Crossing the line - 7. Martin and Bart

“So?”

We were sitting in a pub near Victoria Station, in fact behind Westminster Cathedral. It was someone’s idea of a solid, Victorian interior. The structure was genuine enough, and I suspect a lot of the plasterwork and the textured wallpaper was too, but the colours were too light and modern, and no self-respecting Victorian boozer would have had mock-William Morris wallpaper, and the furniture was all horrible modern repro. I wondered where all the original furnishings had got to.

Still, the beer was good and even the odd priest used it. Martin and Bart were en route for home, after some professional do in town (Martin was an assiduous attender of such), and I was meeting Dan later. Meeting up with the two of them was often like that, moments when diaries meshed. It was rare I could persuade them to come to a gallery, unless it involved naked men.

I looked at Bart, “So?”

“Is he still around, the hunky policeman?”

“Ex-policeman, please. And yes, he is. I’m meeting him later, in fact.”

“You two are an item?”

I nodded, “Looks like it.”

“Has he moved in?”

“Come on. It’s not been that long and no he hasn’t, but he stays regularly.”

“And who does he work for?”

I was pretty sure Martin knew, but I reiterated, “Francis Heyward. Outside security for his Manor.”

“The big modern place that cause a stink when it was first built?”

I nodded.

“Just shows you, we can’t even bend the daft planning rules and he can do what he likes.”

Property was rarely far away in conversations with them, “It’s well ugly, too.” General nodding.

“Met him yet?”, Bart looked at me eagerly.

I smirked, “Yep, we got naked together.” Bart was a great party goer, the sort where you got naked together and did things.

“No! Tell.”

“Not what you think. There was a party at The Manor, garden party, use the pool but swim naked.”

Martin chortled.

“Not that sort of party, the local mayor and his wife were there,”

“Naked!”, wide eyes were genuine this time.

“No. Only a few did that.”

“The fit ones and the show-offs.”

I nodded, “Including Heyward who insisted that Dan and I join him for a swim.”

“Crafty. Manipulative sod?”, Martin smiled.

“Yes, that’s definitely his management style. Still, we’re going to his club for dinner with him.”

“Which one?”

“122 Club.”

Both looked envious. Evidently, they hadn’t been there and would have liked to.

“But are you invited to any other of his parties?”

I simply put my head on one side, “You hardly ask the hired help, do you?”

“So, has Dan done any security for the parties?”

“Sorry, not. So, no gossip, I’m afraid.”

“There are stories”, Martin looked over at Bart.

“You remember Graham?”

I looked puzzled, so Martin explained, “The posh bloke who collected old motorbikes.”

“Ah, yes”, Graham was one of those rather ordinary people whose main fascination was his money and fondness for wild sex.

“Well, he knows people who have been to Heyward’s parties. Pretty wild, reportedly.”

“I’ve heard similar stories too, but nothing more than that I’m afraid.”

“But you must have heard rumours about the parties. What sort are they, who goes?”, Bart looked over at me eagerly.

I pulled a face, “Rumours, that’s all.”

“Oh, come on.”

I stared at them, “Dan supervises the external security. Sure, some of his guys stand in a row in the Marble Hall looking fierce, decorative or whatever. But that’s it.”

“But they must have seen something.” Bart just wouldn’t give up.

“Maybe. Probably. But they’re security guards, they don’t blab. Leastwise not at work.”

Martin looked mischievous, “And who says there’s anything to see, beyond rich blokes dressing up and playing stupid games.”

I smiled, “Not everyone goes to the sort of parties you do, Bart.”

“Oh, come on, we know Graham has been to a party.”

“So, he says. Stories from friends, unknown sources quoted in The Sun. It could all be hokum and the parties could be innocent, or at least the usual.”

Martin grinned, “Mumm and coke.”

“Precisely. The sort of friends that Heyward invites to parties are hardly likely to talk are they, even if there was something to talk about?”

Martin seemed to be agreeing with me, “I imagine you don’t get far with a guy like that if you run to the newspapers with stories all the time.”

Bart’s eyes shone, “But you know. Who goes?”

“Dan knows. He’s hinted to me and I’m not telling. It’s his job that’d be on the line.”

Bart opened his mouth, but a warning “Bart” from Martin shut him up, for the time being.

“Look, it’s like the pictures. There are plenty of rumours about Heyward’s fabulous art collection but the only reliable person I know who has actually seen one is Dan.”

“Dan!” They both stared at me, their over-reaction rather gratifying.

I grinned, “Yep. There’s a Donald Mitchell in Heyward’s office where he interviews staff.”

“Wow. A Mitchell, a naked bloke?”

