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“This could be a sham.”
“It could, but it would be very elaborate indeed. How would you know how much I dislike Sykes? How could you know I’m a fanciful romantic? How would you know I’m the only person in charge of this place?” He laughed a bit. “And there’s nothing to take, as I said.”
Eyes wide, Alastair accepted the keys and put them in a pocket in his coat. Paul glanced at his hands and noted fingerless gloves did conceal the bulk of what seemed to be intricate tattoos. They must have been what Sykes had meant. As Alastair’s hands slowed and stilled in his lap, Paul realized some of the designs were on his fingers, above where the gloves ended. “People don’t often trust me.”
“That’s fair, though,” said Paul. He leaned close. “You look like a miscreant. A very tidy one, but still… a bit dangerous.” He sighed when Alastair looked not at his eyes, but his lips. The shift in attention was tiny, yet blatant.
“Maybe, but that… seems to have been effective in this case.”
“Well, something about you read as ‘trustworthy’ to me, so… yes… it was…” Paul trailed off. Alastair gave the barest of small, closed-mouth smiles. “It was effective. Let’s help Muriel, shall we?”
Alastair hadn’t come to Cromer to find anything.
He’d run simply to run and ended up there. He’d drifted with naught but restlessness and a certain skillset that could be put to use for good money. This business with Muriel had been introduced by chance; he’d embraced it by choice. He couldn’t have refused her when her desire was to love and be loved.
It was something he wanted dearly for himself and he never spoke of it, fearing speech would give the need more life and then the need would strangle him. As Paul listed nearer, Alastair felt Don’t war with Please as both of them sparred with This isn’t wise and If you don’t kiss me, I’ll go mad.
Their lips met carefully, then with more verve. He couldn’t say who chased or who capitulated. It didn’t matter when the kiss felt sublime enough to nearly make him forget what they’d been discussing.
But the very rightness of it made him pull back. “I’ll come with Muriel in tow or arrange to meet her here. Don’t be alarmed if I’m sitting in front of your hearth, or we two are.”
“Ah… I won’t,” said Paul, after a swallow. He looked as lost as Alastair felt. Not aimless, but consumed. His cheeks were slightly pink, as was his nose. “I gave you the keys, after all.”
"I know.”
“Sorry, should I not have…”
“I don’t know which of us shouldn’t have,” said Alastair, and he brought his fingertips gently to one of Paul’s flushed, freshly-shaved cheeks. “But I’d rather not continue.” He didn’t expect the words to ache as they did and he frowned. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
Wanly, Paul gave him a smile and finally drew back from his knee, creating a small amount of space between them, and leaned away from Alastair’s fingers. “I know.”
“I… didn’t mean to open an old wound?” Alastair let his hand fall to the top of his own leg, eyeing Paul curiously as he wondered who else had said anything of the kind to him. It had never served him well to judge people by appearances, for they could hide a multitude of things. He wouldn’t be taken aback to learn this quiet Mr. Apollyon took lovers. The thought garnered annoyance, even envy, but it didn’t seem implausible. Paul was lovely in a subtle, keen way and he imagined others found it attractive.
“I make it sound like I have a gaggle of men after my charms.” Paul sighed. “I don’t.” He looked wistfully at Alastair. “It’s nothing, truly. I just… I’m nobody. Boring. Run a pub. Break up bar fights. Keep books. Why would you, of all people…”
Why would I, what? “Trust me, you’re…” Alastair sighed. “You’re not the problem.” He wanly considered all that he yearned to say, everything about his mad little escapades and the convoluted family that would make Paul cringe.
“I’ll still help you and Muriel, so don’t worry about that.”
A pair of gulls flew past the open windows, bickering as they went, and Alastair gathered his thoughts while he listened to their chatter. He stroked at the few days of grayed stubble on his face. “That’s not my concern.”
Never mind his past. All of that would be more straightforward than explaining how no other kiss ever felt so intimate. It could sound preposterous or predatory, and the last thing he wanted was for Paul to regard him as manipulative. There weren’t many men who’d open their homes and businesses to a stranger looking like him, or to any stranger at all. That said Alastair could take a chance on speaking up, and he might not be rebuked. But he still worried that talk of one wee kiss setting his soul fully alight would sound opportunistic.
No matter that arousal was in Paul’s eyes as he asked, “Then, what is your concern?”
Alastair said, “It’s all ridiculous. You’d never believe me.”
“I believe a lot of things.” There, again, was a look saying Paul knew more than others, not because he was smug, but because he had access to knowledge nobody else could gain.
It reminded Alastair a little of a wise woman his mother had befriended. All of her neighbors said she could see the future. Even if she couldn’t, she still had an eerily accurate way of reading people. Paul shared her air of having one foot here, the other there. Wherever there might be.
She’d told Alastair he should keep a canary instead of a cat, assuring him he’d find good luck where there were canaries. They’d been talking about cats because he was trying to convince his mother to permit him one, and she respected her friend’s advice. But the wise woman just went on about canaries instead. It meant even less to him now than when he was a boy.
While he didn’t know what she’d really meant, or if she’d seen anything at all, he’d remained fond of canaries and yellow. But everyone expected his favorite color to be black and his favorite animal to be something with fangs.
Even though he wanted to, Alastair wouldn't say he believed a lot of things, too.
It was half-past three in the morning when he used Paul’s keys to let himself into the silent Queen Anne.
