It was only after he turned back to the mirror, lifting his chosen clothes from the bedside-chair, that Hunter realized that he did not know the man's name.
He looked at himself critically in the mirror as he dressed, and then grinned.
It was a new man every night for Hunter, and, he thought, wryly, as he made last-minute adjustments to his hairstyle, that meant he lived up to his name.
Senior executive at Investec Consulting, son of a wealthy family, smart and handsome, Hunter had it all. And he liked it that way. Lovers came and went, and, somehow, the benefits all fell to Hunter, with none of the heartache. He formed no deep attachments and sustained no deep wounds. All in all, life was good. Good indeed.
Turning once more in front of the mirror, Hunter grinned at himself and walked soundlessly down the stairs. Time to go out on the town again. Time to party. Time for fresh quarry.
Hunter had always lived this way. Since he was a teenager, at least. He had never been close to his family—his father, James Cavendish, a wealthy businessman, had never even known where Hunter was most of the time. That had suited Hunter well, and as he walked down the stairs, he grinned, remembering previous escapades. He had first explored his sexuality at age seventeen—he and a classmate with a similar investigative mind. Since then, he had never looked back. Every night a new conquest. It made him feel powerful, attractive, desired. Things he had never really felt during his life. He had left his home at eighteen, attending law school. Four years and good grades later, he left law and took a job as an investment consultant, where he had been ever since. He had since risen high, almost to the top of the firm.
Walking down the corridor, Hunter felt his heart lift. Life was very good, and he lived up to his name. The Hunter. He felt as if nothing would ever wound him, ever touch his heart. That thought made him pause. Was that really a good thing? Right then, his body still warm with the afterglow of his experience, he felt that it was. He was the hunter, and the rest were his prey. He found himself content in that, or at least he thought, at that moment, he was as content as he could be.
Chapter 2
A week later, Hunter had travelled up country. It was afternoon, and he sat on a long, wooden terrace, overlooking the shore of a lake. It was time, he had decided, for a little time off.
The water ran up the shore, making a soft sigh that left Hunter feeling deeply rested. He had travelled out to the countryside, where his cousin, Dave, owned one of several resorts. This one was on the banks of a large lake.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Dave, sitting beside him, asked.
“Mmm.” Hunter smiled.
He and Dave sat on the terrace outside the wooden house, watching the play of light on the surface of the water, sparkling bright enough to hurt the eye. Hunter tried to get up here one weekend a month, although often his work was too demanding to allow it. He and Dave had always been good friends: the only real friend Hunter, an only child, considered he had.
“So,” Dave smiled affably. “How are things going?”
Hunter stretched, lazily. “Good.” He smiled. “Very good. And you?”
“Oh, fine.” Dave smiled. A glass of wine in his hand tipped lazily as he stretched backwards, the light shining like deep rubies in the red liquid.
“How’s the love life?” Hunter asked, giving Dave a piercing glance.
“Oh, good.” Dave smiled. “Javier and I are heading up to the mountains next week; just for a few days.”
“That's nice.” Hunter smiled. Javier was Dave's life partner. They had lived together for the past few years. Hunter had met him once or twice, a quiet and affable person; someone easy to like.
Hunter knew most of what happened in Dave's life, now that he thought about it. They had first met on a holiday when they were about six; Hunter's father being the brother of Dave's mother. The two boys had become firm friends, seeming to have an understanding even then, a shared insight into things that were understood by no-one else in either of their lives. And, as they grew up, the fact that they had a different sexuality from most of the children around them had also become clear, to them, if to no-one else. It was yet another thing they shared.
Dave's mother had always been supportive of Dave and his lifestyle, which was, Hunter thought, why Dave was so settled. So at ease with himself, able to make supportive choices in his own life. Dave had met Javier in his final year at college and never looked back. Hunter smiled, shaking his head at that. He wasn't sure if he scorned or envied it.
