The pub shut its doors at half past ten and by then it was full dark, the kind of midsummer night that was washed navy blue by a not-quite-full moon. They walked up the hill again quietly in amicable silence, side by side, shoulders brushing, tall, spindly moon-shadows preceding them along the lane. Simon’s leg was paining him, but it would get him home.
Their outing had been unsuccessful in the sense that no-one there from the village had seen anything on Monday night. Or at least, wouldn’t admit to it if they had. On the other hand, Simon had enjoyed himself. It had been a long time since he’d let himself enjoy an evening out with someone he fancied. And after this morning, he had admitted to himself he fancied Walter Kennett quite a lot. He hoped he hadn’t messed things up irretrievably by the misunderstanding. He didn’t think he had. Kennett didn’t seem the sort to be backward in coming forward. If he hadn’t wanted to spend time with Simon, he wouldn’t have invited him to the pub.
“What now?” the man said as they turned a bend in the lane and their shoulders brushed. “What happens next?”
“I’d like to see you again,” Simon said. “I’d really like that.”
There was a silence. “That’s not what I meant,” Walter said, “but all right, let’s talk about that, shall we?” The edge was back in his voice.
“We don’t have to,” Simon said. “We can just forget the whole thing. I’ll get in the car, drive home, work on the case, we never talk about it again. There’s no obligation here, Kennett. I thought I’d made that clear.”
There was silence. Their moon-shadows waxed and waned over the bumps in the lane as they walked.
Then Walter sighed. “I told you,” he said. “I don’t fuck.”
“There’s more to life than fucking,” Simon said irritably. He couldn’t talk about this and concentrate on the path. His bloody leg was complaining quite distinctly that they should have taken the car after all. “Come here a minute.” They were passing a field gateway. The gate was wooden, and shut, the hedgerow flowers crowding close around it in the moonlight. He took hold of Walter’s elbow and guided them both up against it. Not pinning him against it, because he wasn’t a suicidal maniac, but resting his own back against it and not letting go of Walter’s elbow.
Walter made a startled noise but didn’t pull away. That was something. They were close enough together that Simon could feel his body-heat.
“Here?” Walter said. “Have you gone bonkers?”
“To talk,” Simon said abruptly. “I want to get this straight. And I can’t think properly when I’m walking.” He didn’t mention his leg. It was a relief to get his weight off it though.
“I like you,” Simon said, coming straight out with it. “I like you and I’d like to see you again, whether that means fucking or not fucking or friends or whatever you want. I like you. All right?”
There was a bit of a pause. He dropped his hand reluctantly from Walter’s elbow. Walter didn’t move away, but he didn’t say anything, either.
Simon let him think.
“I like you, too,” he said, eventually, stepping forward and leaning on the gate beside Simon. “More than I should, probably. I don’t do this sort of thing.” He got out his pipe and began to fill it as he talked, looking down at his hands, talking into the field of sheep.
Simon made an interrogatory kind of noise, but didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t really fancy people all that much,” Walter said, eventually. “Only once I’ve got to know them, you know? It’s unusual that I even notice people like I noticed you when you turned up at the beginning of the week. And I steer clear of complications, anyway. It’s safer.”
Simon made an agreeing sound.
“It’s not that I’m not up for a bit of how’s your father now and again,” Walter explained in a quiet voice, still fiddling with the pipe. But I don’t usually know the surnames of the blokes I go with and they don’t know mine. It’s just a…a…physical thing, I suppose. Like, every so often I need it, so I go and find someone and do it, but it’s not because I fancy them. Only that I fancy getting off.”
Simon nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose?” he said. “But…what was this morning?”
“I like you, too,” Walter said. “I liked you and I’d noticed you like that, and I wanted it, and you’d put me in a position where I felt I owed you. It wasn’t a hardship, don’t think that. It was all right. I liked getting you off, even if I was cross about it and felt you pushed me into it.
“I’m not the sort of bloke who pushes people into things they don’t want to do,” Simon said. It would rankle for a while, that Walter had thought he was.
“I know that now,” Walter said, gruffly. “And like I’ve said, it wasn’t a hardship. I like you. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. But I don’t fuck, like I say. And I don’t much like to be touched myself.”
“What do you like?” Simon asked him, awkwardly, after a moment’s silence. He wasn’t good at this kind of conversation. He couldn’t remember having one like it before, in fact.
“Depends who I’m with,” Walter said frankly. “If it’s a bloke I don’t know, I don’t like them touching me at all. I suck them off and deal with myself, we both get off, job done.”
“And what about if it’s with a bloke you do know?” Simon asked. “Or a woman?”
Walter snorted. “Depends, don’t it?” he said. “Depends on how well you know each other and what you both fancy at the time.” He glanced sidelong at Simon, finally. “Not that different, whether you’re bedding a man or a woman. Just got to talk about it. Ask what they like.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Simon. “Never been with a woman. Not my cup of tea.”
He sort of wished he smoked. At least Walter had something to do with his hands. He felt very exposed, all of a sudden. But he supposed he was due some discomfort, after making Walter feel obliged this morning.
“So…?” he asked, voice quiet. “When you say you like me…?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, you mad bastard,” Walter said irritably. “I like you, all right. I’ve only known you four days and you’ve got me tangled up enough inside myself that I know I’d like to get to know you better.”
