Chapter Eight

When Spencer yanked open the door, Marshall stood there, a large black bag over one shoulder. Even in the wan light of the pizza shop, he appeared hesitant, scared almost.

“Is it okay if I come in? I know we don’t know each other that well. And I didn’t even return your text yesterday, although, to be honest, things have been a little manic. But I’m—well—I’ve run out of options of places to go and people who I can trust. I suppose I could hole up in a small hotel somewhere, but even then the bastards can still find—”

“For goodness’ sake, Marshall, get in here.”

Spencer opened the door wide and pulled him by the arm over the threshold. Before closing the door, he leant outside and checked the pavement. Everything appeared as usual. A masked couple entered the pizza shop arm in arm chatting, happily absorbed in each other’s company, but the street was otherwise empty. Satisfied, Spencer closed and bolted the door before turning round.

Marshall had perched on a lower step of the staircase. He looked utterly defeated, his scarf lowered, his mask and glasses now removed. A large holdall sat next to him. Spencer watched him rub his hands up and down his face and through his hair, as though to wash away what must have been a nightmare of a weekend. When he stopped and looked up at Spencer, dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his skin stretched taut with anxiety. Did he think Spencer might turn him away? The man looked not so much hounded as hunted. At the thought, Spencer’s heart wrenched, and he did exactly what his mother would have done in the same situation—he scooped Marshall up from the step into a tight hug.

Held close, he could feel Marshall’s body trembling, maybe with tension, maybe with relief, but quivering nonetheless.

“Hey, don’t worry,” said Spencer, rubbing Marshall’s back. “You’re safe here.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are.”

After a few moments, feeling Marshall’s body relax, Spencer let go.

“You’d think I would be immune to this.” Marshall appeared embarrassed at showing weakness. “Or at least understand the score. I work alongside the paparazzi much of the time, don’t necessarily agree with their principles, but we’ve always had a mutual understanding. Being their target is not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. I knew they would be waiting for me outside my flat in South Kensington, so I asked the taxi driver to take me past Darcy’s place in Chelsea, and saw the bastards had set up camp there, too. I realised then they would be hanging around anyone I’m connected to. That’s when I thought of you. I got him to drop me at the Tube station here. I remembered you saying you’d be coming home from your parents’ place on Sunday evening. I would have called or texted you, but my phone died on me.”

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs,” said Spencer, leading the way. He wondered how long Marshall had waited around for him to appear, deciding there and then not to bring up the newspaper story. “That was you outside the Tube station mini market?”

“I’m afraid so.” Spencer heard Marshall following behind. “I was going to ask the cabbie to drive around the area and find a pizza shop—I remember you telling me you lived above one—but then worried the guy might recognise me and notify someone. Apparently paranoia comes with the territory.”

“Just good sense, if you ask me. The driver probably thinks you’re catching the Tube back into town. Now be careful in here. I have a cat who thinks she’s the most important living creature on the planet. You will either be ignored as unimportant or hissed at as an intruder, and hopefully not clawed.”

When Spencer unlocked the door, Tiger sat in the doorway to the bedroom, nosey as ever, eyeing them both. As Marshall stepped into the room, she came straight over and brushed herself against his leg, her tail in the air. Spencer’s mouth dropped open.

“I have never, ever, seen her do that to another human being,” said Spencer, watching Marshall reach down and scratch her head, and more incredulously, watching her not only allow him but positively purr her enjoyment at the attention. “I kid you not, my brother is scared of her. She’s even been known to bite him.”

“She’s a beauty. What’s her name?”

“Tiger,” said Spencer. “Tiger Neon.”

“After the Killers song?”

“You see? With that kind of taste in music, of course you’re welcome here. Now, sit yourself down and let me get you something to drink. I’ve only got tea or coffee, I’m afraid. Nothing stronger.”

“Tea would be lovely, thanks. Can I charge my phone?”

“Of course. There’s a power socket just behind the sofa.”

While Spencer set about making mugs of tea, he kept an eye on Marshall watching him make his way over to the sofa and plugging in his phone charger. When he finally dropped onto the sofa, he let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Seconds later, Tiger jumped into his lap and curled up. Spencer laughed in amazement and shook his head. He had never known his cat to be a people person, not even with her owner. While Marshall massaged his cat’s head with one hand, he switched on his phone with the other and checked the display.

