The Princess and his Prince

 The 17th of August 2017. As Headmaster of Thornberry Independent Grammar School, Dr. Hubert Unsworth, MBE, TD, BA, MA, PhD, put in this his final appearance at the traditional party for the departing upper 6th. 2017 would be the last of any school celebrations for these particular offspring of the rich and well connected. Inwardly, the good doctor shuddered to think what the innovation of a  ‘Prom’ promised for next year by his successor to be, would be like. He moved effortlessly and genially, well aware of the warm regard in which these young people he had in most cases known since they were children of 11 years, held him. He suffered them to sing, the school anthem, followed by, ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’ After it, he gave a short address which many present would remember for years to come.

Whilst the Headmaster made his slow but determined way towards the exit, Gareth Robinson too was saying his farewells to mostly admiring students. Those who did not admire him at least respected the slightly mysterious foreigner with the very British name. The band, headed by the departing Headmaster’s granddaughter, belted out sounds that filled the otherwise usually staid and formal ‘Great Hall.’

Inveighed for the third, or was it the fourth time, onto the impromptu dance floor, Gareth was surprised by an enthusiast and graphic offer of a date from a now former charge. The one Gareth remembered, who had fainted in adoration when he first walked into this very hall, some 15 months ago. With great kindness and tact, he declined her entreaty, taking care to comment appreciatively on the almost flawless Fiorentine in which the entreaty was spoken. A formal bow and drawing Louisa’s hand briefly to his lips completed the preservation of her dignity.

Elsewhere in the hall, Adam Langdon was making arrangements to paint a water colour portrait of the Goddard cousins. Simon Crawford, who had noticed his former headmaster’s tactful progress of departure moved to his side. Unobtrusively he cleared a pathway towards the door as Dr. Unsworth finished each word of encouragement and farewell.

“Thank-you,” said he as they left the hall and moved out of the school building into the car park.

“May I drive you home sir? I have my car, so I have been nowhere near the bar tonight.”

I’m sure you haven’t  Simon. But rather than accept your kind offer, may I offer a parting word of advice?”

It was the older man who broke the brief silence that followed. The delight that had animated Dr Unsworth’s features throughout evening was suddenly gone. Simon beheld careworn features that seemed to instantly age the man at his side.

Elsewhere, Adam’s phone suddenly demanded his Attention:

              ‘Would you like to go for a meal this evening.’

Adam read the message twice, just to be certain that his phone had not taken to lying to him.

              ‘yes please’

               ‘Then be beside my car at 9.10 precisely.’

“The thing is dear Simon, you are bright. Brighter than most at this place, indeed brighter than most in the big wide world. But you must learn to hold yourself in check. You beat up poor George Ellison because he wrote a derogatory remark about your good friend Adam Langdon.

“Wrote it for all to see,” wanted Simon to add in righteous indignation; but did not and remained silent.

“As you know, Mr Robinson took George to the Out Patients to deal with his thankfully superficial injuries. That George and George’s parents wanted no action taken allowed me to hush up the whole wretched business.”

Dr Unsworth looked even more careworn, expecting Simon to say something. Simon simply looked more intently at him and remained silent.

“Then there is the matter of the incident at Ealing Broadway tube station, Simon.”

This time, Simon did attempt to speak. A look of, of what? Anger? Determination? Certainly not fear, clouded Simon’s features and it was for Simon that Hubert Unsworth felt a moment of fear.
“There was no incident at Ealing Broadway,” insisted Simon evenly. “Besides, the police took no action in the end.”

Dr. Unsworth raised a hand. “I know. But you miss my point. I do not want to know what happened. Between ourselves, I accept what the police told me and make no comment as to why they took no action in the matter.

“My point, Simon. My only point Simon, is that you must hold your anger in check. It will be your downfall; and then what will Adam do?”

“Adam?” repeated Simon. The lack of fear was still there, but a shadow hovered for just a moment in place of determination.

“Beating up George Ellison,- That was because he was unkind about Adam. Whatever happened at Ealing Broad tube station, my guess is that what you did was because of what happened to Adam. All very unfortunate for the blameless Adam of course. So I ask myself, for whom else would you do whatever it was you did do, to entertain the curiosity of a Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police Special Branch?”

“For whom else, indeed, Sir.”

“My wife.” Dr Unsworth indicated an approaching Citroen.

Simon helped the old man into the car.

“For what it is worth doctor, you will always have my respect.-Whatever happens.”

