Companion Required

by Brian Lancaster

  Kennedy had been staring out to sea, the rim of the coffee cup held against his lip. When he turned his head, Kieran had an odd look on his face, something Kennedy hadn’t seen before.

  “Hidden depths?” asked Kieran.

  “Hey, I’m not saying I’m any good. But Steph and I usually move well together, and if things go wrong, we’re pretty good at faking it.”

  “Shit,” said Kieran, his face dropping. “Talking of faking it, I need to confess to something. Yesterday, when I spoke to Joey, Patrick’s boyfriend, I was probably a little more candid about myself than I ought to have been. And you know the old expression ‘small world’? Turns out it is. I know his sister, who also knows Jennifer, my ex-girlfriend.”

  “I don’t see the problem.”

  “If he talks to her about me, he’ll find out I’m not really gay.”

  “Are you and Jennifer still together?”

  “Of course not. Not for three months. I told you already.”

  “Then what you are now is anything you want to be. And, more importantly, it’s nobody’s business but your own.” Letting Kieran mull over his words, he pulled the silver dome off the plate to reveal scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toasted muffins. After taking a spoonful, he flipped up the top of his laptop and booted up the machine. “What are you planning to do today?”

  “I thought I’d explore. Steph and Laurie are swinging by at ten. How about you?”

  Kennedy peered down at his desktop and noticed a few emails had arrived in his private account. When he opened to his inbox, he noticed one from Tim with a couple of attachments.

  “Working. Just this morning. How about I meet you guys for lunch?”

  “Sounds like a plan. And then we can all head straight to your rehearsal.”

  * * * *

  Despite Steph’s form—since he’d first met her, she’d always hovered around size twenty-six and been proud of the fact—she was amazingly light on her feet. Truth be told, she was the better dancer. Their routine included both of them wearing dinner suits, Steph in white, Kennedy in black. Steph would take the lead, traditionally the man’s role. Typical of her, since the last time they’d danced this particular tango she’d changed a couple of the moves, to keep things fresh.

  Over the following hour, they began by walking through the steps, practicing and re-practicing the new ones until Kennedy felt comfortable. Of course, their first full run through with the music was a train wreck. Every now and again, he glanced over to where Kieran and Laurie sat at a lounge table, observing them and chatting together. Kieran had agreed to sit in on their rehearsal and record their session on his phone. That way, they could watch together later on and decide what worked and what did not.

  When they managed to run through three times in succession without stopping or making a mistake, they agreed to call it a day and went over to join Laurie and Kieran. As they approached, the pair burst into applause, Kieran grinning broadly at Kennedy.

  “Are you full of surprises or what, Kennedy Grey? That was frigging awesome.”

  When Kennedy threw himself down, Kieran put his arm around Kennedy’s shoulders, pulled his head towards him and kissed him on the top. Not only did Kennedy feel a warm twinge of pleasure at the praise and the contact, but his cock also began to sit up and take notice. And he had a fair idea why.

  That morning, as they’d both taken turns to use the bathroom, Kieran had left the door open, and Kennedy had glimpsed his naked figure getting into the shower cubicle. Like a good gentleman, at first he had turned away, but then had not been able to help stealing a peek at Kieran’s body. Beautiful, long, lean but not skinny, he had pale, hairless skin except for the dark patch of pubic hair around a generously sized cock.

  All morning, with Kieran gone, the image had kept floating into his head and interrupting his work. Only the message from Tim, and another from Karl, had managed to keep him focused.

  Karl had written that the meeting date was still the same, but that they would need to use a local hotel, because their conference room had suffered water damage from the offices above. Kennedy smiled to himself. Sloan either knew or suspected that Kennedy had installed his own security devices around the room, knew his boss would be able to watch and hear everything going on.

