. A growling stomach forced him to the kitchen where he enjoyed a scavenged snack of cold sausages before going straight to bed."Now, tell me all about your evening with Simon." Ben chewed at his schnitzel and looked expectantly into Nicholas' eyes.
"There's not much to tell, Ben. We talked a bit and then he got tired, stayed overnight but in the morning, he was gone."
"Gone? Without a word?"
"He left his address and phone number, but he's never there when I call. I hope it isn't the wrong number, a phony one. Marcus was excited that we'd found him."
"You have his address? Would you give it to me?"
"Why? Are you interested in him? What are you thinking?"
Ben took a gulp from his orange juice. "Don't know exactly. There's something about him. Hard to tell really. That careless, put-out attitude - it seems like he covers up his real feelings with it. Have you ever thought about what it would be like if you were HIV infected? It must be hell, he must be terrified. Maybe that's why he wears the attitude."
Nicholas pulled Simon's address from his trouser pocket . "Want to pay him a visit?"
"Perhaps. I don't know yet." Ben looked briefly at the sheet. "Not a bad neighborhood. His deals must be lucrative."
Nicholas laughed a half laugh. "Don't get any ideas about taking up this business yourself!"
Ben grinned. "Did you notice that Frank hasn't had a private word with me?"
"Of course I did. But don't think this is the end, Frank is insidious."
Ben studied Nicholas for a moment before clearing his throat, "Nick, may I ask you something? You never told me exactly what happened, I mean between you and Frank. I assume he had invited you to study privately with him?"
"Yes, and offered me private lessons, just like you. I was so ... naive to think he only wanted me to be my best." Nicholas lowered his voice. "The only thing Frank wanted was to ram his cock up my arse."
Ben twitched and grimaced. "I can imagine. You couldn't get away, right?"
Nicholas didn't answer.
"But now I know his weak spot. He's afraid of being fucked," Ben continued.
"So what? You want to rape him?"
"No, that would be bullshit, it would make me just like him. It's just good to know."
"That's right." Nicholas looked at his watch. "Time to go. Say, did you see Walt's last painting?"
"Yes! It looked like a crow hopped over the canvas!" Both men were laughing as they carried their plates to the desk.
"When will you finally come home?" Nicholas asked, sulking into the receiver. "Not yet, honey. I can't. Karl told me Carlisle has arrived but we lost our trace on him so we don't know which hotel he's at. Are you having any problems?" Nicholas suddenly felt angry. "Remember Simon? I haven't be able to get in touch with him, so I still don't know if the phone number is right. That means I haven't called Kay. Besides, how would I explain that I had his brother and then lost him if it turns out the number is phony?" "Yes, yes, of course I remember. Keep trying the number. But what about you? Are you ok?" "Fine." Nicholas was getting monosyllabic. Marcus was impossible to deal with when his mind was occupied with the chase for a piece of work he absolutely had to have. Apparently finding Simon, his former lover, was no longer very important to him. Nicholas was beginning to understand things from Simon's point of view. "Honey? Are you still there?" "Yes. So you don't know when you'll be back? Well, perhaps Simon and I could spend a nice week together. Perhaps I should call Ben as well. We could have a nice threesome!" Marcus was silent for a moment. "Are you mad at me?" "No. Why should I be." "Listen, angel. You know I have to work, it's my profession." Marcus' voice remained calm, but Nicholas suspected it was only because Marcus was bored by the conversation, already thinking about his chase again. The thought annoyed him. "This isn't about your profession, Marcus. Your job. All this effort is for a screen you have no intention of ever selling. You do it simply for your pleasure!" He heard Marcus sigh with exasperation. "Ok, we should discuss this as soon as I get back. Call me again, promise?" "Yes, I promise. Bye." Nicholas said begrudgingly. Before replacing the receiver he thought to say something else, "Marcus?" he shouted, but he had already hung up. "Shit!" Nicholas was now angry with himself. Couldn't he be alone for some days without to bawl like a little child? Damn it. Without hesitation he called Matthias and was pleased to get an invitation for a comfortable evening in front of the TV.Ben was surprised that Simon had agreed to meet with him at the coffeebar. Now both sat at the large window watching the people pass by.
"So you also study painting, yes?" he heard Simon's husky voice.
