“This is...er...” Good Lord, how was he supposed to introduce Joachim? This is the massive man who left me with a raging erection all day after fucking me till I squealed?
He shouldn’t have even allowed the words to cross his mind because he’d often suspected Barley could interpret his thoughts and right then, his friend’s eyes flashed wide and he looked like he’d heard a wonderful joke.
“How do you do? I’m Ainsley’s friend, Joachim Cockburn.” Joachim extended his hand.
Ah, yes. Friend worked, too. Though the definition of the word presumed that there would be a follow-up encounter, and that wasn’t likely as things stood presently. Perhaps Joachim would find a reason to head back north.
Or, perhaps it would be a brotherly sort of thing to swing down to visit Stuart in Durham sometime. Stuart would be shocked—Ainsley’d never done such a thing before, but there was no reason he couldn’t.
Barley gave Joachim the same genuinely friendly greeting, and it was plain to see that even Mr. Science-or-Die was charmed. Ainsley narrowed his eyes. Joachim better not be too charmed.
“You look quite like that film star.” Joachim snapped his fingers three times in a row. “What’s his name?” He appealed to Ainsley, whose nostrils flared.
“John Gilbert?” Fucking hell, perhaps Barley did, but Joachim saying it wasn’t as entertaining as when other people pointed it out.
He was thought to be a handsome chap as well, even if he didn’t look like anyone famous, which was annoying. Hmm. Maybe somewhere, some dashing young thing was told he looked like the foolish professor who’d tossed his career away? But still dressed very well.
Clearing his throat, Barley gestured for them to sit, which was awkward because the only chairs were arranged with two on one side and one on the other. Though circles didn’t really have sides. Halves. Two on one half and one on the other, set up for divination.
Joachim didn’t look put out and sat along with Barley, almost like a conspiracy to leave him the odd man out.
Bugger them both.
Only that made Barley give him a startled look followed by a disapproving frown.
“Darling, you’re being something of a prat—”
“Yes, Mama, I know. Go away.” Because, of course, she’d be the first to pile on.
“Are you all right?” Joachim scanned his face as if looking for flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He leaned the walking stick against the table. Or perhaps Joachim needed to sit after those bloody cobblestones? Ainsley really was being a numpty.
But dear Lord, that beard still grabbed him by the balls every single time. Well, obviously the beard itself couldn’t grab as it had no hands. Beard with hands? Not a pleasant thought.
“Fine, thank you.” He dragged his gaze from the handsome man next to him—before he tackled him to the ground and gave him what for—and smiled at Barley, who’d done absolutely nothing wrong. “Have you seen Hugh?”
Fucking hell, did Cockburn growl? If so, he ought to do it more often. It suited him. God, yes, right into my neck while he fucks me.
“Oh, I have, Ainsley.” Barley rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin like he was posing for still shots. “But he’s taken a gentleman boarder.” His slightly bulging eyes—and they were fair to call bulging even though prominent was more polite—crinkled in sadness.
Ainsley really was an abominably shitty friend, wasn’t he? He’d stop thinking horrible things about Barley, who deserved nothing but kindness. “A gentleman boarder? I thought you said he lives with his mother?”
“He does. Now they both do. And he’s...” Barley flicked his focus to Joachim and then back to Ainsley.
“Speak freely.” Ainsley waved away Barley’s concerns. Cockburn appreciated a fat prick as much as he and Barley did.
With a tight nod, Barley took a breath. A deep one. “Fucking hell, the gentleman boarder’s strapping, Ainsley. How can it be borne?”
This was an excellent reason it would never do to fall in love with someone. Because if they took up with someone else, what was there to do besides throw live grenades into their front windows?
Lifting his cup, Barley took a slurp of his tea and then crashed it down again. It was a wonder the man had any crockery, whatsoever. “Can I fix you two something? The kettle’s still warm.”
Joachim shook his head, which meant that Ainsley would be rude to say yes, so he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair and eyed Barley’s tea. Because now that he was denied it, he wished for some.