  Tim had managed to find reams of information on Milletto, and had included something he liked to call an ‘FYEO’ file—For Your Eyes Only—which always drew Kennedy’s attention, and where the crucial information would sit. Milletto’s file had nothing much he didn’t already know, except that, at fifty-eight, Milletto was essentially in his prime as a businessman, had pretty much done the same for Cold Steel as Kennedy had for Grey Havens. Why, then, would he want to sell? Even though he would remain in an advisory capacity—part of the deal—he would essentially hold no power, have no share of the pie. Of course, Tim must have known Kennedy would look at the attachments in sequence, because as soon as he typed in his private password to open the FYEO file, the truth jumped out at him.

  Very clever, Sloan.

  Very clever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kieran

  On the third day at sea, with not a cloud tainting the morning sky, the cruise ship anchored at Koh Samui in Thailand for the first of their excursions.

  Even without the rainbow flags and pink feather boas streaming out of a couple of the coach windows, nobody on the street could have been in any doubt as to the orientation of the passengers inside—well, the majority of them. Kieran had never seen so much colourful spandex or leather harness, so much glitter and makeup and so many tight vests, shorts and half-naked muscled bodies in one place.

  Whether the local coach driver had been warned or not, Kieran had no idea, but the man grinned broadly each time the holidaymakers boarded and re-boarded the bus. Two minutes away from the previous stop, and the crowd—most a little the worse for wear after discovering a gay-friendly bar selling cheap Singha beer—began a rousing chorus of Abba’s ‘Mamma Mia’. Three of them, dressed in boas and wigs as Meryl, Christine and Julie, provided a coordinated dance show down the narrow aisle between the seats. Kieran enjoyed the coach entertainment almost as much as the trip itself.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Sitting next to Leonard in the luxury air-conditioned coach, Kieran’s forehead rested against the cool window, as he observed the stunning coastline of calm, aquamarine sea, and the almost white sands bordered by lush green vegetation lining their route. The next and final stop on their island tour would be the Big Buddha, viewed at sunset. Butterflies had set up shop in his stomach. If he was going to be honest with himself, he wished Kennedy had joined them, missed having him there to share the experience. Twice in the past few days, he’d noticed Kennedy ogling him naked in the shower. Not that he minded. To be perfectly honest, he left the door to the bathroom open on purpose now, found the attention strangely flattering.

  But as usual, Kennedy had work to finish, and had wanted to give Kieran time on his own. In the seat behind him, Steph snuggled up to Laurie, and opposite them, Pete sat with his dad. Leonard had insisted Kieran keep him company, and had even given him the window seat. From a couple of their conversations he learned that Leonard had no interest in meeting anyone on the cruise, and, like Kennedy, had taken time out from his busy schedule to relax with friends. Kieran had grown to like Leonard on the short excursion—had even been invited to call him Len—and was glad he’d spent time getting to know him. He sat there right now, occasionally making approving noises at views Kieran pointed out, but mainly frowning down at his tablet computer.

  “You like this place, don’t you?” came Len’s voice.

  “It’s stunning. I could happily retire here.”

  “Got a few good years before that happens, buddy.”

  Next to him, Len snorted, before cursing softly under his breath. Kieran turned and noticed him repeatedly brushing his finger across the display of the tablet computer. He’d been playing with the device, and intermit
tently huffing, ever since they’d boarded the bus from the Thai silk market.

  “You okay there?” Kieran asked.

  “I’m trying to get to the next page of this bloody site, but the damned thing keeps freezing. It’s driving me nuts.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  “Be my guest,” said Len, thrusting the device at Kieran.

  Kieran already knew Leonard had no problem accessing the Internet, because they shared the same Wi-Fi dongle. But the site on the display—for what appeared to be antique furniture—had frozen. Kieran copied the URL, closed the browser down and tried again. This time the page opened to the main page of the site, and Kieran selected the one Leonard had been trying to reach. After a minute, he handed the device back.

  “Not your fault, Len. Looks to me as though that site was cobbled together in the nineties. I realise they’re selling antiques, but the home page shouldn’t have to work like one. Heavens, a twelve-year-old could build something better these days. Surprised they manage to sell anything at all.”

