In Defiance - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

+       +       +

All around, large boxes sat on the floor of room seven, adding to the general lack of homeliness and feeling of welcome. No rugs had been laid, no curtains covered the windows, the chairs were still stacked atop the table, and the empty refrigerator sat with its door flung open as the domestics had left it. It reminded Simon of when he’d moved in nearly a decade ago, fresh out of university and trying to settle in. The only proof of planning for a future inhabitant was the boxes and the mail waiting on top of one of them. An envelope with a handwritten label stood out on top of one of the piles; Lawford reached for it immediately while Simon looked for enough floor-space to set his burdens down.

There really was too much for one person to handle; if Lawford wanted to get settled quickly, he wouldn’t do it on his own. “D’you want some help?” Simon slid one box onto a sturdy trunk, and adjusted his grip on the other to place it beside its mate.
Lawford turned and smiled – a bright, wonderful smile. For a moment, Simon had trouble breathing. His heart knocked against his chest like a fist to a door – here, take me! At least it felt like it. Simon couldn’t imagine it being a terribly pretty sight if it did escape. Blood on the floor, chest open and heart pounding out its dying beat... no, he didn’t think it would be the sort of thing he should continue to think about.

“If you have the time, that would be tremendously helpful.”

Unable to resist, Simon smiled back. Gentle warmth spread through him like a calm, refreshing breeze. Lawford was handsome. Wonder if he’s single. He ran a finger across the top of a box. Not that it matters. I don't think he's gay. He glanced at the writing on one of the top flaps. ‘Books’ was written across the brown surface in thick black ink. “Yeah, of course. Are all of these books?”
Lawford looked at the disjointed kingdom of cardboard.

“I would presume so, yes. Jacinta tends to be very good about labelling things correctly.”

Simon quirked a smile. Staff were only supplied with two bookcases, of a regulation 100 x 200: he doubted that even a quarter of the boxes’ contents would be accommodated.

Lawford returned his attention to the large envelope in his hand, frowning at a note scrawled beneath what was obviously the original inscription: Alexander, open this now. Lawford – Alexander, he presumed – neatly tore the seal and pulled out a set of tinkling keys and a wodge of papers.

“You’re not going to have enough space for all of them, with just those. I’ve got some I’m not using that you can have.”
Alexander paused in the act of scanning the first neatly-typed page and looked at the cases as if he had never seen them before.
“Good lord, is that it? I did explain to Mrs Dalgliesh that I had quite a few books.”

Simon hid a smile: probably the only other person who would have described the collection before him as merely 'quite a few books' was the school librarian.

Alexander regarded him apologetically. “Would you mind? I’m sure I can order some more and return yours later.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I’m not much of a reader. Really. I’ll just be a moment.”

Alexander smiled. “Thank you.” Then he returned to his envelope. Whatever its contents, they must have been important, or perhaps as an academic he couldn’t resist whatever awaited him among the documents: somehow, though, it was oddly endearing. Smiling to himself, Simon left Alexander to his packet and went to his own room.

+ + +E
Emptying the bookcases of their contents - books, a dozen or so empty but interesting beer bottles, a pair of boots Matt had left after his last visit, and a couple of DVDs that had been waiting for Luce to reclaim them - and cleaning them down took a while, but Simon eventually had them ready and wrestled into Alexander’s suite. The living room looked like a gapped maze with the short boxes and tall cases just inside the doorway as if they were sentinels keeping watch over the proceedings and possibly Simon.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and prickled on his scalp. He felt like he was in a pot of soup. To stave off the heat a touch, he pulled off his t-shirt and draped it over the back of the armchair nearest him.

“Where do you want them?” Simon looked at the bookcases.

Alexander laughed. “Next to the others?”

Simon nodded, thinking they’d all fit side-by-side. He manoeuvred them carefully into place and replaced the shelves, then glanced at the array of boxes with their lids parted like open arms and realised there still wasn’t enough space. “I think Luce has a spare, too. I’ll ask her.”

“I really wouldn’t want to put people to any inconvenience.”