“Perhaps you could still do me that favor?” Barley pushed the fragrant tea toward Ainsley as an offering.
He inhaled. Barley didn’t use plain tea; he mixed his own blend, which sounded like a waste of time unless one sniffed it. Ainsley lifted the cup and sipped. Divine. “Which favor?”
Barley sighed. Ainsley forever made people sigh. It made him sigh. “Hugh told me that he’d been down to London to fetch Manish—that’s the bloody boarder’s name—and bring him back, which is why he wasn’t around town for so long.”
Ah, right. He was supposed to determine if Hugh might be amenable to sucking Barley’s cock.
“Gracious, he already knew Manish, is it? Before he became the gentleman boarder?”
Glum, Barley nodded. “Old chums. They grew up together in India. He’s a barrister, too.” Barley tapped the table and Ainsley woke back up. “But he did ask if perhaps he could reschedule having supper at your house sometime. I said he was welcome to invite Manish—God, I loathe the man already—and I hope you don’t mind that I accepted without checking, but I said it would work well on Saturday evening around five. At Rosethorne. Tell me you aren’t cross.”
He could already feel the champagne bubbling up his sinuses. “Not even for a moment. I’ll be giving a dinner party Saturday for Hugh? Delightful. You know I adore parties.”
Barley grinned and reached to a shelf behind him. He pulled his cards from a purple velvet sack and started to shuffle. “Mr. Cockburn, would you like me to do a reading? On the house, as you’re Ainsley’s particular friend.”
Ainsley’s ears caught fire. Bugger—he didn’t blush. But fuck; they were warm. And his cheeks. Cockburn was not his particular friend. Bloody outrageous.
“No, I don’t think so, though that is a generous offer.” Joachim scooted his chair back a fraction as if the cards might come out and attack him if he sat too close.
Splaying the cards in a fan, Barley pushed them under Joachim’s nose. “Not a believer, Mr. Cockburn? I understand, but humor me and pick out three cards from anywhere in the stack.”
Barley really must be some sort of mesmerist. It would be lovely to learn his tricks and be able to say, “Bend me over the table and bring me off me this time, Cockburn,” and the Geordie would do it. Just like he picked out three cards and laid them on the table without any arguing.
Joachim picked up the one Ainsley was most drawn to, as well. He’d looked at it recently, and it was almost pornographic with two nude figures entwined in a way that hid their genitals but still let you know they were using them. “Are these hand-painted?”
“They are.” Barley made money on the side as an artist.
“Is it a man and a woman?” Joachim turned the card as if the angle might show him something more detailed. Ainsley snorted.
“Does it matter?” asked Barley in that exasperating way he had sometimes. “They’re the lovers. I suppose that might be self-explanatory?”
Oh, it had been hours since Joachim blushed, and now he pinked all over and made some odd sensation swirl in Ainsley’s belly.
“Er...well...” Joachim set the card back in its place and cleared his throat. “This doesn’t look very pleasant.” He tapped the next one.
Dear God, it didn’t. A tower breaking apart and crashing into a sea of fire. Ainsley ran his finger under his co
llar. He couldn’t remember exactly what that one meant but from the looks of the image, not a holiday in Southend-on-Sea.
“Massive upheaval, with many things lost along the way.” Barley sighed. “Not a pleasant experience, but can make it worthwhile at the end. Take heart, because this tempers it a bit.” He stroked the third card with his fingertip. Ten goblets arced across the sky like a rainbow with a house underneath.
Barley swept the cards back off the table and slid them into their bag. “It’s a shame neither of you is interested in my interpretation of what this might mean, but I guess you’re visiting for some other reason?”
Joachim scowled. Ha. Ainsley wouldn’t be too much of a tease about knowing what the cards meant, too. Er...except the meaning of that one escaped him then, as well.
But he did remember why they were there. “I wished to know if you would introduce Mr. Cockburn to Lizzie.” He drank the last sip of tea.
