Chapter Eighteen

Winter daylight had gone to bed by the time Spencer called Marshall from the road leading to his South Kensington apartment. Two minutes out of the Tube station and his ears had turned blue from the cold. As instructed, he had been home to pack a bag, given Tiger some pampering and plenty of food, then made his way to Marshall’s place. On the Tube he had tried calling Bev a couple of times, but on each occasion the call had gone straight to her voice message. For a change, Marshall was the one person in his life answering his calls.

“Hello, you,” came the warm voice in his ear, much needed on that sub-zero night.

“I’m about five minutes away.”

“Perfect. I’m just warming a couple of mince pies and mulling wine. Should help to warm your cockles on this frozen night before the main course. Are you okay with that?”

“Can you hear my mind working overtime trying to think of a suitably salacious retort to having my cockles warmed by you? But honestly, all I can really think about right now is getting some life back in my cold, numb hands and feet. And that sounds like just the job. I’ll see you in five.”

“See you in five. Looking forward to hearing all about your day.”

Spencer didn’t want to overthink what it meant when the concierge buzzed him in before he had even reached the front the door. Or the fact he greeted him in the overheated reception by name, Mr Wyrrell, with a genuinely friendly smile, told him he didn’t need to check his bag this time and that Mr Highlander was expecting him. He had only been there once, the day before, but already everything felt familiar. When he stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor, the door to Marshall’s apartment stood slightly ajar. Spencer pushed his way in, closed the door behind him, and called out a welcome.

“In the kitchen, Spence,” came Marshall’s voice, as a waft of something amazing assaulted his nose and made his mouth water. “I’m reducing the red wine jus. Put your bag in the bedroom, kick your shoes off, then come and join me.”

When Spencer entered the bedroom to drop his bag and remove his coat and shoes, he noticed a couple of things. Since the morning, the bed had been remade immaculately, all the throw cushions and pillows now arranged meticulously back in place. On the corner of the bed, Marshall had left a pack of cat treats for Spencer’s princess, a small gesture that made him smile. And on the far bedside cabinet, now in full bold view, sat a pack of condoms and a tube of lubricant. Spencer’s grin grew wider in the confidence of knowing that later on in the evening they would be enjoying each other’s bodies.

In the kitchen, pungent garlic, onion and other indistinguishable but equally delicious odours filled the air, along with Christmas music blasting from a standalone speaker. Installed at the stove, Marshall—wearing a pair of navy chinos, a light blue polo shirt and a white kitchen apron—swayed his hips along to Slade’s ancient Christmas classic, Merry Xmas Everybody. Without making a sound, Spencer crept up behind him and pressed his body into the back of Marshall’s, his arms snaking around his waist, matching his dance movements. Even with the strong smells of cooking in the air, Marshall’s skin smelled of a mix of lavender and pine. With Spencer’s cheek resting against Marshall’s upper back, he felt a deep chuckle rumble through Marshall.

“I don’t care if the world is falling to pieces,” sighed Spencer. “I love this time of year.”

“You’re a big old softie at heart, aren’t you?” said Marshall, pivoting his upper body around until he could tip his face down to smile at Spencer.

“What if I am?”

“Absolutely fine by me,” said Marshall, kissing him softly but quickly pulling away. “Oh my goodness, you really are cold, aren’t you? Like kissing an icicle.”

“But I’m feeling better by the second.”

Spencer continued to hug Marshall from behind for a few moments until Marshall pushed him gently away using his backside.

“Go on with you, before I burn something. There’s a mince pie and a glass mug of mulled wine on the table. Can you top me up from the saucepan?”

Spencer grinned when he saw the mess Marshall was making, the tabletop covered with dirty saucepans and used bowls. Spencer’s father cooked enthusiastically on the rare occasion the inspiration took him, but his mother always complained about him using every bowl, every utensil and saucepan in the kitchen. Marshall, by comparison, appeared to be oblivious of the mess he was creating around him. Spencer poured them both mulled wine then placed a glass next to Marshall. After taking a sip of his own, he went over to the kitchen sink and began cleaning up.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re my guest.”

“I need something to do. Anyway, if I don’t clear space on the table, there will be nowhere to eat, will there?”

“You know, there’s a dishwasher to your left. Just rinse the pans and put them inside. I’ll do a full load later, once we’ve eaten.”

They worked around each other seamlessly, Marshall busying himself at the cooker and Spencer clearing up after him as well as laying the table for their dinner. While working, he took a sip of the wine, but found the mix a little too potent and aromatic, and, when Marshall wasn’t looking, poured the contents into the sink.

“How did the day go, Marsh? With the charity?”

“Really well, but the job was unbelievably strenuous. Manual labour is not something my body is used to. Thank goodness I have that huge bath, which I filled with spa salts and hot water, and wallowed in for an hour to try to get out all the kinks in my muscles.”

“Sounds like you deserved it.

“And how about you? You got the job,” said Marshall, his back still to Spencer. The final words had been a statement, not a question.

“Did Ed phone you?” asked Spencer, frozen to the spot.

