Page 211 of The Armor of Light

They sat in silence for a minute or two, then Roger put down his pipe and said: ‘It’s all right, you know.’

Kit was puzzled. ‘What’s all right?’

‘To feel the way you do.’

Kit’s face suddenly felt warm. He was blushing. His feelings were secret, because they were shameful. Surely Roger could not know what was in his heart? It was impossible.

Roger said: ‘Believe me, I know how you feel.’

Kit said: ‘How can you know how another person feels if he doesn’t tell you?’

‘I’ve been through it myself – everything you’re going through. And I want you to understand that it’s all right.’

Kit did not know how to respond to this.

Roger said: ‘You should say it. Say how you feel. Tell me. I promise you, it will make everything happy again.’

Kit was determined not to say anything, but against his will it came out. ‘I love you,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Roger. ‘I love you, too.’ Then he kissed Kit.

Soon afterwards Kit had been able to resign from the militia and they had set up the business. They rented a house in Kingsbridgewith a workshop on the ground floor and living quarters upstairs. From then on they had slept together every night.

Gradually, Kit had become the responsible one, the adult. He handled the money. Roger himself had made this a condition of their partnership, knowing that he would always gamble with everything he had. Kit received the payments, paid the bills, and divided the profits in two. His own money went into his account at the Kingsbridge and Shiring Bank. Roger’s half went, sooner or later, to Sport Culliver. Another condition, imposed by Kit, was that Roger would never borrow, but Kit was not sure Roger kept that rule. Roger was a genius – his engineering brain was remarkable – but he was addicted to betting. Kit looked after him and protected him. It was the reverse of the relationship they had had in the old days back in Badford.

On Sundays Roger went to Culliver’s to play five-card loo and Kit saw his mother. He met the family at the Methodist communion service, then walked with them to their home. He had bought them a modest house. Sal was forty-five and Jarge forty-three, and both continued to work, Sal for Amos and Jarge for Hornbeam. Kit gave them a load of coal every winter and sent them a joint of meat on Saturday for the Sunday dinner. They had no desire for luxury. Sal would say: ‘We don’t wish to live like rich folk, because we’re not.’ But Kit made sure they never wanted for anything.

Sue had married Baz Hudson. He was a good carpenter who was rarely short of work. He was not a Methodist, so he and Sue went to St Luke’s, but they joined the family for dinner afterwards.

Sal served ale. Kit preferred wine but he never asked Sal for it because he knew Jarge would drink too much. Even sober, Jarge was provocative. Knowing that Baz was a patriotic conservative, he said: ‘I should think it will do the Russians a lot of good if they’re conquered by Bonaparte.’

Kit said mildly: ‘Now there’s a surprising point of view. What makes you say that, Jarge?’

‘Well, the Russians are slaves, aren’t they?’

‘Serfs, I believe.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘They work their own land.’

‘But they’re the property of the local count, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, serfs are like property.’

‘There you are, then.’

Baz spoke. ‘It was Bonaparte who reinstated slavery in the French empire, wasn’t it?’

‘No,’ said Jarge. ‘The revolution abolished slavery.’

‘Yes,’ said Baz, ‘but Bonaparte brought it back.’

Kit said: ‘Baz is right, Jarge. They were afraid of losing their empire in the West Indies, so Bonaparte made slavery legal again.’

Jarge was annoyed. ‘Well, I still think the Russians would be better off under Bonaparte than under their tsars.’

Baz persisted. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever know. Apparently it’s not going well for the French in Russia. All their soldiers are dying of starvation and disease and they haven’t even fought a battle yet, according to the newspapers.’