FIC: Roses of Picardy [7/?]
Jul. 1st, 2012 05:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Roses of Picardy
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
When men who knew them walk old ways alone,
The paths they loved together, at even-fall,
Then the sad heart shall know a presence near,
Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone,
The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear.
---Ivor Gurney, Afterwards
*
“Blasted nuisances.”
Jim, crouching between Jamie’s knees as Jamie sat on the edge of the bathtub, chuckled but didn’t look up from his struggle with Jamie’s cufflink. “Well, they are a bit tricky – these are, at any rate. And I do think buttons are a bit more practical. But these are very smart, I must admit.”
“I’m just going to leave the damned things off next time.”
“Oh, you can’t do that. Sleeves flapping everywhere. You’d be a social…pariah.” Jim squinted and tugged. “I’m afraid to break them. Ah! There we are.” He beamed happily and showed one engraved silver cufflink in the palm of his hand, then laid it carefully on the vanity table next to Jamie’s shirt studs. “Other hand, please.”
Jamie transferred his cigarette to his left hand and proffered the right to Jim, glad that they had something to occupy the moment. He’d thought that their frenzy of intimacy would shatter any boundaries left between them, but unaccountably, he felt shyer than ever and quite unable to meet Jim’s eyes. He plucked a fleck of tobacco from his lower lip and examined it as intently as if it were a Fabergé egg. “You didn’t exaggerate about the bathroom. Spiffing.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Jim glanced around at the modern white-and-black tiled room with its porcelain tub and sink and gleaming fixtures. A wet evening breeze blew the crisp white cotton curtains inward. “That’s one of my dad’s tubs you’re perched on there.”
“Is it?” Jamie twisted a bit to look at the tub. “Did you have it refitted?”
“No, just coincidence. He was delighted when he saw it and insisted this was the flat for me. Happily, it is quite cosy, so I didn’t put up an argument. Good Lord, did you weld these on?” Jim gritted his teeth. “There! Got it.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’d still be trapped in the damn shirt if it weren’t for you.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, I assure you.” Jim set the second link next to the first, then turned Jamie’s hand over so the palm faced upwards. “Jamie?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not sorry about what we did, are you?” Jim addressed Jamie’s knees, and his voice was almost inaudible.
Jamie wet his lips. Sorry? He’d never forget it, his appalling awkwardness notwithstanding, for the rest of his life. “No, Jim. I’m not sorry at all.”
Jim looked up at him, relief and joy shining in his eyes. He brought Jamie’s palm to his lips and kissed it, then kissed the pale underside of Jamie’s wrist. “I dreamed of being this close to you – of being able to touch you, and taste and smell you. For more than a year I lived on the strength of one kiss, and every day I feared it might have been our last.”
“I – I was afraid of that too.”
“You’ve gone quite pink. Am I very foolish for saying these things to you?”
“No.” Tentatively, Jamie brushed his hand over Jim’s unruly curls. “You mustn’t think that. It’s only that I’m a bit – well, tongue-tied. I don’t know how to say beautiful things the way you do. I haven’t the gift for it. I wish I did.”
“I don’t need you to say beautiful things.” Jim rose to his feet and grimaced.
“I shouldn’t have let you kneel like that.” Jamie hastened to stand and support Jim, who was wobbling the slightest bit. “Is the pain very bad?”
“It’s a twinge, no more,” Jim insisted, though his face was white. “You mustn’t worry on my account. It is healed – it’s only that it aches now and then.”
“But you’re still using a cane.” Jamie stubbed out his cigarette in the pristine glass ash-tray Jim had given him.
“Well…yes, that’s true. I know, I’d hoped to be sprinting to the station to see you, but the best I can manage right now is a fast limp. I don’t know that I’ll ever ride again, or even get up to more than a trot myself.” Jim turned away, giving Jamie ample opportunity to admire the elegant length of his back. “Believe me, I wish I were whole and fit.”
The sudden slump of Jim’s shoulders tore at Jamie’s heart and spoke volumes. Dear Jim, so determined to be cheerful for Jamie’s sake, so optimistic in his letters, never saying a word about the possibility that his injuries might be permanent. “I don’t care,” he said, and rested a hand on one shoulder, then gently urged Jim round to face him. “I wouldn’t care if you’d lost both arms and legs. You’d – you’d mean no less to me. I only care that it still causes you pain.”
The anxiety in Jim’s face dissolved, and he put his arms around Jamie and embraced him. “I thought you said you were no good at saying beautiful things.” His hand cupped the back of Jamie’s head, caressing it. “Tell me what else you’re hiding behind that terribly correct military composure.”
Jamie found his hands stroking the smooth skin of Jim’s back, over delicate vertebral bumps and the angular precision of his shoulder blades, and then he kissed Jim’s neck, his lips brushing against the faint prickle of beard, moving up his jawline, then finding Jim’s mouth, lips already parted to receive Jamie’s kiss. He was aroused again, and moved his body closer to Jim’s.
Panting a little, Jim broke the kiss. “Are you trying to drag me back into bed already?”
“Would that be so awful?”
“It would be positively smashing, but we’ve got to wash your shirt first. I don’t want you to leave, not tonight. Will your parents be furious if you stay the night?”
“I doubt they’ll notice. You haven’t got a telephone, have you?” Jim shook his head. “Oh well, no matter. They’ll survive.” Jamie reluctantly moved away from Jim and took off his shirt. “What sort of soap should I launder this with?”
“Mrs. Taylor uses a powdered soap and that bluing stuff for my laundry, but I think Pears should do in a pinch.” Jim turned the water on in the bathtub. “Give it here.”
“I can do it.”
“Hand it over, if you please, Colonel. I’m at your service. I say, is your undershirt in need of laundering as well?”
Jamie inspected it. “Ah…perhaps, yes.” He grinned bashfully.
“Off with it. We’ll wash them and hang them up over the register and they should be dry by morning.”
Wanting to be the model of obedience, Jamie tugged off his undershirt and handed it to Jim, who couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from Jamie’s naked chest. Embarrassed heat prickled over Jamie’s skin, and it was all he could do not to turn away despite the open admiration on Jim’s face. “Who taught you to do laundry?” he asked in desperation. “Your housekeeper or someone at home?”
“Oh.” Jim finally wrenched his gaze upward and smiled. “Nobody, except for those field instructions we got ages ago, do you remember those? I can’t imagine it’s all that difficult, though. It’s just soap and water. Are your trousers all right?”
“Yes. A bit wrinkled, that’s all.”
Jim bent to the bathtub faucet and turned on the hot-water tap. “Perhaps you should take them off. I’ve got a spare dressing gown. It’s in the wardrobe in my bedroom. Go and put it on, and you can hang your trousers up in here. The steam might help.”
Jamie nodded and went back into the bedroom. It was faintly pungent, so Jamie opened a window and then stripped with trembling fingers, scarcely able to fold his trousers neatly. Inexperienced as he was, he wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t realise that he and Jim had hardly begun to explore one another, and the thought that there was more pleasure to come was nearly overwhelming. He found the dressing gown, silk-lined wool, and slipped it on. Catching a glimpse of himself in the cheval mirror in one corner, he laughed at the sight of his black silk stockings peeking out from beneath the hem of the robe and took them off, leaving them attached to the garters, and carelessly tossed them to one side next to his evening shoes.
“What are you laughing at?” Jim asked, strolling into the bedroom with a heap of blue towelling over one arm.
“Myself. Why should one look more natural barefoot in a dressing gown? Why do socks look so ridiculous with them?”
“Ah. You’ve struck upon one of the great mysteries of life.” Jim tossed the towelling – a bathrobe, Jamie saw – onto the bed. “I think that might be second to the question of why people will happily eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, but if someone should suggest it for supper, pitying gazes ensue.”
“That is an enormously complicated question,” Jamie replied solemnly.
“True. You see, that Jesuit sophistry didn’t go to waste after all. And I love bacon and eggs for supper.” Jim picked up Jamie’s trousers. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Jamie paced the narrow L-shaped section of floor space in Jim’s bedroom. The room itself was sparsely furnished, of necessity: besides the bed, there was the small wardrobe, one straight-backed chair, the mirror tucked in the corner, and a night table with a lamp on the far side of the bed. There was a picture-print on one wall, a landscape in bosky dark greens, and a crucifix hung between two windows. Jamie examined it for a moment. His own religious upbringing had been somewhat laissez-faire: he had been christened – somewhere in the Selkirk house there was a dreadfully stiff daguerreotype of his mother holding his tiny infant figure in a white gown that swept the floor in a heavy curtain of Valenciennes lace, with his father standing expressionlessly by – and his mother had taken him and Philip to church with some regularity when they were children, but he hadn’t set foot inside a church in years and he doubted Philip had either. He wondered how devout Jim was, and if what they’d done had constituted some sort of sin that merited eternal damnation.
“I won it in school.”
Jamie wheeled. “Sorry?”
“I won that,” Jim said, pointing to the crucifix, “in school, in a Latin competition. I can still quote entire passages of Quaestiones Disputatae de Potentia Dei. It’s a very dull party trick, but then most parties aren’t populated by budding Aquinists.”
“Do you go to church?”
“Sometimes. I’m a rather lackadaisical Catholic, much to the distress of my mother. Do you?”
Jamie shook his head. “When I was a child, yes. Not now. I still pray once in a while. I don’t know that my prayers reach God’s ears, though.”
“Well, one of mine has,” Jim said. “You’re home.”
Only for a fortnight, Jamie thought, but didn’t say it. “I’d no idea you were such a scholar.”
Jim chuckled and limped toward the bed, resting his hand on the brass footrail, next to his still-folded uniform tunic. “Sometimes I think I should have learnt something more useful, like carpentry or banking.” Casually, he scratched his flat belly, leaving pink streaks across a taut expanse of skin the colour of cream. “I’ve tried to think what I might do once the war is over and I confess nothing appealing comes to mind.”
“You’re going to resign your commission?”
“I’d have resigned it already if I weren’t working for the army. Soldiering was a youthful dream, one my father encouraged when he realised I didn’t want to make bathtubs. The reality….” Jim shrugged. “What about you? Do you plan to stay once the war’s over?”
Jamie hesitated, then walked to the bed and sat. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand up and down the blue towelling of Jim’s bathrobe, watching the threads go pale and dark by turns. “Frankly, Jim, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
A silence pervaded the room, broken only by Jim’s soft, indrawn breath.
Jamie looked up at Jim, whose face was white and pinched. “What’s wrong?”
Jim gripped the bedrail tightly enough to blanch the knuckles. “You mustn’t say that. You mustn’t even think it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help it, old man.” Jamie tried for a light laugh and failed.
“Jamie –“ Jim sank to the bed beside him. “Jamie, please don’t think badly of me for speaking in this way. I’m not as hopelessly stupid as that sounded, or at least I pray I’m not. I know I only faced it for a short while, but I remember awakening in that glade and struggling to my feet, thanking God I’d been spared, only to see all that…slaughter, all that death.”
Jamie nodded, staring down at the bathrobe again, his hand moving ceaselessly over the fabric, stopped only by Jim’s hand closing over it. How many times had he thought that he’d passed beyond fear, only to encounter it again in the next shelling or shooting? How many times had he fought past the paralysis that threatened to fell him for good; how many times had he turned a blind but compassionate eye to the silent weeping of his men? He no longer chided them for their tears. They were entitled to their tears, their terror, their grief for their fallen comrades. They lived in an endless haze of blood and gas and agony and death. Though his discipline was still rigorous, it was tempered with weary understanding. It was April of 1916, and they were all exhausted, homesick, grieving. At times he wondered when apathy would creep in and poison them as surely as the mustard gas that drifted yellow foulness over the fields of battle. Each time he led a raid or defended against one, he marshalled thoughts of patriotism, of home, of Jim, and hoped it would be enough to sustain him. So far, it had. But for how much longer?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim begged.
