Chapter 43
On hindsight everything is a game. You throw the dice and keep the fingers crossed your numbers are good. Just then, when the mind is clear, the moves you could have done, seem like the pebbles on the bottom of the crystal sea. Easy to reach, easy to catch, easy to throw.
But on the heat of the moment, the mind is inside a storm, the waters are muddy, and the floor of the sea impossible to view. The heart takes charge. The impulsive heart, the passionate heart, the irrational. It is blind inside this storm, ablaze with love, desire, hatred, jealousy, loading the mind with thoughts, the arms, the legs with action, stares full of fire. The paths such hearts carve leave nothing standing.
The next day, nothing stood between Terry and Candy. A river of anger had swept everything in its path. Their history looked like a ghost which had overstayed its welcome. Even if nothing really was evident on the surface, underneath there was an uneasy silence. From everyone involved.
Terry from having been almost like a permanent figure in hers and Christian's lives, he was not there anymore. He hardly came out of the theatre. Used it as he had come learned to use it. Its salvation when he hit difficult times. For someone who didn't know him well, he seemed normal. But to those near him, his mood between the weekend and after Monday had been as different as the night and day. The silences weren't the same. When before he looked like he had been a dream like state, as calm as the dawn of a summer's day, now permanent darkness seemed to be inside his eyes. His temper was short fused. Very short fused. Swear words hung from his lips at all hours of the day, the crease between his brows could may as well be carved for it never left. It was there, fixed on his face, making his stare ominous at best. Not many dared talk to him. They let him go on, do his tasks without too much interaction.
Robert's worry levels increased a notch from the weekend. The fact that his protégée was worse than the Sphinx wasn't helping much. If Terry had brushed him off before, there was no way in hell he would open up to him now. At least, the only thing that didn't drive Robert's anxiety levels to the roof was that Terry wasn't looking to turn to the bottle. He was measured and in control. He didn't stink of booze which was good, considering that his stare harboured so many clouds, you'd think Mount Etna was ready to explode.
He had felt responsible for what had happened. He had let his insecurity and his male ego to take the better of him. He had opened his stupid mouth at a time he shouldn't have. He used Marion's infatuation to him to an extent where she became inconsiderate and provocative. He had never let a woman get close to him in a physical way as much as he had let Marion. Had he enjoyed it? In a way, yes. His ego had been bruised from the moment he entered Candy's life in London. When he saw her, not only having replaced him with another man, but she had changed so much, he actually came to realise Candy was detesting what her old self had stood for. The same things he had fallen in love with Candy, she had tried to go against. Her innocence, shyness, her altruism, her straight-laced manners.
Deep in thoughts he was. He had been lost as a teenager, and Candy...he...she...he thought of her as his lighthouse inside the dark waters his life had sailed. So all those things he loved on her... weren't a bit as if he looked for a mother in her? There had been the sexual attraction, no doubt but at the age of seventeen was unripe, green, bitter and dry. The kiss they shared back then, it was the first manifestation. It was an awkward kiss, a sudden one. It had been crass and forceful in a way, in his eagerness to show her something he hadn't even managed to work out what it was at the time. She got scared and confused.
With Candy, there was always a watershed moment in him, where all the controls he had, were failing him and his feelings would pour out. At those moments, he just had to show her, he had to let her know what he felt for her. That what's had happened inside the car. Like many years ago, he didn't think but he acted. He had to tell her, she had to hear what he had to say. Didn't matter if they had ten minutes or an hour. Didn't matter if they sped inside a car or were sitting comfortably on the sofa of her house.
Ten years later, who was he looking for? Candy, the girl? The one that helped him get his life on track. The motherly girl who wasn't his mother? Or the woman Candy? The one who's life was a cup full to the brim and she enjoyed drinking for it, who was confident of her body and mind, modern, outspoken. She wasn't afraid to love, to be loved. The first breeze of spring, the one that carried the young daffodils that had sprung from the soil of the earth had grown and matured to the warm wind of summer, fragrant and heavy, carrying life and dreams, it could be fresh and cool, and it could be hot and torturing. He had to admit, despite his first shock of seeing her, how much she had changed, he had fallen for Candy's allure as Rose.