"Yes. It's my last semester and if I'm lucky I'll take my final exam this summer."
"And what will you do then?"
"I'll try to find employment at a museum, or study more, become a teacher."
Simon nodded. "Sounds interesting." But his tone made it clear he didn't find it interesting at all. "So Marcus supports Nick, right? He's good at painting, isn't he?"
"Indeed he is. You saw some of his work?"
"Actually only one, the nude of Marcus."
Ben was surprised. It seemed only normal that Nick had painted his lover, but that Simon had seen it was odd. "Where did you see it?"
"It's hanging in his bedroom." Simon replied, smiling when he met Ben's shocked expression.
Yet, within the smile came a small crack in his hustler's veneer and Ben believed he caught a glimpse of the man that Simon had been before. "I had asked to see Marcus' painting of ME, you know," Simon offered as an explanation for his presence in the bedroom. "Nick's painting of Marcus hangs beside it."
"I see. Would you go back to Marcus if you could?" Simon didn't answer immediately.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy. Forget the question."
"It's ok. Actually, I thought about it yesterday. I guess the answer is yes. But it doesn't depend on me. Marcus has found a new lover, perhaps a faithful one, at least a healthy one."
"And what about you? Does your job as a hustler satisfy all your desires? Is that it?"
Simon gave him a strange look. "I don't think you can compare my current occupation to that. The work is mostly mechanical, without lust. Can you image how many cocks I've had in my mouth and arse? How many I didn't like at all? I do it for the money, then to forget the shit I do, I drown my sorrows with pot."
"But Nick said you come from a wealthy family. I mean, why don't you ..."
"Ah, my wealthy family. Should I go back to them, saying "Here I am: your good son, soon to be suffering from AIDS, help me!' Simon shook his head. "I have to figure it out by myself. It was my fault and now I have to atone for it."
"How about Marcus?"
"He chucked me out."
Ben looked doubtful. "He chucked you out? Before or after he learned that you're infected?"
"Before, of course. He found me fucking another man in his bed. In our bed. But I'm pretty sure he did the same thing when he was traveling."
"Afterwards you could have called him. I'm sure he would have helped you."
"Perhaps." Simon's eye caught sight of a blond man entering the coffebar, searching for a free seat. It was a face he would never forget with its light eyes and the thin, pink lips.
Ben followed Simon's gaze. "Do you know him?"
"Sure! He was my last trick. Worked me the whole night."
Frank recognised Ben and approached the table. With a condescending grin on his face as he chided, "Well Ben, I wouldn't have thought I'd find you in such... pleasant company." Nodding slowly in Simon's direction, he pulled out a chair to sit down. "May I?"
Still ignoring Simon, Frank continued, "Since when do you need a hustler for a bed comrade?"
"He isn't my "bed comrade". But tell me, how do you know him?" Ben's hazel eyes pierced Frank's. "Are YOU in need of a hustler?"
Frank laughed out loud.
"Sure he was in need", Simon threw in, "a whole night of need, right Frank? But since when do you know such an arsehole, Ben?"
"He's my teacher."
"Teacher?!" Simon looked Frank up and down with contempt. "You're a teacher?" Simon mocked. "I always thought teachers had more brains than you have."
Ben suddenly comprehended the situation, realizing that Frank must have picked Simon up after their own disastrous encounter.
With a glance toward Ben, Simon spoke to Frank. "You should have a care, Frank, especially when you engage a hustler. Don't forget the condoms." Next he spoke to Ben. "Let him pay for this. I'd like to meet you again, but I have to get going now. Give my regards to Nick, alright?" Without waiting for an answer he was gone.
Frank turned to Ben's amused face, his own exhibiting only confusion.
"So you forgot your condoms, Frank?" Then Ben's smile vanished. "He's HIV-infected. If I were you I would go for a test sometime." He rose. "Have a nice evening."
Frank watched Ben go, dumbfounded. "HIV-infected" echoed in his ears again and again. Suddenly he began to shiver, rummaging through his pockets for some notes to throw upon the table.
