Two Lips, Indifferent Red

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

My euphoria lasted the length of the bus ride. The Greyhound pulled into the Martinsburg depot, and I put my Zune away, gathered up my laptop, and bounced down the steps, looking for Pierce, the underchauffeur.

He wasn’t there.

All right, he might have hit traffic. I’d just wait, and he’d be here any minute. He was a nice man, and he’d always treated me much better than Jackson.

I’d never particularly liked Sir’s head chauffeur. On the rare occasions when he’d been required to pick me up, he’d kept me waiting, with the result that Sir would be furious with me for being late for whatever event at which I needed to appear.

The bus driver tossed me my duffel, and I caught it, placed it beside me, and waited.

Before very long I was standing there alone. The bus passengers had all disembarked and gone their separate ways.

Pierce still hadn’t shown up.

My shoulders slumped. Why had I thought this time things might be different? I took out my cell phone and called home.

Higgins answered. “Llewellyn Manor.”

“It’s Kipp. I’m at the bus depot. Can you tell me when Pierce will be here?”

“Both he and Jackson are unavailable. You’ll have to make your own way home.”

I felt as if I’d been smacked. I doubted both chauffeurs were busy, but I didn’t need Higgins to tell me why neither one would be picking me up. This was Sir’s way of punishing me for not arriving yesterday.

“Was there anything else?” Higgins asked.

“No. Thank you.” I disconnected the call.

It would be a long walk to the house I’d grown up in, and the shoes I wore weren’t the most comfortable, but did I have enough cash on me to take a cab? I pulled out my wallet. Aside from my debit card and a couple of credit cards, there were four twenties, a ten, and three singles in it. Right. The cash I’d gotten for selling back books that had cost almost six hundred dollars.

I was about to close my wallet and place it back in my pocket when I saw the piece of paper with a phone number and the letter H scrawled under it. Not only was the number logged in my cell phone, but it was burned into my memory; I didn’t have to keep the paper Ham had written it on. It was a silly, sentimental act to hold onto it, but…

I folded the paper, tucked it behind my ID, and put my wallet away. Then I looked up and down the street.

There was a taxi stand at the end of the block. I slung the strap of my duffel over my shoulder, picked up my laptop case, and walked toward it.

A buzzer sounded as I opened the door, and the dispatcher looked up. “Help you?”

“I need a cab, please.”

“Sure thing. Hey, Alec, get your ass out here. You have a fare.”

I heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and then Alec Stuart came out of the bathroom, casually zipping his jeans. He didn’t notice me at first.

We’d gone to Martin High together. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize me.

“Who is it?”

The dispatcher nodded toward me. Stuart narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down.

For a second it was as if he was stripping off my clothes with his eyes. He’d never looked at me that way in high school, and while I didn’t like it, I wasn’t going to let him see it bothered me. I made my expression politely inquiring.

He shrugged and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

I exited before him, and my spine continued to feel like something was crawling over it. “Which cab?”

“The Ford Focus.”

The car he pointed to was actually taxicab yellow, with a checkerboard detail. I walked toward it, startled when he bounded in front of me and opened the rear passenger door.

“Th-thank you.” I tossed my duffel onto the backseat and climbed in, barely getting my foot inside before he slammed the door shut. “Hey!”

He sauntered around to the driver’s door, every inch the cocky jock he’d been in high school. He got in and made a production of adjusting the seat, the rearview mirror, the steering wheel. And all the while the meter was ticking.

Should I tell him that the addition would be deducted from his tip?

“Okay, where to?”

I told him, and he stared at me through the rearview mirror. “Do you need directions?” He shouldn’t—everyone in Martinsburg knew where Llewellyn Manor was—but I couldn’t resist the dig.

“No.” He put the car in gear and burned rubber peeling away from the curb.

“I’d like to get home in one piece, if you don’t mind?”

“Sissy!” he spat under his breath, but I heard him anyway. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Should I?” Of course I did, but I wasn’t going to let him know. He’d been part of Daniel’s immediate clique, and I had no doubt he’d been one of the instigators of that nightmare night. “I mean, I haven’t been back to Martinsburg in three years.”

“You always were a stuck-up son of a bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Forget about it.”

No, I didn’t think I would. Obviously he’d had a problem with me, although I could never tell why. I’d been too reserved to say anything to anyone back in those days, but I’d learned a thing or two in college. Hunter’s unquestioning support had bolstered my confidence, as had knowing Ham looked forward to seeing me in Georg’s.

“I didn’t expect to see one of Daniel Richardson’s friends driving a cab.”

“You…” He glared at me through the rearview mirror. “You do recognize me.”

All the boys Daniel was friends with were from the same social and financial circles. Why would any of them have to do something as menial as driving a cab?

I had no intention of asking, though. It was none of my business. But I wasn’t going to let him know that, so I let my lips curl into a smug grin.

