Page 65 of These Old Lies

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“Evening, Ned. How was…” Charlie stopped mid-sentence as he opened the door into the bedroom.

Ned rose from the small table between the dresser and the bed, where he had set out a wine bottle and two glasses.

Ned was wearing one of his older suits, a deep purple with a velvet trim,and he had slicked back his hair, lined his eyes, and put blush on his cheeks, and red on his lips.

“I thought we’d enjoy a nightcap together.” Ned pulled out the other chair for Charlie.

Charlie’s expression went from confused to unreadable.

“Wine?” Ned reached for the bottle and prayed his conclusions from their midnight conversation the previous week were accurate.

Once the two glasses were full, Charlie gingerly picked up the glass and raised it towards Ned. “To fighting side by side?”

“Side by side,” Ned answered, unable to fully hide the emotion thick in his throat.

Charlie smiled at the first taste. “One of your good wines.”

“A burgundy, of course.” Ned let the flavours of ripe fruit settle on his tongue, and then gestured to a small plate of sliced cheddar and a loaf from the local baker. “I couldn’t get hold of any French cheeses or breads, but I thought this might do.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve it.” Ned might never have been as good a flirt as Charlie, but he would be damned if he wouldn’t try.

From there, conversation flowed easily between them, but then again it always had. Chatting about what had happened during their day, the war effort, jumping between anecdotes of their past and books they had read between sips of wine and bits of cheese—the relaxed intimacy of two people who had known each other for a quarter century.

Ned was topping their glasses up when their eyes locked. A peculiar moment, the intensity with which Charlie’s gaze took in every inch of Ned. Ned was keenly aware of the blush on his cheeks, the impressions his glasses left on his nose, the ache behind his shoulders from sitting in uncomfortable chairs all day.

Not breaking the stare, Ned lifted up his glass. “I think it’s my turn to toast.”

Charlie nodded, bringing his glass up to meet Ned’s in silent expectation.

“I think it’s fair to say we have been down this path before. Yet, we are still the same men we were in ’17, and in ’23 and even ’32. The laws are still the same. If anything, we have more to lose than ever before.”

In the flickering light, Ned could see Charlie’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, clearly working to hide the disappointment on his face. Yet they weren’t going to get anywhere if these truths were unacknowledged.

Before Charlie could interrupt, Ned ploughed on. “And yet, I can’t getThe British Empire in Picturesout of my head.”

“What?” Charlie looked stunned enough that he put down his wine glass, head slightly cocked.

“That damn book that you keep on the table on your side of the bed. I’ve no idea how it came into my possession. The massive, heavy thing takes up far too much space. It’s a ridiculous book. And yet, I find that I can’t bear the idea of it no longer being there, on that table, waiting for you.”

It had become Charlie’s little ritual before going to bed, tracing his fingers over the glossy photos and engravings of faraway lands like it was a religious text.

“Having you in my bed, your books on the bedside table, your factory uniform crumpled on the floor, this is my world in its natural order. Despite the danger, being with you is my path. So my toast is simply, to doing right by one another.” A proposal, a promise, an evocation of the past.

Ned let the moment settle, kept his wine glass steady, gave Charlie the time he needed.

The clink of glass against glass, followed by one of Charlie’s broad grins, felt like a heartbeat. “Our path, together.”

Ned couldn’t help but laugh. His body felt like it was coursing with champagne rather than blood.

Charlie leaned over to lift his hand to Ned’s face. A simple gesture, barely a caress, but instinctively Ned moved his head into Charlie's hand, letting the bristles of his stubble catch against the calluses on Charlie’s fingers. Nedsmelled the lavender soap on Charlie’s hands from washing the dishes.

Charlie’s hand continued to drift, down Ned’s neck, to his shoulder, down his forearm, until his fingers were intertwined with Ned’s, guiding them towards the bed. Then Charlie was in his lap, facing Ned, arms and legs bracketed on either side. It was a vulnerable position for Charlie, and on instinct Ned raised his arms to encircle the other man.

Charlie’s gentle kiss to Ned’s neck was so light and quick that Ned almost wondered whether he felt it at all until it happened again, and again. Ned let out a shuddering breath and stretched his hands to their full width against Charlie’s waist, revelling in Charlie’s muscles from physical labour alongside the bit of softness from good eating.