The messages from Archie had been piling up. He had left messages at the theatre, at his hotel too. He wasn't inclined to answer them. To see Archie for what? To have his mistakes rubbed to his face? He knew what he had done. He also had apologised and she had closed the door to him. He doubted there was a road back for them.
It was Thursday night. The troupe had played once again to a theatre packed to the rafters. The reviews were rave. Barrymore's Hamlet as it was expected had captivated the English audience. Terry had been watching from the sides, under the long shadow of the drawn stage curtain.
HAMLET
O, I die, Horatio;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
I cannot live to hear the news from England;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.
Death closed Hamlet's heavy eyelids. Watching John on the stage had been not only a privilege but acting lessons par excellence for Terry. He watched, completely absorbed Hamlet's last words.
HORATIO
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why does the drum come hither?
.
.
PRINCE FORTINBRAS
Let four captains
Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have proved most royally: and, for his passage,
The soldiers' music and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him.
Take up the bodies: such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
As they carried the dead, complete silence had spread in the theatre. This was the moment, the reason why Terry had become an actor, how his soul rejoiced inhabiting the lives of others. The silence of bewitchment. The audience had left their lives and thoughts behind. They were witnessing the war, the battlefield, the grief of death, Hamlet's death.
A cannon's shot was heard. A collective gasp of surprise from the audience. Smoke and the smell of dynamite hit everyone's senses inside the hall. Curtains fall. A storm of applause erupts thunderous in the auditorium. Enthralled cries, enthusiastic bravos spring. The curtains open.
John comes out. More waves of applause ensue. He has the audience inside the palm of his hand. Terry joins the applause, standing up. Robert comes out on the stage and then the whole troupe. Robert waves to Terry and he joins everyone. Under the bright lights and a rain of applause, they all bow. The lights are so bright, he can hardly see past the first three rows of seats. Under those lights, there are no shadows and he can strip his soul naked without fear. He missed the stage. He should have push through and have played Hamlet, despite his injury.
When he got attacked in New York and had the news from his physician, he cursed his luck. Then when Barrymore stepped in and took the lead, he didn't think as bad because it would have meant spending more time with her. And now...he should have known better.
They go back stage but the applause continues. Terry nods to Robert.
"I'm going to change boss."
Robert lets him go. His eyes followed him for a couple of minutes before he turned to join the rest of the group back on the stage.
The corridor to the changing room was poorly lit. Just a lamp hung from the side of wall. Terry noticed a figure standing in front of the door. As he took a few more steps and got closer, he recognised him. Archie...
He won't have it put to rest...
Just the expectation from Terry's part that he hadn't managed to avoid the lecture from Archie and now he would have to hear it, dispersed all the good mood he was into, a few moments ago. Archie looked at him as he approached the door but Terry avoided his gaze. Archie stood aside as he was opening the door.
"What is it that you want Cornwell?" He said in a very business-like matter. He had followed behind him. Terry turned to see him as they both stood inside the dressing room. Archie hadn't said a word still but Terry continued as if he wasn't there.
"Whatever it is that you'll say to me, go ahead." He said again and sat down in front of the mirror. Took some thick cream and spread it on his face. "And please keep it brief." He added and started rubbing the cream on his skin, to dissolve all the heavy makeup he wore.
"I won't take long...I'm expected in any case." Archie said.
He preferred not to have had this chat at that particular moment and place but there was no other time for it. He was leaving for France with Isabel the next day. His days after the premiere had been hectic to put it mildly. He had to have his business in London taken care of so he could be away for a month. He had the constant phone calls from his wife in Chicago too, to ensure her that all was going to be fine.
He had his cousin who behaved like nothing had happened after the premiere - there was no Terry and there was no premiere fight and everything was hunky dory with Marion and the world. Only that she hadn't contacted Marion in those days, and had locked herself at home with Christian, taking care of him, as if she had been his twenty-four hour exclusive nurse.
As the premiere had been concerned, she could as well be lobotomised. Premiere had been fine, the play great, but she wanted to get back to Christian. He had checked himself out, but he had raised a slight fever again that night and she was stressing beyond reason. When Archie tried to broach the subject of Terry, it was as if he spoke to a wall. All that, he was against, while he also tried to organise the trip with Isabel. He had been feeling exhausted.
