Conscious Decisions of the Heart

by John Wiltshire

  “She should ring the police. Do you want me to come?”

  “You want to have conversations with the police?”

  “Ah, no, not particularly. Who am I today? I’ve forgotten. But take the dog. He’s good at barking at nothing.”

  § § §

  When Ben got to the house, the police were already there. There were no footprints in the snow, but it had been snowing heavily. The house was well shuttered and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Ben chatted to the inspector for a while and told him he was staying the night. There was not much else anyone could do. Ingrid, now slightly embarrassed at her initial panic, made light of the whole situation and demanded Ben return home when it was light. He noticed she didn’t suggest he leave that night. He went around the whole property after the police left, checking it was secure. It was still snowing heavily.

  He rang Nikolas to tell him his plan to stay the night with Ingrid. “You gonna be okay?” It occurred to him that without another car Nikolas was rather trapped. It was a little redundant therefore to ask him, but he was considerate like that.

  “I’ll cope.” Nikolas rang off. That was abrupt, even for him.

  Ben tapped the phone against his lips for a moment, debating phoning him back, but he wasn’t the one who’d been rude. He didn’t feel so bad about the car now.

  He sat with Ingrid watching one of their favourite shows, and Ingrid chastised him for not practising his Danish enough with Aleksey. Ben didn’t point out they practised plenty, just not vocabulary he could demonstrate to her.

  In the morning, Ingrid insisted Ben return home. She’d called her son in Copenhagen, and he was sending his oldest teenage son to stay with her for the Christmas holiday. Ben decided to leave Radulf at the house with her until the boy arrived. She assured him it wasn’t necessary; he said he didn’t want the dog anymore and if she didn’t take him he’d have him put down. She smiled faintly at his joke but then seemed pleased to agree Radulf should stay.

  § § §

  When Ben returned home the following afternoon, he was surprised to find Nikolas chopping wood. Other than making the occasional cup of coffee, Nikolas did nothing useful around the house at all. He didn’t understand the concept of laundry, having used a service his whole adult life. He refused to cook, claiming it was women’s work. Housework of any kind was included in this dismissal. He occasionally liked to drive the car but was always surprised it ran out of fuel and furious if it did this when he was driving. Ben sometimes wondered what life in the Russian Special Forces was like, but clearly it wasn’t much like life in the British version. He’d been taught to iron at sixteen, and cleaning meant taking the faceplates off wall sockets and scrubbing the screw holes with his toothbrush. He’d slept on the floor in a sleeping bag for the first year of his army service so his bed remained inspection perfect. Living with Nikolas had always been something of a strain, therefore. Ben tried to remember that having been married to royalty, albeit minor royalty, Nikolas had expectations of his staff. What riled him slightly was Nikolas now appeared to consider him staff. To see Nikolas, therefore, stripped to the waist, chopping wood, with an open bottle of vodka beside him, was something of a revelation. To see he cut wood effortlessly and better than he did was extremely annoying. He put it down to Nikolas’s Scandinavian heritage and tried not to take it too personally.

  Nikolas stopped when Ben climbed out of the car. He slammed the axe into the block, picking up his shirt and the vodka. “How is she?”

  “I don’t think there was anyone, but I’ve left Radulf with her.”

  “No burglar is safe. Did you leave his blankie with him?”

  “He’s not gay, and, yes, I did leave his blanket. He doesn’t like to sleep without it.”

  “So…” Nikolas caught him around the waist. “I’ve been neglected. I’m…restive…”

  Ben kissed him slowly, easing his lips to Nikolas’s ear. “I think you’re drunk, which is a shame, because we’re going for a run.”

  § § §

  Ben took pity on him and only did a five-mile jog through the forest tracks. It was totally flat, so it was hardly a run at all. Nikolas complained the whole way, finding any excuse to stop, checking his shoelaces, pointing out where the snow was too deep for safety, and generally making sure he didn’t need to break into a sweat or breathe deeply. Consequently, they were both freezing and shivering when they got back. Ben immediately stripped and eased himself into the hot tub. Nikolas took the time to fetch another bottle of vodka and two glasses before joining him. Ben wasn’t used to hot tubs, and the whole sitting outside in the snow thing still fascinated him. He watched the flakes dissolving in the bubbling water with total concentration until a foot landed between his outstretched thighs. Nikolas handed him a glass of vodka.

  Ben frowned. “Haven’t you had enough?” Nikolas mumbled something. Ben raised his eyebrows. “Did you just call me a pussy?”

  “We don’t have a word for pussy in Danish.” Nikolas was obviously confident Ben couldn’t contradict him on this, and while Ben was struggling to see if he could remember anyone teaching him this word, which was unlikely as his main language teachers had been an elderly primary school teacher and an almost equally old librarian, Nik added with a smirk, “I’ll have to make you drink. Perhaps it’s time for you to learn some Russian games, Benjamin. If I can name one thing you’ve done I haven’t, then you must take a drink.”