It was shortly after 9 pm and the oval shaped Piazza Navona was filling slowly with tourists and inhabitants anxious for supper. Kay looked out the window, charmed by what he was able to see but frustrated also that the light mirrored in the glass obscured other things. He regretted that it was too cool to sit outside. Perhaps he would get a chance to experience a Roman spring or even a summer with Sebastian. Kay was not the only person to catch Sebastian's interest in the center of the room. Beside the large aquarium filled with exotic fishes showing off their bright colours was a long table displaying an equally impressive and varied dessert selection. "Dessert?" The young waiter chanced, clearing away the remainder of their supper. They exchanged a few words in Italian before Sebastian turned to Kay and said with a smile, "Go with him, so you can chose for yourself." Kay looked at the waiter, unsure about following him to have a look at various trays filled with tasty looking desserts. "Go on!" Sebastian prodded. Examining the selection, Kay pointed to a cake-like sweet and watched the young Italian pile an ample piece upon his plate while smiling politely. Carrying the dessert behind Kay, the waiter accompanied him back to his place. Sebastian's grin showed his teeth. Slightly embarrassed by the fuss, Kay said, "Now tell me what I've chosen." "Tiramisu of course. Good choice." Kay tasted the cake and found it delicious. "This can't be the same thing we buy at home in the plastic boxes. It has a completely different flavor. Here." He held out his fork to Sebastian. "Indeed! Perfection." Sebastian smiled deviously. "Are you often here?" Kay asked with a full mouth. "Not very. Too many tourists. As good as the food is, there is better. You'll see. I call this tourists-feeding, you know. I only wanted to show you this place at night. It's enchanting." He watched Kay. "Hurry up, sweetheart. There is more to see." Sebastian had promised correctly. Adolescents of the town were illuminated by the soft glow of diffused spots aimed where they bathed in the Fontana dei Fiumi. Their chattering and laughing filled the night air drowning out the babbling of the water. "A gay spot?" "No, no. At least not that I've noticed." "Certainly you know all the secret places, don't you?" Sebastian's laugh was deep. "You really think I'm a complete slut, right? Look around. You've see all the hot, longhaired studs? How could I keep my cock under control? Sometimes I sneak around those places, behind the railway station or the Colosseum. They have their enticements... But there are other addresses." "And you are the star of all the gay bars, I bet. They must go crazy for your light hair and skin." Kay stood looking up at the twin belfries of the St. Agnese church . "How is it that you are living alone here?" He turned to look into Sebastian's eyes. "Or have you quickly hidden his remains?" "No, Kay. Andrea is gone. He never lived with me actually, but commuted from his flat to my house." Sebastian noticed a small opening along the rim of the spring and pulled Kay with him. Kay splashed in the water and while examining the slim, tapered obelisk etched with the foreign hieroglyphs. "Is this genuine?" he asked. "The obelisk? Yes. Originally it stood in the Circus Maximus." "Ah! 'Ben Hur' right?" Sebastian snorted, "Yeah, sort of." "It's unbelievably old," Kay shook his head. "I've never seen so many old things." Sebastian smiled. "You'll get used to it, sweetie. The water is drinking water, by the way. Supplied from the ancient aqueducts." Kay pulled out his hand and licked his fingers. "It's getting cold, honey." Sebastian seemed to shiver. "Let's get home." "But you haven't told me about your projects here. What do you actually do besides carousing or cruising in gay bars?" he added. Sebastian tugged at Kay's earring. "Tell you later." At the Campo dei Fiori they were able to catch a taxi to take them back home. A black shape crouched in the shadows of trees against the wall, coming forward when the taxi doors slammed shut. Sebastian startled, instinctively grabbing Kay's hand, only to drop it a second later. "Andrea!" he exclaimed with relief. "What are you doing here?" Kay's heart thumped painfully. As the young man stepped into the dim light of the street lamps Kay made a closer inspection, observing the slender features and presumedly black, shiny curls that covered half his face. A small moustache graced his upper lip while his eyes shimmered with the light. "You have the remarkable talent of being at the right place at the wrong time." Sebastian told him dryly. "I haven't heard from you for a month and now you show up all of a sudden." "Scusi, amante. I wanted to see you, that's