Jamie looked up at Jim’s strained, white face. What must it be like for him, for all those who waited, hoping and praying, dreading the terse letter penned by a superior officer? “Forgive me, Jim. I don’t mean to be so morbid.”
“I know you can’t help it. I know. Please, I don’t wish to stifle you –“
“I don’t want to think of it at all, but I’ve got to. I’ve got to go back, and I’m frightened.” Jamie shuddered. “Can you credit that at all – after a year and a half at the front, I’m still afraid.”
“Oh, Jamie –“ Jim wrapped his arms round Jamie’s body, pulling him close, and Jamie clung to him desperately. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’m glad you can’t. If you weren’t here waiting, I might have given up by now.”
“No.” Jim’s grasp tightened. “You promised I wouldn’t lose you. You swore an oath.” He kissed Jamie’s throat, then his mouth. “You swore,” he whispered against Jamie’s lips.
“Don’t let’s talk about it any longer. I’ve made you unhappy. I’m sorry.” Jamie breathed in Jim’s scent, intoxicating, complex, so gloriously alive.
“No. You’ve never made me anything but happy. All those evenings in the officers’ mess, when I couldn’t do anything but stare at you – good God, I was so confused, but almost delirious with joy just being near you. And now, happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Jim kissed Jamie’s throat again, his teeth grazing Jamie’s collarbone. “I’m greedy and I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go.” His mouth descended again, warm, wet, suckling and kissing. He urged Jamie down until he lay supine, then untied the belt of the dressing gown and opened it. “I want to see you. I’ve imagined it for so long.”
Jamie wet dry lips and nodded. He wrenched his arms out of the dressing gown, then lifted his hips to struggle out of his smalls, brushing the knitted material against his half-hard prick. He stifled a groan as he worked them down his legs and kicked them off. Completely naked, he leaned back on his elbows, feeling exposed and immodest at once, and felt a telling blush crawling up his neck.
“Oh.” Jim scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Oh, God, Jamie. You’re beautiful.”
Jamie closed his mouth on the automatic denial. It was an ordinary body, just this side of lanky, healthy enough he supposed, but it was different, he realised, when the body belonged to someone one had long desired, and he wouldn’t spoil Jim’s pleasure. He thought of the few nights of privacy he’d had, fondling himself soundlessly in a village privy or secluded glade of trees, thinking of Jim, yearning for him, for their bodies pressed together. The fantasies hadn’t come close to the reality, and they’d only just started. “Now you,” he said.
“You won’t mind my scars?”
For a moment Jamie simply gaped at Jim. “Mind? How could I mind?”
“They’re ugly.”
“Show me.”
Jim swallowed, then nodded, and bent to remove his wool socks. He let them drop to the floor, then got slowly to his feet, unbuttoned his trousers, and slid them and his smallclothes down in one fluid motion. Eyes downcast, he turned toward Jamie and gestured toward his thigh. “There,” he said, then sat on the bed and tapped his shin. “And there.”
The bullet scar on the thigh was faded purple, a knot of puckered flesh the size of a child’s fist. The scar from the plate surgery was a paler bluish-white, narrow, but long, traversing almost the entire length of Jim’s shin. Jamie reached out and brushed his fingertips down the raised flesh, then bent to kiss it.
“Oh, Jamie, don’t –“ Jim pulled his leg back.
“It’s a thank-you,” Jamie said. “They’re not ugly, Jim.” Nothing about you could be ugly. He smiled and gently caressed the flesh again. “Not ugly at all.”
“It’s a silly vanity, I know. I realise you’ve seen much worse. But I’ve never been crippled, or damaged before, and I can’t help thinking of all those pitying stares in the street when I couldn’t walk properly. I was afraid you wouldn’t….“
Jamie frowned. “Wouldn’t what?”
“Well, that you wouldn’t want me once you saw them.”
Jamie caressed Jim’s knee with the back of his hand. “I want you. And besides, those scars were bravely got – you got them rescuing me. If it’s not awfully presumptuous of me, I think of them as badges of honour.”
Jim moved forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, then slid close and fitted their bodies together. A little groan escaped him. “I’ve wanted this for so long. It feels wonderful.”
Jamie felt Jim’s prick hardening against his thigh. Now that the first fumbling urgency was over, he found himself longing to explore the delights of Jim’s body. Tentatively, he reached down and enclosed Jim’s sex in his hand, sliding the foreskin back and brushing his thumb over the head.
Jim sighed. “Oh, that’s…it’s bliss, Jamie. Please don’t stop.”
“Let me look at you.” Jamie urged Jim onto his back and, for the first time since they’d met, allowed his gaze to roam freely and boldly over the long, lean, marvellous body sprawled beside him. He kept one hand on Jim’s sex, still caressing, wanting to prolong Jim’s pleasure if he could, and laid the other hand on the flat belly, grazing the soft skin gently, moving up and brushing the tips of his fingers over one nipple, staring in fascination as the tender flesh grew hard beneath his touch. “I watched you too,” he confessed softly. “I was a bit jealous at first.”
“What on earth?” Jim laughed, his voice wobbling slightly as Jamie continued to stroke him. “Jealous of what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You were so sure of yourself. And so handsome and tall –“
“I’m a hair taller than you, old man.”
Jamie shrugged. “And you have a way about you. You inspire admiration. Effortlessly, too, because I started admiring you as well. And then I couldn’t stop watching you. I tried to hide it –“
“You did a dashed fine job of it. I’d no idea. But then perhaps I was too busy watching you.” Jim reached down and brushed back a stray lock of Jamie’s hair. “No, don’t stop. I was intimidated by you.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense.”
“It’s true. You can be quite imposing, you know. I’ve never seen men snap to attention as quickly as when you’re giving orders. But I reckoned that anyone so commanding must be rather fascinating, so I started to follow you like a puppy – oh no, don’t take your hand away. It feels so nice. I don’t suppose you noticed.”
Jamie smiled and resumed his caresses. “I noticed.”
“And it didn’t hurt that when you took your cap off, you were quite the best-looking man in the regiment.”
“Oh, come off it.” Jamie’s face grew warm.
“Have it your way. It’s true, no matter what you think.” Jim stroked the planes of Jamie’s face. “I’d like you to kiss me again. Don’t stop touching me, though.”
Jamie slid his body forward on the bed and bent to kiss Jim’s mouth. He felt Jim’s foot rubbing against his leg, then the length of his calf and thigh sliding closer until their legs were entwined. The room had been cold, colder still when Jamie had opened the window to air it, but now he was overheated, sweat prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms and between his thighs. He couldn’t stop, nor get enough of Jim’s mouth, the scent and taste of his skin – salty, slightly musky, but clean, so clean. He thought of the weeks he’d gone without bathing, the repellent odour of his own unwashed body and the filth of the trench, the stink of blood and waste and death that always seemed to cling to him, even after a relatively luxurious bath. Memory was all it took to invoke that foul reek once more, and he concentrated on the glorious fragrance and flavour of Jim’s body. One fortnight – oh, God, how can I bear to be parted from him when this is over?
They kissed deeply and ground their bodies together until Jim pulled away, breathless, his face flushed. “Hold still,” he whispered.
“What –“ Jamie began, and then gasped as Jim fondled his erect cock. “Oh, Jim –“ Half-dazed, he watched as Jim began to kiss his shoulders, his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. He moved down and began to circle one nipple with the tip of his tongue, then dipped his head and sucked it delicately. “Oh, Christ –“
“Shh,” Jim said, his mouth still surrounding Jamie’s nipple.
The ripple of motion and sensation made Jamie’s prick even harder. He moved his hand down to stroke, but Jim caught his hands and gently pressed them to the bed. He lifted his head and smiled. “Allow me.”
“What are you –“
“Hush.” Jim’s head moved lower until he was kissing Jamie’s belly, pressing his tongue against the cup of Jamie’s navel.
“Oh –“ Jamie arched upward, his body seeking relief against the exquisite torture Jim was visiting upon it. He cried aloud again as Jim’s tongue touched the slit of his cock and again, louder, as Jim’s mouth enveloped him in warmth and wetness. “Oh, please – please –“ Jim made a humming noise, and Jamie pressed himself deeper into Jim’s mouth, trying not to thrust and choke him, but nearly helpless to stop himself. He bit his lip and keened, and then couldn’t control himself and released with a hoarse cry. He lay back, his mouth parched, and panted for breath. Dimly, he saw Jim lift his head and swallow, a slightly wry expression crossing his face. “Oh, God – did you just –“
Jim wrinkled his nose. “It’s a bit…odd.” Suddenly he laughed. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Goodness, for what? Nobody forced me.” Jim beamed at Jamie and released his wrists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s bitter. A little salty. Strange.”
“I think I’m shocked. Or I would be if I had the strength.” Jamie lay flat on the bed, the sweat on his body beginning to chill in the damp breeze.
“Did you like it?”
“Like it? Dear God, it was…exquisite.” Jamie held his arms out. “Come here. I’m too tired to move.”
“Shall we sleep?”
“I’d like to reciprocate,” Jamie murmured.
“Maybe in the morning,” Jim said with a yawn. “I think I might fall asleep on you if you tried now.” He pulled the bedclothes further down and crawled beneath them. “Come on. Let me tuck you in, Colonel.”
Jamie grinned and obliged, stretching languorously under the warm covers. “I’m on your side, am I not?”
“Yes, but I’m too lazy to switch sides now. Be a good chap and turn the light off.” He waited until Jamie turned the light out, turned round and fitted his back to Jamie’s chest. “Am I crowding you terribly?”
Jamie chuckled. “Yes, but I rather like it.” He slid his hand down Jim’s shoulder and arm, then fondled his bare hip and thigh, and finally rested his hand on Jim’s belly. “Have you got work in the morning? It must be dreadfully late.”
“No, I’ve got the whole week-end free.”
“Good.”
“I know I joked about being greedy….” Jim trailed off uncertainly.
“I don’t want to spend a moment more than I must away from you,” Jamie said, kissing Jim’s springy curls. “We’ll sort it out somehow.”
One of Jim’s hands clasped Jamie’s. “My dear, dear Jamie. I was hoping you’d say that.” His voice was thick with incipient sleep. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Jamie kissed Jim’s neck, his heart suddenly full of mingled emotion so complex it frightened him. Deliberately, he pushed away the knowledge that their time together was short. He would make the most of this fortnight. “So am I, Jim. So am I.”
He lay awake for some time, marvelling at the miracle of Jim’s body pressed against his, and finally fell asleep. For the first time in months, his slumber was peaceful and without dreams.
*
“I’ve taken the liberty of accepting an invitation on your behalf tonight. Lord Somerhill’s giving a small gathering in honour of his son Ronald – he was at Sandhurst, wasn’t he, Jamie? I thought you’d enjoy that.”
Jamie looked up from his artichoke bottoms stuffed with peas and dressed in a creamy sauce that lacked identifiable flavour. “It was a liberty, I’m afraid, especially as I’ve plans this evening.”
Margaret sighed. “I think Captain Nicholls can do without your company for one evening. Surely he has his own social life.”
“He does, and at the moment it includes me.” Jamie spoke sharply, causing his father to glance up at him over his newspaper. He pressed his lips together, conscious of the hostility that had bled into his voice, and composed himself. “After all, he’s my comrade in arms, Mother, and we’ve a great deal to talk about. Besides, I’ve gone to any number of luncheons and teas without him.”
“Only because he’s working,” she pointed out – correctly, Jamie acknowledged with irritation.
“Be that as it may, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my own social calendar.”