“You’re not. She’s just down the hall.” Somebody, he thought, should put them to their proper use. Every room had two, a sofa, a chair, a desk, a bed, a small en-suite bathroom, and a kitchenette; the rest, staff had to obtain for themselves or go without. Simon didn’t mind going without them, and Luce certainly didn’t have so many books that she needed both of hers. Granted, she had more books than Simon and did actually read on occasion, but she had never broken her student habit of preferring stacks on tables and floor; apart from serving as receptacles for random clutter, much like Simon’s had, her bookcases just took up space. Taking one away would give her room to wall-mount her TV, or acquire the ballet barre she wanted.

Alexander looked at the boxes, then the bookcases. “If you’re sure she wouldn’t be troubled, I think it might be wise...”

Simon grinned. “She won’t be.” And if she was, he’d deal with it later.

He headed down the hall and opened Luce’s door. She wasn’t in the living room. “Luce!”

“What?” came from the bathroom.

“That bookcase you aren’t using, do you mind if I take it to Alexander’s room?”

“What for?” She appeared in the doorway.

“He actually has books to put on them? I already gave him mine.”

She blinked. “How many does one bloke need?”

“A lot.”

Luce rolled her eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Simon asked, grinning.

“Yeah, help yourself.”

“Thanks, love. You’re a star.”

 
+          +          +

“There we are.” Simon surveyed his handiwork with a smile. Five bookcases now lined the walls of Alexander’s room, all ready for the city of books.

The smile that Alexander gave in response made Simon’s toes tingle. It was sweet and charming, and made Simon want to know whether a good shag could make him look that way, too.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” Simon lifted his t-shirt from the back of the chair he’d draped it over and wiped his face. He thought about suggesting they open a window, but it wasn’t his room. If Alexander wanted a window open, he’d do it. Looking around, Simon dabbed his neck and chest, noticing that all the boxes did indeed have books in them. Load after load of books of various sizes, shapes and ages sat waiting. “How about I hand the books to you? Or would you rather get the bedroom or kitchen sorted first?”

Alexander looked surprised but confused, as if he could not fathom why any question should exist.

“No, no; those can wait. I’d rather get these sorted out, first.” Alexander gestured toward the books.

Simon nodded. He would have done the kitchen first, himself, but he had never pretended to be an academic: Alexander obviously was, and his priorities reflected it. “Shall I just dig in and hand them to you, then?” Blokes like this one had a system, Simon bet – one wrong placement would probably irritate the hell out of him.

Alexander chuckled. “Are you sure you haven’t something you’d rather be doing this morning?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Then I would be most grateful for the help.” Alexander glanced at the boxes. “It’s rather a big job.”

“I like helping people, so it’s not a problem.”

“You must have been a scout,” Alexander said with faint amusement.

“No, not really. It’s a family thing. I’d say it was Mum, but Dad’s the same way.” Simon squatted and began gathering books. They had a smell to them, wisdom – age and knowledge and the dry pages. Leather and cloth bindings with gilt and embossed letters. Some words weren’t even in English, which didn’t surprise him as much as make him wonder how anybody made sense of it.
Alexander accepted the first lot. “Yes?” he asked in polite inquiry.

“Just helping people when they need it, really. I mean, Mum made sure we knew to help people, but I don’t know which of them did it more.” Simon shrugged. Both of his brothers did it, too – it seemed to be bred in the bone.

Alexander smiled. “It’s a laudable precedent.”

The placement of books was delicate, a precise operation that Simon watched, entranced. He’d never seen someone, apart from a parent, so careful with a thing before. It was like the stack of bound paper was living, breathing somehow. Simon wondered if this man believed that.

Simon handed him another stack. “Where are you from, then? Somewhere down south?”

Alexander paused, considering. “I suppose so, yes. Southeast from here, at least.”

With no idea where that could be, Simon just nodded.

Alexander smiled. “And you, I would say, are a Yorkshireman, though I would guess that you’ve been away from the Ridings for some time.”

Simon grinned.

“I would say not South, and certainly not East, but I can’t quite decide between North and West.”

“West - Huddersfield's probably the closest town.” Simon’s grin became a smile. “And, yeah, it’s been a few years since I lived there.”

Alexander nodded. “Mmm. It’s a long time since I visited that part of the world.”