  When he turned to Len, the man had a grim smile on his face.

  “We don’t. At least not much.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Kieran, placing his fingers over his lips. “Foot meet mouth. A bad habit of mine. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, no,” said Len. “You’re right, of course, and you’re honest. All my sites were built by the same developer over a couple of decades ago, who subsequently disappeared off the face of the earth. Since then I’ve thrown good money after bad, simply trying to keep them up and running.”

  “Kennedy told me your businesses are doing really well.”

  “We’re making money. But not as much as we could be.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can help with, let me know. This is my area of expertise.”

  “Seriously?” said Len, turning to Kieran with what looked something like hope in his eyes. “You could help with this?”

  “Absolutely. Tell you what, why don’t you give me the details of all your websites—including any backdoor passwords—and I’ll check them out. With Kennedy working, I’ve got so much time free on the cruise. Then we’ll get together one afternoon, you can buy me a cocktail, and I’ll give you my recommendations.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that on your holiday.”

  “You’re not. I’m offering. Plus, to be honest, this is the kind of thing I get a kick out of, much more than I do trying to find space to swim in that tiny tub on the boat they call a swimming pool.”

  “Pete loves to hang around the pool,” said Len, grinning. “Says that’s where you find all the young hot guys with the ripped bodies.”

  “Does nothing for me.”

  “Me neither,” said Len, before his curious gaze turned to Kieran. “You wouldn’t look out of place, though. Glad to see Kennedy’s made a good choice this year—for once. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Um, yes, I think.”

  Len laughed at that.

  “Do you work for Kennedy?” asked Len. “As well as the two of you being together.”

  “What? No. Why would you ask that?”

  “It’s just, he brought an ex-employee called Ollie on the cruise a couple of times. And I also overheard you talking to Steph about Kennedy’s business, and you sounded really well informed. You were talking about the pros and cons of becoming a public-listed company. And some of the steps involved in setting the wheels in motion. Just sounded as though you might already be working for him.”

  Kieran leant back, enjoying the veiled praise.

  “Well, I’m definitely not working for him, but my degree course covered the steps businesses need to take in becoming publicly listed in the UK, so the information is fairly fresh in my head. Although my real interest is in e-commerce. Sorry if I come across as a smart-ass. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Are you kidding? Kennedy’s last squeeze seemed more obsessed with Kylie Jenner and some show called Riverdale. So, did Kennedy give you his signature blow job card?” asked Len, his voice lowering, which, considering the noise on the coach was completely unnecessary.

  “His what?”

  “Black jack. BJ. Did he give you the black jack card, yet?”

  Kieran threw himself back in his sat, unable to stop the loud laugh bursting from him. Even though they’d not heard Len’s comment, a couple of other passengers turned their heads and grinned at Kieran’s reaction. In fairness, Kennedy had told him the card usually held another meaning.

  “I take that as a yes. Don’t tell me you’ve used it already.”

  “No,” said Kieran, wiping at his eyes. “No, I haven’t used the card.”

  “You will, though. Kennedy gives mind-boggling blow jobs.”

  “Oh, yes?” said Kieran, eyeing Len suspiciously. “And just how would you know that?”

  “No, no,” said Len, grinning. “Not me. God, Kennedy’s a nice guy, but he’s not my type at all. But let’s just say, the boyfriend after Patrick, Ollie, the one he brought on the first two post-Patrick cruises, was not particularly discreet. Demanded a minimum of four cards on the second cruise. And, if you’ll excuse the expression, he gave us all a blow-by-blow account, one evening at the bar.”

  Once again, Kieran burst into laughter.

  * * * *

  When they pulled up in the temple car park, the sun hung low in the sky, illuminating everything in bright golden sunlight. Ten or so other tourist coaches were already parked there. Most of their busload seemed eager to climb the stairs to the golden Buddha and the panoramic lookout point beyond. Kieran excused himself from his small group, citing a headache caused by mild dehydration, and wandered off to buy a bottle of water—which was a ruse, of course, because he wanted to be alone. Returning to the heart of the temple, he stopped and swigged his water, before taking in the view.