“Well, we’ve all been invited, so I thought it would be nice if we all went as a family.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Charles snapped, “we don’t have to do that, do we? Can’t think of a drearier evening, Somerhill puffing and blowing about Ronald’s extraordinary feats of heroism and eating bloody sardines on toast. That’s his idea of a party, you know, that and playing the bloody Victrola with that screeching rubbish they call music. Anyway, Ronald hasn’t won the damned Victoria Cross, has he? Maybe I’ll do a little puffing and blowing of my own.” He grinned at Jamie.
“It isn’t a competition,” Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, I really can’t do it. You’ll have to pass on my best wishes to Lord Somerhill and Ronald.”
Margaret looked aghast. “But you were at Sandhurst together!”
“Yes, we were, and he was – and likely still is – a pompous, annoying, ridiculous braggart.” Jamie let his fork drop with an unnecessarily loud clatter. “Evidently it runs in the family. I don’t want to spend one of my last nights at home listening to him braying about the war, or any other subject.”
“You’re going.”
Jamie stared at his mother. “Sorry?”
“You heard what I said, young man. It’s all well and good to spend time with your friend, but quite honestly I think it’s a little too much time.”
“And what, precisely, do you mean by that?” Jamie’s face grew hot. Shut your mouth, he counselled himself angrily. They don’t suspect anything. They can’t.
“What I mean is that his father makes bathtubs.”
Jamie was surprised into a laugh. “Is that so terrible?”
“She’s right, son,” Charles said, folding his paper and laying it beside his plate.
“He’s a perfectly sweet young man,” Margaret said, “and I do understand that you share a – oh, what’s the word – camaraderie with him, but the war might end any day now, and you should be keeping company with your own sort.”
“The war’s ending? Are you receiving some secret despatches of which the rest of us are ignorant?”
Two bright blots of colour appeared on Margaret’s cheeks. “I think that’s quite enough impertinence for one day.”
Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t mean to be unpleasant. But Jim is my friend. And he did save my life.”
“Look here, Jamie, she’s not saying that he’s not a solid chap. Plenty of solid chaps in the army. I had all sorts of friends in the war myself. But good Lord, what’s wrong with your old school chums?”
“Nothing, except that there are rather a lot fewer of them about lately.” Jamie longed to stand up and walk out, but he had to settle the matter without question.
“Ronald’s here,” Margaret said.
“We were never close, Mother. He was little more than an acquaintance.” An idea sparked. “Perhaps we could bring Jim along.”
“I don’t think he’d be comfortable. After all, he wouldn’t know anyone there, would he?”
“Ah. I see. Not quite good enough, you mean.” Jamie put his napkin on the table. “The son of a bathtub manufacturer isn’t quite up to spending an evening with the crème de la crème, is he?”
“What’s the matter with you?” Charles demanded. “God’s sake, it’s just one bloody evening. We’ll all go, and there’s an end to it.” He shook his head. “Don’t you see, Jamie, it’s not just that he’s not your sort. You’ve got to start thinking about the future, get on with the business of living. A wife, a family – carrying on the name. Friends who are appropriate, son, who can help you along that road – that’s what’s needed now.”
Jamie frowned. “Well, the title’s going to Philip, not me. The Selkirk house goes to him, this house goes to him, all the land – surely you should be discussing this with him on his next leave.”
“That’s true, but if something were to happen to him –“
“Don’t say it,” Margaret said with a shudder.
Charles glanced at her. “If something were to happen, then everything would fall to you. And you need to be prepared for that.”
Jamie took his cigarettes from his pocket, then stuffed them back in again. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. I should marry just in case Philip dies? And going to this…whatever-it-is tonight will set my feet firmly upon the path of matrimonial bliss?” He shook his head. “Very well. I can’t fight both of you, can I?” He rose to his feet and inclined his head coldly. “Excuse me. I’ve got to cancel my engagement with Captain Nicholls.”
He stalked to the library and sat at the desk, glaring at the telephone, his skin prickling hot and cold. He’d been far too antagonistic, he knew, far too defensive. His parents knew nothing of his relationship with Jim; every morning he’d slipped into the house just before seven, and his parents never arose until eight or eight-thirty in the city. As far as he knew, none of the servants had said anything, and he had in fact received some conspiratorial grins and nods that he suspected would dissolve instantly had they known where he’d spent his evenings or the nature of the company he kept.
That his parents’ objections were purely social would have been amusing if it weren’t all so bloody stupid. The world was embroiled in the deadliest and bloodiest war in history, and they wanted to make certain that Jamie married some debutante with a title and pots of money. Christ.
Jamie picked up the telephone and requested the War Office. Once the operator put him through, he pulled rank shamelessly. “This is Colonel James Stewart. I wish to speak to Captain James Nicholls at once.”
Minutes later, there was a burst of static on the other end of the wire, then Jim’s voice. “Jamie? Is that you, old man?”
“Hello, Jim.”
“This is a surprise! How did the ceremony go this morning? Was it all pomp and circumstance?”
“Actually, it was a bit anti-climactic. Took three minutes, and the King congratulated us and fled. Rather glad to have it over with.”
“Well, you can tell me all about it tonight. I’ve had Mrs. Taylor prepare a cold supper.”
“That’s the thing, Jim. I’m…I’m afraid I won’t be able to come this evening. My parents have roped me into an engagement, and they’re being quite difficult about letting me out of it.”
A short silence fell on the wire. “Ah, well…I see. Well, certainly, you’ve got to respect their wishes. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you stopping by afterward?”
“I can’t say.” Jamie rubbed his eyes. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right, old man.” Jamie heard Jim chuckle, but the light laugh was cut off abruptly. “I…maybe tomorrow night? You’ve only four nights left.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
“Good. I’ll miss – it’s a shame you can’t come tonight, but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Seven o’clock?”
“Seven. Cheerio, Jim.”
“’Bye, Jamie.”
Jamie rang off and glared resentfully at the telephone. “God damn it,” he whispered.
*
“Leaving?” Jamie gaped at his mother. He saw a few heads turn toward them and lowered his voice. “You just got here – besides, you were the one who was so eager for this evening in the first place!”
“Well, we just wanted to get you settled, darling. And admit it – you’re having a rather nice time, aren’t you? I saw you dancing with Charlotte Thorpe. She’s a lovely girl. I expect you’ve a lot to discuss.” She darted forward and kissed his cheek. “Murchison will bring the motor-car back for you immediately, but I expect you’ll want to stay for another few hours. Have a wonderful time, Jamie.” She turned in a swirl of green chiffon and made her way toward Lord and Lady Somerhill.
Jamie watched in annoyance as his parents, who’d trapped him into this dull-as-tombs evening, leave blithely, not even sparing him a second glance. Like as not his father had insisted they leave and abandon him in the bargain. Sighing impatiently, he took a glass from a passing footman and drained it with a grimace. It was Champagne, sickeningly sweet, and he thought of the whiskey Jim would have poured for him by now, the now-familiar cosiness of his bedroom, the crisply ironed sheets and soft warm quilt of his bed, the lean economy of Jim’s body twined round his. He dropped into a nearby sofa and regarded the toe of his gleaming evening shoe in bitter silence.
“Jamie.”
Startled, Jamie looked up to see Charlotte Thorpe standing in front of him, sipping at a glass of Champagne, her blonde hair in perfect ringlets, her dress a slender, rippling column of pale-blue satin. “Hello, Charlotte.” He made to stand.
“Oh, don’t get up. I thought I’d join you if you don’t mind.” She sat beside him and demurely crossed her ankles, but not before showing a glimpse of pale-blue silk stocking that almost matched her satin shoes. “It’s always like this now.”
“Like what?” He’d chosen Charlotte to dance with because he’d been to school with her older brother Billy, and had known her since she’d worn short skirts and hair-ribbons and had dogged their steps relentlessly, threatening to tattle if they didn’t allow her to play with them. She’d been a little tyrant then; now she was affable and friendly and made no demands upon him, unlike some of the other girls present. Perhaps it was the dearth of eligible men, but some of them had been quite forward. Charlotte, on the other hand, had cheerfully said she had a beau in the Royal Navy but that wasn’t going to keep her from having a good time.
“You know what – I saw your face. Sheer horror. All these women, chasing after men. You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?” Jamie produced his case, opened it, and held it out. Charlotte selected one, tapped it on the case, and waited for Jamie to light it. “Thanks. Don’t mind me if I suddenly thrust it into your hand – nice girls don’t smoke in public, and God forbid one of my parents’ friends should see me.”
Jamie smiled. “Aren’t you a nice girl, Charlotte?”
“If you listen to my mother, I’m practically the Whore of Babylon, Jamie. I’ve half a mind to prove her right, too. What was I saying? Oh, parties. Yes, it’s always fifty women chasing after five men nowadays. I’m so glad you didn’t wear your dreary khaki. Awful colour, khaki. Not that it doesn’t lend distinction, but honestly, one would think you’d be terribly weary of looking at it, let alone wearing it.” Charlotte blew out a smoke ring. “What do you think of that?”
“Not bad,” Jamie said.
“Can’t wait until this bloody war’s over. I expect you feel the same way. Oh, God, here’s Ronald. Hello, Ronald,” Charlotte called with a wave. “Come and sit with us for a moment. Frightfully good music you’ve got, I must say. Jamie dances a marvellous Half-and-Half.”
“I’ve got a charming partner. Hello, Ronald,” Jamie said without pleasure. He’d been hoping to avoid Ronald Colborne all night, if possible.
“’Lo, Jamie. You’re looking grand.” Ronald pulled up a dainty gilt chair and dropped into it.
“So are you.” That was a rather large lie, Jamie reflected. Ronald had always been rather plump and pink in the face, looking like a freshly tubbed baby, but now he was pale, as if he’d been ill, and the plumpness had disappeared, leaving hollows in his cheeks and diminishing his pouter-pigeon chest. There were purple smudges beneath his eyes, and his body seemed to cave inward, as if he were guarding it against something.
“How long are you home?”
“Just another four days. Then back to the Somme. You?”
“I go back on the thirtieth. Huzzah.” Ronald smiled humourlessly. “Can’t remember where I’m going next. I was at Loos.”
Jamie shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I heard that was a rough one.”
Ronald nodded. Every trace of the arrogant boy he’d been had disappeared. He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and withdrew his cigarette case. “I say, old boy, you haven’t got a pocket lighter, have you? I reckon there’s one about, but….” He shrugged, as if to indicate his helplessness.
Jamie lit Ronald’s cigarette. “It’s good to be home for a bit, isn’t it?” He smiled at Charlotte, who merely lifted an eyebrow.
“Good? Yes, I suppose it is. Mother and Father have had me scrabbling about like mad for a week. I feel bad saying no to them, but to tell you the truth, all I want to do is sleep.” The corners of Ronald’s mouth quirked up, then down. “For years.”
“Yes, I’ve been going through the same sort of thing myself.”
Ronald raised his shaking hand to his lips and inhaled. The end of the cigarette glowed like a coal in a fire. “Heard you won the V.C. – congratulations.”
This was not at all the Ronald Jamie knew. “Thank you.”
Charlotte frowned. “The V.C.?”
“The Victoria Cross,” Ronald explained. “Highest decoration one can get. It’s for extraordinary bravery.”
“Oh! Well done, Jamie.” Charlotte kissed Jamie’s cheek. “How did you get it?”
Jamie shook his head. “I don’t really want to –“
“Yes, well done,” Ronald said. “Could have used you at Loos. My whole company was exterminated. We had the numbers, at first, but it was an open field, and we walked right into a line of artillery. Guns, grenades, the lot. You wouldn’t believe it.”
Jamie pressed his lips together. That’s what you think.
“We used gas. First time, you know. And then some of my men – they couldn’t see properly, couldn’t breathe in the damn masks, so some of them took the masks off. Got hit by our own God-damned gas.” A short, strange laugh hiccupped from Ronald’s throat. “I think when I go back, I might kill myself.”
