Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's  A Sequel by Joel   Seq.2

Christmas 2003

                                    Sunday 21st December (Cont.)

[Liam shook his head.  “No, but there’s more.” He unlaced his fingers and sat upright.  “Mum’s one of the housekeepers at a hotel in Lensfield Road and she was late home last night as there’d been some foreign chap burning papers in his room in the wastepaper bin and he’d set off the fire alarm.  From what she said I think it’s the same man.  She said his address in the registration book was Strelzen and I know that’s somewhere in Rothenia ‘cause I remember when they had all that trouble out there it was mentioned.  Anyway, the manager gave Mum twenty quid to keep her mouth shut but she told her darling son!”  He laughed.  “And now I’ve told you.  Bit of a mystery, eh?”]

            “Let’s start at the beginning,” Tris said, “That reporter? You’re sure about that?”

            “Yes, I’ve seen him skulking around many times.  He had a bit in the local paper about some drug bust at another college a couple of weeks ago and Mr Tomkins said we had to watch out he didn’t start poking his nose in our shit!”  He grinned.  “Not that there is any around, but you know how paranoid Old Albert is about the College.”

            Oh, ho.  First time I’d heard Liam, or Jason, or any of the others for that matter, refer to the Head Porter as ‘Old Albert’.  ‘Mr Tomkins’ always in his presence, or absence.  And ‘paranoid’ was so exact.  Old Albert’s response to the Reverend Ernie Copthorne was priceless and I knew from experience he kept a strict rein on students and staff.

            “And this foreign chap?  Sure he’s the same one?”

            “From Mum’s description I would say so.  And there’s more evidence.”

            “What’s that?” Tris asked.

            “After the manager put out the fire with the extinguisher Mum cleared up the room.  She found some bits of paper not burnt,...”  Liam fished in his pocket and brought out a small brown envelope.  “...picked them up and told me to sort it out.  She knows your cousin...” He looked at me.  “...used to be his bed-maker in his First Year and knows he’s out there.  She thinks that man is over here looking up things in the University Library for some reason.  Anyway, the manager told him to find somewhere else to stay and he went off last night swearing and waving his arms about.”

            He opened the envelope and carefully put three small, charred-edged pieces of paper on the table.  Each had several lines of tiny, neat hand-writing in a foreign language.  I didn’t recognise it but it looked a bit like German with a few more ‘s’s and ‘z’s.  I turned one piece over.  Unmistakable.  Four lines in the language with ‘Carr’ and ‘Victoria’ in the second line.

            “So he was also looking out for Ivo and ‘Tory,” I said, pointing to the name.

            “Looks like it,” said Liam.  “I hadn’t noticed that. What should we do?”

            Sean looked at Tris.  “Liam said he heard him say the Colonel shouldn’t see him.  Who is the Colonel?”

            Tris grinned.  “No secret there unless you say someone who was once very high in our Secret Service shouldn’t appear in public.”

            “Adam’s editing his memoirs,” chipped in Frankie, “He told me they’re pretty interesting.”

            “I think we’d better tell him and  get all this stuff to him, just in case,” Tris said.

            “We can’t tell Ivo because he’s in the air somewhere.  They were flying off from Heathrow this afternoon,” I said

            “What about Safar?” Tris asked me, “He hasn’t gone off yet, has he?”  I shook my head. “He’ll let us have the number for Ulvescott.”

            “I’ve got that.  We’d better not involve Safar.  The fewer who know the better at the moment,” I said.  “Liam, would you mind telling the Colonel everything if I ring him?  It won’t get your Mum into trouble.  In fact, it looks as if she guessed there was something fishy anyway.”

            “OK,” he nodded, “Mum realised it was all connected when I told her about yesterday afternoon and she said I had to sort it out.”

            I took Liam to my study and got up the number on my mobile.  Ibrahim answered and immediately said I should speak to the Colonel.  There was only a moment’s wait and he was on the line.  I explained what had happened then handed the mobile to Liam.  I was impressed at the concise and succinct way he went over the happenings.  At the end he was nodding as the Colonel obviously gave him some instructions.  He handed back the mobile and the Colonel thanked me for contacting him and that Liam had details of what would happen.  ‘See you all on Burns Night.  Give my best wishes to Tristan and that brother of yours!’ were his parting words.

            Liam was busy writing some notes on a piece of paper he’d found on my desk.  “Better go over it carefully,” he said as he finished.  “Someone will be collecting the pieces in the morning.  Eight o’clock at the latest.  A motor-cyclist will arrive and ask for you and you say ‘Yes, from Modenheim’ when he asks if you are Mark Foster.  If he doesn’t reply ‘I’m from Zenden’ you are not to hand anything over but ring the Colonel immediately.  He suggested Tris and I stand behind you.”  He grinned.  “He said he remembered me from yesterday and he said the other tough little bugger should be there as well.  He meant Sean.  He said don’t worry if there were a couple of telephone men around and to tell my Mum not to worry about the hotel even if there were a few unexpected guests tomorrow.”  He chuckled.  “Bit cloak and daggerish, eh?”

