Page 10

A Honeysuckle Interlude

A new short story that’s set after the events of On a Midnight Clear .

A Honeysuckle Interlude was inspired by a visit to Chatsworth House. I wandered through their kitchen gardens and saw a bed of pretty violas, and the story came to me. There’s a little shed in the gardens just like the one I describe, and I actually wrote some of this story sitting on the veranda of that shed.

Barnaby

“Michael, have you seen Cosmo?”

My butler stops his walk across the hall. “No, Master Barnaby. I can’t say as I have. Is he not in the sculpture room?”

“No, that was the first place I looked for him.”

“I’ve never seen a man so happy amongst statues.”

“Well, you know how it is.”

I sincerely hope he doesn’t.

“Talks to them, he does.” Michael shrugs. “Each to their own, I suppose. And he’s always entertaining.”

“He certainly is. Oh well, thank you. I’ll keep looking.”

He smiles at me and whisks through the door to the kitchens. I look around the hall. It’s September, and the house is quieter now that the schools have begun again. In the distance, I can hear James’s voice extolling the virtues of the family portraits. It’s a companionable noise. Sunlight dances on dust motes, and above me, the cupids dance and whirl on the painted ceiling, fighting their eternal battle.

The canvas bag in my hand bumps against my knee, reminding me of my task, and I hasten out of the side door and onto the back lawn. Above me rises the path to the cascade, and in the distance, the forest is a dark, verdant green.

Where could he be? I consider several alternatives, but then I smile. Of course, that’s where he is.

Taking the winding path to the right, I huff a little because the going is steep in places. I come in and out of the shade of the huge old trees, feeling the sweat on my brow. The only sound is birdsong, the crunch of the gravel, and my panting breaths. My feet kick up tiny dust clouds that coat my shoes in seconds.

Eventually, I come out on a rise. Below me, the house glints gold in the sun’s rays, and above me are the three tiers of the kitchen gardens — my destination. They were an arid wasteland a few years ago, but the ministrations of our new team of gardeners have wrought significant changes, and now they resemble the way they were in my father’s time.

Raised beds are set into the gradient of the hill, and as I walk along them, I spy pumpkins glistening gold amongst the leaves like hidden treasure. They make me smile because I think of Cosmo this morning. He had lain in our bed, his hands going a mile a minute as he described the Halloween party we would throw for the village children. I must admit that a lot of the details were lost to me, so focused was I on his beautiful face and the lines of his long, muscular body.

I pass the old greenhouses. At one point, they were more broken glass than anything useful, but now they’re filled with flowers for the house. A memory strikes me of my mother and how I would trail after her as a child while she picked the flowers she wanted to arrange around the house. I linger for a second, smiling before moving on.

I pass rows of beetroots, cabbages, and courgettes laid out in lines like a very neat vegetable army. Butterflies dance amongst the leaves, and the air is full of the scent of earth, and when I brush against a plant, the sweet, pungent smell of mint rises around me.

It’s sunny and warm here, and I feel my spirits calm and recharge after a busy morning. Doubtless, that was Cosmo’s plan, and as I come out onto the top path and see him, I know he’s been waiting for me.

He’s sitting in front of the old gardener’s hut, which is a small wooden building covered with peeling purple paint. A little veranda surrounds it with a view down over the house and the woods beyond. I used to play in it as a child, and now the love of my adult life sits there, his bare feet resting on the veranda’s railing. His brown sun-streaked hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and he’s wearing a pair of denim cut-offs worn white with age and an old Blur concert T-shirt that I last saw in my wardrobe.

His whole face lights up as he sees me. It’s a reaction that I will never fail to treasure.

“Barnaby,” he exclaims.

I grin at him, climbing the steps and coming up next to him. “Found you.”

“Was I hiding? Would you like me to?”

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll hang on to you so you don’t disappear.”

He holds out his arms, and I slide onto his lap, feeling him hug me tight. He smells of earth and a sharp green scent, and he’s sun-warm and precious to me in a way that words cannot describe.

For a while, we rest there, staring out at the garden. The chair’s wood is warm against my arm, and the small area is full of the scent of the honeysuckle that climbs over the balustrade and riots over the small building as though trying to hide it from humans. Knowing this garden and its magic ways, it could very well be true.

I feel Cosmo kiss my hair, inhaling my scent the way he always does, and eventually, I stir.

“What a gorgeous afternoon.”

“We are together. That is always a happy day.”

In anyone else, I would look for the sarcasm, but not my Cosmo. His words are always honest and full of happiness.

“I think you knew I’d find you here.”

“Did you look in many places, my Barnaby?” He sounds titillated by the idea, and I nudge him.