“Oh, heck, Marshall,” said Spencer. “There’s something I need to tell you. You won’t get a phone signal anywhere in the flat, in case you need to call somebody or you’re waiting for a call. You’ll have to go downstairs into the street. And the landlord never put in a landline or Wi-Fi, so we’re pretty much stuck on a desert island in here.”

Instead of being put out, Marshall appeared relieved.

“I knew there was a good reason for coming. Apart from being here with you. This is the perfect choice, my Last Homely House East of the Sea.”

Spencer smiled as he held the carton of milk in the air and waited for Marshall to nod.

“A Tolkien fan, too,” said Spencer, bringing the drinks over and placing them down on the coffee table. “You know, I might never let you leave.”

“Right now, that sounds absolutely perfect. And I bought you some marmalade, too. From the convenience store at the station.”

“Marmalade? Okay, that’s very kind of you,” said Spencer, a little baffled, as he took the seat next to Marshall.

“Marmalade and canned whipped cream, if my memory serves me correctly.”

“Oh, heavens,” said Spencer, putting his hands over his eyes and feeling his cheeks burning. Next to him, he heard Marshall laughing softly, the shoulder touching Spencer’s shaking with humour.

“It’s okay,” said Marshall, placing a warm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m only kidding. But you should know I have a solid memory for facts and figures, and especially for things people say.”

“Noted.”

Apart from Tiger’s loud purr and the soft music from Spencer’s speaker, they sat unspeaking in companionable silence, nursing their drinks, Marshall using a hand to massage the top of Tiger’s head.

“Thank you for doing this,” said Marshall eventually.

“My house is your house. And apparently, my cat is all yours, too.”

“Would it be really awkward if I asked to stay the night?”

Spencer’s heart started to speed up then until he reminded himself that Marshall needed to stay off the radar and Spencer’s flat had proven the perfect haven.

“Of course you can. I’d be honoured to have you stay. You can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa—”

“Spencer, I can’t ask you—”

“It’s fine. I often fall asleep out here. And you clearly won’t fit on this old thing. Your legs would be dangling off the end. Now before you argue any more, do you want to grab a hot bath? Or you can use the attachment over the tub to have a shower, if you’d prefer.”

Marshall pushed his head back into the leather sofa and let out a deep sigh.

“You know, the mere thought of a hot bath is making me feel better already.”

“Done, then. I’ll run a bath for you. Have you eaten?”

“No, but you don’t have to—”

“I’m hungry, too. While you have a bath, I’m going to run downstairs and order us an extra-large pepperoni and chilli pizza. Hope that’s okay?”

“Sounds perfect. I’m really sorry to do this—”

“Right, that’s it. Stop now. If you apologise one more time, I will confiscate my cat. Just let somebody do something nice for you. Let’s start with a fresh towel and I’ll run you a bath while you entertain Tiger. And when you’ve finished your bath, go and change in the bedroom. I’ll dig out some casuals for you to wear and leave them on the bed, a sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. The track bottoms may be a little short, but they’re the best I can muster. Hopefully, by the time you’ve bathed and changed into those, I’ll be back with the food. Something to note. Because of the ovens downstairs, the floor to the flat might be toasty-warm right now, but it gets cold during the night. I’ll leave out some thick woollen socks, long ones, for you to wear to bed.”

Without another word, Spencer headed to the bathroom, stopping for a quick look back over his shoulder as he reached the door. Marshall had been checking him out as he walked away. The realisation sent a thrill through him. The truth was, he enjoyed taking care of Marshall, loved seeing his smiled appreciation at the small kindnesses. Without a second thought, he pulled out his expensive bubble bath and plopped a generous amount into the running water while steam filled his tiny bathroom. Once he had the tub filled, he went back into the living area.

