Death's Ink Black Shadow

by John Wiltshire

  “Go on, you’re almost there.”

  Nikolas smiled faintly, acknowledging that Ben wasn’t being all that funny and shrugged. “I’m sorry, anyway. You know I don’t find it easy, and this was a shock, even for me.”

  Ben got up to fetch himself a biscuit, keeping his back to Nikolas. Something was definitely…off. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he wanted to mull over the possibilities—other than the fact Nikolas had just met his son and pretended that he was his uncle. Other than that there was something definitely wrong about Nikolas’s words.

  It was the apology.

  Since when did Nikolas do apologies? Since when did Nikolas admit he found anything difficult? It was a diversionary tactic to camouflage something else that wasn’t right. What had he seen in that guarded expression? What might Nikolas have told him if the old joke about their relationship had not conveniently arisen to distract them both? It had taken Ben almost twelve years to get to this stunning level of intuitiveness about Nikolas. He suspected he had many more to go before he could make any use of this newfound ability, but it gave him somewhere to start. Nikolas was hiding something—other than how he felt about this new development in their lives.

  Ben suddenly had a thought and began to laugh. He could hear the bitterness so he wasn’t surprised when Nikolas jerked his gaze toward him questioningly. Suddenly, shockingly, he’d recalled the image in the train window. The mirror image Nikolas. Ben shook his head. “I was just wondering if I’m about to find out that maybe you really are Nikolas Mikkelsen and you killed Aleksey and now you’re afraid Aleksey’s son is going to discover your deception.” He was only joking of course. Possibly.

  Nikolas frowned deeply. “What deception?”

  Ben felt a stab of panic. It was true? Nikolas shook his head as well, clearly bewildered. “If I were Nikolas, I wouldn’t be pretending, so where would the deception be?”

  “Huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ben opened his mouth to counter this stunning argument when Nikolas just put his head in his hands and muttered gloomily, “I need a drink.”

  Ben wholeheartedly agreed. He wished he’d stayed at the regimental dinner and got stonkingly drunk and reeled home oblivious to all of Nikolas’s over-complicated life. Then he remembered Molly Rose and saw his behaviour for the last hour held up against Nik’s since she’d come into their lives.

  He was being a complete dick.

  He went over to Nikolas and wrapped his arms around Nikolas’s blond head, kissing into his hair. “She stole him from you all these years. I’m sorry.”

  Nikolas shook his head again, standing and freeing himself from Ben’s embrace. “She saved him. Come, I need to sleep on this and then think what is to be done.”

  Ben pulled him into a standing hug, hating the way even Nikolas’s speech seemed to be reverting back to the Nikolas of the shadows. “We need to sleep on this, I think you meant to say.”

  Nikolas didn’t put on his martyred air of nagged partner as he usually did at such pronouncements from Ben— “Yes, Benjamin, of course I meant to say we.” He only nodded and went to secure the house.

  And that missed opportunity to show Ben up was almost the most worrying thing of all.

  § § §

  They didn’t make love that night. It wasn’t so unusual that Ben was going to consult a doctor about it, or start panicking that Nikolas was dying or anything. After all, they’d had a pretty good session on the couch just a few hours previous, but it did make him restless and uneasy, which then allowed him to notice that Nikolas wasn’t sleeping either, only he wasn’t tossing and turning and punching the pillow into different but equally unsatisfactory shapes. Instead, Nikolas was lying on his back, his face a still mask.

  Ben didn’t want to think that this was also like the old Nikolas, but it was a concern that nevertheless crept unbidden into his mind at just past three, when Nikolas didn’t even appear to have blinked for the last five minutes.

  Ben finally swore and poked him in the ribs.

  Nikolas sighed. “What?”

  “No! Not what to me! I say what to you! What are you thinking?”

  Nikolas folded his arms behind his head. Ben loved it when he did this, the temptation to stroke down the cool insides of his biceps almost irresistible. He ignored the temptation, sensing the intimate gesture wouldn’t be welcome. “I was thinking about the ocean and wondering if you put a small drop of boiling water into the sea here, whether you could measure the increase in temperature in, say, the Pacific—if you had sensitive enough measuring instruments.”