            “But could be dangerous.  There’s something going on.  So, mum’s the word, except for your Mum...”

            “....and those out there!” he concluded.  He gave me the piece of paper.  “Better put this safe somewhere.”  I opened the maths text on the desk and showed him as I put it between pages 146 and 147 before I closed the book.

            The lads had finished eating and were stretched out replete on my sofa and easy chairs, still holding flutes of champagne as a third bottle had materialised.  They looked up expectantly as we came into the room and I perched on the arm of the sofa and told them what had happened.  Toad was miffed the Colonel hadn’t included him, even as a ‘tough little bugger’.  I mollified him by saying he could keep watch from Boz’s set opposite.  ‘Tough big bugger’ was a grinning Sean’s comment followed by a raised clenched fist from a leering Toad.

            There were a number of speculations of what might be involved.  All of us remembered the recent installation of the King of Rothenia and his arrival back in this country to study at Oxford.  But, why was Cambridge and not Oxford the base for the foreign ‘spy’ as we called him?  It couldn’t just be Ivo’s wedding as Liam’s Mum had said the man had been in the hotel for at least a fortnight.  I remembered also the Colonel had sat near the elderly man who taught Ivo Rothenian.  Yeah, I even remembered his name from the table seating list, Dr MacKenna, and I’d seen the pair of them deep in conversation after the meal.  All we could do was wait and see.

            Sean and Liam went off about ten o’clock with the promise of being back bright and early and without hangovers.  Frankie went off soon after to Boz’s set and left Tris and me.  It wasn’t long before we’d stripped off and were snuggled under my duvet.  Tris was quiet.  There was something else.

            “Just remembered.  I read somewhere when all that was happening in Rothenia that there was mention of some treasure stashed away years ago by some medieval duke or other.  You’d better get over there and have a hunt around.  You’re good at finding buried treasure!”

            “The only treasure I want is you and if you come a bit closer I’ll have a hunt around and you might find something buried...”

            That was the end of that conversation as we took a leisurely search for lightly buried pleasure points with Tris receiving a much deeper probing from my own treasure seeker before I was rewarded by finding a princely deposit of his which spread between us as I finally clasped him tightly.

            He feathered my lips with his tongue.  “You certainly buried some treasure then...”

                                               Monday 22nd December

           I suppose we must have parted soon after as I was wide awake and lying by his side as my alarm went off at six a.m.  We had set it early, just in case...  I was up, showered, dressed and  with the kettle on by the time I thought he should surface.

            “Come on, lazybones,” I said, tugging the duvet away from his resplendent nakedness and holding a mug of coffee for him in the other hand.  “Got to get ready for the visitor.”

            He was still combing his hair when a rap came on the front door just after seven.  I hurried through and found Sean and Liam there with Frankie at the open door of Boz’s set opposite.

            “No one’s arrived yet,” announced Liam, “I told the night-porter not to get worried if a motor-cyclist appeared.  I imagine he’ll think it’s Adam come back.  Anyway, Mr Tomkins isn’t due until eight o’clock so he won’t be around if the bloke comes before that.”

            “OK,” I said, “Have you had any breakfast?”  They both shook their heads and Toad grinned in anticipation.  “You can wait,” I told him, “I’ll keep some for you.”  He nodded and said he’d keep watch.

            I set some eggs on to boil and Sean made toast while Liam replenished the coffee-pot.  We’d just finished the last pieces of toast when a couple of raps came on the door at the same time as my mobile played it’s Bachian theme.  Tris nodded as he took the call.  ‘It’s Frankie.  Someone’s arrived.”

            I went to the door and opened it carefully.  A young man in motorcycle leathers carrying his helmet was standing with a grin on his face.  He was shaven-headed and had a small scar on his chin.  He looked military and tough.

            “Mark Henry Foster?”  He asked.

            Slightly more than I had expected.  “Yes, from Modenheim,” I said as instructed.

            “I’m from Zenden,” he said in reply.

            Just as expected.  He grinned even more.  “And which one’s the tough little bugger?”

            I think Sean just about fell through the floor, but he was pushed forward.

            “I was told there would be a reception committee and I had to collect an envelope,” the motor-cyclist said.  He gave Sean a quick appraisal and then raised his eyebrows. “And just to be on the safe side I was given a slight description of the members.  Tallies.  But there’s one missing.”