The narrow, window lined executive corridor was still bright and warm with summer evening light. The Captain in the United Kingdom Army Reserves and also in The Royal Triesenbourg Army Reserves remained impassive. The quality of the silence changed. A very slight intake of breath, not his own, held Gareth Robinson’s attention. Not turning round, he quietly announced: “I thought you would make an appearance.”

 Slowly, he turned to see Simon Crawford approaching him.

“Here to see if my intentions towards the beloved Adam are entirely honourable, no doubt.”

They both gazed down at the carpark below.

“And you no doubt, to see if Adam is obedient to your terse instructions,” responded Simon.

“They were only terse because I had no time to send a longer message. You know what it’s like in the great hall.”

Simon nodded and as if on cue muffled cheers and clapping rose from four floors below.

“Sir Peter’s best,” he continued, producing a hip flask. “My father has a good whiskey palate. It’s Bush Mills’ finest.”

Gareth shook his head, declining the proffered flask. “I’ll be driving with Adam in the passenger seat, remember?”

At 9.10 pm precisely, Adam appeared in the school car park.

“He doesn’t know a Bentley from a bubble car, you know, Gareth.- I can call you Gareth now, mayn’t I ?”

“My intentions are honourable. I don’t want a one night stand, with Adam. Not even a brief fling; if he will accept more than that. And yes, you may call me Gareth.”

They were both watching as Adam moved uncertainly from one car to the next.

“But you are here to warn me off, I expect.”

“No, not exactly, Gareth. Whatever you and Adam work out between you, the love he and I have will endure. People do not understand our bond and we don’t care that they do not understand our bond. Ask Adam, if you don’t believe me.”

Below, Adam had found the car he was looking for and stood vigil like, waiting for Gareth to arrive.

“ Anyway, my guess is that you do understand our bond,” said Simon taking a second swig from the hip flask.

“Acknowledge and respect your bond, would be more accurate,” corrected Gareth, this time only too glad to accept the whiskey. “You and I must work out some modus vivendi, Simon. so exactly what is it you have to say to me,-now that I know that we are not here, all alone, just so that you can warn me off.”

Simon smiled, though his eyes did not, as he deliberately looked the other up and down.

“Adam hasn’t just got the hots for you Gareth, though heaven help him he does have them in a big way. But more to the point, I think he really loves you.- Or would do if you are man enough for him. I have never seen him like this with a man before: God help him he only joined the school Army Cadet Force because you were in command of it.”
Simon seemed to mediate for a second or two.

“Adam has this idea in his head that you are the man of his dreams. But he wants more from you than to be shagged morning, noon and night. He actually wants that mind of yours as well. Even more important, do not run away with the idea that Adam is a bottom all of the time. He isn’t. With the right man, he will be far more versatile and demanding than I would hazard has even occurred to you.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, it seemed to Simon that Gareth looked lustful and lost, as he self-evidently contemplated something with Adam at its heart.

“You suddenly look like you could do with this. Take it. There are a few drops of whiskey left.”

“Thanks,” came the grateful response. “There is something else though, isn’t there, Simon?” 

The eyes that were not smiling, changed.

 Notionally for each of the two monarchs of his duel British and Triesenbourg nationalities, Gareth had killed in Afghanistan. In the faces of those who had tried to kill him and his comrades in arms,  he saw the intention to kill. In the eyes of Simon Crawford, he now saw just a flicker of that same intention.

“In due course you will learn of certain desires Adam has. What you and he decide to do about them, I cannot say. But I do say this to you: Soldier or not, if you do go over Adam’s boundaries, I swear on his life, that I will kill you, Gareth.”

For long moments an oppressive stillness fell. Despite the cooling of the August evening, a heat as oppressive as the stillness seemed to bear down on the two men.

“I agree you would try,” conceded Gareth, in almost cordial tones. “I know from the violent incident here, something of what you are capable. So we should both add, does George Ellison, your victim. I also know what you did at Ealing Broadway tube station,- you got the wrong man by the way. The man now dependent upon others and a powerchair, thanks to you, happens to be a fellow Fiorentine. “Triesenbourg has only 2.50 million people and everyone seems to know the business of everyone else.  This poor man, a senior diplomat, yes.- But he was just an ordinary tourist on his holidays when he  crossed your path at precisely the wrong moment.”

“It did not happen,” insisted Simon, coldly and calmly.

If he was at all shocked, or even just taken aback by Gareth’s revelation, Simon gave no sign.