"You didn't answer any of the messages I left for you." Archie said, deciding not to sit down. He looked at Terry through the mirror as he went on in his usual routine after the performances. Their stares met. Terry didn't say a word. "And I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Cornwell, if you came to make a love confession, I don't want to hear it." Terry said while wiping the cream off from his eyelids.
The muscles on Archie's jaw tensed. He pushed his hair back.
Why the fuck do I care about what happens with Candy and this prick?
"Can you stop being a dick for once?" Archie raised his voice.
Terry stopped. His eyes through the mirror shot Archie. He grabbed a towel from the dressing table and wiped the remains from the cream on his face.
"Let me save you then the grief of dealing with me Archie." He said, sounding fed up. He poured himself a shot of whiskey. "You're here about her and I don't want to hear it." He added and gulped the drink down. "So save the sentimental for another time."
Archie was tittering to the edge of his patience. The fact he was there trying to salvage something that may had been already lost, was held from just a thread. One more insult and he'd be out of there.
"She loves you Terry." He said, letting Terry's previous words to pass him by.
Terry was rolling a cigarette. "Dream on pal." He said back as he licked the paper. "She hates my guts." He added and took a drag of his cigarette. He blew the smoke out.
"Perhaps you should have thought of that when you let Marion drool all over you...to put it mildly" Archie said back. He had been right, but Terry already knew that and wasn't in the mood for a reminder.
Archie was looking to lecture him and he was going to have none of it. "Now that I'm thinking about it, Archie, why should I discuss with you my love life?" He looked at Archie who was still standing, having his arms folded on his chest. Terry's question was valid. Just as valid was Archie's answer, the way he saw this. He wouldn't have gone into such trouble if it hadn't been true.
"Because you both love each other and you're so blind to see it, you'll regret it for the rest of your lives."
"Hmm...didn't think of you as a man of such tired clichés..." Terry said sounding annoyed. Took another drag, "But then again, you were a fan of my mother, the queen of romantic dramas." He raised his eyebrow mocking him. Terry had been fighting back, dismissing Archie's words before they even had time to sink in.
Archie had enough. "I won't stay to hear your pathetic insults." He said with heat in his voice.
"Good." Terry said and crushed the cigarette on the ashtray.
Archie looked at him for a second. Turned, opened the door and stood still.
Damn you Grandchester with your pig head.
He turned. "Why did you come all the way to London, Terry?" He asked him suddenly.
Terry had disappeared behind the silk screen to undress. He came out as he pulled a white cotton vest over his naked torso.
"I think it's obvious." Terry replied.
"Spare me the crap." Archie said, pulling his brows together. "You're not even on stage." He made one step in the dressing room but kept the door open. "You could have partied all summer long in New York."
Terry didn't reply.
"Oh my good Lord! You wrote to her but sent the letter to Pony!" Archie said and the realisation that Terry had actually searched for Candy dawned in his mind.
Again Terry didn't say anything. He only poured himself another shot of whiskey.
"That's why you showed up! You came for her!"
Terry's eyes sparkled from the heat of the alcohol. "Now that you finished with the autopsy Sherlock, what's your point?"
Archie took a deep breath. "Long, long time ago, I let Candy know I loved her..."
This was the last he would say to Terry. The one and only time he would speak about this. He had never revealed this to anyone, not even his brother and he had shared everything with Alistair. Terry's eyes were fixed squarely on Archie's face. He finally had caught his attention.
"At Saint Paul's...I confessed her my feelings. I loved her since we were little." He continued, as he watched Terry's face darkening. "I haven't said that to anyone else..." He added. "She didn't...love me , however." He stopped and stared at Terry. "She loved you...Grandchester."
He let a sigh of resignation. Shoved his hands into his pockets. That is when I made the biggest mistake of my life. "She said that poor Annie was distraught, she adored me in secret and I never even felt anything remotely intimate for her." He brought the scene in his mind like it was yesterday. He took a few steps in and grabbed the whiskey bottle. Poured a shot on the same glass Terry had been drinking from and swung it down in one gulp. His stare moistened.