Simon sighed. Well, that was good. That was very good. That was what he wanted. He wanted to find out more about Walter Kennett, what made him tick. And he wanted to hear that little noise again. The one Walter had made this morning when he’d pulled off Simon’s cock, still coming himself and resting his forehead on Simon’s thigh and letting Simon stroke his hair.
They stood in silence for a few moments, the gap between their shoulders slowly narrowing until they were fitted together all along their sides. It was a lovely summer night. An owl hooted a few fields away and a small, furred creature made a scuttle for home in the hedge beside them.
“There’s no-one else here,” Simon said, finally. “Come here and kiss me. Or,” he paused as the thought hit him, “or don’t you kiss?”
“I kiss,” Walter said, not moving forward or backwards.
“And?” Simon wouldn’t make the first move, not after this morning. He leaned firmly against Walter’s shoulder, but didn’t do anything else, making it clear it was absolutely Walter’s choice.
“I…” Walter said eventually. Simon couldn’t quite see his expression in the moonlight…he had his back to the light. The same light falling on Simon’s face would be making Simon’s expression clear. Simon turned toward him slightly and worked on making it as open and non-threatening and kissable as possible.
“I…” Walter said again. He sounded a bit lost. Then he said with some of his usual asperity, “Oh for God’s sake!” and turned toward Simon and closed the small gap between them. He put one hand on Simon’s shoulder and brought his other palm up to cup his jaw. Simon resolutely held on to the top bar of the gate either side of him. Walter didn’t like to be touched, he’d said. Simon wasn’t going to do anything Walter didn’t like that might make him stop.
Simon expected to have to lean down, but because he was propped against the gate resting his leg, they were much of a height. Walter’s breath was warm on his cheek for a moment. Simon gripped the gate for all he was worth as their mouths met and brushed tentatively together. Walter’s lips were warm and soft and Simon sighed with pleasure, relaxing in to it.
Walter’s mouth was perfect. All his usual sarcastic verbosity silenced and channelled into carefully exploring Simon’s.
His thighs were warm against Simon’s and his hand had slid down to Simon’s hip. Simon huffed out another breath and relaxed some more.
There was a considerable period of silence.
Simon very carefully didn’t move his hands, until they paused for breath. “Can I touch you?” he asked, quietly. “Or not?”
Walter had moved his hand from Simon’s face to his shoulder and now rested his forehead beside it, gripping hard. Simon stroked his cheek against Walter’s ear. The other man’s breathing was as elevated as Simon’s. Simon nuzzled his temple and his smooth cheek. It felt strange but not unpleasant, almost spread-eagled against the gate with Walter pressed against him. The low throb of arousal beat steadily through every part of him, but this was enough, more than enough. Simon didn’t just want a quick orgasm and goodbye-see-you-sometime here.
Walter murmured something Simon didn’t quite catch and took hold of Simon’s left hand, drawing it round himself and placing it in the small of his back under his jacket before raising his mouth to Simon’s again. This time, he slid his tongue along the seam of Simon’s lips and when Simon opened his mouth to let him in, the kiss quickly became more heated.
Simon splayed his fingers against the silky back of Walter’s waistcoat and held on for the ride.
* * * *
“So you do kiss,” Simon said eventually, sometime later.
“I told you,” Walter said.
They’d wound down eventually, not risking anything more racy in such a public place despite the time of night and the deserted countryside. Although to be honest, Simon might have been tempted if it hadn’t been for his leg. He was getting old. Walter hadn’t seemed interested in taking things any further, though. His hands had stayed resolutely above Simon’s waist and Simon had followed his lead.
Simon had a hand on the other man’s hip and one around his shoulders now, holding him close. That was progress. He fitted against Simon very neatly, arm around his waist, other hand playing with the hair at the nape of Simon’s neck.
“We should get going,” Walter said after another moment or two, voice muffled against Simon’s shoulder. “It’s getting late.”
Simon bent his head again for one more brush of those lips against his own and began to put Walter away from him. He winced as he put his weight back on his bad leg. He’d stiffened up.
“All right?” Walter straightened.
“Yes, fine.” Then Simon corrected himself. “Stiff. But I’m all right.”
“Is it always like this?” Walter asked.
“It’s getting better,” Simon said. “Slowly. It’s not nearly as bad as it was.”
Walter gave an understanding grunt. “I wasn’t joking about getting Sylvia to look at it you know,” he said as they continued up the lane. “She’s very good.”
Simon nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
They walked in silence for a while. “I need to go over the notes again,” he said, answering Walter’s long-ago question that had begun their interlude in the gateway. “Miss Hall-Bridges was right, basically, in the things she said earlier. There could be a banal reason. There could be a murderer walking round the village. It’s more likely in these cases that it’s a person who knew the deceased than a stranger. Generally speaking.”
“But…?” Walter said.
“But, those things Miss Hall-Bridges saw…the doorway, the thing she saw standing in silhouette. Now I’ve read the journal. About things taking on the form of humans. It’s making me wonder…” He trailed off.
“Mrs Leamington or Miss Royce,” Walter completed his thought.
“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Simon said. “Putting aside the general unlikelihood, which we’ve discarded.”
Walter agreed. “Yes. But more likely that they actually killed her themselves, surely? With no magical help?”
Simon made a thoughtful sound. “I need to think some more,” he said. “And go over everyone’s statements again.”