“Besides,” he continued, “the police have arrested nobody. And if this man was a senior diplomat, you would have thought that even the Met would have arrested someone by now.”

Gareth shrugged, in a way Simon thought absently, that only the French could. Strange that the Fiorentines do it with equal insouciance

“Phhtt,” sighed Gareth. “That is the only mystery in the whole nasty business; except that is hardly a mystery at all.

For now however, that is not our concern. I will overlook your threat to kill me. But I am fucking pissed off beyond words that you even think that I would even think, of violating whatever Adam’s boundaries maybe.”

“I stand my ground and keep to my word,” said Simon definitely.

“Then be assured of two things Simon. Firstly, nothing that happens between Adam and myself will ever be a cause of concern for you. If you believe nothing else I say to you, please believe that. And secondly, what has passed between us here, will never be repeated to Adam, by me- Oh and let me add, that if you ever threaten me again, there will be swift and painful consequences. Remember Simon, only one of us has ever actually killed someone.”

“Adam will think you have forgotten him.” The humanity in Simon’s eyes retuned as he spoke. But Gareth had had enough. He began retracing his steps along the executive corridor.

“They mugged Adam.” The words stopped Gareth in his tracks. He turned back to face Simon.

“Took his cards, his phone. Everything. Scared him shitless. The police did fuck all, of course. Just one of dozens of mugging each day in London. Not even that his father was The Chief Law Offer of The Crown,-The Attorney General, at the time, helped. It took me weeks of searching after school and every weekend to find them. The first mugger was easy. The bastard thought he was picking me up in the Hyde Park cottage. A week later, I was certain that I had found the second mugger.

“I’m sorry that on the day, I beat up the wrong guy. Sorry that it was your innocent Fiorentine tourist.”

“So am I, Simon. So am I.”

Again, Gareth turned to leave.

“Wait…Please, Gareth.”

Gareth waited. He and Simon were both quite muscular of build; 1.88m tall. Beneath his jet black fringe Simon’s blue eyes, shinning darkness and defiance  minutes ago, now pleaded with Gareth.

“God knows how this will end, or quite when. But when it does, I will probably end up in the nick, and….and, well.. me.. anyway. So, I need to know: Will you take care of Adam, protect him if you can?”

Gareth seemed to ponder his words, but in fact had decided them in halve an instant. “You have told me nothing of which the Government of Triesenbourg is not already aware, so far as I know. Nor the Met Police, again, so far as I know.”

Simon swallowed the very, very last drop of whiskey. “I suppose you can guess why the police took no action against me?”

Gareth chuckled cynically. “Because your father and Adam’s father, worked tirelessly to bury the police investigation.- Presumably as only the Attorney-General and the second most senior civil servant in The Home Office can.”

Simon looked as though a blow has about to strike him down.

“Oh don’t worry Simon, the Triesenbourg Government unofficially understands the predicament in which  all of this places Her Majesty’s Government,- or so my uncle the Foreign Minister and likely next  Prime Minster, tells me. It is all mixed up with Brexit, you see. You know what a parlous state the current British Government is in of course. If what your and Adam’s father did ever became public, they would doubtless be charged with serious criminal offences and the present minority Government would fall within 48 hours. Triesenbourg certainly does not want that.- Besides, The King and Queen are coming to Britain on a state visit next year.”

“So our parents.- Mine and Adam’s- are  safe from scandal and disgrace then?”

“ I suspect they probably are. If Adam still wants me if the crisis breaks and of course if he will allow me, I promise that I will do everything I can to protect him.”

“I’m glad of that, Gareth, I really am. But you living in London and Adam doing his Graphic Design degree in Eastampton, how on earth will that work?”

Gareth allowed a note of triumph in his reply. at this moment he was frankly sick of the sight of the man before him.

“Because Simon, my new job is in Eastampton. It is about as different from teaching arrogant and entitled thugs like you, as it is possible to be.”

 They watched as Adam chatted to three girls and embraced them in farewell. Gareth need to know the answer to a question that had been on his mind for the past three weeks, since the last day of term. Now, he had nothing to lose.

“Why aren’t you and your princess lovers?”

The almost matter of fact tone nearly caught Simon off guard. He wished at that moment that he had one last drop of whiskey to fortify his soul.

“Because, I can deny him nothing. Nothing. Nothing that is except that which he wants and needs from his lover. As to the rest, you must ask Adam himself.”

Not many minutes later, Simon was alone. Still at his vantage point, still observing the school car park.