"I'll know your secrets now Grandchester..." He teased him by bringing the old wives' saying about drinking from the same glass. Terry didn't react. Archie's chuckle was bitter. "I didn't fight for her..." He admitted. "I should have fought for her!" He turned and looked at him again. "What did I do instead?"
"You buried yourself..." Terry broke his silence.
"I did, that is right! Married a woman I didn't," He said, "I don't love because I had to hide my disappointment..."
"Nurse my bruised ego..."
"Archie..." Terry said.
"You and I have more in common than what you think..." Archie cut him. Terry pushed his hair back. Archie's words had hit home. He was about to say something but he hadn't the time.
"I'm going Terry." Archie walked back to the door. "For a month in France, with the woman who has stolen my mind and heart, for I have finally found her." The love shone through his blue eyes, coloured his voice with emotion.
"Don't be stupid and lose yours..." He concluded. A smile was drawn on his face. "Till we meet again." He said his goodbyes and left Terry standing with a head full of thoughts, alone in the dressing room.
Friday lunch break and the streets of London were as busy as ever, under the summer sun. There was a certain gaiety in the air, on the faces of the people in the summer. The movements were more languid, the pace unhurried and relaxed when the sun warmed them muscles and bones. Rose had been out for carrying some chores she had to and he had stayed back at her house where he had been cooped up since Monday evening.
Despite feeling worse for wear that night, his heart had been light, the clouds had disappeared from inside his eyes. The past few days had been panacea for his body and mind. Rose had been his guardian angel. She stayed in with him, taking care of his every need. Waking up next to her every morning had been sweet and closing his eyes with her inside his arms even sweeter. Their lovemaking had been tender and slow despite her hesitation at the beginning that he may hurt himself. He could endure going back to hospital if anything went wrong but to share the same bed with Rose and not touch her in the way he ached to touch her, he found impossible to take.
Christian hadn't been a guy who enjoyed long stretches of time being inside, doing not much and however good those days were with Rose, when she left and he started pacing inside the house, in the end he decided to go out. He enjoyed the sun hitting his face, its warmth on his skin and he kept walking without any particular aim of a destination.
How did Terry crept in his mind, he couldn't say but he had wondered where the guy had been. Before the incident last Friday, he had been almost everywhere they went. Christian remembered insulting Terry at the hospital but he had apologised to him and thought they had been fine. The man stepped in where a lot of other people who knew him hadn't. He had saved his life. The thought had turned inside his mind several times. But apart from that brief moment on Monday evening where he showed in front of Rose's door as if he had run all the way from the theatre, he literally had disappeared.
Rose had raised her shoulders and creased her forehead when he voiced his question. "He must be busy with the play" she had said and had jumped to another matter to comment about. She hadn't said much about the premiere either when he quizzed her. She had mentioned she hadn't been at all there mentally, because her mind had been with him. Yes, Marion has been like all over Terry and Archie looked all lovey-dovey with Isabel and had the usual acidic type of humour. He hadn't missed anything exciting then. Rose has promised him to watch Hamlet together at some point when he would be better.
Without realising, Christian's feet were leading him towards Haymarket. Without wanting to tire himself too much since there was some distance to cover if he was to walk all the way there, he took a cab. Ten minutes later he was outside the Royal theatre in Haymarket. He felt a bit nervous going in, just because Terry had popped in his head. He had insisted so many times, he wasn't a friend of his but this "stranger" had cared.
Christian, apart from his parents who worshipped him till their relationship turned sour when he hit puberty and had made clear he wasn't going to follow his father's footsteps into banking, he could count the people who cared for him on the fingers of a single hand. Orphaned quite young, having lost both parents by the time he was eighteen - and the rest of the family dispersed in the States and India - he came to rely a lot on his own strengths and aptitudes.
Once he graduated from the Académie de la Grande Chaumière in Paris - and graduated was a very loose term where this particular academy was concerned as it was a very relaxed institution where aspiring artists would go to deepen their art of painting and sculpting for a very modest fee which included just the model for the painters and a warm room to paint - he came back to London.