  “Oh.” Huh?

  “What do you think?”

  “I…yes. I think you could.” What the fuck?

  Nikolas frowned and turned his head. “You do?”

  “Sure.” I don’t fucking know! What the fuck are we talking about? “If they were sensitive enough.”

  “Good. That’s what I think, too.”

  Ben flopped back to his side of the bed. He was considering a suitable rejoinder when Nikolas added in the same neutral tone, “I was playing my mother’s music tonight, and then my son, my dead son, came to the door and said he was going to write a book about her. I think the earth has shifted on its axis, but I will be the only one who will see the implications of that movement, because there are no instruments fine enough to measure it except those in my mind.” Nikolas pulled Ben over to lay his head upon his chest. “Go to sleep. I need to think.”

  Ben slid his hand down Nikolas’s hard belly to see if he was likely to get any fun, but Nikolas caught and held it. Again, it wasn’t exactly the first time Nikolas had denied him, but it was a rare enough event to keep Ben awake for some time more.

  It had been a shock. He couldn’t deny that. But now that he’d had time to get used to the idea, Ben really couldn’t see that this latest event would affect the day-to-day running of their lives.

  Nikolas had a son. But he’d negated much that could or should come from that relationship by continuing the deception that he was merely an uncle. Twin of the father, sure, but, as he’d told Steven, not close. If in reality two brothers had not met since they were ten, almost forty years previous, how familiar would they be to each other? Less than friends chosen as adults, Ben suspected. He knew this from his own experience. He’d discovered a brother he hadn’t known existed, and there had been very little familial bond at all. He was far closer to his friends Tim and Squeezy than he’d ever been to John Redvers. So Steven would be the occasional visitor, perhaps. He’d ask questions about Nina, which Nikolas would answer with lies, but the deceit would be woven seamlessly through with occasional, verifiable truths, and then Nikolas would claim he’d only been ten when she’d died and he could remember nothing more of that time. Gradually, Stevie Sky would move on to something more profitable. How much interest could there be in a book about a long-forgotten Danish pianist?

  But, of course, Ben was missing the point. Nikolas couldn’t allow this biography to progress. It would naturally include reference to the pianist’s remaining son—perhaps even cover the death of the other.

  It was all starting again.

  He’d been a fool to tell Nikolas he could be a new man—as if you could shake off your past like a dog sloughs off seawater. Yesterday was a place you inhabited every single day and could never leave. Nikolas’s past hadn’t caught up to him again. He’d just turned around and bumped into its stalking presence.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Steven came back the next day.

  Ben had suspected he might.

  He’d clearly been invited.

  It was Nikolas’s house; he could do what he wanted, invite whomever he wanted. Clearly, he wanted to see Steven.

  Ben felt like punching something.

  Partially because, of course, when Steven was there, Ben suddenly and startlingly turned into a third wheel. But it was more than this. Nikolas had thought Ben would be gone for the day—Ben had told him this. He was going to spend the d
ay with Tim.

  He was more than a little irritated therefore to return, deciding to swap his bike for the car and include Radulf in the visit so Squeezy could talk to someone on his own intellectual level, to find Steven happily ensconced at the kitchen table with Nikolas. Father and son. Golden heads bowed over papers and photographs.

  Nikolas, clearly annoyed, straightened when Ben came in, an expression that was quickly whipped away. Ben was actually sure that had he not come in so quietly, thinking Nikolas was still in bed asleep, he’d not have caught the fleeting glance at all—that Nikolas would have flicked one of his masks on before he’d come into the kitchen. It was disconcerting to be the one Nikolas armoured up for. But then, Ben supposed, you didn’t have to put on any pretences with family. You just were.

  Nikolas and Steven could not have looked more natural together.

  It was decidedly awkward.

  Steven gave Ben a swift, penetrating assessment and nodded hello. Ben did the same, without the stare—he’d seen all he needed to know about Steven the previous night. He was a Nikolas-shell without Aleksey inside.