            “I’m not,” came the voice of the Toad, who appeared in Boz’s doorway holding aloft the golf club which usually resided in the umbrella-stand in my hallway, “And you’re Pokey Parkinson’s big brother aren’t you?  We’ve met before!”

            “Christ Almighty!”  Then he laughed.  “Cover’s blown!”  He turned and looked at Frankie.  “The Mighty Gobbo!  I might have guessed.  The Foster name seemed familiar.  Saw you at Rocky’s birthday bash, eh?”

            Situation defused.  Trooper Philip Parkinson, Blues and Royals and elder brother of Petroc ‘Pokey/Rocky’ Parkinson in Frankie’s Sixth Form class, was identified and invited in and given coffee, two boiled eggs and three pieces of toast before departing bearing the precious envelope placed in another for safety. We had no idea where the destination was when he left.  He didn’t say anything more than he was more adept at riding a motor-bike than the usual horse, and please not to tell his brother, nor anyone else, as he wasn’t supposed to stop and have conversations, and certainly not sustenance, but just to collect the goods, but....

            Of course the two lads were intrigued about the ‘Mighty Gobbo’.  Frankie wasn’t at all put out, the name was proudly held, and he then had to go through the names and nicknames of the expected later influx.  The two went off chuckling and I think ‘Lammo’ and ‘Biffo’ were born.

            Tris set off for the solicitors’ office to be there by nine.  I retreated first to my study to check over the working out of past Fellowship written papers which Dad had marked and made comments on and had given me back on Saturday.  It was very useful having a father who had also got his London BMus while at the Royal College as a student.  Not too bad.  He’d reworked one particular exercise where I’d very sloppily got consecutive fifths between the second violin and viola in a string quartet passage and had a rather awkward cadence at the end.  Yes, I could see that.  I memorised the way the sequential patterns went that he’d suggested in another.  He’d noted that sequences were always useful as fillers and might impress the examiners, ha, ha!  I was happier with the extracts where I’d had to reduce an orchestral score to three organ staves.  He did note I’d left out a vital third in one chord but was most complementary about my chorale prelude.  The fugue was a different matter.  He very cleverly showed how I could have inverted the theme one and a half bars before I had tried to.  Anyway, I had a session with Lewis Richards tomorrow afternoon to go over written tests and practical tests and I could work two more papers this morning and afternoon if I kept out of Gobbo and company’s way.  Right!  To the Chapel and two hours careful practice.  I told Frankie I’d see him at twelve thirty for lunch and he could practice on the piano!  I got a sneer, a grin and a two-fingered salute as I departed. 

            I went first to the Porter’s Lodge to see if there were any messages.  I passed a small tent over a hole in the ground.  Two young men were inside tinkering with some wires.  They gave me a cursory look.  Telephone men!  Old Albert was behind his desk and he tried his hardest to arrange his face in a smile.  “Why, Mr Foster, we are up good and early.  Good day on Saturday, wasn’t it?”  No doubt largesse had been scattered in his direction.  “Mr Carr’s well and truly married now.  Knew her father.  He was here a few year’s back.  Good family.  Been coming here for years.”  He looked at me closely.  “Very polite foreign gentleman came in and said he’d thought of coming here but his family had sent him to London.”  That must have been Walid.  “Had quite a chat with him and we parted on very good terms.”  I thought there was even a suspicion of a wink as he patted his jacket pocket.  There was a bit of a clatter from where the tent was pitched outside.  His attention switched. “Telephones!  Those two ain’t from our exchange...”

            I improvised quickly.  “...Charles told me we’re being wired up for computers soon.  Perhaps they’re the advance guard.”

            “Mr Fane-Stuart said to expect the engineers at New Year.”  He shook his head.  “Got to have some contraption in here.”  He pointed to a bulky folder on his desk.  I could read the title effortlessly from where I was standing.  ‘Instant Messaging Systems’.  I’d seen a copy at Ulvescott.  So Saf, Jak and Max were involved.  I wondered who was paying for the installation.  Not too much a mystery.  I guessed Safar’s father was involved.  Yes, ‘father’ not ‘Dad’.  That story was still intriguing!

            I was giggling to myself as I went off to the Chapel.  Old Albert was quite human after all.  But then I was really immersed in my playing and didn’t realise that well over two hours had elapsed when I sighed after a reasonable attempt at the Bach Prelude and Fugue I’d chosen from the list.  I switched off the organ blower motor and remembered to phone the Café Rouge on my mobile and, luckily, was able to book a table for eight at seven o’clock as they’d just had a cancellation.  I’d decided that Bozo and Harpo had to be well-fed before retiring to the comfort of the Aussies’ set so had made a preemptive decision.  Thank goodness also for Uncle Francesco’s generosity.  The two hundred-euro notes passed to me with the bags on Saturday would counteract any unbalance in my bank account.