“Ronald —“ Jamie began gently.
“What did we think a battle was at Sandhurst, Jamie? Probably a day or two, maybe half a week at the outside? Not three fucking weeks, Jamie, with not a bloody inch of ground gained. Not with fifty thousand casualties.” Tears poured from Ronald’s eyes, but he seemed unaware of them. “I had a friend in the company – George Miller, an ordinary chap, a farrier in his old life. Had a wife in Sussex, and a baby. He volunteered, you see, because he wanted to protect his baby. I saw him die, his belly opened by a shell. And then the rats came – there was a family of rats that made a nest –“ Ronald covered his face with his hands. His shoulders heaved in silent sobs, and his cigarette, held between two palsied fingers, quivered ceaselessly.
Charlotte glanced uneasily at Jamie. “Ronald….” She put a hand on his shoulder.
The touch seemed to electrify Ronald. He leapt up. “Sorry. Sorry.” He dashed the tears from his face. “I’ll get another drink and then find some more music – maybe you’ll dance with me, Charlotte?” He stumbled away without waiting for a reply, leaving Jamie and Charlotte to sit in silence.
Charlotte stubbed her cigarette out in her glass. “I think I’ve had enough,” she said with a sigh, “charming a partner as you are, Jamie. Will you walk me to my motor?”
“Certainly.” Jamie got to his feet and held a hand out for Charlotte. They bade Lord and Lady Somerhill a quick farewell, got their wraps, and headed outside. It was blessedly cool after the overheated drawing room, and a light rain was falling. Jamie escorted Charlotte to a smart white Sunbeam. He ushered her into the rear seat and held the door as the driver started the motor-car. “Send Billy my fond regards, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. He’ll be so glad I saw you.” Charlotte’s smile faltered. “Thanks for the dance. Jamie – is it really as bad as all that?”
It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to say something light-hearted and falsely gallant, to tell the lies he’d heard men telling women during the week and three days he’d been home, lies he’d told himself, but he hadn’t the heart for it any longer. He nodded.
“Rotten, buggery war,” Charlotte whispered. “Give me a kiss, Jamie.”
He kissed her cheek. She smelled like lilies.
“Come home safe.”
He closed the door and waved as the car drove off, then walked toward the Rolls-Royce where Murchison sat patiently. He got into the front passenger seat. “Hampstead, Murchison.”
*
“Shall I wait, sir?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. I may spend the night. I’ll get a tram home early in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.” Murchison opened his side of the door.
“No need.” Jamie got out of the car quickly, then caught a glimpse of Murchison’s face. His heart sank. “Murchison…do you remember when I raised the bar on the hurdles without telling you?”
“I do that, sir. That was Flintlock you were riding back then. You were just a wee scrap of a lad.”
“Yes.” Jamie hesitated. “You never told Mother and Father that I did it.”
“I didn’t see the harm, sir, once I realised you’d been jumping that bar for a month. You knew what you were about, that was certain.”
Jamie nodded. “I’d like to prevail upon you to…Murchison, please don’t tell them that I’ve come here. Tell them that I sent you home, that I’d be getting a lift with someone else.”
Murchison sighed. “I won’t say a word, sir.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “That girl, she was lovely, she was.”
For the first time Jamie felt the piercing sensation of guilt and shame. He felt as if his intentions were clearly written on his face, and he felt the weight of Murchison’s disapproval. “Yes,” he said softly. “Very lovely.” He felt his deceit, heavy as a cannon, resting on his heart. “Good night, Murchison.”
“Good night, sir.”
Jamie waited for the automobile to roll down the darkened street and then walked the short path to Jim’s door. He knocked quietly.
The door opened. Jim was in pyjamas and a bathrobe. “Jamie –“ A smile wreathed his face. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to come.”
For an answer, Jamie embraced him tightly.
*
They lay in bed, naked, sweating and spent. Jamie smoked a cigarette, watching the bluish haze drift out the open window.
“I suppose you’d have to account for yourself eventually,” Jim ventured.
“It won’t happen again,” Jamie replied grimly. He’d only given Jim the bare bones of the squabble with his parents; he’d said nothing of their contempt for Jim’s social status. He’d never considered their snobbery, which probably meant he was a snob himself. But he’d been to war, where class counted for nothing. It was true that most of the officers were among the upper classes, but there were some promoted rankers who were damned fine officers, and besides, an officer was only as good as the men he commanded, not the other way round. Courage counted, and bloody-mindedness, and sheer luck. Class meant nothing. “I’m going to speak to them tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be hard on them.”
Incredulous, Jamie glanced at Jim. “I think they deserve the rough edge of my tongue, frankly.”
“Try to see their side of things, Jamie. Both their sons are away, and now you’re home for a fortnight and they’re not seeing you as much as they’d like –“
Jamie gave a bitter chuckle. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong there, Jim. They haven’t changed their social schedule one jot. They’ve included me, but it comes down to them dragging me about like luggage.”
“They still love you. That was most obvious at dinner.”
Where they just scarcely tolerated your presence, Jim. “Perhaps. Damned odd way of showing it, though.”
“Are you all right?” Jim traced his fingertips over Jamie’s forehead. “Your brow’s been knotted most of the night.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Jamie exhaled a stream of smoke. “Well, I suppose I’m fine. I’ve been thinking about Ronald. He’s not the first man I’ve seen in that state. He was…haunted. No other way to put it, really.”
“Yes,” Jim murmured. “I’ve seen other fellows like that as well. It’s terrible. I don’t know why it happens to some men and not others.”
“They call it shell-shock at the front.”
“Apt.”
Jamie let out a long sigh. “Four more days.”
“I know. Only too well. I don’t want you to spend more time away from me. Is that awful of me?”
“Yes, and I adore it.” Jamie stubbed out his cigarette and turned to Jim to kiss him. He hooked one leg over Jim’s, pulling him closer. “I love it when you’re awful.”
“You’re rather awful yourself. I see lip-prints on your face.” Jim smiled. “Have you been unfaithful to me?”
“Do three dances and two pecks on the cheek count?”
Jim bit his lip, then pressed his index finger gently to Jamie’s mouth. “As long as no-one else kisses you the way I do, I suppose it’s all right.”
“Kiss me again. Remind me.”
“You are wicked, Colonel.”
*
He’d never seen a spring morning quite like this one: a shower had washed the trees black and brightened the fragile pale-green buds at the tips of their branches. The air was fresh and clean; the sky was lilac, edged with gold. Jamie climbed out of the Rolls-Royce and drew in a few deep breaths, grateful that his last day in England was a beautiful one.
Murchison handed Jamie his kit bag. “There you are, sir.”
“Thank you, Murchison. Good-bye.” Jamie extended his hand.
“Good-bye, sir. God be with you.” Murchison doffed his cap and shook Jamie’s hand.
Jamie swung his bag over his shoulder and went into the station. Jim had promised to be there, and so he was, waiting beneath the large clock that read five-forty. He was spruce, smartly turned out in his regimentals, very different from the night before. They’d reveled in each other’s bodies, kissing, caressing, suckling, and thoroughly exploring a dozen different delightful pleasures before Jamie had to leave. They had been deliberately cheerful, but now Jamie saw that Jim’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
He stopped in front of Jim and set his bag down. In the two weeks he’d been home, he had delayed all thoughts of their last moments together. He knew it would be upsetting, that it would weigh heavily upon both of them with the separation that would follow, but there had remained in him some ember of hope that they could obliterate grief and sorrow somehow, that they could celebrate life without succumbing to the possibility of death. Jamie had already endured his father’s silences, his mother’s tears. He had nearly wept himself, shocked at the depth of his unhappiness at their pain. And now he would have to take his leave of Jim, and there was no escaping the reality. “Jim,” he murmured.
“Here we are,” Jim said softly.
“Yes.” Jamie looked out at the platform, where the train already waited. “It was good of you to come.”
“I tried to join up again.”
Jamie frowned. Jim’s words seemed inexplicably garbled, as if he’d been speaking a foreign language. “What?”
“I tried to resume active duty. I was denied.” Jim opened his hands, turned them palm-upward, then closed them again.
“Why on earth – of course you were denied. You’re wounded.”
“It’s not that bad. They wouldn’t listen to me.” Jim struck his open palm with a fist. Tears gathered on his lashes.
“Jim, Jim….” Jamie grasped Jim’s hands. “For God’s sake, no. How can you even think of it?”
“Put in a word, Jamie. I’d do anything – I’d be your orderly, if you wanted. Polish your boots, clean your pistol, bring your tea. I’d endure any suffering, I swear it. I thought I could bear up bravely, but I can’t. Don’t leave without me, Jamie. Put in a word for me.”
“I won’t. I tell you I won’t. Jim, you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I know it. I’m in a muddle –“ Jim bowed his head. “I don’t think the heart was meant to ache like this, Jamie.” When he looked up again, his face was tear-stained. “I’m so sorry. I’d resolved to be cheery, and I’m –“ He shook his head.
If he started weeping, he’d never stop. Jamie bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. My dear sweet Jim. I need you here. I need your letters and parcels and drawings. And I need your prayers. I must know you’re here, so that I have the strength to face whatever may come. I need to live for you. “I’m coming back. Wait for me.”
The first boarding call sounded, and Jim mustered a smile. “Is that an oath?”
“A solemn oath.” Jamie returned the smile despite the gaping wound in his heart and picked up his bag. “Come on.”
They walked to the platform, minimally crowded; only a few soldiers and their families were clustered here and there, saying good-bye. Jamie handed his bag to the porter and turned to Jim. “Write.”
“Of course. Colonel.” Jim saluted and touched the ribbon on Jamie’s tunic. “Take care of yourself.”
“Mind that leg.”
“I will.” Jim hesitated, then embraced Jamie tightly.
Jamie’s throat ached. He clung to Jim, pressing close, not giving a damn who saw them. How can I bear this? How? He drew a shaking breath, and spoke. “I love you.”
The whistle blew; the train gathered steam. Jim’s grasp tightened. “I love you. Dear, dear Jamie. I love you.”
They parted; their hands uncoupled. Jamie grasped the handrail and stepped aboard. He saluted, and Jim returned the salute. The wheels ground against the rails and began to move.
Jim stayed rooted to the spot, and lifted his hand in farewell. His lips moved: I love you.
Jamie raised his hand, and watched until Jim was lost from sight.
*
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
When men who knew them walk old ways alone,
The paths they loved together, at even-fall,
Then the sad heart shall know a presence near,
Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone,
The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear.
---Ivor Gurney, Afterwards
*
“Blasted nuisances.”
Jim, crouching between Jamie’s knees as Jamie sat on the edge of the bathtub, chuckled but didn’t look up from his struggle with Jamie’s cufflink. “Well, they are a bit tricky – these are, at any rate. And I do think buttons are a bit more practical. But these are very smart, I must admit.”
“I’m just going to leave the damned things off next time.”
“Oh, you can’t do that. Sleeves flapping everywhere. You’d be a social…pariah.” Jim squinted and tugged. “I’m afraid to break them. Ah! There we are.” He beamed happily and showed one engraved silver cufflink in the palm of his hand, then laid it carefully on the vanity table next to Jamie’s shirt studs. “Other hand, please.”
Jamie transferred his cigarette to his left hand and proffered the right to Jim, glad that they had something to occupy the moment. He’d thought that their frenzy of intimacy would shatter any boundaries left between them, but unaccountably, he felt shyer than ever and quite unable to meet Jim’s eyes. He plucked a fleck of tobacco from his lower lip and examined it as intently as if it were a Fabergé egg. “You didn’t exaggerate about the bathroom. Spiffing.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Jim glanced around at the modern white-and-black tiled room with its porcelain tub and sink and gleaming fixtures. A wet evening breeze blew the crisp white cotton curtains inward. “That’s one of my dad’s tubs you’re perched on there.”
