by Lily Morton
I expected to be bored by the conference, but it’s actually very interesting. It’s comprised of journalists and editors from the world’s press, and I sit sipping my drink and listening to the different languages being spoken around me. Max fits in seamlessly, and as I watch the men and women around him, I wonder how difficult it was for him to leave this. With hindsight, I’m able to recognise how stretched thin he’d been when we’d first met, like a part of him was always somewhere else.
When we ended, I’d presumed it was solely because of Ivo, but now I wonder whether a lot of his weariness was about leaving this life. It must have been like leaving a big chaotic family united by a common bond. I remember how Zeb once said Max was always searching for his own family.
The organiser announces Max, and I sit up straight, all thoughts leaving me as he saunters onto the stage. He’s predictably wonderful. He doesn’t seem to possess even a shred of nerves as he starts to talk, and within seconds, he has the audience in the palm of his hand, making them roar with laughter one minute and quiet with emotion the next. I notice many of them looking at him with affection and feel a sudden desperate pride. His performance is doubly impressive because he wrote this speech on the back of an envelope while we were on the train, and I was trying to beat him at backgammon.
Afterwards, everyone gets up and makes a beeline towards the bar, and I hover awkwardly, not sure what to do. Should I head to the bar myself, or wait for Max to come and get me?
“Hello.”
I turn to find a handsome man looking at me. He has brown hair swept back from a fine-boned face and very blue eyes.
“Hello,” I reply rather uncertainly.
“You’re with Max, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. He should be back soon,” I say, still unsure why he’s talking to me.
He looks me up and down, and I blink because it’s been a while since a stranger so methodically stripped me with the power of his eyes.
“That’s good,” he drawls, and I realise that he’s American. “I haven’t seen Max since Shanghai.”
“Oh, yes?” I say brightly, because call me cynical, but I’ve got a feeling where this conversation is going. This is one of Max’s conquests. I wait to feel the customary rage that for two and a half years has been my unacknowledged companion, but for the first time, it doesn’t come. I only want to laugh. “And when you say Shanghai, you don’t mean The Bund or the Yu Garden, do you? You actually just mean shagging him. Poor Max. I don't know where he gets his stamina from.”
He stares at me in astonishment and then laughs. “I can see why he was hovering over you like your ass was made of gold.”
“Was he?” I say startled.
He grins. “Yep. It was kind of scary, to be honest. I haven’t seen Max like that before.”
I jerk. “You haven’t?”
“Fuck no.” He winks. “And I’ve seen him in many permutations, if you get my meaning.”
“Like you’ve hit me over the head with it,” I say wryly.
He laughs again. He has an open cheeriness about him that I like. As if everything is a joke.
He edges closer. “I thought about asking for a repeat, to be honest. My boyfriend is here too, and he remembers Max and Ivo very fondly.”
“That Max. Such a bad boy.” I jerk. “Wait. Max and Ivo?”
He grins at me. “Have you met him? Lots of blond hair and attitude.”
“Only the once,” I say grimly. “But he certainly made an impression. So, you and your boyfriend and Max and Ivo all…?” I hesitate, looking for a polite word. I give up. “You all shagged, then?”
He laughs. “Like rabbits all night. It was wild.”
“And it was definitely with Ivo?” I’m a bit startled and I don’t know why.
“Of course. I remember it because that French accent was fucking sexy, and well, it was Max. He’s memorable all on his own.’
“He certainly is,” I say faintly. “Like a dose of the clap.” I hesitate. “Did they do that often?”
“Oh yeah.”
Someone shouts at him, and he grins at me and wanders off. I stare after him, thoughts roiling in my head. I’m astounded by that revelation. Max never shared me. Not that there’s anything wrong with sharing. I’ve been in many a threesome and had a wonderful time. But Max never made any attempt to do that despite us not being exclusive, and he’d had opportunities. I remember one night in a club when a bloke approached us while we were dancing. He wound himself around us, and I’d never seen Max move so quickly. We were out of the bloke’s boa constrictor grip and in a taxi within five minutes, and Max had fucked me hard that night.