            I then set off down the stairs.  As I emerged and looked down the Chapel I noticed a seated figure.  Strange, I’d heard no one enter but then I recognised it was Logan Henderson, the rather dishy Scottish student who helped out at the Club.  I went down the centre aisle towards him.  He looked up as I approached and I could see he had a rather worried look.

            “Haven’t you gone home yet,” I said rather lamely as it was patently obvious he hadn’t.

            He shook his head.  “Ma parents are away to Nice for Christmas and I didna wish to go,” he said in his soft Scottish accent.  “I’ll be back to Edinburgh for Hogmanay, though.”

            “So you’re staying here?” I asked.

            He nodded.  My heart as usual ruled my head.  Had we room for another waif and stray at home?

            “I’m staying with Curt,” he said, “I’m helping at the Club over Christmas with him then he’ll be going back to Edinburgh as well.”

            Yes, Curt had told me once he came from Scotland.  Anyway, that settled that.  No trio sonatas in my bed with naked Tris and the handsome unkilted lad.  My fertile imagination had raced ahead!

            He looked at me rather hesitantly and I got the impression his lower lip was quivering.  There was something troubling my brave young Scot.

            He rubbed the side of his nose with his knuckle and sniffed.  Yes, close to tears.  “Could I ask you something?” he began.  “I’m sorry but there’s no-one else.”

            I sat down in the pew next to him and put out a hand and grasped his.  He responded by gripping my hand very tightly.  “I’m here and listening.  What is it?”

            That did it.  The tears began to flow.  I leaned over to him and put my arms around him and he did the same to me and I hugged him tight.

            “Is it you and Curt?” I asked.  I knew Curt was gay.  He’d made that abundantly clear by word and action, but I’d noticed he steered clear of any overt attachment to anyone.

            The words were a bit muffled.  “I don’t know if I’m gay but I love him,” he whispered.  “How do you know if you’re gay?  I dinna know but I love him!”

            How does one counsel?  My conversation with Bozo was my only other experience.  I knew I was gay.  I loved my Tris and I knew he loved me.  Curt was cute, he was sweet, he was playful, he was young, he was a gay boy’s dream, wet or otherwise.  I would be very jealous if Tris had been really smitten by him.  In fact, I think we were both rather fond of him.  Frankie was right.  I think he was rather smitten with us.  I’d helped him by those few words at the Buttery table.  He’d come to the Club and blossomed.  He was popular and I knew Shawn thought highly of him and called him ‘the tyke’ as a good-natured epithet.  He always smiled when he came across to our table and even Brad was known to slap his pert bum when ordering his usual whisky.  No, Curt was someone to fantasise about in one’s lonely moments.  Not that I had many, but...

            I whispered in his ear.  “You say you love him.  That doesn’t make you gay.  There’s a lot more to being gay than that.  I think we need a coffee.  I know I do.  Then we can talk more.”  I let go of him and he looked at me with wide open eyes.

            “Please.  I hope you don’t think I’m being silly and I don’t want to take up your time..”

            “I’ve got time for a break.”  I grinned at him.  “Come into the vestry, like the vicar says, there’s a kettle and coffee there, I know.  I can’t invite you back to my set as I’m being invaded by my brother’s schoolmates.”

            I was rewarded by a grin and a shake of his head.  “That was your brother on Friday?  Och, he brought the place down.  He’s no gay, though?”

            “No, far from it, but his friend Zack he was with is.  And his boyfriend’s Oliver Jensen.”

            “Jings,” he shook his head, “He’s a lovely man.  He wrote that piece for you to play didn’t he?  And you played together?”

            “I didn’t know you came to the recital.”

            “I wouldnae hae missed it.”  His accent became more pronounced.  “Your group at the Club were all there.”  He smiled.  “That police officer winked at me, you know the bearded one.  He’s no gay, is he?  Just leather?”

            I laughed.  “He keeps us all in order.”

            “Shawn says he’s the best thing out.  Keeps the place clean.”

            By this time the kettle was on and I’d found two cleanish mugs plus the coffee but no milk.  When ready we went back into the chapel and sat side by side.

            OK ready for it.  “Logan, I’ll ask you some questions.  Please don’t be embarrassed but I think they’ll help.  OK?”

            He nodded and took a sip of the hot strong black fluid.

            “Right, number one.  Do you think of boys, or girls, or both?

            “Och, I’ve thought o’ that many a time.  You mean when I....” He paused.  “...Bit awkward to say things in here.  But I suppose it’s a bit like that confession my friend Billy McGuire goes to.” He paused again.  “To tell ye the truth I’ve always thought of boys ‘cause I didna know any girls from school.  It was all boys so I thought it only natural.  Then Billy told me he thought of girls all the time and had to go to confession ‘cause that made him.....”