  Ben pursed his lips. “I’ve not done anything you haven’t done a hundred times worse. Don’t be ridiculous.” He had the distinct impression Nikolas hadn’t just thought of this game, and that, in fact, it wasn’t actually a game at all. It flicked across his mind that maybe Nikolas had been more put out by his overnight absence than he’d let on—and hence the curt dismissal the previous night. Incredible as it seemed, Ben now realised that Nikolas believed he’d not gone to Ingrid’s at all. Studying Nikolas now, he was pretty sure there had been steady drinking all night and Nikolas had worked himself into believing he was being cheated on with a large-breasted woman. It was too ludicrous to dignify with an explanation. He was about to climb out of the tub and leave him to his drunken, Russian games when Nikolas murmured slyly, “So, you chicken out like typical British SAS.”

  Ben sat back in the water. “Did you seriously just say that?”

  Nikolas shrugged. “Who won the war?”

  “What war?”

  “Ack.” Nikolas made one of his dismissing gestures. “So, we play?” He considered Ben carefully then said with some confidence, “I’ve never fucked my married boss.”

  Ben gave him a look then nodded slowly. He was right, not a game at all. He took a swallow of vodka. “I’ve never committed adultery with a male employee.”

  Nikolas shrugged and drank. “Too easy. I’ve never kissed and then tried to fuck a professor of ethics.”

  Ben gave him an even longer look then drank. “I’ve never buried my brother in sand up to his neck and left him to the tide.”

  Nikolas laughed, clearly very pleased with himself, but drank. “I’ve never worn women’s clothing.”

  Ben’s eyes widened. “I have never fucking―”

  “Don’t swear at me, and you had to put on a burqa in Iran to get to the airport.”

  “That’s not―”

  “Do men wear burqas? I think not. Drink up.”

  “I’ve never taken illegal drugs.” Nikolas narrowed his eyes, pouted, and then drank under protest. But he added in a surly undertone, “You’ve never been in prison, you wouldn’t understand.” He tipped his head to one side, theatrically thinking. “I’ve never starred in a porn movie.”

  “Fuck off! I was undercover for you!” Nikolas pointed at Ben’s glass and mimed drinking. Ben did then with a scowl retorted, “I’ve never shot a woman.”

  Nikolas stilled his hand. He looked down at the water, considering, but then drank.

  Ben wasn’t pleased to have had this guess confirmed. He liked this game less and less.
He was tempted to reassure Nikolas he’d only been at Ingrid’s and get him to call Ingrid to confirm, but something, some sliver of pride, held him back.

  Nikolas stirred the water for a while then said, “I’ve never set fire to someone and watched them burn.”

  “I didn’t watch.” Ben drank. “I’ve never just inherited every thing I have.”

  Nikolas waved his glass in an irritating fashion and drank. “I’ve never slept with a prostitute.”

  Ben laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Nikolas shrugged. “Drink.”

  Ben did. “I’ve never murdered a child.”

  Nikolas was pouring them both more vodka. His hand shook slightly, but he dutifully drank. Ben really didn’t want to play this game any more. He was just about to end it, even if Nikolas did call him a pussy again, when Nik drawled deceptively casually, “I’ve never allowed someone to tie me up and hit me.”

  Ben didn’t take a drink. He couldn’t believe Nikolas had just said this. His wrists and ankles were still raw from Nikolas’s game, Nikolas’s will—Nikolas’s pleasure. And to be accused of…to have it implied he was somehow weak for allowing the very thing Nikolas wanted…For allowing it. His head was swimming. He felt sick. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I’ve never fucked my twin brother.”

  Nikolas stared at the bubbles as if he hadn’t heard this then looked off into the trees. He tipped his head slightly as if he’d finally heard but was trying to process the actual words, and then he shot out of the water and grabbed his towel. Ben followed, the water sloshing heavily over the side of the tub. Nikolas swung around, pointing. “You don’t get to say that. Whatever you are.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I―What the fuck do you mean, whatever I am?”

  “You’ll never understand, and I don’t think I want to explain it to you.”

  Ben froze on the implication of Nikolas’s words. “You did? I was only trying to fuck you around, to get back at you for saying―My God, Nik, when? You fucked your brother?”

  Their teeth were chattering. Ben grabbed Nikolas’s arm. The deck was icy. As Nikolas wrenched away, Ben slipped. He still had hold of the arm, though, so they both went off into the snowdrift. Naked, they staggered to their feet. “That’s what he accused you of, isn’t it? Before he fell—before you pushed him? It was nothing to do with that street boy. You killed him because he reminded you that―!”

  “Stop it! I don’t want to talk about this!”

