Page 6 of These Old Lies
“The trench raider making ladies’ hats?” Charlie gave a rueful smile. “The shop is my father’s, been working there in one way or another since I could see over the counter. Drives me a bit mad to constantly be surrounded by family, though. Three sisters hovering over me.”
Ned was struck dumb for a moment. The hat shop had been enough of a surprise, but Charlie had three sisters? How had Ned known none of this? How had he never thought to ask? That Charlie was a stranger now, Ned hadexpected. That he might have always been one was almost too difficult to contemplate.
“And you? Man about town? I see your picture in the papers sometimes. My sisters think you’re awfully handsome, son of a viscount and all.”
“The papers are all nonsense.” Ned suddenly found that he was prickly himself. “Decided to enjoy life after the armistice. I’m involved in the arts now, theatre, galleries, that sort of thing. It hasn’t been easy on artists the past few years.”
He didn’t know why he was justifying how he spent his time. Ned didn’t need to pretend to be useful, and he knew countless other wealthy young men and women of his class who did less. The press called his crowd the Bright Young Things, none of which were terms Ned felt could be applied to himself.
“It hasn’t been easy on anyone,” Charlie retorted. “Although your Mr Ruperston seems to be doing well for himself.”
“He’s notmyMr Ruperston.”
“You go about settling debts for all of your artistic charity cases?” A quirked eyebrow again. It was annoying how Charlie could communicate more with an eyebrow than Ned could with three minutes of monologue.
“He’s an excellent actor. And a good friend.” Ned fought down the urge to clarify that they weren’t lovers, not in the emotional sense, but it wasn’t as if he could say anything more in public.
“I’m sure he has many skills.” Ned had almost forgotten Charlie’s sly sarcasm, so unexpected that it hit like a gut punch.
“I admit that prompt payment for services rendered is not one of them.” That concession elicited a snort of laughter from Charlie. “And you, any particular friends?”
What could have possessed Ned to ask such a question? It was bad enough stressing that Hugh had no claim to him.
If Charlie was uncomfortable answering, it didn’t show. “Been taking a girl dancing for the past few months.”
Ned should have expected the answer. Whatever Charlie had done with men in the trenches, he wouldn’t risk the dangers of being queer in London. Except Ned found that he very much didn’t want to hear about Charlie’s future surrounded by brown-haired children and a wife to warm his bed.
Ned must have hesitated too long because Charlie changed the subject. “Do you see any others from the division?”
“Andrew Matthews worked in my father’s parliamentary office for a while,” Ned responded. “Ran into a few others around town.”
It went without saying that Ned was not in touch with any of the officers.
“I remember Andrew mentioning something about that,” was Charlie’s equally neutral response.
Then there didn’t seem to be much to say at all. Ned spent his days with cocktails and Charlestons, while Charlie tended to customers and toiled over his hats. They had no common social circles or professions, the basics of their daily lives had already been covered, and talking about what history they shared felt too dangerous.
It was silently heartbreaking.
Ned wondered what on earth to say next when he felt Charlie brace himself against the table. “The job they gave me after I was injured, driving the brass around Flanders, that was you, wasn’t it?”
Trust Charlie to run out of patience with polite conversation before finishing his first pint. Although it probably didn’t matter how long they exchanged inane details of their lives, this was always where the conversation was going to end up.
“You’d already served your country at the front for three years. All I did was put your name down for the driving post,” Ned replied calmly.
In fact, arranging that job had been a devil to make happen, and required Ned calling in every favour he could think of and then some, but it had bought Charlie some safety, or as much as could be found in Flanders.
“And so you decided to take me away from my section, from my friends. You forced me into a job spending my days ferrying around posh tossers who didn’t know the difference between No Man’s Land and a footballmatch, all because you’d determined that was best.” The politeness was gone from Charlie’s voice, his speech becoming more clipped and harsh.
He wasn’t wrong. There was no denying Ned’s actions had been an abuse of power, but if this was to be the epilogue of their relationship, Ned was going to say his piece too.
“You were injured, dammit!” Ned met Charlie’s heated gaze full-on, “Christ, Charlie, if you’d gone back up to the front again…” Ned’s courage broke at the last sentence. Unable to bring himself to say the words, he moved to stand up. This whole conversation had been the disaster he always knew it would be. He should have never given Charlie his card in the first place.
Charlie’s hand grabbed hold of his wrist and Ned froze.
“It would’ve killed me.” Charlie’s voice was low and soft. “Don’t think I don’t know that. I can still be angry at you for being a high-handed bastard who thinks he always knows best, though.”
Ned collapsed back into his seat like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and Charlie’s warm hand slid away. The response was so unexpected that it took Ned a moment to speak. “I’m just glad you didn’t lead a mutiny against your passengers. I had nightmares of you driving off a cliff with the entire general staff.”