“So,” Dave smiled, his voice jolting Hunter back to the present moment. “How is work?”
“Oh,” Hunter smiled, and then looked down modestly. “It's good. I was nominated top employee last month.”
“Oh, wow!” Dave smiled. “Well done.”
Hunter looked away, demurely. He did enjoy his work, and took pride in it, although he never told anyone else that. Only Dave knew. Hunter was a careless, hardened bad boy to everyone else who knew him; an image he did his best to cultivate. Only Dave knew better, out of everyone who knew Hunter.
“And,” Dave asked, pouring more wine for them both, “how is life, really?”
“How do you mean?” Hunter asked, sipping his drink, distractedly.
“Anyone special?” Dave asked, eyebrow raised.
Hunter laughed. “Dave,” he teased, “stop trying to pass on your monogamy.”
Dave chuckled. “No, really,” he demurred, “it has a lot to recommend.”
Hunter smiled, and they sat back awhile, thinking and sipping their wine.
As they sat, Hunter thought about what Dave had said. He felt so content in his crazy life. But what if Dave was right? His life did seem to have a lot to recommend, after all. The settled aspect, the care. Hunter thought about it.
All his life, Hunter thought, he had felt distant from others. Growing up in the vast, draughty house he had shared with his silent father and the absence of anyone else, he had never felt really close to anyone. There was some kind of mystery surrounding his origins as well. His father had never mentioned who his mother might have been. No one else had mentioned it, either. It hadn't been long before Hunter, a sensitive child, had stopped asking.
Now, he wondered what it would be like to have someone in his life whom he trusted absolutely. Someone with whom he could share everything. A partner; someone to share his life.
“You're making me crazy, D.” Hunter said aloud, and grinned at the red-haired, rugged man who sat opposite, his wine-glass tilted across the line of their vision.
He laughed. “No intention to drive you crazy.”
“Good.” Hunter gave him an acerbic glance and they chuckled.
“So,” Dave suggested, “how about swimming?”
“What?” Hunter laughed. “I thought I was the one being being driven crazy. In this cold?”
“I went in this morning.” Dave said mildly.
“I take back my statement.” Hunter said. “You are certainly the crazy one.”
They laughed.
“I'll race you.” Dave smiled.
“You're on.”
Grinning and laughing like children, they went into the house to change. Ten minutes later, the silence of the evening was broken by splashing, water and cheers.
Even as he swam, laughing and breathing hard, Hunter thought about what Dave had said. It would, he thought wistfully, be rather fun to have someone to share his life with, after all.
The bar was dark, the lights warm and soaking into the smoke, making it diffuse and faintly colored with yellow, green and pink.
Hunter, sitting at the bar, looked out through the smoky air at the scene.
The thought from earlier, and from his visit with Dave, had not left him.
What would it be like, to share his life with someone? Was it really such a good thing, that no love touched him? That he lived so detached, so unstirred by human feeling? Was it really so good to be loved by no one?
Hunter frowned, crossly, and drained his bee
r. What was he thinking? What was all this heavy-duty philosophical stuff about, anyway?
“Get a grip, Hunter,” he growled to himself, feeling unusually-restless, “so many fish in the sea.”
And there were. Already, Hunter could see men watching him from the corners of their eyes; men who at least had heard of him, or who had noticed him when he walked in. Hunter was exceptionally good-looking, and did not try particularly hard to find company. The trouble was usually too many, not too few. And maybe that is a problem, he found himself musing. Maybe I should try, just once, to actually love someone.
“C'mon, Hunter.” He said to himself again, even more harshly. It simply would not do. Hunter Cavendish, sentimental? No way. He felt nothing. His life was all about transient pleasures, temporary delights. No commitments, and expecting none from anyone. He liked it that way. He thought he did, anyway. Where did this strange restlessness come from, then? Get a grip, he thought to himself again.