  Ben began to speak again, but Nikolas swung his fist. Ben went down. It was just as well Nikolas was painfully drunk, it was a clumsy shot. Even so, the blood dripping from Ben’s split lip was shockingly red in the frozen white world. He lumbered to his feet and landed heavily on Nikolas, thumping him down into the snow. They rolled, wrestling, scrabbling to try and gain purchase and swinging fists ineffectually. Finally, Nikolas kneed Ben in the balls and rolled on top of him. Before Ben could stop retching, Nikolas grabbed his thighs, parted them and forced himself in. Ben was beyond furious and tried to push him off, but Nikolas laughed and held him down, finally proving which one of them would win a fight purely by the fact he was willing to do things in a struggle Ben wasn’t. He came very quickly and with very little pleasure. There was certainly no pleasure for Ben because Nikolas had deliberately not taken time to bring him off or allow him to work himself. They’d had far more vicious sex only the night before, but that had been in an entirely different context. They both knew who was really in control when Nikolas wanted to play his games. Being fucked in the snow didn’t seem like much of a game to Ben. He pushed Nikolas off, still feeling sick from the hit to the balls and from the vodka—which suddenly came up in a rush. He vomited into the snow, spitting. Nikolas stood slowly alongside him. He staggered slightly, still under the influence of the vodka himself, and Ben was damn sure now Nikolas had been plastered well before he’d arrived.

  He crawled to his feet, shivering so badly he couldn’t speak. Nikolas put out a hand, but Ben jerked his arm away. He walked slowly back into the house and to the shower. He stood under the stream for a very long time until the hot water ran out. He should never have said what he did. It wasn’t for him to wrench Nikolas’s secrets out as if he were extracting a bad tooth without anaesthetic. He lifted his face to the water, even though it was cold, and then knew he had to make this right.

  He dried off and dressed in some jeans and a sweater and went down to make peace. Nikolas wasn’t in yet. He frowned; Nikolas only had a towel, and it was still snowing heavily. He went outside. The tub was empty. The car was still there. He trudged through the snow to the woodpile, but Nikolas wasn’t there either. He went up on the deck and scanned the whole area up to the forest. He could barely see his bright blood, for it was now almost covered by snow. His footprints were fully covered. It was turning into a blizzard.

  He must have missed Nik inside, which would’ve been difficult as there was only one room up and one room down. Even so, he went back in and searched. Nikolas’s clothes were on the sofa, but no Nikolas. Ben began to take it seriously. Up to then, he’d thought it was Nikolas just…being Nikolas. He grabbed a coat and a flashlight and went back into the snow. He called out, wishing he had Radulf. He went back to the last place he’d seen him standing in the snow and examined it carefully. The blood was almost totally obscured. On closer examination, there appeared to be two splatters. He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened when Nikolas had hit him. He put his fingers to his lip. It wasn’t bleeding now, it hadn’t been a very hard hit and wouldn’t have bled that much. With the flashlight and squatting close to the snow, he thought he could see signs of impact, but then they’d fallen and rolled and wrestled, and he’d been fucked, so he reckoned there would be some signs. He looked up. There was no sound at all. The snow seemed to suck everything from the air. He bellowed Nikolas’s name but heard nothing in reply.

  He had absolutely no idea what to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ben had the phone in his hand before he realised firstly he didn’t know the number for the police in Denmark and secondly he couldn’t call them, Nikolas didn’t exist legally. He ran up to the bedroom and searched through Nik’s bag until he found a plane ticket for a Christian Beck. He rang Kate instead of the police. She took at least four rings to answer. “Where were you?”

  “Just about to go down on James Caviezel. Where were you?”

  “What?”

  “Ben! I was asleep. I was dreaming, thank you very much. My one chance, and now he’s probably going to go all Jesus Christ on me again.”

  “What? Kate, Nik has disappeared. He’s been taken, I think. I don’t know.”

  “What? Fuck. Where are you?”

  “In Denmark still, but I need you to do a check on one of his aliases, Christian Beck. Is it good? If I call the police, will it hold up?”

  “Jesus, Ben, give me some credit, yeah? I wrote all his aliases. Christian is a particular favourite of mine. He’s an art dealer.”

  “Nikolas came here from Russia on Aeroflot 2658 on the twenty-eighth of November. Can you check his flight out from London, get details on what he’s been doing in Russia officially as Christian?”

  “I’m at my mum’s, Ben! Hello? Christmas? I’ll be able to get home in about two hours. I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay? Anything else?”

  “Oh, God, I don’t know! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, he had no clothes on, we had this big argument, and now he’s just gone!”

  “Is this anything to do with the message he left on my phone earlier? To check a number for him?”

  “I don’t know! What was the number?”

  She told him and then added, “He sent it from your phone.”

  Ben cursed. “No, that was an argument we had earlier.”

  “Uh-huh. As interesting as the image of Sir Nikolas standing stark-bollock naked in the snow and arguing with you is—and it’s almost better than my last image of Jim Caviezel—
you maybe want to think about not arguing so much?”

  Ben wasn’t in the mood for anything but his rising panic. “Call me back as soon as you can, yeah?”

  It was the longest three hours of his life. Eventually, she called back. “It’s good, Ben. He flew out of London as Christian, too. I’ve boosted up his profile in Russia, had him at some art galleries and the like. Christian is Danish by nationality, so no problems with a foreign national going missing. He’s not lived in Denmark for about twenty years, and his profile here in London is rock-solid. He’ll be good to go.”

  “Okay, thanks.”