Worse Things Happen at Sea - 2. Chapter 2 Only Poor People Are Crazy

Tristian’s father had a round, jovial face with bright red cheeks and a neatly trimmed greying beard. There was a portrait of him hanging opposite the fireplace in full naval uniform and several photographs placed strategically around the room. In one of them, he was standing next to the Queen. It shouldn’t have surprised me. He was, after all, in charge of her Royal Navy and all of Her Majesty’s ships.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about dating the son of such a prominent and powerful man, or how this potentially tumultuous relationship would play out. It was a lot for me to digest in such a short space of time while fending off spurious grins and haughty glances from folk I still regarded as the enemy. Up until that point, I seemed to be the main attraction in a room filled with whispers and gossip, but now, all eyes turned to the guest of honour as he strode across the room to greet his son.

For his fiftieth birthday celebration—an informal gathering of friends and family—the admiral had ditched his naval uniform in favour of a big woolly patterned jumper and slacks, but he looked no less imposing.

“Father, this is James, the friend from college I was telling you about.”

The big man studied my face and gave me a firm handshake. “Ah, James. We meet at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I didn’t like the way he said that. Too much emphasis on the last six words and I wondered what it was he had heard. I looked at Tristian for help, and he must have read my mind.

“Only good things,” he said. “I promise.” He looked and sounded excited. His face beaming with a mixture of joy and nerves.

Tristian was a bad actor. No straight guy would use so much feeling and emotion when introducing a friend who he had known for only a few months. It was unrealistic to expect his father to believe such a blatant charade, but he played along and smiled at me before turning to his son.

“How was your journey?”

“Okay, not too much traffic. I wanted to come down last weekend for your presentation, but I had such a lot going on. Exams have been playing havoc with my schedule.”

The admiral put his hand up to stop him. “It makes no difference. I’m not worried about the presentation. It was pretty boring, to be honest. I know college life keeps you busy.” He winked at Tristian and patted his arm, then glanced at me. “I was there also. I know all about the parties—and the girls.”

My boyfriend smiled. “It’s nothing like that. I don’t even like parties.”

I raised my eyebrows at him.

‘Or girls’.

“As long as you're sensible, get the results you need; I don’t have a problem with you not turning up to certain events. But there’s a rather important wedding coming up in the summer, which you must attend.”

“Oh, am I invited?”

“Of course you are, and it would be rude of you not to go.”

My boyfriend glanced at me awkwardly before replying to his father. “I’ll be there, father.”

“The invitation is for two.” He flicked his eyes at me before returning to his son. “I assume you’ll be taking Louise.”

“Louise. Yes, of course.” Tristian looked uncomfortable, avoiding my stare to look briefly around the room. “I haven’t seen her yet. We’ve only just got here.”

The admiral gave a hearty laugh and turned to face me. “This is how he treats his fiancée. I’m surprised she puts up with him.”

I did my best to smile through gritted teeth.

‘Not as surprised as me’.

Tristian gave me a not so subtle look which screamed a thousand apologies, but I wasn’t naïve enough to fall for such a blatant cover story. The mere thought of Tristian with a girlfriend was utterly farcical. His father wasn’t the only one with a beard and I suspected he knew it too. I laughed to myself but remained tight-lipped, and they engaged in an almost ritualistic conversation, which, I suspected, neither one was enjoying.

I observed them as they spoke. There were quite a few similarities. They had the same dark-brown eyes and were the same height, but his dad was much stockier with broader shoulders and lighter hair. Even without his uniform, he was an imposing figure with a commanding presence entirely befitting of a man with his title.

“Sorry?”

“This your first visit to our house,” repeated the admiral. It was a statement rather than a question. He would have already known this, but I played along.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve only been a couple with Tristian for a while. I mean we’ve only been friends for a couple of months.”

My boyfriend rolled his eyes at my nervous display. I nearly messed it up straight away. The admiral smiled and seemed amused by my lack of fortitude. I didn’t need to try so hard; it was only a game. His father knew it, and so did everyone else, even the butler.

“You're very privileged,” said the admiral. “Tristian doesn’t normally invite his college friends to the family home. So you're obviously doing something right.”

‘Yes, I allow him to fuck me’.

He knew it too. I could tell by the way he was watching me, waiting for me to make an obvious mistake and give myself away—an unforced error from an inexperienced subordinate laden with guilt. I was out of my depth and easy prey for someone so wily and powerful.