He wasn't a bad painter, the talent was there but his steady income was portraits of the women of the upper classes. He wasn't stupid. Soon enough he had realised it was his looks more than his ability to paint that moved him upwards. Care didn't really come to his world as a genuine feeling but rather as a transaction between him and the women who had hired him to paint their portrait - or rather the husbands, the fathers...it was them who put the hand deep down in the pocket. The women just batted their eyelids and looked very affectionate.
He walked in the main auditorium and he was surprised that it was so quiet. There was hardly anyone there. Some folk were on the stage, cleaning, a couple going through the seats, making sure everything was tidy and clean. There were no actors about, he certainly couldn't see Hathaway or Barrymore around either. One of the young guys who walked down on the aisle carrying some props, stopped next to Christian.
"They are all out for lunch." He gave him the answer to the question in his mind. He then continued to walk.
"Wait!" He shouted. "Is Terrence Graham here by any chance?"
The guy stopped again and smiled. "That guy never leaves this place." He said. "He's at the back, if you go through this door and follow the arrows that lead to the dressing rooms."
Christian stood where he was. "Oh! It's the second from the left, after Mr. Barrymore's, you'll see it."
He thanked the young guy, and soon enough, he was standing in front of Terry's dressing room. For a minute he was just about to turn and go away. Instead he knocked. He opened the door when he heard his voice.
Terry had been lying on the old chaise longue that had been in the room, reading a newspaper. He hadn't lowered the paper down to see who came in. "Just leave on the dressing table, whatever you brought." He said instead.
"I've only brought myself I'm afraid." Christian said. Terry lowered the paper down and looked at Christian who was standing there next to the door.
"Well, I'll be damned..." He said slowly. "Lazarus left his cave." He added with a mocking tone. He got up to get his smokes. "What is it that brought you here Christian?" Terry asked.
He really looked having been caught off guard. There was a definite surprise in his voice. Mixed with some hesitation even. Terry indeed hadn't waited such a visit. By a long shot he hadn't. And the image of a half-naked Christian in front of her door that night was still quite real in his mind. So he did hesitate, not knowing exactly how to act. Should he just pretend to be busy and get him out of there as soon as he had arrived? It certainly wouldn't be off the mark. There were things he needed do, though they weren't urgent. But then, Archie's words from last night also resonated in him since his visit. He should have been on his way to France by now. Lucky bastard! Christian too, despite Archie's suspicions, even if he was a little of a daredevil - a quality that Terry shared, even if it wasn't so for a long time now - and yes, he could be somewhat annoying - he had a sharp tongue sometimes and hadn't Terry the same? - he wasn't too bad of a bloke. And it was Candy's bloke, or Rose's bloke if he wanted to be precise. In fact, he and Christian were sharing some similarities, he had to admit. He decided not to throw him out. Instead he offered him a seat. A drink perhaps?
"I won't say no..." Christian said with a smile as he sat down and Terry offered him some whiskey.
"That's all I've got, or water..."
To the sound of water, Christian's brows arched and pushed the creases of his forehead up.
"Don't want to get us both into Rose's bad books..." Terry said as he got Christian's reaction and poured him a couple of fingers in a glass.
"Rose is a cool girl." Christian said, "Though she'd probably wag the finger 'bout this."
"I bet she would..." Terry said as he leaned on the dressing table and shoved his hands on his pockets. Christian looked at him.
"I don't drink on performance nights." He explained when he saw the question on Christian's eyes. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Terry asked.
"You disappeared." Christian noted. Terry didn't respond right away but he half smiled having heard Christian's comment.
"I thought you weren't able to get rid of me...you had said before." He reminded Christian's words at the hospital when he woke up.
"Touché." Christian joined Terry and smiled too as he sipped the whiskey. "We got used to your presence though." He added.
"We...as in royal We?" Terry asked raising his brow. He had started to enjoy this chat.
"I see you're quite competent in fishing..." Christian replied and looked at Terry, almost as if sizing up his opponent. "By we I meant Rose and I." He added before Terry could commend on his last words. "Perhaps Rose more than I..."
Terry took his eyes off the tobacco he had put on the rolling paper and fixed them on Christian. "Who's fishing who here...Christian?" He asked and offered his tobacco pouch to him. Rose had denied him smoking while he was on the mend, so he was happy to have a smoke. He thanked him and took it from his hands.