“Is it?” Jamie twisted a bit to look at the tub. “Did you have it refitted?”
“No, just coincidence. He was delighted when he saw it and insisted this was the flat for me. Happily, it is quite cosy, so I didn’t put up an argument. Good Lord, did you weld these on?” Jim gritted his teeth. “There! Got it.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’d still be trapped in the damn shirt if it weren’t for you.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, I assure you.” Jim set the second link next to the first, then turned Jamie’s hand over so the palm faced upwards. “Jamie?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not sorry about what we did, are you?” Jim addressed Jamie’s knees, and his voice was almost inaudible.
Jamie wet his lips. Sorry? He’d never forget it, his appalling awkwardness notwithstanding, for the rest of his life. “No, Jim. I’m not sorry at all.”
Jim looked up at him, relief and joy shining in his eyes. He brought Jamie’s palm to his lips and kissed it, then kissed the pale underside of Jamie’s wrist. “I dreamed of being this close to you – of being able to touch you, and taste and smell you. For more than a year I lived on the strength of one kiss, and every day I feared it might have been our last.”
“I – I was afraid of that too.”
“You’ve gone quite pink. Am I very foolish for saying these things to you?”
“No.” Tentatively, Jamie brushed his hand over Jim’s unruly curls. “You mustn’t think that. It’s only that I’m a bit – well, tongue-tied. I don’t know how to say beautiful things the way you do. I haven’t the gift for it. I wish I did.”
“I don’t need you to say beautiful things.” Jim rose to his feet and grimaced.
“I shouldn’t have let you kneel like that.” Jamie hastened to stand and support Jim, who was wobbling the slightest bit. “Is the pain very bad?”
“It’s a twinge, no more,” Jim insisted, though his face was white. “You mustn’t worry on my account. It is healed – it’s only that it aches now and then.”
“But you’re still using a cane.” Jamie stubbed out his cigarette in the pristine glass ash-tray Jim had given him.
“Well…yes, that’s true. I know, I’d hoped to be sprinting to the station to see you, but the best I can manage right now is a fast limp. I don’t know that I’ll ever ride again, or even get up to more than a trot myself.” Jim turned away, giving Jamie ample opportunity to admire the elegant length of his back. “Believe me, I wish I were whole and fit.”
The sudden slump of Jim’s shoulders tore at Jamie’s heart and spoke volumes. Dear Jim, so determined to be cheerful for Jamie’s sake, so optimistic in his letters, never saying a word about the possibility that his injuries might be permanent. “I don’t care,” he said, and rested a hand on one shoulder, then gently urged Jim round to face him. “I wouldn’t care if you’d lost both arms and legs. You’d – you’d mean no less to me. I only care that it still causes you pain.”
The anxiety in Jim’s face dissolved, and he put his arms around Jamie and embraced him. “I thought you said you were no good at saying beautiful things.” His hand cupped the back of Jamie’s head, caressing it. “Tell me what else you’re hiding behind that terribly correct military composure.”
Jamie found his hands stroking the smooth skin of Jim’s back, over delicate vertebral bumps and the angular precision of his shoulder blades, and then he kissed Jim’s neck, his lips brushing against the faint prickle of beard, moving up his jawline, then finding Jim’s mouth, lips already parted to receive Jamie’s kiss. He was aroused again, and moved his body closer to Jim’s.
Panting a little, Jim broke the kiss. “Are you trying to drag me back into bed already?”
“Would that be so awful?”
“It would be positively smashing, but we’ve got to wash your shirt first. I don’t want you to leave, not tonight. Will your parents be furious if you stay the night?”
“I doubt they’ll notice. You haven’t got a telephone, have you?” Jim shook his head. “Oh well, no matter. They’ll survive.” Jamie reluctantly moved away from Jim and took off his shirt. “What sort of soap should I launder this with?”
“Mrs. Taylor uses a powdered soap and that bluing stuff for my laundry, but I think Pears should do in a pinch.” Jim turned the water on in the bathtub. “Give it here.”
“I can do it.”
“Hand it over, if you please, Colonel. I’m at your service. I say, is your undershirt in need of laundering as well?”
Jamie inspected it. “Ah…perhaps, yes.” He grinned bashfully.
“Off with it. We’ll wash them and hang them up over the register and they should be dry by morning.”
Wanting to be the model of obedience, Jamie tugged off his undershirt and handed it to Jim, who couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from Jamie’s naked chest. Embarrassed heat prickled over Jamie’s skin, and it was all he could do not to turn away despite the open admiration on Jim’s face. “Who taught you to do laundry?” he asked in desperation. “Your housekeeper or someone at home?”
“Oh.” Jim finally wrenched his gaze upward and smiled. “Nobody, except for those field instructions we got ages ago, do you remember those? I can’t imagine it’s all that difficult, though. It’s just soap and water. Are your trousers all right?”
“Yes. A bit wrinkled, that’s all.”
Jim bent to the bathtub faucet and turned on the hot-water tap. “Perhaps you should take them off. I’ve got a spare dressing gown. It’s in the wardrobe in my bedroom. Go and put it on, and you can hang your trousers up in here. The steam might help.”
Jamie nodded and went back into the bedroom. It was faintly pungent, so Jamie opened a window and then stripped with trembling fingers, scarcely able to fold his trousers neatly. Inexperienced as he was, he wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t realise that he and Jim had hardly begun to explore one another, and the thought that there was more pleasure to come was nearly overwhelming. He found the dressing gown, silk-lined wool, and slipped it on. Catching a glimpse of himself in the cheval mirror in one corner, he laughed at the sight of his black silk stockings peeking out from beneath the hem of the robe and took them off, leaving them attached to the garters, and carelessly tossed them to one side next to his evening shoes.
“What are you laughing at?” Jim asked, strolling into the bedroom with a heap of blue towelling over one arm.
“Myself. Why should one look more natural barefoot in a dressing gown? Why do socks look so ridiculous with them?”
“Ah. You’ve struck upon one of the great mysteries of life.” Jim tossed the towelling – a bathrobe, Jamie saw – onto the bed. “I think that might be second to the question of why people will happily eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, but if someone should suggest it for supper, pitying gazes ensue.”
“That is an enormously complicated question,” Jamie replied solemnly.
“True. You see, that Jesuit sophistry didn’t go to waste after all. And I love bacon and eggs for supper.” Jim picked up Jamie’s trousers. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Jamie paced the narrow L-shaped section of floor space in Jim’s bedroom. The room itself was sparsely furnished, of necessity: besides the bed, there was the small wardrobe, one straight-backed chair, the mirror tucked in the corner, and a night table with a lamp on the far side of the bed. There was a picture-print on one wall, a landscape in bosky dark greens, and a crucifix hung between two windows. Jamie examined it for a moment. His own religious upbringing had been somewhat laissez-faire: he had been christened – somewhere in the Selkirk house there was a dreadfully stiff daguerreotype of his mother holding his tiny infant figure in a white gown that swept the floor in a heavy curtain of Valenciennes lace, with his father standing expressionlessly by – and his mother had taken him and Philip to church with some regularity when they were children, but he hadn’t set foot inside a church in years and he doubted Philip had either. He wondered how devout Jim was, and if what they’d done had constituted some sort of sin that merited eternal damnation.
“I won it in school.”
Jamie wheeled. “Sorry?”
“I won that,” Jim said, pointing to the crucifix, “in school, in a Latin competition. I can still quote entire passages of Quaestiones Disputatae de Potentia Dei. It’s a very dull party trick, but then most parties aren’t populated by budding Aquinists.”
“Do you go to church?”
“Sometimes. I’m a rather lackadaisical Catholic, much to the distress of my mother. Do you?”
Jamie shook his head. “When I was a child, yes. Not now. I still pray once in a while. I don’t know that my prayers reach God’s ears, though.”
“Well, one of mine has,” Jim said. “You’re home.”
Only for a fortnight, Jamie thought, but didn’t say it. “I’d no idea you were such a scholar.”
Jim chuckled and limped toward the bed, resting his hand on the brass footrail, next to his still-folded uniform tunic. “Sometimes I think I should have learnt something more useful, like carpentry or banking.” Casually, he scratched his flat belly, leaving pink streaks across a taut expanse of skin the colour of cream. “I’ve tried to think what I might do once the war is over and I confess nothing appealing comes to mind.”
“You’re going to resign your commission?”
“I’d have resigned it already if I weren’t working for the army. Soldiering was a youthful dream, one my father encouraged when he realised I didn’t want to make bathtubs. The reality….” Jim shrugged. “What about you? Do you plan to stay once the war’s over?”
Jamie hesitated, then walked to the bed and sat. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand up and down the blue towelling of Jim’s bathrobe, watching the threads go pale and dark by turns. “Frankly, Jim, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
A silence pervaded the room, broken only by Jim’s soft, indrawn breath.
Jamie looked up at Jim, whose face was white and pinched. “What’s wrong?”
Jim gripped the bedrail tightly enough to blanch the knuckles. “You mustn’t say that. You mustn’t even think it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help it, old man.” Jamie tried for a light laugh and failed.
“Jamie –“ Jim sank to the bed beside him. “Jamie, please don’t think badly of me for speaking in this way. I’m not as hopelessly stupid as that sounded, or at least I pray I’m not. I know I only faced it for a short while, but I remember awakening in that glade and struggling to my feet, thanking God I’d been spared, only to see all that…slaughter, all that death.”
Jamie nodded, staring down at the bathrobe again, his hand moving ceaselessly over the fabric, stopped only by Jim’s hand closing over it. How many times had he thought that he’d passed beyond fear, only to encounter it again in the next shelling or shooting? How many times had he fought past the paralysis that threatened to fell him for good; how many times had he turned a blind but compassionate eye to the silent weeping of his men? He no longer chided them for their tears. They were entitled to their tears, their terror, their grief for their fallen comrades. They lived in an endless haze of blood and gas and agony and death. Though his discipline was still rigorous, it was tempered with weary understanding. It was April of 1916, and they were all exhausted, homesick, grieving. At times he wondered when apathy would creep in and poison them as surely as the mustard gas that drifted yellow foulness over the fields of battle. Each time he led a raid or defended against one, he marshalled thoughts of patriotism, of home, of Jim, and hoped it would be enough to sustain him. So far, it had. But for how much longer?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim begged.
Jamie looked up at Jim’s strained, white face. What must it be like for him, for all those who waited, hoping and praying, dreading the terse letter penned by a superior officer? “Forgive me, Jim. I don’t mean to be so morbid.”
“I know you can’t help it. I know. Please, I don’t wish to stifle you –“
“I don’t want to think of it at all, but I’ve got to. I’ve got to go back, and I’m frightened.” Jamie shuddered. “Can you credit that at all – after a year and a half at the front, I’m still afraid.”
“Oh, Jamie –“ Jim wrapped his arms round Jamie’s body, pulling him close, and Jamie clung to him desperately. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’m glad you can’t. If you weren’t here waiting, I might have given up by now.”
“No.” Jim’s grasp tightened. “You promised I wouldn’t lose you. You swore an oath.” He kissed Jamie’s throat, then his mouth. “You swore,” he whispered against Jamie’s lips.
“Don’t let’s talk about it any longer. I’ve made you unhappy. I’m sorry.” Jamie breathed in Jim’s scent, intoxicating, complex, so gloriously alive.
“No. You’ve never made me anything but happy. All those evenings in the officers’ mess, when I couldn’t do anything but stare at you – good God, I was so confused, but almost delirious with joy just being near you. And now, happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Jim kissed Jamie’s throat again, his teeth grazing Jamie’s collarbone. “I’m greedy and I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go.” His mouth descended again, warm, wet, suckling and kissing. He urged Jamie down until he lay supine, then untied the belt of the dressing gown and opened it. “I want to see you. I’ve imagined it for so long.”