‘What was Tristian thinking, taking me here’?

“Do you live local?” The admiral’s voice was deceivingly friendly, but his question terrified me. It was aimed directly at my social status.

“No, Sir. I’m from London.”

“Big place. Whereabouts?”

My stuttering was interrupted by Tristian, who was hovering on my shoulder. He was anxious to change the subject, and I knew why. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was only a momentary reprieve before I was tossed again into the lion’s den. This time it was my boyfriend; volunteering information which I often went to great lengths to conceal.

“James has a scholarship from the foundation.” I cringed and imagined every eye in the room, staring at me. He meant well. Tristian was proud of my intellect, but he may as well have just announced to everyone I was poor.

St. Andrews was an excellent college with a fine reputation, but extortionate fees made it unaffordable to all except the extremely privileged. The students were the children of the aristocracy, Lords, judges, and even cousins of the Queen. They benefitted from some of the finest teachers and facilities in the country, yet only a handful earned their admission from academic achievement. The vast majority, including Tristian, were there because their families could afford it.

A scholarship from the foundation offered a more economical route into the school, but with only a handful of places up for grabs each year, to be chosen was like winning the lottery. Two years ago, through a combination of hard work, luck, and a higher than average ability with numbers, I made it in through the back door.

I was expecting his father to treat me differently now he knew I was from working-class stock. It was something I had become accustomed to at St Andrew’s. An example of the rigid and deep-rooted class system which still divided the country into grossly unequal fractions.

Instead, his ears pricked up, and he seemed to take an interest, almost like I was suddenly important to him.

“Well done. You should be proud of yourself. You're one of the few in that place who actually deserve to be there. It costs me an arm and a leg to educate Tristian, and he’s still as bloody stupid as the day he started.”

The admiral roared at his own joke turning every head in the room. I smiled timidly, feeling slightly embarrassed for my boyfriend who looked as if he was shrinking under his father’s glare. I suspected a little gamesmanship, and the big man in front of me was a master.

“What are you studying?”

“Physics, Sir.”

“Well, well. A budding physicist. How interesting.” He turned to his son. “Is this the reason why you wanted me to meet him?”

Tristian was quick to latch on to something he probably hadn’t given a lot of thought to. “One of the reasons.”

His father laughed. “Now it’s starting to make sense. I’m rather passionate about the subject myself. Perhaps we could talk later?”

I was caught off-guard by an offer I found difficult to refuse. Tristian, somewhat more so. He looked totally gobsmacked by the ease of which I was able to gain favour with a man who I suspected wasn’t always so affable.

“Yes, I look forward to it.”

“Jolly good.” He patted me on the arm and gave me an approving nod. “I suppose this must have come as a bit of a surprise. Did my son tell you who I was?”

Over his shoulder, I could see Tristian shaking his head at me. “No, Sir. He hardly ever mentions you.”

“Excellent!” bellowed the admiral. “You're not as stupid as you look, Tristian.”

“Evidently not, Father.”

The large man beckoned me closer and leaned over to whisper into my ear. “Don’t feel bad about it. It’s quite deliberate. He’s not supposed to go around telling people. It’s the nature of the business we’re in, I’m afraid. Security is paramount; so the fewer people who know, the better.”

“I understand, Sir. I won’t mention it to anyone else.”

“Good lad, that’s the spirit.” He gave me a hefty slap on the back and then laughed at my discomfort. “I know my son wouldn’t invite you here if he felt he couldn’t trust you.”

Tristian had a hopeful smile across his face, and I was quick to put his mind at rest.

“He knows me well enough to be sure of that, Sir.”

“Yes, no doubt, he does.”

My pledge of allegiance was rewarded with another hearty laugh from the Sea Lord, who welcomed me like a future son-in-law. After a nervous start; it seemed to go well, and I was able to breathe again.

It was made even better by a surreptitious wink from his sexy son. I knew he would show his appreciation more intimately the moment we were alone, and I expect his father knew that too. There wasn’t a lot that escaped his attention.

“You can stand down. You're not on parade. This is supposed to be a family gathering, not a military exercise.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigars, offering one to me.

“Oh, err, no thank you, Sir. I don’t smoke.”