all. You're right, it's long time ago." He spoke a broken German which Kay found lovable. "So how did you know that I was back? Antonella gave it away?" "Si, Antonella. She told me you were back with a new guy," he explained, eying Kay. Sebastian squeezed Kay's hand. "He's not just a 'new guy'. I'm sure you only wanted to satisfy your curiosity, right baby?" Kay didn't know if he should grin or grimace. He didn't like it when someone spoke about him as if he wasn't there. Nor did he appreciate standing in the cold. "Can we go in, or do we need to discuss this here?" he asked. "I don't think it's a good idea to invite you in," Sebastian explained to Andrea. "You have your Vespa with you, I see. Give me a call tomorrow, why don't you? We're tired." Disappointment painted Andrea's face and he signed audibly. "I won't forget to call," he promised in a tone that sounded not unlike a threat as he mounted his bike. "Phew! What was all that all about? And who's Antonella?" Kay asked as they passed through the gate and Sebastian unlocked the front door. "It seems Andrea does not share my opinion - that we are finished," Sebastian assured Kay. "Antonella you ask? She is my housekeeper and Andrea's sister. Odd that he should turn up just like that though," Sebastian muttered. "Indeed. He's quite a black beauty, isn't he?" Kay grinned. "Any good in bed?" Sebastian slapped him playfully on his buttocks. "What do you think? That any of my lovers are boring in bed?" "Hmm, I've never had a Latin lover!" Kay giggled, fleeing up the stairs to the bedroom before another slap could touch him. "I'm your Latin lover, sweetie! I've learnt a lot!" Sebastian shouted after him, laughing all the while.Nicholas woke up with a terrible headache. Moaning, he tried to sit up, but that only added to the pain and he sank back into the pillows. Adding to his discomfort was his morning hard on, an irritating reminder that Marcus hadn't called last evening, nor had Nicholas been able to reach him. It was vaguely worrying; Marcus kept a cellular phone with him at all times. Perhaps it would be better to stay in bed - at least until noon, maybe he would feel better by then. Sighing he turned on his side, pulling Marcus' pillow to his chest to breathe in the fading scent of his lover.
An annoying noise awakened Nicholas a few hours later. Anna and her Hoover on the staircase. He blinked several times and looked at the clock. A quarter to ten. His headache hadn't yet subsided and the sound of the vacuum cleaner grew louder.
"Anna!" he cursed silently stepping out of bed and vanishing into the bathroom. A moment later and Anna would have had the pleasure of observing his bare butt as she entered the bedroom with her hoover.
She wondered about the drawn curtains and the sounds coming from the bathroom. Nicholas meanwhile had pulled on his robe and met Anna's surprised look.
"Morning, Anna. I'm not feeling too well."
"Sorry, you want to sleep more, yes? I can do this later."
"It's alright, Anna. I'm up now. Maybe a cup of coffee will help."
He disappeared down the stairs and heard the phone ring in the hall. His heart jumped in anticipation. But however much he hoped it would be Marcus, he realized Marcus would assume he was at school at this hour.
"Yeah?"
"Nick! It's Ben. I was worried about you."
"Oh, shit, Ben. Thank's for calling. I'm not well today, can you let them know?"
"Sure I can. But what's the matter with you? I have news I was anxious to tell you!"
"Yes?" Nicholas' mood was on the rise. "Tell me now."
"Yesterday I went to Simon's and found him home. We went for coffee and had a little chat and you'll never guess who showed up!"
"Who?"
"Frank."
"No!"
"Yes. But the biggest news is, Frank and Simon know each other!"
Nicholas was confused. "But how?"
"Nick, think about it! Your wits are still asleep, eh? Frank BOUGHT Simon for full night some days ago, and fucked the brains out of him."
Nicholas was dumbfounded for a moment. "Indeed?"
"Yes, indeed. You can imagine my surprise. But the worst of it is, Simon cautioned Frank about using condoms in the future. They'd fucked without protection! Now Frank's probably off to the nearest hospital getting tested, at least he didn't come today."
"Again?" Quickly Nicholas pondered the consequences. He didn't like it, but he felt an almost malicious glee. At least now Frank got his punishment. "And Simon, does he think Frank is infected now?"
"Don't know. He was gone before I could ask. But even the thought of infection can be hell too, don't you think?"
"Of course! Now, how are the lessons?"
"Mrs. Schneider is taking them for today. You really don't want to come over? There's still time."
"Yes." Nicholas felt suddenly much better. "I'm coming. Give me an hour."
