“Consider war declared,” Freddy shot back, kicking up higher before unbalancing backwards onto his arse in the water, which did at least cause a big enough splash to soak George up to his mid thighs.
“Are you alright?” George asked between heaves of laughter. He offered his arm to pull Freddy up but as Freddy was rising he slipped in the mud and this time they both fell down into the water, George on top of Freddy so he didn’t get too wet.
“Sorry old chap,” Freddy said, giggling. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I suggested the dip.”
George grinned at him but said nothing, thinking it had turned out a lot better than he’d hoped.
They were on their way back to the manor when George noticed the gash just above the elbow of Freddy’s shirt, and the stain of blood around it.
“Something’s given you a nasty scratch,” George said, stopping and taking hold of Freddy’s arm to inspect it. “Must have been when you fell.”
“What?” Freddy asked, looking alarmed when he saw the blood. “That hurts now you’ve mentioned it.”
It was a wide wound but not deep, and the stream was fairly clean as waterways went, but he needed cleaning up. Freddy stripped off his shirt, revealing more of the blond hair that also adorned his legs. He sat patiently on the grass and waited while George ministered him with a handkerchief and some clean water from their flasks, wincing slightly as George dabbed at it.
George kept his focus on the task at hand and didn’t at all let himself think about Freddy’s strong back and shoulders, or the way hair trailed down his belly. He certainly didn’t think about Freddy’s nipples, which stood scandalously tall after the dip in the cold water.
“There,” he said, pressing a fresh handkerchief to the cut and placing Freddy’s hand over it. “That’s as clean as I can get it, but I don’t think it’s going to close up without a bit more help. Let’s go up to the house and call the doctor.”
“I’ll be alright,” Freddy said, but he was quite pale by the time they’d walked to the house and didn’t fight his shepherding to a bedroom, as if he were a proper invalid.
George telephoned the doctor while one of the maids gave the cut another wash, then called Walter to tell him what had happened and that Freddy would be staying the night.
Freddy was stitched up an hour later. George insisted he remain in bed and that they should both be served supper up in the room, despite the embarrassment this caused the patient.
“I’m fine, you know,” Freddy said, complaining loudly in front of the maids who’d brought their food up but accepting the tray placed across his lap.
George let him grumble until the girls had gone. “You heard the doctor. It’s a big cut which puts it at risk of infection and then you will need lots of bed rest.”
“But it’s not infected right now. Anyone would think you want an excuse to keep me here in this bed of yours.”
It was a tease rather than an offer. Freddy was too busy tucking into his supper to have expected George to hop in alongside him but it needed answering “Freddy, I do like you, you know that don’t you?”
“Good. I like you too.”
“And if things were different...”
Freddy smiled gently and put down his knife and fork. “Can I tell you something, George? Something that I’ve wanted to tell you since we met.”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it aloud.”
Freddy faltered. “I think perhaps we’re talking about different things.”
“Perhaps we are. But nothing you can say will change the situation we’re in.”
“Move this tray,” Freddy said and George complied. “Now, come here. Don’t worry. I won’t touch anything you don’t want me to.”
No one had locked the door and George hadn’t been on a bed with another man in twelve months. But he slipped onto the bed and let Freddy wrap his good arm around him.
“If things were different, we wouldn’t have met,” Freddy said, pulling him tighter. “They are what they are, and we can either flounder or flourish in their wake. Whatever happens, let’s make the best of it.”
George agreed, and they cuddled together until their supper was cold.
It took a week but Freddy’s arm healed up without infection. In contrast, something was taking root in George. His friendship with Freddy was growing harder and harder to maintain when he wanted so much more.
They were sat on the terrace together, Freddy playing solitaire while George wrote in his journal. George thought about the words as he watched Freddy’s fingers turn over the cards that lay on the table, the movement delicate but fast.
It’s not easy, squaring the sort of man you are with the sort of man you want to be. But do I truly want to deny myself? No. Freddy has brought back some of my old pride, at least when we are together. I dread to think how I shall fare when we’re apart.
George looked up and found Freddy was now watching him.
“You’ve lovely handwriting,” Freddy said.
It was neat and tidy, perfectly legible. George passed over the journal without comment and let Freddy look at the paragraph he had written.
Freddy nodded to himself as he read what it said. The pressure on him, on their friendship, was enormous but he just handed back the journal and smiled.
“I’m afraid you’ll find out how you’ll fare soon enough. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Their parting was inevitable, George knew that. Freddy wasn’t going to live at the vicarage forever.
“You’re not going to London are you?” George’s voice was tighter than he wanted it to be.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I can’t be seen with you there. After what happened—”
“Live with it.” Freddy snapped, surprising George with his vehemence. “Better, brazen it out. Let fools make comments. Your existence isn’t a crime and I’d not be ashamed to be seen with you. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes” George said, turning back to his journal, knowing in his heart that there was a time he would not have done. But things were different now.
He could feel Freddy’s eyes were still upon him.