“I don’t blame you. Dreadful habit and you can stop calling me Sir. My name’s Bartholomew?”

‘Bartholomew’?

“But everyone calls me Baz.”

“Yes, Sir. I mean… Baz.”

“That’s it. Good show. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my son. I’m sure he’ll look after you. Won’t you, Tristian? He’s very good at that kind of thing, as you probably already know.”

I was still working that one out, as he turned his back on me to greet another guest who had just arrived. It was a big day for the admiral. Even during what was essentially a private function, he was much in demand, moving from person to person, trailed by a cloud of cigar smoke. He was loud and brash, with social skills more akin to a politician on the campaign trail than a military strategist.

When I turned around, Tristian had gone, replaced by a stubby woman in a garish purple dress.

“Cynthia,” she announced with a modest smile and a raised hand. I wasn’t sure what she was expecting me to do with it. My education didn’t encompass Victorian etiquette, and I certainly wasn’t going to kiss it.

“Jimmy,” I said.

“Charming. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Marcia’s friend.”

‘Marcia, Marcia? Tristian’s mother’.

I was finding it difficult to keep up, but I tried to show interest and smiled generously as she opened a packet of Marlboro and held it up to my face.

“Do you smoke?”

“Oh, no thanks.” I took a step back as she placed a cigarette between her dark lips and lit it with an expensive lighter. Then wiped my eyes as were both enveloped in smoke. She seemed oblivious both to the smell and my obvious discomfort.

“So what brings you here, my dear?”

“Tristian.”

“Yes, I know. But why today. It’s a bit of a jump in the deep end for you, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.” I watched as she turned to wave and say hello to somebody, blowing tobacco smoke from her nostrils like a dragon.

“So tell me,” she said, leaning towards me. “What’s Tristian really like when he’s away from home.” She winked at me. “You can tell me.” Her sly smile revealed yellow teeth and a fervent interest in gossip.

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“Come on. He’s so well behaved in front of daddy, but I know that’s not really the case. I can tell. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke. What does he do for fun?”

“He doesn’t have any.”

She laughed and blew more smoke in my face. “You're quite funny, you know that. I think you're his entertainment.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m …. I’m.” behind her greyish wispy hair, I could see Tristian standing by the open door signalling for me to join him. “I’m so sorry. You’ll have to excuse me one moment.”

Tristian was laughing at me when I joined him. He was talking to a middle-aged couple, and quickly introduced them, before pulling me aside.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you about Cynthia. She’s poisonous, don’t let her touch you.”

“Anyone else, I need to be wary of.”

“Yes, me,” he said. “Come on, this way.”

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you might want to have a look around. I can show you your room.” He handed me my overnight bag. “Don’t panic, we’ll be coming straight back. There’s a lot of people you still have to meet.”

I was grateful for the opportunity to get out of the spotlight for a while, and I’m sure he realised that too as he whisked me through the dining room and back into marbled hallway. At last, we were alone, and I could relax and loosen my tie.

‘How do people wear these things all day’?

“Your family are …?”

“Go on, spit it out.”

“Crazy!”

“No, James. They’re eccentric. Only poor people are crazy.” I followed him up the sweeping staircase. “Don’t take it personally. I can’t change the rules.”

“But you don’t have to abide by them either.”

“Should I be a martyr then? Give it all up, to make a statement that won’t change a thing.”

“I don’t see you as a martyr, that’s a little strong.” I kept my smile to a minimum, respectful of his feelings.

“So how do you see me?”

It was a good question and one that I had to give some thought to. My opinion of him had changed, but only because of his family. I wasn’t impressed by the wealth—which was considerably more than he let on in college—but I was definitely wary of the power and responsibility. If anything, I actually felt a little sorry for him.

“I see you as Tristian. The boy who drove untold miles in the pouring rain last night to buy me a chicken tikka masala.”

He laughed. “And paid for it, both last night and this morning.”

“You bleeding toffs aren’t used to Indian take-aways, are you?” I allowed my guard to drop, slipping comfortably back into my native London accent. I did it whenever I was annoyed, or as in this case, I wanted to tease my boyfriend.

It always worked, and Tristian quickened his pace as he led me along a wide, heavily carpeted corridor. It was adorned with ornately framed paintings, mostly of ships and predominantly warships. At the end, in pride of place was a painting of an aircraft carrier, Tristian stopped in front of it, with a look of pride.

