Page 10 of These Old Lies
Sooner than Charlie would have thought possible, they had dug the trenches waist-deep. Charlie’s shoulders, arms, and legs ached. He shifted to stretch for a moment, looking up the line. A few yards away in the moonlight, he saw the outline of Ned’s tall figure swinging a pickaxe to dislodge a rock with a few other corporals. As Charlie returned to his digging, he continued to watch Ned out of the corner of his eye, noting how the other man encouraged the exhausted, hushed the loud, quietly cheered on the downtrodden, sharing the burden and the danger.
As Ned moved to pass Charlie’s part of the line, their eyes locked. Ned smiled at Charlie, the shy smile that Charlie normally only saw when they were alone. But there was also a tightness around Ned’s mouth and eyes from the exhaustion and fear he was fighting to keep under control. Behind Charlie, the young private he had been paired with clanged his shovel, again, and Charlie rolled his eyes heavenwards in exasperation. Ned snorted with suppressed laughter.
Charlie knew he should break the gaze, but instead he reached out to squeeze Ned’s shoulder. This stupid fucking plan was working. They would be fine.
Their interaction lasted only a few seconds before Ned continued down the line of diggers. Charlie turned back to his own task with a warmth in his chest that hadn’t been there before.
5 More Champagne
London, June 1923 / Ned
“But you don’t have any friends!” Hugh rolled over in the bed, the morning sunlight illuminating his naked backside in a way that did nothing to help Ned focus on the question at hand.
Ned tried to muster indignation that Hugh considered him a solitary grump. “Charlie isn’t a friend. He’s someone I used to know, who I invited to join us at Claridge’s tonight. I don’t see the problem; we invite people you know all of the time.” Ned wrapped the bedclothes around himself and sat up against the headboard.
“Exactly. And over the past year, you’ve never shown interest in any of the people I invite, never once suggested a friend of your own. And now this!” Hugh flailed his hands in exclamation.
Truthfully, Ned didn’t really know what had compelled him to invite Charlie. Even if Charlie had fully forgiven Ned, and Ned wasn’t entirely convinced that he had, their meeting at the pub had already shown that they had very little in common. Yet the idea of seeing Charlie again was too intoxicating to resist.
His inability to explain himself made Ned even more frustrated that he and Hugh were even having this discussion. Difficult conversations were not why Hugh was in his life. “What does it matter to you who I invite? You are going to be preoccupied flirting with that playwright from the Victoria Theatre.”
Hugh rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an arse. Fuck the hatmaker six ways toSunday, invite me to join, for all I care. But guilt-stricken men who can’t deal with the fact that they like cock do not make for a fun evening.”
Ned almost spouted out a retort that Charlie hadn’t seemed very guilty in the Charing Cross pub, but he bit the comment back. It wasn’t Ned’s place to speak for Charlie.
“The social burden will not be great,” he said instead. “Charlie will come by with his lady friend, we’ll all smile and exchange pleasantries, drink a glass of champagne and leave them to enjoy the dance floor. Nothing to worry about.”
Hugh sighed dramatically and reached for his trousers. Ned closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that the evening he had described to Hugh was all he wanted.
???
Claridge’s was champagne come to life—bright, bubbly, and high-spirited. The ballroom had a varnish of modern glamour on old-world service with a veritable army of waiters to make sure every wish was taken care of. The patrons were dressed to the nines, men in lounge suits, women in the latest fashions of draped fabrics, low necklines and high hemlines. Those who weren’t dancing to the jazz band were drinking cocktails; Europe reaping the dividends of American obsession with Jim Crow and prohibition.
“Staring at the door won’t make any difference if your soldier decides to show up,” Hugh hissed as he elbowed Ned in the side.
Hugh and Ned had been at Claridge’s for the better part of an hour, holding court in their normal booth, which Hugh had selected to be perfectly positioned to allow them a view of the whole ballroom, with a touch of privacy if needed. They had already attracted a fair selection of friends and acquaintances drawn by Hugh’s notoriety, Ned’s money, and their combined bohemian tastes. Ned was like flotsam in a sea of Bright Young Things.
Ned had anxiously dressed for the night and sported his newest lounge suit in a dark blue which, while fashionably snug, also made the most of his height and broad shoulders. He had indulged himself and put on a slight bit of red lip tint. Not enough for anyone to notice, but he liked the feeling of it there.
Still, Hugh was right about staring at the door. Ned turned to the othersin the booth. “I must apologise for being a complete bore this evening.”
“Edmund invited a friend from his time serving King and Country,” Hugh explained to the group.
“Oh! I do love an officer. The medals and the uniform make me all a flutter.” Trust Sophie Taunton to see the bright side of anything. She played with a long string of pearls. “Did you do lots of heroic things together? Flying aeroplanes and cracking codes?”
Ned enjoyed Sophie. She had a nimble mind, for all that she did her best to hide it behind her blonde waves and light conversation. With a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Those are secrets that I’ll take to the grave.”
Sophie smirked in response, probably seeing right through Ned’s attempt to dodge the question.
“This, Mr Villiers, might be the most interesting thing to happen here all night.” Freddy Taunton lounged between his sister and Hugh, smoking a long cigarette. “This place is positively stodgy. We should have gone to The 43 Club.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to flirt with the new cabaret singer at The 43,” Hugh responded.
“He’s divine. You should see the eyelashes on the man.” Freddy barely blinked at the taunt. “If Claridge’s had singers half as attractive, I would be happy to stay here.”
“They do, darling brother, but you’ve already kissed them all. You just want new hunting grounds.” Sophie looked around the room. “As do I.”
The innocuous comment reminded Ned that this was where their attention needed to be, these laughing people who were all wonderfully open about their desires, no matter how scandalous. The only behaviour that was unacceptable in this group was shame.