I find myself wondering about the exact nature of Max’s relationship with Ivo, something I’ve never wanted to do before because I’ve always taken his declaration of love for Ivo with the same certainty as he’d proclaimed it.
I remember Zeb’s words after I’d left Max. At the time, Zeb’s insistence that Max had convinced himself he was in love with Ivo had rung as a hollow assurance, a salve for my hurt feelings. But maybe it wasn’t. There was nobody in the world who knew Max as well as Zeb.
“Hello.” A voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to see the large man who I remember Max pointing out as his old editor, Kevin. He’s easily six foot four and has a mane of silver hair pushed back from his face. His eyes are very clever-looking.
“Hello,” I say. “You’re Max’s old editor, aren’t you?”
His grin is full of charm. “The wrinkles and grey hair are all Max’s doing. I’m actually only twenty-three.”
I burst out laughing. “You have my sympathy,” I say solemnly. “I bet he was a bloody handful.”
“My own and several other people’s too,” he says wryly. “I’m surprised I never imploded what with dealing with him and Ivo.”
I smile at him. For some reason, Ivo’s name only gives me a slight pain, and I wonder why that is. “I bet it was worth it,” I say lightly.
He looks past me at the group of people surrounding a grinning Max. They’re laughing at something he’s saying, their faces full of light and humour.
“He was the best,” he says simply. “I’ll never have another like him or Ivo. They were a formidable team. Max had an eye for a story and could get anyone to talk, and Ivo took the most heartbreaking pictures. Beautiful and terrible, if you know what I mean?” He glances at me, and I nod. “Max was a fucker though. Ivo at least had some self-preservation, like a cat who knew exactly what he was doing and would end up on his feet. But Max would plunge headfirst into whatever was happening without a second’s thought. He was a fearless fucker.”
I think of him shaking after his nightmare on the Orient Express the other night and bite my lip. “Do you want him back?”
“I should say I’d have him back tomorrow, but I can’t.” I must look startled because he smiles. “Being a journalist teaches you after enough years that people are expendable, but I can’t feel like that about Max.” He shrugs. “I was relieved when they both retired.” He looks at Max, and a fond smile appears. “I was worried about Max, though for ages afterwards. Ivo retired first and seemed okay, but Max couldn’t seem to settle and kept trying to come back. I’ve seen it in so many journalists. They get addicted to the high-octane existence and can’t settle to normal life. I thought we’d lose him.”
I stiffen. “Why?”
“He was careless, drinking too much, not paying attention. Once Ivo left, he seemed lost. Like his mooring rope had snapped.”
“Are you still worried?” I hold my breath for his answer.
He laughs. “Nope. Not after the conversation I had with Connor yesterday.”
My brows furrow at the mention of Max’s agent. “Why?”
“Because Max is settled now, or nearly there.”
“He doesn’t appear to be even remotely settled.”
He grins at me. “I’ve known him since he was a lad and he’s definitely found his peace now. Ivo found h
is, and Max needed to do the same.”
“And what is it that’s given him peace?”
“Maybe you should ask who has given him peace,” he advises me. Someone calls his name. He offers me a genial smile and, after clapping me on the shoulder, he saunters off, leaving me alone with my mind teeming.
Max finds me a few minutes later. “Alright?” he asks.
“Yes, fine,” I say quickly. I eye him. “You were predictably not too terrible,” I say.
His laugh is loud and lovely, and several people around us smile.
“Ah, Felix, how I do live for your pearls of praise. They make everything worthwhile.”
I smile at him.
He scrutinizes my face, his eyes going dark. “Let’s go and get some food,” he says abruptly.
“Don’t you want to eat here?” I ask, startled. “I thought you’d want to tell old stories and meet your old mates.”
“Not many of those left now,” he says. “Not at these things. This is the new guard.”
“Does that make you feel sad?”
His eyes get a far-away look for a second. “No,” he says. “I actually feel rather proud of the contribution I made to cracking stories that really made a difference to ordinary people. But now it’s their time. I have other things to do. Important things.”