  Ben often thought that it was sensing Aleksey lurking beneath the Nikolas façade that had initially drawn him to the man so many years ago. It was definitely Aleksey that kept him in thrall now. In love. He meant in love.

  It occurred to him, as he had his back to the duo, swapping the keys over, that this was possibly why Nikolas had lied, by omission, about his son’s visit today. Perhaps Nikolas was jealous of Steven. Perhaps Nikolas had meant more by his comment she saved him than Ben had understood at the time. Did Nikolas see in Steven a good man, a normal man—a man he had not had the chance to become?

  Ben turned and leant on the counter, studying them.

  This was a distinct possibility, becoming more plausible the more he considered it. He flicked the kettle on. Such deep level of thought required tea.

  What must it be like to look at a younger version of yourself? A version without grey in the falling fringe, without scars on the face and the weary certainty of life’s hard lessons so clearly etched on every line and plane? What must it be like to see a version of yourself unsullied?

  Then another rather startling thought occurred to Ben.

  How would it be seeing that version of yourself next to your much younger boyfriend?

  Nikolas wasn’t obsessed about his age. But he also wasn’t entirely sanguine about it either. He made a joke about it occasionally. Ben teased him, calling him old man sometimes, which he wouldn’t if he thought Nikolas was genuinely bothered that he was a few birthdays away from being fifty.

  Ben made a mug of tea and sipped it thoughtfully.

  He’d always been the youngest in their relationship, obviously. How would it be to have Steven as a young boyfriend? Looking like Nikolas but young? Unblemished…Virginal?

  Ben had never considered having a younger partner. Even Kate had been older than him. Had he mentioned any of this to Nikolas, Nikolas would have come up with some theory about Ben looking for a surrogate parent. Even Natasha had seen some of this, terming Nikolas his daddy figure.

  Sleeping with a twenty-year-old Nikolas…

  Ben took another sip of his tea.

  Was Steven gay though?

  Did you have to be gay to sleep with other men? In Ben’s view you didn’t, but he knew he might be in a minority of one on that. Well, two. Evidently, Nikolas thought this too.

  What an interesting question to ponder.

  Was he—?

  “Ben?”

  Ben snapped back to the present to find Nikolas standing, considering him. Ben gave him a weak smile. He didn’t see why he had to. Nikolas hadn’t smiled at seeing him.

  Nikolas wanted Ben to follow him out into the hallway. Ben didn’t see why he had to do that either and slid into the seat Nikolas had vacated across the table from Steven.

  Steven glanced up from some photos, surprised. He wasn’t nearly as good at veiling his thoughts as his father. His father. Jesus. Ben hoped he was good at masking what he was thinking. He didn’t want Steven to guess anything that had been passing through his mind. Or Nikolas, come to that.

  He smirked and asked something relatively innocent. “Are you living in London?”

  Steven blinked. These Mikkelsen eyes were quite unlike Nikolas’s. Ben hadn’t noticed this before. He couldn’t remember what colour Kristina’s had been, but Steven’s had clearly been diluted from the family chocolate-amber to a weak hazel. He didn’t have Nikolas’s dark eyelashes either. Steven’s were blond and only visible when he closed his eyes. He was…watered down.

  “I’m staying in an old family house. I’d like my own place, but rents are so high here.”

  Ben gazed pointedly at Nikolas. Nikolas was staring at him. Ben genuinely couldn’t read him. If Nikolas wanted Steven to stay for a while, he would have offered. They had three spare bedrooms, for Christ’s sake. Ben wrinkled his nose a little at Nikolas. Nikolas made his gesture once more that he wanted Ben to follow him out of the room.

  Ben narrowed his eyes but did as he’d been asked.

  Nikolas didn’t stay in the hallway but went into the sitting room, shutting the door. “Jennifer has accepted our invitation to Devon.”

  “What invitation? I only thought of it last night!”

  “Yes, and it was a very good idea, so I called early this morning and put it to her. She said yes.”