"I did wonder many times over the past few days why you stepped in and practically saved my life..." Christian said as he rolled the tobacco.
Terry saw his glass empty. He lifted the bottle and motioned to Christian for a refill. Christian thanked him and gave him the glass before he lit the cigarette. Terry then poured a shot for himself too. Christian looked at him.
"I thought you weren't drinking on performance days." He noticed. Terry put the top back on the bottle.
"I don't. But I have a feeling that I may need one..." He said. "So you came here to ask me why I helped you?" He continued with a question.
Christian smiled. "No." He replied. "I actually came here to ask you to join me for a pint and a game of poker perhaps, whenever is your evening off," he said. "A blokes night if you will." He added while seeing Terry tipping the whiskey inside the glass in silence.
"I see..." Terry said.
"But as I said, you have been a black box for me...truth be told." Christian said and took a drag from the lit cigarette he held between his fingers. "It's not every day I get saved by someone I know for not even a month..." He added. His eyes narrowed while he said those words.
"What can I say...I'm a good Christian" Terry said and downed the drink he kept tossing in his glass.
Christian took a sip from his whiskey. Bit his bottom lip, tasting the alcohol on it. His eyes searched Terry's face who looked not that bothered from his questions.
"Somehow you don't strike me as one." Christian said.
Terry took a deep breath and folded his arms over his chest feeling intrigued as to where Christian was steering this conversation.
"Before you go on," He stopped him. "Are you asking me out for a pint as a friend or a foe?"
Christian finished his second drink and took the last drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out. "As a friend I'd like to think..."
"But..." Terry followed. He sensed a But was coming.
"There is a But...you're right." Christian said. "Quite perceptive of you...I like it."
Terry took his pocket watch out and gave it a glance. He hated when people pussyfooted around him.
"And you my friend talk too much and I don't have the time." He said sounding frustrated.
"You fancy Rose." His statement fell heavy on the floor like a bag of bricks.
The noise from people returning from their lunch break was growing louder outside. It slipped through the crack of the door, filling up the room where the two men were. Terry uncrossed his arms. The palms of his hands rested on the table, his fingers gripped at its edge.
"And what if I am...?" He answered.
Christian got up from his chair, walked closer to Terry, their stares locked. He broke into a smile.
"Now, it makes sense! Staying at the hospital, the car, escorting her home at Lord Wooster's party...I know, I saw you that night." He said and gave him a strong pat on the shoulder. Terry kept silent. Christian was indeed like no other man he had met. He had been arrow straight and daring, and in a way he reminded Terry his self. He also thought he was crazy but so other people had said the same about him too.
"She is an attractive woman, Terry. I get it." Christian said meeting with his stare again, having walked back towards the door. "But make a move on her...and I break your legs." He added with a voice that was hard to decipher whether he was joking or he meant it.
"And now since we became honest with each other, we can go for that pint as friends." He said, with a glint in his eyes. He opened the door.
"Sunday at 7, Cittie of York in Holborn." Terry said, feeling intrigued all the more about Candy's boyfriend.
"I'll see you there." He said and turned to leave. Hathaway was also approaching.
"Wait!" Terry raises his voice and stood upright. Christian stopped looked at Hathaway before turning back to look at Terry.
"Will Rose be there?" He asked. "I feel risky." He added with a raised brow and a smile, half amused, half serious.
Christian stood for a moment thoughtful. "You have humour! I won't say. Don't want to spoil the surprise." He said at the end. "See you on Sunday."
He said goodbye to Robert as they passed each other and locked stares with him while he was leaving.
Robert came inside the changing room, with his head still turned towards the corridor. Terry was pouring one more shot of whiskey and though his face wasn't showing much, Robert knew.
"What's with the booze at lunch break?" He asked him. "Haven't we agreed a no-drinking rule on performance days?" He continued asking, his voice stern, given his right as the manager of the troupe.
"Give me a break Robert." Terry cut him from continuing. "It's only a shot and I know the God damn rules." He gulped the drink down, avoiding to meet with Robert's stare. Instead he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and walked past Robert, heading towards the door.