“Couple of things. It’s an old flat, so there’s no fancy bathroom fixtures. But the plumbing works and the place is heated, so you won’t freeze to death. And more importantly the flat comes with—”

“You, Spencer,” said Marshall, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “The place comes with you. Honestly, you have no idea how much this means to me. And remind me to show you photos on my phone of some of the far-from-fancy places I’ve stayed around the world while reporting on one situation or another. Your flat is five-star luxury accommodation by comparison.”

“That’s nice of you to say, and I actually love living here. But I was going to mention the easy-to-reach shops.” Spencer took his hand back and reached for his wallet and keys. “Now, I’m going to take some money, leave my phone on the table so you can still listen to the music while you’re soaking—Bluetooth still works without the internet, thank goodness—and pop down to the pizza shop. Put Her Royal Highness onto the floor when you’re ready. Jump in the bath while the water’s nice and hot. Don’t leave it too long.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Grinning, Spencer bounced down the stairs, two at a time. Gino was already serving another customer at the counter, and he waited to place his order, which included a six-pack of bottled Italian beers. While he waited, he realised he hadn’t asked Marshall whether he drank beer, but he was sure alcohol of any kind would not go amiss, bearing in mind the weekend he had endured.

Around twenty minutes later, when he pushed open the upstairs door to his apartment, Marshall was sat cross-legged on the sofa in grey sweats and white socks, watching television with Tiger installed again on his lap. Spencer went to the kitchen counter and placed everything down.

“Hope you don’t mind. I used your hairdryer in the bedroom. Not a big fan of wet hair on a cold night.”

While pulling out plates, cutlery and his small bottle of hot sauce, Spencer continued chatting with Marshall.

“Me either. You look better, refreshed.”

“I feel better. Much better, thank you.”

“My pleasure. I bought us some beers to go with the pizza. Thought you might like something more fortifying to drink than tea or coffee.”

“Good call,” said Marshall.

Spencer searched his kitchen drawers for a bottle opener. He rarely drank at home but had brought a corkscrew combined with a bottle opener with him when he moved in. Once he’d popped the tops off a couple of beers, he took one over to Marshall, finding him flipping through news channels on Spencer’s flatscreen.

“Are you okay to watch the news?” asked Spencer.

“Damage is done now, isn’t it?”

Spencer couldn’t help but notice the resigned tone in Marshall’s voice. On all the programmes of Marshall’s that Spencer had watched, the man had never backed down from asking hard questions. Now the tables had been turned and Marshall was the one having to answer them. Spencer went back to the kitchenette and brought the pizza box and plates over to the coffee table. He placed a slice on each plate before handing one to Marshall. Without thinking, he picked up the remote and clicked off the television.

“You know, sometimes you begin to wonder if you can trust anyone,” said Marshall, staring at the plate.

“There must be people you can still lean on, surely? Like Darcy?”

“There are. Not many, though. Not entirely,” said Marshall, becoming reflective. “I usually go and stay with my mother if I need space from life and work. She lives in a small village outside Oxford. But she’s in the Bahamas right now.”

“Very nice.”

“Can I trust you, Spencer?”

When Spencer met Marshall’s sincere gaze and felt his vulnerability, his heart wrenched. Of course Marshall felt betrayed, after being exposed publicly by somebody he thought beyond scrutiny. He wanted to say yes, that he could trust him with his life, but those words would be easy to say and maybe Marshall needed—deserved—more.

“That’s a question you need to answer for yourself. I can only tell you that I would never do what Joey did to you, that seeing you like this breaks my heart and I would punch anyone in the nose who tried to hurt you right now. But then, you don’t really know me. I could say anything. The point is whether you believe me.”

Marshall fell quiet and nodded solemnly.

“I can only give you my word. And if it helps, I’ve suffered humiliation at the hands of a partner—not as publicly as you—but I know the number that kind of thing does on your self-esteem. Only you can help yourself bounce back from something like that. You also know for a fact there’s no internet access or phone connection here, so I’m not about to call anyone. I truly want this to be a safe space for you, Marshall.”

Once again Marshall processed Spencer’s words, and eventually, he returned a sympathetic smile.

“Poor Spencer. Both times we’ve met, you’ve seen me at my lowest ebb. You must be wondering what a mess I am, this man who’s dropped into your life twice.”