  Terracotta-coloured tiles on the pavilions standing either side of the stairs leading up to the Buddha appeared freshly laid, as though they had only recently been constructed. Even the three staircases leading up to the Buddha, two of white ceramic or marble, each bordering another of deep burgundy, with gleaming golden handrails, appeared too clean, too immaculate considering the large number of daily tourists that climbed them. Maybe he was being unfair, had visited too many sombre, musty village churches in England, but the place felt less like a religious temple, and more like a custom-built tourist attraction. Until three monks in orange robes, walking together, nodded at him. Each of them carried a large silver-lidded bowl wrapped in orange.

  Okay, so maybe he was wrong.

  He decided to perch in the shade of a pavilion by one of the four cross-legged golden Buddhas at the foot of the staircase. From there, he watched the world go by, as the words of the old fortune teller coming back to him.

  ‘You are on an island in Asia standing beneath a giant Buddha. You are waiting to meet your destiny.’

  Fleetingly, he considered climbing the steps to the statue, but then realised that everyone heading up to the top via the only staircases had to pass him. Nearby, a Thai guide was talking to a small group of English-speaking tourists.

  “In Thai, this called Wat Phra Yai, means Big Buddha temple. This is real working temple, with real Buddhist monk worship here. Buddha statue is twelve metre tall. Here we are on small island named Koh Farn, connected to mainland Koh Samui by causeway. Either side of stairway is half-human, half-serpent cobra called Naga, which lead up to Buddha. Not many year ago, a Dhamma wheel representing the Buddha’s teachings to the path of enlightenment was added to the image.”

  Kieran stared at the group of fifteen or so tourists, four of them girls, all pretty, all with partners. Two of the party were good-looking guys, clearly a pair. Nobody really stood out. Every now and again, small groups or couples moved past him, either to scale the staircase or descend from the top. But there were no lightning bolts, no epiphanies, no sounds of swelling orchestral music. Half an hour passed like a life sentence and, very slowly, very gradually, a sin
king feeling overcame him. Until he finally saw the funny side.

  What the hell was he doing, he asked himself. Standing there moping, because of a comment made to him as a kid by somebody’s grandmother pretending to be a fortune teller? At twenty-nine, he really ought to wise up and learn to let some things go. After finishing off his water, he dragged himself to his feet and decided to find the his friends. Blood-red clouds illuminated the skies now, and, right on cue, Steph appeared in front of him.

  “Come on, you,” she said, grinning fondly and slipping her arm into his. “Let’s get back to the ship. Kennedy’s probably missing us, and you most of all.”

  And, funnily enough, that throwaway remark lifted his spirits and put a smile back on his face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kennedy

  On the morning of their ninth day at sea, the day after leaving Hanoi in Vietnam, the weather took a turn for the worse. Torrential rain lashed the deck as the ship skirted a typhoon. Colossal cruise ships such as the Diamond Princess had decent stabilisers, but the constant rolling motion still had a number of passengers holed up in their cabins.

  Steph and Leonard went to ground for an entirely different reason. They’d both made a point of sampling street food on each of their excursions ashore. In Hanoi, both had come down with mild cases of food poisoning, according to the ship’s doctor, who had prescribed loperamide to help reduce bouts of diarrhoea and oral rehydration sachets to mix with water and keep them hydrated. Apart from that, they were advised to drink plenty of room-temperature water, and get lots of bed rest while staying confined to their cabins.

  Kennedy sat at lunch in the half empty restaurant with only Kieran and Laurie. Pete, who suffered acutely from seasickness, had also barricaded himself in his cabin. Eric had stayed to keep him company.

  “Are we going to bail?” asked Laurie, who had stepped out for half an hour to grab some food. They had been chatting about Patrick’s cocktail party. “I really ought to keep an eye on Steph.”