Replacing the receiver, Nicholas dashed upstairs and caught Anna in the bathroom, pulling out the dirty clothes. As she sorted the laundry into piles beside her, Nicholas caught site of the tiny see-through jock strap Kay had slipped into his shopping. Quickly, with an embarrassed grin, he snatched it from Anna's hand.
She scowled, "Give it to me, I've seen such things before." Then peering over her big glasses she asked, "Was it Marcus on the phone?"
"No, Ben. I'm now off to the Academy." He returned the jock to Anna. "Take care of it, I don't want to lose it in the wash. Now, can I have a shower?"
Anna disappeared grumbling.
THE STEP ========
"Tower Green!" the guide shouted over the heads of various visitors gathered together in the yard of the Tower of London. With relief, Marcus counted less than he'd expected, even for an off-season Tuesday. So it was with little fanfare that Marcus found himself fulfilling a life-long wish to visit The Tower.
The guide, a Beefeater distinguished by his funny dress, stood beside a rail indicating a brass plaque. "This place marks the exact spot where scaffolds for private executions once stood. Generally reserved for royalty, only the 'invited' attended proceedings held here."
Marcus followed the explanations attentively whereby he watched the black uniform, the bulging hat upon his almost white hair and the large E II R letters, embroidered at his chest.
"Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, was executed on this place 19th May of 1536," the Beefeater continued without emotion. Attempting a closer look, Marcus craned himself around the fleshy back of a German tourist ahead of him and accidentally stepped on a tourist to his right. Turning quickly to apologize, he found a good looking man with honey coloured hair. It crossed Marcus' mind that it was odd for the gentleman to be wearing sunglasses when the sun had not shone for the entire day, nor did it seem likely to appear any time soon. As if reading his thought, the man removed his glasses and Marcus found himself staring into the grey eyes of a man somewhere in his thirties. Their gaze held a moment or two longer than Marcus was comfortable with and Marcus shivered, not just because a sharp wind was suddenly blowing through the leafless branches beside them.
"Leading to the church of St. Peter ad Vincula," the Beefeater droned on, "we pass by the final resting places of Queen Anne and Katherine, wife of Charles II.
It felt to Marcus as if the stranger had been searching deep within him, and he was aware of the heat which had radiated from him, still radiated as he moved close behind him. He heard a light "ahem" and a very pleasant, low voice at his ear,
"Italian?"
Marcus knew instantly that the speaker was British-born and whispered back. "Sorry. German."
Receiving no acknowledgement, Marcus assumed the man didn't like Germans but then he felt the touch of a body in his back, leaning against him.
"First time in London?"
"No. But my first time to the Tower." Marcus knitted his brows to understand what the guide was saying. The group began to move and Marcus followed. "Where are we going now?" he asked the foreign man who walked at his side.
"To Martin Tower. In the mood for instruments of torture? There are cages, racks for stretching, suspended manacles, skewers..."
"Actually I'm not into S&M", he said seriously looking over his shoulder, hearing his neighbor's accompanying laugh. "Where are the crown jewels?" Marcus continued.
"Ah, only interested in the precious things? Well, it's the last attraction of the tour. You have to wait for good half an hour." Again looking to into Marcus eyes, he smiled. "Your English is excellent. Are you living here?"
Marcus shook his head and signified quiet because the guide had begun to speak again as they followed the group upstairs from the yard into a light brown, stony tower. Inside it was dark, barely illuminated.
"By the way, my name is George."
"Hello, George."
When Marcus did not reciprocate, George said, "And what shall I call you?"
Marcus slowed his pace to come to the end of the group, closing the space between them before speaking directly into George's face. "What do you want, George? A quick fuck behind the knight's armour?"
George grinned. "Why not?"
Marcus watched his thin, long nose which built a crass contrast to the soft flesh of his rosy lips and couldn't help but smile a bit. The Beefeater was speaking about the execution block and the numerous victims that had been tortured as a result of politics.
"I've been watching you since the start of the tour. I never would have thought to see such dark hair and eyes in a German man."
Marcus shot back, "And I thought all British men wore only bowlers and carried umbrellas.
Again his comment was met with pleasant, low laughter. "All stereotypes, my dear. Are you alone here?"
"Yes. Alone here." Marcus stressed the word 'here'.
"On holiday?"
A woman turned and gave both men an angry look.