“Yep. Quite a tasty one evidently.”

“So, what else is there?”

“Rumours, rumours. Pontormo drawings, Constable’s early nude studies, salacious 19th century pictures of young men, some superb Renaissance and Baroque studies.”

“All nude men?”

“Supposedly. Just rumours. And if you read the financial press, then his business is dependent on money raised against the said masterpieces.”

Martin nodded, “Might be a load of tat, though”

Bart disagreed, “But surely, with all that money...”

“Money doesn’t buy good taste”, as usual Martin enjoyed being Devil’s Advocate. “And if there’s any truth in the financial stuff, then it’s all a house of cards anyway.”

Bart gave a theatrical sigh, “How disappointing.”

I smiled, “If we get invited to The Manor for anything more exciting than a garden party then I’ll let you know.”

“Presumably there’ll be no pictures, no dancing boys at the 122 Club.”

“There’ll be talk about pictures at least. He wants to chat about Donald Mitchell and how he exploits his models.”

Bart exploded into his wine, Martin cocked his head and stared at Bart, “He wrote about it, I showed you.”

“It seems I’m a novelty, Heyward’s security chief’s boyfriend and a snarky critic that writes about artists he collects. At the 122 Club.”

“Nice.”

“Perhaps he wants your opinion on his collection?” Martin was openly smiling.

“Ask Vaughan up to see his etchings, more like.”

“I’ll be sure to report back.”

The conversation moved on to more mundane issues, then Dan appeared with a sandy-haired young bloke in tow. They’d been looking at new high-tech security equipment for The Manor, potentially a lucrative sale, so they had been treated well. He was in his work suit, and I could almost feel Bart’s eyes boring into Dan, taking in every sexy detail. Dan looked oblivious to the effect he was having, but I suspected he was well-aware and putting on a brave face.

The man with him was in a similar close-fitting, revealing suit, though admittedly he seemed to have rather less to reveal. Introductions were made, the guy was Ted Laurence, responsible for operations inside The Manor. Introductions over, Ted apologised for butting in but said he’d wanted to meet me (!) as he had managed to miss us at the garden party. He gave a theatrical roll of his eyes and said that there had been a bit of drama behind the scenes. He didn’t elaborate, but Dan’s slightly amused expression suggested that I’d be getting all the details later.

Though Ted didn’t say any more, his rather dramatic delivery, use of his stock phrases as well as the suggestive way he’d said he’d been sorry to miss us, rather implied that Ted was a bit of a drama queen. Was that Heyward’s hiring policy, gay men in senior positions? Once we’d said hello, Ted left, thankfully; it felt a bit too complex, with Martin and Bart looking on.

Martin looked at Ted’s retreating form with great interest, “Mr Heyward favours employing gay men?”

Dan laughed, but it was clear he was a bit embarrassed, “I can’t say really, I’ve only met one or two apart from my own blokes, and they are all boring straight guys.”

That might be pushing it a bit, but Martin and Bart lost interest when they didn’t get a rise out of him.

Dan and I walked a lot of the way home and caught up.

“So, you and Ted?”

Dan shrugged, “Search me, he suddenly announced he was coming too, all pally after months being stand-off-ish.”

“How was the demo?”

“Impressive, clever, expensive!”

“Think Heyward will go for it?”

“Daft, if he doesn’t, the stuff he’s got. Interesting thing is, I don’t think Ted came to see the demo.”

“Then what?”

Another shrug, “Excuse. See me outside the office. Meet you.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Me?”

“Yea, Mr H has got everyone curious, I gather. Who’s my mysterious boyfriend?” He used his hands to put the final two words in quotes.

“Is he gay?”

Dan laughed, “Christ, I hope so. Out of the office and more relaxed, without the poker up his arse, he’s as camp as a row of tents. But he’s not actually said anything.”

“Yet!”

“What we did talk about was work, me taking internal security. Seems we agree.”

“Agree?”

“Yeah, he finds it a pain in the arse”, Dan grinned, “That’s what the problem at the party was, blokes being unreliable and not turning up. Ted rather went into panic mode. We’ve sort of agreed on how things might work. Sort of collaborating, he’ll do a report similar to mine.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Dan smiled, “Think so. But it probably is a pain in the arse, and will mean some late nights, supervising.”

“As long as you enjoy it.”

“At the moment. I’m not keen on taking my knickers off, mind.”

“What about a leather jockstrap and boots?”

“Mmm”, he sounded dubious, “we’ll have to see.”

The street was quiet, so I quickly slapped his bum, “You have a very shapely bum, and you should be pleased to show off your assets.”

“Yeah. Right.” We both laughed.