Jamie wet dry lips and nodded. He wrenched his arms out of the dressing gown, then lifted his hips to struggle out of his smalls, brushing the knitted material against his half-hard prick. He stifled a groan as he worked them down his legs and kicked them off. Completely naked, he leaned back on his elbows, feeling exposed and immodest at once, and felt a telling blush crawling up his neck.
“Oh.” Jim scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Oh, God, Jamie. You’re beautiful.”
Jamie closed his mouth on the automatic denial. It was an ordinary body, just this side of lanky, healthy enough he supposed, but it was different, he realised, when the body belonged to someone one had long desired, and he wouldn’t spoil Jim’s pleasure. He thought of the few nights of privacy he’d had, fondling himself soundlessly in a village privy or secluded glade of trees, thinking of Jim, yearning for him, for their bodies pressed together. The fantasies hadn’t come close to the reality, and they’d only just started. “Now you,” he said.
“You won’t mind my scars?”
For a moment Jamie simply gaped at Jim. “Mind? How could I mind?”
“They’re ugly.”
“Show me.”
Jim swallowed, then nodded, and bent to remove his wool socks. He let them drop to the floor, then got slowly to his feet, unbuttoned his trousers, and slid them and his smallclothes down in one fluid motion. Eyes downcast, he turned toward Jamie and gestured toward his thigh. “There,” he said, then sat on the bed and tapped his shin. “And there.”
The bullet scar on the thigh was faded purple, a knot of puckered flesh the size of a child’s fist. The scar from the plate surgery was a paler bluish-white, narrow, but long, traversing almost the entire length of Jim’s shin. Jamie reached out and brushed his fingertips down the raised flesh, then bent to kiss it.
“Oh, Jamie, don’t –“ Jim pulled his leg back.
“It’s a thank-you,” Jamie said. “They’re not ugly, Jim.” Nothing about you could be ugly. He smiled and gently caressed the flesh again. “Not ugly at all.”
“It’s a silly vanity, I know. I realise you’ve seen much worse. But I’ve never been crippled, or damaged before, and I can’t help thinking of all those pitying stares in the street when I couldn’t walk properly. I was afraid you wouldn’t….“
Jamie frowned. “Wouldn’t what?”
“Well, that you wouldn’t want me once you saw them.”
Jamie caressed Jim’s knee with the back of his hand. “I want you. And besides, those scars were bravely got – you got them rescuing me. If it’s not awfully presumptuous of me, I think of them as badges of honour.”
Jim moved forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, then slid close and fitted their bodies together. A little groan escaped him. “I’ve wanted this for so long. It feels wonderful.”
Jamie felt Jim’s prick hardening against his thigh. Now that the first fumbling urgency was over, he found himself longing to explore the delights of Jim’s body. Tentatively, he reached down and enclosed Jim’s sex in his hand, sliding the foreskin back and brushing his thumb over the head.
Jim sighed. “Oh, that’s…it’s bliss, Jamie. Please don’t stop.”
“Let me look at you.” Jamie urged Jim onto his back and, for the first time since they’d met, allowed his gaze to roam freely and boldly over the long, lean, marvellous body sprawled beside him. He kept one hand on Jim’s sex, still caressing, wanting to prolong Jim’s pleasure if he could, and laid the other hand on the flat belly, grazing the soft skin gently, moving up and brushing the tips of his fingers over one nipple, staring in fascination as the tender flesh grew hard beneath his touch. “I watched you too,” he confessed softly. “I was a bit jealous at first.”
“What on earth?” Jim laughed, his voice wobbling slightly as Jamie continued to stroke him. “Jealous of what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You were so sure of yourself. And so handsome and tall –“
“I’m a hair taller than you, old man.”
Jamie shrugged. “And you have a way about you. You inspire admiration. Effortlessly, too, because I started admiring you as well. And then I couldn’t stop watching you. I tried to hide it –“
“You did a dashed fine job of it. I’d no idea. But then perhaps I was too busy watching you.” Jim reached down and brushed back a stray lock of Jamie’s hair. “No, don’t stop. I was intimidated by you.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense.”
“It’s true. You can be quite imposing, you know. I’ve never seen men snap to attention as quickly as when you’re giving orders. But I reckoned that anyone so commanding must be rather fascinating, so I started to follow you like a puppy – oh no, don’t take your hand away. It feels so nice. I don’t suppose you noticed.”
Jamie smiled and resumed his caresses. “I noticed.”
“And it didn’t hurt that when you took your cap off, you were quite the best-looking man in the regiment.”
“Oh, come off it.” Jamie’s face grew warm.
“Have it your way. It’s true, no matter what you think.” Jim stroked the planes of Jamie’s face. “I’d like you to kiss me again. Don’t stop touching me, though.”
Jamie slid his body forward on the bed and bent to kiss Jim’s mouth. He felt Jim’s foot rubbing against his leg, then the length of his calf and thigh sliding closer until their legs were entwined. The room had been cold, colder still when Jamie had opened the window to air it, but now he was overheated, sweat prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms and between his thighs. He couldn’t stop, nor get enough of Jim’s mouth, the scent and taste of his skin – salty, slightly musky, but clean, so clean. He thought of the weeks he’d gone without bathing, the repellent odour of his own unwashed body and the filth of the trench, the stink of blood and waste and death that always seemed to cling to him, even after a relatively luxurious bath. Memory was all it took to invoke that foul reek once more, and he concentrated on the glorious fragrance and flavour of Jim’s body. One fortnight – oh, God, how can I bear to be parted from him when this is over?
They kissed deeply and ground their bodies together until Jim pulled away, breathless, his face flushed. “Hold still,” he whispered.
“What –“ Jamie began, and then gasped as Jim fondled his erect cock. “Oh, Jim –“ Half-dazed, he watched as Jim began to kiss his shoulders, his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. He moved down and began to circle one nipple with the tip of his tongue, then dipped his head and sucked it delicately. “Oh, Christ –“
“Shh,” Jim said, his mouth still surrounding Jamie’s nipple.
The ripple of motion and sensation made Jamie’s prick even harder. He moved his hand down to stroke, but Jim caught his hands and gently pressed them to the bed. He lifted his head and smiled. “Allow me.”
“What are you –“
“Hush.” Jim’s head moved lower until he was kissing Jamie’s belly, pressing his tongue against the cup of Jamie’s navel.
“Oh –“ Jamie arched upward, his body seeking relief against the exquisite torture Jim was visiting upon it. He cried aloud again as Jim’s tongue touched the slit of his cock and again, louder, as Jim’s mouth enveloped him in warmth and wetness. “Oh, please – please –“ Jim made a humming noise, and Jamie pressed himself deeper into Jim’s mouth, trying not to thrust and choke him, but nearly helpless to stop himself. He bit his lip and keened, and then couldn’t control himself and released with a hoarse cry. He lay back, his mouth parched, and panted for breath. Dimly, he saw Jim lift his head and swallow, a slightly wry expression crossing his face. “Oh, God – did you just –“
Jim wrinkled his nose. “It’s a bit…odd.” Suddenly he laughed. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Goodness, for what? Nobody forced me.” Jim beamed at Jamie and released his wrists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s bitter. A little salty. Strange.”
“I think I’m shocked. Or I would be if I had the strength.” Jamie lay flat on the bed, the sweat on his body beginning to chill in the damp breeze.
“Did you like it?”
“Like it? Dear God, it was…exquisite.” Jamie held his arms out. “Come here. I’m too tired to move.”
“Shall we sleep?”
“I’d like to reciprocate,” Jamie murmured.
“Maybe in the morning,” Jim said with a yawn. “I think I might fall asleep on you if you tried now.” He pulled the bedclothes further down and crawled beneath them. “Come on. Let me tuck you in, Colonel.”
Jamie grinned and obliged, stretching languorously under the warm covers. “I’m on your side, am I not?”
“Yes, but I’m too lazy to switch sides now. Be a good chap and turn the light off.” He waited until Jamie turned the light out, turned round and fitted his back to Jamie’s chest. “Am I crowding you terribly?”
Jamie chuckled. “Yes, but I rather like it.” He slid his hand down Jim’s shoulder and arm, then fondled his bare hip and thigh, and finally rested his hand on Jim’s belly. “Have you got work in the morning? It must be dreadfully late.”
“No, I’ve got the whole week-end free.”
“Good.”
“I know I joked about being greedy….” Jim trailed off uncertainly.
“I don’t want to spend a moment more than I must away from you,” Jamie said, kissing Jim’s springy curls. “We’ll sort it out somehow.”
One of Jim’s hands clasped Jamie’s. “My dear, dear Jamie. I was hoping you’d say that.” His voice was thick with incipient sleep. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Jamie kissed Jim’s neck, his heart suddenly full of mingled emotion so complex it frightened him. Deliberately, he pushed away the knowledge that their time together was short. He would make the most of this fortnight. “So am I, Jim. So am I.”
He lay awake for some time, marvelling at the miracle of Jim’s body pressed against his, and finally fell asleep. For the first time in months, his slumber was peaceful and without dreams.
*
“I’ve taken the liberty of accepting an invitation on your behalf tonight. Lord Somerhill’s giving a small gathering in honour of his son Ronald – he was at Sandhurst, wasn’t he, Jamie? I thought you’d enjoy that.”
Jamie looked up from his artichoke bottoms stuffed with peas and dressed in a creamy sauce that lacked identifiable flavour. “It was a liberty, I’m afraid, especially as I’ve plans this evening.”
Margaret sighed. “I think Captain Nicholls can do without your company for one evening. Surely he has his own social life.”
“He does, and at the moment it includes me.” Jamie spoke sharply, causing his father to glance up at him over his newspaper. He pressed his lips together, conscious of the hostility that had bled into his voice, and composed himself. “After all, he’s my comrade in arms, Mother, and we’ve a great deal to talk about. Besides, I’ve gone to any number of luncheons and teas without him.”
“Only because he’s working,” she pointed out – correctly, Jamie acknowledged with irritation.
“Be that as it may, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my own social calendar.”
“Well, we’ve all been invited, so I thought it would be nice if we all went as a family.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Charles snapped, “we don’t have to do that, do we? Can’t think of a drearier evening, Somerhill puffing and blowing about Ronald’s extraordinary feats of heroism and eating bloody sardines on toast. That’s his idea of a party, you know, that and playing the bloody Victrola with that screeching rubbish they call music. Anyway, Ronald hasn’t won the damned Victoria Cross, has he? Maybe I’ll do a little puffing and blowing of my own.” He grinned at Jamie.
“It isn’t a competition,” Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, I really can’t do it. You’ll have to pass on my best wishes to Lord Somerhill and Ronald.”
Margaret looked aghast. “But you were at Sandhurst together!”
“Yes, we were, and he was – and likely still is – a pompous, annoying, ridiculous braggart.” Jamie let his fork drop with an unnecessarily loud clatter. “Evidently it runs in the family. I don’t want to spend one of my last nights at home listening to him braying about the war, or any other subject.”
“You’re going.”
Jamie stared at his mother. “Sorry?”
“You heard what I said, young man. It’s all well and good to spend time with your friend, but quite honestly I think it’s a little too much time.”
“And what, precisely, do you mean by that?” Jamie’s face grew hot. Shut your mouth, he counselled himself angrily. They don’t suspect anything. They can’t.
“What I mean is that his father makes bathtubs.”
Jamie was surprised into a laugh. “Is that so terrible?”
“She’s right, son,” Charles said, folding his paper and laying it beside his plate.