"Come with me, I'll guide you to The Jewels. I've been here many times before."
Marcus gave him a suspicious look, but nodded briefly and both left the group and the gruesome atmosphere.
Outside George pointed in the opposite direction. "Over there, behind White Tower are the ravens. Legend says that if the ravens fly away it will spell the end of the British Empire. But don't worry, being a clever lot, we keep their wings clipped so they can't fly."
"Funny thing", Marcus answered. "What a sad life."
While they had a look at all the precious gems, scepters, crowns and rings, swords, guns and armour, Marcus wondered why he'd agreed to accompany George. The man wasn't unpleasant, quite the opposite in fact, but Marcus was uncomfortable, not knowing where this detour might lead to.
"Ok, George, that was very interesting. But now I have an appointment to keep."
George's sparkling grey eyes seemed to be disappointed.
"I thought I could show you some more. But if you really have to go..." He interrupted himself. "What about the evening? I know a good bar."
Marcus shook his head. "Sorry. Not interested," and was about to leave.
"One moment, Marcus. I have something to tell you that I think you'll find most interesting."
Marcus actually didn't want to answer but then something struck him. He turned.
"Did I tell you my name?"
George grinned. "No, you didn't. Surprised?"
"Indeed!" Marcus came closer again. "Where do you know my name from?"
"I'll tell you at the bar."
Marcus rolled his eyes to the cloudy sky and nodded obligingly. "Ok. Where's the bar?"
A light veil of fog hovered over the Thames clouding the pillars of Towerbridge. After leaving George, Marcus went to St Katherine's Pier, enthralled by the master achievement of Victorian engineering. He shivered in the cold breeze coming from the river while he tried to figure out who this George person was, how he knew his name, and what interesting information he had that he seemed so anxious to share. No answers came to him.
Marcus regretted that Nicholas wasn't with him to chat about all that had happened. Yes. He regretted beyond measure that his lover was alone in Berlin; how much he missed him at such moments.
Marcus went along the restored Docks, looking at the various ships and boats anchored in the port. Though the shops lining the Pier were by then closed, he enjoyed looking at the displays. Passing the occasionally restaurants, he considered stopping, but decided he wasn't hungry. With a quickened step he reached Tower Hill, the next underground station. He entered the tube and took a seat.
Hands in his pockets, lost in thought, Marcus hardly noticed the other occupants. Karl had finally figured out where Dennis Carlisle was residing, but neither of them had been able to reach him. Marcus' last hope was that he hadn't yet spoken to the administration of the museum. Marcus was convinced that the museum would stop at nothing to obtain the screen. He wasn't sure anymore if he could compete. And finally: was it worth it? His stupid search for this piece of work had led him away from Nicholas, leaving him all alone. He sighed inwardly. But then, Nick was old enough to care for himself and to comprehend that each of them had to live his own life to a certain extent.
Simon came to his mind. He was relieved that the boys had found him and apparently in better condition than he had feared, but what now? Marcus had no clue what to do and he wasn't sure, all of the sudden, if he even wanted to see him again. Of course there still was a feeling of protection and care, but what if Simon would become seriously ill? It was inevitable, he would die in the more or less nearer future and this thought frightened Marcus more than he cared to admit. Would he have the strength to care for him in days of despair? Was it even his obligation?
Marcus jumped. He'd nearly missed his station. At High Street Kensington he went upstairs, passing the 'Sticky Fingers' cafe, owned by former Rolling Stone, Bill Wyman. He passed Prince's Gate heading for the Leyland Museum, but then he changed his mind and went directly to the cosy little bed and breakfast he always visited when he was in London. Sometimes he'd just had enough of all the luxury hotels.
Briefly he wondered why Nicholas' hadn't called but got the answer as he stepped into his room. His mobile phone sat beside the bed. He took it and dialed home but there was no answer. Marcus was startled as the phone rang seconds later.
"Hi, it's Karl. Finally I reach you! Is something wrong with your phone?"
"Simply forgot to take it with me. What's up, Karl?"
"I managed to speak to Carlisle! He wants to see us and to lend us his ear. What do you think? Am I excellent?"
"Yes, you are excellent and one in a million, Karl! That's great. When?"
"Nine p.m. Marble Arch. I'll pick you up."
To be continued