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

From waiting as calmly as he could, for a moment he did not think would really happen, Adam Daniel Langdon had taken to nervously glancing at his phone, looking at what he and others had posted about the end of year party.

My man is here, a voice said in his head,- shocked at its own simpering tone. Breathe, the voice urged him, as rather formally Adam held out a hand and simply gazed upon the handsome muscular figure that was Gareth Robinson. Even in casual jeans Adam’s ex teacher looked as devastatingly hot as ever he did in the well-cut suits for which he was  known at Thornberry Independent Grammar School. That smile, those pale grey eyes, beneath light brown hair, held Adam momentarily transfixed, whilst Gareth took his hand and kissed the back of it ever so lightly.

Oh god help me; I think I might swoon he said to himself.

“I was a little detained,” he heard Gareth say.

“No matter,” replied Adam, glad that the words did not come out in some breathless squeak, but as a pretty close approximation of his usual speaking voice.

A few of the revellers, duty done, or better things to do with the rest of an August evening, had drifted into the car park. Chris  and Andrea stopped their own laughter and their increasingly confident kissing, in mild surprise. They did not intend to stare, but they were fascinated to see Mr. Robison open his car door and holding another’s hand as he – and it was certainly a he,- stepped into the passenger seat.

“The princess would appear to have a new prince,” whispered Andrea, as Chris whipped out his phone.

Still in the executive corridor, Simon spat contempt at the spectacle being made of Adam.

As they drove from the prosperous suburbs deeper into rural Kent, Adam and Gareth chatted. Adam, a little shyly at first not knowing where they were going, nor indeed how this evening would end. He decided it did not matter. Just being with Gareth, talking with him and acutely aware of the attentiveness in his former teacher’s voice and manner sent tingles Adam had never known before, through his body.

Light touches on his arm were diffidently reciprocated.

“Simon and I found a quiet corner,” said Gareth gently as he slowed the car, wondering what a convey of farm vehicles were doing out at nearly ten at night.

“Oh?”

“ Yes. He told me that you fancied me; well no, to be honest he actually said you the hots for me in a serious way. But after we had our little rendezvous in the geography lab last month, on the last day of the school year, I guess I knew.”

“I didn’t tell Simon,” exclaimed Adam.

They exchanged a brief quizzical  glance.

“Not to worry,” Gareth observed gently. “Everything joins the gossip mill at Thornberry Independent Grammar and now we both done with the place.”

Eventually they arrived at ‘The Golden Oak.’ Built as a coaching inn in 1705, it was now boutique hotel and Fiorentine restaurant striving with diligent purpose for its first Michelin Star. Reminded of the diligence of his friends Gareth paused before getting out of the car.

“Just one thing, Adam. If we see Gregory, do not touch him. He cannot bear being physically touched by strangers. It is all to do with the effects of the deployment our army reservist unit  in Afghanistan in 2011.”

As soon as they entered the inn they were met by Margarethe Simpson. Adam watched in fascination. He guessed immediately that Mrs Simpson was a Fiorentine, as she and Gareth greeted each other with evident warmth in that tongue. First she and Gareth exchanged kisses on each cheek and then went into a series of mutual hand kisses far more elaborate than the hand kisses bestowed on his hands that time in the geography laboratory on the last day of term. What they said to each other, he could not understand, though it was clear to him that Margarethe was referring to him as Ilar, rather than as Gareth.

Reverting from Fiorentine back into English, the greeting exchanged with Gregory was hardly less warm, or indeed tactile. Prolonged hugs with the two men each lifting the other from his feet. But none of the continental kisses or indeed the Fiorentine hand kisses. For a moment, Adam wondered if studying Anthropology rather Graphic Art and Design might be a more interesting field of study.

“Let me introduce Mr Adam Langdon,” said Gareth beaming.

“such a handsome young man,” was Margarethe’s response as she appraised the tall figure before her and kissed him on each cheek and indicated that Adam might do a little twirl for her further appraisal. Which he duly did. His youthful features framed by dark brown hair and hazel eyes evidently met with her approval. Casually Margarethe reached up and slightly adjusted Adam’s fringe.

“Teis celae,” she announced.

“Forgive my darling spouse, Adam,” said Gregory Simpson. He stood resplendent in his chef’s whites and a toque that looked like an impressive confection in its own right. “I’m afraid she is a Fiorentine to her very soul,  Welcome! Welcome! We both hope you will enjoy our food and accommodation.”