“Yeah? You’re welcome to come to the farm sometime, if you like.”

Alexander laughed.

Simon didn't see what was funny in the invitation. It would be interesting to have somebody new at the farm. Simon’s granddad would love taking the piss with a southern man. Of course, Alexander being fit helped – getting to know him would be easier if they didn’t think of each other as colleagues. Maybe. Then again, he would be welcome to come just for a new face around the farm. There was plenty of room, and everybody liked Luce; he saw no reason why Alexander would be less well received. Most of his family would be pleased he had a new friend, and all, even if he wasn't a lover.

“That’s uncommonly good of you.”

“You’re alright as long as Maria likes you.”

Alexander gave him a quizzical look.

“My brother’s wife. She runs the house," Simon explained. "One of my brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Yeah, just the two. One’s in London; he plays rugby. He’s not married. That’s Matt. And Dan’s at the farm.”

“Ah. I have a brother, as well. A twin, actually. Christopher. He’s a priest.”

“Yeah? He as good-looking as you are?”

Pink spread across Alexander’s cheeks. “Good lord, no! I mean, he’s the good-looking one. I, ah, got the intelligence.” Then the pink grew darker. “Not that he isn’t, of course. He’s terribly clever.”

Like a set of gears without an engine, Alexander ground to a halt.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” That was the last thing Simon wanted. This man wasn’t like any he’d met – at least not in a long time: either oblivious to or genuinely dismissive of his own good looks. The comment about the twin made Simon's own mind stall. Jesus, if he's not the good looking one, what does the other look like?!

Alexander cleared his throat. “Not at all.” He blinked a few times, then carried on shelving books. Pink still tinted his ears and neck, those high cheekbones.

Simon smiled. “Where’s your brother?”

"Syria.” Alexander glanced at Simon. “He’s attending a conference; he’s ordinarily in England. He’s currently teaching in a theological college in Cumbria. The building really is quite remarkable.”

"Yeah? Did you both plan to teach, or did it just happen?”

Alexander frowned faintly. “I certainly didn’t. It’s always been part of Christopher’s calling, though.”

“This is your first time teaching, then?”

“Teaching children, yes. I did a certain amount of teaching at the university, but I do suspect that, ah, postgraduates are rather different.”

Simon laughed. “Yeah, just a bit. Still, I reckon Greek and Latin’ll be popular here again.” For a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with learning a dead language, he thought. If he’d had a teacher who looked like Alexander, he might not have learned much, but he would certainly have gone to his lessons.

“Do you think so? I do hope so.” He seemed to be sincere, even if he had missed the unspoken point. Simon wanted to offer him some advice or say something clever, but all he could do was smile.

“Yeah, I’m sure it will be.”

Alexander smiled back shyly. “That would be wonderful. I have been rather... anxious about starting here, I have to admit. I understand that the classics in general are rather unpopular, and Mrs Dalgliesh is of course taking rather a large risk on me.”
Simon nodded. There was some advice he could give the newcomer. Maybe it would help. “The girls are mostly well-behaved. You’ll have a few with a crush, but nothing too awful; it's just a phase they go through. They mostly leave me alone. I had some who put a hole in the wall to the shower in my office, but nothing too bad. Luce waited until she could catch them red-handed and read them the riot act. If you need any help with that sort of thing, just ask. You’ve got the syllabus and all that?”

For a moment, Alexander looked slightly alarmed, but blinked it away. “Yes. I wrote it last week, and of course Miss Calverleigh left comprehensive notes.”

Simon nodded. “The girls really are alright. There aren’t many men on staff, of course. Just you and me, on the teaching staff, and a couple of gardeners and caretakers, but they don't have a lot to do with the girls. We're at the deep end, so we're more of a target for the hormones, but you learn to deal with it.”

"I see.” He looked slightly appalled.

“Oh, sorry. I don't mean anything will happen. That just seems to be the biggest ‘risk’ around here. I’m gay, so they know better than to try it on with me. Luce starts every year by reminding them.” Simon chuckled.