“Just to clarify, I happen to like this man.”

Marshall smiled.

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Marshall began asking Spencer about his weekend with the family—probably a ploy to distract them both from Marshall’s melancholy—and before long both of them were laughing. By the time they had finished the pizza and managed two beers each, and when Spencer noticed Marshall try to stifle a yawn a couple of times, he realised the time had slipped away from them.

“It’s already ten-thirty,” said Spencer, standing up from the sofa. “Maybe it’s time for bed. I’d better grab a pillow and quilt cover for the sofa—”

Before he could move off, Marshall grabbed his hand.

“Spencer. The bed’s plenty big enough for two. And I promise to be a gentleman if you lie next to me. To be honest, I’m not sure I can even sleep. Not for long, anyway. My brain won’t stay quiet.”

“Are you sure, Marshall? I don’t want you thinking I’ve lured you—”

“I brought myself here. There was no luring involved. And honestly, it would be good to have your company tonight. Even if we’re just lying next to each other, keeping each other company and chatting.”

Once again a frisson of excitement shot through Spencer at Marshall’s words, and the fact he still had hold of Spencer’s hand. Blake had been the last person to share his bed, and that felt like an eternity ago. At any other time he might have found himself giving off seductive signals or maybe even returning a flirty comment, but doing so when the man was so vulnerable would be a low move. Instead he squeezed Marshall’s hand and smiled his encouragement.

“In which case, I would love to join you. It’s going to be another cold night and we can keep each other warm. And I have a feeling we might be joined by her ladyship, who usually hogs the sofa at night.”

“‘Marshall Highlander,” said Marshall, in his best television reporter voice, “caught in scandalous menage-a-trois with cute magazine editor and his cat.’“

“Cute?” said Spencer, smiling at Marshall’s light-heartedness and hauling him up from the sofa.

“As you said yourself, I say it like it is.”

Spencer grinned as he pushed Marshall towards the bedroom, towards his bed, which was barely a double.

“Which side should I take?” asked Marshall, standing at the foot of the bed.

“I usually sleep in the middle, so take your pick.”

Marshall went to the far side, correctly interpreting that side as the one Spencer rarely used. Both sides had a small table, but on Spencer’s side there stood a small lamp he left switched on until sleep. He set about turning off lights in the flat, and when he returned Marshall was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his watch. When Spencer stretched his arms in the air, yawning on tiptoe, he turned to find Marshall staring at his backside before looking quickly away.

“This is a bonus to my otherwise boring Sunday evenings,” said Spencer, deflecting as he slid beneath the cover. Marshall got in too and laid on his side to face Spencer.

“I guess we both usually go to bed alone. If you need to sleep, turn the light off. I’ll be fine in the dark.”

“Are you not tired?”

“Not really,” said Marshall, even though he looked exhausted. “But I don’t want to keep you awake.”

“We can talk for a bit, if you like? Maybe you can tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your family. Your mother and father. There’s not much on your Wikipedia page. And although I am not normally an iStalker, I did look you up.”

“Did you now? Then you know who my parents are?”

“I think so. But tell me anyway.”

Marshall flipped onto his back and appeared to seek out something on the ceiling before he began talking.

“My father’s the film producer Leyton Highlander and my mother is Gloria Ann Shelley. That’s the name she still goes by, now they’re divorced. Before she met my father, she was at the start of a promising modelling career, but eventually planning to start her own fashion house, like Stella McCartney. But then, as she says herself, she made the mistake of falling for my father. She was the daughter of one of his wealthier financial backers, a natural platinum blonde and stunning. They had me late in the game. Mum would have been thirty-three, ten years younger than Dad. He already had a mistress by then. Although she has never said as much, I have a strong suspicion I wasn’t planned. Probably the result of make-up sex after one of their infamous fights. I didn’t hear many of them growing up. I mostly read about them in the papers. Just like all the men in my father’s family, I had a private nanny until I was old enough to be shipped off to an all-boys preparatory boarding school in Edinburgh, and then on to Eton at thirteen to study for my exams.”

“That’s brutal. You never saw your parents?”

