Eight Acts

Act 1: The Albert HallFriday, 28 July 1967 Percy crashed through the door to the flat and chucked his briefcase on the floor by the door. “Bloody hell!” he grumbled at Leslie. “I swear if that boy cheeks me one more time, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions!” He threw himself into the armchair closest to the table and put his hands over his face. “The Styles boy?” Leslie asked, from his position at the table. He looked like he was already getting on with his marking. In a wild burst of impulse that Percy wouldn’t have considered without Les driving him on, they had decided to finance a summer holiday in London by getting jobs at a language school in the city. Their teaching posts at a boarding school in Oxfordshire were very different from working with adults who needed to learn English quickly, although Percy was enjoying the change. They’d rented the tiny, slightly grotty flat in Notting Hill until September and were taking in as much culture as possible in their off hours. “Yeah, him. Little s**t. He followed me up the stairs and started banging on about my shoes. What business is it of his if my shoes need mending?” He turned his foot up and looked sadly at the sole. “And how did the little bastard even see?” “He’s not quite right,” Leslie said. “Just speak to his mother. Or was she out again?” “Well, he was sat on the step, so either she’d kicked him out for a bit or she’s not home yet.” He sighed. “I’ll go down a bit later.” He collapsed back in the chair and put his arm over his eyes. “I hate children. Why did I think teaching would be a good career?” “Steady pay, long holidays, rugby, possibility of accommodation with the job so no pressure to get married.” Leslie ticked off on his fingers. Percy removed his arm from across his eyes for long enough to glare at him. “I hate you.” “I know,” Leslie replied placidly. “There’s still tea in the pot. We’re out of sugar though.” “Thanks.” He hauled himself to his feet and through the arch into the tiny kitchen. “Want another one?” “If there’s enough, yes please.” He busied himself with the milk and managed to find the end of a packet of biscuits in the cupboard. He brought it through with the tea and put it on the table. “We need to go shopping.” “I know. And it’s my turn. Tomorrow, I promise.” “Did you get the tickets for tonight?” This week’s culture included the Promenade Concerts. Leslie looked shifty. “I did. And we might have a date.” “A date?” “I met a chap…” He waved his hand vaguely. “A chap?” “At the box office.” He coughed. “We got chatting and we’re meeting at the Albert Hall tonight. We got talking about Elgar…” He trailed off, clearly already running The Dream of Gerontius through his head. Percy raised an eyebrow at him and he came back to earth. “He and his friend are going. I said we’d meet them.” “His friend?” “Well, yes. But he asked me, honestly. Suggested supper somewhere afterward.” “Bloody hell, Les! You’re going to end up in the clink if you’re not careful!” “Ha! Not anymore!” Leslie chimed back at him. “Not since the beginning of the month!” “Still! You need to be careful. We don’t want it getting back to school.” Percy was quite cross with him. “And it’s not like everything is suddenly fine and out in the open. The Act only means they can’t bang you up for messing around with someone at home, not that they won’t try and nab you if you’re out for a quickie somewhere.” “Nothing quick about this chap!” Leslie smiled lasciviously. “I’m going to take my time with him.” He looked over at Percy again. “He’s a stockbroker, he said. Nice looking. Bit older than you, I should think. Late thirties? Good suit.” “Oh, well, that’s all right then. You can be in the dock with him in the morning and know he’s well turned out, at least!” Leslie grimaced at him. “Anyway. He seemed really nice. It was a classy kind of pick-up. Very subtle.” “Well, I suppose that’s something.” “Gerontius, Perce! This is the point of this summer. We’re supposed to be expanding our horizons as well as earning a bit more dosh.” Percy sighed. “I’ll go and get changed. Is there enough bread for toast?” “I’ll put some in. We’ve got an hour before we need to leave.” * * * * The mill and press of the crowd of promenaders entering the Albert Hall wasn’t as bad as Percy had expected. Leslie dragged him through the throng with determination, toward an extremely well-turned-out couple, standing outside the Kensington Grove entrance and from a distance having what looked like an argument. Leslie slowed down his drive as they approached and Percy caught the last words of the taller one in a very nicely cut jacket “You’re going to get us hauled up before the beak, Phil. He could be anyone!” And that mirrored Percy’s conversation with Les so precisely that Percy found himself grinning. “Phil!” Leslie greeted them. “I’m sorry we’re a bit late. The tube…” He tailed off. “Not a problem,” the older chap replied. “I’m very pleased you could make it at all.” He smiled and Percy could see what had drawn Les to him. He turned to his companion. “This is Adrian, I tend to drag him along to these things, under sufferance.” Adrian held out his hand for Leslie to shake. “That’s a lie,” he said. “I don’t need much persuading! Very pleased to meet you.” He turned to Percy. “Adrian Framlingham,” he said. “Percy Wright,” he replied. Adrian’s hand was warm and his grip was firm but not aggressive. “Pleased to meet you.” “Shall we go in?” Phil suggested. “I think all our seats are together, aren’t they?” “Yes, I think so.” Les was digging their tickets out of his wallet. “They issued them sequentially.” He peered at the numbers. He’d left his glasses at home, then. Definitely out to pull, Percy thought. He was a vain little sod about his vision. Too much time staring at music scores was making him short-sighted. Tactfully he kept pace with Adrian and left Les to walk ahead in the crowd, beside Phil. They were chattering about the Elgar. Percy liked music, he was looking forward to the concerts they were planning to