“Another beer.” He pointed to his glass, and the barman, meeting his eyes, nodded, grinning. Hunter grinned back. The man beside Hunter turned, expectant. Hunter turned to him with a dazzling smile, then turned back to the barman. The man looked back hungrily. Hunter and the barman both noticed, and pretended not to see. They smiled at one another. The evening for Hunter was a territory of new conquests. The barman had seen it dozens, maybe hundreds, of times. It was an unspoken thing between them, a source of shared amusement exchanged in a few looks.
“Beer?” Hunter asked the man who stared at him.
“Yes.” The man agreed, nodding. “Thanks.” his eyes met Hunter's, and he smiled.
The man's eyes were green and slanted, striking eyes. Hunter felt an immediate spark. This was the one he wanted.
“Two more beers, please.” He indicated their glasses to the bartender, his own already half-empty. He felt his head spinning as he grinned at his new partner, and was a little surprised. Why was he drinking like this, so much? He almost never got drunk. Now, the room was hazed with more than cigarette smoke, swimming before his eyes.
“How are you doing?” He asked the man with the green eyes, who grinned at him hesitantly.
“Great.”
“Good.” Hunter purred. He sat closer to him, letting his presence seep across the space between them, as alluring as a desert night.
“You come here often?” His new partner offered the cliché, as their glasses returned.
“Almost every night.” Hunter grinned, sipping his beer.
“I thought so,” the man continued, taking another gulp of his beer, quickly, “I've certainly seen you in here before...”
“Really?” Hunter asked, genuinely curious. Although he knew he was good-looking, he was always pleasantly-surprised to hear someone say so. The reassurance supplied him with something he craved, but could not name.
“Yeah...”
As the conversation continued, Hunter noticed a strange feeling sweep across his skin. It felt like watching eyes were on him. He lost track of the conversation, murmuring politely, as he looked across the room, searching for the source of the disturbance.
He forgot the feeling a moment, and then it returned, more strongly.
He looked up.
In the depths of the smoke, across the room from him, Hunter noticed a face.
Long and fine-boned, hair dark and eyes deep and indiscernible in color, the man's gaze pierced him, reaching deep into his soul. He felt as if his heart had been stabbed, and he shuddered, even though it was not cold.
“You okay?”
Hunter shook his head to clear it. The room was reeling, and he could not focus. “Yeah...” he said, tentative.
“Good.” The man beside him replied, hand on his shoulder, concernedly. “As I was saying...”
The rest of the sentence blurred away into the noise of the room and the spinning haziness in Hunter's head. He looked across the room again, and there he was. The tall, lean-faced man, with the beautiful cheekbones and the impossibly-mesmeric eyes.
“Oh. My.” Hunter breathed. He felt that piercing gaze sweep through him and felt it lance into his heart like a physical blow.
When he looked up again, the man was still watching him.
“I...” Hunter half-stood. He walked towards the side of the room, towards where the face was, or had been. The man was looking away.
“You okay?”
Hunter returned to the present, startled. Two deep green eyes looked up at him from a chiseled, exotically dark face.
“Yeah.” Hunter said offhandedly, trying to look nonchalant. “I just thought I saw someone, is all.” He smiled, a little self-conscious. “You know, someone I knew.”
“Oh.” The man was still looking at him, wide-eyed and smiling. He did not notice anything, clearly—not the man, not Hunter's staring, nor the way he had half-stood to try and reach that mesmerizing face. “Good.”
After another pause, he reached out to gently lay a hand on Hunter's upper arm.
“Should we go?”
“Oh.” Hunter smiled at him, suddenly exhaustedly. “Sure. Of course.”
They stood together and walked out of the bar. Even as they walked out and through the door, into the cold, dark night beyond, Hunter could still not erase from his memory that compelling gaze. Nor that stunning, haunting, watching face.
Who are you? he mused to himself, still feeling shaken and awed.
And, he continued the thought as he walked on, will I see you again?
