Page 31 of Beguiled

David laughed shortly. “I was sixteen, so no, not that—not in my mind, anyway. I did believe I loved him, though. A platonic sort of love, you understand. Very noble. Very pure.” He laughed again, mocking himself, and lifted the bellows, nurturing the infant flames with careful little gusts.

“Did he realise how you felt?”

Somehow it was easier to answer that deep, disembodied voice than if he’d been looking at Murdo.

“Oh, yes,” David admitted. “I was a perfect fool and told him.”

A pause, then, “What did he say?”

“Not much. He kissed me.”

The silence that followed that admission was as profound as the darkness.

After a long time, Murdo’s voice emerged, quiet and careful. “Was it your first kiss?”

“Yes. His too.”

David sat back on his heels and regarded the fire. Already the flames were growing big and yellow, licking hungrily over the neat stack of wood and kindling that Ellen had built earlier. Those big flames were deceptive, though. This was exactly the moment when you had to watch a fire. As healthy as it looked now, once the kindling burned off, it could easily die without properly taking hold.

David stood and felt around on the mantelpiece for a candle, grabbing a sturdy, tallow one and bending to light the wick in the flames in the grate. Sheltering the flaring wick with his cupped hand, he carefully placed the candle in its holder and put it back on the mantelpiece before settling himself on the hearth rug again to keep an eye on the fire.

“I’ll get you a drink in a minute,” he promised, glancing over his shoulder at Murdo, who sprawled in David’s best armchair like a pasha. “I’ll just make sure I’ve got this fire going properly first.”

“Don’t worry about fetching me anything. I don’t need a drink,” Murdo replied. “Tell me more about this William instead.”

David sighed, but after a moment, he said, “He was the boy from the big house. I used to see him whenever he was home from boarding school. We were playmates when we were children.”

“When did you decide you were in love with him? Before or after you realised you preferred men?”

“After, I think. Though I didn’t really think of it as being ‘in love’ with him.”

“How did you think of it?”

“As an idealised sort of love, I suppose. I thought of us like David and Jonathan in the Bible.” David stared into the flames in the grate. “I think I had the idea that if I ignored my physical desires, it would be all right to feel that way. William and I would be friends all our lives, and I would love him better than anyone else, more than any wife could ever love him.” He laughed, and it was an ugly sound.

“But it didn’t work out that way?”

Another short laugh. “No.”

David blew a few more strategic puffs from the bellows and watched as the yellow flames intensified, growing longer and bolder, eating up the kindling quickly.

“Yet it was he who kissed you? Not the other way round?”

“The first time we kissed, it was him.”

“It wasn’t just once, then?”

David looked over his shoulder. There was no real heat coming from the fire yet, but it was throwing off some light now. Together with the light from the candle, it sent a glow about the room that made Murdo, in his armchair, discernible, though only barely. David could make out the outline of that big, lounging body and the sprawl of those long, careless limbs. His face, though, remained shrouded in shadow.

“Three times,” he admitted, adding, “On the third occasion, we were discovered by my father.”

“Ah.”

That single syllable fairly thrummed with understanding.

David turned back to the fire, applying the bellows again. This time when he was done, it was burning merrily. He put the bellows aside and stood up.

“How about some whisky?” he said brightly, moving to the sideboard where he kept a decanter of the stuff. The need for some hard spirit was agitating him suddenly.