CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The next day was wet as well, the heavy rain continuing, making the house feel damp and cold. They kept the fire going downstairs and stayed the whole day in the small room. Ben produced a pack of cards and Nikolas a bottle of vodka, and they amused themselves teaching each other the various games they’d learnt during their different but, occasionally, very similar lives. Ben had learnt Special Forces games; so had Nikolas. Nikolas had learnt games in prison, which Ben hadn’t. He’d also played cards with royalty, including a queen, which gave him a whole new (and far less pornographic) set of games to teach Ben. They both knew how to drink equally well, and the neat vodka added spice to the whole day. By the time darkness fell, which was hardly that noticeable as it had been dark all day, they’d made love five times in various ways, drunk the entire bottle, and owed each other many millions of pounds, which Ben had more chance of collecting than Nikolas ever would. They’d also run out of food, having now eaten all the dried rations as well as the fresh food they’d polished off the day before. Nikolas wasn’t particularly concerned and almost seemed to relish the idea of a few days without having to eat at all. Ben said he could put up with it—he’d done so many times in his life before—but claimed it was the dog he was concerned about. Nikolas pretended to believe him, and they both agreed Ben would make a trip to the nearest village the next day and, with cash, stock them up again. There seemed to be no risk in this plan, as far as they could see.
By the light of the fire, they studied the map and discovered a village with a pub and post office about fifteen miles away. They reckoned it would have a shop. Ben calculated it would take him all day to get there and back, and he was concerned about leaving Nikolas on his own, but when he voiced this thought he got a suitable response and decided perhaps the Zaslon operative could survive without him for a few hours. He decided to leave the dog with him, too. He could cope with his own imminent death from starvation but not Radulf’s as well.
He set off before first light with his empty pack and a few hundred pounds in cash. The moors were sodden from two days of rain, and, even now, a light drizzle was falling. In some places, he went in over the top of his boots, and so had to walk most of the fifteen miles with wet feet. He began to revise his fond memories of the army and to stop blaming Nikolas so much for his new life. He’d warmed up by the time the sun came up. He consulted his map to make sure he was headed in the right direction and carried on. Hunger alone would have ensured he made it to the village.
Instead of heading straight to the small supermarket he saw near the green, he went into the pub and ordered himself a huge pasty with extra chips, and sticky toffee pudding and custard to follow. He wolfed the lot, feeling slightly guilty thinking about Nikolas and Radulf hungry and cold back at the house. He sat close to the roaring log fire, took off his boots to dry them, and allowed himself an hour to relax with three pints of beer before thinking about the shopping and the return trip. When he went up to the bar to order his last beer, the landlord had appeared for it was now close to lunchtime and that would bring a consequent increase in customers. He began to take Ben’s order then he frowned, narrowing his eyes. Ben lifted one eyebrow questioningly but the man only grunted and continued pouring. “Sorry, thought we’d met before.”
Ben’s blood ran cold, but he shook off his instant fear for Nikolas as ridiculous. The man was wrong. He was well into his sixties, so not an army contemporary, and Ben didn’t recognise him at all. He slipped into his Yorkshire accent, which he could still put on very easily, and replied, “Not from around here, mate. Just up at the camp with the boys.”
The man nodded. “You’re not that easy to mix up with anyone though. Sorry, fella. No offence.”
“None taken. Thanks for the beer.”
§§§
The supermarket was a typical small Devon village shop with a mixture of expensive items for London weekenders and more traditional, cheap items for locals. Living in London with a millionaire, or he supposed he’d now have to revise that to billionaire, Ben had grown too accustomed to very high-quality food. Seeing tins of SPAM and corned beef made him smile fondly, so on a whim he put some in his trolley. He and Radulf would eat them even if Nikolas wouldn’t. He stocked up lavishly on fresh food such as eggs and steak and sausages (for Radulf) and bread and milk. Now the temperatures had dropped, he reckoned they could eat it all before it spoiled. He bought a couple of quality newspapers for Nik, a paperback for himself, and then he went back around getting some more fun things like alcohol and chocolate. Then he added some dog food, because no Special Forces canine operative should be allowed to live on sausages—as much as he might like them. On a complete whim he put a tennis ball in the trolley, too. If they got too bored with cards or reading, they could throw the ball for the dog. They’d have to be very bored, of course. He couldn’t think of anything else. He debated buying some bottled water because filtering and boiling the stream water took forever and was an almost constant, ongoing task, but then he thought about the weight of carrying it the fifteen miles he had to go and put the six-pack back. Much more important to add some more alcohol—so he did. Nikolas was fun when he was drinking.
Ben was smiling to himself, thinking about the ways in which drunk Nikolas became fun Nikolas, when he rounded the end of the drink aisle and bumped his trolley with a woman who was studying the label of a jar of cook-in-sauce, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She turned with a frown of annoyance and saw Ben. “John? Excellent, be a dear, what does this say? Can you read it? I think I’ll have to get these bloody glasses changed. I do wish they wouldn’t write the…”
Ben didn’t take the jar. She took off her glasses, and then took a step back. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I thought you were someone else. How silly of me.”
Ben didn’t want to linger or draw attention to himself, so despite finding this coincidence of twice being recognised in the space of half an hour extremely unsettling, he nodded politely and pushed up to the till to pay for his purchases. He only just got them in the pack, and when he swung it up onto his shoulders, he felt as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his back. He took a deep breath, put all discomfort to one side, and headed back through the village to the stile that led to the open moors. As he climbed up away from the buildings, he couldn’t help the occasional glance back. He could feel eyes on him, and it was unnerving. The sense of otherworldliness engendered by the house increased. It was like being in an episode of the Twilight Zone. By the time he’d done ten miles, though, he’d put the creepy village behind him and was thinking only of the very welcome reception he’d get when he turned up with the supplies.
He was relieved to see the dry stonewall that marked the edge of the grounds, very relived to find the path back to the house, even more relived to see the house still existed, and utterly delighted to be welcomed by a bark from the dog and a kiss from the human. It was nice to be the returning hero, and the newspaper and excellent bottle of wine put Nikolas in such a good mood that he was even willing to eat another steak. He’d been bored all day, something Ben knew he’d never admit. He hadn’t, however, Ben noticed, actually done anything useful like prepare some more water or do any washing. He had, it appeared, stripped down and cleaned all his weapons and done some knife-throwing practice against a target he’d made of an old T-shirt. The hits around the heart were predictably accurate.
After they’d eaten, Ben examined Nikolas’s wounds and applied some antiseptic lotion he’d bought in the shop. He knew it was probably a waste of time, but it was pleasurable for both of them, brought on some amusing fun as his hand kept slipping to one side, and gave him an excuse to see how well things were healing. Nikolas put his hand to Ben’s head and stroked through his hair. “When this food is all gone, we must go, too. It will be time.”
“Then you’d better eat slowly.”
“You cannot escape fate. Better to face it head on.”
“You don’t believe in fate, remember? Maybe Gregory has given up and gone back to Russia.”
“It’s possible.” By the tone of his voice, Ben knew he didn’t believe this. “You need a haircut.” He pulled some of the long, black strands to illustrate his point. Ben smiled and rose, sliding over Nikolas’s lap, straddling him, careful not to put too much weight on him. He pretended to assess Nikolas’s ridiculously long hair at the front. Nikolas cuffed him lightly, and they regarded each other close up and in this unfamiliar, intimate position. Ben bent and kissed him, lingering with the touch of tongues, then stood and held out his hand. Nikolas took it and allowed himself to be led to bed and all that awaited him there.