The question had no discernible answer, but Hunter hoped, with a fervency that was entirely unknown to him, that it was true.
Chapter 3
The topmost floor of the Neumann Building—an elegant high-rise building with beautiful views over the city—housed the offices of the top executives of Investec Consulting.
Hunter, sitting at his desk, leaned out and admired the view, all pale pink and gentle grey as the sun set over the city.
“I can't concentrate.” He said aloud to the empty office. The image of the man from the bar would not leave Hunter, regardless of the distraction of the pile of work sitting across the table before him.
Hunter worked as an investing consultant, and also as a senior executive of the company. Most of the actual consulting was done by others nowadays, leaving Hunter to meet with the board of the large company, and manage the finances of the firm itself. He enjoyed his work, and his surprisingly neat, legally-orientated mind was very good at it.
Now, Hunter leaned back and looked at his watch, feeling unusually restless. It was six o' clock already, and late for Hunter to still be in the office. But he was so distracted that, even with the extra hour, he still felt he had not managed to do enough work.
He looked at his watch again, distractedly, his one knee jumping restlessly; a habit when he was distracted or nervous.
“Mr. Cavendish?” A voice asked from the door.
“Yes?” Hunter turned around slowly, reluctant to look away from the peaceful scene outside. It was the only thing that was steadying his troubled mind that day, especially now that the evening was settling so peacefully over everything.
He turned to see a tall, elegant older woman with her hair in a neat bun, wearing an extremely well-cut navy suit. She smiled at him.
“Mr. Cavendish, I wanted to check with you: Can you still make it, if we reschedule the meeting with the transport clients to ten-thirty?”
“Yes.” Hunter turned his chair again, looking back out of the window. His secretary, Mrs. Wyatt, was a competent and kind woman, but nothing could induce in him a sense of calm, or even of good manners, that day. Nothing—well, not quite nothing. Nothing except seeing him again. The man from the bar. His mind would simply not stray from thinking of him.
Hunter shook his head at himself as his secretary left, closing the door with a slight click behind her.
He looked at his watch. It said six-twenty-five.
“Okay.” Hunter said to himself, breathing out. He rearranged his des
k, putting some papers in the “Out” tray and others in the “In”, and then reached for his bag and keys.
“Time to go.” He smiled.
He shook his head at himself again. Why was he being so silly about this? This was just one man, and he had never spoken a single word to him, much less anything else. Why did he feel so drawn to him, like he had known him for ages, and like they understood everything about each other? Why did he feel so entranced by him, as if he was a book he had only opened once, and wanted to keep reading, never running out of words, until the end of the earth?
He looked at himself in the reflective glass of the front of Mrs. Wyatt’s office as he walked past. A handsome, chiseled face with worried eyes stared back, haunted.
“Hunter Cavendish, you are being silly. Very, very silly.” He told himself, his berating voice jogged with the motion of his steps as he took the first two flights of stairs.
He knew he was being silly, and he knew he couldn't help it. That night, he would find his way to the same bar, and sit in the same place. Just in case the man was there. Just in case they talked.
He grinned. He had never in his whole life been as silly as this. Right now, though, he did not care. He simply wanted him.
Hunter walked home to change—a major advantage of being well-paid was that he could take an apartment in the city center, just three blocks from work—and planned his route as he did so. The Studio Club was a block and a half away from his apartment, which was one of the reasons he always went there. The reason tonight, though, was entirely different—not because of habit at all. In fact, he would almost never go there on a Thursday. This week, he would. Just in case.
Just under an hour later, Hunter was sitting at the bar in The Studio club. The air was already hazed slightly with cigarette smoke. Hunter, looking across the bar through the haze, noted that he was in fact sitting in the identical place to the one he had occupied yesterday. Just in case. He smiled to himself. This was either silly, or serious. He didn't know which. At that moment, he didn't care, either. He just wanted to see what would happen. And he desperately wanted to see the man again.
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