Strange Strange World Box Set

Chapter 13: Warrick

Chapter 13: WarrickAs I’d told Father and Lady Eugenia, I did some travelling and saw something of the world, although I made a point to avoid Africa.

One odd thing—the further I got from England and Thorny Walk the less frequently I was bothered by that dream.

Two years later, after having circled the globe a number of times, I sailed back to Canada. My position in the architectural firm in which I had worked before I left for France was waiting for me.

Of course. So many never came home. And the Spanish Influenza took a toll on the population—even more than the War had done.

My professional life prospered. As prior to the war, the senior partners were pleased with my work, and I rose rapidly within the firm.

My personal life, on the other hand, was dismal. I was alone, and I was tired of having no one to share my evenings with.

A trip to Calgary during its Exhibition and Stampede had shown just how much I wanted someone and how far I was willing to go to have him in my life. Or perhaps how far I wasn’t willing to go.

I met an American cowboy named Arizona. Bucking broncos and Brahma bulls were not the only things he knew how to ride, but although I took him back to my hotel room, I had no intention of allowing him to ride me.

He called me a c**k tease and knocked me down. However, four years in the army had taught me how to defend myself, and I leapt to my feet and struck back at him.

Although there was broken furniture, black eyes, and torn clothing, the end result was I was still the one on top, and I buggered him senseless. He let me know of his enjoyment very vocally.

He was gone when I woke the next morning, having left a ten dollar bill on the dresser to help cover the cost of the destruction we’d wrought, along with a brief note.

Good thing I’m a cowpoke, sugarfoot, otherwise I’d have a tough time explainin’ my funny walk to my amigos. It was an experience, and one I ain’t likely to try again unless I’m on top. You might want to be cautious with those teeth of yours. You bit me hard enough to break the skin.

He was probably exaggerating. I didn’t remember doing any such thing. I shrugged, lit a match and burned the note, then washed, dressed, and packed, and made things right with the hotel management before I caught the first train back to Montreal.

* * * *

I was surprised to find a letter from Thomas waiting at my digs. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d returned to Canada, when Aubrey had handed me a packet of letters that had arrived over the years that I’d been away.

“I don’t understand.”

“I convinced your mother not to burn them. Apparently she isn’t very fond of your friend Thomas.”

“Thank you. No, she isn’t, although I never understood why.” It made sense Thomas would send those letters to the last address he had for me. While I’d written to Lady Eugenia periodically to let her know my whereabouts, I’d been long gone before a response could reach me.

The letters were chatty, similar in tone to what he’d written before the war, and I couldn’t understand why he’d written so many that frankly said nothing. If I had any sense, I’d burn them. But they were from Thomas, so I tied them with a ribbon the colour of his eyes—his eye—and tucked them away in a small chest.

Once I was settled in Montreal, I wrote to him, but I never heard back. I imagined Thomas had grown tired of not getting any kind of response from me, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. I decided to leave well enough alone.

Now, I took the letter, startled to find my hands trembling to a degree I almost dropped it. I forced myself to examine the envelope, to take my time studying it. It was postmarked from Egypt. Oddly enough, the address was this flat rather than my mother’s cottage.

I shook my head, dismissing it as one of those peculiar things that just happened, slit the flap, and removed the sheets of white paper.

I’ve found him again! he wrote. He would never tell me what he was doing in that part of the world, but I suspected it was something deep and dark and to do with the government and his former commander, who had since been knighted. Roddy Sayer! Those damned exclamation points. Do you remember me writing to you of him?

How could I forget, I mused bleakly? I’d sat beside Thomas’s bed, taking in the stark paleness of his face, the whiteness of the bandage that hid most of the livid gash that marred the right side of his face, and listened as he rambled on about Roddy Sayer.

I’d always known there was no hope—too much time had elapsed, too much water under the bridge—but still, deep down inside…I had hoped.

Cutter was no longer in Thomas’s life, but now Roddy Sayer was, and he was no longer with that old man.

Charlie Pearson, his partner, who really wasn’t all that old, had died in 1922 in the desert, where they had been involved in the excavation of the tomb of King Tutankhamun. Apparently he had fallen victim to the curse of the Boy King.

I’m going to seize the day, Thomas wrote. When next I write, Roddy will be mine! I’ve already talked him into returning to England and Greenbriers with me! Oh, my prickly Thorn, you’re going to love him as much as I do!

Hardly likely. I burned this letter, too, more because it could be incriminating to him than to me. Who was there to care who an architect took to his bed?

I got that tickle at the back of my throat, and the only way to be rid of it was to drink it away.

There was a pub just down the road from my digs, and I took myself off to the Skip for Gold.

* * * *

I ordered a whisky with a soda chaser, knocked back the whisky and ordered a second. “Keep them coming,” I told the barkeep, and I walked to the rear of the pub where it wasn’t likely I’d be disturbed.

I was uncertain how much time had passed. Five or six or perhaps seven—my eyes weren’t seeing straight by that point—empty shot glasses were before me and only the one soda which hadn’t been touched. I blinked and reached for a glass that still had some amber liquid in it.

“Lieutenant Synclaire? Is that you?”

I raised my head and peered at the man standing beside my table. “Do I know you?”

“It’s Mr Sullivan. Fox Sullivan. I patched you up during the war.”

I blinked and finally recognised him. “Hullo, Fox.”

“Er…How simply splendid to see you again. Mind if I join you?”

I did, rather. I just wanted to mourn the loss of my first love in maudlin solitude. Of course I knew how foolish I was being. How many times must I put myself through this?

But Fox ordered a whisky for himself and sat next to me, the warmth of his thigh radiating through the material of his trousers.

I shrugged and continued to stare broodingly at my last, half empty glass.

“What’s wrong, Rick?”

I opened my mouth to snap that my name was Warrick and he wasn’t to call me by that nickname, that nothing was wrong, that my life was absolutely perfect.

Instead, the whole story of my youthful love affair with Thomas came spilling out, ending with how we were separated because my parents could no longer tolerate each other.

The only thing that didn’t come spewing past my unguarded lips were the details of the last night I’d spent with Thomas and how the gypsy had stolen into my room and taken me. Oh yes, I’d remembered—and I wished to heaven I hadn’t. The memory had come back in the trenches of the Western Front, and if I hadn’t had the Hun to shoot down, I’d have surely blown my brains out. But I would never tell anyone of that.

The only thing of any good was that now there were more than three thousand miles between myself and the country of my birth, I was seldom plagued by that dream.

Fox rested his hand on my knee, and his fingers squeezed it rhythmically. My c**k began to take notice.

“My rooms are behind my office, which is just down the road,” he said. “Come spend the night with me.”

I struggled to focus my gaze on his face. It was an attractive face, but I should warn him. “My heart belongs to Another!” I told him loftily, then spoiled it by hiccoughing.

“That’s quite all right. Your friend Thomas can have your heart. I just want your body.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave me a droll look, and I burst into laughter.

“All right then.”

Fox took me home, propping me up as I staggered every foot of the way.