It was evident he had been unsettled by the visit of that man. "Christian looked fine! What was he doing here?" He asked him before he exited the room. Terry stopped for a moment, but didn't turn to see Robert.
"Came to see me." He said. Terry definitely wasn't up for further questioning. However, Robert wasn't to leave the matter as it stood at the moment. The play was going amazingly well, they were writing theatre history with those performances so a Terry meltdown like the ones Robert had witnessed in the past was out of the question.
"Listen to me Terry." He said with a business like voice. He did consider the young man like a son to him but having known his character too, whenever Terry faced problems, he hated all those touchy-feely talks. "I trust that whatever those "personal" matters are, that you, as a professional, have control over."
Terry turned on the spot and looked at him.
"If you feel at any point that you lose it, I have a right to know." Robert added.
"Don't worry Robert. Hamlet unlike everything else, is a triumph and it'll stay as such." He said. "The rest...perhaps the time to salvage them has passed."
"Just know, I'm here." His boss said when Terry turned his back again to him.
"I'll survive boss." He heard him say. "Just like I have done all that time away..."
He walked down the corridor with the eyes of Robert still on his back. Christian had unsettled him only temporarily. In fact, the more time ticked on, the better he felt. At least, although in not many details, Christian knew now. And yes, it felt better to have some honesty between them, rather than secrets trying to hide behind the stares. By the time, he was getting ready for the evening performance, he actually had started to look forward for their meet up on Sunday. If nothing else, he knew it wasn't going to be boring.
Candy had left Christian at home that morning. Four days had passed since the dramatic event that took place on Monday. Time she spent almost entirely at home with Christian. She filled the days with an almost continuous search of things to do. Chores in the house, taking care of her man down to such minute things as fluffing up his pillows, and making endless cups of tea. Everything and anything to stop her mind wandering to Terry.
At nights, the feeling of his body on hers...covering her, feeling his weight on her hips and her breasts, his hand over her face, inside her hair, his lips tracing all the peaks and valleys of her body - she worried at the start, whether it was too early for him to make love. In the end, it had proved to be her refuge from all her Terry-related thoughts. So much so, she yarned for Christian's touch every night and he was happy to oblige.
Archie had tried to get a reaction from her regarding the premiere but she had denied him any. In fact, she would have been happy if the whole thing had been erased from her mind. She kept cheerful, yapping about all things and nothing serious. She put the radio on, read books.
She also avoided Marion who had showed up on Tuesday morning, looking a bit sheepish. She came to pick her up on her way to the charity headquarters but Candy had other plans. She was taking care of Christian at home so she was sorry, but she'd be absent for a few days. She did throw the question though, and was surprised because she was adamant she wasn't going to discuss anything about Monday night.
So when she asked Marion if she had enjoyed the premiere, Marion's eyes turned like those of a young child who had stolen the cookies from the jar and had been caught red-handed. Candy feigned surprise. Oh yes! Marion had said. I think I stepped on Terry toes and he didn't look all that happy about it. The last she had said as she bit her bottom lip, looked down and rubbed the toes of her shoes together.
Of course Candy had no idea! She had been so preoccupied with Christian's fever and if he had been ok, she had to leave half way through the play. Marion had shrugged her shoulders. You'd think the man is made of ice sometimes... but she could see the fire in his eyes. Shame that it happened when he looked angry. And certainly on Monday he looked like he had a bee on his bonnet. Hadn't Rose notice it? He actually looked quite crossed every time he spoke to Rose. Marion was listing all the observations made without looking like she had an intention to stop. This chat was making Candy nervous. Especially when Marion started wondering about Terry's mood and her. She stopped her friend by cutting her short with a dismissal of Terry as being an odd fellow. She had more pressing things to think and do. So they said their goodbyes and they parted ways. A few days later, they still stayed apart.
It had been Friday and Christian had started feeling impatient to get out. And he had missed his place a little, despite having truly loved being in Rose's place, the two of them, alone for a change. She was going to clean his apartment however, before he moved back there. It wasn't hygienic for him, in the state that it was. He didn't want her to overtire herself however. They came to an agreement. She could go to let Mrs. Brown in his apartment. She had been his cleaning lady for a few years already. And Rose could stay to help a little, perhaps, tidy up his paperwork, focus on the lighter chores.