see, but he didn’t love it with the passion Les did. He taught music and maths at their little private school and Percy taught science. “Les said he’d been subtle,” he said, aloud, without thinking, watching the two of them talk animatedly in the slow-moving crowd going through the doors. Adrian snorted beside him. “Phil’s never subtle about music. What about you? Are you subtle?” he asked. He didn’t look at Percy, but it was definitely a loaded question. Percy shot him a sideways glance. He was a nice-looking man. “I try,” he said, eventually. And then, “I don’t think Les was actually trolling for trade, earlier. He’s a fool about music.” He saw the other man grin. “He’ll get on with Phil, then.” He gestured at them in front of him. “He’s the same.” The press of the crowd going up the stairs meant their conversation was naturally constrained and, in the shuffle and buzz of settling down, they didn’t resume chatting until they were all seated. Somehow, Phil and Les were together and Percy was next to Adrian, on the end of the row. The other man stretched his long legs out in front of him as he settled into his seat. He was wearing some sort of pleasant, orange-smelling aftershave that didn’t revolt Percy as much as the Aramis Les insisted on splashing on liberally each time he left the house. “Are you planning on coming to many of the concerts?” Percy asked, groping for conversation. Adrian looked over at him. “Phil tries to come to as many as he can manage. I tag along if I have time. What about you?” “We’re only in town until the end of August. Les wants to come to as many as he can and I suppose I’ll get dragged along too, unless he has a better offer.” He nodded along the row toward Phil. “I’m more inclined to stage musicals myself. I’ve got a yen to see cabaret. And Canterbury Tales, if I can get a ticket.” Then the overture began and blessedly he didn’t have to make any more small talk. Surprisingly, the after-concert supper was unconstrained and easy. They chatted about the music, the new Bond film they had all seen, shows Les and Percy planned to see over the summer. A bit about the riots in Detroit. Nothing personal, nothing about where they worked or their lives. It felt untethered somehow to Percy, an evening unmoored in time. Slightly surreal, but nevertheless pleasant. As they split the bill and stood to leave, it was very obvious Les was going home with Phil. Percy and Adrian were left on the pavement outside the little restaurant, watching as the taxi pulled away. “Well, that’s that,” Adrian said, turning to Percy. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his open raincoat. “I feel a bit like we should be throwing confetti after them.” He tilted his head to one side, looking at Percy diffidently. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” “Home and bed, for me,” Percy said. “I’m not really a night bird.” He wasn’t. This London summer was Les’ idea. He was in his mid-twenties, not that long out of university and teaching college, and desperate to kick over the staid, term-time traces of a boarding school housemaster. Percy liked him a lot, but already the two week’s freedom seemed to have gone to his head. Percy had passed thirty, three years ago. He wasn’t a chicken any longer and didn’t had the inclination or stamina for all night partying or unwise liaisons. Although this didn’t seem as unwise as it could have been, having spent the evening talking to the two older men. “You could come back to mine for a drink?” Adrian offered. “It’s not far.” “A drink?” Percy lifted an eyebrow. Adrian smiled and raised an eyebrow in his turn. “Let’s start with a drink, shall we? And see where we go from there?” Percy thought for a moment. Adrian was inviting Percy into his home. It was extremely unlikely that he and his friend were anything other than they appeared—well off gents who worked in the city. In fact it was an act of trust on Adrian’s part to invite Percy home with him. And Phil’s to take Les back to his flat. Percy sighed. “A drink sounds lovely,” he said. “Thank you.” It was a fifteen minute walk from the Albert Hall to the quiet street near Russell Square where Adrian had his flat. They walked in silence for a while, the July evening dark and intimate. “We could have shared the taxi, got them to drop us off,” Adrian said, as they set out. “It’s what we usually do after concerts. But it felt like it would be cramping their style.” Percy could hear the smile in his voice and gave a quiet chuckle. “There was nothing stylish about that, it was most undignified.” Although it hadn’t been, really. If you hadn’t known why they were going home together you’d have just thought they were two chaps sharing a taxi. * * * * Adrian’s Flat Adrian’s flat was in a street of glorious Georgian townhouses. The entrance hall was all marble and gilding. “I’m on the top floor,” Adrian said, and led the way up the wide, sweeping staircase. “This is beautiful,” Percy said, gazing at the architecture as they passed the first and second floor flats. “Have you lived here long?” “I bought it when I was made a partner in the firm,” Adrian said. “Three years ago now.” He unlocked the door at the top of the stairs. “It’s not too far from work, but it’s far enough that I can walk home and switch off on the way. I’d like a garden though. I miss sitting outside.” He took his raincoat off and hung it on one of the hooks beside the door, then turned to Percy. “Let me take your jacket?” he asked. Percy began to slide his velvet jacket down off his shoulders. It was an indulgence he’d allowed himself from Carnaby Street when they’d first started exploring a couple of weeks ago. It had felt ridiculous when he’d put it on over his shirt and tie and slacks this evening to go out, but as the evening had gone on and he’d relaxed, he’d felt more and more comfortable in it. Now, as Adrian stepped behind him and helped him ease his arms out of the sleeves, it made him feel like new, trendy, exciting Percy, instead of old, stuffed-shirt Mr Wright the science teacher.