by Ali Ryecart
That had been hours before, and there had been neither sight nor sound of Georgie since.
Roland got up, stretching out his stiff limbs. At the window, he peered out into the white wasteland. Nothing. No sign of life, no sign of anything. The world had locked itself down and thrown away the key.
A sudden hard gust of wind slammed into the window, and Roland jerked back. Snowflakes swirled in what seemed like mini tornados. These weren’t pillowy, feathery flakes floating in the freezing air, but tight small flakes, hard and icy, beating a relentless tattoo against the thick mullioned windows. Angry snow, if snow could be angry.
Disquiet slithered in the pit of Roland’s stomach, twisting and turning, shedding its skin and morphing into the first glimmering of fear. Georgie wouldn’t have left, would he? He wouldn’t have thought braving the freezing, snowbound world in an attempt to get to town, wherever town was, a better option than breathing the same air as Roland — would he?
Had his cold, hard heart, colder and harder than the icy world outside, sent Georgie into the savage winter?
He had to check, he had to make sure, he—
“Mr. Fletcher Jones.”
Roland swung around.
Nicholas stood in the doorway, holding a large tea tray. The old man, for once, wasn’t smiling. His eyes were sad, their normally twinkling blue muted and dulled. But there was something else there, too. Assessment, appraisal. A tingle shimmered down Roland’s backbone. Yes, appraisal, and he was found wanting.
“Do you know where Georgie — Mr. Forrester — is?” Roland croaked. “I’ve not seen him since this morning and I was wondering—”
“He’s not left.”
Roland flinched. The other man had read his every thought.
Nicholas set the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It was set for two, but Roland didn’t think Georgie would be making an appearance, to drink tea and make small talk.
“I doubt Mr. Forrester will be joining me.” Roland nodded towards the tray.
“No, I doubt he’d want to.”
Roland started. Nicholas’ mild words were a hard slap across his face.
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nicholas said nothing as he sat down and calmly poured two cups of tea.
“He’s a sensitive soul, young Georgie. He tries to not let it show, but he doesn’t always do a good job of hiding it, as I’m sure you’ve found out. Please, I’d like you to join me.” Nicholas indicated the cups.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roland said, his throat dry and his voice rough, as he lowered himself onto the sofa. He ignored the tea as he stared at Nicholas.
The old man tilted his head to the side, but his piercing blue eyes never left Roland’s.
“Life hasn’t been kind to him. He never had the best of starts, and his opportunities have been limited. He has ambitions to be a chef, which you know about. But he’s just the lowly kitchen boy, abused and despised by all. He tries so hard, but nobody will offer help, or a crumb of encouragement, to give him a start. People can be so very cruel, don’t you think?”
Nicholas’ words sliced deep into Roland’s chest, every one a cut from a rapier.
Cruel? Yes, people could be cruel. He’d been cruel.
“He’s told you all this?” Roland said, his voice raspy.
“Oh no, he doesn’t have to. But it’s easy enough to see if you take the time to look. He’s lost and unhappy, more so now than ever, because he caught a glimpse of what happiness looks and feels like. Just a glimpse, before it was snatched back from him. A little warmth and sunshine, before the world turned cold and hard again.”
Nicholas’ gaze shifted, moving from Roland and settling on the window behind him.
“No, Georgie’s not had much happiness in his life. He’s alone and he’s lost and he’s struggling. He needs help. But he’s not the only one, is he? Because you’re unhappy too. You’ve been unhappy for so long.”
“What? How dare you…” But Roland’s protest died and faded as the truth of the old man’s words reached into his soul.
Unhappy. He’d been unhappy and alone and cut off from everybody around him for so long, he’d forgotten what feeling whole and complete could be like. Yet hadn’t he felt that with Georgie? But fear had grabbed at him and pulled him back, whispering with its foetid voice that it couldn’t and wouldn’t work, that he was putting himself in danger, he was opening up, he was making himself vulnerable and weak.
“It doesn’t have to be like before.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ice filled his stomach.
“Oh, I think you do know, Roland. May I call you Roland?”
“I—”
“That boy,” Nicholas said, “the one who betrayed you, he was a kitchen boy too, wasn’t he? But that’s as far as the comparison goes. He was vicious and venal, which you soon found out. Why he did what he did, we’ll never know. It saddens me, that there is often no reason for cruelty. He almost wrecked your career, just as it was about to truly take off.”
Roland couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could hardly even breathe as the memories he’d locked away years before broke through the wall he’d built around them.
A torrid, feverish, secret affair, the boy had burrowed under his skin and taken hold, like the parasite he’d turned out to be. A blackmailing, hard-eyed, leeching parasite.
“How do you know, how can you know…?”
Fear gripped at Roland’s heart. Everything from those dark and desperate days, he’d buried it all deep, and now this old man knew, when there was no way he could—
“I know because I do. I’ve known the secret fears of so many, over the years.” Nicholas sighed. “The way I know yours, and what you must do to overcome them. You were a different man, then. Full of generosity, and goodness of spirit. You wanted to nurture and protect him, and help him. And he knew that, and used it against you.”