“Does she?”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’ll pick it up easily enough, I reckon.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Simon reached for more books but only scraped cardboard with his fingertips. Odd, he thought. He didn’t remember having handed Alexander so many books already. Looking up proved he had, though: books now sat in irregular positions on the shelves in some order only Alexander seemed to know. Two or three stood side-by-side, then there was nothing else. Simon got up and moved to the next box, unearthing more books like secrets. Simon wondered what they said about Alexander, if anything.

“Here you go.” The next stack was lifted from Simon’s hands. “The art teacher might ask you to pose for a life drawing lesson, or something. She’s been after me for years.”

Alexander looked horrified. “I beg your pardon?”

Simon wondered if it was just modesty or something else. “Pose for her class,” he clarified. It did not seem to reassure Alexander: he put his book down, and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to hold off a headache.

“I feel sure that you can’t actually intend to give the impression that this place is a seething hotbed of depravity.”
Hardly, Simon thought, frowning. The only depravity tended to happen with the sixth form or in the staff wing with Jo, Simon, and Luce.

“Of course not. I did say most of them were well-behaved. Are you alright?”

“I seem to have developed a headache.”

“Would you like something to drink? Tea, squash?” Maybe it would help calm him down or at least make him less anxious.
That endearing look of horror came over Alexander’s face again. “Oh, how dreadfully rude of me; I should have...” He headed toward the kitchen. “Would you like something?”

“No, thanks. I just thought you might.”

Simon had never seen someone so simultaneously skittish and charming before. Manners were one thing, but one small lapse wasn’t enough for him to act like he’d committed a serious social faux pas and that there would be drastic consequences if he didn’t rectify it instantly. Reassurance sat on Simon’s tongue, but for once, it wouldn’t roll off and present itself. Besides, what would he say? They didn’t know each other; it’d just be empty words, until they got acquainted further. Alexander nodded and continued into the kitchen area. Water rushing from the tap and into the sink sounded, then ended just as quickly. Simon reached into the box again, fingers brushing over thinner textured materials. Some of it was smooth, some like small pores and tacky – felt like photographs and paper. He looked down, running his fingers back and forth over the surface, feeling the small bump from their overlap. Most of them were photos of odd buildings, ruins, and pottery. Beneath them, photos of women in shorts and bikini tops surrounded Alexander, who had an air of perplexity which made Simon pause and wonder – most men paid attention when attractive women were nearly naked with them. Attractive men, too, come to that; Simon had always drawn attention when he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt.

Moving more photos aside revealed one of Alexander and his brother, an identical twin despite Alexander's assertion that the other was better looking, but different in dress and grooming. Simon paused to look at them more closely. He found that Christopher may have been fractionally broader across the shoulder, slightly blonder, and less milky of complexion; like a version of Alexander who spent more time getting healthy exercise in the sun than poring over books in a dim library, but the differences were only superficial.
Simon shook himself. He had no idea how old they were in the photo –it was a formal photographer's studio shot. Further down, there was a photo of a woman who looked like Miss Marple, then below it, a tortoise in a garden. He flipped back to the one of Alexander with his brother.

“Nice photos. This must be you and Christopher.”

Alexander returned with a half-full glass of water and looked at the photo. “Yes, it is.”

“You’re both good-looking.” Better than, really, Simon thought.

Though he looked mildly puzzled, Alexander politely said, “Thank you.” He regarded the photo again. “That was several years ago.”
Simon looked at Alexander, then the photo. “You haven’t changed much.” He smiled.

Regarding the picture this time, he looked a lot more serious. “No, I suppose not.”

“Where would you like these? Or are they going with the books?” Simon asked.

Alexander blinked and reached for them.

Simon surrendered the stack and continued with the books. “Was the tortoise a pet?”
“Yes. When we were children.”

More questions sprang to mind, but the books in his hands had disappeared. He followed Alexander’s water-like movement, blindly reaching for the next set. The corners of hardbacks scraped the back of his hand, drawing his attention downward again. With more focus, he selected a few. The feel of the leather and paper in his hands was nice: hard, soft, smooth... different textures to tickle his fingertips.