“No, but I can tell by the spring in your step. And the fact that he’d be an idiot not to employ you while he had the chance. It went well then?”

“I think so. We had a good chat and he ended up offering me a position starting in the new year. Once I’ve received the offer, I’ll need to talk to Muriel.”

“That will be fun.”

“You know, funnily enough, I’m looking forward to it. Next year’s going to be interesting, what with moving out of my place and starting a new job. And I can’t help thinking the latter is, in a large part, thanks to you.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You’re a talent, Spence, and you’re finally getting what you deserve.”

On the tip of Spencer’s tongue was to ask whether that included Marshall, but he decided not to tempt fate.

“Hey, I haven’t asked you,” said Spencer. “How are things coming along with our client Christmas event? I can’t believe it’s a week from tomorrow. Is everything okay at your end?”

“You haven’t spoken to your friend Beverley?”

“She’s not been answering my calls. But, in her defence, she seems to have been swamped with work recently.”

“I imagine she’s been tied up working on the event. Probably spending time going through the finer details with the events company, Virtually Integrated Parties. From what I understand though, it sounds pretty impressive. VIP will be operating all the technical aspects from their own premises, but the control centre will be in your office where Beverley’s team will be coordinating everything. That way, if clients need to phone in with questions or problems, they just use your standard office numbers. From our end, everything’s arranged. Our studio’s providing the live link-up for the formal interview. Muriel’s publicist provided us with the sanctioned set of questions at the weekend. I’ll use those as a guideline, as always, and then just run with my gut instinct.”

“Just hearing you say that makes me want to tune in. Sounds like a lot of work is going on behind the scenes”

“At the moment, I only know about the interview I’m conducting. But Darcy tells me email invitations with links have been sent out to clients, because she’s one of them. They’ve been requested to dial in from seven-thirty, thirty minutes before the show begins. Of course, you know Darcy. She immediately clicked on the hyperlink, never does what she’s told, and the link took her to a Blackmore Magazine Group Client Party holding page telling her she had arrived too early. And that’s pretty much all I know. Where are you going to be?”

“I was hoping to be with you in the studio. But I suppose that will be up to Muriel.”

“Well, I already told her I wanted you with me as this was your brainchild. And I think Darcy is going to insist, too, so I don’t think there will be any issue. I just wondered if you would prefer to support Bev.”

“Honestly, I think I’d only be in the way,” said Spencer, the thought of talking to Muriel unsettling his stomach momentarily. He decided to change tack. “Goodness, whatever you’re concocting smells delicious.”

“I’m almost finished. How do you take your steak?”

“Medium, please.”

“Me, too. Good choice.”

“How did you know I wasn’t a vegetarian?”

“We haven’t known each other long but there were clues, Spence. The extra pepperoni pizza we ate together and the beef and onion pies from the coffee shop kind of gave you away.”

“You did tell me you were observant. And thank you. It’s not often I have people cook for me. I’d have eaten anything you put in front of me.”

Marshall froze momentarily and became pensive.

“You make a good point though. We don’t really know much about each other, do we?”

“Isn’t that the best part? The fact that we’re getting to know each other from scratch?”

Marshall laughed as he forked their steaks onto plates.

“You’re right. I really am enjoying this, Spence. Go and take a seat.”

And once again, as he did what he was told, Spencer’s heart did a little happy dance at hearing his nickname. Marshall finished putting fried onions, mushrooms, sautéed potatoes and grilled tomatoes onto their plates, then brought them to the table.

“In the three small bowls there’s Dijon mustard, creamy horseradish, and some of my mother’s homemade English mustard, which should come with a health warning. It’s like eating a mix of raw chillies, wasabi and molten lava. What do you want to drink, beer or wine?” he asked, putting a plate down in front of Spencer.

“What are you having?” asked Spencer.

“I was going to have a glass of red.”

“Can I join you?”

“Of course.”

They sat eating in companionable silence, Spencer tucking into the excellent meal. Marshall had uncorked a French claret, the exact name of which—beautifully pronounced by Marshall-- had already escaped Spencer, but he agreed that the wine complemented the meal perfectly. Eventually Marshall began talking about his limited cooking skills, explaining how he had learnt them by carefully spying on his grandmother as he sat at her kitchen table. Ten minutes into the meal, the intercom phone on Marshall’s kitchen wall rang. For a second he appeared annoyed, in two minds whether to answer the call, but then he shook his head and went to the video display.

“Good evening, Finn.”

“Good evening, Mr Highlander,” came the voice from the device. “There’s a Ms Corbett here to see you. Said you would know what it’s about. I told her you had a guest. Shall I send her up?”

“No, It’s okay, Finn. She’s just dropping something off. Get her to take a seat in the foyer and I’ll come right down.”

“Righty-ho, sir.”

Marshall replaced the phone then began removing his apron.

“It’s Lindy, one of our television assistants. She’s dropping off some important papers for me to sign. I’ll only be a second. Help yourself to more vegetables.”

With Marshall gone, Spencer got up from the table and cleared the rest of the used pans from the stove, bringing the pot of vegetables over to the table. Marshall returned not long after, carrying a large manilla envelope, which he tossed onto the countertop. Spencer wanted to ask what the call was about, but thought he’d wait for Marshall to offer an explanation.