“During the holidays. Every summer we’d fly off to the sun somewhere exclusive. Stay in the finest hotels and eat the most expensive food. Dad spent most of his time in the room on his phone, but Mother liked to get acquainted with the local neighbourhood. By the end of the holiday she’d be on first-name terms with all the shopkeepers. I think that’s where I get my love of talking to strangers.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She is. She was my rock. Still is.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” asked Marshall, turning to Spencer.

“Tell me about the real you, not the television version.”

Marshall gave Spencer a withering smile.

“For all the celebrity bullshit that goes with the job, I’m a private person. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love the job, but I also cherish my privacy. Funny, really—when I was a news correspondent, I only got recognised in public now and then, which, at the time, was quite nice. Now with the regular television slot airing here and the US, I can’t go many places without being identified. I live in a flat in South Ken, which is my London base for when I’m working, and I own a converted coach house in the countryside on the outskirts of Cambridge. No doubt the bastards will be staking out both places. But if I’m going to be completely honest—and I feel I can be around you—I’m actually lonely a lot of the time. People say nice things about what I do and I get my fair share of fan mail, but none of it’s real. Sometimes I think my amazing job and being personally happy are different sides of the same coin, and you can only flip one, not both. My father definitely felt that way about his marriage.”

“That’s harsh,” said Spencer, nodding his understanding, even though he knew of many celebrities across the world who had found a perfect balance between the two. When he turned to check on Marshall, he found him lost in thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Don’t give up hope, Marshall.”

Marshall kept staring up but smiled at the words.

“Does your mother know about you?”

“That I’m gay?” Marshall laughed as though Spencer had said something hilarious—or naïve. “Of course she does. I think she suspected before I did, before I’d hit puberty. She never admitted as much, but I think she made the mistake of saying something to my father when I was around eight. That summer, instead of going abroad with them, my father shipped me off early to summer camp in the north of England. They ran the place like a military school with morning drills and assault courses and survival classes. And cold showers. Worst of all, the place was full of bullies. Not just among the other students, but the faculty members, too.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“You have no idea. But I’m not the kind of person to back down from hard work, or to shy away from bullies. In fact I loved the outdoor activities, and quickly made friends. But, as usual, the few spoiled the stay for the many, constantly picking on us to do the tasks nobody else wanted, like cleaning the toilet block, or being on table kitchen duties after meals. They’d clearly singled out all of the new kids, the ones who hadn’t been there before. When my mother called to ask how things were going, I gave her a detailed account about what was happening. My father had booked me to stay for four weeks, but the next morning she came to pick me up. Honestly, I think she was more upset than me. Should have heard her screaming at the duty manager and then down the phone at my father.”

“Will she have read the papers?”

Marshall heaved out a deep sigh at that remark.

“Not sure they would have reached her yet. She will eventually, though. But she’s used to public scrutiny. My parents’ messy divorce was splashed all over the tabloids. I just hope I haven’t let her down.”

“Of course you haven’t. From what you tell me about her, she’ll see the article for the bullshit that it is.”

Marshall released a small laugh, then reached over and squeezed Spencer’s hand. Spencer held his breath and savoured the brief touch, and only breathed again when Marshall started talking.

“I should be used to this. In my field of work, I’ve been bombed, sworn at, shot at, spat at, hidden out in a school in Syria while a gang of terrorists passed nearby. You’d think I’d be immune to a bit of gutter press tittle-tattle.”

“None of those other things were personal.”

Marshall smiled gently again and softly shook his head.

“You can turn the light out now. I think I might be able to sleep.”

Spencer did as asked.

“I think I’m in good hands here. Although I want you to know the incredible restraint I’m exercising right at this moment, having you within such easy reach,” came the humoured voice in the darkness. Spencer almost rolled over and fell into his arms. He knew that one word from him and they would be doing things he had recently dreamt about. But apart from not wanting to be a rebound fling, Marshall deserved to be taken care of, deserved some rest.

And while over the next half-hour Spencer tried to keep his eyes closed, tried to slow his heartbeat despite having the world’s sexiest man next to him in his bed, he heard Marshall’s breathing slow to a soft, steady purr.

Finally, the poor guy had found some peace.