  “Well, good. We—”

  “I might be tied up here for a few days. Jackson and I need to meet with some people about our safe houses in Moscow. Go down on your own, and I’ll join you as soon as they arrive.”

  “You’re—”

  “I feel obliged to help Stefan for a few days, too. Pictures…possibly some recordings I have.”

  “Obliged to help Steven.”

  Nikolas frowned. “Yes, that is what I said.”

  Ben glanced toward the closed door. “Nik, he’s your fucking son! Is that all you can say? Obliged to help?”

  “What do you want me to say? He’s a complete stranger. I have no belief in blood as a connection between people. My family blood never did me much good.” Nik turned away then back suddenly, seizing Ben’s wrist. “This is the blood that binds me. Not his.”

  Ben blinked and looked down at Nikolas’s hand upon his scar, Nikolas’s own branding much fainter, but visible. He lifted his eyes back up and licked his lips.

  There was one moment. One moment when he thought Nikolas would tell him what was going on behind those infuriatingly remote, brown eyes. Ben began to ask him, but it was as if shutters came down between them.

  Nikolas nodded brusquely. “Leave soon, there is much to do to prepare for Molly Rose’s visit.” He backed away a step and then returned to the kitchen.

  Ben sat heavily on the sofa.

  Nikolas never mentioned the bathroom in the cabin. He just didn’t.

  Even in the bad time recently, when he’d cracked open and all his pain had come flooding out, Nikolas hadn’t spoken of Denmark and what Ben had done. But now he’d brought it up as casually as discussing Molly Rose’s visit.

  Something was very badly wrong, but Ben had absolutely no idea what it was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben went home that afternoon, and Molly and her grandparents arrived three days later. Ben had called Nikolas repeatedly to tell him when they were expected, but Nikolas’s phone was often engaged, and when he did reply he repeated his promise to be there.

  An hour before the visitors arrived, Nikolas called Ben to say he’d been delayed, that something important had come up and that he’d try to make it down before they left.

  Ben was abandoned with his daughter, Kate’s parents, and a visit he hadn’t organised.

  § § §

  Ben’s suitability to be a father to Molly Rose clearly went up in Jennifer Armstrong’s estimation as her husband pulled the car up on the gravel outside the house.

  She couldn’t help it—she was middle class. It was
in her DNA to be impressed by what she would consider to be landed wealth.

  Ben didn’t take his home for granted, but he’d grown accustomed to it. It no longer struck him as some out-of-this-world architectural wonder. He supposed he fell uneasily between working class—what he’d been brought up as by his dad in their council house in Yorkshire—and upper class, the family he’d been born into. Neither of these left him impressed by landed wealth.

  He watched, therefore, with a small, uncharacteristic sliver of smugness as Jennifer lifted Molly out of her baby seat and stood regarding the acres of glass in front of her, her gaze roaming over the immaculate lawns and the tennis court, the stables in the distance, the woods and, of course, the tor dominating the whole valley, with part of the structure thrusting from it, anchored only by tension cables.

  Ben’s cache rose even more when Jennifer saw the inside—not evidence of his wealth, but the care he’d taken to get the place ready for Molly Rose. He’d installed a gate across the walkway and the swim lane. It was the only bit of DIY he’d ever done, and he was inordinately proud of his carpentry skills—obviously, he’d had to use oak. Nikolas would possibly have had a stroke if he’d seen plastic in the house.

  He’d also given some thought to Molly’s sleeping arrangements and had gone to Exeter and bought her a cot, complete with every item of bedding the young woman in the shop had assured him he would need, and then he’d assembled it in the room next to the largest guest suite where her grandparents would sleep. Nothing in the baby shop had sparked the least bit of interest in Ben. He couldn’t wait to get out of the place and had promised himself a visit to the local motorcycle showroom to cheer himself up afterwards. Just as he was leaving, however, he’d seen a display of cot mobiles. Instead of cute, brightly coloured animals, one had little Viking longboats hanging beneath it. He saw Viking longboat and immediately thought, Nikolas. He’d bought it.

  When the cot was assembled and ready, he’d hung the mobile.