“Well, I suppose you do have to say that,” I say, deliberately offering a dig. He laughs and goes to move away, but I grab his arm. “I want you to know that I’m very proud of you.”
“What?” The word is almost breathless.
I nod, slightly nervous under his gaze. “I am. It isn’t easy to leave something you l-love.” I stumble over the words, and his eyes sharpen. “But you handled it with grace and dignity, and I don’t think you’ll ever stop being that rabble-rousing young man. You’ll never lose that big brain or your compassion for people who need help.”
His eyes search my face for a moment. Then, grabbing my hand, he pulls me quickly toward the conference room’s exit. We come to a stop in a deserted passageway that runs behind the lifts. Before I can catch my breath, he pulls me to him and kisses me fiercely, plunging his tongue into my mouth to twine around my own, one hand wrapped gently in my hair, his fingers scratching my scalp. When he pulls back, we’re both panting, and my cock throbs.
“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, resting his forehead against mine. “No one has ever said that to me.”
“Oh well, it’s nothing,” I say, trying to gather my dignity about me again.
“It’s everything because it came from you. No one sees me like you.”
His expression kills my usual go-to flippant comments. Instead, I nod and let him draw me out of the hotel and onto the streets of Venice. It’s cold now, and the biting wind carries a hint of rain. He keeps me close as he plunges down the narrow streets with the surety of a seasoned traveller.
He takes me to a small restaurant by the side of the Grand Canal where the owner greets him with hugs and kisses and a voluble explosion of Italian, which Max answers fluently. I stand to one side, feeling his hand resting possessively at my back. I suddenly realise that hand has been there most of the day. It’s a subtle gesture of ownership which should get my teeth up, but in actual fact just makes me want to nestle into him like a kitten. I feel like a snow globe that’s been shaken and now the scenery around me has taken on new shapes and a different atmosphere. I don’t know whether to be scared or ecstatic. The flip-flop in my belly says it’s a whirling mixture of the two.
Max steers me to a table by the water, and we seat ourselves. There’s a patio heater by the table, and I scoot close to it gratefully. Max grabs his jacket, and I protest as he offers it to me.
“Don’t be silly, Max. It’s freezing.”
He shakes his head and wraps it around my shoulders, and despite my protests, I nestle into the expensive fabric. It’s hot from his body and smells of him. When I look up, he’s watching me with a fond expression.
“That’s one of the principal things I remember about being with you,” he says casually, taking the menu from the waiter with a smile. “You were always freezing. When we lay in bed, your feet were like blocks of ice.”
“What an evocative memory,” I sniff. “What else do you recall? Heartburn and trapped wind?”
He starts to laugh but then sobers. “Oh, did you want to talk about us? I remember you said you wanted to talk.”
“Not about silly memories.”
“They’re not silly,” he bursts out, suddenly agitated and totally unlike his usual self. He leans forward. “They’re all I have left of you, and if I want to remember cold feet, snark, and silly dares that made me laugh until my ribs hurt, then that’s what I’ll do. Along with the fact that I get hard every time I enter a bookshop which is a bit of a fucking inconvenience given my job.”
Without any warning, I burst into laughter. “You get hard in bookshops?”
His eyes dance with mirth. “Every. Single. Time.” Laughter dies away to be replaced with heat and a foreign emotion I try to pretend I haven’t seen. “You’ve ruined me,” he says in an almost conversational tone.
“Many men have said so,” I say, trying desperately to find the flippancy I seem to have lost lately.
“Don’t talk about your other men,” he snaps, agitated again.
“Oh, really?” Anger stirs in me. “You of all people have the nerve to say that to me? Max of a billion beds. You’re a fucking dog in the manger, Max.”
He leans forward, his gaze fierce. “I have every right. I’m the man who’s in—”
“Max!”
His shouted name breaks into his tumble of words, and I sit back, my heart hammering madly. What was he going to say?
“Motherfucker,” Max mutters, craning his neck to see who’s calling him.
“What were you going to say?” I ask desperately.