It wasn’t until Simon’s stomach began to growl that he looked at the time on his mobile. A message was also waiting from Luce; he rolled his eyes at her lewd insinuation and decided not to reply. The hours and minutes since he’d met Alexander had slipped away like the sweat on his brow. Above him, Alexander stood arranging his books and trinkets. Simon couldn’t look away from his broad, straight shoulders flexing or the curve of his neck when he adjusted something Simon couldn’t see just so.

Blinking again, Simon reoriented to the room. The shelves were filled to capacity, but several boxes were untouched. “That looks like all we can do for now,” he said. “There are probably some more bookcases in storage. If you have a word with Mr Johnson, he'll find something for you.”

Alexander nodded. “Thank you; I shall look into it.” He straightened a few of the books. “It really was terribly kind of you to help me with all this.”

Simon smiled. “Not a problem. You’ve missed dinner in the dining hall, but I usually cook for myself anyway; if you’re hungry, I’d be happy to make something for you. If you like steak, anyway.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly; I’ve put you out enough for one day,”

Chuckling, Simon tried to reassure him, “You haven’t. Honestly. I really don’t mind. Like I said, I cook for myself anyway. It’s nothing making something for you, too.”

“It’s awfully generous of you to offer, but I really couldn’t. I shall sort things out in here and then see what I can, ah, find.”
Simon shrugged; he wasn't going to push, and it wasn't unreasonable for the man to want some time to himself. “Alright. If you’re sure. I can come back in the morning and give you a tour, if you want.”

Alexander smiled. “That would be lovely.”

Though he was reluctant to leave, Simon nodded. “Good night, then. If you need anything, I’m...” he pointed across the hall, “...just there.”

Smiling again, Alexander said, “Thank you.”

With nothing more to say, Simon went back to his room. For a while, he sat on his sofa, wondering how he’d missed the entire afternoon. He ran his fingers together, remembering the feel of the books, Alexander’s skin when it had brushed by accident. He flexed his toes and bit the inside of his lip and wondered what the hell was wrong. He reckoned it was the last few days, coming back, that night with Luce, meeting Alexander... it’d been rather busy for him. Now that his stomach was reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since Luce’s god-awful breakfast, it was time to cook. He pulled out his mobile and shook his head at the screen. Luce had been playing again – the background picture was a thoroughly indecent one of Matt that she must have taken at the farm.
He flipped through the menu and selected her name.

Hngry? he tapped on the screen, then pressed send.

He got his answer when the door opened a few minutes later and she bounced in, wearing one of her inevitable faded tennis dresses. He smiled and said, “Hope you’re hungry.”

Luce just grinned – all the answer he needed.

She sat beside him, and put her feet up on the coffee table, her skirt riding higher up her thighs with the movement to disclose the few lingering bruises left from that drunken night, and he felt another twinge of guilt.
“You’ve seen my legs before,” she said. “What are you cooking?”

“Steaks. You’ve still got bruises.”

She shrugged, entirely unconcerned. “Cool. Kept you busy, didn’t he?”

It took a moment to process the bruises being no more than water off a duck’s back to her. Part of it felt like she was brushing him off and he couldn’t work out why it bothered him so much. He looked at her thighs again, then finally lined up a thought. “He has a lot of books; I helped him unpack them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thrilling.”

“He’s nice,” Simon said, standing, and then heading for the kitchen.

“You wouldn’t have spent all day with him if he’d been nasty.
Of course he wouldn’t have, but he just thought she should know for future reference anyway. “Sorry about pizza. You want that instead?”
She laughed. “Steak sounds good to me. Have you got any gravy left for the chips?”

Simon laughed back, brandishing the jug. “Don't I always? Catch up with Jo?”

"Yeah. She did what she always does this summer.”

Which actually meant going home to France to spend time on her family’s estate, but Luce liked to joke about her having a secret second life as a dominatrix. Simon would not have been surprised to find that she actually did.

From the living area, Simon heard the latest standings for the Premiership, then the channel changed, and whatever Luce had decided to watch faded into the background of his thoughts as he focussed on seasoning steak and turning potatoes into chips.

“Aunt Kitty says this bloke’s some sort of total megastar in the world of classics. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

“Yeah? Me, either. She say anything else?” Simon started on the onion rings.