Taking care not to physically touch Gregory, Adam was no less sincere in his response, including an unspoken note to himself concerning Mrs Simpson’s good taste in her choice of husband.

Accommodation?, thought Adam. Margarethe led the way to their table. The place was ‘dignified’- the first words that came to Adam’s mind as they sat down at a pleasingly out of the way corner table. There did not seem to be any vibrancy to the décor, or to the other diners. Gareth though, in his Denim, almost shone in comparison. Between them, Adam and Gareth recognised at least two politicians and two high profile journalists. A portrait of King Nicholas V in military uniform  gazed down on proceedings.

With their meal Gareth sipped water, mindful of the good Irish whiskey he had shared earlier with Simon. There was small talk until Margarethe took their order.

“What did Mr Simpson mean by accommodation,” asked Adam as they finished a delicious soup he had never even heard of before and breads the like of which he had never tasted before.

“A bad start,” conceded Gareth straight away. “The simple truth is I have booked a room for us,- in case you wish to stay the night after what I have brought us here to ask you.”

“A good Fiorentine meal and good shag is it then?”

The humour in Adam’s voice was genuine enough, but the joy in his face was fading.

“I have disappointed you haven’t I, Adam?”

“A little,” the other sighed. “Since last month,- longer in truth, more than a year in fact, I have been steeling my courage to ask you something and when I got your message asking me to have a meal, I thought I might as well go for broke, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes, Adam. I think I do. I still dare to hope that I do.”

Their hands were about to meet, but paused self consciously as Margrethe arrived bearing their main course.

Alone again, Adam felt the need to comment on the presence of a junior minister in the government who happened to be a friend his parents and a notorious gossip as well. But still, Adam decided to be brave. His hand met Gareth’s and the joy in his face returned.

“I heard that you are now living up in Eastampton…And you know that I’m going there to study for my degree.”

 With each word his voice became more animated, more  sure. Suddenly it did not matter to Adam that the family friend and gossip might overhear him.

“I love you Gareth.”

Gareth gave a low whistle in response.

“I brought us here because I wanted to say that I love you too sweet Adam.”

Confidently, he drew Adam to him for their first kiss.

“You don’t mind too much if we don’t stay the night here, do You?,” Adam whispered. “It is just that Mr and Mrs Simpson will…Will know what we are doing.”

“Oh Adam, you look so handsome when you blush. What do you think we might be doing?”

A little later as they savoured the desert course and Gareth explained what it was, their conversation shifted abruptly.

“About Simon,” began Adam seriously. “I really need you and he to get on.”

“Yes I know that. But since you bring him up, I do not understand why the two of you are not together. The world and the man on the moon know you love each other.”

“He is the most wonderful of all people,” agreed Adam. “And yes, we do love each other. But the bond we have is very special. Other people do not understand it and truthfully we do not care that other people do not understand it. If you ask Simon, I’m certain he will say much the same thing.”

“I don’t need to Adam. He made sure to tell me that earlier this evening.”

“ I had a feeling he might. You are a Robinson and everyone knows that Eastamptonshire is awash with them. But apart from our respective parents and my grandparents, Simon and I have only ever had each other.- Oh and my lovely cousin Oliver of course. You will like my grandparents and Oliver.”

All the while, Adam gazed at the man in front of him glad, but he hoped not too gratefully glad, for  gentle words and touches of understanding from Gareth.

“Because of that incident when George Ellison called me a slag or whatever and Simon beat him up, some people actually think Simon is thug. Can you possibly believe that Gareth?”

Being an Englishman on his father’s side, Gareth understood the mores of and failings exhibited by some of the comfortable middle classes  from which both he and Adam came. But still and all, this blind spot Adam had about his closest and most beloved friend seemed so out of character with the kind and gentle man across the table from Gareth.

“…and as to that obvious case of mistaken identity at Ealing Broadway tube station,” Gareth suddenly became aware of Adam saying, “Poor Simon was actually suspected of beating up some tourist.  Yet the police have made no progress at all in finding the two men who mugged me in that same tube station.”

As they took their leave of the Simpsons and ‘The Golden Oak,’ Gareth thought about the tourist. At home in Triesenbourg indignation rumbled on. Main stream and social media and The National Assembly were all astonished that the famed Scotland Yard, had not found who it was had almost killed Stefan Kress. Next week, Gareth would be in Triesenbourg and would of course visit his old friend.

But as he drove his new lover back to Beckenham, a shadow of a doubt as to what future there might really be with Adam would not go away.

To Be Continued.