He stiffens. “Ivo.”
“Oh my God, please tell me you haven’t just got our fucking names mixed up, Max,” I hiss, absolute white-hot rage searing through me. “Because so help me, that’s the last fucking straw.”
“No,” he interjects, looking panicked. “Ivo and Henry are here.”
“What?” I spin around and see Ivo and Henry coming towards us.
Dressed casually in jeans, jumpers, and coats, they nevertheless look expensive and poised, while I probably look like a fish sitting here with my mouth open. I’m also very aware that my hair is a mess from the wind and I’m clutching Max’s jacket around me like I’m someone he picked up off the street.
“Max!” Ivo exclaims, his face lit with a huge smile as his arms open for a hug. Max glances at me and hesitates for a too-long second. Then he stands up to embrace Ivo gingerly.
Henry smiles at me apologetically. “Sorry for interrupting your lunch,” he says. Then he does a double-take. “Felix?” he says hesitantly. I nod.
Ivo and Max break apart, and Ivo gapes at me.
“You’re here with Max?” he asks, and damn him, even astonishment looks good on him.
“For my sins,” I say evenly.
Ivo laughs, but Max steps over to my chair, his hand coming to rest gently on the back of my neck.
Ivo shoots him an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Max,” he says. “If I’d known you were with Felix we’d never have come.”
“Why are you here?” Max asks.
Henry laughs. “We’re on the way to Capri to spend some time with Ivo’s godfather. We were in the airport when Kevin rang Ivo to say you were speaking at the conference. Ivo insisted there and then that we change our flights and stop in to hear your speech.” He looks at me apologetically. “That sounds as if he was being supportive, but he wasn’t. He just wanted to take the piss.”
I’m surprised to hear myself laugh, but Henry has a way of putting people at ease. I noticed it at their wedding, and it’s still in evidence. He has an air of kindness about him and a smile in his eyes.
Ivo looks at him fondly. “It’s the trut
h,” he says unrepentantly. “Particularly as I turned the speaking job down.”
“You did not,” Max says. Ivo grins, and Max shakes his head. “Motherfucker. How many other people said no before me?”
“Well, Alice, the cleaner at the office, really wanted to do it, but she’s got a christening this weekend.”
Max shakes his head and shoves him, but he’s trying not to laugh.
Ivo smiles at me. “Well, we’ll be off. It was lovely to meet you again, Felix. Very nice,” he says.
He takes Henry’s hand and squeezes Max’s shoulder. “Max, I’m sure we’ll meet again. You haven’t christened our new guest bathroom yet.”
Max immediately flushes. “I’m sure that alcohol was off.”
“It must have been,” Henry says demurely. “It was jolly brave of you to try so much of it for us.” He smiles at me as Ivo laughs. “I hope we see you again, Felix. I really hope that.”
They turn to go. Max smiles at me and sits back down, and I find myself opening my mouth. “Wait,” I say. Henry and Ivo turn round. “You came all this way, and you’re leaving so soon?”
“Well, it’s Max,” Ivo offers. “I usually find five minutes does the trick.”
To my amazement, I laugh. “You’ve got some stamina. I’d have said twenty seconds.”
“Lovely,” Max sniffs.
Ivo grins at me, and I push out a chair with my foot. “Come and sit down and have some lunch with us.”
Ivo and Henry stare at me.
“Felix, there’s absolutely no need,” Max says uneasily.
I shake my head. “They’ve come all this way to see you, Max. And they probably won’t even try to murder you over lunch. That’s a rarity in your life.”
His eyes scan my face intently. “Are you sure?”
I shift uncomfortably. “Of course. We’re adults.”
“Well, some of us are,” Ivo says, sitting in a chair with an insouciance that I envy. Henry and Max are slower, but they too settle down. There’s a long, awkward pause, and I’m sure we’re all remembering the elephant in the room named, “Max’s Feelings for Ivo.” I wonder who will mention it. Bagsy not me, I think, sitting back in my chair as the waiter comes over to take our drink and food orders.