“Do you now?” Barley flipped the cup over so it was upside down on the saucer. “Come along, then.”
Bugger, he’d tricked Ainsley into having his bloody tea leaves read. The bastard. After that time that he’d done it years before and seen the crabs that he couldn’t explain, and then Ainsley came down with those creatures...well, he’d not had much faith in them.
Though really, that had proved them right, hadn’t it?
“Do we?” Joachim stood with the others and grasped Ainsley’s sleeve. “Who’s Lizzie?”
Ainsley would have shaved a year off his life if he could have kissed Joachim right then, though that wasn’t the sort of impulse he’d had much experience with. “She’s Barley’s ghost who lives upstairs.”
Chapter Fifteen
Joachim
Alec Barley was a nutter. A friendly one who was nearly as handsome as...actually, that wasn’t true. He was good-looking, but not in that supernatural way Ainsley was. No one was as marvelous to look at as Ainsley.
Joachim was the last to reach the top of the steps to the flat where Barley made his home as he’d had to use the stick after that blasted hike up the city on foot.
Walls were covered in scarves and tapestries, small statues and postcards were tucked into every available space, and there was a delicious smell of something like spicy strawberries that hung in the air.
He’d be happy to curl up with a book and stay all day.
“Cockburn’s hoping to prove that I’m mad, Barley. Can you believe I’m being so kind to him?” Ainsley toed off his black wingtips and elbowed Joachim to do the same.
He bent and unlaced his shoes and prayed there wasn’t a hole in his sock. Dear, dear; there was. He wiggled to get it between his toes so it wasn’t so noticeable.
“I’m not trying to prove anything like that, Dr. Graham.” Because at this point, his guess was that Ainsley’s brain fidgets gave him the outward appearance of eccentricity, but he’d not done anything else that could be considered actual incompetence of any kind. Just a highly overactive imagination that led him to believe in ghosts.
“Do you live alone?” he asked, pointing to the bed tucked behind the sofa.
Barley and Ainsley shared a look full of humor.
“You might say, but it would be a wee bit awkward if I used the bedroom when company comes over.” Barley beckoned him over to an open door and gestured for Joachim to peek.
A small girl of perhaps seven sat on the floor with some toys—a rag doll and some four-legged creature that may have been a dog or an elephant. Joachim frowned. She sang a song low enough that he couldn’t catch the words.
“Is she yours?”
Barley shrugged. “She is now. This is Lizzie.”
At the sound of her name, the girl looked up and grinned.
Joachim’s stomach tossed. On the side of her neck was a small black pustule. Like the buboes he’d seen on pictures of plague victims. He clapped his hand over his mouth and, not managing to stifle his grin, Ainsley pointed him to the toilet.
He didn’t get sick, but it was close. He splashed water on his face. It’s a hoax, obviously. Barley was, after all, passing himself off as a psychic.
Feeling a bit of a fool, he strode back into the bedroom, where Ainsley sat cross-legged on the floor and spoke to the...whatever she was...in a low voice, not quite looking at her, but to her left. No surprise that he was hyping up the situation to be more than it could possibly be.
“This building wasn’t around when the plague last was in Edinburgh, surely,” he said to Barley.
“Och, nay, but this was built over top of the close where so many victims died. I suppose she got bored down there and moved up.”
Joachim nodded as if that made perfect sense. Because it did, in a nonsensical logical way.
Ainsley gestured for Cockburn to sit with him, which was hard because of his ankle, but not impossible. There was nothing very...spectral...about the girl. She appeared to be flesh and bone. Perhaps she was an actor? It’s not like Graham was low on funds to pay for such an extravagance.
Yes. An actor. “Tell me, Lizzie—where are your parents?” He could play along.
But that bubo was some artifice.
“Da was gone yesterday, dead, and Mam’s in there.” She pointed to the wall.
“Sorry to hear that.” He was at a loss. What condolences did one give to a fake ghost child, after all?
