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Occasionally, Philipa started twisting and dancing to the music, and tried once or twice to get Ben to join in. He resisted, but was laughing and clearly enjoying himself, especially when she pressed against him from behind and tried physically to drag him onto her new dance floor.
After one such failed attempt, he appeared about to surrender. He laid down the knife he was using, gave her some eyes-narrowed consideration, and made a gesture to move her to one side. After assessing the space behind him, he executed a perfect back somersault. He gave a mock bow to Philipa’s whistles of approval, poured them both some more wine, and went back to his chopping with a knowing smirk.
Aleksey knew that Ben had seen him in the doorway and sensed this demonstration had been staged for his benefit. For one moment, he wondered if Ben had not actually been in the shower earlier, if he had in fact been merely stripping off wet running kit in the bedroom and had consequently heard him standing on the other side of the door. For a long time.
If so, what did that incredible demonstration of agility and power mean? The chefs began to carry the food to the table, so he came in fully, accepting the glass of wine Ben handed him.
“We made salad and prawns and shit. Lady Philipa said you liked—”
“Shit?”
He got given the Ben-look again, which actually made him smile openly this time. And when Ben twitched his lips back, just a tiny, shared private moment, he was so confused by his own pleasure that he sat at the table and actually accepted a plate of food.
While the others sorted cutlery and drinks, he leant back in his chair and watched them. Motherless Ben and childless Philipa.
Ben had seduced his wife entirely, and he had apparently done this with no agenda, no pretence, no artifice. He was just being himself.
As if sensing the scrutiny, Ben switched his attention to him. Aleksey immediately lowered his gaze and began poking a prawn. He tried to imagine putting it in his mouth and chewing it, but the image defeated him, so he polished off his wine instead and topped all three of them up.
Philipa, gesturing with her fork, told him, “I’m taking Ben into Exeter with me tomorrow morning. You can complain all you like and pretend you both have work to do, but he’s coming anyway to help me shop for tomorrow night. And in the afternoon, we’re beating at Buckland-in-the-Vale. You’ve never done it before, have you, Ben, darling? It’s such fun.”
Aleksey frowned and glanced at her, attempting to translate this so it made sense. Beating.Beating? No language he tried made this comprehensible. He’d always thought it meant something you couldn’t do legally in public. But as the language Nazi was present, he wasn’t about to ask. He sensed he was being observed and glanced covertly over the rim of his glass.
Ben gave him a small eyebrow flick and a smirk, and went back to his food. He then speared a cherry tomato and asked suspiciously casually, “Doyoubeat, sir?Isit fun? Will I enjoy it, do you think?”
Beat! What the fuck did it mean?
“Oh, Nikolas never does anything fun, do you, sweetheart? In the field or out of it, as far as I can see. Can’t stand the sight of blood apparently.”
Ben’s eyes widened, and he made a point of turning from her apparently fascinating offering back to Aleksey. “I spend my whole life in the field, and there are loads of fun things you can do. With and without blood. I could teach you one or two, sir, if you’d like.”
Apparently, no contribution to this double act was actually required from him, for Philipa interjected cheerily, “You’re going to find this job rather boring, Ben, if you do take it. Nikki just sits at a desk all day swapping commodities or something. Futures? Minerals? Oil? I really have no idea. It’s all so utterly tedious.”
Beginning to feel his dignity was under assault, he spoke without the careful planning he usually put into all hisSir Nikolasutterances. “I would find beating off in a field similarly distasteful, trust me.”
At exactly the same time, Ben and Philipa choked on their food, spitting bits out onto the table, and this was apparently so funny he got no more sense out of either of them for the rest of the meal.
* * *
He only discovered that Philipa’s plans for Ben had not been a joke concocted between them to annoy him the next morning. When he came downstairs, they were gone.
Aleksey thought about this absence for a while then went purposefully to Ben’s room.
What clothes the other man had brought were laid out neatly on a chair.
The bed was made, although not by the staff, as Aleksey had expressly told them to leave this room alone for the weekend. There was a book on the pillow which, extremely surprising to Aleksey, appeared to be on military history. Although he had not actually heard of a world war called merely Z, he assumed this was a translation thing once more and replaced it carefully where he’d found it.
The bathroom yielded no real clues to the man either. Everything was tidily placed on the shelf. A wet towel was folded on the rail.
It was a puzzle. He had expected something else. Something sinister he could unearth and display—here it is, now I understand,thisis how you seduced us all.
His wife, he meant. Seduced his wife.
Because Ben had not performed this seduction with his green eyes or his perfect fucking body or his tousled hair. It appeared he’d done it with humour, genuine enthusiasm for life, and a smile that would crack the hardest fucking stone.
Although this smile and radiant charm, Aleksey had noted, had not once been turned on him. Not muchenthusiasmfor him either, as far as he could see.
The gossip girls returned at seven, an hour before the dinner was starting.