“I thought of a few places where I might find you, but this was the winner. You’re here a lot.” I look around. We’re completely alone, as the gardeners go home at lunchtime. “Why do you like it here so much?”

He considers my question, and his bright eyes roam the garden. “It is so alive here,” he finally says.

“In what way?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

I think about that. “The plants?”

He nods. “A kitchen garden is a place full of energy and hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“For the coming seasons. It contains the desire that we shall be fed and happy, and if you listen carefully, you can feel the joy of the gardeners at providing food for others grown with their own hands. Underneath all that is the happy song that all plants sing under the sun.”

I kiss his cheek, making him smile. “Well, I came to ask if you wanted to play hooky and hide by the pond.”

“ Hooky ? What is this thing?” He hesitates. “Would it be something to do with the art of fishing?”

“I don’t think further exploring that art is advisable, lovey. You fell in the river when I tried to reach you to fish.”

“Pah! There is too much to see in this world to stand still and try to catch creatures who are happier in the water.”

“I think you’re right.” I hold up the bag. “Anyway, I brought provisions.”

“Ooh, is that food?” he exclaims.

He takes the bag from me, looking inside with his usual exuberance and enthusiasm about food. “Oh, there are sandwiches made with the bread I saw Mrs Cooper making this morning. What is inside them?”

“Cold honey-baked ham and homemade tomato chutney.”

“Then we have thick pieces of cheese, two of Mrs Cooper’s apple tarts, and some cold ginger ale. It is a feast fit for a king, my Barnaby. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I’m pretty sure King Charles does not eat his lunch sitting on a man’s lap in an old shed.”

“Then I pity him.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews happily. “This is the life. Barnaby,” he pronounces with his mouth full, and I shake my head, bringing out my own sandwich.

Eventually, I shift my behind to a chair, and we spread our feast out on the old table while discussing our day and plans. It’s something we always find time to do. However busy our days are, we make sure to spend time together. He’s my best friend, my lover, and my everything. Even after nearly a year, I still have to pinch myself that this life is mine.

When the food is gone, I start to pack away the picnic, watching as he stands up and vaults the veranda in one lithe move. “Where are you going?” I ask.

I smile as he makes his way around the borders. He’s tanned from the summer sun with gold streaks in his silky hair.

“I want to show you what I found.” He reaches into the branches of the plum tree and exclaims in happiness. “Here, my Barnaby.”

I lean over the balustrade and take the plum from him. It’s purple and sun-warm in my hand. “These are early. Are they okay to eat?”

He winks. “Of course. Mayhap they had a little help.”

I grin at him. “You’re like human compost.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I hope not. That does not smell nice. Once, they spread it on the gardens, and the sculpture room was full of the smell. It made our eyes water. Mrs Cooper made a great fuss about it and hung air fresheners everywhere.” He winks. “She hung one from my penis. It is nice to know it is good for things other than making you scream with joy.”

“I’m fairly sure I don’t scream ,” I say primly and very untruthfully.

He laughs. “Oh, my Barnaby, it is a song for you and me.” He pauses, thinking. “And anyone on the same floor as our apartment.”

“Oh my god ,” I breathe.

He laughs again, the sound joyous and merry. He gestures at the plum. “Eat it, my love.”

I take a bite, savouring the sweet flesh in my mouth. “Delicious,” I say after I swallow.

He smiles, returning to his seat and biting into his own plum. I watch interestedly as his full lips glisten with the juice and then lean in to lick across his biteable bottom lip before sliding my tongue in alongside his to taste more of the fruit’s sweetness.

He groans and drops the plum, pulling me to him and holding me tight as he kisses me back.

When we pull away, our breaths are short, and I have to reach down and adjust myself. He’s in no better condition. He looks at me with a flush over his high cheekbones.

“Lie on the table,” he commands.

My dick thumps in reaction, but propriety takes precedence. “We can’t do anything here ,” I say.

He cocks his head to one side. “Why?”

“Well, someone might see.”

“The gardeners have all gone home. So, it is just the birds and us.” He looks around. “Oh, and Demeter,” he says and takes his T-shirt off, throwing it over the pretty statue’s head. “She is a terrible gossip,” he says in answer to my stare. “I do not wish the garden statues to know the things we do.”

“I’m fairly sure they already have a good idea. We shagged in the cascade in the summer.”

His look becomes heated. “Ah, what a memory. That cool water over our naked bodies.”

“Hiding behind a rock without our clothes is an equally evergreen moment.”

He laughs, his head thrown back in merriment. “Who knew it would take Lawrence the gardener so long to eat his lunch?”

I shake my head, unable to stop the twitch of my lips. “Where are you going?” I ask as he steps back.