Mrs. Brown was a very fastidious woman when it came to cleaning. So much so, Rose felt like she was in the way. When she realised the latter, she decided to focus on tidying up Christian's bedroom. Gathered all the clothes that needed washing, put books and papers in piles, opened the windows for some fresh air to come in. His bed was a mess and needed clean sheets. Next to the door, there was a big dresser with several drawers. She started opening them, one by one. She hadn't been privy of the contents of those drawers before. In comparison with the rest of the house, the inside of the drawers looked much tidier. She was impressed. Curiosity took the better of her. She had been with Christian several months now.
However, perhaps due to the circumstances, apart from some early dates where he had shared a few things about his past and his family, he hadn't said much more than that. There had been a box in one of the drawers. A dark wooden box it was, plain as plain could get. It wasn't right she knew it, peeking like that inside his private things, but took the box out and sat on the bed. Opened its lid. There was some old photographs, family photographs. A boy dressed in nautical clothes, sitting on the lap of a woman and a man standing next to the chair where the woman and the boy were sitting. The woman, though she hadn't striking features, she looked quite elegant and poised. The man, he looked like the kind of man any woman would want for her husband. There was goodness in his eyes and a feeling he would have done everything for his family. Have them protected, and loved.
There were more photographs of them over the years and by the growing up of the boy, she came to realise this was Christian and his parents. She was puzzled. He had only touched the subject of his parents only a handful of times and in all those times, his words carried bitter feelings. About a shady adoption, even having mentioned him being a stolen baby. But the people in those photographs...they weren't giving her such an impression.
There were some sketched drawn by Christian...his first attempts on drawing. They looked beautiful. One in particular, grabbed her attention. It was beautiful and pretty much strange from the first glance. It was an early sketch, it appeared of the Grantchester meadows. The river passing through, just as his later painting, which was hung in the gallery. He had said about loving being at the Grantchester meadows but this showed that his affection for the place run well into his past. There was a place and date on it.
Montmartre January 1919
Her knowledge in the arts may have lacked in depth but she had been good with places. Montmartre had been in Paris. Albert had sent her a postcard once from there. And the painting was definitely an earlier version of the Grantchester meadows which meant that Christian must had drawn them from memory in this drawing of his. But in this particular one a woman had been sitting on her knees hidden in the grass. She was leaning towards the water as if she had been looking at her reflection, but her head had turned upwards to look at this magnificent swan having taken flight, with his wings open, leaving the woman and the river behind. The most striking about this drawing however was that the woman was faceless. Long blond hair were falling on an empty face. She put the finger on that unknown face, mesmerised by the mystery the drawing was emitting. A sudden noise came from the living room. By the noise of elbowed, misplaced crockery Candy judged that Mrs Brown must had been scrubbing most aggressively the benches of the small kitchen at the back of the room.
"Are you alright Mrs. Brown?" She yelled from Christian's bedroom.
"Yes, Miss White, please forgive the noise." She yelled back, "I hope it didn't startle you."
"No, I am fine Mrs. Brown, not to worry."
She gave the drawing one more glance before placing it back in the box. There had been dry flowers, some plain white calling cards with nothing written on it.
A fancy copy of Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "The Raven"
And under all that papers, clippings and photographs of Christian's life, there was a handkerchief of exquisite linen, embroidered with silk. Its condition was near to pristine apart from a faint yellow tint, confessing the years that had passed. She opened it and stood there for how long she didn't know. What she knew was that she stared at this coat of arms sewn on the left corner. A swan with his wings open, ready to fly, almost reminiscent of the swan in Christian's drawing but this one was crowned. Her heart started beating faster for reasons she didn't know exactly but this coat of arms hadn't been unfamiliar to her. However, as much as she tried to think where she's seen it, she couldn't come up with an answer. She heard the door of the apartment open. She put the lid of the box back in a swift move.
"Good afternoon Mrs. Brown."
Got up and put the box back inside the dresser. With the clean bedsheets hanging from her arms, she appeared at the door of the bedroom.
"Oh! Hello Mr."
"Christian!" She said with a high pitch in her voice, full of surprise. "What are doing here?"