Page 23 of These Old Lies

Henderson would find out soon enough about the field punishment. Would be furious at Charlie, at Pemberton. Right now… Charlie couldn’t bring himself to spoil the mood. “Nothing to worry about, just need my supper.”

Henderson slapped him on the back. “Let’s get to it then! It's a good day in Flanders, Villiers. A good day.”

9 Gross Indecency

Soho, July 1923 / Ned

“Well, that’s all for me tonight.” Charlie raised the glass to his lips and finished the pint he had been nursing. “It's my turn to open the shop tomorrow and I promised Betty we would go to Hampstead Heath for our afternoon off.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up past your bedtime.” For his part, Ned should have left half an hour ago, but he’d been enjoying their conversation too much to be bothered to pull himself from the booth.

His reluctance to conclude the evening was tempered by the fact he no longer felt he had to hoard each moment with Charlie. Over the past month, they had settled into a routine of evenings like tonight, sitting in a pub chatting about whatever crossed their minds, from the latest headlines to what was new in the cinema.

“Where are you off to?” Charlie reached for his jacket as he extracted himself from the booth.

“The theatre, a new show by a friend of Hugh’s. It's supposed to be very modern and revolutionary, all about suffering and pain and ideals for a better world.”

“It sounds a lot like you, actually.” Charlie flashed Ned a grin. “Totally incomprehensible, but quite lovely.”

For a moment, Ned thought about how little action it would take to pull Charlie into some dark alley and kiss him, hold him with his whole body tillthey were both trembling.

Except Charlie had given no overt signal that he was at all interested in reigniting their past intimacy. No subtle glances, no casual touches, certainly no direct offers. Ned didn’t question the absence. Charlie wouldn’t be the first man that found cock was a lot less attractive outside the trenches.

So Ned reminded himself how much he was enjoying their friendship. If he ended the night pulling himself off in a haze of memories, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“See you next Tuesday then? I saw there was a new double showing at Leicester Square.”

Next week? Oh bugger. “Actually, I’ve an engagement next Tuesday. Later in the week?”

Charlie didn’t look up as he finished doing up his buttons. “Of course, I should’ve thought. It’s your birthday.”

Bugger and damnation. Charlie remembered? Now Ned felt like a complete cad. “I’m hosting a small gathering of friends at a pub. You are welcome to join, of course, but it is a bar for…”

“Men with particular inclinations?” Charlie asked with his damn arched brow.

Ned nodded and held his breath, expecting Charlie to politely, or even impolitely, reject the invitation. It was one thing to be acquainted with a sexual deviant, quite another to accompany him to a pub where all sorts of moral and legal codes were being broken.

Instead, Charlie asked, “Does this place serve beer?”

“I believe so.”

“What time?”

???

The birthday gathering had been Hugh’s idea, motivated in no small part by his desire for Ned to spend money on drinks for people who put on the type of shows that Hugh wanted to feature in. Ned had, however, insistedthat the gathering be at The Pillars rather than the basement bar at the Ritzor The 43 or any of the other more exclusive addresses. The Pillars was scruffy, narrow, and in the worst part of Soho.

The complete lack of pretension was what Ned enjoyed about the place. The patrons who came here swapped stories as much as they exchanged flirtatious looks. In a way, the casual camaraderie reminded Ned of the trenches; despite differences in age, profession or interests, every man who walked through the door shared the same desire, the same risk.

Tonight The Pillars didn’t feel anything like Ned’s cosy brotherhood. Hugh had invited dozens of men Ned didn’t know, and their echoing cacophony made Ned’s heart race and his hands tremble in panic.

“Christ, he is a good-looking man.” Freddy had appeared next to where Ned leaned against the bar, the kind of sudden appearance that made Ned want to jump out of his own skin.

He fought to keep his breathing even and followed Freddy’s gaze. Of course the man in question would be Charlie, who was chatting with a group of painters, pint in hand. He was leaning against the wall, jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up, his chestnut hair falling slightly into his eyes, looking exactly like what he was—a shopkeeper enjoying a drink after a long day. Ned’s fingers itched to run through his thick waves, to brush them out of his eyes and let one thumb slide across his temple. Charlie made a joke, causing the assembled crowd to double over in laughter while he took another sip of his beer with that slightly cocky smile on his face.

“I don’t think he’s interested, Fred.” Ned forced a casual tone into his voice as he gripped his cocktail glass more tightly.

“Of course, you get the first pass.” Freddy said knowingly. “But half this pub wants to take home that rough.”