“He’s a perfectly sweet young man,” Margaret said, “and I do understand that you share a – oh, what’s the word – camaraderie with him, but the war might end any day now, and you should be keeping company with your own sort.”
“The war’s ending? Are you receiving some secret despatches of which the rest of us are ignorant?”
Two bright blots of colour appeared on Margaret’s cheeks. “I think that’s quite enough impertinence for one day.”
Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t mean to be unpleasant. But Jim is my friend. And he did save my life.”
“Look here, Jamie, she’s not saying that he’s not a solid chap. Plenty of solid chaps in the army. I had all sorts of friends in the war myself. But good Lord, what’s wrong with your old school chums?”
“Nothing, except that there are rather a lot fewer of them about lately.” Jamie longed to stand up and walk out, but he had to settle the matter without question.
“Ronald’s here,” Margaret said.
“We were never close, Mother. He was little more than an acquaintance.” An idea sparked. “Perhaps we could bring Jim along.”
“I don’t think he’d be comfortable. After all, he wouldn’t know anyone there, would he?”
“Ah. I see. Not quite good enough, you mean.” Jamie put his napkin on the table. “The son of a bathtub manufacturer isn’t quite up to spending an evening with the crème de la crème, is he?”
“What’s the matter with you?” Charles demanded. “God’s sake, it’s just one bloody evening. We’ll all go, and there’s an end to it.” He shook his head. “Don’t you see, Jamie, it’s not just that he’s not your sort. You’ve got to start thinking about the future, get on with the business of living. A wife, a family – carrying on the name. Friends who are appropriate, son, who can help you along that road – that’s what’s needed now.”
Jamie frowned. “Well, the title’s going to Philip, not me. The Selkirk house goes to him, this house goes to him, all the land – surely you should be discussing this with him on his next leave.”
“That’s true, but if something were to happen to him –“
“Don’t say it,” Margaret said with a shudder.
Charles glanced at her. “If something were to happen, then everything would fall to you. And you need to be prepared for that.”
Jamie took his cigarettes from his pocket, then stuffed them back in again. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. I should marry just in case Philip dies? And going to this…whatever-it-is tonight will set my feet firmly upon the path of matrimonial bliss?” He shook his head. “Very well. I can’t fight both of you, can I?” He rose to his feet and inclined his head coldly. “Excuse me. I’ve got to cancel my engagement with Captain Nicholls.”
He stalked to the library and sat at the desk, glaring at the telephone, his skin prickling hot and cold. He’d been far too antagonistic, he knew, far too defensive. His parents knew nothing of his relationship with Jim; every morning he’d slipped into the house just before seven, and his parents never arose until eight or eight-thirty in the city. As far as he knew, none of the servants had said anything, and he had in fact received some conspiratorial grins and nods that he suspected would dissolve instantly had they known where he’d spent his evenings or the nature of the company he kept.
That his parents’ objections were purely social would have been amusing if it weren’t all so bloody stupid. The world was embroiled in the deadliest and bloodiest war in history, and they wanted to make certain that Jamie married some debutante with a title and pots of money. Christ.
Jamie picked up the telephone and requested the War Office. Once the operator put him through, he pulled rank shamelessly. “This is Colonel James Stewart. I wish to speak to Captain James Nicholls at once.”
Minutes later, there was a burst of static on the other end of the wire, then Jim’s voice. “Jamie? Is that you, old man?”
“Hello, Jim.”
“This is a surprise! How did the ceremony go this morning? Was it all pomp and circumstance?”
“Actually, it was a bit anti-climactic. Took three minutes, and the King congratulated us and fled. Rather glad to have it over with.”
“Well, you can tell me all about it tonight. I’ve had Mrs. Taylor prepare a cold supper.”
“That’s the thing, Jim. I’m…I’m afraid I won’t be able to come this evening. My parents have roped me into an engagement, and they’re being quite difficult about letting me out of it.”
A short silence fell on the wire. “Ah, well…I see. Well, certainly, you’ve got to respect their wishes. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you stopping by afterward?”
“I can’t say.” Jamie rubbed his eyes. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right, old man.” Jamie heard Jim chuckle, but the light laugh was cut off abruptly. “I…maybe tomorrow night? You’ve only four nights left.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
“Good. I’ll miss – it’s a shame you can’t come tonight, but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Seven o’clock?”
“Seven. Cheerio, Jim.”
“’Bye, Jamie.”
Jamie rang off and glared resentfully at the telephone. “God damn it,” he whispered.
*
“Leaving?” Jamie gaped at his mother. He saw a few heads turn toward them and lowered his voice. “You just got here – besides, you were the one who was so eager for this evening in the first place!”
“Well, we just wanted to get you settled, darling. And admit it – you’re having a rather nice time, aren’t you? I saw you dancing with Charlotte Thorpe. She’s a lovely girl. I expect you’ve a lot to discuss.” She darted forward and kissed his cheek. “Murchison will bring the motor-car back for you immediately, but I expect you’ll want to stay for another few hours. Have a wonderful time, Jamie.” She turned in a swirl of green chiffon and made her way toward Lord and Lady Somerhill.
Jamie watched in annoyance as his parents, who’d trapped him into this dull-as-tombs evening, leave blithely, not even sparing him a second glance. Like as not his father had insisted they leave and abandon him in the bargain. Sighing impatiently, he took a glass from a passing footman and drained it with a grimace. It was Champagne, sickeningly sweet, and he thought of the whiskey Jim would have poured for him by now, the now-familiar cosiness of his bedroom, the crisply ironed sheets and soft warm quilt of his bed, the lean economy of Jim’s body twined round his. He dropped into a nearby sofa and regarded the toe of his gleaming evening shoe in bitter silence.
“Jamie.”
Startled, Jamie looked up to see Charlotte Thorpe standing in front of him, sipping at a glass of Champagne, her blonde hair in perfect ringlets, her dress a slender, rippling column of pale-blue satin. “Hello, Charlotte.” He made to stand.
“Oh, don’t get up. I thought I’d join you if you don’t mind.” She sat beside him and demurely crossed her ankles, but not before showing a glimpse of pale-blue silk stocking that almost matched her satin shoes. “It’s always like this now.”
“Like what?” He’d chosen Charlotte to dance with because he’d been to school with her older brother Billy, and had known her since she’d worn short skirts and hair-ribbons and had dogged their steps relentlessly, threatening to tattle if they didn’t allow her to play with them. She’d been a little tyrant then; now she was affable and friendly and made no demands upon him, unlike some of the other girls present. Perhaps it was the dearth of eligible men, but some of them had been quite forward. Charlotte, on the other hand, had cheerfully said she had a beau in the Royal Navy but that wasn’t going to keep her from having a good time.
“You know what – I saw your face. Sheer horror. All these women, chasing after men. You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?” Jamie produced his case, opened it, and held it out. Charlotte selected one, tapped it on the case, and waited for Jamie to light it. “Thanks. Don’t mind me if I suddenly thrust it into your hand – nice girls don’t smoke in public, and God forbid one of my parents’ friends should see me.”
Jamie smiled. “Aren’t you a nice girl, Charlotte?”
“If you listen to my mother, I’m practically the Whore of Babylon, Jamie. I’ve half a mind to prove her right, too. What was I saying? Oh, parties. Yes, it’s always fifty women chasing after five men nowadays. I’m so glad you didn’t wear your dreary khaki. Awful colour, khaki. Not that it doesn’t lend distinction, but honestly, one would think you’d be terribly weary of looking at it, let alone wearing it.” Charlotte blew out a smoke ring. “What do you think of that?”
“Not bad,” Jamie said.
“Can’t wait until this bloody war’s over. I expect you feel the same way. Oh, God, here’s Ronald. Hello, Ronald,” Charlotte called with a wave. “Come and sit with us for a moment. Frightfully good music you’ve got, I must say. Jamie dances a marvellous Half-and-Half.”
“I’ve got a charming partner. Hello, Ronald,” Jamie said without pleasure. He’d been hoping to avoid Ronald Colborne all night, if possible.
“’Lo, Jamie. You’re looking grand.” Ronald pulled up a dainty gilt chair and dropped into it.
“So are you.” That was a rather large lie, Jamie reflected. Ronald had always been rather plump and pink in the face, looking like a freshly tubbed baby, but now he was pale, as if he’d been ill, and the plumpness had disappeared, leaving hollows in his cheeks and diminishing his pouter-pigeon chest. There were purple smudges beneath his eyes, and his body seemed to cave inward, as if he were guarding it against something.
“How long are you home?”
“Just another four days. Then back to the Somme. You?”
“I go back on the thirtieth. Huzzah.” Ronald smiled humourlessly. “Can’t remember where I’m going next. I was at Loos.”
Jamie shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I heard that was a rough one.”
Ronald nodded. Every trace of the arrogant boy he’d been had disappeared. He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and withdrew his cigarette case. “I say, old boy, you haven’t got a pocket lighter, have you? I reckon there’s one about, but….” He shrugged, as if to indicate his helplessness.
Jamie lit Ronald’s cigarette. “It’s good to be home for a bit, isn’t it?” He smiled at Charlotte, who merely lifted an eyebrow.
“Good? Yes, I suppose it is. Mother and Father have had me scrabbling about like mad for a week. I feel bad saying no to them, but to tell you the truth, all I want to do is sleep.” The corners of Ronald’s mouth quirked up, then down. “For years.”
“Yes, I’ve been going through the same sort of thing myself.”
Ronald raised his shaking hand to his lips and inhaled. The end of the cigarette glowed like a coal in a fire. “Heard you won the V.C. – congratulations.”
This was not at all the Ronald Jamie knew. “Thank you.”
Charlotte frowned. “The V.C.?”
“The Victoria Cross,” Ronald explained. “Highest decoration one can get. It’s for extraordinary bravery.”
“Oh! Well done, Jamie.” Charlotte kissed Jamie’s cheek. “How did you get it?”
Jamie shook his head. “I don’t really want to –“
“Yes, well done,” Ronald said. “Could have used you at Loos. My whole company was exterminated. We had the numbers, at first, but it was an open field, and we walked right into a line of artillery. Guns, grenades, the lot. You wouldn’t believe it.”
Jamie pressed his lips together. That’s what you think.
“We used gas. First time, you know. And then some of my men – they couldn’t see properly, couldn’t breathe in the damn masks, so some of them took the masks off. Got hit by our own God-damned gas.” A short, strange laugh hiccupped from Ronald’s throat. “I think when I go back, I might kill myself.”
“Ronald —“ Jamie began gently.
“What did we think a battle was at Sandhurst, Jamie? Probably a day or two, maybe half a week at the outside? Not three fucking weeks, Jamie, with not a bloody inch of ground gained. Not with fifty thousand casualties.” Tears poured from Ronald’s eyes, but he seemed unaware of them. “I had a friend in the company – George Miller, an ordinary chap, a farrier in his old life. Had a wife in Sussex, and a baby. He volunteered, you see, because he wanted to protect his baby. I saw him die, his belly opened by a shell. And then the rats came – there was a family of rats that made a nest –“ Ronald covered his face with his hands. His shoulders heaved in silent sobs, and his cigarette, held between two palsied fingers, quivered ceaselessly.
Charlotte glanced uneasily at Jamie. “Ronald….” She put a hand on his shoulder.
The touch seemed to electrify Ronald. He leapt up. “Sorry. Sorry.” He dashed the tears from his face. “I’ll get another drink and then find some more music – maybe you’ll dance with me, Charlotte?” He stumbled away without waiting for a reply, leaving Jamie and Charlotte to sit in silence.
Charlotte stubbed her cigarette out in her glass. “I think I’ve had enough,” she said with a sigh, “charming a partner as you are, Jamie. Will you walk me to my motor?”