“He could have ruined me. I wasn’t ready to let the world know who I was, inside…”
Roland stared into the fire, seeing not the flames but the man he’d been.
Young, his career ready to fly high as he took the reins of his first high status, professional kitchen, with everything to prove. On the surface he’d been so confident, but it had been nothing more than window dressing. Underneath, he’d been terrified of letting the world know who he was, of his true nature. Stupid, so damn stupid. If he’d been honest from the start, if he’d held his head high and looked everybody in the eye… Because it didn’t matter, nobody gave a damn.
What had happened, had been because of his fear.
Roland dropped his head into his hands.
“There’s nothing from that time that can hurt you,” Nicholas said, resting his hand on Roland’s shoulder “It’s past, it’s gone. You’re the only one who’s hurting you. The photos and recordings, you got them back, but you paid heavily for them. Not with cash, that doesn’t matter. Yes, you lost a lot of money in the process, but you lost something far more valuable. You lost your trust and compassion as your heart turned cold.
“What’s lost can always be found again, and what’s cold can be warmed. But only if you want it to be. And I think you do want that, Roland, but you’re scared of being hurt again, of risking your heart, of laying yourself on the line.
“You have no reason to be scared, not of Georgie. He’s not like the one whose name you will never say again. You can trust him, always. You could even love him, but only if you allow yourself to, only if you let go of your fear, and unlock that warm and generous heart I know still beats strong within your chest. Look.”
Roland raised his head and followed Nicholas’ gaze.
Outside, as the snow beat down, was Georgie. His thin coat, no defence against the brutal weather, flapped in the wind. His collar was turned up but his hat, scarf and gloves were nowhere to be seen as he tried his hardest to build a snowman, fighti
ng the buffeting wind that was making a mockery of his efforts. The snowman Georgie had said they should make together, his face alight and alive, happy and radiant, until Roland’s cruel words had turned off those warm, bright lights and sent Georgie, with held back tears glittering in his eyes, from the bedroom.
“He’s trying so hard,” Nicholas said softly, “but he’s struggling. It’s how his life has always been. He needs to be nurtured, and protected. He needs help to become the man he wants to be. The whole world’s against him, but he never gives up. But I’m not sure how much longer he can go on, because a person can take only so many knocks before they fall and never get up again.”
Roland’s heart twisted and turned, the knots pulling tighter, as the snow Georgie heaped up fell away. Because Georgie was alone, because he had nobody to help, nobody to share the load with.
“I—”
“Help him, and help yourself. Go to him, and show him the man you were before, and the man you can be again. Go now, before it’s too late for either of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
No matter how much Georgie heaped the snow up, lumps fell away, defying all his efforts as the hard and biting wind buffeted him. But he was going to do it, no matter how long it took, no matter how numb his hands, no matter how his frozen tears bit into his cheeks.
He’d walked away from Roland’s cold eyes and colder heart, but he hadn’t run. He had his pride, but it felt like such a fragile, frail thing.
What had he done that had been so wrong? He’d shown Roland his heart, had opened himself up to the man, and he’d believed Roland had done the same with him. But he hadn’t. The shutters had gone up, he’d been as distant and disdainful as always, and Georgie had been no more than a fool for believing in something he had thought so good. The kitchen boy was back in his place, and that was where he was going to stay.
He’d find a way to get back to London. He’d get a job. He’d fulfil his ambition. He’d show Roland Fletcher Jones he didn’t need or want him. He’d make it all by himself. He’d do it all alone with no help from anybody. Because hadn’t he been doing that all his life? Hadn’t he always been alone? Hadn’t it always been just him, when just him so often felt like it wasn’t enough?
The wonky ball of snow that was supposed to be the snowman’s head tumbled from his body and fell at Georgie’s feet, breaking up into nothing.
Just like his life was breaking up. Just like he was breaking up.
Georgie buried his face in his hands and fell to his knees. Hot, fresh tears streamed from his eyes as his shoulders shook with gulpy, gasping sobs. He could tell himself he could do it, that he’d get through, that he’d make it on his own, but the words were as empty as his heart.
A pair of strong arms enveloped him, and Georgie gasped as he was lifted to his feet. Arms that held him firm and sure, and didn’t let go.
Roland stared down at him, his silver-streaked, dark auburn hair covered in a light dusting of snow.
“I’m sorry, Georgie. I’m so sorry. For what I said, for how I was with you. It was cruel, and wrong. I was wrong, so damn wrong.”
Georgie tried to pull back, away from the man who’d hurt him more than anybody ever had before. He didn’t want Roland anywhere near him. He didn’t want to feel the weight and strength of his touch. He didn’t want to breathe in the faint traces of Roland’s musky, woodsy cologne. He didn’t want anything to do with the man who had been amazing and beautiful, the man who’d made him feel like that, too, when all his life nearly everybody had treated him as nothing.
Until Roland had also treated him as nothing.
So cold, so cruel…
“Go away.”
Georgie pushed against Roland, but it felt weak and useless. He might as well try to push a mountain.
“Never.”