            “What about the girls here?”

            He shook his head.  “There’s no many take Engineering and those are ae snapped up.”  He screwed his nose up.  “I feel gae awkward with them anyway.”

            “Even more personal.  Anything with boys?”

            He pursed his lips.  “Nae much.  Just a couple of friends when I was fourteen or so.  We were at Scouts’ camp and they were all at it.  More like exploring.”  He shook his head.  “Since then, just me and ma thoughts.”

            “What about Curt, then?”

            He looked ready to weep again as he sniffed and put down his mug on the pew and searched for a handkerchief in his pocket.  After blowing his nose he turned and looked straight at me.  “I canna get him outta ma heid.  I want to hold him and tell him I love him and I’m afraid tae.  I’ll be going daft with it....  We’ll be sharing a bed and I don’t know...”

            “Has Curt said anything to you?”

            He shook his head.  “But I think he likes me.  He wouldnae hae offered me to stay if he didna.”

            “Look, Tris and I will be at the Club tonight.  You and Curt are serving?”  He nodded.  “Would you mind if I asked Curt a question?”

            “What question?”

            “I’ll tell you after I’ve asked him.  But you may know sooner.”

            That seemed to do it.  He relaxed.  We chatted on.  I found he’d done a gap year at a mission school in Zambia teaching maths and had loved it.  He’d helped put in a well and piped water in a village also while there and had kept up with a couple of the lads who had been there with him and were at Manchester and Imperial College in London also reading Engineering.  I liked Logan and could see that he and ‘the tyke’ would make a good couple.  Steady Logan was like Steady Eddie and Curt was Curt!  We rinsed out our mugs and parted.  I think he was happier even if still not quite sure.  I thought of Adam who was bi, but had made a decision and was so happy with it.  Perhaps Logan would have to make a similar decision.

            It was nearly twelve o’clock and I had work to do.  I hurried back to my set.  No sign of Toad who must be merrily hopping to the bus station to meet ‘the crew’ as he referred to them.  The two lads must have been in earlier as well as the dining table was almost laid.  Plates, glasses and cutlery in abundance.  I went into my study and locked the door.  Good, Frankie had been out early as there were two sheets of wrapping paper on my desk plus several already prepared small parcels.  The task of wrapping the shorts for Curt and a top for Sean didn’t take long and I managed to do another chorale prelude exercise before I heard the merry throng arrive.  There was even more merriment when I realised lunch was being delivered.  I mentally sorted out how an oboe theme could be accompanied when all was reduced from the tangle of notes from an orchestral score.  I would deal with that in detail this afternoon.  Oh Hell! No, Oh delight!  I opened my door and there were ‘the crew’ sitting or standing while Sean and Curt unloaded a kitchen trolley with an array of succulent-looking goodies.  There was silence as I arrived in the room and I was surveyed by six pairs of eyes, including Frankie’s, as the lads waited for ‘Big Brother’ to say something.

            “Hi,” I said, what else could I start with.  “Welcome, I know you all except...”

            Here, my eyes rested on THE most beautiful youth.  Talk about Oliver’s beauty, or Zack’s chiselled features, or the Italian lads with their lovely olive complexions, here was someone who, in my humble opinion just about equalled or even surpassed them.  This must be Harpo, vetted as suitable by the heterosexuals as a friend for Bozo.  I looked at Bozo who was now staring with adoring eyes at his soulmate.  I held out a hand as I approached the boy wonder.

            “I don’t know what my brother and his friends may have told you but I’m Mark.”  I tried my most winning smile.  I was rewarded a hundredfold.  He smiled back.  Dimples weren’t in it.  He was perfection, with a slight cleft to his chin which accentuated the symmetry of his features.  Seventeen and the teenage plague had left him almost unravaged.  A few red spots but his clear blue eyes made up for that.  I managed to drag my eyes away from him and saw Pugsy grinning behind the horde.  He winked.  Macho Pugsy.  He also knew beauty when he saw it.

            “Thanks for letting me come,” Harpo said in a clear young tenor voice, “Frankie’s told me so much about you.”  He grinned.  “Nothing slanderous I can assure you.”

            “That’s enough,” Frankie called out, “He’s just my brother and has these rooms on loan until I arrive here next year.”

            Pugsy leapt to my defence.  “Mouthy as ever.  Sorry Mark, but we’re getting more than used to it.  It’s thanks from all of us, eh, lads?”  There was a chorus of ‘Ayes’, ‘Yeps’ and ‘Yeahs’.