“Certainly.” Jamie got to his feet and held a hand out for Charlotte. They bade Lord and Lady Somerhill a quick farewell, got their wraps, and headed outside. It was blessedly cool after the overheated drawing room, and a light rain was falling. Jamie escorted Charlotte to a smart white Sunbeam. He ushered her into the rear seat and held the door as the driver started the motor-car. “Send Billy my fond regards, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. He’ll be so glad I saw you.” Charlotte’s smile faltered. “Thanks for the dance. Jamie – is it really as bad as all that?”
It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to say something light-hearted and falsely gallant, to tell the lies he’d heard men telling women during the week and three days he’d been home, lies he’d told himself, but he hadn’t the heart for it any longer. He nodded.
“Rotten, buggery war,” Charlotte whispered. “Give me a kiss, Jamie.”
He kissed her cheek. She smelled like lilies.
“Come home safe.”
He closed the door and waved as the car drove off, then walked toward the Rolls-Royce where Murchison sat patiently. He got into the front passenger seat. “Hampstead, Murchison.”
*
“Shall I wait, sir?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. I may spend the night. I’ll get a tram home early in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.” Murchison opened his side of the door.
“No need.” Jamie got out of the car quickly, then caught a glimpse of Murchison’s face. His heart sank. “Murchison…do you remember when I raised the bar on the hurdles without telling you?”
“I do that, sir. That was Flintlock you were riding back then. You were just a wee scrap of a lad.”
“Yes.” Jamie hesitated. “You never told Mother and Father that I did it.”
“I didn’t see the harm, sir, once I realised you’d been jumping that bar for a month. You knew what you were about, that was certain.”
Jamie nodded. “I’d like to prevail upon you to…Murchison, please don’t tell them that I’ve come here. Tell them that I sent you home, that I’d be getting a lift with someone else.”
Murchison sighed. “I won’t say a word, sir.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “That girl, she was lovely, she was.”
For the first time Jamie felt the piercing sensation of guilt and shame. He felt as if his intentions were clearly written on his face, and he felt the weight of Murchison’s disapproval. “Yes,” he said softly. “Very lovely.” He felt his deceit, heavy as a cannon, resting on his heart. “Good night, Murchison.”
“Good night, sir.”
Jamie waited for the automobile to roll down the darkened street and then walked the short path to Jim’s door. He knocked quietly.
The door opened. Jim was in pyjamas and a bathrobe. “Jamie –“ A smile wreathed his face. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to come.”
For an answer, Jamie embraced him tightly.
*
They lay in bed, naked, sweating and spent. Jamie smoked a cigarette, watching the bluish haze drift out the open window.
“I suppose you’d have to account for yourself eventually,” Jim ventured.
“It won’t happen again,” Jamie replied grimly. He’d only given Jim the bare bones of the squabble with his parents; he’d said nothing of their contempt for Jim’s social status. He’d never considered their snobbery, which probably meant he was a snob himself. But he’d been to war, where class counted for nothing. It was true that most of the officers were among the upper classes, but there were some promoted rankers who were damned fine officers, and besides, an officer was only as good as the men he commanded, not the other way round. Courage counted, and bloody-mindedness, and sheer luck. Class meant nothing. “I’m going to speak to them tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be hard on them.”
Incredulous, Jamie glanced at Jim. “I think they deserve the rough edge of my tongue, frankly.”
“Try to see their side of things, Jamie. Both their sons are away, and now you’re home for a fortnight and they’re not seeing you as much as they’d like –“
Jamie gave a bitter chuckle. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong there, Jim. They haven’t changed their social schedule one jot. They’ve included me, but it comes down to them dragging me about like luggage.”
“They still love you. That was most obvious at dinner.”
Where they just scarcely tolerated your presence, Jim. “Perhaps. Damned odd way of showing it, though.”
“Are you all right?” Jim traced his fingertips over Jamie’s forehead. “Your brow’s been knotted most of the night.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Jamie exhaled a stream of smoke. “Well, I suppose I’m fine. I’ve been thinking about Ronald. He’s not the first man I’ve seen in that state. He was…haunted. No other way to put it, really.”
“Yes,” Jim murmured. “I’ve seen other fellows like that as well. It’s terrible. I don’t know why it happens to some men and not others.”
“They call it shell-shock at the front.”
“Apt.”
Jamie let out a long sigh. “Four more days.”
“I know. Only too well. I don’t want you to spend more time away from me. Is that awful of me?”
“Yes, and I adore it.” Jamie stubbed out his cigarette and turned to Jim to kiss him. He hooked one leg over Jim’s, pulling him closer. “I love it when you’re awful.”
“You’re rather awful yourself. I see lip-prints on your face.” Jim smiled. “Have you been unfaithful to me?”
“Do three dances and two pecks on the cheek count?”
Jim bit his lip, then pressed his index finger gently to Jamie’s mouth. “As long as no-one else kisses you the way I do, I suppose it’s all right.”
“Kiss me again. Remind me.”
“You are wicked, Colonel.”
*
He’d never seen a spring morning quite like this one: a shower had washed the trees black and brightened the fragile pale-green buds at the tips of their branches. The air was fresh and clean; the sky was lilac, edged with gold. Jamie climbed out of the Rolls-Royce and drew in a few deep breaths, grateful that his last day in England was a beautiful one.
Murchison handed Jamie his kit bag. “There you are, sir.”
“Thank you, Murchison. Good-bye.” Jamie extended his hand.
“Good-bye, sir. God be with you.” Murchison doffed his cap and shook Jamie’s hand.
Jamie swung his bag over his shoulder and went into the station. Jim had promised to be there, and so he was, waiting beneath the large clock that read five-forty. He was spruce, smartly turned out in his regimentals, very different from the night before. They’d reveled in each other’s bodies, kissing, caressing, suckling, and thoroughly exploring a dozen different delightful pleasures before Jamie had to leave. They had been deliberately cheerful, but now Jamie saw that Jim’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
He stopped in front of Jim and set his bag down. In the two weeks he’d been home, he had delayed all thoughts of their last moments together. He knew it would be upsetting, that it would weigh heavily upon both of them with the separation that would follow, but there had remained in him some ember of hope that they could obliterate grief and sorrow somehow, that they could celebrate life without succumbing to the possibility of death. Jamie had already endured his father’s silences, his mother’s tears. He had nearly wept himself, shocked at the depth of his unhappiness at their pain. And now he would have to take his leave of Jim, and there was no escaping the reality. “Jim,” he murmured.
“Here we are,” Jim said softly.
“Yes.” Jamie looked out at the platform, where the train already waited. “It was good of you to come.”
“I tried to join up again.”
Jamie frowned. Jim’s words seemed inexplicably garbled, as if he’d been speaking a foreign language. “What?”
“I tried to resume active duty. I was denied.” Jim opened his hands, turned them palm-upward, then closed them again.
“Why on earth – of course you were denied. You’re wounded.”
“It’s not that bad. They wouldn’t listen to me.” Jim struck his open palm with a fist. Tears gathered on his lashes.
“Jim, Jim….” Jamie grasped Jim’s hands. “For God’s sake, no. How can you even think of it?”
“Put in a word, Jamie. I’d do anything – I’d be your orderly, if you wanted. Polish your boots, clean your pistol, bring your tea. I’d endure any suffering, I swear it. I thought I could bear up bravely, but I can’t. Don’t leave without me, Jamie. Put in a word for me.”
“I won’t. I tell you I won’t. Jim, you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I know it. I’m in a muddle –“ Jim bowed his head. “I don’t think the heart was meant to ache like this, Jamie.” When he looked up again, his face was tear-stained. “I’m so sorry. I’d resolved to be cheery, and I’m –“ He shook his head.
If he started weeping, he’d never stop. Jamie bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. My dear sweet Jim. I need you here. I need your letters and parcels and drawings. And I need your prayers. I must know you’re here, so that I have the strength to face whatever may come. I need to live for you. “I’m coming back. Wait for me.”
The first boarding call sounded, and Jim mustered a smile. “Is that an oath?”
“A solemn oath.” Jamie returned the smile despite the gaping wound in his heart and picked up his bag. “Come on.”
They walked to the platform, minimally crowded; only a few soldiers and their families were clustered here and there, saying good-bye. Jamie handed his bag to the porter and turned to Jim. “Write.”
“Of course. Colonel.” Jim saluted and touched the ribbon on Jamie’s tunic. “Take care of yourself.”
“Mind that leg.”
“I will.” Jim hesitated, then embraced Jamie tightly.
Jamie’s throat ached. He clung to Jim, pressing close, not giving a damn who saw them. How can I bear this? How? He drew a shaking breath, and spoke. “I love you.”
The whistle blew; the train gathered steam. Jim’s grasp tightened. “I love you. Dear, dear Jamie. I love you.”
They parted; their hands uncoupled. Jamie grasped the handrail and stepped aboard. He saluted, and Jim returned the salute. The wheels ground against the rails and began to move.
Jim stayed rooted to the spot, and lifted his hand in farewell. His lips moved: I love you.
Jamie raised his hand, and watched until Jim was lost from sight.
*
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Date: 2012-07-01 12:55 pm (UTC)That was quite a trick, his parents pulled on him. Luckily Charlotte seems a very nice girl, even though she's not for Jamie.
It makes you feel depressed, thinking about that horrible, unnessecary war and what it did to a lot of young men and their families at home.
A beautiful chapter, Alex and written wonderfully, as always.
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Date: 2012-07-02 01:55 am (UTC)Glad you liked Charlotte! :D
I know, it was such a slaughter, all the way through. Terrible losses. Thank you so much - I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, dear.
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Date: 2012-07-01 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 08:56 am (UTC)Oh that was so beautifully wriiten and so very sad. I am typing this and can't see the screen for tears.
The scenes with Jamie and Jim together were so tender as well as erotic and I wanted to punch Jamie's stupid parents. I liked Charlotte and hope that we will see her again and felt so much for Ronald, suffering from shell-shock.
I am very fearful for Jamie returning to the war, but can't believe that you would be so cruel as to let anything dreadful happen to him.
Now I have to try and get my head round writing something silly and it seems so trivial aftrer reading this.
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Date: 2012-07-02 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-02 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-04 10:21 am (UTC)Been slowly reading this over the last few days. Love angst, but wanted to stay in my happy place for a bit longer with the boys. Though I was expecting the end of the chapter to be a parental blowout rather than Jamie going back to war *sobs*
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Date: 2012-07-04 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-04 09:32 pm (UTC)And speaking of war...sounds like a war zone outside with all the booms from fireworks!
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Date: 2012-07-04 09:37 pm (UTC)It doesn't sound like that yet, but I expect it in just a few hours. Complete with actual gunshots because there are some stupid, stupid people in my neighborhood.
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Date: 2012-07-05 06:58 pm (UTC)hundredmore times...But, agghhhh, poor Ronald. He kind of shattered me. And the thought of Jamie going back into all that. I'm dreading it but secretly loving it because I ship all of my favorite characters with ANGST before I ship them with anything/anyone else because I'm evil, and I'm very happy that your stories fill this gaping black hole in my heart.
But, to completely contradict that, I think my very favorite thing in the world right now is how flippin polite these two are with each other while making sweet, sweet love. 'May I kiss your manhood?' 'Oh, please, it would be ever so kind of you.' I LOVE THEM SO MUCH OH MY GOD I'VE GONE CAPS AND I CAN'T STOP.
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Date: 2012-07-06 02:37 am (UTC)I love angst too. Beautiful boys/angst is probably my real OTP. :D
'May I kiss your manhood?' 'Oh, please, it would be ever so kind of you.'
*chortles madly* I've got to work that in somehow. *giggles* They are awfully polite, aren't they? Properly brought up young gents. ;D I'm so, so glad you're reading along - I got the biggest lift from your comments, thank you!!