Marshall took his seat and returned to his food without a word.

“Do you want to heat that up?” asked Spencer.

“No, it’s still warm enough,” said Marshall with a chuckle. “When I’m overseas, working to tight deadlines, we tend to live on lukewarm food. That’s what the papers are about, actually. Some legal stuff I needed to sign and get out of the way for my final overseas assignment of the year. Those are my copies in the envelope.”

“Oh yes?” asked Spencer as Marshall forked a chuck of steak into his mouth then sipped his wine. “Where to this time?”

“Monday after the client event, a small team of us are flying to Eastern Europe to cover the presidential inauguration in Kryszytonia. Chairman Tobias Karimov is being sworn in as the new president, and he’s not only a good friend of mine—I’ve interviewed him twice on my programme—but something of an inspiration. His reforms are going to transform their country. Because of the state of things globally, few governments are sending dignitaries to the ceremony, but I’ve been invited to attend personally to witness and record the historic moment for posterity with others from the press corps.”

“Sounds like a great honour.”

“It is, it really is. And probably my last overseas assignment for many months. My other news is that I’m pushing back on my workload. If my recent run-in with the press has taught me anything, it’s that I need to put more time aside for myself. The latest series of Say What You Mean doesn’t air until March, and another series isn’t scheduled at the moment. However Darcy’s been working her magic behind the scenes, and the television network has commissioned a new programme with me as the host and voiceover, shooting in the third quarter, where we examine landmark legal cases in Britain and around the world and how they changed the course of history. They want to call the show Marshall’s Law, and it means I’ll be spending a lot more time here at home.”

Spencer really liked hearing Marshall would be around more, but simply smiled down at his plate. Spencer took his time eating, waiting until they finished their meals together. Both sat back in their seats, grinning at each other.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” asked Spencer, taking a sip of the wine.

“Good question. I’d usually stay with Mother, but it looks as though she’s going to remain in the Bahamas. Can’t say I blame her, with everything going on here. As for me, I don’t know. I’ll probably invite myself to Darcy’s—”

“Come with me,” blurted Spencer. “To my family’s place in Bournemouth. I’m heading down on Christmas Eve. I mean, only if you want to. But I’d love to have you there. The whole family would.”

“They know about me?” asked Marshall, more humoured than curious.

“No, but I’m sure they’d be fine. In fact, I know they would. But only if you want to come. I don’t mean to pressure you into—”

“Hey, slow down a bit. I would be honoured to join you, Spence. I want to meet the lovely people who brought such a sweet guy into the world.”

“Seriously? You’d really come?”

“Would we have separate bedrooms?”

“No. I mean, I could check to see if Garrett’s going to be there. But I’ve got my own decent-sized bedroom with a double bed. Well, it’s not as huge as yours, but it’s comfortable and, at a squeeze, big enough for the two of us.”

“This is sounding better by the minute.”

“And my father promised to cook the turkey this year, in case you’re worried about food poisoning.”

Marshall laughed out loud.

“Okay. Well, I really need to meet this poor, put-upon mother of yours whose culinary skills you’re constantly disparaging. And I would be more than happy if you introduced me as your new boyfriend.”

“Really?” asked Spencer, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, really,” answered Marshall, his fond gaze dropping to Spencer’s mouth before his smile slipped away and he met Spencer’s gaze. “Just one thing.”

Spencer fully expected him to beg off the idea.

“I’m volunteering again on Christmas Eve. Only in the afternoon, from three until six. Me and some others are helping to work a soup kitchen around the back of King’s Cross station. Would it be okay if we leave after that?”

“Depends,” said Spencer, hoping he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt. “Can I come and help? In the background, of course?”

“Of course you can. The more the merrier.”

“In which case, you’ve got a deal. I’m not sure what kind of rail service they’ll be running Christmas week, but there’s bound to be a fast train from Waterloo after six, which will get us in at around eight-thirty. I can’t wait to see my parents’ faces.”

“Or, instead of relying on trains, I might give my Beamer sports a run, if you don’t have any objections. There’s a secure municipal car park not far from the kitchens.”

Spencer couldn’t help grinning. Christmas was going to be the best ever. Although he didn’t know much about cars, he could only imagine the look on Garrett’s face when he not only turned up with Marshall, but in a BMW sports car.

“Are you tired?” asked Marshall, breaking the silence.

“No,” said Spencer through the grin he could not keep from his face. “Not in the slightest. But I’m definitely ready for bed. Can I grab a quick shower first?”

Marshall’s fond gaze and smile transformed into something different altogether. Instantly, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

“Tell you what. You shower while I tidy up in here. I’ll meet you in the bedroom in ten minutes, where your dessert will be waiting. Deal?”

“Sounds curious,” said Spencer, rising from the table. “And what exactly is for dessert?”

Spencer’s eyes opened wide when the Marshall Highlander pushed a hand into his waistband, down inside the front of his own trousers, and squeezed.

“Me, Spence. Dessert is me.”