He spat out a curse, turned on the radio, and didn’t say another word for the remainder of the drive.

If I’d realized I could shut him up so easily, I’d have said something years ago.

Well, no, I wouldn’t have, but it was a nice dream.

The music coming over the radio was crap, which didn’t say much for his taste. Who knew there was such a thing as country rap?

The walk would have taken me a couple of hours, whereas the drive was only ten minutes. Still, I wondered if I would have preferred the walk.

Actually, what I would have preferred was to be in Charlestown, getting ready for my date with Ham tonight. So, all right, he was about forty, but one: he didn’t look it, and two: that wasn’t old. After all, Humphrey Bogart had been twenty-five years older than Lauren Bacall when they’d married.

And what was I doing, thinking of marriage? Even though it had become legal a few years ago for same s*x couples to exchange vows in this country, Ham and I hadn’t even gone on our first date.

I closed my eyes and began to weave a little fantasy about him anyway. We’d get married, and I’d take care of him.

I frowned and opened my eyes. He wouldn’t need me to take care of him—from what he purchased at Georg’s, he must have plenty of money.

Still, it was my fantasy; I could do whatever I wanted. I went back to it.

Sir wouldn’t be happy about me marrying a guy—man—and I wasn’t sure how Geoff would take it, but that didn’t matter. I could divorce my family. It wouldn’t be much of a hardship.

Well, except for Granddad, but I hoped he wouldn’t mind I was gay…

I frowned again. Why did I keep ruining my daydream with the reality of what my family was? I hadn’t heard from Granddad since shortly after I’d left for college. He hadn’t been pleased when I’d told him what I planned to major in. Maybe because he thought that meant I was gay? In which case he would mind, and…

I went back to the fantasy with a little less enthusiasm.

I didn’t have a great deal of money, since Granddad had cut off access to my trust fund, but once I turned twenty-five, no one could stop me from using that money. In the meantime, I didn’t have to go back to college. I could work at Georg’s. Hunter liked me, and he’d said my job would be there if I wanted it.

Ham and I would live in a cozy little apartment. I’d have someone who loved me, and life would be wonderful—

“That’ll be twenty bucks.” Stuart roused me from the futility of that last imagining, and I looked around. He had pulled into the circular drive at the front of the house my father and brother lived in.

I took a twenty and the three singles out of my wallet and handed them to him.

“Not much of a tip,” he snarled.

“Not much of a ride.” I got out of the cab, and it was a good thing I had a tight grip on my duffel and laptop, because he barely gave me time to shut the door and step back before he sped off. I stared after him, relieved I’d had the forethought to keep my belongings in hand. No way was I chasing after one of Daniel’s “best buds,” even if Sir let me borrow the Mercedes M-Class SUV that was his pride and joy.

I turned to find Higgins had come out onto the top step. His face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes…

“Mr. Llewellyn expected you yesterday.”

“I had finals.”

“He expected you yesterday.”

“Is that why Pierce wasn’t at the bus depot to pick me up?” Was that some kind of punishment? I’d suspected as much, but I was startled to realize I’d said that last out loud.

He straightened and fastened his eyes at some spot over my shoulder. “He’s waiting for you in his study, Master Kipp.”

Higgins should have stopped calling me “Master Kipp” when I’d reached my eighteenth birthday three years ago, but I wasn’t going to challenge him on that.

“Yes.” I put my shoulders back, even as my stomach began to tie itself into knots. As much as I might hope otherwise, much more than water had gone under the bridge for me to expect the fatted calf. Too much more.

Higgins stepped aside to allow me to enter, and I worried my lip to the point where it started to hurt.

But this wasn’t doing any good. I went into the house.

“If you’ll leave your luggage here? I’ll take it to your room shortly.”

“Thank you.” I took my laptop with me. I wanted to show Sir my grades and what I’d accomplished.

Higgins led the way down the long corridor that ran through this part of the house before curving to the left. Sir’s study was the last of the numerous rooms that branched off it.

The double doors were closed. I stood there, my heart pounding. It had been a long time since I’d seen Sir. Why did he want me home? Had he missed me enough to realize he loved me? What could I do for him that Geoff couldn’t?

Higgins knocked.

“What is it?” Sir didn’t sound happy, but then he rarely did.

Higgins opened the door. “Master Kipp is home, sir.”

“Well, get him the hell in here.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood aside.

I took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out and walked into the room. “Good afternoon, Sir.”

He grunted and scowled at me, then turned his gaze to his butler. “Higgins, get me a drink.”

Higgins hurried to the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of Ladybank Single Malt, and poured a healthy portion into a glass.

Sir took the glass without bothering to thank him. “Now get out of here.”

Higgins gave a polite bow. Always the perfect butler, his face was blank. He left, closing the door firmly behind him. It wouldn’t have caught otherwise, and anyone passing by would have heard the conversation that would be taking place in here.