“Can we count this as number two, Cockburn?” Ainsley stood with ease and straightened his waistband right at Joachim’s line of vision.
Taking Ainsley’s hand to rise, Joachim shrugged. “I don’t mean to be rude, but she could be playacting, couldn’t she?” He kept his eyes on Ainsley’s for any sort of embarrassment for being caught out.
There was none. Just a rise in temper when Ainsley narrowed his eyes hard enough so the thick lashes might knot at their bases. “So you do see someone?”
Joachim nodded. She was right there.
Graham really was delicious to look at. “Lizzie?”
“Yes?” asked the girl.
With a deep sigh as though he couldn’t believe he was asking, Ainsley asked, “Would you mind doing that thing that people who can see you need to see to believe?” He poked Joachim in the gut. “Watch carefully.”
As Joachim kept his eyes on the girl, she shimmered a little and then was gone.
A film projector? Mirrors, perhaps? But he’d touched her shoulder and she’d been there. Possibly a trapdoor of some kind?
“Please feel free to look for whatever might make your small mind more accepting that this isn’t a game.”
“I wish it were a joke. I might be able to use my bedroom for its proper use.” Barley’s voice behind them was mournful. “But she will pop back in without any warning and more than once...well, let’s say, she frightened a few gentlemen callers.”
“But if you’re so unconvinced that you wish to see another place where it’s said to be haunted, I can take you to where there’s a ghost of a traitor whose guts hang out when he walks.” Ainsley stood the same way he had a few mornings back when he dropped his kilt, and Joachim struggled to follow what he was saying. He examined his fingernails and then picked one to chew. “It’s terrifically morbid.”
When had things gotten so complicated? He ran his finger along the wall and felt nothing that could be concealing a mirror. Squinted at the electric light fixture on the ceiling and...nothing. How? Because only loony people saw ghosts. That’s what his very religious father always insisted.
And he wasn’t a loon. He was a science-minded individual who would riddle this out.
Joachim checked his wristwatch. Half six. “I choose no. Let’s go for a drink instead. Please don’t be offended, but I’ve seen enough strange sights for one day.”
Barley touched his elbow. “You ken that being close to death can open up the mind’s eye to psychic visions, don’t you?
I assume you were in the war?”
Joachim’s throat went tight. Could it be possible that science couldn’t explain everything? That would put a damper on his thesis—all his research, into the rubbish bin. He peered at Dr. Graham, who, other than a complete air of angry arrogance, didn’t show any signs of lying.
So perhaps Joachim would have to follow in Ainsley’s footsteps and admit that ghosts and things that lived in highland hedges might be...some type of psychic phenomenon? That’d mean he’d throw away all his years of studying, like Ainsley. Laughed out of academia before he even got in. Intolerable thought.
Poor Ainsley truly must have been confident that the ghosts were real to give up so much instead of retracting. He offered Ainsley his arm and gave it a warm squeeze. How dreadful to be wrong.
Barley whistled as he made his way down the stairs, but Joachim held his companion back. “I’m not sure how you’ve conjured that girl out of the room like that, but it does make me wonder. I hope we can continue to look for these spirits of yours over the next day or so?”
Graham swept his eyes up and down Joachim’s body, pausing once or twice. “You aren’t ready to leave?”
“I’ve not been able to conclude if you’re a devious trickster or an excellent actor.” Shrugging, Joachim pressed his hips against Ainsley’s. And if Lizzie was a ghost... Joachim wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Or mad as a hatter?” Ainsley was very good at looking down his nose at Joachim even though they were nearly the same height.
Joachim forced a laugh. “That’s definitely the most reasonable option, but I’m not sure that you are mad, Dr. Graham.”
“Christ. I can’t figure out why I’m even bothering to convince you. Twice now, you’ve seen something, and yet you behave as though there’s something wrong with me.” Ainsley twisted away and flounced down the steps in a rage.
Likely forgetting why he was angry when he got to the bottom, honestly.
And why was that so delightfully touching?
* * *
Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures) Page 11