Roland shook his head, as with the pad of his thumb he wiped away the stream of hot, fresh tears. His touch sent a shiver through Georgie, the way it had the night before…
Georgie couldn’t help it, he just couldn’t, as he leaned into Roland’s touch, craving it as much as he had in the dark hours, when their bodies had been clothed in nothing more than the shadows and light cast from a fluttering, flickering flame.
No. No, no—
Georgie thrust himself away.
Fire and ice, that was what Roland was. Georgie couldn’t take it, not again, because it would break his fractured heart.
“You made it clear you thought what happened was a mistake,” Georgie said, summoning all his waning strength to say the words he had to. “But don’t worry, nobody will ever know because, like I said, I won’t be returning to Pendleton. You’ll never see or hear from me again, I promise. You can go back to how you were, as if nothing had ever happened.”
“Back to how I was? I couldn’t go back to that man, even if I wanted to. Everything controlled, every feeling tucked away, locked down and out of sight. It’s how I’ve been for years, but I haven’t always been like that, and I know that must be impossible for you to believe. But somebody, they—they killed something inside me, made me afraid to be the man I was before. I’ll tell you, Georgie. If you let me. If you give me the chance I know I don’t deserve. Please, give me a chance to explain, and if you still decide I’m not worth it…”
Roland shrugged. That small, one shouldered shrug that the night before had spoken of so much pain and anguish, that shrug that had compelled Georgie to reach out and kiss it all away.
“No,” Georgie rasped. “You don’t deserve it, but…”
“But?”
Georgie looked away from the flicker of hope in Roland’s eyes. Roland didn’t deserve it, he didn’t… but…
Georgie nodded.
Roland sucked in a long, broken breath.
“He—I won’t say his name, I vowed to myself never to say his name—was the kitchen boy.”
Georgie’s head snapped around to face Roland.
“Like me, you mean?”
“No. You and him, you could never be the same. God help me, but I know that now.”
“What happened?”
Cold fingers trailed up Georgie’s spine. Whatever had happened, it had broken Roland inside. And he had to know.
“It was a prestigious kitchen, in a luxury hotel.” Roland spoke quietly. He looked away, his brow scrunching hard as though he were in pain. On a long sigh, he turned his gaze back to Georgie. “I’d been appointed Head Chef, and it was my chance to make my name. I hadn’t told anybody I was gay although, looking back, I think everybody knew.” He huffed. “Half the kitchen staff were, so nobody would have cared. If only I could have seen it then, and understood… But I wasn’t confident. I don’t mean professionally, I mean about the man I was inside. I was an emotional mess, and scared of life. I don’t know why. My parents were loving, and I had a good childhood, so it’s not like I can blame Mum and Dad.” Roland shook his head, his laugh low and bitter.
“So, you and—”
Roland raked his fingers through his hair.
“I became obsessed. He set something alight in me. I—I told myself it was love,” he said, a deep red staining his cheeks. “But it wasn’t love. It was lust and hunger, and I fed on it like the starving man I was, to try and satiate the loneliness that gnawed at me. He saw that, he saw how weak I was, and he used it for his own gain.”
“What do you mean?” Georgie said, but he knew, deep in his gut he knew.
Roland released a deep, trembling sigh.
“He blackmailed me. He had photos, emails and text messages, and recordings of the two of us. He threatened to go to my employer, to put them on the internet, to send the photos to my parents. And to my eternal shame, I capitulated.
“I should have stood my ground and brazened it out. Called his bluff. But I was ashamed, and I felt so, so stupid. I’d been duped, and I’d have been a laughingstock. I couldn’t have taken that, I couldn’t let everybody see I’d let myself believe that this vicious, venal man had felt somethin
g real for me.”
“And you thought I’d be like that, too? What have I ever done or said that made you think I would do such a thing?”
How could Roland believe he would be like that? After last night and the way it had been between them, how could he believe that?
“No, you haven’t. You never have. You’re nothing like him but—but I had to keep my distance the only way I knew how,” Roland cried.
“Keep your distance? By treating me with coldness and contempt? But I’m not him, I could never be like that.”
“I know, I know that now. I know it, too damn late.” Roland rubbed his hands down his face, and when he looked at Georgie and spoke once more, his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.
“You, you made me feel alive, Georgie. Truly alive, in a way I’ve never felt before. You showed me what it was like to feel again. You showed me a light in the darkness. You showed me that I don’t have to cower and be scared anymore. In here.” Roland rested a hand against his chest on the spot where his heart lay. “I don’t want to let any of that go. I don’t want to let you go.”
Georgie wanted to believe Roland, he wanted to so much. He’d believed him last night. He’d believed every kiss, every whispered word, every touch and stroke, every smile and spark of light and laughter in Roland’s eyes. He’d believed it all because he wanted to so badly, and just like every other time in his life he’d let himself get sucked in, before he was spat out as though he were something foul and disgusting.
But he wanted so much to believe in Roland…
No.
Belief had brought him nothing but pain and heartache. He had to protect his bruised and battered heart. He had to nurture it, and somehow, God alone knew how, he had to put it back together, because one more knock would shatter it for good.
Shaking his head, Georgie stepped back, because just being with Roland was too raw and painful, seeing him, breathing him in, remembering how those lips tasted…