“Not everyone can hide away, George. You have an enormous inheritance and a beautiful estate to live on. Most of us aren’t so lucky. We live in the world because we have to. There is no alternative worth considering.”
George kept his gaze on the page. He doubted that Freddy meant to make him feel awful, but that was the effect of it. On top of the news that Freddy was leaving, it was all he could do not to give in to tears. “When will you go?”
“Friday afternoon probably. I thought I’d make a weekend of it and see some friends, then back on Monday night after the meeting with my publisher. My new book is coming out and he wants me to sign some copies.”
“You’re just going for the weekend?” George laughed, tension leaving him. He’d have kissed Freddy if they were anywhere but the lawn.
“You didn’t think...? Oh you sweet thing. I’m not abandoning you.” He reached across the table and put his hand over George’s.
Although they were in sight of the house, George let it remain. “Good,” he said.
“I’ll be around as long as you’ll have me,” Freddy promised.
It rained heavily on Monday night. George was alone, waiting for Freddy to return from his trip. It was almost eleven o’clock when he gave up and went to bed, assuming his friend had been delayed. He was climbing under the sheets with a book when he was summoned downstairs by one of the girls in her nightgown.
Freddy was in the hall, wet and bedraggled, cheeks glowing red from the exertion of what must have been a long and tiring walk up from the railway station. He still had his suitcase and obviously hadn’t been home.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, “but I wanted to see you tonight. I’ve got a present for you.”
George thanked the girl and sent her to bed as he ushered Freddy into a bathroom to change into someth
ing dry.
They were both in their pyjamas when they entered the parlour five minutes later, though Freddy had a towel around his neck and no slippers on, still carrying his suitcase.
“I stayed at a friend’s last night,” he explained excitedly “She’s just got back from America and they’re all doing this new dance over there called the Charleston.”
He slung his case onto the chesterfield and opened it up. Inside amongst his clothes was a vinyl record. “Here,” he said, handing it to George. “Put this on and I’ll show you the dance.”
It was late but George complied, wheeling over the gramophone and adjusting its volume to the minimum. He played the record, which was a jaunty number, and laughed as Freddy stumbled about patting his knees and pulling silly faces.
“This is a real dance that fashionable people do?” George asked, wiping tears from his eyes as Freddy moved.
“It’s true! It’s from a show called Runnin’ Wild. I can’t quite remember all the moves but this is the gist of it. I bet you’d love it at a party with your friends.”
“This is probably as close as I’ll ever come to having a party with friends again, and I am enjoying it. It’s certainly very entertaining to watch.”
Freddy didn’t let the comment kill his mood. “Come join in,” he said, proffering his hand but George wouldn’t take it.
“Sorry, I’ve never been much of a dancer. Not really fair to get that close to the eligible young ladies when you’re not interested them.”
“Do I look like an eligible young lady to you?” Freddy asked, tapping his toe out of rhythm with the music.
He did not. There was nothing feminine about Freddy in looks or temperament. At twenty four he had a man’s body, but still maintained some of the exuberance of youth. George was only a year older, but sometimes he felt like it might as well be a century or more.
“You are as you always appear to me—thoroughly charming.”
Freddy looked very pleased with that little comment. “Come on old chap,” he said softly. “You’ve got to dance with me after that.”
“You can barely do it, how do you expect me to manage it with you as a teacher?”
“I know another dance we can do if you prefer. It’s called the Slow Drag and it’s... It’s not very well known over here. I did it once with an American man I met in Paris. It’s ever so easy and quite something.”
George didn’t protest, watching silently as Freddy fetched another record and put it on the gramophone. It was a slow number to match the name of the dance, and George thought he could probably manage it a bit better. He was surprised when Freddy tossed his towel aside and stepped so close their bodies almost touched.
“Put your arms around my neck and I’ll hold your waist. Now we just sway.”
It was ever so easy. For George, nothing had ever been so natural as to be in Freddy’s arms like this. He leaned his head against Freddy’s as they moved and asked, “Am I doing it right?”
Freddy sighed softly, his warm breath hitting George’s exposed collarbone. “My American fellow used his hips quite a bit more freely than we are. But I think we’re doing alright.”
The music lasted three and a half minutes but neither of them let go when it was over. “Gosh,” Freddy said, “This was worth a weekend away from you.”
George stepped a little closer to him so their bodies were flush together, but he lost his nerve and shifted back when he felt the brush of something hard against his leg. “It’s late. I should go to bed.”
He didn’t ask Freddy to join him and no doubt that was why he found himself alone beneath his cool sheets while Freddy climbed into a bed three rooms down the corridor.
An hour later he was still awake, and despite all the promises he had made himself, he could think about nothing but Freddy. He climbed out of bed, padded along silently to his room and opened the door a crack, through which the sound of a soft, snuffly snore told him that he was wasting his time.
Carefully, he shut the door and went back to his room.
