Tim couldn't quite work out what was going on. The agency had been very specific. Told him to wear the best suit he had and to be punctual. Tim had only just started with them, and they had been blunt when he'd signed up. He had a certain boy next door charm, but most clients wanted the extraordinary not the mundane. As he had sat in the waiting room, a young man he understood to be called Benedict flounced through, all floppy blond hair and high cheekbones and long legs. That was what most of the clients wanted.
But apparently this client had taken one look at his picture and asked for him straight away. The briefing was very simple: he was to have dinner with the client. He was under no circumstances to ask the client for any personal details. The client may require extra services.
The restaurant was empty, except for several men in black suits, subtly blending in with the wallpaper. And a tall man sat alone at a table. He wasn't bad looking, Tim thought to himself, obviously he had money and influence. So why was he going to the agency?
Tim was shown to his seat. The man smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. The eyes were cold. Dead. Kind of like a doll's eyes.
"Do sit down...?"
"Tim."
"Tim? Timothy?" The man rolled the name around his mouth.
"What should I call you Sir?" Did that count as personal details?
"Joshua Reynolds. Joshua." He held out a large hand. Carefully manicured. The hand was cold.
"Right. Okay. Joshua."
It was a pleasant enough dinner. The food was excellent. The conversation was awkward, as was to be expected, but the client, Joshua, didn't seem to mind that. He seemed to be content just to look at Tim.
He didn't stare. It wasn't staring. It was more like he was looking for something in Tim's face. Trying to find something.
They finished the meal and Tim knew what happened next. This was the point he had to ask if there was anything extra. Meaning would the client want to have sex with him. By all accounts most of them did, and some of them were a bit eccentric in their preferences. Still it paid the tuition fees.
"Would you like anything extra?" He was sure there must have been a more subtle way of saying it. The cold eyes flickered over him for a second.
"Yes. I think I would." It wouldn't be so bad. The client was reasonably young, obviously looked after himself, nice looking, even smelled nice. It wouldn't be so bad.
The house was huge. And cold. And it seemed sad. Could a house be sad? This one was. The bedroom was filled with expensive furniture, there was an en-suite kitted out with marble fittings, and a walk-in wardrobe the size of Tim's flat. But there was no personality to any of it. It was almost like a film set. Everything was just for show.
The client had removed his jacket and was sat on the edge of the bed, the closely fitted waistcoat accentuating the lean lines of his body. He beckoned Tim to sit beside him, the signet ring on his right hand glinting in the light from the bedside lamp. And then he kissed him. He closed his eyes and wrapped his long arms around Tim's broad shoulders, running his elegant hands through Tim's strawberry blond hair. He had his eyes closed and he was smiling. And for a moment he was warm. Alive. Tim could feel the older man's erection pushing against him through the material of two pairs of trousers.
And then he stopped. The smile on Joshua Reynolds' face was sad, and the sadness was reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you. That will be everything. You can go now. My driver will take you wherever you need to go."
Tim sat in the car. Wondering what he'd done wrong. He was probably going to get fired from the agency for this. Then he'd have to try and get another job to fund his studies. He looked up at the forbidding house and saw a light click on in one of the attic rooms. He wondered if Joshua would be okay?
Tim just made it to his anatomy class the following morning. Seconds to spare with his dissection kit and white coat scrunched up under his arm. He was making his way to his appointed Cadaver when Dr Stamford called him.
"Hey Tim?"
"Yes Dr Stamford. Sorry I'm late."
"No you're fine. This came for you about an hour ago. Congratulations." Dr Stamford handed him an envelope. The paper inside was thick, creamy coloured.
To Mr Timothy John Wilson
I have great pleasure in informing you that you have been selected to receive a scholarship from the Nicholas Garrideb Foundation. This scholarship will cover all of your tuition fees and living expenses for the duration of your studies and will also pay for any outstanding loans you may have.
Funds will be paid into your Bank Account. You need do nothing extra.
My sincerest congratulations
Mycroft Holmes.
The signature was elegant. Obviously signed with an expensive pen. But Tim was confused. He was certain he had never applied for any Scholarship. He was certain he'd never met anyone called Nicholas Garrideb or Mycroft Holmes. He turned the envelope over- the flap was sealed with wax. Who used wax these days? And then he remembered a signet ring glinting in the light next to another ring, a plain gold band. At the time he had thought it odd why someone called Joshua Reynolds would have a ring with the letters MH on it.