           I went up to Bozo who had what could be only called a ‘shit-eating’ grin on his face now his pal had been welcomed.  What could I do.  I put out my arms and hugged him.  Wow!  The sight of young Gregory had caused a certain tension anyway in my nether regions.  As I hugged Bozo I was more than aware, as two rampant organs pressed against each other, that a similar effect had struck him.  Struck him!  With Gregory in close proximity, and in his thoughts, he was probably permanently rampant!  I pressed myself even tighter against him.  There was no mistake.  He didn’t have a super-sized mobile phone tucked below his waistband.  I put my head against his ear.

            “He’s a lucky lad... ...And so are you!”   Message on several counts received and acknowledged as his hips also moved forward a touch.

            There was a problem.  As I was let go by Bozo so Moggo turned and, in the words of the prophet or whomsoever, clasped me to his bosom.  There was a smile on his face as we parted.  This had started a chain reaction and Jack took over as embracer.  As usual there was an enigmatic look on his face as he pulled me towards him.  Also, his seemed a bit more than a straightforward Gallic hug as he rubbed a decidedly rough chin against my cheek.  As we disentangled so Pugsy clung to me and there was no mistaking the collision between two immoveable objects.  Pugsy’s hug became even more Gallic as he planted not two, but the Parisian equivalent of ‘very glad to see you’, three spirited kisses on my cheeks.  Wow, a second time as the realisation struck home.  Super-macho Pugsy had a hard-on as well!  Oh ho, if my putative ‘sister-in-law’ was receiving regular attention from that irresistible force which pressed against me then she was a very lucky young lady.  Not long, but thick.  Was that an English rugger player’s equivalent of ‘very, very glad to see you’?  The hug was held, using a phrase I’d read in some American novel, a New York moment longer than expected.  An infinitesimal time interval longer, but I knew Pugsy was savouring the meeting of two great.....  Certainly not minds as when I went to step back he planted a quick wet kiss on my wondering, parted lips.  I did step back and discerned the tip of a moist, pink tongue poking between those full red lips.  Wow, a third time as ‘more than brother-in-law’ thoughts flooded my hyped-up mind.  I imagined a duel of tongues before sabres were drawn.  Thank God for little brothers!

            “As everyone has made it quite clear Mark is welcomed to our feast..,” he began and I just wondered how much of that welcome had been engineered beforehand.  No!  Neither Bozo and certainly not Pugsy could have made the welcome so blatantly sensual without a bit more than a slight hint to give the old boy a treat.  Before I could respond to Frankie’s provocative opening words all heads turned as the main door opened and a smiling Tris came through removing his overcoat as he did so.  A replay was in order.  Harpo was enveloped in a smothering embrace and emerged with quite a dazed look.  In turn the others received the same, even Frankie whose grin betrayed his love for his ‘second brother’.  Pugsy got the full treatment.  No hint could have set off the real tongue-fuck we all witnessed.  If Frankie, and perhaps the others, wore dazed looks, then Pugsy was truly starry-eyed.  Before the proceedings could ascend to a full-blown orgy Sean stepped forward and tapped a wine-glass with a knife.  As the bell-like note cut through the charged atmosphere he announced ‘Luncheon is served’.

            Boys and sex.  Boys and food.  Both entities categorically to be mutually exclusive, or so it seemed now.  One could follow the other, I mused, until I remembered that Tris and I had shared an ice-cream in Italy on a hot summer’s afternoon and I had licked the drops from the almost ignored cone in Tris’s hand which had landed on his muscular stomach and were drifting towards his navel as I experienced the joy of total insertion in...  My plate was being filled by an attentive Sean as Curt poured me a glass of Cheffie’s favourite Chablis.  I idly picked up a fat, succulent prawn and was struck by it’s phallic pinkness.  Phew!  The previous ten minutes or so had been so sexually extraordinary I must return to reality.  But what a reality.  Surrounded by a group of hormonally laden late-adolescents I felt stimulated by their presence.  No, not just sexually, but lifted by their unassuming joyful exuberance.  I thought of the usual stories of woe and doom of the behaviour of feral groups, or disaffected individuals, of their age.

            Of course, these were privileged.  By education..., perhaps by a certain level of affluence..., but they seemed so naturally boys, friendly, sociable, protective of each other... ...Yes, a ‘gang’ or, a less pejorative, ‘crew’.  I looked at Frankie, then Pugsy, sitting side by side chatting nineteen to the dozen while making sure their plates were rapidly emptied.  Jack and Moggo next to them were less demonstrative in their conversation but their friendship was plain to see.  I glanced the other way and saw the look on Bozo’s face.  That was concentrated on the boy sitting between Tris and me.  Then Bozo’s glance met mine.  He screwed his eyes up and I scrunched my lips and nose in response.  His desire was separated from him but he had relinquished him willingly for restoration later.  A quiet voice penetrated the haze of thought.