Weeks passed. Spring turned to glorious summer, and they kept up their comfortable domestic arrangement, Freddy staying over a few nights a week when they’d been up late into the night talking. Days were much the same as ever, and they often retreated to the folly with flasks of tea and slices of cake, just as they’d shared that second day. There was more freedom to touch there, and they had progressed to holding hands. Sometimes Freddy would stand behind him and rest his chin upon George’s shoulder as they looked out at the view.
One afternoon, Freddy was stood next to George, looking out across the fields while he talked about the ongoing Olympic Games in Paris.
“They’ve built a whole village of cabins and the athletes live in them while the games are on. It’s right by the stadium, so they don’t have to go far to compete. And it means there are still hotels available for spectators, although many people will probably be sharing.”
“Hmm,” George murmured, watching the way Freddy’s lips moved without hearing a word of what he said.
“I was thinking about what you’d said about London and it seemed further afield might be better. I telephoned Thomas Cook’s this morning and they will do rail fares, crossing to France and one week in a double room at a Parisian hotel which two single gentlemen may share for £20. I’ve just received a rather decent royalty check from my last book, and I thought perhaps you might want to go with me.”
“Yes. I mean, go where?”
“Will you come to Paris with me?” Freddy huffed. “Were you not listening at all?”
“I’m afraid not. I was quite distracted by looking at you.”
Freddy smiled, long past turning pink at the suggestion. “Come to Paris with me, George. They’re a lot more relaxed about men like us over there.”
It was a nice idea but George didn’t honestly think he could manage it. “I don’t know,” he said, unable to meet Freddy’s eyes. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to France.”
“Alright, I understand. I just thought you might like the change of scenery.”
“I’d love it, but I must think of our safety. You know how people gossip. I can’t do that to you. I’m not about to ruin your life to make mine a little easier.”
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and raised his chin to meet Freddy’s gaze.
“If I could share your life with you, I’d think myself the luckiest man in the world,” Freddy said.
George drew in a sharp breath, left his lips parted as Freddy leaned closer to him, more weight falling on his shoulder as he drew near. He closed his eyes, felt Freddy’s body heat, breath against his lips and then the softest, gentlest caress he had ever known as their mouths met.
He opened himself wider, let Freddy in. The sensation against his lips gave way to the mingling of their tongues, the faint taste of strawberry jam and the promise of the moist heat that he had so often imagined in other, much more satisfying ways.
He raised his hand, found Freddy’s closely shaved cheek. Then further up, where the luscious strands of golden hair slid through his fingers. Freddy caught his other hand and held it tight.
When it ended, as all things must, Freddy stepped back, smoothed a hand through his hair and adjusted his trousers.
“Forgive me. I am trying to be your friend and nothing more but I have wanted nothing but that since the moment we met.”
He had likely thought of much more but George didn’t press him. “I want this too. But I care too much about you to let you ruin yourself over me.”
Freddy’s sweet look turned to a scowl. “Stop saying that. You think you’re the whole world sometimes. You’re not the only man whose ever been caught. You were sent down but I was arrested.”
“Good God! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried! You cut me off every time.”
George had, and now he regretted it deeply. Occasionally he talked of his pain, but what sort of friend was he to never let Freddy speak of his.
“I’m sorry. God, I’ve been so selfish. What did they do to you?”
“Nothing,” Freddy snapped, and George wasn’t sure if he was the target of his ire or the injustice of the arrest was. “My father paid the police off, got me out before my trial, but one sold the news to the papers and it was too late to cover up. Everyone knew.”
A public shaming. Everyone in the village might know and yet that no longer seemed to matter, though all too recently that would have ended their friendship. All that mattered was Freddy.
“Bastards,” George spat.
“You know, I found that most people simply didn’t care, and some sought me out afterward. I was tainted, unsafe as a friend but they thought me a guaranteed fuck with no risk of me running to the police.”
“Oh Freddy.” George reached out, took his hand again. “You poor thing.”
“I’m sorry George. I’ve tried so hard not to treat you that way—to be respectful to you. Walter invited me here knowing your secret and I’m sure he intended for us to build a friendship. He told me what happened after you and I met and it brought me back to you. I’m so glad I found you.” His eyes glistened, but he didn’t let the tears go, putting on a brave smile. “The notoriety has at least allowed me to write honestly about homosexuality, and my books do quite well. My agent has promised to get me a good advance on the translations too.”
George gifted him a small laugh. “Every cloud,” he murmured.
“Yes. I hope there’s one for you.”
George was beginning to think that perhaps there was. “Paris,” he said softly. “I’d like to go with you.”
A week later they were sat in the restaurant carriage on the train from Calais to Paris. George had felt an acute anxiety on the train in England, and suffered horrific sea sickness on the ferry, but back on dry land a peace had overcome him and he felt safe for the first time in more than a year. He took up his notepad and wrote:
It’s not a crime here. I may love Freddy in any way I wish, and I will love him in all ways.
Crossing the last out, he wrote:
I will love him always.
The Folly Page 3