“HMS Hermes,” he said. “Daddy’s old ship.”

I had little knowledge of warships, but I could see that this was something special and dear to his heart.

“Did you ever get to travel on it?”

“No, of course not. It’s a warship, not a cruise liner, but daddy would be gone for months on end when I younger. Before he became a pen-pusher.”

“I’m sure he does more than push pens.”

“Yes,” said Tristian. “If it ever came down to the crunch, he would also be the one to press the button.”

I was lost. Tristian often talked in riddles. “What button?”

“The nuclear button, silly. Although that’s only a term. There isn’t really a button, just a chain of command.”

The thought of it made me shudder, but it also made perfect sense if he was the head of the navy.

“You mean Polaris?”

My boyfriend nodded. Polaris was Britain’s sole nuclear deterrent, but a very formidable weapon launched from submarines with multiple warheads capable of destroying entire cities anywhere in the world. The Royal Navy always had at least one of these submarines at sea, ready to respond to a potential nuclear strike, even if the UK was obliterated.

“So your old man would give the order to fire, is that what you're saying?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be his decision, of course. That would have to come from the Prime Minister, but he would be the one to give the final instructions to the submarines to launch.”

The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine.

It seemed like an awful responsibility to have, and I wondered how anyone could carry such a burden and still be able to smile.

“I wouldn’t be able to do that job,” I said. “Doesn’t it bother you.”

Tristian sensed my unease and reached to hold my hand.

“Yes, it does. But there’s nothing I can do that can change anything. Nothing anyone can do. That’s the way it is. We live in a fragile peace that could end at any moment. Which is why we should make the most of every second.” A sense of urgency returned to his voice, and I knew why, but he looked a little confused as he looked at the doors. “I think this is your room.”

I shook my head as he carefully opened it, just a crack at first to be sure it wasn’t a broom cupboard. Then marched confidently in dragging me along behind him.

It was more of a hotel room than a bedroom, and it came complete with a king-size bed, en-suite bathroom, and enough wardrobe space for West End musical.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’ll do, I suppose. I don’t mind roughing it for one night.” I threw my bag on the bed and walked to the window. It looked out onto the patio at the back of the house where a man stood dressed in workman’s clothing. He saw me looking, nodded and moved on.

“Who was that?” asked Tristian.

“I dunno, someone doing some work, I guess.”

“Bloody workers. They were supposed to be finished here weeks ago. Lazy buggers. It’s not as if we even have a choice. We can only use one company because they’re approved by the ministry.”

“The ministry?”

“Of defense, silly. They run everything around here. Look, I know this must be quite a shock to you. I understand if you're a little confused.”

“More than a little,” I admitted.

“You know I wasn’t allowed to mention it beforehand.”

“So what happens if we split up, am I to be killed by MI6 or brainwashed, so I forget about ever coming here.”

“Of course not, now you're talking silly. We’re not going to split up! Anyway, I think my father actually likes you.”

“You sound surprised. Before we came in, you seemed certain of it.”

“Oh, I was just saying that to make you feel better.”

“Thanks, well, that didn’t work.”

“Nothing personal, but he’s a difficult man to please. You were a hit, though.”

“Well, now that I have his official approval. Why don’t you tell him everything?”

“Everything?”

“Yes, tell him we share a bed.”

“It’s not that easy, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, come on. He already knows I’m pretty sure your whole family knows. It’s just a farce.”

“Maybe so, but it works, so why rock the boat?”

“How does it work? It’s ridiculous. It’s just a pretence. I’m not sure if I want to live like that.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. It goes with the territory. My dear James, you have to understand, this kind of thing has been going on forever. There are good reasons for discretion.”

“Discretion, yes. But this isn’t being discreet. It’s sweeping it under the carpet. I’m not ashamed of who I am, Tristian.”

My complaints fell on deaf ears, and I had a feeling I was flogging a dead horse. I was fighting against centuries of well-established rules, deeply ingrained into the upper echelons of society. Everyone knew what went on, but it was never mentioned.

Tristian was expected and seemingly willing to conform to those rules. The message was clear. He could be queer, but not in public.

He pulled me towards him for a kiss and smiled at me as he rested his forehead against mine.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Now take your clothes off and let me tie you up. Hurry, we haven’t got all day.”