            “Thanks for letting me come with the others, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”

            I put my left hand out and squeezed his forearm.  “It’s only just started,” I said, “Just make the most of it, but I think it’ll continue.”

            Tris must have overheard this murmured exchange.  “You’ve made a very good choice,” he said equally quietly.

            “No, I think I’ve been chosen,” came the reply.

            Question time then began.  He’d never been to Cambridge before - his cousin was at Oxford but he hadn’t been there either.  We filled him in with answers with Bozo joining in.   I had to explain once again about the organ stops, Tris added the not-too-gruesome details of the body in the cellar, then my turn again about the code.  By this time the conversation had stopped between the others.  They’d heard it all before but the excitement of mystery and solution drew their rapt attention.  Of course, there was a rehearsal, not in too much detail about the three deaths.  They gasped when Tris said I’d been saved by an unseen hand when that fourth person had fallen from the tower.  The family connections with Ulvescott and the French author were met by almost disbelieving looks.  I nodded at Frankie who went to my study and returned with the treasured copy of ‘O Audaciam’ which was goggled over as the frontispiece and the next few pages were exposed to view.

            Pugsy was the one who made the first and only comment.  “Bugger me!” he said breathlessly, then collapsed, blushing, to the throaty squeals and giggles of delight from the others.

            “And no!” said Frankie, “We are not spending the afternoon looking at the book.  We...” Here he did have the grace to include me with a sweep of his hand.  “...may allow a quick peep but later.”  He looked at his watch.  “It’s nearly two o’clock but first we’ll ask Marky if we may open the door here before going along to the other entrance.”

            Oh, my God!  Politeness personified.  ‘May’!  I turned to Harpo.  “What do you have to do?”

            The look on his face was a picture.  “‘Pull the Gambe’ slowly,” he said.

            “...until you hear three clicks,” said Bozo gazing at the lad.

            We shuffled our chairs away from the table as the tall, slim lad went towards the wall.  Carefully he pulled the stop knob.  The mechanism released the lock and the doors opened.  Curt was standing towards the rear of the group.  “My friend’s great-great-grandfather made that,” he said rather proudly.   Yes, young Curt, ‘your friend’!

            They filed in and had a quick look at the now-cleared photographic lab, as Frankie described it to them, with the corridor and the steps and the new door.  Then they left for the tour of the cellars followed by Tris who had to get back to the office.

            I decided not to intrude on their visit below and leave it to Wayne and, I noted on the summary of helpers, hunky Christopher Lascelles-Wright.  Sean and Curt were busy clearing up.  I followed Curt into the kitchen carrying my two parcels as he carried a tray of empty glasses ready to be washed.  He set the tray down carefully and turned to me as I put the gifts on the kitchen table.

            “Your brother’s got some nice friends,” he said, the grin was evident, “That big one, Pugsy they called him, is he free?” He waggled his eyebrows.

            I couldn’t help laughing.  “No he’s not, he’s not gay, he goes out with Tris’s sister.”

            “You could have fooled me,” he said moving away from me in anticipation of some reprisal I thought.  “He was a bit more than just pleased to see you both, wasn’t he?”

            “You little demon!” I said, “Don’t you dare spread any rumours.  He’s sharing this set with my brother next year and those two beds are remaining.”

            A quiet “Heard that before,” was accompanied by a quick dart away from my raised hand.  We both laughed.

            I beckoned him with my finger.  “Serious, now!”  He stopped laughing but the grin remained.  “What about you and Logan?”  The grin disappeared.

            “I love him,” he said simply, a very serious look on his face.  “But I can’t tell him as I don’t know if he’s gay.  He’s coming to stay with me in my room over Christmas and I’m worried....”  He looked very woebegone now.  The bouncy Curt had disappeared.

            “Curt, just tell him, because I know he loves you.”

            He looked quite startled.  “How do you know?”

            “Because he told me.  I found him in the Chapel this morning after I’d finished practising and he asked my advice and told me.  He’s not just worried, he’s scared...”

            A quiet voice came from behind us.  Neither of us had realised Sean had come to the kitchen door.  He repeated my words. “Curt, just tell him.”  Sean stepped forward and hugged Curt.  “I know you love him.  Just the way you look at him and Liam says if you don’t grab him soon someone else will.”

            I went forward too and hugged both of them.  “Up to you, Curt.  Before you go to the Club tonight.  Promise?”  He had tears on his cheeks as he looked up at me.  Tears of relief.  He nodded.

            “And you can wear these,” I said handing him his parcel.  “Shouldn’t be too chilly in that overheated atmosphere.” He ripped open the wrapping and held up the shorts turning them to inspect them closely.