“To get something. Take your clothes off and lie on the table.”

I’m scandalised and rather aroused. It’s a funny combination. “Just like that?”

He nods and then checks. “No, wait.” He reaches over the railing and waves his hand over the table. I hear the sweet, silvery bell sound — an indicator of his magic — and when I look down, the tabletop is no longer rough and rotting but a sleek, polished piece of wood. “No splinters for my Barnaby,” he says solemnly.

I smile at him, hopelessly charmed. I watch as he walks away, disappearing onto the lower tier.

“Naked,” he calls.

We’re completely hidden here beneath the honeysuckle canopy, and the only sound is birdsong and a bee buzzing in the lavender bed nearby. Am I going to do this? I chuckle and start to take off my clothes. You bet I am.

Once my clothes are in a neat pile on the chair, I look down at the table. Feeling rather awkward, I arrange myself on it. The wood is sleek and warm beneath my body. I lie there, my brain racing, but gradually, my mind eases, and I begin to focus on the feel of my skin as the sun caresses me. A little breeze springs up, making my nipples tighten, and I realise I’m stiff and throbbing. A sound nearby makes my eyes fly open in alarm, but it’s just Cosmo.

He comes up the steps, his arms full of greenery and his eyes hot. “What a lovely sight,” he says hoarsely.

I come up on my elbows. “What are you up to?”

He chuckles. “I bring treasure, Barnaby.”

“And what would that be? More ancient gold?”

“Better than that.” He spreads his hands, and his palms are full of violas, the tiny flowers bright splashes of colour in his big, tanned hands.

“Mrs Flint is going to be cross with you. The kitchen uses those as garnishes in the café.”

“I shall put them back.”

“Pardon? And how are you going to manage that?”

“It will take just a little magic. So, what do you think of my treasure?”

“I love that you see this as better than ancient gold.” I eye him. “What are you going to do with that treasure?”

“I am going to cover your body in them and then make love to you.” I gulp, and he smiles. “What a lovely way to celebrate the end of summer.” He nods at me. “Lie back.”

I obey him, feeling my pulse thrumming.

“So beautiful,” he breathes.

I know I’m no oil painting. My middle is a little soft from my love of biscuits, and I’m as pale as the moon, but somehow, he sees me as beautiful, and I’ve learned to accept that and not argue with him anymore.

He stands over me, silhouetted against the blue sky, the honeysuckle sending shadows over his face.

“Where should I start?” he murmurs.

I groan as he leans forward and licks down the centre of my chest. He circles my belly button with his tongue and then rubs his nose into my happy trail before nestling into the crease of my groin. He inhales and groans, and I arch up.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

I obey, no thought now of being caught. He leans in and licks at my nipple before suckling and then biting on it. I groan at the sharp pleasure, and then he pulls back. Raising his hands, he scatters the violas over me. The pretty little flowers fall over my pale body in cool little touches, violet and yellow splashes of colour settling on me. Some fall over my balls, and I moan as he cups them, rolling them gently before bending and blowing. The petals tickle my skin, and I moan again.

“Taste one,” Cosmo says, holding out a tiny yellow flower.

I take it on my tongue. “Like lettuce,” I say in surprise.

“A fresh taste, yes?”

I nod and watch as he runs his finger along my skin, watching the flowers shift.

“So pretty,” he says. “They are called heartsease in some places. Did you know that?”

I shake my head, groaning as his fingers trace down my ribs and then run along my cock.

“Oh god,” I groan. “So good.”

“Barnaby?” His eyes are full of heat and love. “I cover you in these because you are my heartsease.”

“And you’re mine,” I whisper.

He smiles. “What a lovely day, my Barnaby.” He winks. “Let us make it even better.”

“Not sure you could improve on this.”

“Really?” His eyes twinkle. “Let me see.”

And then I shout, the sound echoing across the peaceful garden as he takes my cock in his mouth and starts to suck.

A while later, I stir, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He hums contentedly.

“I love you,” I say, and he opens his eyes.

“You are my whole world,” he says solemnly, and we smile at each other.

I shift position again. I’m covered in violas, some sticking to Cosmo’s spunk that is drying on my belly from where he brought himself off.

“I hope these will come off. I don’t know how to explain wearing violas.”

He laughs, and then he rubs his nose, and I hear the sound of bells. When I look down, the violas are gone, although smears of pollen still decorate my skin.

“So, what’s next?” I ask. “More magic?”

He shrugs. “I do not think so. This is magic enough, my Barnaby.”

I smile, loving him so much that my whole body feels warm. He offers me a lopsided grin that says he knows what I’m thinking, and then we sit quietly, hidden in the shadows of the honeysuckle, holding hands on our lazy afternoon.