“Not really. Posh bloke from the Cotswolds somewhere. Degrees coming out of his ears. No family to speak of.”

“He’s got a twin.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Good-looking pair. Look just alike, apart from the hair and clothes. And the brother has a tan.” Luce laughed. “He’s a priest. Alexander said he teaches at a theological college.”

“Anglican priest, yeah. Aunt Kitty said that. He’s going back to the Cotswolds; he’s got a parish there, now, or whatever it is. She didn’t say he was a twin, though. God, she’ll go on and on about that when she finds out.”

“Will she?”

Luce nodded. “Shedloads of twins on my mum’s side of the family.”

“Oh, right. You told them about James?” Simon asked.

“Yeah. She was pleased.” Just as he’d thought. “Apparently he’s got a seriously scary secretary.”

“Who, James?” This was the first he'd heard of it.

Luce wrinkled her nose. “No, this Alexander. Talks like one of the posher girls from this place, on the phone, but she’s got more metalwork than the average ironworks, and her hair’s seven colours. And she turned up on a motorbike.”

Simon laughed. “Nice.”

“Dog-Leash didn’t think so, from what Aunt Kitty said.”

“She doesn’t like much.” Now that things could sit on their own for a few moments, Simon looked for his t-shirt; it needed to go into his washing basket. He didn’t see it on the sofa, and Luce hadn’t put it on. Then he remembered: over the back of the armchair, where’d he’d laid it before starting to help Alexander.

“Apparently she threatened to put my dresses and your lack of underwear on the agenda for the next staff meeting.”

“I wear underwear.”

Luce snickered. “Yeah, but there was that time she called into the office and you’d just got out of the shower, and you propped your foot up on the bench...”

A one-off view up the leg of his shorts meant he never wore underpants, apparently. “I was headed back to my room. Good god. The one bloody time.... One bloody time!”

“Yeah,” Luce said, laughing.

“Me not wearing t-shirts didn’t come up?”

“Not more than about a hundred times, no.”

Simon chuckled. “It’s hot. And I usually do it in here or when I’m running and the girls are still in bed.”

“Aunt Kitty said Mrs Chadwick convinced her that she can’t actually make rules about what you wear in your own time. And also if it bothers her that much to stop watching you.”

“At least I’m dressed during lessons.”

“Yeah, that was pointed out. Except in the pool, and she’s thankful that you wear shorts and not trunks.”

Considering how ridiculous he looked in them, it was better all around that way. Simon laughed. “At least I’m not Matt. And I’ve left my t-shirt in Alexander's room.” He headed to the door.
“Yeah, I said that.”

“That would be obscene.”

“Mmm,” she hummed appreciatively.

Personally, Simon didn’t see the appeal; he wouldn’t want a bloke with that sort of cock near his arse. Mouth, maybe... just not in him. He shook his head. “I thought James had a nice cock.”

“He has. Not in Matt’s league, though.”

“Not many are. Apart from Dan.” Not that his relative lack of endowment bothered Simon at all. His average cock suited his needs – and usually his partner at the time – just fine. Not having had any complaints yet – not even from Luce; picky and demanding menace she was, by her own admission many times – had to mean something. He had long accepted that he would always be smaller than his enormous brothers, and outgrown any residual envy. He stood over six feet and was perfectly happy not being closer to seven. They all led completely different lives, even if they seemed to want the same things. It was just harder for Simon to have them, and Matt had chosen to focus on his career while he was at his peak; Dan was the only one to have settled down early. There still seemed to be the same expectations of Matt as there were of Dan; Simon was the only one nobody expected to have kids – and the one who wanted them most. Thing was, they didn’t account for him finding a partner who wanted children, too, and didn’t mind adopting, or having a surrogate mother. So far, his luck hadn’t been that good. Good enough, though, with his job at the school and minimal concerns.
Instead of getting maudlin, he settled in with Luce. Being with her was familiar and returned the balance to his world, even if for only a little while. It was enough, whether she knew it or not. He hoped she did.

“I love you,” he said and kissed her temple.

“Idiot.”

Simon smiled. Only two women that he knew could make an insult loving. What am I going to do without her?