            “Oh, my God,” he breathed, “They’re wonderful.  They must have cost a bomb!  Thanks!  Thanks a million!”

            I smiled.  “Really a present from my Uncle.  He designed them and I guessed that pair would fit you.  You’ll look brill!”  I thought my attempt at adolescent argot was impressive!  I turned to Sean and handed him his package.  His eyes almost popped when the dark red, Leopardi top appeared.  He held it up and then put it against his white-shirted front.

            “Saw one like this in that mag,” he said, “You know, the one with Beckham and those other celebs on the front.”  He looked at me.  “For me?”

            “Of course, for service beyond the call of duty.  You made the lads’ day with that meal.”  A thought struck me.  “Why don’t you and Liam come to the Club tonight.  I promise you you won’t get raped.  Snogged on the dance-floor I expect and I’ll claim the first dance if Tris doesn’t get there first!”

            “Yeah,  Sean!  Told you many times to be brave.  You’ll love it and it’ll do Liam the power of good.  I won’t tell your Mum and you’ll be surprised who you’ll see.  I bet Lee Ferris’ll be there as it’s Monday and he’s not training.”

            Sean looked gobsmacked.  “Lee fucking Ferris?  He’s a middleweight at our boxing club!”

            “And he’s got two boyfriends to keep happy!  OK.”

            “Bloody Hell and we though he didn’t have a girlfriend ‘cause he’s only got a tiny dick!”

            Oh my!  Revelations as I was being ignored in this most interesting exchange.  I knew Lee.   He often came across to have a word with Brad and to pass the time of day with whoever was sitting around.  He was a rather scarred young gentleman in his early twenties with at least three equally battered but most presentable constant companions.  They usually sat in the booth opposite our usual one and I remembered one Saturday evening soon after I’d joined the Club Lee came in sporting a black eye and a patched up cheek and Dude had whispered that he was OK and not a Millwall football hooligan.  I would squirrel away the small dick gen but thought I would stir the pot.

            “Isn’t one of his pals called Presley?” I said.

            Sean turned and looked at me in amazement.  “Holy-Joe Presley Kett?  He’s a middleweight too and goes to the Methodists.  That’s why we call him Holy-Joe.”

            Curt sniggered.  “You don’t spell it like that!”

            “Oh shit!  You don’t mean?..”

            “...I certainly do!  He’s Lee’s prime target so it’s said.  Hole in one, but rumour is it’s double-top with Whacker Jeffs.”

            “Oh Christ, bloody Whacker!  He weighs sixteen stone at least and he works on the dustcarts.”

            “Doesn’t mean he’s not one of us!”

            “I’m bloody not and if they see me there they’ll think I am!” Sean was getting a bit heated.

            “Cool it, Sean.”  Curt smiled.  “There’re plenty of straights who have a night out at the Club ‘cause you’re not hassled.   No trouble, Shawn and our bouncers see to that.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “Those three are pussy-cats really and their best friend’s quite straight I’m sure.  They don’t drink anything hard and they like a dance.... So?  Are you up to it, Tiger?”

            “Tiger?” I said, “I like that.  Suits you.”  I grinned at him.  “It’s OK, we’ll look after you. There’ll be four straight boys to cover you and I promise you won’t have to sit on Tris’s lap.”

            “I could disguise him a bit if he likes,” said Curt winking at me over his shoulder.  “Nice dash of eye-liner and a dab of blusher and his big sister wouldn’t know him..”

            “I’ll fucking big-sister you!...”  He collapsed into laughter.  “I’ll come if Liam does.  I’ll have to talk him into it, though.”

            “He’s coming to help you two to get some tea ready for the mob at five, isn’t he?”

            Sean nodded.

            “I think Frankie’ll make his mind up for him or his life’ll be hell next year...”  I paused.  “....except you lot have your ways and means of controlling us.”  Sean smirked.  “You try anything, Tiger, and you’ll have stripes...”

            He was incorrigible.  His previous worries about being mis-labelled gay were gone.  “...Ooh, beaten by a big strong boy!  I might get to like that.  Jumbo Platts likes a bit of stick so Jason says.  He’s seen the welts across his bum...”

            “Sean,” I said as sternly as possible, “You’re telling tales and if I tell Jason your bum’ll be black and blue...”

            “...But you won’t, will you?”

           “Stop it, Sean,” Curt ordered, “Behave yourself.  Just because we’ve made you an honorary gay and told you things, button your lip!”

            Sean was silenced.  “Sorry.  Getting carried away.  Jason says I’ve got to learn.  Forgiven?”

            I smiled at him.  “Sean, you’ll learn.  But I think we’ve all learned quite a bit today already and the night’s young.”

            “It’s only a quarter past two!” said Curt with a chuckle.

To be continued: