The Shell and The Granite Pearl – Complete

By Alp Mortal

The Carter Seagrove Book Boutique Edition

Text Copyright© 2014 Alp Mortal

All Rights Reserved

Contents

Author's Note 5

The Shell and The Granite Pearl 6

Chapter One - Chance encounter 9

Chapter Two - A further encounter 14

Chapter Three - The Granite Pearl 29

Chapter Four - The first foray 42

Chapter Five - Ghosts don’t eat fish and chips 58

Chapter Six - The day before the dive and more mystery 64

Chapter Seven - Dive! 71

Chapter Eight - All things come to he who waits 84

Chapter Nine - Morning comes and decisions are made 93

Chapter Ten - London calling 97

Chapter Eleven - Going, going, not gone 104

Chapter Twelve - Bliss descends on the household 113

Chapter Thirteen - A break through on the mystery front 119

Chapter Fourteen – Christmas and further discoveries 126

Chapter Fifteen – New Year 155

Chapter Sixteen – Reunited 165

Chapter Seventeen – The Months That Time Forgot 172

Chapter Eighteen – The return of the native 174

Epilogue and the end of Part One 176

Lately of Sauncy 181

Chapter One – There Wasn’t A Dry Eye In The House 184

Chapter Two – Steps Forward 193

Chapter Three – The Publisher 199

Chapter Four – Meteors Rising 202

Chapter Five – Christmas Once Again 209

Chapter Six – New Year Sales 214

Chapter Seven – Back at the Beginning 218

Chapter Eight – Re-start 222

Chapter Nine – Who and What? 228

Chapter Ten – Stranger Than Fiction 230

Chapter Eleven – Paris Revisited 235

Chapter Twelve – Oscar Stubbs 240

Chapter Thirteen – On The Run 245

Chapter Fourteen – Holed Up 249

Chapter Fifteen – Return to Paris 253

Chapter Sixteen – The Apartment in Pigalle 259

Chapter Seventeen – Ffraid 263

Chapter Eighteen – Out of the mouths of babes, indeed! 266

Chapter Nineteen – Chilly for the time of year 273

Chapter Twenty – Instructions are received 277

Chapter Twenty-One – Drew is not himself 280

Chapter Twenty-Two – London return please! 285

Chapter Twenty-Three – Rock, Paper, Scissors 290

Chapter Twenty-Four – safety in numbers 293

Chapter Twenty-Five – keep mum! 296

Chapter Twenty-Six – Drew is not himself 301

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Destiny’s child 305

Epilogue 312

Author's Note

'The Shell and The Granite Pearl - Complete' is the single volume that contains the two parts of the story, part one, 'The Shell and The Granite Pearl' and part two, 'Lately of Sauncy'.

Both parts were originally published as standalone stories and both are still available in the Kindle Store.

‘The Shell & The Granite Pearl – Complete’ is only available from The Carter Seagrove Book Boutique.

The text of the story presented in this volume is unchanged from the original version of the story previously available in the Kindle Store.

I hope you enjoy the story as one volume.

Alp Mortal

August 2014

alp.mortal@hotmail.com

www.alpmortal.weebly.com

carterseagrove@outlook.com

www.carterseagrove.weebly.com

The Shell and The Granite Pearl

By

Alp Mortal

Text Copyright© 2014 Alp Mortal

All Rights Reserved

The Shell & The Granite Pearl

Part 1 of the story of the love affair between Drew and Mordy. Drew is an author staying on the island trying to write; Mordy is back after twenty years on the road; they meet. Mordy has found a wreck which together they salvage but they open a whole can of worms and a mystery which stretches back through Mordy's family to the Middle Ages.

Mordy has other demons to deal with and his return to the island is opening up old wounds. The pair decamp to London and begin to come to terms with things, amongst them; the treasure they unearthed and the mystery, Mordy's desire to learn to read and write, and his goal to write the account of his travels.

The pair go to Paris shortly after their engagement and Mordy is reunited with his mother after twenty-nine years; but it has unforeseen consequences.

Chapter One - Chance encounter

Driving along the southern shore of the island he noticed that the beach was getting closer as the road headed towards the fishing village and up ahead there was a car park with access to the cove.  He pulled in.

It was early July, hot and airless, even here at the water‘s edge.  The plague of tourists was a month behind him so the cove was deserted and there was just a beaten up old camper van in the car park and no other visible signs of life.  Perfect for a swim and a lay on the beach to catch the rays before consigning himself to an evening in front of the laptop in an attempt to unblock the “block”.

The trip was his last ditched attempt to recapture the enthusiasm and motivation of barely six months ago.  Two thirds of the second novel written and then the curtain had come down.  The publisher was being sympathetic, for now, the first novel selling well.  That was building expectations of the second and perhaps it was that alone which was hamstringing him, fear that the second would not be as good.

He grabbed a towel and trunks and locked the door and headed to the cove.  He had to walk passed the camper to find the path down.  The doors were closed and the curtains drawn but as he passed he heard a cough, a man’s cough; signs of life after all.  He jogged to the beach, shed the author’s skin of black jeans and tee shirt, pulled on the trunks and ran into the shallow water, diving when he felt the edge of the shelf and kicked powerfully to drive himself under and down a few meters.

The water was cold here despite the thirty degrees of the air above and he turned to surface almost immediately.  He broke through and gasped, the cold water making his lungs tight but it felt good and refreshing.  He swam a few more metres out and then returned to lie down on his towel and warm himself up.  It didn’t take long for the cool droplets to be replaced by beads of sweat.  He heard the same cough and the occupant of the camper appeared, already dressed for bathing.  The man headed passed him, about forty feet away, without a look and he too plunged himself into the cool waters.  He didn’t surface for a considerably longer time and when he did he was much farther out and nearer the eastern point of the cove where a finger of rock jutted out.  The western point was formed by the wall of the harbour of the fishing village.  The man dived and resurfaced endlessly as if he was searching for something.

The author turned onto his front to let the sun melt the tension in his shoulders before he subjected them to their nightly torture.  He was lying with his head on one side, facing the eastern point, largely to maintain his view of the camper van owner and his aquatic foraging.

He drifted in and out of sun induced sleep, not real sleep but a deep reverie.  He didn’t want to move even though he knew his shoulders were probably burning because he had forgotten to bring his sunscreen.  He opened one eye and the camper van owner was out of the water, sitting on his towel, forty or so feet away, roughly in line with his own, knees drawn to his chest, the man was gazing out to sea, which was perfectly empty and like a millpond.  It was heading towards four o’clock and the warmth of the sun lessened a degree or two, but still it was too hot to move.

He continued to lie with his head on one side, watching the man through almost closed eyes.  At one point the man turned, briefly, and even though his eyes were almost shut he felt the piercing gaze of the other’s.  A gaze that said, at once “what are you looking at?”, “do I know you?”, “be sure you want what you’re asking for…”

Shortly after the man got up and went back to the camper van.  A stone under his thigh began to make its presence felt and that awakened the rest of his body and he sat up.  It was perceptibly cooler and he dragged on the jeans and the tee shirt readying himself to return to the car and the drive back to the cottage he had rented for the month.  As he got dressed he noticed that the side door of the camper van was open.  His curiosity prickled.

Without putting on his shoes he wandered back to the car park, wondering how rude it would appear if he looked in the camper as he passed.  His worries over car park etiquette were groundless as the man was sitting in the door way, sipping a cup of tea, watching him.

Some kind of acknowledgement was obligatory, he’d pass by him within a distance of less than ten feet and in any event the man was watching him advance.  There were the obvious things he could say but again his worries over the right form of address were nipped in their bud because the man spoke first;

“There’s a drop left in the pot if you want one…”

The words registered, in an unplaceable accent, a mix of clipped city and provincial drawl.

“Uhm, cheers, that would be great actually…”

The man disappeared and reappeared a few seconds later with a mug, three quarters full of strong tea, a hint of milk and no sugar, exactly the way he hated it.

“Thank you. I’m Drew” he said, thrusting out a hand into which the man put the mug

“Mordy, as in Mordred.  Don’t even ask…”

“Are you from the island?” Drew asked

“Originally, back after a long spell on the road…you?”

“London, staying for a month, trying to write…”

“Author?”

“Yes, and you…?”

“Travelling”

The word descended like a blanket and instead of answering a question simply posed a host more, but Drew quickly concluded that Mordy didn’t seem in the mood to answer any.

“Thanks for the tea, I’m parched actually…”

“You’re welcome…”

Silence descended and became a little awkward.  Drew felt the obligation to puncture it.

“Are you working whilst you’re back?”

“If anyone will have me, not fussy or fussed, wouldn’t mind a few weeks to pay for the insurance and get this heap of crap through the MOT…”

“What do you live on when you’re travelling” asked Drew, instantly aware that the question was pretty personal and probably a little rude.

“I think they used to say hunter-gatherer.  I forage, picking up bits and pieces, exchanging for things I need…”

“You obviously enjoy it”

“It suits…”

The silence returned.  Drew finished the tea, despite the foul taste and the scolding effect on his throat.  He handed the cup back.

“Thanks.  Probably see you around…”

“Pretty certain.  I’m pitching here until the Council tells me I can’t then I’ll move on to the next one…”

“Take it easy”

The man said nothing and Drew moved on to the car, throwing the wet things in the back.  He started the engine and backed up to turn around.  Mordy was still sitting in the doorway of the camper, nursing the cup, but he was looking out to sea and oblivious to everything else.

Drew drove back to the cottage to get started on dinner and the nightmare of writing.  He thought about Mordy the whole time, the strange, enigmatic, open yet closed book of a traveller who foraged for a living.  He was roughly the same age as himself he surmised, early forties, leaner, presumably that was an occupational hazard, already very tanned, his hair a mop of black curls, no grey, unlike his, leonine but streaked with tell-tale silver.

For the first time in weeks he sat down at the keyboard and actually rattled off a chapter or two.  The surge of inspiration carried him into the small hours as he finished an important section of dialogue, finding himself using the stress and intonation patterns of his strange beach companion.  He slumped at around two, exhausted but happy, and his shoulders didn’t ache at all, but they were sun-burnt!

Chapter Two - A further encounter

A week passed.  The weather was the same hot and airless solar powered furnace.  Drew had barely left the cottage, the frenzy of writing had overtaken him and he was within sight of the end but he needed a break.  The obvious choice was to go back to the car park at the cove to see if Mordy was still there.

He grabbed his swimming things and a bottle of wine and headed off.  As he approached he could see the camper, shut up.  “Perhaps he’s working” Drew thought as he pulled in and parked in the self-same spot as before.  His arrival brought forth no signs of life and as before the curtains were drawn and as he passed on his way to the beach he sensed that the van was empty.  The beach was too.

He laid his towel out, got changed and headed into the water, reminding himself how cold the water was beyond the narrow shelf.  He dived and felt it sting, it only powered him to dive deeper and farther out.  When he did surface he felt exhilarated, liberated even.  His back was to the shore as he trod water for a minute and when he turned he saw Mordy standing in the surf.  He raised his hand automatically and the returned salute was lazy but carefree rather than begrudged.  He swam back and got out.

“Hi” he said

“Hi” Mordy replied, “haven’t seen you for a week…”

“Writing.  Finally unblocked the blockage!”

“What kind of stuff do you write?”

“Crime thrillers. Well, I’ve only written one novel and that was a crime thriller, this one is a love story…”

“Been published then” it was a statement of fact rather than a question;

“Yes, last year, “The Virtue of Dishonesty”…”

“Don’t read much…”

“Have you been working?”

“A little foraging, yeah, clearing some rough land at the back of the campsite on West Beach, the nudist one, don’t bother me, the place is empty until August…”

“I didn’t realise there was a nudist beach here…”

“Been here years and years.  Us kids used to go down and hide and watch ‘um…”

“Would you like a drink, I’ve got a bottle of wine in the car?”

“Sure” Mordy said and he was already heading back to the camper.  Drew quickly picked up his things and just wrapped the towel around himself.  He plucked the keys out of his jean pocket and grabbed the wine.

“Here” said Drew as he handed over the bottle.

Mordy looked at the label.  It was a Provençal Rosé.

“Worked there one time…”

“Really?  Then you’ll know the wine, I hope you liked it…”

“Quaffable”

A strange choice of word thought Drew, so sophisticated for the moment.

Mordy withdrew and returned with two clean glasses and corkscrew which he used expertly.  He poured wine into both glasses and handed one to Drew.

“Cheers” he said, without raising his glass, he simply put it to his lips and drank deeply, “Just as I remember…”

“Cheers” replied Drew, unsure of the mood

“Wanna go to the beach?”

“Which one?” said Drew, confused as they were standing fifteen feet from it

“The nudist beach, it’s empty and a long trek from the road, no fear of being spied upon…”

“Except by the kids hiding”

“No kids down there now, all left for jobs on the mainland…”

“Uhm, sure, why not?  I’ll drive if you like…”

They finished the wine and Mordy grabbed his stuff and they headed off.  He was dressed in shorts and a loose fitting tee shirt with flip flops on his feet which were surprisingly well cared for thought Drew.

“Take the left turn at the end and park by the Church and then we’ll hike it” was all he said during the fifteen minute journey

They parked up and with their towels under their arms they headed off to the cove which for years had been the unofficial nudist beach.  It was a hike of two miles and by the time they reached the perfect little cove and golden sandy beach both were very hot and sweating profusely.

They took the little path down between the dunes and onto the beach.  It was small, crescent shaped and sheltered at the back by the dunes and on either side by a coppice.

Mordy shed his shorts, tee shirt and flip flops within seconds and ran straight into the water to cool off.  Drew followed at a slower pace, a little shy of showing his body to a nearly complete stranger on a deserted beach.

“C’mon!” shouted Mordy

Drew shrugged off his shorts and tee shirt and AT’s and followed suit by running into the surf, launching himself at the first opportunity, to get submerged as quickly as possible.

“Great uh?” Mordy asked

“Fantastic” he replied, shaking water from his hair and squinting it out of his eyes

Mordy came closer and dived, under him, between his legs.  He felt the other man’s body, fleetingly; the sensation was like a fish’s tail whipping at his knees.  Mordy surfaced the other side of him, laughing.

He dived again for the return but instead of passing through his legs he surfaced just in front of Drew, the water boiling up between them.  Before Drew could say or do anything Mordy had his hands around his waist which was just below the surface and he pulled up and flung himself back, carrying Drew with him, both crashing into the water.

Both surfaced, Mordy first, Drew was spluttering

“Bastard” he yelled but laughing too

“Catch me if you can” yelled back Mordy and he dived again, kicking furiously

Drew was not going to be outdone and caught an outstretched leg and pulled back.

Mordy reappeared, laughing heartily

The antics stopped as both needed a second to catch their breath.

“See you on the beach” said Drew, “I need to warm up”

Mordy didn’t reply and just kicked off.

Drew headed back to the pile of towels and clothes.  He smoothed out his and lay down to contemplate the episode that was both bizarre and yet so innocent, so much so he could almost imagine being twelve again at Great Yarmouth.

He lay on his back and folded his arms under his head for a little support.

Mordy came back not long after and flung himself down, he too on his back, arms stretched out behind his head

“Fucking great” he said

They lay side by side, the sun was beating down and their bodies dried rapidly and they were soon covered in sweat which ran down their sides and it made Drew shiver.  His spasm obviously caught Mordy’s attention because he turned and lay on his side, head propped up on his arm.  Drew was unaware of that for the moment until he felt a hand on his thigh, midpoint.  He didn’t move and the hand ascended until the tips of the fingers were ever so lightly touching his testicle.  There was no caress, just the touch.  Drew shifted slightly and the fingers moved, up and across to touch his penis, swelling under the sun and the influence of the touch, which was no heavier than a silk scarf.

His penis bucked slightly and the fingers grasped it firmly, kneading it rather than wanking him off.  He withdrew a hand from behind his head and ran it down his body to join Mordy’s hand on his manhood.  He felt the thick mop of hair instead and as he did his penis was enveloped in the warmth and confinement of Mordy’s mouth.  He wound his fingers into the curls and slightly raised his hips.  His penis slipped into the stranger’s throat effortlessly and he forced his hips higher and pushed the head down.  He fucked the throat until he felt the surge of his orgasm.

“I’m cumming” he strained

There was no reply but the sucking became more intense and he literally couldn’t help himself.  He came into the willing mouth, in shuddering waves.  Finally flopping back, releasing Mordy’s head from his grip, eyes closed, he breathed deeply.

“Turn over” said Mordy

Drew opened his eyes to see Mordy over him, smouldering

“Turn over” he repeated

Drew began to turn and as he did Mordy lowered his weight onto him, pinning him to the ground.  He felt his legs being nudged apart.

“What about…”

Before he’d finished he felt the coolness of Mordy’s spittle run down his crack and as it reached the entrance to his hole he felt the man’s cock press in, firmly.

“Jesus, slowly” he gasped

Mordy said nothing but ploughed him hard and fast and long.  Initially the pain was excruciating, Mordy was big and the little bit of lubrication had lasted one stroke.  Slowly his muscles relaxed and he opened up, the thrusting became tolerable then the pleasure mounted.  Mordy thrust deep and hard and his lean body slapped against Drew’s each time, building to a crescendo he thrust harder and deeper and he began to cry out, at first agonisingly then ecstatically, he was howling by the time he came.

He thrust five or six times very deeply until he’d finished pumping.

He pulled himself out and flung himself on the adjacent towel, panting.

“Been a while” were his first words

“I gathered…”

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up and I’ll show you something…”

Mordy was up and back in the sea like a dart.  Drew eased himself up and he walked slowly to the edge of the water and then advanced just far enough to squat down and wash his arse and cock without getting himself wet above the waist.

Mordy was submerged and it was several minutes before he surfaced.  Drew was still in shock in truth, the man had him spellbound, fucked for the first time in ten years and he’d found no power in himself to resist.  Mordy looked over at him and was smiling, childlike almost.  He swam over.

“In an hour the tide will be low enough to show you the wreck…”

“Here?”

“No, back at the cove…”

“Was that what you were diving for that day I saw you for the first time?”

“Yeah, it’s special, c’mon, your arse and cock are clean enough for round two…”

“Round two?”

“At the camper, I fancy getting ploughed myself…”

“Christ!” thought Drew, “did I wake up on a different planet this morning?”

He mustered himself and got ready for the two mile hike back to the car, a prospect that didn’t really please him, feeling fresh now he knew he’d be hot and sweaty by the time they got back, still, there was the promise of another swim at the end and something special, in and out of the water!

They hiked back and it didn’t seem so bad.  Neither got dressed for the short journey to the other cove, merely wrapping towels around themselves to spare the seats.  Mordy was sitting with his feet on the dashboard, eyes closed, singing something unfamiliar.  His towel had slipped back to the top of his thighs exposing his package.  It was magnificent, like a prize bull’s.  Drew drove and let waves of thoughts and feelings wash over him.  They arrived back.

“I’ll get the kettle on…” said Mordy bounding out and straight over to the camper.

Drew fished in the boot and found a pair of shorts that were dry and a packet of biscuits.  He left the car open to air, it was baking inside.

Mordy had opened the camper up and was busying himself with the brewing and the general palaver that went with living in a space smaller than a double bed.  There was a single, neatly made; running down one side which Drew just thought summed him up.  He wandered over to offer the biscuits and ask for a sugar in his tea.

“It’s like the Tardis in there and so clean!”

“Hate living in a mess and it’s easy to let this go.  The outside is shit but that stops the kids from vandalising it or stealing it for a joy ride.  Come in, it’s cooler in here in the shade”

Drew ventured in and found the only real place to sit comfortably was on the bed.  He hesitated.

“Help yourself, I know you’re clean” Mordy said, chuckling

Drew sat down and Mordy handed him a cuppa, with more milk and two sugars as requested.

“It’s certainly compact!”

Mordy didn’t respond, he sat down in the only available seat, opposite and to one side, nursing his own cup, perhaps a little awkward now that they were so close and alone in the camper, after rampant sex on the beach, animalistic sex if Drew was honest, there had been no foreplay and the pounding had been painful, intense and highly pleasurable.  Drew was unused to being taken so savagely, being controlled.  He’d enjoyed it.

“So what have you found?”

“A wreck, one that ain’t on the charts.  She’s old.  Buried deep…”

“What was she carrying most likely?”

“Not much, haven’t seen any glint of gold…”

“Still, could be worth something, to you I mean…”

“Hopefully, if it remains a secret until I’ve checked it out, but without the equipment I can’t spend more than a minute or two down there…”

“Couldn’t you hire the stuff?”

“Yeah, but it’s expensive…”

“I could help, and share in the spoils…”

“Would you?”

“Sure, it’ll make for a great novel someday…”

“Let’s see, once you’ve had a butchers, then we’ll talk profit-sharing”

There he went again, the strange combination of words and phrases.

The silence descended again but there was none of the awkwardness of the first encounter, least, not that kind, it was only awkward because Drew knew that Mordy wanted it and he was seldom called upon to perform on cue, his encounters were much more laissez faire and usually after extended courtship and foreplay, lubricated with better wines, soft music and candle light.

Mordy sensed it too but had none of the inhibitions.  He shut the door but left the vent open and raised the roof to allow for more headroom.  He let the towel slip to the floor.  His body was smooth, hairless, and muscular but not muscle bound and he moved quickly and silently, gracefully you’d have said.  He wasn’t looking in Drew’s direction who he knew was eyeing him up, but he didn’t play to the crowd.  He found some lube and handed it to Drew.

“I’m a bit tight, always have been, and you’re a big fella so we’ll ease him in…”

“Unlike you” said Drew with an ounce of sarcasm in the tone

“You looked like you needed it and I didn’t hear any real complaints” was the deadpan retort

“You want it now?” asked Drew, almost at a loss in this script

“Yeah, move off and I’ll lay down.  I prefer to see what’s going on…”

He lay down on his back and raised his legs to present his arse to Drew who thought twice but then slipped out of his shorts and lubed up.  The atmosphere was intense and he was already throbbing hard at the prospect.  He eased himself on the bed and positioned himself, cock thrust out and glistening, waiting to be guided in.  Mordy offered and gripped the shaft and brought it to the hole, which was winking eagerly.

“Go in slow and when I say, pump like a whore” were his instructions

Drew pushed gently and waited for the muscle to relax and he slipped in, it was tight but smooth.

“Pump a couple of times real slow then let rip”

He pumped a few times, it was heaven to be gripped so tight and he wasn’t sure how long he’d last.  He thrust deeper and harder and the sensation merely intensified.

“Fuck me!”  Mordy grumbled, his eyes closed

Drew pumped as hard as he could and sure enough he felt the tell-tale signs that his orgasm was less than a minute away.

“I’m gonna cum…”

“Pump harder then!”

He did.

He pumped out his load and screamed “Jesus fucking Christ” at the same time.

Mordy grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down and kissed his mouth, sucking his tongue and forcing his own in.  Drew collapsed.

“You needed that…”

“It’s been a while…”

“Right, get your arse in gear and come and see that wreck…”

Unceremonious, that was the word, not rude or pushy, but unceremonious.  Was he that unself-aware or maybe just self-aware, had travelling freed him from the usual constraints and customs?  Similar thoughts ran through Drew’s head as he got up and found an ounce of strength to stumble out of the camper and follow Mordy, already in the surf, washing himself.

The water revived him and he washed his dick and splashed his face.

Mordy was launching himself off.

“C’mon, it’s fantastic…”

He followed; his legs a bit wobbly and his head was fluffy.  Mordy had stopped, obviously checking some lines of sight to make sure he was directly above the wreck before he plunged down.  He flipped and dived.  Within a minute he was back up.

“Follow me down, you’ll see a dark shape, it’s the prow, just above the sand…”

He dived again and Drew took a deep breath and plunged in, kicking strongly, well, as strongly as he could manage.  His eyes were stinging without goggles but he could see the prow, just showing above the sandy surface of the sea bed.  Nothing else was visible.  He turned and kicked himself back up and broke the surface.  Mordy just behind.

“Told ya, what a beauty and so well preserved…”

“She’s buried deep, how the hell are we going to shift that lot to get to the hull?”

“Don’t worry about that, the tides are getting stronger with the full moon, most of that will be washed away, at least for a few days…”

“How much to hire the equipment?”

“Two hundred quid…”

“Not much, I’m in, how do we play this, 50:50?”

“Well, I found her and unless you got your permit, you can’t dive so I reckon a little more like 70:30, but all expenses paid before we divvy up…”

Dew couldn’t argue, thirty percent was more than enough in reality and he couldn’t dive, so his only real contribution was the two hundred pounds to hire the equipment that Mordy needed.  But without that, Mordy couldn’t stay down long enough to do anything useful so it was a vital contribution.

“What’s her name?”

“I’ve got her name plate back in the camper, my insurance in case someone else stumbles on her, c’mon I’ll show ya…”

They headed back to the camper, talking very animatedly, like the best of buddies, aged fourteen, both were very excited at the prospect, finally, from Mordy’s point of view, to get to the hull and see what was worth salvaging.

Back in the camper Drew parked himself on the bed as before and Mordy found the plate, tucked away in a cubby, wrapped in heavy wax paper.  He unwrapped it and held it up to show Drew the name of the ship;

“The Granite Pearl”

“The Granite Pearl, well, she sank like a bit of granite didn’t she?” said Mordy

“Have you checked on the internet to see if you can find her manifest?”

Mordy hesitated and looked awkward, a little embarrassed actually, and Drew was unsure why he hadn’t answered.

“I’m gonna tell you something but only if you promise not to tell a soul…”

“I promise, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what the internet is, sure I hear people talk about it all the time but I’ve never seen it, you see, the thing is, I can’t read or write…”

“Oh!  Why?” This seemed to Drew to be the most obvious question to ask, albeit a little blunt.

“I was mute until I was eight, it kind of kept me back and no one really tried, so I bunked most of school and then the kind of jobs I got it didn’t really matter, I just picked up what I heard along the way…”

“Didn’t your parents try to do something?”

He’d hit a nerve with that one and Mordy was silent for a minute, clearly debating with himself if he should say anything more.

“My dad fucked me when I was a nipper, probably no older than four, he made me suck his dick and then he would fuck me good and proper.  He said if I told anyone he’d kill me”

“So you didn’t say anything…”

“No, it seemed the safest course of action”

“What happened when you were eight?”

Again the silence for a minute.

“He came home very drunk and I knew he wanted to have his way but he fell down with his trousers around his knees and he hit his head.  I thought it was then or never so I sat down on his face and I didn’t get up until after the struggling had stopped.  I went to find my mother and told her that dad was laying down in the kitchen.  She went to see what the matter was and found him dead…”

Drew scrambled up and threw himself out of the door of the camper just in time to throw up on the sandy verge in front of the van.  He stood bent over with his hands on his knees trying to regain his breath and composure.  Mordy hadn’t moved.  He stood up and returned to the camper but hesitated at the door.

“I guess that’ll be that then…”

“What do you mean?” said Drew, the acid burning his throat and nose

“You’ll want out now…”

Drew looked shocked, “why would he?” he thought and then realised that the story probably hadn’t been received very well in the past.

“I don’t want out; just get me a drink of water could you?”

Mordy got a glass and filled it from a bottle he took out of the little fridge.  He handed Drew the glass and waited for the man to drain the contents.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw up, it just caught me off balance…”

“Yeah, it usually does…” Mordy replied in a tired sounding tone

“I don’t want out, really, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay; you’re not the first…”

They sat for a few minutes in silence, contemplating the original chessboard vinyl of the camper floor.

“Strange thing is, I liked it, being fucked and sucking cock, not his, but I liked it”

“Did you tell your mother?”

“No, never, she was just too relieved that he’d gone.  He’d beaten her into submission years before.  She escaped after that, ran away, like a bird finding the door of the cage open.  I never saw her again…”

“Who looked after you?”

“Anyone and everyone.  They all knew the score and didn’t ask.  I never went hungry and slept in a bed most nights.  At seventeen I left.  This is the first time I’ve been back since…”

“Jesus!  How old are you now?” asked Drew

“Thirty-seven this year…”

“Twenty years on the road?”

“Pretty much…”

Silence returned but Drew was thinking hard.

“Why don’t you come back to the cottage and I’ll show you the internet and we’ll find the ship and a hopefully a record of what she was carrying.  Then we’ll know what we’re in for and if it’s worth it.  I’ll cook us some dinner.  If you like…”

Mordy sat still and silent for a further minute and then moved.  He got up and came over.

“I like you, you know…more than anyone I’ve met before…”

Drew was unsure of the required response so he simply held out his hand and took Mordy’s in his and kissed them very gently, and then he got up and towed Mordy out of the camper.

“Get your stuff; I’ll sort out the car…”  His voice a little thick with emotions, some he hadn’t felt for years.

In a few minutes Mordy was back with a rucksack and made his way to the passenger side of the car.  Drew was already in, fiddling with the CD player.

“Okay?” he asked, cheerfully and upbeat

“Yeah, let’s go…” the tone resolute, final.

They drove to the cottage.

Chapter Three - The Granite Pearl

Drew led the way.  The cottage was pretty and actually very old.  From the front door a hallway led to the back, a parlour and study on left and right as you entered and a dining room and kitchen on left and right at the end.  There were stairs at the end that turned sharply and came back for two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kind of cubby.

Drew had set up the office in the parlour; it was cooler, facing east.  They headed for the kitchen and Drew immediately flung open all the doors and windows.  He plucked a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and offered Mordy a glass.

“Thanks…”

“So, “The Granite Pearl”, how old do you think she is, it might help with the search?”

“My guess is 16th Century, maybe very early 17th but definitely no later than 1620...”

“What kind of ship is she; it’ll help narrow the search?”

“She ain’t a carrack, too small and a galleon she is definitely not, my nose tells me a lugger…”

“Okay” said Drew, at a complete loss knowing next to nothing about ships of the era except what he’d seen of the “Marie Rose” at Portsmouth.

“Did you want to eat first or get straight down to business?”

“Do you mind if I look around the garden?”

“Uhm, no, sure, please…” Drew motioned to the door with one hand, quite glad someone was taking an interest in it, he hadn’t, it was just somewhere to sit in the evening and have a glass of wine.

He didn’t follow him out, instead, he started dinner and pasta seemed the easiest choice, knowing nothing about Mordy’s likes and dislikes.

He uncorked some wine and poured two glasses and went to find Mordy, who was studying the roses.

“Here” Drew said, offering the wine glass

Mordy took it and this time held it out

“Cheers”

Drew clinked glasses with him

“Cheers”

Something had definitely shifted.

“Why don’t you freshen up whilst I finish dinner?  You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom and there are clean towels in the cupboard.”

“Thanks, it’ll make a change from a seawater bath!”

Mordy went to pass him on his way back in but Drew stopped him and planted a kiss on his lips, very lightly.  He took half a step back to let the man through but he didn’t move forward, instead he took the glass from Drew’s hand and placed both on the little garden work table beside them and then stepped forward to return the kiss, putting his hands behind Drew’s head.  The kiss was long and passionate.  Drew put his arms around Mordy’s shoulders and pulled him in tighter.  Their responses were urgent.

“I want you again” Drew sighed

Mordy said nothing as he pulled Drew inside and led him upstairs to the bedroom.  Once inside the room he shed his clothes and stood in front of Drew.  He helped him off with his shirt and then put his hands on Drew’s shoulders, pushing down.  Drew obliged and knelt in front of him.  Mordy’s cock was hard and pointing straight out.  He took it in his mouth, just the first couple of inches; he licked.  Mordy put his hands behind Drew’s head and pulled him in and pushed his hips out, sinking his cock deeper into the hungry and wet mouth.

“Suck your cheeks in around it and hold on to me, I’m gonna fuck you hard, don’t swallow”

Drew sucked in his cheeks around the fat cock.  Mordy hadn’t been lying; he did fuck hard but stopped short of the gag point.

“Here it is, don’t swallow” and the cum filled his mouth.  The cock was withdrawn and he was assisted to his feet.

“Kiss me…”

Drew moved in and opened his mouth and instantly Mordy was in there and sucking him dry.

He pulled back, swallowing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Christ your mouth is fucking good” he said, smiling, eyes glinting

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself…”

“Practice.  Often it was the only thing I had to offer in exchange, on the road, for something I needed, mostly petrol…”

That comment had a curdled quality thought Drew.  Just how many times had he sucked off or been sucked for five litres of gas?  He halted the thought process as it felt too judgemental and the honesty of this man surely deserved a little more respect than that.

“Do you want to eat yet?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab that shower if that’s okay…”

“Help yourself; I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything”

“I don’t have any clean clothes…”

“Help yourself to whatever you like in that set of drawers” replied Drew pointing at the chest of drawers at the end of the bed.

“Thanks…”

“You’re welcome”.

Drew left him and returned to the kitchen, to grab the wine and regain a grip on reality.  This was so unreal it had to be real was his conclusion.

Twenty minutes later Mordy reappeared, dressed in a pair of his jeans and tee shirt.  He smelled of the shower gel and the shampoo Drew always used.  His hair was damp and tousled from being towel dried and the curls were heavy and like corkscrews.

“You have beautiful hair”

“My dad’s.  I kept it shaved for ten years, but then I thought “what the fuck, the cunt’s dead, so why worry?”…”

“You’re amazingly level-headed for someone with your past and…”

“Handicap?  Yeah, it is that.  Survival, what else is there?”

“Sit down, I’ll just finish off here” said Drew, turning back to the stove to give the sauce one final stir.  He put both steaming bowls on the table, where there was already bread, olive oil, olives, sun dried tomatoes and a green salad.

“Help yourself.  I’m famished actually…”

They dove in and finished off the lot with the bottle of wine and some; then they took their coffees into the garden to watch the sun set.

Drew pulled out his cigarettes.

“Do you mind?”

“No” replied Mordy, ferreting in his rucksack for his tin and papers.

“Tell me about you” he said as he rolled the perfect “roll your own” cigarette with one hand

Drew gave him the potted history.  His coming out at seventeen, the typical and terrible reaction of his parents, his escape to London, his first relationship, with a much older man, working for a publisher as a proof-reader, meeting his first true love, his first heart break, his travels, his jobs, his writing and the book thing, bringing everything up to the present.

“Pretty ordinary really…” he concluded

“I’ve never met anyone before who’s had anything published…”

“It’s selling reasonably well but won’t make me a million, unless the film rights go…”

“Can you show me the internet?”

“Sure, come on, it’s actually amazing…”

They went back in and to the office where Drew booted up and logged on.  He went straight to Google.

“Sit down” he said to Mordy

Mordy ventured closer and then sat down at Drew’s left hand side, watching everything, much like a cave man would thought Drew.

Dew entered the search string “The Granite Pearl, ship, 16th Century, manifest”.

He hit enter and within less than a second had 7,000 search results. As the screen refreshed Mordy kind of jumped.

“The internet is a place where lots of information is stored and I can search through it very quickly…”

He clicked to open the first result, a PDF file containing a list of the ships that had sailed against the Armada in 1588.  The ship had been one of those in the volunteer squadron, not a Royal Naval vessel.

Mordy was fascinated but jumped each time the screen refreshed like it had bitten him.

“She was English and the date you thought is about right” said Drew

“Does it list her cargo?”

“None of the results record her loss or her cargo at that time”

“It’ll be a bit of a lottery then…”

“Maybe no pieces of eight but still a treasure, and the archaeology will be pretty well preserved.”

“The what?”

“The history, the artefacts, the evidence, the past…”

Mordy was spellbound, the array of text and pictures and videos was mesmerising.

Drew wanted to know how much he could understand, genuinely he wanted to help him as not being able to read or write, especially write, was a complete anathema to him.  He didn’t know how to broach the subject without appearing patronising or rude.

“Do you want to try using it yourself?  I can show you the basics…”

Mordy looked at him with an expression which said both “you’ve gotta be kidding right?” and “Could you, could I?”

“Sit here”

Drew exchanged places with him and spent the next half an hour showing Mordy how to use the mouse and the keyboard, all the basic “click, drag and drop” stuff that kids learn at nursery school these days.

He picked it up really fast and could type in stuff which he could see already written; he just copied the letters and spaces, without knowing what they meant.  There was also a fair degree of frustration as he encountered the barriers, his own lack of understanding, but he didn’t get angry and throw a fit, which Drew had expected, he just tried over and over, but he didn’t know how to ask the right questions.

They halted the search and gave themselves a slap on the back for finding out as much as they had.

“Where can we hire the equipment?” asked Drew

“There’s a place on the industrial estate behind town, we could go tomorrow if you like and make sure they have what we need…”

“Sure, but won’t it arouse suspicion?”

“I don’t understand”

“Won’t they be curious if you’re hiring diving gear?”

“Uhm, good point, not my usual shopping list and I would have money…”

“Why don’t we go in together and you could say that you’re teaching me to dive…”

“Then we’d need to hire two lots of stuff and that would be more expensive…”

“It’ll be worth it…”

“Okay, and maybe I could teach you to dive, not that I have the papers but I did the course in the Philippines, I just couldn’t take the test…”

“Well, there you go.  They aren’t going to ask to see the papers are they?”

“No, I don’t think so”

“I would go in alone and get it, but I haven’t got a clue what to ask for…”

“We’ll go in together”

“Great, so what now?”

“It’s not late, we could go to the cove and check out the wreck, it’s low tide and the sands should be starting to shift”

“Okay, I’ll make us a flask of something hot and pack a few things.  We’ll need a torch if we stay out much after 9...”

“I’ve got one in the van, a good one…”

“Give me twenty minutes and we’ll go”

Mordy smiled, the sweetest and most innocent smile a man of thirty-seven ever gave a man of forty-three, which didn’t have an ulterior motive.  He leant in and gave Drew a kiss on the lips very gently.

“Thank you, for showing me the Internet…”

“You’re welcome” said Drew, slightly taken aback by the tenderness of the moment, “there’s plenty else I can show you…”

“You don’t mind if I stay for a bit, although we can use the van when we’re at the cove, like a kind of operation’s centre…”

“I don’t mind at all” replied Drew, and he smiled.

“What?”

“This is going to be so much fun!”

“and lucrative hopefully”

There it was again.  The bizarre turn of phrase, especially coming after the “operation’s centre” reference that sounded like a twelve year old planning World domination with his buddies as they sat around the fire in their summer camp.

“I’ll get my stuff together” said Drew, moving on and out, shaking his head to refocus on any kind of anything.

Mordy popped out to the garden again to check out the herb bed.

Twenty minutes later Drew was ready, with flask and a few morsels in case they got peckish, towels and a few warmer clothes, just in case it turned into an “all-nighter”, in any event, once the sun dipped it still got chilly by the water.

“Ready?”

They left and Drew drove back to the car park, it was approaching 8 and about a good hour of light left.  Mordy ferreted in the van and found the torch, a lamp style one, big and clunky and pretty old but apparently serviceable.  They decamped to the beach and decided to head straight in the water whilst there was still light and a bit of heat left to dry off in after.  The water was still warm but cooling quickly.

“There’ll be a full moon in three days, that’s going to be the best time” said Mordy

They swam out and dived.  The prow was more visible and part of the decking.  The sands were shifting as he had said.  The timbers were solid enough which boded well; it wasn’t going to do them any favours if the hull was full of sand too.

They dived a few times and then came out; there wasn’t anything else to see.  They sat on the beach, on the towels, drying off and pulling on some clothes.  Drew fetched the thermos and the some chocolate brownies.

“How did you find her in the beginning?” he asked

“Pretty simply really, I was swimming and dived to cool off and saw something sticking out of the sand.  It was real luck that I was directly above the prow.  I scooped away some of the sand by hand to find the name plate…”

They sat contemplating the sea and the setting sun for a few minutes.

“It’s going to be a clear night, and there is so little light pollution here, perfect for star gazing…”

“We should stay here then, we can use the van…”

“I should have brought more supplies”

“I’ve got plenty in the van and some brandy…”

Drew was unsure about how things stood.  He’d heard the man say that he liked him, more than anyone else he’d known and they’d had sex, good sex, but were they ready for the next level, some form of commitment.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved, really involved, it hadn’t been his object and there were potentially more suitable candidates back in London who were eagerly awaiting his return, if their emails were anything to go by.  But he couldn’t shake it, the feeling, which he didn’t recognise.

Evidently Mordy had no such hang ups or issues judging by his;

“The bed isn’t all that comfortable for two, but we’ll manage…”

How could he resist?  He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to resist anything Mordy said or did.

“I forgot to bring any milk; perhaps we should pop into the village and get a few supplies.  The shop is open until 10 as I remember…”

“We could walk, it’s not far and I feel the need to stretch my legs…”

“Okay…”

They packed up and locked the car and the camper and headed off to the harbour side village about a mile and a half away.  Mordy had the torch for the return because it was just after 9 and the sun was gone.  They walked single file along the road until the verge opened up and there was room for them to walk abreast.  Their conversation was dominated by the wreck and the possible contents.  Sure enough the shop was open and they headed in to pick up milk, bread and a couple of packets of biscuits.

The shop was owned and run by an old lady who was still behind the counter.

“Mordy!” she cried as she caught sight of him full on

“Hello ma” he replied

“Well, it must be twenty years…”

“It is”

She was one of the five women who he called “ma”, women who had been close to his mother and knew the score and when she’d fled they had kept an eye on him, made sure he got at least one good meal a day and washed occasionally!

Drew picked up the supplies and then headed to the counter.

“This is Drew, a friend; Drew, this is Beryl”

“Pleased to meet you” said Drew

“Nice to meet you too” she said with a twinkle that confirmed she knew everything about Mordy.

Mordy and Beryl spent a few minutes catching up, as you do in those circumstances, inane babble about the people and the things they’d done.

“Wait ‘til I see Sheila, she won’t believe it!”

“Goodnight Beryl” said Mordy

“Goodnight sweetheart.  Goodnight” she said to Drew

“Goodnight”

The men left the shop and headed back up the road towards the cove’s car park

“Won’t be long before everyone knows I’m back…”

“Islands I guess…”

“Yeah, reminds me why I left…”

They sauntered back, side by side for the most part, even when the verge narrowed as they would see the lights of any on-coming car.  The road was deserted and the moon rose and was bright, almost full.  The torch was almost superfluous.  They eventually made it back and Mordy unlocked and immediately got the kettle on.

“Fancy a drop of brandy with this?”

“Sure, that’ll be good actually…”

Drew was still pondering the night ahead.  Sex with someone was one thing, spending the night something else but Mordy seemed to have no misgivings, like it was the perfect and right thing to do.  How he actually saw them, Drew didn’t know, more than just casual fucks that was sure, but surely not lovers, not yet.

They drank the tea and downed a nip and decided to walk on the beach under the moonlight.  It was beautiful even if a little clichéd.

Drew meandered towards the surf and stopped to contemplate the sea, reflecting the near perfect moon.  The surface was like glass.  Mordy had wandered farther down but came back and stood behind him, putting his arms around his shoulders and resting his head on his back, hugging him close.  Drew raised a hand and placed it on Mordy’s which were interwoven across his chest.

“I wonder how she sank, “The Granite Pearl”, not on a night like this?” said Drew

Mordy didn’t respond except to move his head and plant a kiss between Drew’s shoulder blades.

Things were definitely moving forward and Drew had to either stay on or ask to be let off at the next stop.  He’d never had to decide so quickly before, he’d always luxuriated in the decision, taken his time, hedged his bets but Mordy was there and all formalities had been dispensed with.  It was like teenage love, pure and simple, uncomplicated by the relative size of salaries, the cut of the cloth, the quality of the crystal, the post code district, the job, the holidays or the people they knew.

He turned within the confines of the arms that were wrapped around him and kissed Mordy deeply, preferring actions to speak louder than words for a change.  As he sank his tongue into the willing mouth he recalled the odd collections of feelings that he had felt earlier, when he’d invited Mordy back to the cottage which had been interpreted as a “you’re welcome to stay”.

They parted slightly and Mordy nuzzled into his neck as innocently as a puppy.

“I love you” he said, very quietly

Drew heard the words and knew he meant them and he guessed he’d probably never said them to anyone before.

He didn’t want to reply simply out of courtesy, he wanted to be sure of the response and know that he meant it too.  He sensed that Mordy wasn’t waiting for a reply, he knew that the man had said exactly what he felt and it was unconditional.  This was not a barter situation, this was not political and this was not a game.

“I love you too” he said, after a pause, within which he’d seen that every time he’d said those words in the past, they had been a lie, convenient levers, something to reinforce the crystalline armour around his heart.  This time it shattered the casing and left him feeling totally exposed as if new born.

Mordy grasped his hand and led him back to the camper.  They lay in the bunk, holding each other, saying nothing, breathing softly.  They didn’t fuck and just fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The moon rose and sank, the tide turned and the sands shifted.

Chapter Four - The first foray

Morning broke around them and the camper’s curtains struggled to hold any of it back so they woke early, around 5:30.  They were still holding each other and neither could contemplate letting go, not just yet.  They lay, very still, feeling the heat of the other’s body, the hardness of the morning wood and the steady rise and fall of their chests.

Drew was kind of on his back and Mordy was on his side, half laying across him, his head in the shallow depression between his collar bone and his breast.  Drew barely need to move to kiss the top of his head, which he did, smelling his own shampoo and sea salt.  Mordy had his free hand on his stomach, low down, between the hard points of his pelvis.  The hand ventured a little further to caress his achingly hard cock.

He groaned.

Mordy slipped down to kiss his stomach and then further to kiss the tip of his penis.

“Let’s see how much of that wreck is showing now…”

Drew wanted the caressing to continue but Mordy was already on his way up.  The gas was lit under the kettle before Drew had moved an inch.  He watched Mordy from the bed, fussing with the tea making paraphernalia.

“I like your body…and I like what you do to mine…”  Drew said

Mordy turned from the stove and smiled but said nothing

“What equipment do you think we’ll need?”  Drew asked, pursuing a different tack, to elicit a response of any kind to hear his voice.

“Wet suits, diving apparatus, good lights, but if there is heavy lifting then that’s a different ball game.  I’m hoping the sand will shift enough to expose her hatch, which we can then lift.  If there’s too much sand in the hull then it’s plain old digging, they won’t have a suction hose and if we ask for one then they’ll know we’ve found something…”

“There could be bodies down there…” offered Drew, a little queasily.

“Could be, but they won’t bite…” was the only reassurance Mordy gave

“So, we pop out now and take a look, then head into town for the equipment and then what, start straight away?”

“I’ll give you a few basic lessons in using the kit and how to check it, ‘cos you’ll need to check mine, then, when you’re happy, we’ll go out but just to get used to the feel of the suits and the weight…”

“It could be empty”

“It could and then it might be laden with all kinds of stuff, only one way to find out…”

Mordy handed him a tea and came and sat down on the bed to drink his own.  He seemed a little tense to Drew.

“Is anything wrong?”

“Na, not really, I don’t like going into town, there are a few I’d rather not see…”

“Why?”

Mordy paused and Drew knew that it meant there was something important on Mordy’s mind and he was debating with himself whether he should tell.

“You don’t have to say anything, if you’d rather not, we’ll go straight to the shop and then come back again…”

“My dad’s cronies.  None of them never believed he did those things and none of them believed he fell and hit his head, unaided…”

“Jesus it’s almost thirty years ago!”

“Yeah, I know, but some will still want to make life difficult for me, out of respect to him…”

“What can they do?”

“Persuade others not to give me work.  Tell the council where the van is, you know the kind of stuff, nuisance making.”

“We’ll deal with it as it happens.  You don’t need to worry about a job for the time being and if necessary we’ll move the van to the cottage and put it on the driveway…”

Mordy looked at him a good solid thirty seconds.

“Thanks…drink up”

Drew sank the tea and made to get up.  Mordy didn’t move straight away.

“If…” he couldn’t finish what he was going to say because Mordy had leaned in to kiss him squarely on the mouth.

“If you want me to get up then you’d best get your arse out of the way…but don’t rush…”

Mordy touched his face and then moved to allow him up.  When he did get out of the bed Mordy was back for a hug and another kiss.

Drew could barely keep up.  It wasn’t that Mordy was needy it was just the way he acted on the impulse of the moment.  Drew was constantly taken by surprise and Drew thought for someone with his history Mordy was remarkably tender and romantic.  Neither had said “I love you” again and Drew was unsure if Mordy truly understood the meaning of those words, he was pretty sure he only had a basic idea himself, when it came down to it.  He had to admit that if he was, then it was probably for the first time, all previous feelings paled into insignificance compared to the strength of the feelings he was experiencing now.

Mordy pulled open the side door of the van and the air was already getting warm.  He was naked, as was Drew.

“C’mon, there’s no one about”

It was true and it was barely 6am.  Mordy grabbed his hand and pulled him out, running down to the beach and straight into the surf which was, by comparison to the camper’s bed, fucking cold!

The wreck was roughly mid-point between the centre of the beach and the eastern tip of the cove, a few metres out from the shelf and about three metres down to the point of the prow.  They kicked out and dived down.  The sands were shifting and a good portion of the deck was showing.  It also showed that the ship was not laying level, the prow was pointing up at a fairly steep angle and the deck was on an angle too, she was laying on one side.  The edge of the hatch was just showing and Mordy was confident that by full moon the hatch would be exposed and they would be able to gain entry.  What they couldn’t tell was how much of the ship remained below what they could see above the sand.  Was she complete or broken?  Maybe the spoils had been strewn over the seabed and lost.  Two or three dives told Mordy what he wanted to know and on the last dive he spied something and grabbed it before he kicked back up.

“Remind me to get goggles!” said Drew, rubbing his eyes, already red and stinging

Mordy didn’t answer because he was engrossed in his examination of the object.

“What is it?” Drew asked, who was already out of the water standing in the surf, shivering a bit and wondering why they hadn’t brought towels with them.

Mordy came out and held it out to show him.

It was a box, smallish, about half the length of a tissue box, roughly the same height and width.

“What‘s it made of, it‘s survived for so long it can’t be wood” said Drew

Mordy didn’t answer.  He shook the box beside his ear.  There was a sloshing sound and a kind of rattle.

“Open it” demanded Drew, his interest pricked, archaeology straight out of the window.

Mordy turned and headed back to the camper, trailing Drew.  Mordy rummaged in a box and found an old chisel.  He grasped the box in one hand and prised the lid of the box open with the chisel, very carefully, trying not to damage it.

Once the lid was open wide enough for him to get his fingers inside he swapped chisel for hands and pulled the two halves apart, very gently.  It finally gave and the thing was open, spilling its contents on the camper’s floor, mostly a fluid, a brackish sea-watery stuff that smelled very “fishy”, amongst which was a row of black beads.

Drew picked them up.

“Fucking hell, these are pearls!” exclaimed Drew

“That’ll pay for the hire of the equipment” said Mordy

…and some” said Drew

“If she was carrying a cargo like this then we’re in luck…”

“These pearls are black, most likely they came from Tahiti.  How the fuck did they get here?

“Don’t know” was all Mordy offered as he plucked the string of pearls out of Drew’s hand for a closer inspection.

“Jesus, what a find…” Drew said

“Time we got ourselves organised and headed to town, I wanna be early to avoid the crowds…”

Drew knew he meant a certain element of the crowd and started to get dressed.

He was in the middle of pulling on jeans when Mordy came over.

“What is it?” Drew asked, mentally preparing himself for almost anything

“When I said “I love you” last night, I meant it, I do…”

“I know you did, do, I mean, and I meant it too…”

“I’ve never loved anyone before, not like this, not properly…”

“I don’t think I have either, I thought I had, but it was nothing like this…”

“If and when we sell the pearls we can use some of the money to buy each other a ring…”

Drew almost choked on the laugh he stifled but managed it and managed to expel “Christ, you don’t give a man much warning…”

“It’s what people do right, exchange rings, when they get married, even men?”

Drew composed himself because this was obviously important, and it was, he just couldn’t quite get over the shock of being proposed to, which is what it amounted to, he thought, in Mordy’s crazy, twelve year old playing a thirty-seven year old World.

“Yes, even us men do that” he said calmly, “when we get married, which we can now…”

Mordy just looked at him, grinning broadly, showing his perfect, naturally white teeth, no black pearls in there which Drew was amazed at.  Drew wondered whether he’d interpreted the “we can now” as men in general or them specifically, but he’d kind of lost the plot and didn’t care if Mordy believed they were getting married, it would be the perfect bizarre conclusion to the affair.  No, he didn’t believe that, it would be too naïve, even for Mordy.

“Let’s see what happens” was all Mordy said and it was suitably cryptic to leave Drew wondering what the hell he was thinking.  He finished getting dressed.

Mordy slipped on shorts and tee shirt and the flip-flops.

“Let’s go, we need a few other supplies too, especially if we’re going to be based at the van, I need gas and if I’m not running her then the battery ain’t getting charged and the fridge will pack up…”

“I’m ready.  Where do we leave the pearls for now?”

“Lock them in the boot of your car”.  Drew locked them in the glove box.

They left and headed into town and the first port of call was the supermarket to stock up on essential supplies.  At the checkout Drew automatically handed the girl his credit card.  Mordy looked a bit uncomfortable because the bill was £73.48.  He’d never spent that much on food in one go.

Drew noticed the look and tried to alleviate his stress;

“We’ll keep all the receipts and make sure we pay ourselves back first, before we do anything else…”

Mordy nodded.  Money was not exactly evil in his book and he needed a bit, if only for petrol and gas and odd bits, but he mistrusted it and was actually afraid of it.  His mistrust was largely due to the fact that he couldn’t read the receipt and was never sure if he was being conned.

“Okay, gas next and then I need to get a few toiletries, to leave at the van, we’ll go to Superdrug, they’re cheaper…”  the choice of words deliberate on Drew’s part, who had no such fear of money and since the book was selling reasonable well, he had plenty.

They picked up a gas bottle from the supermarket’s petrol station and then went to get the toiletries.  Drew threw in the basket all the usual, toothpaste, deodorant, soap and a flannel.  Mordy was looking on, intrigued.

“You need all that stuff?”

“Uhm, usually…do you need anything?”

“Toothpaste and soap…”

Maybe he was just lucky, Drew thought, because Mordy didn’t have an unpleasant body odour, it was kind of warm and woody, unless he’s been working and sweating hard, perhaps it was all the salt water baths he mulled.

“Well, get what you need while we’re here…”

He threw in the cheapest toothpaste and the cheapest soap.  It wasn’t Drew’s place to question his choices for Christ’s sake; the guy didn’t smell and didn’t have any fillings!

They were done and the only stop left was the place on the industrial estate where they could hire the diving gear.

Mordy was a little tense.

“Are you worried about something?”

“Only of bumping into someone I know who I’d rather not see…”

“They can’t hurt you…”

“I know, not anymore…”

They arrived and the car park was empty, but then they had only just opened.  The guys walked in and Mordy immediately went to the counter to ask if they had the stuff they needed.  They did, but it would take half an hour to get it ready.

“What do you want to do?” asked Drew, “come back a little later or wait?  There’s a second hand car dealership further up, I wouldn’t mind a look in there…”

“Yeah, let’s do that, I don’t want to wait”

Just before they left the guy behind the counter hollered;

“Shall I put this on your account then Mordy?”

He stiffened but Drew knew exactly what needed to be said.  He walked up to the counter;

“That’s my shout actually…do you take American Express?” and he handed over the Gold Card from his wallet

“Uhm, yeah, well, not usually, their commission is so high, unless you ain’t got anything else…”

“It’s all I’ve got with me I’m afraid…”

“That’s okay”.  The man took the card, feeling a little less superior Drew hoped.

The bill, for the hire of the gear for two weeks, was a just shy of a thousand pounds, although that included the returnable deposit and insurance.

“We’ll be back in half an hour then…”

“Sure, it’ll be ready…”

They left and walked up the road towards the garage.

“He’s friendly with the guy who owns the campsite.  He knows I don’t have twenty quid let alone a grand…”

“It was a cheap shot but it doesn’t matter now…”

Mordy said nothing more, except;

“Why are we going to the garage?”

“Haven’t you seen the camper van they’ve got?”

“Jesus!”

It was a late model Caravelle, in pearlescent white, with everything, including a solar panel.  The kitchen was better fitted out than the cottage and there was a double bed.

“Fancy a little comfort?”

“You’re not serious, it’s almost ten grand…”

“He’ll take an offer.  What do you say?”

“Drew…”

“Consider it an early wedding present…”

Mordy stood stock still with his head bowed.

“Mordy?”

He looked up with tears in his eyes.  All Drew wanted to do at the moment was hug him but he was unsure of how much of a public display Mordy was happy to tolerate.  He needn’t have worried as Mordy flung his arms around him and hugged him and kissed him to death.

“I’ll take that as a yes then…”

Mordy was all over the van.  The guy came out.

“What’s your best price?”

“£8,250...”

“Serviced with a new MOT and we have a deal”

“Deal…”

“Ready in two days?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.  Come into the office.  I’ll need a deposit”

Drew left Mordy in the van to deal with the paperwork.  He was gone anyway, opening every drawer and cupboard, pressing buttons and lifting the loo seat.

Twenty minutes later Drew called him over.

“Mordy, we need a signature, on the log book transfer…”

“Why do you need my signature?”

“Well it’s no good me signing it if the van is registered in your name…”

For a change Mordy was stunned and two paces behind the plot.

“You mean, you’re…”

“Yes, so get your arse in here”

Drew’s only prayer was that he could sign his name. He could, pretty well in fact; it turned out Beryl had taught him.

“We get her in two days, just in time for the full moon expedition”

Job done and they headed back to get the diving gear.  It had been forty minutes so the stuff was ready and Mordy loaded it into the boot of the car.

The guy came out and wandered over to Drew.

“I hope you know what you’re doing; he’s a bit of a head case that one…”

“Who, Mordy?  Diamond chap…”

Dew was playing the hapless, London author to a “t”.

“He’s been in a bit of bother, if you know what I mean; just watch your back and your wallet”

Drew knew that Mordy had never been inside a police station, let alone found guilty of a crime.

“He looks as honest as the day is long”

“Yeah, butter wouldn’t melt, but take it from me”

“Thanks for the warning”

Drew was about to turn and leave but stopped and said;

“If you over-charge all your customers, like you have me, perhaps I should be more wary of you…”

He turned and walked back to the car.  The guy scuttled back in the shop, tail firmly between his legs.

“What now?” he asked Mordy

“Let’s drop this stuff off at the van and go see our pension plan…”

Drew had abandoned trying to work out where these words or phrases came from, he figured the way Mordy had learned the language must have been similar to learning English as a second language.

“Okay”

They drove back to the car park to find a police car parked up and two young policemen walking around the van.  Drew turned to Mordy.

“Relax and say as little as possible.  Is it legal?”

“Just…”

“Then no worries and we’ll move it today back to the cottage and put it on the driveway…”

They pulled in, parked and got out and walked over, Mordy just ahead of Drew, with the keys in his hand.

“Is this your camper Sir?” one of the policemen asked

“Yes”

“You do know that you can’t park overnight here…”

“No, I didn’t know that”

“No, you can’t.  Best you shift it because if it’s still here tomorrow it will be towed away in accordance with the Council’s policy…”

Drew butted in;

“Why are you here and not the Council’s Car Parking Enforcement Officer?”

“We were checking the tax disc…”

“Ah, well, as you can see, it doesn’t expire for at least three weeks…”

Mordy had opened up and gone in to fetch something, a slim, coloured, plastic wallet type folder.  From it he withdrew the MOT, the log book and the insurance certificate and handed them over, without being asked.  The policeman who had spoken looked uncomfortable but had no choice but to take the offered documents and check them.

“That’s all in order, thank you.  Mind what I said about the Council’s policy…” he added, in the most patronising tone he could muster, to cover his embarrassment.

“Thank you officer” said Drew

The two policemen moved off and got back in their car and drove away.

“Nuisance making…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.  We’ll move her to the cottage and in two days there will be a gleaming white Caravelle stationed here and I guarantee that no one is going to report that…what now?  First lesson?”

Mordy threw off the little cloud of despondency and smiled, suddenly re-energised he got the stuff out of the car and laid it down to show Drew exactly what everything was and did and how it went on.  He dressed himself, showing Drew how to adjust straps and how to keep the weight belt release free of encumbrances.  He went through the checking procedures and then made Drew don the suit and the equipment and they went through the checking procedure over and over.

“Right, get it all off; check it and then we’ll have a brew.  After that we’ll get suited and booted and I’ll show you the rest”

They had tea and cake and talked endlessly about ships and wrecks and treasure and diving and pearls!

They got the suits on and carried everything else down to the beach to be nearer the water as the tanks were heavy to walk very far in.  Mordy showed him how to breathe, how to clear his mask.

“C’mon, in we go, it’ll all make sense when you’re in the water and breathing in and out through the mouthpiece”

They checked each other’s gear and headed in.  The flippers made it difficult until they were in the water and then it was time to dive.  One final check and that was it, they went under.  Drew’s heart flipped the first few seconds until he realised that he could breathe and it wasn’t too unpleasant and it made a nice change to be able to see without the stinging.  They swam out and then Mordy went down, Drew followed.

Even in the short space of time since the dive at dawn, the sand had cleared further and the hatch was nearly fully exposed.  To their utter amazement it was still secured.  Mordy went to investigate and see if the cover was loose enough to prise open by hand.  It was wedged tight, probably warped.

Stuff lay about the ship on the seabed which hadn’t been there even that morning, bits of wood mainly, no more boxes of pearls, what were probably bits of metal, maybe nails and the remnants of what might have been a barrel.  Mordy signalled that it was time to go back.  They returned to the beach.  Drew was literally bursting at his seams with the excitement and the sheer unadulterated pleasure of diving and getting up close and personal with the wreck.

“That was fucking fantastic” he said to Mordy as they got out of everything

“You know what I think?  I think she was being used to ferry goods from a much larger vessel to shore…”

“Pirates?”  Drew heard his own words and thought he must have sounded like a twelve year old, that, or a complete idiot.

“Smugglers perhaps” said Mordy, a smile playing around his lips, which registered on Drew and he knew he must have sounded a little naïve.

“How is it that no one has found her before?  If she sank wouldn’t the smugglers have done something?  News would have got out surely?”

“Perhaps she was scuttled, to hide any trace…”

“Probably empty then…”

“Perhaps, unless it was done in a hurry” Mordy replied, with more sanguinity

“We need to get inside the hull, but the hatch looked pretty tight and heavy…”

“I’ll take a crowbar down next time and see if I can prise a board up.  What I can’t understand is how she is in such good condition, for a ship that has been under the water and subject to the knocks over what, at least four hundred years?”

“Smugglers and intrigue!  Shit I can’t wait to write that novel!”

Mordy didn’t reply but smiled and shed the suit to expose his body to the drying sun.

“…and I can’t wait to get my hands on that” added Drew

“In the van or back home?”

The word “home” made Drew kind of shiver, such an innocuous word usually, until it was spoken by the man who’d somehow won over your heart, body and soul.

“Back home…let’s move the van.  I have a feeling the boys in blue will be back before the day is over.”

They loaded up and drove in convoy back to the cottage and parked the van on the drive.

“Once we get the new one, what do you want to do with this?” asked Drew

“Well, everything runs out at the end of the month, so I say pillage what’s worth anything and scrap it…”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s been home for a long time but it’s time to move on”

They spent the next hour emptying it of all the stuff Mordy wanted to keep which amounted to a couple of boxes, mostly tools, decent cooking utensils and the gas.  He threw the bedding away;

“No good for a double bed”

Everything was piled in the hall and ready to be loaded into the new van in two days’ time.

Drew needed to sort out the insurance for the van.  The guy was going to put six month’s tax on it for him.

“What address did you put on the log book transfer?” asked Mordy

“My London address”

“Oh”

“What?  I couldn’t put the cottage, it’s only rented…”

“What’s going to happen at the end of the month then?”

Drew realised what he meant, did that mean he was moving back to London with him?  It hadn’t been discussed.

“All other things being equal, and by that I mean, if we find nothing in the wreck, then I will be returning to London at the end of the month…and I hope you will come with me…if we find something then that may change things, but in any event…”

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes, I want you to stay, if you want”

“It’s never been like this before, with a bloke, I never stayed with anyone…”

“Time to give it a try then…”

Mordy said nothing instead he took the two paces that stood between them.

“Do you want to give it a try?” repeated Drew

“Yes, very much” said in a little scared voice

“Well that’s settled then.  We’ve still got three weeks left here.  Let’s make the most of it…”  Drew admitted to himself that the prospect of moving back to London, with Mordy, in three weeks, was as scary as Hell, but the best kind of scary.  He just didn’t know if his lifestyle in London would suit Mordy but then he guessed a few things would need to change and he hoped Mordy kind of realised that too.  He put his arms around him to “seal the deal”.  Mordy responded with a very needy hug.  Perhaps he was realising that the change would not affect Drew alone.

“…and let’s not worry about any of that, the wreck could change everything and we might be rich beyond our wildest dreams, buy a boat and sail around the World…”

Mordy looked up and into his eyes, the smile on his lips was rekindled and he visibly relaxed.

“Do you want to go for a swim” he asked

“No, not yet, I want to go to bed…”

Drew took his hand and led him up the stairs.

They fucked the worries of the move to London out of their brains.

Chapter Five - Ghosts don’t eat fish and chips

Doesn’t it tend to happen this way?  You start to relax, become more comfortable around the other person, recognising their habits, gestures and mannerism, you respond, you integrate it all into yourself, your movements, your thoughts, it becomes a kind of silent dance.  It was happening for them both.  Well, they had spent a fair amount of time together, in pretty close quarters, if it was going to break then surely it would have done so by now, at least, the cracks would have appeared.  Instead of breaking it was making.  Not without some minor shocks and reverberations however.

Mordy’s general complete lack of ceremony, impulsiveness, quirky manners, odd phraseology and scintillating looks and carriage had Drew in a perpetual state of arousal and some tension, if only because he didn’t want to say anything crass or, more importantly, do anything that might bring back painful memories.  Drew was pretty sure that much of the trauma of the first eight years of Mordy’s life was still buried, waiting to be properly dealt with.

If he could have read Mordy’s mind he would have seen that Mordy was more self-aware and higher functioning that he could have realised, it was merely the lack of understanding and words that dictated his responses, with the addition of frequent, albeit minor, lapses into the character of “Mordy the Traveller” who kept everyone at arm’s length, didn’t give a fuck but had had six mothers all trying to impress upon him the virtues of cleanliness and Godliness.  And six fathers all of whom had tried to impress upon him the gratefulness which he should exhibit as every morsel was passed to him.  On top of that he had travelled for twenty years, doing shit jobs and earning a pittance, enjoying both unparalleled freedom and unimaginable captivity at times.  He had learned a lot, in the line of practical skills, the van would have been scrapped fifteen years previous if he hadn’t.  He had the body of a twenty year old, the brain of a twelve year old, the sexual appetite of a rutting stag, often the sagacity of Job and some pretty powerful magic.

The shocks were mostly caused by the recounting of the incidents that had led to the various scars on his body, like a particularly nasty incident in Marseille, where two guys had held him down whilst a third had raped him and slashed him across the back with a knife.  He’d crawled into an alleyway and slumped, half dead from the loss of blood.  A whore, working that stretch found him and cared for him, hiding him from her pimp, getting him food and medicine.  He’d sent her money for a few years after.  The pimp had found out and strangled her, pocketing the money as if it were due to him.  Mordy had returned to the city to find her dead, one of the other girls told him what had happened.  He found the pimp and thrashed him, taking all the money he had on him.  It was enough to go to the Philippines.

They were still laying in bed, cuddling up, telling each other silly but important things about themselves, the things they had done in their youth, their dreams and wishes for the future and their fears.  Drew as being frighteningly honest, he thought to himself, Mordy was being uncommonly descriptive.  For him the relationship was beginning open things up for him, the means to express thoughts and feelings hitherto suppressed, hitherto unfelt, unspoken.

“Let’s go for a swim?”

“Yeah, and maybe find somewhere for a bite to eat out?

“Okay, but not in town…”

They got ready and left, driving to the cove for a swim and another peek at the wreck.  Nothing much had happened since the dive.  They lay on the beach to dry off.

Drew was toying with an idea, a difficult subject but one that needed to be broached.

“When we go back to London I would like to introduce you to someone that could help with…”

“My reading and writing and the internet” Mordy was upbeat and enthusiastic.

“Yes” although that wasn’t what Drew had in mind, he had a therapist in mind but perhaps the first step was to improve his language skills, then maybe he would be able to express himself all the more effectively.

“Not a school though…”

“No, one to one, a private tutor…”

“I’ll need a job”

“When you’re settled we’ll look for something…”

“I pay my way…” said resolutely, with no room for negotiation.  The purchase of the van was still boiling his brain, no one had ever bought him anything, well, Beryl had bought him a few good clothes and a decent pair of boots just before he’d left.

“There are tons of things that need to be done in the house first…and the garden needs a lot of attention…”

“Great…” said in a way that signified that it pacified a whole host of doubts and fears.  He liked exchanges.

They got up and dressed and went back to the cove in time to see the police car drive passed.

“Told you…”

“They won’t come back now”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah, fish and chips!”

Drew smiled broadly, it had been years and years since he’d had fish and chips at the seaside.

“Where?”

“Beryl’s sister, Sheila, runs the chippy at the harbour…”

“She’ll be expecting to see you; I’m sure Beryl’s told her that you’re back…”

“Yeah, but her husband was my dad’s closest friend…”

“Ah, could be difficult…”

Mordy said nothing.

They drove to the village and first popped back into the shop to see Beryl.  Mordy wanted to tell her that he was popping in to see Sheila.  In a roundabout way asking how the land lay Drew thought.

“Her William is out…”

They headed to the chippy to find Sheila.  A young girl was serving and Sheila was out back, preparing fillets of cod for frying.  She clocked them as they came in and no doubt had been expecting it.  She waddled out, being a hefty sort.

“Mordy” was all she said, beaming, wiping her hands on her apron.  She came round the counter and immediately put a hand each side of his face and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Hello Sheila” he said, like he’d seen her the previous week

“My…ain’t you turned out handsome…”

Mordy actually blushed and diverted attention by introducing Drew, a friend, but Sheila read the sub-text like Beryl had.

“Pleased to meet you” she said

“Pleased to meet you…”

“What do you boys want?  Cod is fresh…”

“That’ll be great ma” said Mordy

“Dawn, two cod and chips and load them up…”

Whilst the girl got their food ready Mordy chatted to Sheila, in much the same way as he had to Beryl, the inevitable catch up of twenty years condensed into ten minutes.  Dawn placed the wrapped cod and chips in a bag and left it on the counter.  Drew automatically dived in his pocket for the money.

“That’s on the house” said Sheila

“Thanks ma…” said Mordy

“You boys take care and come and see me again soon”.  It seemed to Drew that she was signalling the probably return of her William within the near future.

They left but not before Sheila had planted more kisses on the face of her angel.

They wandered back to the car.

“Where shall we eat these?”

“Back at the cove” Mordy replied, a little introspectively

Drew drove and waited until they were on the beach before he said anything

“Is everything okay?”

“Yup!”

Drew knew better than to push the point, Mordy told him things when he was ready, there was no point rushing him.

“Great chips!” said Drew trying to keep the lines open

“He was a bastard to me when I was a youngster.  He didn’t make me do anything, anything like that, he was just nasty and mean…”

“Maybe you should confront him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have it out, ask him why…”

“What’s the point now, he won’t admit to it.  Sheila knew but couldn’t do anything, except give me some chips and a quid for cigarettes…”

Drew was more convinced than ever that Mordy would need to talk to someone.  Coming back was opening old hurts and even if that was in its way a kind of catharsis, the healing couldn’t come from avoiding the issues, which were like so many ghosts that only Mordy could see.

“Why did you come back?” asked Drew

“Not sure…”

That was the end of that for now and true to form Mordy wanted to see the wreck.  They swam out and took a look.  More deck was exposed and the remains of one of the masts, it stuck out like a jagged tooth.

Back on the beach Drew tried to be upbeat.

“The day after tomorrow we can get the van and then we’re in business”

“I wish…I wish they were all dead…”

That came from nowhere.

“Even if they were what happened still happened and it would still haunt you and will forever unless you talk to someone about it, a therapist…”

“I’ve had enough people mess with my head…”

Drew paused; this was not going to be the way to do it, at least, not yet and not here, maybe in London, with a little distance and without the stress of the prospect of bumping into one of his tormenters.

“Let’s go home and make our plans for the first proper dive” said Drew

“Yeah, c’mon, and I want you…”

“I want you too…”

They returned to the cottage.

Chapter Six - The day before the dive and more mystery

Everything was checked and everything was agreed and the new van would be ready at about 9 the following day.  They had the day ahead and the weather was superb.

“Let’s hike to the standing stone” said Mordy

“I didn’t know there was one…”

“It’s up on the downs, above the cove, by the barrows.  When we were kids we dared each other to go there at night…”

“Did you?”

“Always, the safest place to go, no one else went near the place, except the witches and the wizards…”

“The what?”

“The druids.  There’s a bunch of them here”

“Are we hiking from the cove?”

“No, the other side of the Downs, through the forest…”

They got ready and drove out to the car park at the edge of the forest from where they hiked the four or five miles to the standing stone, which sat above the cove like a sentinel, forever watching.  The stone was old, at least as old as the ones at Stonehenge.  In fact there were two stones, one standing and one laying at its feet.  Originally they formed the gateway through which the funeral procession would have passed as a body was carried to the barrows, which lay due west of the stones.

They arrived hot but the area around the stones was cool, strangely.

Drew sat down and Mordy walked around the stones and then plonked down beside him, hands behind his head, knees bent with his feet, minus the flip-flops, planted firmly in the mossy grass.

Drew looked at him and saw a ten year old boy lying beside him, wearing hand-me-downs and barefoot too.  Mordy’s eyes were shut, but then the sun was directly overhead.

“Happy?” Drew said, but it sounded like “happier”

“Reminds me of the best times I had; here, alone, safe…”

“It is very peaceful…”

They sat in their own personal reverie.

“What now?” asked Drew

“Well, hike back and then drive around to the cove for a final check before tomorrow…”

“Okay.  I need some time this afternoon to finish some writing.  I have a feeling that once we start diving there isn’t going to be much time for anything else and I want to send the manuscript to the publisher before I get back to London…”

“You’ve finished it then?”

“Almost, thanks to you…”

“What do you mean?”

“For some reason, when we met the first time, the block was unblocked and I could see the end of the story and it’s been all I could do to keep pace with the ideas as they’ve fallen out of my head onto the page…”

“Can you read it to me?”

“Of course, I’d love to.  No one else has heard it yet…”

“When I’ve learned to read I want to read everything…”

“I have a lot of books at home; you can start with those…”

“When I’ve learned to write I want to write down everything that happened…”

Drew had to swallow very hard and blink rapidly a few times.

“I think that’s a good idea” he managed, without breaking up

“Let’s go” not said in the usual way, like they were off to fight dragons or charge the enemy lines but said softly and like it was the punctuation mark at the end of a difficult decision.

They hiked back to the car and Drew congratulated himself for parking it in the shade.  They drove around to the cove and went for the habitual tour of the wreck, diving down five or six times.  She was uncovered along her flank to the point where she was broken, now visible.  There was no sign of her back half, just the front half, pointing up.  There was still too much sand to get in at that point so the hatch was still the best means of entry.  Mordy suggested that her angle probably meant that the hull was free of sand; if she had lain level then sure as eggs she would be full of sand.  He was hoping that once the hatch cover was off it would reveal an empty space and whatever cargo she had been carrying would be piled down at the end lodged in the seabed.

Back on the beach Drew asked the most obvious question;

“For a ship that has lain here for at least four hundred years she is remarkably well preserved.  I remember when they brought up the “Marie Rose”, the timbers looked no more solid than a Cadbury’s Flake, how is that possible?”

Mordy said something that made all the sense and none of the sense in the World;

“Maybe she hasn’t been down there for four hundred years…”

“But she’s “The Granite Pearl”, part of the fleet that sailed against the Armada in 1588...”

“That doesn’t mean she sank then, what if she survived and sank later, much later…”

“Well, there is no report of when she sank, so maybe she did survive a good long time after the battle, but why no records on her any more recent than the reference to her being part of the force that sailed against the Armada, it’s like she disappeared and was forgotten…”

“Or hidden…”

“Why would you hide a ship?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the ship that someone wanted to hide but what or who she was carrying…”

“Smugglers…”

“They used her until she sank or was scuttled…”

“Why then keep the name plate?  And how long do you think she’s been down there, from the condition of her I’d say no more than a hundred years…”

“Maybe, a boat built in the 16th Century would not have lasted for four hundred years above or below the water…”

“Jesus this doesn’t make any sense at all…if that is “The Granite Pearl” then she survived the Armada and was well maintained for at least three hundred years, her existence kept an absolute secret and no one has touched her since she went down…that’s a fucking mystery if ever there was one…”

“Maybe once we get inside we’ll find the answer…”

“Yes, or more mystery.  I want to take a closer look at the box you found.  If we can put a date on that it might tell us something…”

They drove back to the cottage and Drew removed the box from the glove compartment and took it inside, laying it on a sheet of newspaper on the kitchen table along with the string of black pearls.

“Okay, first question, what are you made of, clearly not wood…”

Despite still looking like a box, the surface was covered in a hard crusty material.  He started with the inside, which had been better protected.  He removed what appeared to be the faded and decaying remnants of a lining, possibly red silk.  The surface beneath was black.  Rummaging in the kitchen drawer he brought forth a butter knife.

“My apologies to archaeologists everywhere” he said as he scrapped the surface very gently.  Mordy looked on enraptured.

Where he scrapped a white streak appeared.

“Ivory” was his first guess

“Would explain how it survived, even for a hundred years…”

Where Mordy had prised the box open part of the crusty surface material had come away a little.  Drew levered the knife under the edge of the crust and lifted it very slowly, hoping to dislodge more of the lava like substance.  A portion came free, showing yet more white and he was pretty certain it was made of ivory, however, the lid, the part now showing, was inlaid with coloured material, possibly semi-precious stones, enamel or even glass.

He prised more of the crust away to reveal further areas of white and more decoration.  It was exquisitely crafted and old, but how old?

He leaned back to look at his handiwork.

“What do you think?” asked Mordy

“It looks Indian or maybe Turkish, but how old, fucked if I know. We need to look on the internet for boxes with similar designs made from ivory…”

They decamped to the office and the computer.  Mordy automatically sat at the adjacent seat, the one on the left;

“Why don’t you try?” said Drew

The look spelt “isn’t this too important to be ballsed up by me?”

“It’ll be good practice”

Mordy changed seats and sat in front of the computer.  He remembered how to boot up and log on and how to find the Google home page.  Then he was stuck.

“I don’t know what to put in…”

Drew almost burst into tears but camouflaged them by writing down on a piece of paper - “ivory jewellery boxes, Indian and Turkish, 16th century”

“Try that and click on “images” rather than “web”, pointing to the words…“If you don’t find anything that looks like our box, use the “back” function and change the date and try again.  I need a slash”

The ploy was a deliberate attempt on Drew’s part to push Mordy a little, build his confidence and show him just what he was capable of.  He left the room and went and sat on the toilet and flicked through an edition of the Giles Cartoon Annual from 1976 for five minutes.  During which time he heard a few exasperated “Fuck” like outbursts but figured that was an essential part of the process and why should he be spared what the rest of us had had to go through!  When he left the bathroom there was silence from the office.

When he re-entered the room, Mordy was sat back looking at an image on the screen, enlarged to fill the window.  He stepped closer to look over his shoulder to see what he had found.

There was a picture of the box, not a photograph of the box, but a photograph of a portion of an old painting, depicting the box, sat on a table, beside which was stood a woman.  Drew was focussed on the box; it was the same as the one on the kitchen table.  He slowly lowered his eyes to the caption;

“…jewel casket detail from an unsigned portrait of the Queen, circa 1590...”

“What the fuck?  That’s Elizabeth the First…”

“1590” said Mordy, “two years after the Armada”

“That box is sat on our kitchen table, which you found on the seabed beside the wreck of what might or might not be “The Granite Pearl”, containing a string of black pearls, both apparently belonging to Elizabeth the First.  I don’t fucking believe it…were there any other pictures of the box?”

“No, just this one”

They went back to the kitchen to look at the box again.  It was the same box, the jewel casket in the portrait, no question.

“…and the pearls?” asked Mordy

“History has it that the Queen purchased the black pearls then owned by Mary, Queen of Scots, through an intermediary, for 12,000 crowns, purportedly a third of their contemporary value.  Value today, priceless…she is shown wearing them in a portrait from 1585...can these be the same pearls, or at least some of them?”

“Roll on tomorrow when we might get a few answers” said Mordy, in reality a little perplexed by all the burgeoning history.  He just wanted to find a load of treasure, sell it quietly and clear the fuck off.  All this spelt attention, bother and complication, things he’d spent most of his life trying to avoid.

“Roll on tomorrow…” repeated Drew

Mordy stepped behind Drew who was sitting at the table.  He put his hands on his shoulders and massaged them a little.

“Mmmm, Jesus, that’s nice…”

Mordy massaged a little more and moved to the base of his neck and dug his thumbs in deeply.

“Oh don’t stop” murmured Drew, beginning to slump, “perhaps you should train to be a masseur, there’s plenty of work in London…”

“I’d like to be a gardener…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I love to see things grow, just never had a garden of me own…”

It put a different colour on the whole “move to London” thing and Drew felt instantly a lot more confident.

“Maybe your own business.  I know plenty of people that need a gardener…”

Mordy stopped kneading and bent over to put his arms around the shoulders of the man he loved who was making him very happy.

“I love you.  You make me very happy…”

Drew turned his head to seek out the lips of the man he loved who was making him very happy if not a little crazy.

They enjoyed a lingering embrace, one that carried them upstairs and into bed and through the night.

Chapter Seven - Dive!

Both had probably been the sort of kids that had gone to bed really early on Christmas Eve to fall asleep straight away so that Christmas Day would come round that bit sooner.  Needless to say they were awake early, far too early to get the van.  They both lay in bed trying desperately not to break out into hysterical fits of laughter at the sheer lunacy and utter joy of the moment.

“I should check the gear…” said Mordy

“It’s 6am!”

“I can’t settle…”

“Make some tea then”

“You make the tea and I’ll check the gear”

“Oh my God!  We‘re getting the new van today as well, we mustn‘t forget that”

“I know, I still can’t believe that…”

“We should manage our expectations”

“What do you mean?”

“What if the hull is empty?  We shouldn’t get too excited…”

“I don’t care; anyway, we found the box and the pearls didn’t we?”

“We probably won’t be able to sell them…”

“I don’t want to”

“What about buying a boat and sailing around the World?”

“I’m with you. It’s enough…”

No one had ever said that to him before.

“Thank you.  That means a lot”

“I’m gonna check the gear”

“I’ll make the tea.  Oh my God!”

Mordy hadn’t seen Drew quite so excited before.  He thought it made him seem more human, less adult, less serious.  In truth he was a little awed by Drew, who wrote books, knew about the pearls, bought camper vans and hired diving equipment, put people in their place when they needed to be, could use the internet.  He recalled the one and only Sunday school class he’d attended, at Beryl’s insistence, the story was about the flight of the Jews out of Egypt and Moses parting the Red Sea.  That was how he saw Drew, Moses parting the waves.

Over tea they discussed the plan, again!

“We pick up the van at 9 and drive straight back here.  Load up and then we’re off to the cove” said Drew

“Quick butchers to see that all is in order and then we get suited and booted for the first dive…”

“You know, there is one potential problem…”

“What?” said Mordy, sounding almost horrified

“What if it is stuffed full of gold, how the hell are we going to shift it?”

“Let’s just wait and see shall we?”

They got ready and were at the garage at 8:24 just as the guy was opening up.  The van was clean, taxed, serviced and MOT’d.  It had a new gas bottle, full water tanks and the batteries were charged.  Drew had even paid him to fill her up with fuel.  They were away before 9 and back by 9:15.

Mordy checked the gear and stowed it in the van.  Drew loaded up the supplies and by 10 they were ready.

“Ready?” asked Drew

“Ready”

“Let’s go!”

Mordy drove, smiling the whole time, as was Drew.  They got to the car park and parked in Mordy’s old spot as it benefited from the shade in the afternoon.  They erected the awning to give themselves more working space and a little more privacy should someone drive passed.

They went down onto the beach which was deserted.  It was where they had met, barely two weeks before.

Mordy grabbed Drew’s hand and they walked swiftly down to the surf and very soon they were out and under.  Five minutes later they were back on the beach.

“Do you still think the hatch is the best way in?” asked Drew

“I reckon so…”

“Let’s get started then”

They got the suits on and carried the rest of the gear down to the beach.  Taking their time they donned the equipment and checked everything.  Mordy handed Drew his light.

“Ready?”

“Ready”

They entered the water and made their way out to the dive point immediately above the prow.  They hadn’t marked it with a buoy in case someone saw it and got curious so they still relied upon Mordy’s lines of sight.

He put his thumb up and Drew replied with his.  Mordy went down first and seconds later Drew followed.  The first task was to attempt to prise open the hatch with the crowbar.  It was easier said than done.  Trying to exert enough force to lever the hatch open was next to impossible.  It didn’t budge.  Drew gestured that he should try one of the boards near the hatch.  The one closest to the hatch was equally stubborn, the one next to that started to give.  Mordy called Drew over so that they could both push.  It was just enough and the board lifted and finally gave way.  They worked together to lift the next two so that the entrance was wide enough to allow them in with the tanks.

Mordy was just about to head in when they heard the creaking.  Mordy was unsure what it was but Drew could see that the ship was starting to move.  It had been perched on the sand, prow pointing up.  They had never been able to ascertain just how much of the wreck was submerged beneath the sand, clearly not that much.  Drew grabbed Mordy’s belt and pulled him back just in time to watch the whole thing topple forward and come to rest on the seabed, raising a dense cloud of sand which reduced visibility to zero.

Drew started to panic.  He wasn’t claustrophobic but the cloud of sand and debris disorientated him.  Just at the point at which he decided, almost instinctively, to pull off the mask and take out his mouthpiece he felt a tug and he was yanked upwards.  Only then did he remember that he was still gripping Mordy’s belt.  Within a few seconds he was clear of the cloud and aware of Mordy beside him, kicking strongly.  He’d had been there the whole time.  They broke the surface.  He let go the belt and pulled off the mask and spat out the mouthpiece, letting out a scream of relief.

Mordy was more composed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.  Jesus…”

“Thanks…”

“For what?  You pulled us out…”

“For pulling me out of the way…”

Both were silent for a minute.

“What now?” Drew asked

“We need to wait for the cloud to settle again and then we can see how things are.  Let’s go back to the beach.

They made their way to the beach and threw themselves down.

“It should be easier now right?” asked Drew

“It should, but we need to be careful.  The impact may have weakened the structure and I don’t want to be inside if it collapses…”

“How long do we need to wait?”

“Half an hour should be enough to see how things are…”

They decided to de-suit and have a brew.

An hour later they were back in the water and heading down.

She was now lying level, on one side.  The impact had popped the hatch cover off, no doubt helped by the timbers which they had prised away.  There was still a lot of sand and debris floating in the water but the receding tide was taking a lot of the material with it and their visibility was improving all the time.

The plan was now to go in via the open end, the end which had been lodged in the sand.  They moved along her flank and positioned themselves so that they could shine both lights into the hull.  Mordy had no intention of venturing in unless it looked safe.

Their beams picked out an assortment of objects, fleeting glimpses of fragments.  It was as if they were looking at the World through a smashed kaleidoscope.  Nothing bright immediately stood out.  It was pretty dull and a mixture of browns and greys and lot of black.

They moved closer, to just in front of the opening.  Mordy turned to Drew and signalled that he was ready to venture in.  Drew nodded and they floated in gently, lazily flicking their flippers to propel themselves forward, trying not to disturb too much of the loose debris and sand.  Once inside the light was confined and that made a big difference.

It wasn’t empty so that was one of their fears allayed.

Prior to the dive they had agreed that the initial forage would be to ascertain the contents, not to bring anything up, unless it was very small and looked valuable!  There were heaps of indeterminate objects, many having been thrown about, much of it looked rotten, decayed and many things were glued together to form grotesque shapes.  Mordy had said to look for things that could have survived for four hundred years, things like stoneware, glass, bone, metal and pottery.

Drew spied a couple of bottles which weren’t broken and went to investigate.  Mordy saw what he thought was probably a collection of shot, now dispersed.  It looked like someone had been playing marbles.  He picked a couple of the balls up and put them in his net bag.  He checked his watch and it was time to surface.  He grabbed Drew’s attention and pointed up.  Drew had one of the bottles.  They turned to leave.  Out of the corner of his eye Drew saw something.  He wasn’t even sure why he saw it, but it must have reflected some light.  He stopped Mordy and gestured that he was going down for something.  What he found was a coin, probably dislodged in the fall.  He scooped it up and headed back to Mordy’s side.  They swam out and back up to the surface.  They had been down for a total of thirty minutes but it felt like hours had passed.

Once out of the water and the tanks Drew lay down, completely exhausted and totally exhilarated.  Not only had he done something which he had always thought about but had never gotten round to, the dive itself, he’d dived down to a wreck and seen things that had probably lain undisturbed for hundreds of years and to top it all he’d found a coin.

“C’mon, let’s get sorted and get that kettle on…”

Mordy displayed none of the same emotions but his tone was upbeat and eager.  They checked everything and stowed it all under the awning, away from prying eyes.  The kettle was on and after a brief bath to wash the sand out of places sand was not designed to be they sat down under the awning, in a couple of decent deckchairs that came with the van, positively glowing.

“Should have got a camera” said Mordy “would be a lot easier to plan the next dive if we could identify the best areas to look at beforehand…”

“We can get one, but, we should draw a diagram and mark things now, as we remember them…”

He got a pad and pencil and sketched out a rough plan of the interior and marked where he thought he’d seen things and where the bottles had been and the coin.  Mordy marked out a few things too; the shot and what looked to him to be some chain.

The shot that he had found was non-descript but could still be useful for dating her more precisely and if there was shot then there might be cannon and that would be valuable.  Drew brought forth the bottle, again pretty non-descript but at least it was intact and it looked like it hadn’t been spoiled.

“Ship’s rum?”

“Maybe, we’ll get the other one next time and open it…what about the coin?”

“Unidentifiable at this point, but I’m sure it’s gold.  The light must have caught this small area here which is free of the gunk and lava stuff.  What a stroke of luck…”

“Let’s hope there is more than one and that area is a priority for the next dive”

“We did it!” said Drew with unbridled exuberance

Mordy smiled, broadly, a rarity for him.  He found it extremely difficult to display his emotions, particularly the happier ones.  He wasn’t the scowling sort, rather, just deadpan as a rule, but as he spent more time with Drew he felt more and more comfortable to let the mask drop, a little, more often.

“Do you want to go down again?” he asked

“You bet!”

“Get your kit on then.  Fetch another of the bottles and look for more coins.  I’m gonna look for the cannon”

They were up, suited and back in within thirty minutes.  Drew felt much more confident but still took his lead from Mordy.  They re-entered the hull and started their respective searches.  Mordy concentrated on the area where he’d found the shot and found a lot more but as yet no cannon; however, he was right about the chain.  Drew scoured the area where he’d found the coin.  He didn’t find any more but he did find what he thought was a knife.  Drew moved up to the prow end.  There were boards fixed across the inside of the hull, sectioning off the last two or three feet.  He motioned to Mordy to join him.  He pointed at the end.  Mordy got what he was trying to say which was basically, “we need to look behind there”.

The boards had loosened up since the fall and Mordy grabbed an edge which was now standing proud and pulled back.  A piece came away.  He tried another and that too came free.  The next piece came away with more difficulty but as it moved something behind it was dislodged and fell forward.  As the board came away at last the object tumbled forward and spilled its contents onto the sandy floor.

The water slowed down the speed of the fall of the objects which cascaded slowly, tumbling, imitating a little waterfall, a waterfall of gold coins. The object which had been dislodged was an earthenware pot.  Drew caught it to save it from breaking and in so doing he halted the cascade.  The pot was still half full.  They scooped up the coins which had fallen out and put them back in the pot as a means to carry the haul back.  All other searches were abandoned and they carried the pot, which in reality wasn’t all that big, back out and up.  Mordy had taken off his net back and fastened it over the neck of the pot to avoid any of the precious contents from getting lost.  Very carefully they manhandled themselves and the pot onto the beach.

“Best we get this away as soon as possible.  I don’t want anyone to see this” Mordy said

“I think we should get back home” said Drew, who was in a kind of shock or maybe trance was a better word.

The pot was heavier out of the water and was itself half full of water which they tipped out very carefully, the wet contents illuminating their faces as they did so.

They wrapped it in a towel and put in the front passenger foot well.  In virtual silence they cleared up carefully and stowed everything meticulously.  It was a shared trait.

Before they drove off Drew headed back to the beach and wandered down to the water’s edge.

He’d found Mordy on this beach and Mordy had found the wreck and they had found a pot of gold.  It was the stuff of fantasy and in the kind of novels you took away on holiday.  This was real.  Mordy was real.  The wreck was real and the gold was real.  What he couldn’t begin to contemplate was how it was going to change things and he was sure it would.  Dreams could become a reality; Mordy would have more money than he’d seen in his thirty-seven years.  At the edge of the beautiful rainbow coloured dream landscape he was standing in he could make out the dark edges of a few storm clouds.  He shook it off, not wishing to dwell on anything negative or uncertain.  There was a lot to do and think about and there was the potential to find more treasure hidden in the forward compartment.

“Jesus and to think it all came about because of that stupid “block”…”

He returned to the van to find Mordy putting away the last of the things and he turned to affirm that they were ready to leave.

“Let’s go”

As they headed out of the car park a car appeared and they waited for it to pass.  It was a black saloon; Drew guessed an old but well maintained Granada Scorpio.

“Fucking William” hissed Mordy

The driver hadn’t looked their way as he passed in front of the van, but they were sure they had been scrutinised.

“C’mon” said Drew

Mordy pulled out, his face set, his jaw clenched tight.  He said nothing the whole way home.

At home they carried the finds from the wreck through to the kitchen and laid out everything except for the pot on a thick wad of newspaper on the kitchen table; the shot, the bottles, the knife and the original coin.  They placed the pot on the draining board, it looked kind of weird and it made Drew laugh.

Mordy looked at him and followed his line of sight to the pot; he smiled and then kind of laughed.  Drew looked back at him, still smiling.

“I’ll wash if you dry…”

It opened the floodgates of the dammed up emotions both were keeping back and the laughter rang like church bells until the tears were running down their faces.  It had been a necessary release.

They washed the coins in a weak solution of Fairy Liquid.  Drew protested at first but Mordy reminded him that they had lain under the water for hundreds of years so a bit of soap wasn’t going to hurt.  In the end they had a pile of three hundred or so coins on the table, all fine gold sovereigns.

They went to check the value of the hoard on the internet, not that they had a clue how to sell them.  The gold coins were Elizabethan fine gold sovereigns, worth 360 pence in their day, somewhat more now.  Valuations were hard to find but it seemed that each coin was probably worth at least £500, so about £150,000 but that didn’t take account of the condition, which looked mint or their provenance.

“We need to check that compartment again” said Mordy

“First thing tomorrow…”

“Do you think William saw anything?”

“No, just us two, but then Sheila will have told him.  It’s a pity he saw us in the camper but then again the guy at the Diving Store will have seen us drive away in it and he’s friendly with him…”

“Does it really matter?”

“Probably not but if he knows we own the van then wherever he sees that he knows we’re not far away.  We need to clean out that wreck before anyone starts snooping about and the holiday makers will be here soon and then it will be impossible.”

“Won’t the sands start to come back now the full moon is waning?”

“Yes, but we should have at least a week…”

“We need to store these coins properly so none get damaged and securely because I doubt the household insurance covers treasure from sunken wrecks!”

“I’ve got a lockable box in the old van, we could use that.  I used it on the road for keeping things safe.  It’s strong and the lock is a good one…”

They spent an hour retrieving the box and stowing the coins.  The wrapped each one in a tissue to stop it from getting scratched.  Once they were in the box they put it in the boot of Drew’s car and locked the car in the garage.

“What now?” asked Drew

“Do you wanna go out, for something to eat, a drink?”

It was first time Mordy had suggested anything like that.

“Yeah, we should celebrate, quietly.  There must be somewhere decent to eat on the island…”

“There’s a good pub at North Harbour…”

“What if we go to the pub and then drive back to the cove, ready for the morning and I might add, we haven’t tried out the bed yet!”

“Well, everything’s ready and we could go for a midnight swim…”

“Let’s go!”

They picked up fresh supplies, milk and the like and headed off to North Harbour to the one and only decent pub.  They celebrated quietly, not with champagne, but with a good bottle of wine.  They drank half and corked the rest for later.  The pub wasn’t busy, apparently it never was, but there were a few tables occupied mostly by older couples.

Mordy attracted most looks simply because he was Mordy and he was back and with someone.  They ignored them; none of them were in the “cronies” league so their stares were just out of curiosity.  Drew automatically reached across the table at one point and rested his hand on Mordy’s.  Give him his due he didn’t wrench it away like he’d been stung, but he didn’t react and Drew pulled his away slowly.  Well, the island was fifty years behind the times and he wasn’t going to make Mordy uncomfortable just to prove a point.  Once he had withdrawn his hand Mordy smiled and thanked him with his eyes.

“Later” he said quietly

Since the wreck was an out of bounds topic Drew ventured back to the gardening business idea, a possible business for Mordy once they were back in London.  In a way he was testing the waters, his greatest fear now was that Mordy would cash in and head off into the sunset, not to be seen for another twenty years, if ever again.  He just didn’t know him well enough to know how he was going to behave.

The answers came back deadpan, there was no real excitement in his voice, just words and overall, it was non-committal.  Drew was disappointed but not surprised, after all, they had barely started the dive and there could be a lot more to find, planning for the future was a little premature.  Whereas Drew knew he couldn’t retire on half the proceeds from the sale of the coins, he was pretty sure Mordy could who never spent more than twenty quid a week and exchanged for the rest.  He was finding it difficult to select a topic of conversation that both found easy.  In the end he gave up.

“Shall we go?” he said

“Yeah, the water will be perfect now and still warm…”

Had that been what he’d been thinking about the whole evening?

Drew paid and they left.  Drew drove.  Mordy was much more relaxed in the van and put his hand on Drew’s thigh the whole journey.

They parked up.

Drew went to get out but Mordy kept his hand on his leg, exerting a slight pressure.

“I’m sorry” he said

“It’s okay”

The hand was withdrawn.

At that moment Drew made a pact with himself.  Their relationship hadn’t started, hadn’t proceeded and wouldn’t continue in the same way as his relationships had in the past.  He was used to London, London men, London habits and London conventions.  With Mordy it had to be different and he came to the conclusion that if he tried to mould the relationship into the usual shape it would fail.  This had to be more “energetic”, more open, freer and less demanding.  It had nothing to do with Mordy’s lack of education, it was simply that he, Mordy, was not ordinary; he was extraordinary.  Twenty years travelling and surviving was going to shape a man, for the rest of his life.  Drew realised that he’d used the wrong analogy, Mordy hadn’t been released from prison at the point they had met, feeling all that liberty at once and itching to do the things he’d dreamed about for the last twenty years during his confinement.  No, that wasn’t the right way to see this and he felt a little egotistical for thinking that he had helped him “escape”.  He realised that if Mordy’s life had been that shit on the road he would have changed it.  He’d have got a job stacking shelves, rented a shabby little flat and bought his lottery ticket like everyone else.  No, Mordy liked his freedom and even if he had shagged complete strangers for five litres of gas he’d also been to the Philippines and learned to dive.  Like the good, honest author he was he recalled a line of Shakespeare but modified it;

“Do not be as thou wast wont to be…do not see as thou wast wont to see”

Which he thought was entirely apt and prophetic as the Bard had probably been rehearsing the play at the time the lugger had been stashed with cash and for some reason scuttled or sank and abandoned for four hundred or more years.

He breathed in and out deeply and allowed a good amount of the weight to drop from his shoulders.

Mordy was tinkering with something so Drew started to get undressed and shouted;

“Last one in’s a pussy” as he raced off to the beach

Mordy caught him at the surf and grabbed him around the waist.  Drew turned and kissed him.

“I love you”

“I love you too” Mordy replied

Drew found his hand and pulled him into the water, which was warm and like silk caressing their skin.  He launched off gently, barely waking a wave.  Mordy followed.  They were waist deep and just before the edge of the shelf where the water was much cooler.

Mordy grasped him and kissed him, urgently, pulling him in closer.  Both were hard.  Mordy turned him around and held him by the waist, steadying himself he started to probe Drew’s arse.  He found the target and pushed.  The movement was slow and rhythmic.  Just before he felt the surge he moved his hands to hug Drew around the chest and he leant back, pulling Drew with him.  They were floating as he spat out his load, which came in one almighty dollop.  Mordy released him and let himself float away on his back, eyes closed.

Decoupled, Drew floated away too, not far, similarly on his back, eyes very much open, milking the star filled sky of its beauty.

They returned to the camper, to brew up and down a nip before bed.

“You’re amazing” he said to Mordy as they sat nursing their cups, in truth extracting what warmth there was because it was cold once they left the water and they had been shivering uncontrollably by the time they’d got back.

Mordy put into words one of Drew’s own thoughts;

“I hope this doesn’t change us too much. I’m afraid it will and you won’t like who I am or love me anymore…”

“Jesus, for someone illiterate he does a half decent job of reading minds!”

“It won’t change how I feel about you but it may change what we decide to do in the future…we all dream of winning the lottery don‘t we…well, we did…”

“Yeah, we did…”

They decamped to the luxury of a double bed this time and a decent duvet.  Soon they were snuggled up and warm, in their usual position, Drew on his back and Mordy cradled in his arms, Mordy’s head on his chest and his hand resting on his stomach.

“We need to shore up the hull tomorrow.  Removing those timbers will have weakened her…”

“Okay…”

“After that we’ll go back to the forward compartment…”

“Christ, what if we find more coins?”

“We’ll buy a bottle of champagne”

$They slept soundly.  At one point Drew woke up, probably disturbed by an owl hooting or maybe it was Mordy mumbling.  They were spoon fashion, Drew behind Mordy.  He kissed his back very lightly and hugged him a bit tighter.

Chapter Eight - All things come to he who waits

Dawn broke and the van’s tinted glass and decent curtains held a little more of it at bay, but not much, in any event, both were awake early.

Mordy started the tea and Drew headed off for a quick dip to freshen up.  He returned, completely awake and every fibre of his body was tingling.

“It feels like it’s going to be a hot one” he said

“We can run the air conditioning using the solar panel”

“Well, the champagne needs to be chilled!”

“Drink your tea…”

Drew sipped and mused on a few random thoughts but one returned;

“As much as I want to find another pot of gold I really would like to know more about this ship.  You said that you thought she might have been used to ferry goods ashore, by smugglers, but it seems to me that she was heading out, not heading in, escaping with something or someone and it all went wrong.  These kinds of ships can be launched from the beach right?”

“Yeah…”

“What if she was on the beach, being made ready and all her cargo stowed and then she was launched but there was a hitch, which might account for the reason why she is so close to the shore, she was scuttled to avoid being found.  The crew were captured, but, sworn to secrecy they died under interrogation rather than spill the beans…”

“Who would you die for?

“Your Queen?”

“Uhm…we’re missing one thing, the back half.  Those timbers look like they were sawn.  If she was scuttled you’d expect to find the whole ship with a big fat hole in the bottom.  If they’d used gunpowder then the timbers would not be so neatly finished off, they’d be uneven…splintered”

“If only we knew when she went down…we know from the box that she was still afloat in 1590...”

“Let’s go and see what we can find…”

They got ready and headed out.

Their first job was to shore up the hull using the longer timbers they had prised off the deck by the hatch.  Missing those and the ones which had been used to form the compartment had weakened her structure.  All that consumed their allotted time but Mordy was adamant that it needed to be done.  They took a break and headed down again.  They went straight to the compartment.  They took off another timber and held their collective breath for something else to fall out, what they found was bewildering.  First, the remains of a chest.  The wood had rotted but you could see the metal bands that had held the thing together and the remains of a lock.  In the midst of the rotten wood and the metal were probably the remnants of garments, indistinguishable as a man’s or a woman’s.  They found the buckle from a belt, some buttons and a brooch or a cloak pin.

Next an earthenware bottle which had probably been encased in leather. Its neck was smashed.  They assumed it had contained some liquid.  A dozen or so more gold coins, presumably from the original hoard which had fallen out before their discovery of it.  A box, small and undoubtedly made from ivory like the other, the lid of which was similarly inlaid.  A smaller pot full of coins, some gold but mostly they looked like silver.

They left the smashed bottle but collected up the rest.  Mordy had brought a Neoprene bag for the coins, it made them easier to carry and they left the pot behind.  They had a bit of a scare on the way out as the hull shifted, no doubt weakened by the removal of the last timber which had formed the compartment which was also bracing the sides.  They beat a retreat and there was no time to shore up the end.

Once out of the gear and back at the van they kind of slumped, it was adrenalin pumping stuff but also exhausting.

Drew was first to speak;

“Do you think there’s any more?”

“Who knows?  I’d be happy to find the cannon but I’m pretty happy with this lot…”

“More coins and another box, just like the other one…”

“We can’t go back down again until we get the bottles refilled…”

“Do you want to do that now?”

“Back home first and stash this lot then we’ll go to town…”

They packed up and headed back to the cottage.  It was lunchtime and they grabbed a bite before heading to the shop to get the bottles refilled.

“You’re out of luck…” said the guy, with a hint of glee in his voice

“What do you mean?” asked Mordy

“Just been emptied out, seems that someone has found a wreck off the cove and they’re off to investigate…”

“Who?”

“William and a few of the others.  Sorry I can’t help you, come back in a few days…”

“Thanks…”

They returned to the van.

“Fuck!”

“What do you want to do?” asked Drew

“Drive passed and see who’s there and what’s going on”

They drove back to the cove but the scene was somewhat different to the one they’d expected to see.  The car park was full of police and ambulances.  The coast guard was out in the launch, stationed above what they knew to be the site of the wreck.  They pulled in.  Drew got out to ask the police what was going on.

“Been an accident.  Seems like they found a wreck but it collapsed on them”

“Was anyone injured?”

He said nothing but looked in the direction of the ambulances where there were three body bags laying on the ground.

“Jesus, is anyone still trapped down there?”

“Not sure.  Best you move on, this beach will be closed for the time being”

Drew returned to the van and got in.

“Well?” asked Mordy

“At least three dead and possibly still some trapped…”

“That’s William’s car and that’s Peter’s Land Rover…”

“Fuck, we were lucky…”

“Luckier than them”

There wasn’t anything else they could do so they went back to the cottage.

“Do you think they’d seen us?”

“Someone saw something or the guy at the diving store said something and someone added two and two together…”

“That could’ve been us” said Drew, his voice a little shaky

“It could’ve but it wasn’t…”

“What if they’re all dead?”

Mordy said nothing.

Neither felt like investigating the day’s haul.  It was too soon, too close for comfort.  Their emotions were too raw.  Drew found sanctuary in front of the internet and Mordy cut the grass of all things.

At dinner the mood was a little lighter.

“We actually have 350 fine gold sovereigns; there were more than we thought under the silver ones in the second pot.  The silver ones are probably shillings, I don’t suppose they’re worth much but the sovereigns are probably worth nearly a thousand pounds each!” said Drew

“What was in the box?”

“I don’t know I haven’t opened it yet, I was looking at the buckle and the buttons and they’re gold.  The brooch is gold too and it looks like it is decorated with enamel or glass and in the centre there is a small pearl.

“Open the box…”

Drew retrieved the box.  It was smaller than the other one but identically decorated.  The lid was inlaid with semi-precious stones, enamel and glass.  The lid was tight shut.

“Jesus this is tight…I don’t want to damage it by forcing it too hard…”

As he said the word “hard” and at the same time exerted a little more pressure the lid gave and he could lift it up.  It was hinged like the other.  It seemed to be full of something like wool, at least, a fibre.  He rummaged and found something cold and hard in the centre of the “nest”.  He plucked it out and held it up.

“What the fuck?”

“What is it?” said Mordy, leaning closer

“If I’m not mistaken it’s a diamond…”

The stone was the size of a small chicken’s egg; it had a pale yellow tinge.  It was facetted, in a very basic way, but nevertheless it was simply exquisite, breath-taking in fact.

“I’m getting a picture here.  Just suppose that you wanted to escape and leave your old life behind.  You plan to quit the country, maybe in disguise.  You would need money and things to sell.  You find a boat that will take you and a crew prepared to die rather than tell a soul that you were ever there.  You plan to hide in the forward compartment of a lugger that is going to deliver you safely aboard a larger ship waiting out at sea.  All goes according to plan until the last minute when the plot is exposed and to cover your tracks you scuttle the boat but there isn’t time to retrieve the precious cargo…”

“Why did no one come back for it later?”

“Interrogated and killed, everyone who knew something, but no one said a word…loyalty like that can’t be bought…”

“Where’s the back of the boat?”

“Maybe it’s there, under the sand, further out…I don’t know…but someone was planning to hide in that compartment and they were pretty important judging by this…”

“What about the other box and the pearls?”

“We assume the box was owned by the Queen…it was on the table in her portrait and she was wearing black pearls.  What if she gifted the box to someone, sometime after the portrait was painted, along with some of the pearls?”

“Perhaps the Queen was planning to escape…”

“Uhm…why?  Anyway, it was only a few years after the portrait was painted that she died…”

“Says who?”

“Says history…anyway, no one escaped but they lost their treasure…whoever owned this diamond wanted to escape undetected and had the loyalty of the crew until their last breath…”

“How do we find out who owned the diamond?”

“Let’s go on line and see if we can find a picture or a reference.  There weren’t too many diamonds like this in England in the 16th Century…”

“Can we eat first, I’m famished”

“Sure, sorry, when I get onto something I usually forget to eat.  It’s the same when I’m writing…”

“I like it when you get excited about something.  Your eyes light up…”

“Thanks” replied Drew, sensing he was blushing a little

They ate and from time to time they would look into each other’s eyes and smiled, knowingly.

Drew had left the TV on and they heard the opening music of the News.

“Do you want to see if there’s anything on the News about the wreck?” he asked Mordy

“I guess so…”

He turned up the volume and they watched the screen.

It wasn’t the first headline, which featured something about a German minister who’d faked his Doctorate or whatever.  It was the second story up;

“…Five men died today whilst diving off the coast searching a wreck they’d found.  The wreck, uncharted and un-named, collapsed on the men.  Experts say the wreck, a lugger, was about four hundred years old and in a poor condition.  The men, all from the same island were all experienced divers…”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking terrible…we’ll have to go to see Sheila…”

“Sheila and Beryl, Peter was Beryl’s husband, although they were divorced…”

“Were they all part of the “gang”?”

“Yeah, all of Dad’s cronies…”

“All of your tormentors…”

“All of the fucking bastards who stood by and never lifted a finger to save my mother from the beatings or…”

He broke down in agonising and wailing sobs.

Drew was by his side instantly, he’d been kind of waiting for it.

Mordy just cried and cried and cried, all the while holding Drew really tightly.  It was at least ten minutes before the sobs quietened and he stopped shaking.

Mordy had been seated all the while and Drew picked him up and helped him upstairs to bed.  He just slumped.

In the kitchen Drew sat down, surrounded by the weird and wonderful collection of trophies from the wreck in the midst of which sat the diamond.

He remembered asking Mordy why he had come back to the island and Mordy had said he wasn’t sure but Drew was sure that he’d planned some kind of revenge, something to extract the price for the years of suffering.  Maybe he hadn’t been clear in his mind what he was going to do, but you don’t return to the scene of the crime for no good reason.  If he had planned to “deal” with them, then this had saved him the bother and it had probably saved him from something much worse.

He also wondered if the diving store owner would be questioned and perhaps let it be known that he and Mordy had hired equipment too.  If the police thought they might have been diving down to the wreck then they had better hide their finds and have a story straight about Mordy teaching him to dive.  If the police knew that they had been down to the wreck and that the five men were in any way connected with Mordy’s past they might suspect him of sabotage, hoping to extract his revenge.

Nothing useful was going to get done at that point so he went to bed.  Mordy was asleep, and by no means peacefully.  He slipped in and eased his arms around the man he loved and held him.  He didn’t drop off until he felt that Mordy was over the worst of the nightmares.

Chapter Nine - Morning comes and decisions are made

Drew woke to find himself alone in the bed.  He panicked for a second but relaxed when he heard the clink of cups from the kitchen.  Five minutes later Mordy returned with the tea.  He looked better, like himself.

“Hi” said Drew

“Hi…sorry about last night…”

“Don’t apologise, you have nothing to be sorry for, it was perfectly understandable…how are you feeling?”

“Okay…”

“What do you want to do?”

Mordy was silent for a minute and Drew knew that to mean an important decision was being made.

“I want to pack up and leave…”

Drew’s heart skipped a beat

“…I want to head for London as soon as possible and get away from this place…”

Drew breathed in and out deeply.

“Okay, we can go back to London but we have to sort a few things out.  We have to return the equipment, and I can do that.  I need to pack and change my ticket for the ferry.  We need to get rid of the old camper and book the new camper for the ferry.  You need to see Sheila and Beryl…”

“We’ll take the camper to the scrap yard in town; it’s near the industrial estate.  You take the stuff back and then pick me up.  We’ll come back and pack.  Whilst you’re getting your stuff together I’ll go and see Sheila and Beryl”

“When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow”

“Okay, I’ll change my ticket and get you one.  I can do it on the internet…are you sure?”

“Yes”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

They packed up the diving equipment and put it in Drew’s car, removing the coins which they left in the cottage with the rest of the hoard.  They drove to town and whilst Mordy got rid of the camper Drew returned the gear.  In a way it was providential.  He saw the guy;

“Had enough then?” he said

“Yes, that terrible accident has put me off.  I just can’t think about diving again, not after that…”

“Weren’t you diving at the cove yourself?” said in a tone that suggested he thought he already knew the answer

“No, at Northside, where there is the big charted wreck, you know the one”

“Yeah, I know the one.  There won’t be a refund on the hire for the unused days, you realise that?”

“Yes, that’s fine”

“I’ll refund the deposit back to the credit card…”

“No, don’t do that.  Pay the money over to the memorial fund; I hear they’ve started one…”

“That’s very generous of you…”

“It’s the least…”

“Mordy with you?”

“No, he went to pay his respects to Sheila and Beryl”

“Ah, yes, I guess he would…”

Drew left and drove round to the scrap yard to pick up Mordy.

“He gave me £250 for it, said it was a classic…”

“It’ll pay for the ferry!”

“Shit, that much?”

“That much…”

“Back home?”

“Yeah, but I want to pop into the DIY centre and get some strong boxes and packing material”

“Good idea”

They did and then went back to the cottage.

“They carefully wrapped and packed the hoard in the new boxes and stowed the lot in the car.

“I’ll leave you to pack whilst I go see Sheila and Beryl then…”

“No worries.  See you later”

Later came round but there was no sign of Mordy.  Drew knew where he was and he drove out to the cove.  He parked on the verge, as Mordy had, as the car park was still closed, and hiked up the hill to the standing stone.

“I guessed you’d be here”

Mordy didn’t say anything but simply held out his hand.  Drew went over and sat by his side, holding his hand.  They watched as the sun finally set and the shadow cast by the stone touched their feet, eventually it enveloped them and finally all was dusk and the hard lines of stone and the shadow were gone.  They got up, walked slowly back to the cars and drove home.

Over a cup of tea Drew asked the obvious question;

“What did you say?”

“Nothing really.  Sheila was with Beryl and they just kind of knew why I was there…”

“Did they say anything?”

“Only that the past should finally be forgotten and if I needed anything then I just had to say…”

“Can you?”

“What?  Forget?  Maybe.  They’re in Hell by now…”

Drew thought that comment had the hallmark of a man cheated out of his own form of retribution and was coming to terms with the fact that justice, if that was what it was, was being dealt out by someone else and the fact that the punishment would endure for eternity his only comfort.  Still, he was happy that Mordy wasn’t going to be sharing in it, not for the foreseeable.

They went to bed.  Mordy cradled in Drew’s arms and finally at peace with something or someone.

Chapter Ten - London calling

The next day they drove to the ferry, hopped on and by 3pm that afternoon they were parked up outside Drew’s house in Putney.

Drew lived in a detached house. He’d been left the property by his grandmother.  There was no other way he’d have been able to afford a property like that but it was old and expensive to maintain.  The royalties from the first book were slowly enabling him to fix things and put in decent windows and central heating.  The pile of bricks out of the storage heaters were still sat in the garden.  It had a large garden at the back, a little wild and in desperate need of attention.  Everything needed a bit of attention but Drew was the least handy person he knew.

There was a driveway and a garage which meant that the car and the camper could be off the road.  They took in their stuff leaving the hoard in the boot of the car for the time being.

Mordy hadn’t lived in a proper house for more than a few months in twenty years.  He wandered about and Drew just left him to it whilst he unpacked a few things, got the kettle on and opened a few windows, it smelled a bit musty, even though it had been thirty degrees for most of the time he’d been away.

He rattled through the answer phone messages making a mental note of who to call.  He tossed the junk mail in the recycle bin and the bills into the office.  He kept the letter from the publisher to open with a cup of tea.

“Mordy, tea’s up” he called and allowed him to wander back in his own good time.  He wanted him to feel at home, not a guest.

Mordy returned.

“It’s huge!”

“It’s expensive to heat and maintain…take any of the rooms you want…”

“Aren’t we staying together?” spoken in a slightly anxious tone.

“Yes of course, I meant, take a room for your stuff, the wardrobes are empty, mine are full.  The one at the front has its own bathroom.  Just make yourself comfortable and do what you want.  My office is down here at the back because it has French doors onto the jungle.  The smallest bedroom has a desk and internet and phone connections which we’ll sort as soon as possible…”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Mordy, you’re not a guest, this is our home…”

He smiled, picked up the tea and started wandering about again.  Drew heard the French doors go so he knew he’d headed into the garden.  He sat back to read the letter from the publisher.

They were very satisfied.  The first book was selling well.  It wouldn’t make the top of any lists but as a debut it was very credible and solid.  They loved the second and a third before Christmas would consolidate his position and then he could take his time.  He should plan for some time away to publicise the second book and do some plum signing events, particularly big London venues.  There was a list of potential dates.  They’d enclosed a royalty cheque and the balance of the advance for the second and a small initial advance for the third, a second advance payment was subject to delivery of the first five chapters within three months.  Drew already had the outline of the third, he’d just lived it!

He put the letter aside and sipped his tea and counted his lucky stars.  Only then did he remember the boot was still full of the loot.

What the fuck were they going to do with that lot?  He didn’t have the foggiest about off-loading 350 fine gold 16th Century sovereigns, jewel caskets belonging to Elizabeth the First or a diamond the size of an egg!

Mordy came back.

“Is everything okay?” Drew asked

“Yeah, just taking it all in…the garden needs a lot of work…there’s a summer house…”

“Yes, grandma’s favourite place. If you want to take over the garden help yourself.  The garage is full of gardening tools and there’s a lawnmower somewhere…”

“The whole place needs a bit of attention…”

“I’ll find the list of the jobs that desperately need doing.  I was going to get someone in but in London a good tradesman is as rare as hen’s teeth…”

“I’ll do it…”

“You will?”

“Yeah.  I need a job…”

“Well, finding a job might have been a priority before we found the wreck and her cargo, that wouldn’t be true now…and we will have to decide what to do with the loot sooner or later”

“Yeah, I know.  Anyway, I pay my way and if I can fix up the house and do the garden then that should see us right for the time being”

By which Drew inferred that Mordy didn’t see the loot as real money yet, not like regular money you earned from doing a job and he evidently needed a “wage” so that he could pay his way as he liked to put it.  Well, if he did the house up he’d be saving Drew a fortune.  Drew also knew that money in relationships was a big deal and so often the reason they failed.

“I’ll pay the regular bills and you do the house and the garden and that should keep things square between us, but you need some money to call your own, I don’t want you to have to ask for it like pocket money once a week…”

“I don’t need much, just for tobacco and bits and pieces…”

“My grandmother left me some money, laughingly to do up the house; it’s not much but pays about three hundred a month in interest.  I could transfer that to you…”

“Transfer?”

“Into your bank account…”

“No bank account…”

“Okay, we’ll sort that, but you’ll need proof of address.  If we get the address on your driving licence changed to this one then you can apply for the bank account.  You’d also be able to get a mobile phone and…”

Mordy looked uncomfortable.  Drew stopped, unsure of the territory they had stumbled in to.

“I’m sorry; I’m making a lot of assumptions”

“I never had any of those things.  A mate of mine in Devizes lent me his address so that I could register the van and get it insured.  That’s kind of it.”

“No council tax, no register of electors, no tax returns, no pension contributions, no doctor, no…”

“Nothing…”

Drew reminded himself of the pact he’d made.

“What would you like?” he asked, very sincerely

“Getting my driving licence changed makes sense as the van is already registered to this address and I’ll change my insurance.  I don’t know about the rest…”

“Okay, driving licence first and vehicle insurance, that’ll be helpful whatever, as for the rest, decide later.  What if I just give you the three hundred in cash for now?”

“That’ll be great…”

Drew thought he sounded relieved and it was a salutary lesson.

“When the insurance company revises the premium for the van and the fact that it’s in London, let me know how much they want and I’ll write a cheque…”

“Okay” spoken like a child might who was being spoken to by an adult, who was trying just a little too hard not to talk down to the child

“Mordy, just tell me what you need.  I just want you to be happy and not have anything to worry about…”

“What about the lessons?”

“As it happens, Linda called whilst I was away and she teaches English at the college.  I was going to ask her if she would consider it and if she would then introduce you both…”

“Okay.  I’d like to get started straightaway.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow…”

“I’ll pay her out of the three hundred…”

“If she wants anything…do you want to go out to eat or shall I order a takeaway, there’s nothing in…”

“Pizza!”

Drew smiled.  The child was growing up and had reached his teens.

“There’s a menu there, decide what you want and I’ll call them”

He left Mordy to mull over the menu card as he unpacked a few things and to set up the laptop and log on to check his email.  Then he remembered that Mordy couldn’t read so leaving him with the menu card was next to useless.

Whilst he was on line he checked out a couple of places to take one of the coins to get a proper idea of their value.  There was a specialist near the British Museum.  He started to do a search for the diamond but stopped, almost out of fear of finding out who it might have belonged to, part of him just didn’t want to know but the mystery of “The Granite Pearl” wasn’t going to go away.  What he was even less sure about was how much of the mystery Mordy would want to be a part of now.  That was not a question for that particular evening.

He went back to the kitchen and asked him what he wanted, the menu hadn’t been touched.  Apparently his favourite was Hawaiian Hot because of the pineapple; fortunately they did such a thing.

They ate and Drew suggested that he pop to the specialist the following day, with the coin he’d found the first time down, to get a proper idea of the value.  Then they could decide what to do with the rest.

A tacit nod whilst chewing told him that the wreck and the mystery was a subject for another time.  They took their wine into the garden to watch the sun set and for the first time since they had arrived back both seemed relaxed.

“What job are you going to tackle first?” asked Drew

“A basic tidy up of the garden to see what’s what…”

“I’ll order a green skip; it’ll save so much time if we don’t have to cart everything to the tip ourselves…”

“A green skip?”

“A skip for garden and other compostable waste…”

“Oh right, yeah, good idea…get a big one!”

“I will and Mordy…”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“Everything…”

No words needed to be spoken for which Drew was very grateful as he was holding back a lot of emotions which somehow needed to be processed.

“Bed?” he managed

“Soon…”

Drew left him to get ready.  He showered and cleaned his teeth.  He wandered back into his bedroom naked.  Mordy was there, waiting.

“Can you promise me something?” Drew asked

“Sure, what?”

“Please tell me if I’m doing this all wrong…”

“Come here…”

Drew slipped into bed and got close.

“You’re just about the best thing that ever happened to me…”

“I am?” said in a steady voice but the emotions were very nearly unmanageable

“Yes…turn over; you’re shoulders need a massage”

Drew turned over and Mordy knelt over him, a thigh either side of his waist.  The man kneaded his shoulders and back.  He felt like dough under the expert hands of a master baker.

“Jesus that’s good…”

Mordy didn’t say anything but carried on kneading, working his way down the spine to the small of his back.  He change tack and started to stroke his buttocks with a feather light touch, first up and down and then across, ever so lightly.  He reached forward and opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet to find the lube.  Drew heard the click of the top of the tube being opened and the little squirting sound.  Next he felt the cool gel being massaged into his crack.  Two fingers slipped into his recently scrubbed hole.

“Fuck…”

“That was the plan” came the almost sleazy reply

The lube container landed by his head and Mordy’s hands were placed either side of him, just beneath his armpits.  He felt the familiar weight and the nudging.  He moved his legs apart to allow Mordy to push in.  Mordy never slipped in gently usually but he did this time; slowly but still up to the hilt. He moved like waves breaking on the shore and Drew felt like a little boat gently rising and falling on the swell. Not before long the swell grew and the wind whispered his name. Mordy lowered himself and slipped his arms under Drew’s chest, tightening the rigging of this little craft. The boat bucked wildly in the growing storm and her prow rose and fell. The wind filled her sails and she ploughed the waters, dipping and when she rose she burst through the crest of the wave sending up clouds of spray;

“Mordy!”

The ropes were straining and groaning; the decks were slick; the sails flapped and the seething brine enveloped her until she sank out of sight.

Chapter Eleven - Going, going, not gone

At breakfast a few basic things needed to be sorted.  Drew gave Mordy a spare set of keys. He looked at them with almost the same wonder as the gold and jewels.

“When were you last in London?” he asked as they handed them over

“Uhm, about fifteen years ago…”

“Okay, so you’ll need an Oyster Card…”

“A what?”

“To pay for the Tube and the Bus.  It’s like a credit card; you swipe the card when you get on the Bus or when you go through the gate at the Tube station and it…”

Mordy looked at bit confused

“I’ll show you, but we need to get you one.  I mainly use the bus…”

“Are you still going to that place about the coin?”

“Yes, do you want to come into town with me?”

“Maybe I’ll get started on the garden…”

“Okay.  If you fancy a walk then when you leave the house, turn left, at the end of the road turn right and follow it straight down to the river.  If you turn right there it’ll take you to the bridge and the shops…”

“Okay”

Drew heard the slight panic in his voice and guessed he’d probably be better if he was left to get on with things by himself, he was thirty seven after all and quiet capable of taking himself off for a bit.

“Whilst I’m in town I will get you a phone, just in case of emergencies…”

“Thanks”

“Right, I’m going to get ready to go and I’ll see you later…”

“See ya…”

Drew got ready and left and as he left the house he saw Mordy sorting out the garden tools and he looked reasonably happy, so he just shouted out “bye”.

His plan was to take the coin to the specialist near the British Museum and get a valuation.  His cover was that he’d found the coin amongst the junk that he’d cleared out of his grandmother’s house and there had been plenty of that and the attic was still full of it!

He grabbed the bus and was off.  Probably three hours later, maybe four, he got back.  Walking up the driveway he didn’t notice that the camper was gone, he wasn’t used to seeing it so its absence didn’t register and in any event his mind was in a different place since seeing the coin dealer.  He went into the house and wandered through to the kitchen.  Fairly absent-mindedly he assumed that Mordy was still in the garden and he didn’t go looking for him straightaway, instead he made some tea and logged on to the computer.

When the tea was ready he called out from the back door and went to call Linda about giving Mordy lessons.  She would be delighted and they arranged for her to come over the following evening.  He went back in the kitchen and Mordy’s tea was still sat there.  He went outside and called again.  There was no answer.

He wasn’t in the summer house or in the garage and then he realised that the camper was gone.  He felt that cold sinking feeling in his stomach.  He checked the car only to find all the boxes still in the boot.  He went upstairs and discovered that Mordy’s things, his few clothes and toiletries, were gone.  The spare keys were on the hall table.

“Shit, shit, shit!!!”

Why has he gone?  I was too pushy.  Why didn’t he leave a note?  Stupid question.  What the fuck.  He’s feeling caged.  Jesus Christ.  I can’t contact him and he can’t contact me, what if…don’t be stupid…he fancied a drive…where the fuck is he?  Shall I call the Police?  Why didn’t he say anything?

A thousand such thoughts ran through his head at lightning speed.

There was no one he could call and he felt totally alone and totally lost and was just about at the point of screaming when the front door bell went.

$“Please let it be him…”

He rushed to the door and flung it open.  Mordy was standing there and Drew rushed out and flung his arms around him;

“Oh my God, I was so worried and the van was gone and your stuff and the keys were on the table and…”

“Drew…”

Drew stopped and stepped back.

“Did you think I’d left?”

“Your stuff was gone and the keys were on the table…”

“I know, I forgot to take the keys, I’m not used to having any…”

“What about your stuff?”

“I went to the launderette…”

“What about your bathroom kit?”

“I put it in yours; it’s stupid to make two bathrooms dirty…”

“Why did you go to the launderette?”

“I couldn’t work out how to use the machine and in any case, I needed to get out and it was an excuse…”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Did you think I would leave without saying anything?”

“I thought I’d been too pushy, too controlling, making too many decisions…”

Mordy stepped forward and hugged him because Drew was in tears at this point through the sheer relief.  He towed him inside and through to the kitchen, plonked him on one of the kitchen chairs and put the kettle on.

“I’d never leave without saying something, you mean too much to me…”

Drew was beginning to compose himself and he smiled through wet eyes.

“You mean more to me than anything, I felt so completely lost and alone when I thought you’d gone, I mean part of me knew you hadn’t, that there was an explanation but, oh, I guess I panicked and I couldn’t reach you…”

They sat quietly for a minute.

“Can you show me how to use the washing machine?”

They both laughed.

“Here’s the phone I got you, it’s just a pay as you go thing.  I put some credit on it and I put my mobile number in it and the house phone, just in case of emergencies…”

“Thanks…”

“Linda, the teacher, is coming over tomorrow night to meet you, if you still want to go ahead.  You can discuss with her what you want to do.  She’s really nice, very down to earth and very patient…”

“Thank you…so what happened at the coin place?”

Drew had forgotten all about that in the mayhem and relief.

“Oh, God, you won’t believe it…I went there and showed him the coin.  He confirmed that it was an Elizabethan fine gold sovereign.  I gave him the cock and bull story about how I’d found it in granny‘s attic.  He examined it very carefully, weighed it, put some kind of liquid on it and then consulted some directory or manual and said, wait for it, it’s worth £1,375, at current bullion prices and there is a lot of interest in these coins right now, so if I wanted to sell he would be very happy to purchase it.  And if I found any more he’d buy those too…what a hoot”

“How much is that for the lot?”

“Just under half a million, add in the silver ones, I’d say five hundred thousand for the coins, if we want to sell…”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know, maybe some of them”

“Did you sell the one you took with you?”

“No, I said I would think about it and I wanted to discuss it with you first…”

Drew noticed that Mordy looked a bit surprised

“I won’t do anything without discussing it with you first, not something that affects us both…”

“No one has ever said that to me before…”

Silence reigned for a minute whilst they just looked upon each other and another level was reached, with no real harm done.

“So, you went to the launderette”

“Yeah, I drove out and asked someone where I could find one and they gave me directions”

“You made a heck of a start on the garden, I’d better order the skip…”

“We need some wood to repair the summer house and some paint, but you’ll have to tell me what you want in the garden, once all the crap is out of the way…”

“Sure…”

The conversation returned to the coins when Mordy asked;

“Perhaps we should sell some of the coins to pay for the stuff.  I reckon ten grand for all the materials alone, have you seen the guttering and the French doors are rotten.  We don’t want to do a botched job…”

He stopped mid-sentence because Drew was just looking at him.

“What?”

“I haven’t seen you quite so happy and relaxed and well, enthusiastic…”

“I never had the chance to do a place up before…”

“You don’t want to sell up everything and buy a boat and sail around the World then?”

“Not yet, I like being here, with you…”

“Wait until you see the loft, you might change your mind!”

“Not about being with you…”

Drew got up and walked over to him and put his arms around his neck, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Please don’t forget your keys again…”

“I won’t…”

They drifted out to the garden to make some decisions and plan where a few things were going to go.  You don’t get more blissfully domestic than that.

Later Drew was in the office.  He’d finally prepared himself for the search to see who might have owned the diamond; the one which he remembered was still in the boot of the car, albeit the car was now locked in the garage.

He started with a basic search for big, yellowish diamonds with a link to the 16th Century.  He found not that many results and many of those referred to the Sauncy, which it said was in the Louvre, but it had once belonged to Queen Elizabeth the First.  Uhm…

All of the decent images were of the Sauncy and although they were similar it wasn’t the same stone.  He did an endless list of searches for jewels, crown jewels, inventories of jewels; the one from the start of the reign of James the First was very comprehensive.  Mary, Queen of Scots owned a fabulous collection of jewels, including the black pearls, which had been sold, surreptitiously to Elizabeth.  Could the diamond have once belonged to Mary?

He stopped that line of enquiry to look for the boxes.  He found the same image in the portrait but no description anywhere.  Various threads led him to the life of Sir Francis Drake and his epic voyage around the Globe.  It was said that when he returned to London he repaid the investors in the voyage forty-seven times their stake.  The Queen had invested and with her share she’d repaid the Foreign Debt and started a new trading company, with links to the Levant.  That hinted at other searches but seeing as he’d already been at it for two hours he halted.  Mordy was still in the garden.  Drew worked on the third novel.  Rattling off the first five chapters would be easy and it assured him of the advance.

By now it was eight o’clock and he was getting hungry.

He shouted out to Mordy;

“Do you want to go out for dinner?”

“Where?”

“Local, there’s a good Italian…”

“Okay, but I need to get a shower…”

“Do that whilst I finish some writing…”

He returned to the computer.  He heard Mordy come in and go up.

He went upstairs to clean his teeth and get changed.  Mordy was in the shower.  He was standing at the hand basin cleaning his teeth when Mordy got out.  He stood cleaning his teeth watching Mordy get out and towel himself off.  It was a feast for the eyes.  Since they’d met he’d actually put on a bit of weight, which was good for him, it filled out some of the gauntness.  His hair seemed glossier, springier, and curlier if that were possible and his colour was obscene now having been very tanned before he’d arrived on the island.  He was towelling off his legs, bending over, obscuring Drew’s view of his prize bull’s package.  He worked his way up and absent-mindedly or maybe just automatically towelled off his groin at which point he became aware of Drew’s stare.

Mordy looked over briefly but gave no sign that he was really aware of being stared at.  He continued to towel off.

“Stop staring…”

“I can’t” Drew gargled

“You’ve seen it all before…”

“Yes I have, but not looking quite so tempting…”

“I thought you wanted to go out to eat…”

“Maybe we’ll eat in tonight”

“Get ready”

Drew turned to finish off and Mordy left the bathroom to get dressed.

There was a tacit agreement that they were sharing everything, including the wardrobe.  Mordy had a couple of pairs of shorts and a few tee shirts, a pair of flip flops, one pair of jeans, an ancient pair of trainers, a couple of pairs of socks and pants.  Despite the fact they were all freshly laundered he raided the chest of drawers for some of Drew’s stuff.

He was standing there in just a pair of white trunk style briefs when Drew came in all minty fresh and smelling of a fresh squirt of cologne.

“Fuck you look sexy”

Even if Mordy had blushed you wouldn’t have known.  There was no two ways about it, he did, he had a big fat cock and nice balls and it was all wrapped up very tidily in the white-against-chestnut-brown-underwear.

“Behave”

“I’ve barely been able to take my eyes off of you since the first time we met, I find you irresistible…”

“I remember you looking at me on the beach that first time, laying on your front, pretending that you were asleep…I thought then, he wants it…”

“That obvious?  I remember you looking over, just for a second…what if I‘d turned down your offer of a cup of tea?”

“Don’t know, I guess I thought I would probably see you again…”

“I’m glad I didn’t although I don’t really remember thinking too much about it, it was kind of automatic.  I think the lust side of my brain took over, yet when you invited me to the nudist beach I didn’t think “great, we’re going to have sex”, the fooling around in the water was just innocent fun and it wasn’t until you touched me I really knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That you were gay and I wanted you to fuck me…Jesus…we’re talking about this like it happened months ago, it isn’t even a month ago…that’s a good sign isn’t it?”

“Yeah and a lot happened since…”

“Do you still want to go out?”

“Yeah, let’s eat and then I’ll fuck you like I did then…”

“More spit please…”

“Like I said, I didn’t hear any real complaints”.

Chapter Twelve - Bliss descends on the household

The following day Drew went to town and sold ten coins.  He hammed up the excitement for the benefit of the guy at the shop lying that he’d searched high and low and found them hidden in his grandmother’s sewing box.  It all sounded implausibly plausible and the man handed over £14,000.

When he got back Mordy was working in the garden, just in his shorts.  Drew stripped off and took him out some lemonade.

“Well?”

“Fourteen grand”

“Fucking hell”

“We’ll make a list of all the stuff we need, inside and out.  The DIY store will deliver free if the order is over a certain amount.  If we get it in dribs and drabs then we’ll have to cart it all back by car…”

They made a list and then popped to the big DIY store to order everything, from the new posts for the garden fence to the new taps for the kitchen sink and a new kitchen sink.  It came to about twelve thousand pounds.  Drew gave Mordy three hundred as wages for the first month and they paid the insurance for the van and paid off the credit card bill for the diving equipment hire.

Without listening to his protests Drew bought Mordy his own computer and installed it in the small bedroom that had the desk and phone connections.

It was just about coming up to the time that Linda was due.

“She’ll be here soon.  Do you still want to meet?”

“Yes, I want to get started straightaway…”

“Okay then.”

Drew thought he was incredibly brave really.

Linda arrived and after a few minutes catching up with the Drew whilst he made tea, she decamped to the garden with Mordy and they sat for a good hour talking.  Drew went back to the search for the diamond and the boxes.

They reconvened for a glass of wine and chatted about the holiday to the island, learning to dive, the new camper and Mordy’s lessons.  Linda was going to come over once a week, at the beginning, to start with the basics and leave Mordy with things to do and to practise by himself.  Their goal was to see Mordy start to write his journal by end of the year, five months roughly.  Drew agreed to help him with his reading having already promised to read his first novel to him.

Linda left some pretty basic books and exercises.

She left, she worked freelance as well as at the college and she had a lot of students who could only see her in the evening.

The guys were sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

“Okay?” said Drew

“Yeah, she’s very good, I like her but it ain’t gonna be easy…”

“No, it isn’t going to be easy but it will be so worth it in the end…”

“I know…”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Can we start reading the first novel?”

“Already?”

“Yeah…”

“Sure.  Let me get the hardback edition, it’s bigger and easy to read rather than trying to squint over the paperback edition.”

Drew fetched the book, his first novel, the one that was selling reasonably well.  He was justly proud of it.  They sat side by side at the kitchen table and Drew started to read the story out loud, tracing a line under the text so Mordy could follow, who looked intently at each word as he heard it and saw where Drew’s finger was.  Some of it he didn’t understand and Drew explained which was odd, he’d never really had to do that before.  It was a good thing; it taught him something about his style.  It was tiring though, for Mordy more than Drew and they only got through the first chapter.

“What do you think?” asked Drew

“It’s…it’s…”

But he broke down.

“What Mordy?”

“…the first time anyone has ever read anything to me…”

Spoken through the choking sobs.

Drew just held him.

$It was around the end of July.  Drew was amazed at the amount of work that Mordy could get done.  But like he said, when you exchanged for things you just got on with it, no fuss and no bother, job done, paid, out and on.

However, at the start they both worked to get rid of the rubbish and in the end they filled three green skips and a couple of the regular kind.  Now their days followed a kind of routine.  They got up and breakfasted and decided what was going to be done.  Mordy then ploughed on with it.  Drew wrote mainly in the morning when it was cooler.  They sat and had a sandwich together at lunchtime.  Often in the afternoon they would work together, Mordy sharing his skills with Drew who was a willing learner but had never been shown.

In the early evening he and Mordy would read another chapter of the novel and eventually Mordy was the one doing the reading and tracing the line under the text and Drew the listening.  Mordy saw Linda once a week and his progress was rapid and it wasn’t long before he was perfectly happy to make lists, write short messages and begin to think about his big project, the twenty year journal, the account of his life on the road.

In the middle to latter part of the evening if they were staying in then it was stuff in the house and the first job was to clear the attic which Mordy planned to board out to create another work area or guest bedroom.  Money wasn’t a problem.  Mordy got his three hundred and after he paid Linda and bought his tobacco he still had roughly two hundred quid which he saved.  However, Drew took him shopping for the makeover of his wardrobe.  Mordy was unhappy at first because he never wasted money on new clothes and cheerfully accepted hand me downs and charity bag stuff as a rule.  Drew insisted he buy at least one decent set of clothes for when they went out and replaced threadbare tee shirts and above all treat himself to some decent underwear.  Grudgingly he went along with the idea and in reality he did enjoy it.  Drew had never met anyone, least of all a gay man, with less pretention over his clothes and generally his appearance, but as Drew reminded himself, the man was a God, so what did he need to worry for anyway?

Drew suggested he might have his hair cut but the look was withering and that idea was shelved, his cork screw locks were thick and glossy, mostly tied back when he was working but liberated for the evening and Drew practically came in his pants when he saw him exit the shower and his hair flowed freely.

They both got the tan of all tans and whereas Mordy put on a bit of weight, Drew lost his extra baggage and was developing muscles quite nicely he thought.

So the house was taking shape and the garden especially so.  Drew ploughed through the accumulation of years of debris in the attic, sorting out the stuff for the charity shops, which Mordy habitually checked, stuff to sell, mostly on eBay which netted a few quid actually.  There was the good stuff which they decided to keep, replacing old stuff which Drew had never seen fit to chuck out.  The scourge extended to every drawer and cupboard in the house, cellar, shed and garage.

The whole of August and September were spent that way.  With the garden done the next set of projects involved the house, decorating where nothing needed to be replaced, a lot of basic carpentry; door frames, skirting boards, the French doors, a new front door, the basic boarding out of the loft and before the bad weather all the guttering was replaced and something called “soffits”.

In October they sold another ten coins, to a different dealer, and netted roughly the same amount which was spent upgrading all the key furniture, a new carpet everywhere and finally the central heating boiler.  Late in October there was the first of the signings that Drew needed to attend as part of the promotion of the second novel.  It was in Nottingham and would involve a stay over, up at lunchtime day one, signing in the afternoon and evening, stay over, signing in the late morning and back for teatime.

Nothing about that should have caused any problems at all but it was the first time in months, four months, that they were going to spend a night apart.  Drew went in to overdrive on the worry front and even tentatively asked Mordy if he wouldn’t be happier coming with him.

It was the first time either had shouted at the other.  They retreated to their respective dens and mulled over the harsh words.  Eventually it was Drew who held out the olive branch, reasoning that he had over-reacted.  Mordy had spent the best part of twenty years sleeping in a camper, usually on the most precarious of terms with the rest of the World so one night sleeping alone in a nice detached house in Putney didn’t exactly qualify for the worry inducing award.

“I’m sorry…” he said

“Please don’t worry about anything.  I promise not to climb any ladders or change any plugs.  I’m going to be sanding down the new banisters for the most part and Linda is coming over…”

“I’m sorry…”

“Apology accepted.  Anyway, I’m the one that should be worried, you, a night alone, a strange town…”

“Meaning?”

“You might get lonely and go looking for company…”

Drew knew he was joking and Mordy hadn’t known a creature more faithful and loving since he’d adopted a Labrador for a few months.

“Why would I go looking for an inferior model when I have the top of the range right here?”

Mordy looked at him, half smiling;

“I’ll fuck you twice tonight…”

Their relationship had developed on all fronts, and it was a very physical relationship.  Drew had never really been able to keep his hands off Mordy; he was almost always aroused when he was around him.  Mordy had become much less “wham-bam”, experimenting with massage and deliberately prolonging the sex until Drew practically begged him to finish him off.  When he did their orgasms were often so intense that their howling had on one occasion resulted in the Police turning up.  A concerned neighbour thinking one or the other was being murdered in their bed.

“…come here…”

Drew sidled over and found Mordy’s arms around him.

“The only thing you need to worry about is surviving the night when you get back…”

“I’ll have my first fuck now please…”

“Uhm, I don’t think we’ve christened this room since the carpet was laid…”

Chapter Thirteen - A break through on the mystery front

All of the work in the garden and on the house, Mordy’s reading practice and writing the third novel had fairly well put the boxes, the pearls and the diamond, in deed the whole “Granite Pearl” affair, on the back burner.  That was about to change.

It was the beginning of December.  All work until the spring had been completed and there was more time for the other stuff they wanted to do and Mordy wanted to get on with writing his journal.

Drew had finished the third novel and it had just been delivered to the publisher.  Now he could relax a little and actually enjoy the process of writing, he’d started the fourth, a Sci-Fi adventure, quite unlike anything he’d written before but the publisher was very happy to entertain it seeing how things were going with novel number two and the third was even better in Drew’s opinion and he put that down to Mordy and reading the first book to him.

Five months had passed since the discovery of “The Granite Pearl” and her treasure.

They had sold twenty of the coins and that had paid for all the renovations.  The rest were carefully packed and locked in the cellar.  The “Pension Plan” as Mordy called it.  The remaining coins were worth somewhere in the region of £450,000.  The belt buckle, the buttons and the cloak pin, the knife and the remains of the lock were nestling in a little display case in Drew’s office, probably never likely to have a dealer’s fingers touch them until he died.  Mordy had the lead shot on his desk.  He’d made a beautiful little mount for them out of wood.  The two bottles of grog were actually in the cellar’s wine rack, almost totally forgotten.  That left the original box that had contained the string of black pearls and the smaller box which had contained the egg-sized diamond.  All four items were secured in a bolt-to-the-wall safe which they’d installed in their bedroom.  Mordy had taken the back off a little cupboard and fixed the safe inside, bolting it and the cupboard to the wall.  The cupboard was lockable and the key lived in an old tobacco tin languishing in the kitchen top drawer.  For weeks none of it had seen the light of day.

Drew had abandoned searches for the provenance of the boxes and the contents.  Even before the work on the house had started to consume more time he’d got fed up following loose ends to nowhere.  It was going to be almost impossible to sell the items without someone getting very suspicious so the hunt had been called off.

They knew from the portrait that the first and larger of the two boxes had been in the possession of Elizabeth in 1590.  It was on the table in the picture and she was wearing a string of black pearls.  However, she was wearing considerably more pearls in the picture than they had found in the box.  So, if they were part of the same collection they were a small part.  That had Drew thinking that the Queen had gifted some of the pearls and the box to someone, sometime after 1590.  If she’d gifted the first box then it seemed likely she’d gifted the second, being identically decorated and both agreed that they came as a pair.  Whether the Queen had gifted the diamond seemed far less likely.

The treasure had been found in a coastal lugger, which had sunk a few metres from the shore, just beyond the shelf.  They had found only half the lugger, the front half.  In Mordy’s opinion the back half had been cut away, the timbers being severed too cleanly to have been broken at the time of her sinking or scuttling, whichever it was.  Drew theorised that the lugger was taking the treasure and its owner out to a larger boat at sea, a daring escape which had been foiled.  Mordy was still very much of the opinion that the lugger was being used to bring the stuff ashore, by smugglers.

The real mystery was how on Earth had the boat survived so well and where was her back end?

What they didn’t know was when the boat had gone down.  The only reference to “The Granite Pearl” they could find was its inclusion in a list of the boats that had sailed against the Armada in 1588 as part of the volunteer squadron.

Drew felt all the answers would come when they found out more about the diamond; such things were so rare and so valuable that it could only have belonged to someone important, most likely royalty.  Mordy would’ve been happy to off load the gems and bank the cash, realising the jointly conceived dream of buying a boat and sailing around the World but he agreed that selling was dangerous and until they knew the provenance of the items, foolhardy, if their lack of information meant that they undervalued the prize.

Only the Sauncy diamond came up on the searches but it wasn’t the same stone and the Sauncy was safely tucked up in France in the Louvre.

One slim lead was all Drew had to hold on to.  Sir Francis Drake and his round the World voyage.  The lead was the pearls which had almost definitely come from Tahiti.  His voyage had started in 1577 and ended in 1580, before the portrait was painted and Drew guessed that perhaps he’d given them to the Queen, in the box.  History said that the ones in the portrait had belonged to Mary, sold to Elizabeth via a third party, without Mary‘s knowledge, for twelve thousand crowns.  He didn’t dispute that.  If Drake had given her the pearls in the box then why not the diamond in the other box?  The diamond most likely had come from India, as had the boxes, judging by the design on the lid and the fact they were made of ivory.

So, he, Sir Francis Drake, had given the Queen the pearls and the diamond, both in beautiful boxes as trophies celebrating his epic voyage and a token of his love and affection for her.  She still had them as late as 1590, judging by the portrait.  Sometime thereafter she’d gifted both to someone close to her.  Drew could find no record of what happened to the Queen’s effects on her death in 1603.  Neither the pearls, nor the boxes nor the diamond appeared in the inventory of Crown jewels compiled by James, her successor.  Drew therefore concluded that she had gifted them sometime after 1590 and before her death.  A period of thirteen years.

His wildest theory was that she, Queen Elizabeth, had sought to “escape” with her most prized jewels, perhaps to marry secretly and live out her life in anonymity, probably in Turkey, where she had trading connections through the Levant company.  The “escape” or elopement had been foiled, the ship scuttled to avoid detection and the crew tortured to death under interrogation or murdered to prevent her involvement from being made public.

Mordy only ever had one question;

“Where’s her back half?”

Drew had plenty more questions.

He returned to the beginning and the record of “The Granite Pearl” as having sailed against the Armada in 1588.  The list noted the names of the boats, their tonnage and owner.

He was sat looking at the list on the screen and then realised something.  The entry for “The Granite Pearl” had her tonnage as 250 tons.  There was no freaking way that the lugger was 250 tons, even if she had been intact and fully loaded she’d only have weighed in at about 30 tons, for Christ sake, why hadn’t he realised that before?

He shouted to Mordy who appeared at the door and he offered him the information.

“The lugger had the name plate on her prow…”

“A red herring, someone wanted to disguise her true identity…so what was so special about that lugger?  There must have been hundreds of them ploughing the coastal waters at the time.  Someone changed her name and cut off her back end to hide her true identity…”

“…and the real “Granite Pearl”?”

“Who knows?  Sailing around with the name of the lugger nailed to her prow, hiding her true identity.  That kind of makes more sense, hiding the identity of a ship that had sailed against the Armada, especially if she was in Spanish waters anytime thereafter”

“You don’t need to steal the name of a stupid little lugger for that though do you? You could’ve just changed the name of the ship…”

“Perhaps using the name of a real ship added a degree of authenticity to it, perhaps the name of the lugger was known, but not her size, in any case, they, whoever they were, wanted the viewing public to believe that the ship, which had sailed against the Armada, was not “The Granite Pearl”, but some other ship that people had heard of, but knew nothing about, especially her tonnage…”

“There’s no record of “The Granite Pearl” since the list because she no longer existed.  What we need then is the name of the lugger…”

“The ships that sailed against the Armada were fairly well known.  What we need to find are references to ships, of the correct size and age, records of their voyages after 1588, ships which did not feature in the list, one of those will be “The Granite Pearl”, in disguise.  Then we’ll know what the original name of the lugger was and perhaps who owned it and that might tell us why she ended up on the seabed full of loot…what is really bugging me is the need to disguise “The Granite Pearl”, keeping her true identity secret, particularly from, say, the Spanish…which means there was something important about “The Granite Pearl” and what she did in the fight against the Spanish…there are two mysteries; “The Granite Pearl” and her disguise and why it was necessary to fix her name plate to a common or garden lugger which sank or was scuttled carrying a fortune in treasure, if anyone actually knew it was there…it was hidden in the compartment…”

“Sounds like an insurance job…” said Mordy

“What do you mean?”

“Oh my God, my ship has sunk, the beautiful “Granite Pearl” that sailed against the Armada.  Look, there’s her prow sticking up out of the sand.  She was carrying a fortune in gold…”

“That isn’t half bad, except that ships weren’t really insured until Lloyd’s opened in 1688, a good hundred years after the Armada…”

“They changed her name, sold her to the Spanish, who needed ships, disguised the lugger and claimed on the insurance…double pay-out…”

“If “The Granite Pearl” had been insured then we would have found a reference to her loss and the pay-out, I’ve scoured the Lloyd’s stuff on line…”

“Maybe it’s just missing, stuff gets lost…”

“Possibly.  I know what I have to do now.  Look for ships that are the same size and age as “The Granite Pearl” that did not sail against the Armada and there can’t be too many of those.  Track all those that fit the bill, amongst that lot will be the name of the lugger, find the owner of the lugger…yeah…”

“Good hunting…”

“What are you up to?”

“Writing the journal…”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.  I’ve only written a little bit, the beginning.  I said I wanted to write everything down.  I’m starting with what happened and why I left in the first place…”

“Isn’t it difficult to write?”

“No, I’m following Linda’s advice and just saying things very simply…”

“No, I mean, difficult because you have to remember that terrible time and the things that happened…”

“It was to start with but writing it down is good…”

Mordy gave him the journal.  He was finding it easier to type because of the spellchecker function so although progress was slow there were fewer mistakes albeit the grammar was a bit erratic.

“Thank you” said Drew

“Tell me what you think…”

“I will…”

Mordy left him in peace with the manuscript, about ten typed pages which started with the words; “When I was about four years old my dad made me suck his dick and then he fucked me.  After the first time he said to me that if I told anyone he would kill me.  I stopped talking…”

Drew shuddered but was compelled to read on.  It was written very simply, in a brutalised, agonised voice, a child’s voice crippled with fear and pain.  He had to stop frequently to compose himself, he felt angry and upset, afraid and helpless, like the child.

Within those ten pages he described the ordeal, the four years of abuse and the terribly finale when he was eight, how that broke his silence and his mother’s flight.  He also described how people reacted, the men and the women.  The last page described what happened when he left the island;

“Beryl bought me some good boots and decent clothes for my birthday.  She said I might need them to get a job.  Sheila gave me a hundred and fifty quid.  I went to see a mate in Devizes; he had a camper for sale.  I gave him a hundred quid for it and used the other fifty to get it insured.  That was twenty years ago…”

Drew sat there for a long time thereafter, letting it just sink in.

Mordy called him to come to bed.  He wandered in and cleaned his teeth and climbed in.  He spent the night cradling his lover in his arms, tears running down his face.  Nothing he’d ever read before had ever affected him that way.

Chapter Fourteen – Christmas and further discoveries

It was around the 10th of December.  Drew had just completed his round of signings for the second novel which had already sold more than the first.  The third was being edited and the date of publication had been brought forward.  He’d delivered ten chapters of the fourth to the publisher, assuring himself of another advance and he had never felt better about his writing.

Mordy was ploughing on with the journal.  He was into year five of the twenty.  It was coming up to the time of the near fatal visit to Marseille.

Linda still came weekly and they used the journal as part of the lesson.  She confessed to Drew that it was terribly brutal in places but compelling and she suggested that once it was finished, he, Drew, should show it to his publisher.  That part of the conversation was said in front of Mordy;

“Would you?”

“Of course I would, we should send them some of it now…”

“No, they can have it when I’m finished, I keep remembering things and have to go back to add them in…”

That was settled.

“What are you guys doing at Christmas?”

“Nothing decided.  We did think to go away…”

“Well, since you got back from the island and started the renovations no one much as seen you both, why don’t you come to mine?”

Linda hosted the Christmas day lunch for the gang, all of Drew’s closet friends were in it and it was true that none had seen him much and only Linda had met Mordy.  It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy to keep him out of their clutches or free from interrogation, had it?

“We’ll let you know, soon” Drew said

Later on Mordy gave Drew the journal to read.  It had become a ritual almost and he said it was easier than telling the story.  The latest chapter included the events in Marseille, which Mordy had recounted but this made for the most chilling reading so far;

“…I met the three guys in a bar.  They seemed nice enough and spoke a little English so we got on and I guess I was a bit drunk by the time we left.  We headed out and I didn’t know where the fuck we were going but I didn’t care.  We turned up a small street, more of an alleyway.  I stumbled but now I realise that one of them must have tripped me up.  Two of the guys held me down, one hand on my shoulder and one on the back of my leg just above the knee.  They were pressing down hard and I didn’t know why.  I struggled a bit but felt the knife pressed to my throat and heard some words which I didn’t understand.  I thought, shit, I hope you ain’t planning to rob me ‘cos I had nothing.  I lay still.  I was wearing cargo pants and they were yanked down.  I didn’t have any pants on.  The third guy got on top of me and then I knew what was going to happen.  I struggled much harder but it did no good.  He forced himself into me and fucked me.  It hurt like fuck and all I can remember was the guys laughing.  He fucked me and dumped his load in my arse and then got off.  They still held me down.  My head was on one side and I saw the flash of the blade and felt the burning where it cut me.  I think one of them must have hit my head because everything went black.  I woke up and they were gone.

She came, kneeling by my side saying something, really upset.  Of course I didn’t understand a word she said but I thought then she wants to help.  I tried to get up but couldn’t, I felt so weak.  Another girl came along and between them and me I managed to get up and they helped me to a place, where they lived, just rooms.  Someone else came a bit later and looked at my back and did something that hurt, later I found out they stitched up the cut.  Marie, the first girl looked after me for two weeks.  She brought me food and changed the bandage.  She told me she was a whore as was the other girl.  All the time I was in her room she had to share the other girl’s room.  They brought men back, I could hear them fucking through the wall.  When I left I promised her that I would send her money.  She just smiled.  I did, as often as I could and I wanted to go back and do something for her, the guy, her pimp, was a nasty piece of work and very quick with his fists if they answered him back.  A few years later I did get back but I couldn’t find her.  I found the other girl and she told me that Marie had died, the pimp had found out that she’d helped me and strangled her to death.  I waited for him one night.  The other girl whose name might have been Alice, well, it sounded like that, tipped me the wink that he was coming up to collect her money.  When he came in I smacked him hard across the back of the head with a lump of wood they used to fight off the customers if they got too heavy.  He fell down and I started kicking.  I’m sure I broke every one of his ribs.  He rolled over, howling like a stuck pig.  I kicked him in the bollocks as hard as I could until he shut the fuck up, I guess he passed out.  I emptied his pockets and found a load of notes, wads of it.  I didn’t have a clue how much was there.  I gave Alice about half and told her to get the fuck out.  I took the rest.  I knew I couldn’t stay around so I left…”

Drew was cold with the horror.  If he’d read the account in, say, a book on a shelf, he’d have thought how terrible but it wouldn’t have affected him.  But he was reading the account and the guy this had happened to was in the next room.  He’d seen the scar and heard the words from Mordy’s own lips and had read his account of it, fresh from his memory.  The voice which he heard in his head when he read it was not his own but Mordy’s.  For a moment it paralysed him and then he rushed out to find Mordy who was making a drink.  He flung himself at him and held tight.

“Jesus Drew what’s wrong?”

“If they’d killed you…”

Mordy realised what was up.

“It’s okay.  It happened a long time ago.  If I had died we never would have met and you’d have been none the wiser…”

“I can’t think about not being with you…”

They just held each other.  It made Mordy realise just how much he meant to Drew and how much the man loved him.  He squeezed harder.

The following day when emotions were back to normal levels Drew asked Mordy if he wanted to go to Linda’s for Christmas lunch.

“Yeah, be good, see your friends…”

“Okay then” said upbeat but secretly Drew was quite anxious.  His friends were a weird bunch of literary types and apt to be fairly condescending at times.  There was a mixture of gay and straight, men and women.  But Linda would be there and maybe everyone would behave themselves seeing as it was the first time any of them would have met Mordy.

He phoned Linda to confirm that they would be there.

“We should go shopping for a few gifts” he added

“What do you want for Christmas?” Mordy asked

“I have everything I want right here…”

Mordy stuttered for a second;

“I was thinking…”

“…of…”

“That we could…”

Drew was poised, not really knowing at that moment what he was trying to say;

“…get the rings…”

Drew said nothing; his heart was in his mouth, fluttering.

“…if you still want to…”

The words came out eventually, once he’d swallowed and found an ounce of breath;

“I do…”

Mordy was smiling, as much at Drew’s reaction as anything else.

“…are we ready for this?” he added

“I am…I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you…”

Mordy’s idea of marriage was pretty simple, a surprise given the early taste of blood in his mouth from being whacked by his father as he tried to stop him from hitting his mother.  Perhaps that was it; he’d seen the wrong way and wanted to do it the right way.

“When?”

“Let’s tell everyone on Christmas Day, all your friends will be there won’t they, and we can celebrate…”

“Are you ready for them?” meaning “are they ready for you?”

“Friends don’t scare me Drew; only losing you scares me…”

“Okay…Christmas Day, with the gang…which means getting rings pretty soon…but don’t you want your birthday to be just for you, I mean, it’s special…”

“I’m thirty-seven Drew no seven, I’ll share and maybe I‘ll get twice as many presents as usual or even three times!”

In reality he had never had any presents, at least none he could remember, not even as a child.  On Christmas Day he father got drunk twice over and that meant only one thing.  After his father died he rigidly refused to celebrate either and then just lost interest.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that his birthday was on Christmas Day he was sure he would have forgotten it a long time ago.

“Right, rings and gifts for the friends and especially Linda as she is cooking…”

“I want to get her something really nice…”

“What did you have in mind?”

“She’s mad on Arsenal so I thought we could get her a season ticket for next season…”

“Perfect!  She is the only girl I know who knows more about football then any bloke I know…”

“We’ll need some money, I mean for the rings, I’ve got enough saved to buy Linda’s gift if you want to buy the rest, you know them…”

“How much do you want to spend on the rings?”

“I don’t know, perhaps we can look first and see if there’s anything we like…”

“Do you want to pop into town now?”

“Yeah, let’s go, the lights are on in Oxford Street!”

Drew was reeling from the triple whammy, the agreement to go to Linda’s at Christmas, the fact that Mordy wanted to celebrate his birthday and the fact that they were now hunting for rings and telling everyone.  Well, what the hell.  The lights were on in Oxford Street.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to notice.

They went into the West End and of course it was teeming so they dived down Bond Street which was a little less busy.  Mordy was in awe of the stores and their tantalizing displays of jewels.  Drew reminded him that they had a bigger diamond than any on display which made them laugh.  Drew guessed, wrongly, that Mordy would want a simple band; nothing fussy since he’d never owned or wore any jewellery of any kind.  He carried his watch, which had no strap, in his pocket.

“What do you want?” he asked Drew

“Something different, not just a plain band of gold, maybe antique…and you?”

“I had something in mind like a knot…”

“Uhm, I know just the place…”

They went down into the Arcade and found the shop Drew knew, antique jewellery of a high quality.

They went in.  Mordy looked as if he was holding his breath.

A salesman came over and asked them what they were looking for.  They explained.  He dived out the back and brought forth a number of rings, first for Drew, antique rings made of old gold, rosy in colour, heavy, some set with stones, many were engraved with initials and a date.  Nothing caught his eye.

The guy popped in the back and brought out something for Mordy. It was interesting and quirky to say the least.  The band was made of interwoven and twisted lengths of gold wire of varying thickness.  The gold wire formed knots and loops and strange shapes.  He put it on.  It screamed Mordy as far as Drew was concerned.

“Was it old?” they asked

“Made in the 1960’s”

“I like it, it’s free…”

It most certainly wasn’t free; the price tag said £18,500.

“Why is it so expensive?” asked Drew, “it’s just gold”

“Designed by Turnball and made by Garrard’s”

“Oh!”

“There’s another, not exactly a matching pair, but very similar, again by Turnball”.  He fetched it.  It was similarly twisted and knotty.  It had a pale blue moonstone set in its heart and it looked like the moon was caught in a web of branches.

“I love it…how much?”

“The same, £18,500...”

“Mordy?”

He was away, looking at the ring, tracing the wires around, looking for where they joined.

“I guess that means we’ll take them” said Drew wryly, smiling both inwardly and outwardly.

“How would you like to pay?”

Mordy woke up.

“Can’t we exchange for the pearls?”

The guy frowned a little, confused.

Drew caught up with the plot;

“My grandmother had a string of fifteen black pearls, they’re natural not cultured.  We were looking to sell, to pay for the rings, it was kind of what she wanted…”

“Why don’t you bring them in and we’ll take a look.  I’ll need a holding deposit for the rings however…”

Drew plucked his Gold card out of his wallet and charged the deposit on the rings.  They planned to come back in a day or so with the pearls.

Outside Drew looked confused.

“Why do you want to exchange the pearls?”

“It’s the easiest way to get rid of them…”

“They could be worth a lot more than the rings.  They could be an important part of history…”

“Drew, what are we going to do with them?  Keep them in the box?  This way we get something out of it and the rings will be part of our history.  What if we find that the pearls did belong to the Queen, we can’t tell anyone how we got them…”

Drew knew he was right of course, at least partly.

“We’ll bring them in and see how much he says they’re worth and then decide”

“Okay.  So, presents for your friends and Linda’s season ticket…”

“…and your birthday present…”

“Drew, no more…”

“I had something cheap and cheerful in mind”

“What?”

“A book…”

To anyone else that would have sounded like a cop out, but knowing the score, Drew thought it was highly appropriate and Mordy beamed, seeing that he didn’t own a single adult book and never had.

“…you can choose something you want to read and keep”

“Thanks, that’s really great”

“We’ll go to the bookstore, I can get more than half the presents for the gang in there anyway and you can look for something”

They bounded off, energy renewed.  They didn’t notice the crowds, you don’t do you?  When you’re in love and getting engaged in two weeks.

A day or two later they popped back with the pearls for the guy in the Arcade to see.  They’d cleaned them.  Drew found something on the internet about cleaning them with milk.  They’d left them soaking overnight and the following morning washed them off in lukewarm water.  Their lustre was spellbinding, black and glowing they looked like huge grapes.  There were sixteen, almost identical in size, shape and colour.

Mordy suggested it;

“Let’s keep one each…”

“Why?” questioned Drew

“They were our first find from the wreck”

“You found them, the day you showed me the wreck”

Drew had transported himself back there.

“Yes, I remember” said Mordy, back there with him

“Let’s keep one each then” he agreed.

They went into town and headed straight for the jeweller’s.

They’d put the pearls in a pouch, an old velvet one.  It had originally contained his grandmother’s opera glasses.

They went in, brimming with expectation.

They handed over the pouch and awaited the verdict.

The guy was a professional but even that didn’t stop him from gasping as he tipped the contents of the pouch on to a velvet lined tray on the counter.

“These are magnificent…”

“Will they cover the cost of the rings?” said Mordy, squeezing Drew’s hand

“Many times over…”

“Excuse me” said Drew

“Gentlemen, these are the finest black pearls I have ever seen.  I doubt the Queen has any finer…where did your grandmother get them?”

“My grandfather gave them to her as a wedding gift which is why she wanted us to sell them to pay for the rings, it kind of recycles them”

“The rings are £37,000.  I estimate that these are worth at least £200,000, possibly more.  I don’t suppose you have the original receipt or the presentation box?”

“Sadly not.  They came to us in that pouch”

“I would like to ask a colleague of mine to assess them and put a more accurate value on them.  Can you leave them with me?”

“Tell you what” said Mordy, taking the initiative as Drew had gone gaga, “we’ll exchange three of them for the rings, that gives you a little extra, as a sign of our good faith.  Show your pal those and then we’ll come to a deal on the rest once he‘s had a look…”

The man looked a little uncomfortable but Mordy had no intention of letting all the pearls out of his sight.  Drew came to and headed off the difficulty at the pass;

“Take an imprint of my card, if they prove to be worthless fakes then charge the rings to the card…”

The guy relaxed and agreed.

They left with the rings and the remaining eleven pearls.  He promised to call within a couple of days.

“Nice going partner” said Drew

“They ain’t fakes and if his pal sees them and starts a wondering we may not get them back without a lot of grief…we‘ve still got thirteen of them”

“We’ve got the rings!”

“Yes we have; partner!”

They celebrated with Mordy’s favourite pizza and a bottle of the Provençal Rosé that he liked.  Drew was just about in seventh heaven.

Three days later, on or around the 15th or 16th of December two things happened, strangely inter-connected, both relating to the mystery of “The Granite Pearl”.

The chap from the jeweller’s called.  Drew picked up the phone.  They had a longish conversation and he put the receiver down and went to find Mordy who was working in his office on the journal.

“That was the guy from the jeweller’s.  I think you’d better stay seated…”

“Why, what did he say?”

“The pearls are not fakes, but real, natural, black pearls, probably from Tahiti and the finest the specialist friend of his had ever seen.  He’d seen a similar string in Scotland and actually asked if I was related to the Hamilton’s, apparently Mary Queen of Scots gave some of her black pearls to the Hamilton’s before her unfortunate run in with the axe…I could be, something to check later…anyway, they are the genuine article and he valued them at £14,000 each.  We gave him three for the rings, mightily generously, but probably worth the extra five grand to find out that they are what they purport to be, 16th Century black pearls probably belonging to Mary Queen of Scots and they may have been part of her treasure, gifted to the Hamilton’s, or some of those that belonged to Queen Elizabeth, the latter being more likely as we found them in the box.  We have thirteen, valued at £182,000...he’s made an offer of £200,000 for the remaining eleven, presumably they are worth more the longer the string…”

“Enough to buy the boat…”

“Which one?”

“The one we sail around the World in…”

“I thought you’d abandoned that idea…”

“When couples get married don’t they go on a honeymoon?”

“Yeah, to Hawaii for three weeks or Paris…”

“Let’s take a year out and sail around the World”

“You’re serious…”

“I’m serious”

“Shit”

“Think about it…”

“I will.  So what do I say to the guy, we’re selling the pearls?”

“Yeah, but not until after Christmas and then for £250,000...”

“I’ll call him back tomorrow, I need a break, a cool towel and my head examined…”

He wandered back to the his own office to recommence the search for the missing ship, well, the name of the lugger, presumed to be nailed on to the side of “The Granite Pearl”, for some reason keeping her true identity secret.

It was just about lunchtime and Mordy called him down for the ritual sandwich and cuppa.

He wandered down with a strange look on his face, half quizzical, half jubilant.

“What?” asked Mordy

“I think I’ve found her, the missing ship, well, you know what I mean…”

“What’s the name of the lugger?”

“Would you believe “The Shell”?”

“Tell me how you found her…”

Drew’s theory was this; after the Armada had been defeated in 1588, “The Granite Pearl” was disguised, for some reason, possibly to sell her to the Spanish who needed ships.  She needed a name and the name of a ship that was known but little else, especially not her tonnage.  She was given the name of the lugger and the lugger was given hers.  Drew argued that the ships of the same age and tonnage as the true “Granite Pearl” which did not fight against the Spanish, for which there were references after 1588, had to include “The Granite Pearl”, now in disguise.  If he could trace all the ships of the time, of the right age and tonnage he would eliminate the ones with genuine identities and be left with “The Granite Pearl”, masquerading as something else, bearing the name of the lugger.  If he could find that name then perhaps the owner of the lugger too and that might unlock the mystery of why both ships needed to swap identities and why the lugger was full of loot.

He had identified about twenty ships, all of the correct age and tonnage, which hadn’t fought against the Armada.  Eliminating most was easy from accounts of other battles and skirmishes and that left four ships.  One of those four was “The Granite Pearl” in disguise.  In each case, he could find no record of the ship prior to 1588, suggesting that the ship was built after that date, except in the case of one, “The Shell”.

The reference to her prior to the battle was so minor that he probably would have missed it had it not been for the fact that the reference was tied to another about the island.  It was a report of an accident, involving some fishermen, their boat having been hit by the lugger “The Shell”, off the coast.  The reference had been concerned with a payment made to the fishermen for the damage to their boat by the owner of “The Shell”, William Wylde, of North Harbour.

Drew recounted all of this to Mordy over the sandwich and cuppa and Mordy just listened.  Drew barely took a breath.  He concluded with the name of the owner and;

“So, there we have it, now I have to research the name William Wylde and perhaps he’s the clue we’ve been looking for all along…”

“You won’t need to look very far for him…”

“What do mean?”

“My surname is Wylde…”

“Of course it is…and you’re from the island…perhaps you’re related…”

“Bound to be if he was from North Harbour, it’s where I was born…”

“Shit, so the lugger belonged to one of your direct ancestors, which probably means you own it anyway…oh my God…what do you know about your family?”

“Nothing except the Wylde’s were important a long time ago…”

“I need to do some research…are you going to be okay with this?”

“Sure, I always wanted to see my family tree.  You should speak to Beryl, I think she did something like that, her Peter, is, was, related somehow…”

“It will probably mean going back to the island at some point…”

“That’s okay; I want to get married there…”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

“Why?”

“Then all the pain I feel when I think about it will go away…”

Drew was digesting that very slowly just in case he brought it back up.

“Then on the island it will be…” he managed

“In the spring, at the beginning, it’ll give us chance to get a few things sorted…”

“More than a few…right…research and oh, I forgot, “The Shell”…really “The Granite Pearl”, she’s laying off the Bahamas, wrecked…”

“First port of call on the World cruise then…”

“I had a feeling you’d say that…only one problem…I can’t sail, any more than I could dive…and even if I could, do we really think we can sail around the World, just the two of us, I mean, I know there are people that sail solo, but shit, I mean…”

“If we get the right boat and have the right training, then yes, we can do it.  I’ve sailed some, had a job in Greece one summer, crewing on a yacht…”

“The Med’ is a bit different to sailing across the Pacific…”

“Diving is a bit different to having a bath, but you still did it…”

“Uhm…”

Drew liked the idea more and more and a voyage like that could be a few novels too, as well as the travel log and maybe a film.  He had no end of ideas.

“It still doesn’t explain why the ships needed to trade identities or why one sank off the island full of loot and one sank in the Caribbean…”

“When?”

“1603, the year that Elizabeth died and was succeeded by James the first…”

“I’ll bet you all the gold that the lugger was scuttled in 1603...”

“Maybe, tied together in life and death, these ships shared a Fate, we just need to find out why.  First lead, William Wylde, of North Harbour, someone important…”

“I’ll call Beryl and ask her for a copy of the stuff she’d already dug up, if you like…”

“Please, that would be great and save a lot of time…”

“Okay.  So Christmas Day, why did Linda call me and say to come early?”

“That was my idea really.  I thought it would be better if we were already there, before anyone else, so that you can meet them as they arrive rather than being presented to a room full of people like the visiting pontiff…”

“What?”

“It will be a gentle introduction; I thought you would prefer it that way…”

“Drew, they’re your friends…”

“…and you’re nothing like the guys I’ve dated whom they’ve met and most are outspoken and pretty judgemental at times and…”

“…you think they’ll think this is a kind of joke, Drew adopts the stray dog and what, you’re afraid someone will say something and I’ll get upset or angry?”

“Christ, do you read minds?  Yes, actually…”

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself and if someone says something I don’t like then I’ll deal with it…”

Which was exactly what Drew was afraid of.

“I hope you don’t think that’s what I think, that you’re a stray dog…”

“Drew, if I thought you did we wouldn’t be getting married in the Spring and if your friends think that then there isn’t much we can do about it.  I’m guessing we aren’t going to tell them about the loot and the fact that even though I look like a stray dog I’ve got more money than any of them, probably all of them put together?”

“No, let’s not mention the loot…”

“You’re afraid that they will see the rings and think you bought them both and I moved in straightaway and you bought the camper, which Linda knows. What are you afraid of?”

“That they will judge you harshly and judge me as being stupid and naïve…”

“These are your friends?  Anyway, I haven’t met any of them yet…”

“I’m worrying over nothing.  I just know some of them can be outspoken and judgemental…”

“I said to Linda we would be over early, to help.  Don’t worry about it…”

Drew was trying not to worry about it and he was still trying right up to the point he pushed the doorbell on Christmas Day.

On the morning of Christmas Day it was actually perfect.  It was Mordy’s thirty-seventh birthday and the first such occasion they had celebrated together.  Champagne in bed with his presents was how it kicked off.

There had been no need to be extravagant, well, what do you buy a man who has a Caravelle with a solar panel, a quarter of million in gold bullion, some pearls that once belonged to both Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth the First and a wedding ring designed by Turnball?  Drew had bought him a watch strap, which made him laugh and the complete works of Charles Dickens, leather bound, which made him cry.

They got ready.

“When do we open our Christmas presents?” asked Mordy

“Well, traditionally, we take and open the main ones at Linda’s, after lunch.  We dish them out and then each person unwraps their pile in turn, so everyone can see and pass judgement…”

He regretted the choice of word instantly.

“…I mean, it’s fun and quite nice…”

Mordy was looking at him, as he dug himself into the hole, but charitably pulled him out;

“Good job I got you something decent then…”

“I hope you didn’t spend too much, really, there’s no need, given everything and…”

“Drew, stop worrying…”

“Yes, I must, I mean, I’m not really…”

“Let’s go, I promised we’d help Linda”

They drove over to Linda’s in Richmond, not far and Mordy drove as Drew was already over the limit.  The champagne hadn’t quietened his nerves merely numbed the endings.

Linda was thrilled they were coming and the first to arrive.

They were the first and Mordy set about helping whilst Drew rabbited on about the engagement.  She went gooey over the rings and lavished both with kisses.

It was true that none of the gang had met Mordy but he had no worries, he’d met every kind of person on the road and had no fear of meeting them.  He’d donned one of her aprons and was getting stuck in to peeling the vegetables.

The other guests started to arrive and Drew was given the job of welcoming everyone and getting them a drink.  Inevitably each and every one came into the kitchen to see Linda and was introduced to Mordy.  Only Brian looked him up and down like he was a strange insect.  Mordy gave him the glacier melting smile and the look that said “step over that line pal and you’ll be drinking soup until Easter…”

Everyone else was polite and chit-chatty; “Where do you come from?  Oh the island, how wonderful, went there as a child on holiday, you travel, how interesting, writing, really?  What lovely hair…so nice to see a man in the kitchen…how did you guys meet?…went diving!…Could you pop over and have a look at mine when you’ve got a minute?…and variations on similar themes.  He and Linda exchanged conspiratorial smiles.  Drew had been absolutely right about being there first to meet everyone as they arrived; they had designed the apron and vegetable peeler accessories!

Everyone had arrived and the vegetables were on and the turkey was in and champagne was handed out and Brian, being the longest serving, proposed a toast to the lovely hostess.

“Cheers!”

Everyone was together and chatting and Mordy was beside Drew but talking to one of the women.  It started like a ripple and ended with a tidal wave.  The word “engaged” was heard above the hubbub.  Heads turned, questions were asked and eventually Drew had to say something;

“Everyone…please…some of you have probably already guessed but I, we, do want to tell you that we became engaged today, officially…”

A cacophony of “bravo”, “well done” and “congratulations” ensued.

“Mordy and I are going to get married in the Spring”

Drew looked very relieved and Mordy just smiled and turned back to the woman he had been speaking to and carried on with their conversation, albeit she grasped his hand and cooed over the ring and very soon was joined by another of the ladies.

Brian sidled up to Drew, who was within earshot of Mordy.

“Pretty quick out of the blocks old man…”

“She shall pursue it with the soul of love…” said very lightly, to dispel the cutting quality of the remark which Drew knew was intended

“Uhm…has he got two pennies to rub together?”

Said not so quietly.

“Quite a few more than two Brian.  Not that it matters“

“Well I hope you know what you’re doing” Brian was oblivious to the fact that the background volume in the room had dropped and everyone heard his last comment.

Have you watched water freeze?

“We’re very much…”

“Would every one take their seats please…” said Linda

As was customary, couples sat opposite each other, Mordy was sandwiched between Linda and the woman he’d been talking to before lunch was served.  Brian was deposited somewhere at the end, furthest from the boys.  Mordy helped Linda bring everything in and then they sat down.  Brian said grace.

Drew caught his attention briefly;

“I’m so sorry…” he mouthed

Mordy smiled back;

“No harm done…I love you” he mouthed

“I love you too…”

“So what is it that you actually do Mordy?” boomed Brian, intent on causing him some discomfort

“Well, I teach people how to dive, I travel, I write, I renovate houses and…”

“Write, eh?  Published?”

“Not yet, but I’m hopeful…”

Half the group were authors and Brian was the only prize winner, albeit half a century ago.

“Can’t call yourself an author unless you’ve been published…”

“I didn’t.  I said I write…”

“What are you writing?”

“A travel log, my twenty years on the road in the camper van…”

“Another load of inspirational mumbo-jumbo, shelves are full of it…”

“No, just my journal, what happened…”

“Read Jupiter’s Travels?”

“No…”

“There’s a story, man travels around the World on his Triumph motorcycle, first rate…”

“We’re planning to sail around the World, after we get married in the Spring…”

“Drew?” someone piped up

“Yup, that’s the plan…” he replied, for the benefit of everyone

“Caught the bug from this stray dog, eh?” injected Brian

Mordy was used to Brian’s type.  His father’s cronies had been just the same, goading him all the time until he broke which they took as licence to give him a good thrashing if they could catch him.  He learned to tolerate it and to run very, very fast.

“Brian!”

It was Linda.

“What?”

“That’s hardly polite, and very unjust.  Mordy has done a fantastic job on the house and you should see the garden…”

Brian evidently decided to go for broke with the next comment;

“Those advances won’t last long at that rate old boy…” spiced with a chuckle

“Brian, not that it is any of your business, but seeing as you want to know and probably feel you’re asking on behalf of the group, Mordy and I are equal partners in everything, so please don’t insinuate that he’s taking me for a ride because I can assure you he most certainly is not!”

There was silence for a second or two but Brian needed to have the last say;

“So where’s your money come from?” directed at Mordy

“Old money Brian…”

The tone was velvety and deadly, its quality not lost on the other guests.

“That was delicious Linda, thank you so much…” he added.

“You’re welcome.  Now if everyone would like to move into the living room I think it might be time for the great unwrapping…”

Drew looked like he wanted to sink out of sight.  Mordy was laughing heartily with his eyes and grinning at him.

Drew caught him just before they piled into the lounge.

“I’m so sorry…it was always going to be like that with Brian…”

“Drew, he’s a bitter, sad, old queen and will die alone…forget it”

Mordy had made sure at least one other person had heard the comment.

The tradition was to take turns to open a couple of presents and the rest of the group would make the usual comments and it ended with the Queen’s speech and a toast.

Linda being the hostess was first up.  She opened the present from Mordy and Drew; the season ticket.  She was thrilled and kissed them both with tears running down her face. She handed the baton on and the unwrapping continued around the circle.  It came to rest on Drew, who didn’t know what the hell Mordy had got him.

“This is from Mordy” he said as he unopened the perfectly wrapped package which was roughly the size of a tissue box.  “Of course we got our rings as well, designed by Turnball in the 60’s…”

He tore the paper off to reveal a beautifully crafted ship’s compass in brass and mahogany.  There was a collective murmur of appreciation.

“Now we’ll never lose our way” said Mordy in response to the eyes wider than wide look that Drew gave him.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful and perfect…”

The women melted.  The younger men had to adjust their seating position to accommodate their erection.

The baton passed around the group until at last it reached Mordy.

“This one is from Drew” he said, following the adopted convention of announcing the giver’s name.

The package was expertly wrapped, not by Drew.

Mordy carefully removed the paper to find a tooled leather journal, from Smithson’s.

“It’s for the voyage” Drew said

“Thank you” replied Mordy who got up and walked over to where he was sitting and gave him the sweetest kiss.  Returning to his seat he said;

“This is from Linda” who was back from the kitchen, having poured the champagne and at his side.

He carefully unwrapped the present which was a leather bound copy of “Treasure Island”.

Probably through force of habit he looked at the title and with his finger tracing a line under the text sounded out the syllables and repeated the whole words, just like a child.

“That’s right” said Linda, beaming with pride

Mordy looked over at Drew, with satisfaction on his face and became aware that the whole group was silent and looking at him.

“Linda is teaching me to read and write” he said, without any hint of embarrassment

“…and a first rate student you are too” she said, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek, “right everyone, get ready for the speech and the toast…”

Spellbound, mystified, mortified, nullified was how the group was left, except for Drew, who was bursting with so many emotions he didn’t know which one to let go of first.  As the group rearranged itself to watch the telly, he came over to share the moment with Mordy and Linda.  They hugged and Drew said;

“I love you, you’re amazing…”

“Do you think Brian will ever get his tongue back in his head and his chin off the floor?”

“If we’re lucky, no!” whispered Linda

They listened to the Queen’s speech and toasted Her Majesty and downed their champagne.  The next hour or two took in coffee, liqueurs, chocolates and cigars in the garden.  Drew passed but Mordy took the offered Havana and sauntered out to the gazebo with his balloon of brandy.  Brian was already there.

“Brian” he said by way of acknowledging him

“Mordy” he replied, unsure of the thickness of the ice

There was silence, which never bothered Mordy but Brian was unused to it;

“Damn brave of you to admit to that…”

“What?  That I’m learning to read and write…Linda’s the brave one!”

“She’s a very good teacher…”

“Yes she is and very patient…”

“Why didn’t you…learn I mean?”

Mordy paused and then said

“I think I’ll let you read about that in the journal, Drew’s publishers are “picking it up”…” a phrase he’d heard endlessly around the table over lunch.

“Are they?  Good for you…”

“Not bad for a stray dog, eh Brian?”

Brian was even less sure of the ice now but he was a diehard;

“Oh, don’t mind me; I’m just a sad, bitter old queen who’ll die alone…”

Mordy chuckled and added, smiling, but the smile looked like he had a knife between his teeth;

“…from natural causes if you’re lucky…”

Before Brian could say a word he’d moved off and back inside.

Drew and Mordy were invited to stay for the early evening high tea.  A select group which included the woman that cooed and a couple of the younger gay men but definitely not Brian.

The rest of the group started to get ready to leave.  Everyone made a point of saying goodbye to Mordy.  The gladiator winning his laurels perhaps?

Brian had disappeared without trace and Mordy was convinced he’d wet himself.

The small group reconvened in the kitchen around the table.  It was more intimate and relaxed.  The conversation swayed between Drew’s sojourn on the island, his second novel, the diving and the renovations, Mordy’s travel tales and the planned wedding and voyage.  The young guys were captivated by the tales of the heroic traveller, the women by his looks and everyone by his quirky speech.  He sat holding Drew’s hand all the while.

At the appointed time Linda brought forth the birthday cake and they sang “Happy Birthday” to him.  He duly blew out all thirty-seven candles and Drew handed him another present.

“It’s from Linda and me” he said

“Guys!”

“Open it” urged Linda

He shifted his attention to the package.  A tube, plain gold wrapped.  It looked like a huge Christmas cracker.

Inside the wrapping was a cardboard tube with a capped end.  He popped the cap off and ferreted inside to bring forth a heavy scroll, tied with a red ribbon.

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out” said Drew

He untied the ribbon and smoothed out the scroll on the hastily cleared table.

“Jesus Christ” he exhaled as he gazed upon his family tree, beautifully written out with little illustrations.  It was like an illuminated manuscript.

“How far back does it go?” asked one of the younger men

“To the 14th Century” answered Drew, “Mordy comes from an important and well documented family.  One of his friends had started the project and Linda and I have been helping with secret visits to the Records Office here…”

Mordy was speechless and more than that, overwhelmed.

“Thank you” he blubbed

The tree traced his family back to the 14th Century and one “William Wylde”, a shipwright, who moved to the island to marry the daughter of his master.

The father to son line stretched all the way to Mordy, unbroken, something like twelve generations and each had been connected pretty intimately with the sea, shipwrights, captains, adventurers, privateers, an Admiral, harbour master and simple fisherman.  There were some pretty important people related to him directly and via marriage.  His “old money” quip had hit the nail on the head!

“Looks like sailing is in the blood” said Linda

“How the hell did you guys get this done in time?”

“Beryl had it pretty far advanced and because we could get to the Records Office it made filling in the gaps relatively easy.  Linda’s colleague did the scroll, all by hand…”

“I’ll get it framed and put it in my office at home”

Angela had been looking carefully at the tree all the while, tracing the line forward.

“What I don’t understand is why you’re not called “William”, every other male is, except you. Do you know?”

“No…” said loosely because Mordy was pretty sure he did know, now that he’d seen the tree but he needed to think and it would take him back to some of the worst nightmares of his childhood and he wasn’t ready for that tonight.

Another of the younger guys chipped in;

“Hardly the pedigree roll of a stray dog, you should make sure Brian gets to see it…”

“I think Brian is already regretting saying that” said Linda

Mordy said nothing.

Without thinking Linda chirped;

“Who wants to play Scrabble?”

She suddenly felt acutely embarrassed and was about to attempt the back track when Mordy said;

“I do, I’ll partner with Drew; his spelling is awful…”

That sealed his status as a God as far as that little band of friends was concerned.

The mix of emotions in the car going home was more subdued than high energy. Both were tired, a little stress fatigued, happy nonetheless that it had worked out so well.

“Thank you for the compass, it’s beautiful…”

“I’m glad you like it…anything on your mind?”

“I’m just sorry and more than a little angry with Brian, it was so uncalled for…”

“In a way he was protecting you, looking out for your interests, as I heard someone else say…”

“There are ways and means of doing that…”

“It got it all out in the open…”

“Still…the family tree is amazing isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, thanks, I always wanted to see it.  Beryl said it would be very important one day…I still don’t know exactly what she means…”

“Well, you can ask her when we go over for the wedding and we will need to go over before then to give notice of the registration…”

“Who are you going to invite?”

Drew knew that question was coming

“Not Brian, obviously Linda, a few of the younger guys…”

“Family?”

“Not sure, we haven’t spoken for such a long time…”

“A good enough reason to get in touch then…”

“I don’t know…my mother and father have never accepted it, nor have my brothers, perhaps I’ll invite my sister, she’s usually very cool with these things…how about you?”

“Beryl and Sheila, they’re the only two left out of the five who gave a damn…”

“No one else?”

“I don’t know anyone else, anyone that I care about…”

“Well, small is beautiful…where shall we have the ceremony?”

“At the standing stone…”

“Perfect! When, exactly?”

“The first day of Spring, at sunrise…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, spring is the beginning; it will be our beginning…”

“Okay.  Best we call the registrar pretty soon and book that, I don’t suppose they get too many requests for that venue, assuming they will do it at the stone…we’d best ask straight after the holiday…”

“…and we need to get sorted with some classes like navigation and first aid and we need to go to sailing school…”

“Where?”

“I was thinking that we could go somewhere like Greece or France or maybe Italy…”

“You’re really serious about this…”

“Yes, I am, are you?”

“I’m scared and excited and I wish we were heading off tomorrow and then I’m glad we’re not and…”

“We’ll go to some classes before the wedding, get married, head of to the Med’, try it out, buy a boat, do the training and head off, if we still want to and we think we’re ready…”

“What shall we do with the house?”

“Rent it out, it’ll give us some money for food and stuff…”

“We have the three hundred a month as well and hopefully royalties from four novels and more in the pipeline…are you serious about sending the journal to the publisher?”

“Yes…”

“How much will it cost, the boat and everything that we need?”

“Don’t know, two hundred grand?”

“That sounds like a lot but the boat will have to new or practically new won’t it?  Plus insurance and fuel and endless electronic gismos and clothing and rope and…”

“Drew, one step at a time, you might hate it once we do the course…”

“Yes, one step at a time…Oh My God…”

The energy levels in the car went up a notch or two and the whole episode with Brian was consigned to the bin, along with a friendship that was well passed its sell by date.

It wasn’t that late by the time they made it home.  Mordy put the family tree scroll in his office, to examine more carefully on Boxing Day, traditionally the day kids get to play with their new toys.  Drew had his compass to keep him amused.

They were laying in bed, lights out.

“Why do you think your name is Mordy?”

“Ask me tomorrow…”

Drew frowned for a second because it sounded like Mordy knew the answer and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant memory for him.

“It’s still your birthday…” he said, snuggling closer

“Did you have something else to give me?”

“It’s not wrapped, well, not properly…”

“Ah, yes, I see what you mean; perhaps I could give you a hand…”

“A little more than a hand I was hoping”

“It’s my birthday not yours, shouldn’t you be treating me?”

“If you blow this candle out and make a wish I will do my very best to make it come true…”

“You made all my wishes come true already Drew” said Mordy, spoken seriously despite the moment

“I did?” replied Drew, kissing his lover’s hair

“Yes, every one of them…”

“I love you”

“I love you…”

Chapter Fifteen – New Year

Drew was pretty sure that when Mordy had said “ask me tomorrow” in response to the question about his name that he had meant “I’ll tell you when I’m ready” so he didn’t ask and he didn’t mention the family tree despite the fact that Mordy was scrutinising it for a large part of Boxing Day morning.  He broke off at lunch, looking thoughtful but not unhappy.

“What do you want to do on New Year’s Eve?” Drew asked instead

Mordy smiled, more to himself.

“What?” Drew asked

“Every New Year I would hope and pray that the following year would be so different to the last, I guess they were but usually it was the same old shit packaged different…”

“Well, next year is going to be different…”

“Yes it is…”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“Go out to dinner and stay at a nice hotel so we both get spoiled for a change…”

“Reservations might be just a tad difficult now…where, exactly, here in London?”

“No, Paris…”

“Paris, okay, that might cost a bit extra…”

“Drew, between the coins and the pearls we have three quarters of a million so can’t we splash out?”  Mordy was smiling broadly and then broke out into laughter.

It was infectious and Drew started to giggle then he broke out too; once they had stopped Drew said;

“Mordy, if you want to go to Paris then Paris is where we are going and I don’t care if we can only find a room at the Ritz…”

“I don’t care as long as I can see the Eiffel Tower from the bedroom window…”

“Why?”

“It’s not the tower but the city, my mum loved Maigret, and she watched it on the telly when he was out or out for the count…”

It was the first time Mordy had said anything about his mother or his family life other than things about the abuse and his father’s death.

“Did she have a favourite case?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably, but when he had passed out and we were putting ourselves back together, as she said, she would say;

“Mordy, one day, when you’re older, go to Paris…”

“Why did she say that do you think?”

“I don’t know but it sounded to me, even then, like it was important, like it would matter one day…”

“Best you start packing whilst I try and find a train and a room which won’t cost us all our loot…”

Drew searched for a while whilst Mordy, of all things, cleaned the cannon shot on his desk.

“I’ve found a reasonable hotel from the 29th to the 2nd and a train which won’t require us to leave at 5am!”

“Where’s the hotel?”

“Montmartre; with a view over the whole city, they only had a suite left, but as we are practically millionaires I thought we should splash out like you said and as it’s your first visit to the city I want it to be special…”

“It would be even if we had to camp at the station!”

“Well, not this time.  So, what do you want to do until we leave?”

Mordy had, usually, ants in his pants and periods spent pouring over the journal in his office were frequently proceeded by a rigorous workout, often in the garden or the bedroom.

“I don’t want to work on the journal, it needs, as one of your friends said, a period of gestation, whatever that means, so why don’t we hook up with a couple of the guys seeing as we won’t be here to celebrate with them…”

“Have a party here?”

“Yeah, why not, nothing big, just a quiet dinner for Linda and co…”

“Okay, I’ll call around and see who’s free for tomorrow night…”

Drew called the members of the “Scrabble Group”, those who had been invited by Linda to stay on Christmas Day for the evening.  Linda was at her mum’s but two of the guys were free and Angie, the one who cooed the most.  Drew was more than quietly pleased that Mordy had suggested it because it seemed to him to be an important step in their life together; not that Mordy was anti-social, far from it, but his reserve, built from years of survival definitely needed to be dismantled a little if not a lot and he needed to make friends, his own friends.  From what Drew could work out, the only person he knew was the guy in Devizes and he hadn’t seen him in two decades.

“It’s sorted and it is just the three of them, so with us, we are five and that will be okay seeing as I can’t remember the last time I cooked for more than two and more often just for myself…”

“I’ll cook” said Mordy

“Can you…will you?” replied Drew, already kicking himself for sounding incredulous

“Yes Drew, I can, although I don’t follow the recipe, obviously…”

“I didn’t mean it that way, I just thought that you probably never bothered, being on your own, I never did much…”

“Relax and get the wine and put some champagne in the fridge”

“What are you going to cook?”

“My mum’s favourite, Toad-in-the-hole…”

“Jesus, a cordon blue chef to boot…”

“Linda said that these days the old favourites are very much in fashion and if you want something like that you’ll pay sixty quid for it at the Oxo Tower, wherever that is, so mind you Ps and Qs…”

“Yes Mordy, sorry and can we have spotted dick for afters?”

Drew was already legging it upstairs and Mordy was in hot pursuit, very hot pursuit.

“You’ve had all of your presents…” said Drew, breathless and pinned down on the bed

“I don’t recall pulling my Christmas cracker with you…”

“You’ll only end up with something cheap and tacky…”

“…and a bang…”

Mordy bent his head down to kiss Drew and silence the banter.

Of late their love making had become very intense but slow and so unlike the animalistic assaults when they met on the island.  Mordy was obviously in the mood for rampant rather than romantic and he broke off to start his campaign on the neck and shoulders.  Drew was not going to complain because he wanted Mordy to control him, to dominate him, to take and to leave him sore and bitten, basking in the after-glow.  Mordy sensed his need and moved down to take a nipple in his mouth, he practically chewed it until Drew shouted “no more” then he descended to feast on the stiff and throbbing cock which fared no better than the rest and only when Drew begged him to fuck him did he oblige and then he rammed his dick into his lover ferociously, lubricated just with his spit.  Drew didn’t want it to stop, each thrust took him higher and there seemed to be no end just wave after wave of pain wrapped in ecstasy; nothing else existed except for the fuck and Mordy’s groans which were building into a crescendo, getting longer and louder and then he upped the pace and banged away and to Drew it seemed as if Mordy had possessed him, had entered him, not just with his dick but with his entire being, it was suffocating and heavy and yet his head was somewhere else, floating.  It all crashed with Mordy’s release and he came too, not with a shout but a strained whimper for he didn’t have the voice, it was trapped in his throat.

Mordy flung himself beside him, glistening with sweat, panting hard.

“You needed that” he said after a full minute, smiling, no doubt recalling their first encounter, as was Drew, also smiling.

Drew was coming back into the room;

“Did you enjoy your cracker?  That was some bang for a cheap one…”

“Well, I’ve got the ring and all I need now is the corny joke and the paper crown…”

“Knock, Knock…”

“Who’s there?”

“Doctor…”

“Doctor who?”

“They don’t get much cornier than that and now for the crown, will my underpants work for you seeing as I am fresh out of paper crowns?”

“Drew, get the tea…”

“Yes boss…”

$The following day Mordy commandeered the kitchen whilst Drew made the dining room presentable and checked the wine situation.

“We still have the two bottles of that grog we found in the wreck” he said as he loaded the fridge with champagne and Mordy’s favourite rosé.

“We should crack one open to celebrate when we get the quarter of a million for the pearls…”

“And find out who that diamond belonged to; I’m surer than ever that it’s the clue…”

“I’ll be happy with the money…”

Drew was expecting that for although he was still on the trail of “The Granite Pearl” and “The Shell” he knew that Mordy would prefer the mystery to go away but, as far as Drew could tell, a large part of his disinterest was due to the family tree and the “name not being William” thing; maybe it would all come out after the trip to Paris which he did not want tinged with anything except his lover’s happiness.

The five of them sat down to dinner at 8 and the trip to Paris, Mordy’s journal and the Spring wedding dominated proceedings much to Drew’s relief because it had been Angela who has asked the question about Mordy’s name and he was sure she would revisit the subject sooner or later.

Books, publishers and agents took up a further hour and Drew read them the first couple of chapters of the Sci-Fi story, it was quirky, off-beat, more Aldous than Asimov, but it seemed only Mordy liked it.

“So Mordy, once the journal is published, what next?”

“I don’t know; what with the trip, there won’t be much time…”

“Delve into that fascinating family of yours and come up with the perfect gay historical romance” suggested one of the guys, which brought forth a titter and Drew was praying the question wasn’t going to be asked, but seemingly he had used up his quota of prayers and luck

“Have you found out why you’re called Mordy and not William yet?” asked Angela

“No, not yet” he replied, the tone was relaxed

“Mordred was part of the Arthurian legend; wasn’t he Arthur’s betrayer?” asked one of the guys

Drew sensed that a match had been struck and was being held very close to a touch paper

“Yes” Drew replied, “We’re going to delve into the family tree once we get back because we have to go to the island to make arrangements for the ceremony at the standing stone”

On cue, Angela went all cooey and the name thing got dropped in favour of outfits and speeches.

After they had left, Drew was tidying up and Mordy was sat at the kitchen table smoking a roll up and swirling a brandy around the glass, looking thoughtful;

“My mother had an affair, with a man called “Mordred”…”

Pause during which Drew stopped but said nothing

“My dad insisted that I was named after him as a constant reminder…”

“That’s pretty sick” said Drew, almost without thinking

“He was a sick, sadistic bastard…”

Drew had a question burning a hole in his tongue but he was unsure of the timing, still, they were in that place now so he decided to go for broke;

“Were you their love child?”

Very calmly Mordy replied;

“She said not, but I think that was more for appearances; I never saw him so I can’t say…”

“Did he leave the island?”

“Before she did and I think she went to him…”

“Your father fucked you as a kind of punishment…”

“Yeah and he enjoyed it too…”

The words fell like shards of glass onto the table.

Drew was at a loss just then, it was the disclosure he most feared for it took the matter right to the heart of the pain but he didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t you say that you had your father’s hair and you kept it shaved for ten years?”

“I guess she had a thing for the raven.  I don’t want to think about that anymore, she left and if she went to him then she deserved to be free and happy after what he did to her and by all accounts he strayed from the path plenty…”

Drew was beginning to think that the issues were getting tangled and were rooted much deeper than he suspected but now was not the time to suggest the therapist, now was very much the time to suggest that they went to bed;

“Come on, let’s go to bed…”

“You go; I’ll be up in a bit”

Drew left him at the kitchen table and he didn’t wake up when Mordy finally came to bed three hours later.  The following day Mordy was more upbeat and taking the lead in packing; Drew had no choice but to park the discussion.

The day after, as they left the house for the station, Drew remembered he’d left his passport on the desk in Mordy’s office and nipped up to fetch it.  As he left the room he spied the torn remnants of the family tree in the waste paper basket, not the whole document; just the portion that contained the last two entries.  He felt sick and cold in his stomach but Mordy’s “jivvy up” forced him to swallow the feeling.

“Got it, okay, we’re off” he said, to screw the lid on it.

Their train was at a respectable time, 11am, which also meant that they got lunch served and barely three hours later they were checking in to the hotel in Montmartre.  The suite was on the top floor, fortunately served by a lift and the bedroom windows faced south, it had a little balcony, just big enough for a table and two chairs and from that vantage point it was possible to see the entire city and as requested full view of the Eiffel Tower.

Mordy was spellbound, despite being the seasoned traveller, much of his time had been spent on the edge, on the periphery, avoiding, assiduously, the crowds and the hassle, and consequently he’d never really seen the great European cities.  He looked at Drew like a child who had actually seen Father Christmas.

“What do you want to do first?” asked Drew, beaming with satisfaction and a rekindled wonder of his own

“Everything!”

“Right, so, what have you always wanted to see?”

“I want to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower…”

“Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Okay, get your shoes on…”

They took the Metro, it was a wonder in itself for Mordy and just the names of the stations and the people had him enrapt.  They climbed as far as you could and then took the lift to the highest level so that Mordy could see the city and look back to Montmartre.  He had endless questions; “what is that?” being the most common.  Once they had climbed back down they crossed over and walked along the Seine, as far as Place du Concorde, by which time Drew was flagging but Mordy seemed only to be more energised.

“Enough” demanded Drew” we do have a few days…”

“Sorry, I can’t get enough, it’s amazing…”

“Let’s pop into Chatelet and grab a drink and decide what and where we want to have dinner tonight…”

“Okay”

They headed to Chatelet and Les Halles and found a quiet bar for a drink, just round the corner from the famed jazz haunt, Le Duc des Lombards.

“Let’s grab dinner here and then head back to Montmartre for after dinner drinks and maybe go to that cabaret place” suggested Mordy

“Okay, what do you fancy?”

“Can I play safe tonight and go for Italian?”

“Sure, there’s a wonderful little place just down there in Le Marais…”

“Le Marais?  That’s like Soho right?”

“Yeah, but less sleazy”

They found the place that Drew remembered and ate a simple meal with a good wine and Drew let Mordy recount all the minute details of the afternoon; he’d never seen him so animated, so expressive, so full of something or so happy.  He paused for breath.

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you like this…”

Mordy looked a little embarrassed.

“Don’t stop, I’m loving it; I’ve never heard the city described the way you describe it, it’s like you see the city between the lines of the travel guide, you notice the things that get left out…”

“Really?”

“Yeah and if you need a project after the journal is finished then writing travel guides could well be one to explore, literally”

That left Mordy very thoughtful and his eyes were shining and his smile illuminated the table;

“No one ever spoke to me like you do…”

It was Drew’s turn to look a little embarrassed.

“I love you” he said

“I love you too” replied Mordy, “thank you for bringing me here, to Paris, I mean, maybe my mum knew I’d just love it, I wish she could see me now…”

“Do you ever want to find her?”

“I did sometimes; I know she didn’t leave me like it was my fault or something, I never blamed her for running away, I would’ve, well, I did too, still…”

“Do you think she is alive?”

“Oh yeah, she’s barely sixty, she’s somewhere…”

“I wonder if she ever looked for you…”

“Would’ve had a tough job”

“She’d be proud of you, I know I would be” said Drew

“A scruffy traveller with barely two pennies to rub together…”

“That may have been true once”

“Uhm, yeah, still doesn’t seem real, all that money…”

“Well, it is and who knows what else but I think she’d still have been proud of you no matter what, you’re honest and hard-working and no amount of money is going to change who you really are…”

“Won’t it?  I hope it doesn’t and I hope getting married doesn’t either”

Drew had never thought seriously about marriage before, it was what other people did and generally, in his circle, it usually ended in heartbreak and acrimony.  It hadn’t put him off; in fact his views were rather old fashioned.

“Do you think getting married will change us?” Mordy asked, like he could see the inside of Drew’s head as if it were transparent

“Yes, for all the right reasons, it means we are taking responsibility for each other, no matter what, to me it’s an agreement that says “whatever happens, we’re in this for life and we’ll always be there for each other…”

Mordy had obviously expected a more cynical response, nothing quite so honest or revealing.  He raised his glass;

“Here’s to us”

Drew picked up his glass;

“To us…”

“Shall we head back and check out that cabaret bar?”

“Yeah”

They headed back to Montmartre and found the bar which was advertising an evening with Claudette; they were just in time to secure a seat.

The singer, a woman of some advanced years was sat on the little stage, on a chair, her back to the audience, rather theatrically thought Drew but then it was what many of the crowd were expecting.  She turned slightly and with her profile to the crowd blew out a plume of smoke as the music started and she launched into “Ne me quitte pas”.  The whole number was sung from the same seated position, in the same pose but the next was more energetic and she stood up and turned full frontal to the crowd and the spotlight above her came on.

“Ma!” screamed Mordy

“Mordy?”

Chapter Sixteen – Reunited

Everything stopped.  It had been twenty nine years since they had lain an eye on each other.

“Mordy?”

“Yes, ma, it’s me!”

He rushed forward and the crowd let him through, whilst he made his way forward, Claudette spoke to the crowd;

“That’s my son who I haven’t seen for nearly thirty years…”

The crowd just cheered and clapped, it was kind of surreal.

He reached her and jumped onto the stage to embrace her.  She kissed him over and over again and just held him and he held her.

“Finish your set” said Mordy, “we’re over there”, pointing in Drew’s direction, “we’ll wait”

He went back to his seat and the crowd clapped again.

“I don’t believe it” said Drew

They waited for her first break and she came over straight away, quickly followed by a bottle of champagne and three glasses.

“Ma, I’d like you to meet Drew…Drew, this is my mother”

“Pleased to meet you” Drew said, very formally

“Pleased to meet you too” she replied, “you’re a friend of Mordy’s?” and the tone alerted Drew to something which he didn’t expect to hear;

“I’m Mordy’s partner…”

She said nothing and turned to Mordy, smiling but it was a little forced.

“So tell me everything!” she said to him

“Ma, it’s been thirty years, where do I start?”

“Why are you in Paris?”

“We came for New Year and you always said I should go to Paris…”

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, just about everywhere, I went back to the Island in June, after twenty years, I met Drew in July…where have you been?”

“Mostly here and Berlin”

“Alone?”

The question demanded to be asked;

“No, with Mordred…”

“Where is he?”

“At home…where are you staying?”

Mordy told her and she said;

“Not far from us, after I’ve finished we can go back together, if you want”

Drew sensed that the statement was laden because it would also mean that Mordy would meet his real father and he was pretty sure the invitation didn’t extend to him but he felt that the family needed privacy for its reunion and was fully expecting to go back to the hotel alone.

“Drew, do you mind?”

He was right in his assumption;

“Of course not, go, I’ll be at the hotel if you need anything and I’ll see you all later”

“I have to finish my set Mordy, another hour, maybe an hour and a half, can you wait?”

“Ma!”

She returned to the stage and Mordy turned to Drew;

“I can’t believe it…”

“It is unbelievable…how do you feel about meeting Mordred?”

The thought of that had only just begun to sink in;

“A bit scared actually…”

“Well, it’s going to be just as much of a shock for him but you said that your mother always wanted you to come to Paris, maybe she was expecting this one day…”

“Yeah, but shit…”

The following hour was spent in a similar vein, both digesting the shock and whereas Drew knew Mordy hadn’t picked up on his mother’s tone, he was sure he had read the signal right and that was something else to come to terms with, but fuck knew how.  Finally she was done and they made their preparations to leave.

“Come back to the hotel tomorrow and get me and perhaps we can have lunch or something” said Drew, navigating carefully;

“Sure” said Mordy but he was already away

They left and Mordy turned to Drew to kiss him goodnight.  It was the most difficult kiss he’d had to manage; trying not to allow Mordy’s mother’s scrutiny to somehow get between them, for Mordy was still oblivious.

“Goodnight, see you tomorrow” he said as they broke off

The pair left him and he walked slowly back to the hotel, feeling very anxious.  He was pretty sure that if Claudette, or whatever her real name was, had a problem with her son being gay and in a relationship it wasn’t going to surface just yet, Mordy’s attempt to recount twenty years’ on the road would probably see to that, no, it would be okay for now, but the storm was looming as far as Drew could judge and he was more than a little afraid at what the outcome would be.

He went to bed and slept not a wink.

The following day felt to him like it was made entirely of the most fragile eggshells.  He waited for Mordy to return and of course he hadn’t taken his phone!

He waited and waited and it neared two o’clock; what the fuck was he meant to do?

By four he knew something was wrong but he didn’t have the address so he went back to the bar to see if the manager could tell him.  Fortunately the manager had witnessed the reunion and fully understood as Drew explained that he needed to get hold of them but didn’t have the address; he gave Drew the address.

Drew went back to the hotel and pondered his next move briefly but carefully.  Finally he decided to go to the address and it was approaching six o’clock; he knew, even under these circumstances, that Mordy would not have left him without a word unless there had been some kind of scene or trouble.

He walked the short distance and found the address and pressed the buzzer.  Shortly afterwards a man’s voice said

“Oui?”

He explained that he was looking for Mordy.  The door was released and the man said;

“Flat 4, second floor”

Drew’s heart was pounding for surely the man was Mordred.  He reached the flat and knocked and after a minute the door was opened, in its frame was Mordy, well, Mordy in twenty years’ time, it was Mordred; the raven black curls alone confirmed that.

Drew explained why he was there but the man knew already as he opened the door wider to let Drew in;

“Come in” he said, the voice strained

“Is Mordy here?” Drew asked

“No, he left, early this morning, there was some trouble…”

And all of Drew’s fears were immediately realised.

Mordred went on to explain that at breakfast, by which time the initial shock of the reunion had slowly started to wear off, the conversation had turned to more domestic matters and Mordy had, of course, told them, in all innocence, that he was living with Drew and they were engaged to be married.  Claudette had reacted badly, more than badly and Mordy was so shocked that he at first didn’t understand why his mother was so angry but then realised that she couldn’t accept it.

“He left, very upset”

“and Claudette?”

“Mary left too, God knows where but I’ll be here when she gets back” spoken by a man used to the drama

“Shit!”

“Yes, but he’ll not be far, just cooling off no doubt”

“Hopefully, what do I do now?”

“Wait, we wait”

Drew got the impression that Mordred himself didn’t have a problem with the fact his son was gay.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Uhm, yeah, coffee would be good actually”

Drew had a coffee and told Mordred about how they had met, the move to London, the journal, the wedding, the trip, in fact everything, except the wreck and the money.

“I should probably go back to the hotel, he might be waiting…”

“Let me know” said Mordred, scribbling his phone number down for Drew

“Sure and if he comes back here tell him I’m waiting for him at the hotel”

“Okay”

Drew left and felt a little easier in his mind and by the time he got back to the hotel he was almost sure Mordy would be waiting in the room for him.

The room was empty and silent but for the next few hours Drew was hopeful and couldn’t believe it would be too much longer and it was now dark so he’d have to come back at some point, wouldn’t he?

He didn’t and Drew sank further and more quickly than he had during the day.  At ten he called Mordred but got no answer.

Another sleepless night followed and another day without anything.  It was New Year’s Eve and hope of all hope told Drew that Mordy was still in the city and he’d be back before the celebrations started.  He didn’t come back and Drew waited, turning himself into a knotted wreck with all the worst imaginings his brain could dream up.

The following day, New Year’s Day, he phoned Mordred but still there was no answer so he went to the police and reported Mordy as missing.  He had to make a decision because the room was booked until the 2nd as was the train.  All of Mordy’s stuff was still in the room, including his passport, wallet and phone.  Drew extended the room for a few days and spent his time searching, high and low, very low at times but he found nothing and having checked back with the police who had nothing he went back to Mordred’s but there was no answer.

He knew Mordy was still alive, he knew that, like a fact and he surmised that his mother’s reaction had sent him reeling.  He’d come back when he was ready.

Drew packed up his things and the hotel manager agreed very kindly to look after them for him in case Mordy came back for them.  Drew wrote him a note really just saying he’d gone back to London and would wait for him there.  He left a hundred euros in the wallet and left, taking the train back to London on the 5th.

Chapter Seventeen – The Months That Time Forgot

Drew experienced every emotion possible and invented a few new ones over the course of the next two months.  He went back to Paris twice, and came back with nothing.  The flat was deserted and the police had no leads.  He stayed at the same hotel both times; Mordy’s stuff was still there.

Linda was a brick but even she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t time to move on but how was he, Drew, to gain any closure.  He just waited, wrote nothing, went nowhere, saw only Linda and compulsively cleaned the house, keeping everything just as it was the day they had left for Paris.

Something had to give and eventually he did.

Linda was there to make sure that none of the pieces got lost and over the next two months helped him to put them all back together.  By the beginning of May he started to live a little again, just small things, short forays into town, an evening out of the house, a chapter written.  There was still a black hole in the centre of his chest but it was getting smaller.  In a way he thought of Mordy as dead, even though he believed that if he was he would have felt it somehow but thinking of him in that way allowed him to move on a little.  What else was he to think anyway, either he was dead and buried somewhere or he’d decided to move on anyway, either way, he was gone.

He’d called Sheila and Beryl to let them know and to ask them to let him know just in case Mordy showed up, which he thought was as likely as anything else.  The mystery of the wreck and her cargo he consigned to the cellar along with the coins and the rest of the haul, including the pearls and the diamond.  By the end of June there was barely a trace left of Mordy, even the family tree was put away safely.  The only thing that remained was the ship’s compass which he had on his desk and only rarely now did he remember opening it at Linda’s.

It was Linda who suggested it; why didn’t he revisit the island, rent the cottage, finish the fourth book and try to bring everything round full circle, almost as if he were paying his last respects.

He toyed with it and then agreed, making a pact with her and himself that he would go, finish the book and come back ready to restart his life again, properly.  He took the camper so that he could use it whilst he was there and the thought of that bit of freedom levitated his spirits.

A year on he was back in the cottage and writing fluidly.

Chapter Eighteen – The return of the native

He drove past the cove but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop and pull in, the ghosts of the five men who had drowned there were still too fresh, too evident.  Instead, he went to the nudist beach and it was, as before, empty and it was, just like before, hot!

He hiked the two miles to the tiny cove and immediately shed the shorts and plunged straight in to cool off.  It felt weird to be back but good at the same time.  Refreshed he plonked himself on his towel and let the sun penetrate his body.  When it got too hot he turned over and he lay with his head on one side, cushioned on his folded arms and from that position he could see the very beginning of the path back to the road, not that he had any worries of being spied on or that he was harbouring any modesty should someone appear, it was more figurative, the path, a new path, his new path upon which lay many choices, all of them entirely feasible seeing as the last call he had taken in London before his departure had been from the jeweller now offering three hundred and fifty thousand for the pearls, if he was still interested in selling.  He was just closing his eyes, finding a comfortable position for his head and ready to doze for an hour when he saw something, a shadow then a figure, a man, enter the beach, wearing just shorts.  The man was very thin, heavily tanned, his head was shaved and he was limping.  From that distance, with the heat waves rising from the sand obscuring his view he couldn’t make out a distinct feature.  The man continued to walk towards him and he was pretty sure he intended to come over and speak.

Drew started to sit up and in so doing he took his eyes from the man for a few seconds whilst he rearranged the towel and when he looked back the man was much closer.

His heart leapt into his mouth which was a good thing as it stopped him from throwing up.  Before he could say anything the man spoke;

“Us kids used to come down here and spy on the bathers in the old days; all gone now…”

Drew was sure it was but something felt strange because even though he had recognised the man the man had not recognised him.

“Gone to the mainland to find jobs most likely” said Drew, remembering

“Yeah, most likely…”

Silence returned and Drew didn’t know what to do, it was most definitely Mordy but something was wrong.

“I’m Drew” he said, holding his breath

“Mordy, as in Mordred, but don’t go there…”

Drew waited for there was the smallest sign, a ripple, and it travelled across the brow and if you can imagine the sun turning itself inside out and what that would probably be like you have some idea of the reaction which followed.  If the name had been the key then it unlocked a volcano and Mordy literally exploded.  Drew scrambled over to him as fast as he could and got his arms around him to quell the thrashing and the fists which were pounding the shaved head and out of the centre of this carnage there was just a wailing.

Drew held him and waited for the spasms to cease which they eventually did and Mordy sank into his arms practically dead.

“Everything is going to be okay now” he said softly

Epilogue and the end of Part One

“How’s he doing today?” asked Linda

“Much better” replied Drew, sifting through paperwork on his desk with the phone perched under his ear

“Can I visit him yet?”

“Most definitely, tomorrow in fact, if you’re free…”

“What time?”

“Three?”

“That’s good for me…Drew, what the fuck happened?”

“It was the shock, of being rejected by his mother.  I think he subconsciously always wanted to find her and he said himself that he’d forgiven her for running away, would have done the same.  I think he endured the abuse to save her from some of the worst of the punches and he couldn’t imagine anything other than being reunited with her, finally, having saved her in a way, so the rejection was complete.  He says it all went black and he doesn’t even know what happened but when he regained some kind of grip on reality he was working in a farmer’s field, south of Lyon…”

“Why did he come back to the island and how did he get back?”

“He knew he had something here, there, I should say, but he didn’t know what, maybe he remembered something or perhaps it was Beryl and Sheila, the ones he turned to the most often, but he knew he had to get back.  He had a bit of money, from the labouring, hitched to Calais and slipped across with a group of illegal immigrants…”

“Jesus!”

“Yeah, I know and when the nasty piece of work found him he beat him because he couldn’t pay up…”

“Drew stop, I can’t take this in, oh my God…”

“It’s okay, he’s resting and coming to terms with everything, he even phoned Mordred to let him know, apparently Mary has decamped to Berlin…”

“Is there any permanent damage?” asked Linda, meaning mental not physical

“The knee will heal but he will still have a bit of a limp as for the rest the doctor thinks he has achieved the same result as if he had started therapy when we came to London, albeit in a much less controlled way and he could have done himself some harm but apparently he is made of pretty sound stuff, he has to rest and talk to someone, he wants to now and he wants Mordred to visit, which I think is a good thing, I am just so happy he is back and relieved, so thankful, he wasn’t killed…”

“And the future?”

“I’m not pushing anything; I’m just going to wait to see what he wants to do, he’s upset because he lost the ring, somewhere, so we have to see to that, it’ll just be slow progress, but he wants his journal to read, he says there is too much he can’t now remember, although I would quite like him to forget some of it but I think he wants to write some things down”

“When you see him later tell him I will be in tomorrow and give him my love”

“I will, thanks Linda, see you tomorrow at 3”

“Bye”

Later the same day back at the hospital;

“Linda is coming in to see you tomorrow afternoon; she sends her love…”

“Good, I mustn’t get too far behind in my lessons…”

“I brought your journal…”

“Thanks, I want to read some of it and write some things down”

“The doctor says you can come home in a few days but you have to come back about the knee in about a week”

“Drew…”

“Yes…”

“I’m so sorry that I forgot everything, forgot you…”

Drew was waiting for that and he was concerned that Mordy had just forgotten everything of the last twelve months;

“Don’t apologise, you came back and you found me, that’s all that matters…”

“I love you, you know that right?”

“I know that and I love you, more than anything in the World…”

“Do you still want to get married?”

“Of course, more than ever!”

“I want to get married, put the mystery to bed and take that trip…”

“The dealer has offered three hundred and fifty thousand for the pearls; that’ll pay for everything”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah and I did a little research whilst you were away, the mystery gets deeper but I have to say that the Wylde family seems to play a bigger part…”

Drew knew this was dangerous territory, seeing in his mind the torn remnants of the family tree in the waste basket on the day they had left for Paris.

“Does it…”

Well, of course, he was only related to the family through marriage on his mother’s side now, at least that was how it looked, but Drew didn’t know anything of Mordred’s family tree so there could still be blood connections further back.

“Let’s take it slow and concentrate on the wedding first; do you still want to get married on the Island?”

“Yes, at the standing stone, with Mordred there too”

“When?”

“As soon as possible…”

“Oh, okay, I’d best call the Registrar then…”

“I lost my ring” said with tears

“I already asked if Turnball made others and the dealer has another which you might like; when we take in the pearls you can have a look, otherwise we can get one made, just how you want…”

“If we hadn’t gone to Paris we would’ve already done it and be on our way by now…”

“Most likely but then you wouldn’t have met Mordred…”

“I like him”

“So do I, he’s like you”

“Why did she turn on me?”

Drew thought he was probably the least well qualified person to answer that question and there was a nice therapist waiting to take that one just down the hall but there it was, the whole thing in a nutshell.

“Just because she’s your mother doesn’t mean that she’s going to like you being gay, mine reacted the same way and still doesn’t accept it…”

“But after everything we went through, why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t Mordy; she may be thinking it all through herself, maybe seeing you opened up a lot of scars, it must have been a shock…”

Mordy looked thoughtful.

“He punished me for her sin and I killed him to stop him from hurting us and she left me…”

Drew was about to pull the alarm cord because he sensed something was brewing, very deep.  Even the brief introduction to the woman had told him that she was probably a little fragile, even at sixty and hadn’t Mordred alluded to prior dramas; maybe she was hurt deeper than they knew;

“She was probably hurt deeper than anyone knew Mordy…Mordred accepts you” and Drew hoped that it didn’t sound like it was a consolation prize.

Would that quell the storm?

“Yeah, I’m going to ask him to be my best man…”

“Jesus I hope we don’t sail this close to wind on our World cruise and that therapist is still going to earn his money” thought Drew

“Good idea, I think he will be really pleased; I’m going to ask Linda actually…”

“Not your dad then?”

“No, Linda has been there for me and she is there for us, I want it to be her”

That seemed to put everything back together, at least for the time being.

Lately of Sauncy

By

Alp Mortal

Text Copyright© 2014 Alp Mortal

All Rights Reserved

'Lately of Sauncy', Part 2 of 'The Shell and The Granite Pearl'

The concluding part of the story opens with the civil partnership of Mordy and Drew, back on the island at the standing stone. The plan was then to sail around the World but that always seems to be dogged by delays and uncertainty. When Mordy's journal is published and becomes successful, out-selling Drew's four novels, Drew behaves badly and Mordy leaves.

It's Linda who gets them back together. Mordy's mother dies and he and Drew are back on the island for the funeral. Just at the point of their return to London, they are handed a letter; "we want it back". Who and what? They guess the diamond and some detective work gives them a name, 'Oscar Stubbs' and an address in Paris. They head there to find out more and then the mystery just deepens as Mordred is killed trying to tell them something and now their lives are in danger.

Love is ... maybe all you can rely on in the end.

Chapter One – There Wasn’t A Dry Eye In The House

“Ready?”

“If I could tie this damn knot I would be,” replied Mordy.

He was standing in front of the mirror trying to knot his tie.  He and Drew were on the island, staying in the only decent hotel, and it was the morning of their wedding. The ceremony at the stone was an hour and a half away, at noon, and it was the 21st September.  Originally, it had been planned for the first day of spring at sunrise, but Mordy’s ‘episode’ had put paid to that.

Fully recovered, at least as far as anyone could tell, they’d rescheduled for the equinox. Harmony in the heavens; hopefully to be re-enacted on the ground. If the preparations were anything to go by, mainly orchestrated by Mordred and Linda, then the only “hitch” would be the official one, in front of a very select group at the standing stone.

“Let me help you,” said Drew, and he stood behind Mordy so that he could tie the knot for him, using the opportunity to press himself up close against his lover-soon-to-be-spouse.

Mordy watched him in the mirror, smiling, following his hands.  Drew turned him round so that he could make the final adjustment, which was sealed with a kiss.  He looked up directly into Mordy’s eyes.

“You are going to make me the happiest person on the face of this Earth today…”

“Please! We have to get married before I treat you to a massage.”

“Silly man.”

“Are we ready for this?”

“Most definitely!”

They had sold the pearls; for four hundred thousand pounds and so no reasonable expense had been spared including the purchase of Mordy’s ring to replace the one he had lost in France. They’d bought the only other ring that Turnball had created; a breath-taking creation of gold and platinum. Within the net of intricate knots and twists nestled a bead of nephrite, whereas Drew’s held a pale blue moonstone.  Their wedding bands were plain gold, engraved inside with their initials and the date and the phrase ‘our love will endure’.

Mordred was staying in the adjoining room and Linda was down the hall.  A knock at the door announced that it was time to convene for champagne before the off.  Drew opened the door and Mordred appeared.

“Ready?”

“Yes!” they chimed in unison. They donned their jackets and left with him to pick up Linda on their way to the conservatory, where they had ordered champagne, just for the four of them.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Linda, “don’t you all wash up well!”

“Not looking bad yourself!” said Drew, having never seen his friend dressed up to the nines and looking like a movie starlet of the Twenties.

The boys were wearing suits; matching bespoke single breasted numbers in charcoal grey with snow white shirts and black ties.  Mordy had his hair down and the taming of the curls had taken best part of thirty minutes.  Mordred was dressed in a lighter grey suit with a black shirt and tie, similarly with hair down; curls tamed.  Linda was swathed in dove grey and lilac chiffon; her hair was up and under a pretty little hat which had a veil.

They toasted with the best champagne money could buy.  No expense had been spared in the most tasteful and understated way possible, which had included flying to the island from London City and taking the helicopter to the hotel.  The guests were very select; Linda and Mordred, who were playing the part of best “men” and witnesses. Then there were Beryl and Sheila, the two favourite surrogate mothers, who had looked after Mordy when his mother had abandoned him at the age of eight, after the death of his abusive and sadistic father. Next Angela, who cooed the most, and Mordy’s pal Steve from Devizes. Gushing like brides themselves; Justin and Gareth, Drew’s younger gay friends and part of the Scrabble group. Lastly Anne; Drew’s very cool and hip sister.  That was it.  Drew had resisted the obligation to invite his parents or his brothers. He wasn’t regretting it; especially as Anne had told him that they would have declined if he had, so he’d spared himself the disappointment.

The four left in a black Phantom and proceeded to the car park by the cove, from where they had to hike up to the stone.  Linda had complained bitterly because of the question of heels, so Mordred carried her shoes in a pretty little tote bag so she could change at the end.  Thankfully it was dry; in fact it was glorious, as is so often the case in September.  Everyone was assembled at the stones at eleven forty-five.  The site of the stones had been transformed with the kind permission of the National Trust.  A designer friend of Drew’s had re-created the design of their engagement rings; creating a space, protected by an intricate web of fencing, garlands of flowers, lights and balloons, in green and blue like the stones in their rings.  The stone which lay at the foot of the standing stone was being used as a kind of altar, bedecked in flowers and candles in crystal holders.  It was Elton on a quiet day meets Alan Titchmarsh.  Everyone got seated and they formed a ring around the couple.  The registrar was a lovely lady called Joan and she conducted the civil ceremony which was to be followed by a humanist service led by Mordred and Linda.

The bells of the church in the village struck noon and Joan stepped forward and reached out to take Drew and Mordy’s hands.  Even before she spoke, Beryl and Sheila were dabbing at the corner of their eyes; Mordy flung them a quick glance and a smile.  Joan conducted a straightforward civil service at the end of which, the boys kissed to enthusiastic applause and cheers. It was done; they were officially married.

Mordred and Linda traded places with Joan. Mordred started by introducing himself and Linda, thanking everyone for coming and congratulating the pair.  He then read a piece of prose written by Kahil Gibran called ‘Friendship’.  More dabbing of eyes, for he had a way about him. The words were like music on incense scented air.  He handed over to Linda who sang ‘I bind my hands to yours’ with Anne accompanying her on the flute. Drew was astounded for the second time because he never realised she could sing. Everyone applauded.  Mordred asked if anyone wanted to say anything and Beryl stood up.

“I do,” she said, “I have waited thirty seven years to see my boy happy and I can rest easy now knowing that he has someone to take care of him that loves him…”

Mordy was at her side and kissed her cheeks and his eyes were shining with tears whereas hers had broken over the wall of the dam.

“I would like to say something too,” said Sheila; “Beryl and I, along with a few others, took care of Mordy when he was a youngster and he won’t mind me saying that he was a bit of a handful but always the most considerate and loving boy...” she took a second to compose herself. “When he left the island twenty years ago I prayed every night that he was safe. My prayers were answered and like Beryl, I can rest easy knowing that he has Drew, and I wish them a very long and happy life together…”

The boys embraced her and all were smothered in kisses.

Everyone said something, much along the same lines, and that part of the ceremony was concluded by Anne, an accomplished flutist, who played ‘The Lord of the Greenwood’.

Mordred stepped up again to introduce Drew.

“Mordy and I would like to thank you for those beautiful words and we want to say a very special thank you to Mordred and Linda for organising everything today. I would like to read a poem which was adapted by Linda, from ‘The tale of the shipwrecked sailor’, and I am dedicating it to Mordy, who has made me the happiest person on the face of Earth by agreeing to marry to me.” Drew stole a kiss from him and read the piece.  “I know we have already exchanged our vows but I want to make a promise to Mordy to always make him feel special and loved until I have neither strength nor breath left in my body. Mordy, you are the most extraordinary person I have ever met and it is an honour to call myself your partner. I love you with all my heart…”

They kissed and Mordy was overcome because he, Drew, had not shared with him the words he was going to use today.  Drew stood back and left Mordy in the centre of the ring.

“With Linda’s help I have written something which I would like to read to you and I am dedicating it to Drew, who has always made me feel special and loved. I want to thank Linda from the bottom of my heart for persevering with me over the last year to teach me to read and write. Thank you Linda…”

She stood up and came over to kiss him and the tears were flowing down her face.

“If you weren’t so hard working and brave, I would have given up long ago,” was all she could manage.

Mordy stepped straight into the piece, which only Linda had heard before.

“When I felt lonely and scared I came to this place and found peace. When I was hurt and crying I came to this place and found a salve. When I was angry I came to this place and found a quiet voice. When I was troubled I came to this place but I found no answers. I travelled many miles and still I found no answers until I found Drew. He lit up the darkness and wrapped me in his light; he had faith in me, trusted me, guided me and loved me. I should be lost without him…”

Mordy paused, to swallow and refocus, and everyone else used the moment to find a dry bit of hanky.

“…If my strength holds and I am true, then I will honour his gift and at the end of every day, I will count my blessings that I spent it with him. I love you Drew…”

Mordy stole a glance at Linda who was smiling, shaking and nodding all at the same time.

Drew had been stood with his head slightly bowed and when Mordy had finished he looked up, tears running down his face; he held his arms out and instantly Mordy was within them, hugging him, kissing away the tears.

It was done; they were married and no one could remember the last time they had felt so touched by mere words.

Mordred stepped forward.

“There is something else before we make our way back to the hotel. In our community here, the druids practise freely and keep safe many traditions that would otherwise die out.  When two people get married in the pagan tradition, we bind their right hands together and they swear their oaths and promises to each other, usually for the following year and a day, when they can choose to renew their promises.  Once they have spoken their vows, we cut the bindings from their hands and together they leap over a broomstick, representing the hurdles they will face together.  Mordy and Drew have said their vows and exchanged their rings but they would like to perform the last act of the pagan ceremony. I am going to ask Sheila and Beryl to step forward to hold the stick for them. Sheila…Beryl…”

Drew and Mordy had no idea it was to be the two mothers who were going to be called upon, although it kind of made sense. The most surprising thing was that both women, instead of being shy or embarrassed at being asked, strode forth very confidently.

It was only then that Mordy, in particular, realised that they were both part of the group and had always been, and no doubt the other three had been too. The five guardians looking out for him on behalf of his father, who had been torn between staying to look after Mordy himself or pursuing Mary, and taking care of her.

The two elderly women held the stick for them; a well-worn and much cherished artefact that had been used in similar ceremonies for at least a century.  The boys positioned themselves on one side of the stick and clasped each other’s hand; they took two paces forward and leapt the symbolic hurdles that they would face together in their married life.

The cheer went up and everyone kind of bundled to have a hug before proceeding back to the hotel for the feast!

There were no speeches for everything had been said and the serious business of demolishing the flown in from London five star spread commenced. Everyone had ample time to speak to everyone else and the atmosphere was truly joyous. Drew and Mordy could not have been more pleased.

“We did it!” Drew said, when they finally found themselves in a quiet corner.

‘Yes, and wasn’t that a surprise…Sheila and Beryl. I haven’t spoken to Mordred yet, but I think he knows I have a few questions.”

“Are you angry with him?”

“For choosing my mother over me? No. It must have been very tough for him, but, it was nine years after she left before I did, so why didn’t he come back for me?”

“Please don’t let it upset you.”

“No, I’m fine, I have you. We have each other and that’s all that matters now.”

Drew was still on his guard, and thought he probably always would be, when it came to Mordy’s family business.

He hadn’t shared anything of his discoveries from the delving into the family tree thing yet. All that, and the mystery, awaited their return to London.  The plan to sail around the world was not on hold exactly, but they hadn’t started any courses and it was the wrong time of year to begin anything practical, at least in home waters. He was grateful that everything had gone without a hitch and he and Mordy were married.

They had sold the pearls and, even after paying for the wedding, they still had three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, plus a diamond; still locked away, with the jewel boxes and half a million in gold coins.  Part of him wanted it to go away and leave them be, so that they could enjoy their life together without any potentially nasty reminders of the recent and not so recent past. However, life doesn’t let you move on until you’ve paid up for the choices you’ve made.

Fortunately, Mordy chose to leave his questioning until after they all got back to London.  The boys stayed on the island for a week whilst Mordred headed back with Linda the day after the ceremony.  He, Mordy, did spend some time with Beryl and Sheila; not questioning them exactly, just being with them. It was different, now that he knew their true status and role in everything. He couldn’t have cherished them any more than he already did, but, as he put it, “I want a different taste in my mouth when I think of them and that time. Ever since I left I thought they were looking after me for her, but it was for him.”

Drew believed there was danger in this because it further demonised Mary and as it stood, apart from being the victim of terrible abuse, she did not seem to possess any other redeemable quality.  Drew thought it dangerous to point out that she’d had the affair with Mordred, so he was hardly unsullied, but then love will conquer all, including convention and reason.

They were on their way back to London, taking the short flight back to City, when Mordy asked the oddest question.

“You know when you saw the list of the ships that had sailed against the Armada and you realised that the tonnage of what we thought was “The Granite Pearl” was wrong. You said that the list had the names of the ships, their tonnage and their owners. Well, we know that the lugger, ‘The Shell’, was owned by William Wylde, so who owned ‘The Granite Pearl’?”

“Uhm, I can’t recall the name. It was a strange sounding name, sort of, but I can’t remember. Do you think there’s a connection?”

“Well, they would have to have been in on the switch wouldn’t they?”

“Yes, almost certainly.”

“What are we doing about the cruise?”

“If you mean the trip of our lives around the globe, then it’s open season. It’s up to us but we haven’t started any of the courses…”

“We should start and look to the spring to do the trial in the Med’, or maybe Australia.”

“Okay, we’ll find the courses and get everything underway. What about the journal; it’s finished right?  Do you still want me to put it in front of the publisher?”

“Yes!”

“That was pretty emphatic.”

“It’s like, if it gets published everyone will read it, and even if they don’t know me or anything about my family, I will have told everyone what happened, and then I can forget about it.”

Drew was quite sure the publisher would print it but less sure how many people would actually read it. Still, that didn’t seem to worry Mordy, all he appeared to want was a final chapter.

“What are we doing tonight? Mordy asked.

“Consummating our marriage.”

“Haven’t we done that, like, seventeen times already this week?”

“Yes; but not in our own home, in our own bed!”

“Uhm, true.”

“Mordy?”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They got back to the house in London, expecting to find Mordred with the kettle on, but instead they found a note, hastily written, explaining that he had gone to Berlin to, ‘sort out a problem’.

“Like always,” said Mordy, in a tone which did not illuminate his bitterness but more his resignation. Drew kept quiet and dragged him to bed to consummate their marriage for the eighteenth time that week.  Yet even as he fucked his partner into seventh heaven he was thinking of Mary, and of Mordred, and how life dealt you a hand which you had to play, like it or not.

Chapter Two – Steps Forward

It was the morning of the last day of September and at breakfast Mordy plonked the completed journal down on the table and said;

“It’s done, it’s all there; right up to the point I got back to the island…”

“Nothing after that?”

“No. That’s our story.”

“So, you want to go for it. I’ll call the publisher and we can arrange to meet them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay; I’ll call him today…”

“Did you find the name of the owner of ‘The Granite Pearl’?”

“Yes, it’s here; ‘Nathaniel Stern’…”

“Done any research yet?”

“No. That was my task in the next few days. I’ll call the publisher and then do a bit of surfing. What are you doing now, I mean, now that the journal is finished?”

“Looking at everything to do with the trip.”

“Good. I still want to do it, I do. Actually I feel more ready for it than I did before, but there is something else I would like to do, at least, discuss. When you said that we could do the training in Australia, it reminded me that when I was young I always wanted to drive around the whole coastline, in a camper van…”

“So why don’t we then?”

“I don’t know. I guess we can do whatever we like now.”

“I’ll look at that and the training.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the publisher and at some point we must sit down because I want to go through what I found out about the Wylde family, and others, after delving into the family tree. Maybe we’ll wait until I’ve done some research on Nathaniel. I have a feeling he might answer some questions…”

“Catch you later then, ‘cos I’m popping over to see Linda to look at her garden, which she wants something done with…”

“Still interested in starting up the garden business then?”

“Yeah, I am. I want to have something I can build up myself, something…”

“That doesn’t involve the wreck, the treasure, the island or the travelling; a fresh start?”

“Something that will give me an income and get me outside, but, yes, something new.”

“Say ‘hi’ for me and see you later.”

“See ya,” Mordy replied, and planted a kiss on Drew’s lips, and then he left.

Drew was never quite sure just how much Mordy wanted to pursue the mystery. His question about who owned ‘The Granite Pearl’ suggested he was just as keen as he. Then the comment about starting the business, particularly the point about the income, suggested he couldn’t care less about the wreck and the treasure. Drew wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t be the best policy. Still, surfing did no harm.  He called the publisher and set up a meeting and then went to work on ‘Nathaniel Stern’, owner of ‘The Granite Pearl’, and a confederate of William Wylde, owner of ‘The Shell’.

If you had been stood outside the door of his office that morning you would have heard the phrase ‘oh my god’ at least twenty times!

The boys reconvened in the early afternoon.

“How was Linda?”

“Just fine and we’ve agreed a plan for the garden, in exchange for the lessons…”

“You’re still going to have them now?”

“I still have a lot to learn and she suggested I take my GCSE or something, in English and maybe Maths.”

“Why not?  Not that you’ll ever need them for a job…”

“Everyone else has got these things except me.”

That was perhaps overstating things a little. Then Drew realised that the reason he didn’t have them was due to the fact that he bunked most of school, as a result of the abuse, and to finally put that to bed meant doing things like this. He reminded himself of the pact he made with himself, about a year before, to never treat Mordy as an ordinary person; he was extraordinary and the usual rules did not apply. He still failed to recognise the fact that Mordy was much more self-aware and higher functioning that he imagined. All of which culminated in an impromptu hug from Drew and tumble, which never quite made it to the bedroom!

They were sat in the kitchen, enjoying the afterglow, when Mordy asked about Nathaniel.

“Oh my god!” Drew said for the twenty-first time.

“So?”

“He was a wealthy, and I was going to say ‘industrialist’, but I don’t think the phrase existed in those times. He was a very successful manufacturer of a kind of valve that was used in the first flush toilet, which was invented in the time of Elizabeth. He had an estate in Dorset and a manor on the island.  He owned ‘The Granite Pearl’ and here it starts to get interesting. He was a favourite of the Queen and his services to the country were recognised when she gifted to him an elaborate jewelled box containing twenty of her finest black pearls. All would have gone so much better for him had he not fallen in love, and tried to abscond, with one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting; a woman by the name of Mary Blanchestone…”

“Whoa!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Drew.

“That’s my mother’s maiden name.”

“Yes I know; they are probably related, almost certainly. The couple were betrayed and both tried for treason because Mary had stolen, wait for it; ‘a considerable quantity of gold coins and a jewelled box, dresses of fine quality and other sundry articles belonging to the Queen’…”

“The stuff we found…”

“Yes, because the treasure was never recovered, and Mary was executed for not disclosing its whereabouts.”

“Who betrayed them?”

“Need you ask; William Wylde.”

“So the lugger was being used to ferry the couple out to Nathaniel’s ship, but why did he betray them?”

“To get his hands on the loot perhaps…”

“What about the switch of the names of the ships?”

“You know what I think? He switched them. He sold Nathaniel’s ship to the Spanish and scuttled the lugger, disguising her as ‘The Granite Pearl’, to put everyone off the scent…”

“If he betrayed them, why did he leave the treasure in the lugger?”

“Either he thought he had the treasure; stuff we obviously didn’t find or, he knew exactly where it was and it was the safest place for it and he could loot it whenever he wanted…”

“He couldn’t have done this alone.”

“He didn’t. The family tree shows that he was related to five other men; five men who have the same surnames as the five cronies of your father; the five men who died in the wreck. Six men, all linked by blood relations; party to a secret hoard of treasure; using it to fund their modest but very comfortable lifestyles; a secret passed from father to son. Until you came along…”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s affair with Mordred broke the chain. Your father couldn’t hand the secret on to you, and he punished her, and you, for that…”

“What happened to Nathaniel and Mary?”

“Mary was executed for her crimes. He was left destitute and outcast but, I will bet against the entire hoard, that Mary is a direct descendent of Mary Blanchestone and Mordred is a direct descendent of Nathaniel Stern…”

“History repeating itself.”

“Yeah, bizarrely. I wonder if they know? So William Wylde is asked by Nathaniel to ferry him out to ‘The Granite Pearl’. He, William, finds out about the flit and the treasure and betrays them. He switches the names of the ships; sells ‘The Granite Pearl’, masquerading as ‘The Shell’, in effect, selling his own boat. He pockets the money, scuttles the lugger with her fabulous cargo and he and his mates enjoy the loot; passing on the secret to their sons. It still doesn’t explain why we only found half the lugger, or why she is in such good condition. I don’t know the answers to those questions. Do you what else I think? The guy at the store alerted the remaining five to the fact they you had hired diving equipment and they were out there that day checking the wreck making sure you hadn’t found anything.”

“That makes sense. Perhaps they thought that my dad had told me and I was back for my share.”

“It’s all tangled and there are lots more questions, but some of it fits.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, we’ve sold the pearls and we are enjoying the proceeds. The pearls were gifted to Nathaniel and in a convoluted fashion they were your property; well I guess they were Mordred’s, but that’s a point we can argue. So we didn’t steal them. As for the rest, it belongs to the Queen…”

“We sold some of the coins to pay for the house repairs; do you think she’ll mind?”

“Not if we give her the diamond back.”

“We are?”

“No. At least, not yet.”

Mordy had half expected him to rush round to Buck’ House that instant. He assumed he was a dyed in the wool Royalist; and he did own three pieces of Royal Wedding memorabilia!

“So, what now?”

“There is still the mystery of the lugger and her condition and her missing back half. I want to find out more about this diamond and delve deeper into the story of Nathaniel and Mary…”

“What about the wreck in the Bahamas? The true ‘Granite Pearl’…”

“I’ve found out more about ‘The Shell’, our true pearl, she was sold to the Spanish who were in dire need of ships. The ship was sold to them through an intermediary whilst she was docked in the Azores. Funnily enough, it’s where Nathaniel ended up; he’s buried on San Miguel in the cemetery at Furnas.”

“You’re joking?”

“No. Why?”

“The one and only time my mother and father went on holiday was to the Azores.”

“Coincidence?”

“No; there’s something there.”

“It would be easy enough to take a trip over and see for ourselves. Do you want to go?”

“Yeah! It would also be a kind of honeymoon. I know we said that the trip around the world would be our honeymoon, but that is going to be months away and we need a holiday.”

“Right. I’ll book it, but not before we’ve seen the publisher. I called him and we can see him on Monday.”

Drew felt that they were taking steps forward, extraordinary steps. Extraordinary was becoming their life and he struggled to remember what it had been like before he had met Mordy.  In the four days before they had the meeting with the publisher they repaired the family tree scroll and had it framed.

Chapter Three – The Publisher

The publisher was probably acting out of charity in agreeing to see Mordy and read his journal. Charity, on the basis that Drew’s four novels were quickly becoming the most successful books his house had published in a very long time.

They met him and Mordy very proudly handed over the manuscript.

“These things are difficult to market, but there is a place for the inspirational journey log, but it’s a small one so don’t expect to hit the top of the bestseller list.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Mordy.

“It will be read and we will come to a decision about publication. That usually takes eight weeks, but in your case you can probably expect an answer in four, maybe two, depending on workloads. If we accept it, then we pay a nominal small advance and your royalties will be in the order of thirty percent.”

“Great!”

“I cannot guarantee that we will accept it. In the event that we decide not to publish, we can assist if you wish to publish it yourself, but let’s wait and see.  Drew, can I expect anything else from you within the next few months?”

“Unlikely, but I am working on some ideas; historical romance mainly.”

“Excellent, because we would like to see a fifth book out by the middle of next year; it’s a kind of watershed.”

“Okay; I’ll have a look at some of the ideas and send something over.”

That concluded their business and they left.  Mordy was brimming with the anticipation of it.

“It will be published Mordy and you know what I said about the travel guide idea. Why don’t you start with our trip to the Azores?”

“I’m not an author like you. The journal was different and I wouldn’t know how to start.”

“Just write down what you see and how you feel; like the way you described Paris to me that day…”

“We’ll see.”

They had lunch and because they were out, they popped to the travel agent instead of booking the trip to the Azores over the internet.  They had no choice of hotels because there was only one in the town of Furnas. It appeared to be a good one, and it had a gigantic hot spring fed pool; the water was a constant twenty-six degrees.  Furnas had the distinction of being the hydropolis centre of Europe; with eleven hot and eleven cold springs, boiling pits of mud and geysers, all within the town’s walls.

They were due to leave at the end of the week and had booked a two week stay, with car.  They were on the last direct flight of the year so their return would involve a short transfer in Lisbon.  They got back home in the middle of the afternoon.

“What do you want to do now?”

Mordy had a glint in his eye.  He said nothing and just held out his hand and towed Drew upstairs to their bedroom. Drew smiled, almost bashfully.

“Is there any reason why you want to make love this afternoon?”

“We don’t need a reason…I want you...”

Mordy stepped up to him and began to unbutton Drew’s shirt and he started to help.

“No. I want to undress you; relax.”

Mordy undid the buttons and pulled the shirt open and up to free it from the waistband; sliding it down Drew’s back and off his arms in one fluid movement.  He tossed it to one side and then placed his fingertips on Drew’s chest; tracing circles over his torso before moving in to kiss him.

He started by gently nuzzling into his neck and then he journeyed along his jaw to the chin, under to the base of his throat, then to his chest and his nipples. Drew was already gone; his boat riding on Mordy’s waves and his sails filled with Mordy’s stiff breezes.

Mordy sank lower to kiss the abdomen and he turned Drew round whilst still on his knees so he could kiss the small of Drew’s back and work his way up to the shoulders and his neck. Stood behind him, he snaked his arms around him and hugged for a second or two and then his hands descended to the belt. He pulled the belt through the loop and rested his fingers on the button, ready to tweak it;

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

Drew had never considered himself sexy until he’d met Mordy. Mordy made him feel sexy; made him do things and say things he’d only ever dreamed about before. In the past, his love making had been sedate, orchestrated and controlled. Yet now, he loved to abandon himself to the moment.

Drew raised his arms and curled them back to grab Mordy’s head and pull him closer. Getting hard simply by having his hands in the delicious corkscrew curls that felt like skeins of silk. Mordy tweaked the button and slipped a hand inside the waistband and under the edge of the briefs to feel the woolly tuft of hair at the base of his cock.

“Take me, Mordy; please…”

When they’d first met, Mordy had taken Drew; fucked him on the beach, roughly, with just spit for lube and had just pounded him. Mordy pushed him to the edge of the bed and face down, yanking the jeans and the briefs down just far enough to give him entry. He pounded Drew like then, with just a mouthful of spit to ease the way and then driven in his stake until Drew was so contorted with the pain and the pleasure that he cried and screamed. Mordy howled as he dumped his load deep inside. Without skipping a beat he turned Drew over and even whilst his arm was across his eyes and his mouth was gapping, Mordy lubed his cock with the cum that was seeping out of Drew’s arse and rode that cock until Drew erupted; planting his mouth on Drew’s as the ecstatic scream broke over his lips and he sucked the breath out of his lungs and, withdrawing the knife, crashed like a felled tree and let the red mists envelop them.

Chapter Four – Meteors Rising

Charity it may have been initially; but when the publisher read Mordy’s journal he knew he had a winner and on the day the boys flew to the Azores he called and confirmed that the house would publish it.

“Jesus!” said Drew, “I’ve never known them to come to a decision so quickly…”

Mordy detected an ounce of professional jealousy and feigned almost complete disinterest.

“They’ve agreed to publish it, but that doesn’t mean it will sell…”

“They would only agree to publish it if they thought it had a better than average chance of success. I suggest you get ready for the signing tour when we get back!”

Mordy just smiled and continued with the last minute preparations for the trip.

They left a couple of hours later and flew to San Miguel, the largest of the Azores. By eight that evening they had found the hotel in Furnas with its famed hot spring fed pool and sub-tropical gardens. The boys plumped for bed and postponed the dip to the morning. When they did venture down first thing they found that it was, indeed, twenty-six degrees! The steam was rising from the surface and the early morning light cast an orange hue since the water was heavy with iron oxide.

The reason for the trip had been the discovery that Nathaniel had been buried in the town’s cemetery and Mordy’s mother and father had visited the island. Something was waiting for them, was Drew’s opinion. Mordy was the usual sanguine disinterested party in all matters that referred to the mystery but this was also a kind of honeymoon too. Whilst they had breakfast Mordy stole a march on what Drew was obviously thinking;

“We’ll go to the cemetery straight after breakfast and find his grave; then I’d like to go to the tea plantation.”

“Okay,” responded Drew, a little non-plussed by Mordy taking the initiative.

The cemetery was a short walk from the hotel and they took in the boiling mud pools and geysers.

“What do you think we’re going to find?” asked Mordy, “Except for the obvious…”

“I have no idea and I’m relying on his grave to provide us a clue. I also want to find out where he lived whilst he was here.”

They searched the graves systematically but there was no sign of Nathaniel’s and it was pretty obvious that most graves were only a hundred year’s old or more recent.

“He was buried over four hundred years ago. Who would maintain it now?” Mordy questioned.

“The six men who benefitted from his wealth and tragic demise me thinks. Out of some kind of honour or there’s more to it; may be there’s another stash here…”

“You’re sure it was here in Furnas he was buried and not Ponta del Garda, where the ship was moored?”

“That’s what the record said, and your parents came here didn’t they?”

“That I don’t know. I just know it was the Azores but I have to agree, it was probably here.”

At that moment a man, of some advanced years, came in to the cemetery. He seemed to be responsible for tidying up and unlocked a shed type building from which he took out a broom;

“May be he knows,” suggested Drew.

“How’s your Portuguese?”

“Awful!”

Drew wandered over and said hello to the man. After a brief exchange of broken Portuguese and broken English, some Spanish and a lot of hand waving, Drew came back smiling.

“This is the wrong cemetery; this is the new one. There’s another, long since abandoned; it’s there. I think that’s what he said anyway”

“C’mon then!” urged Mordy who wanted to get this out of the way.

They took the car and drove out of the town towards the lake and the place where they brought the tourists to cook them lunch comprising a stew of meat and vegetables cooked in big earthen pots sunk into the hot ground;

“It’s round the lake…on that side,” said Drew.

They walked around the edge of the lake and found a ruined church and a cemetery that was almost totally lost to the vegetation.

“Shit! This could take hours,” grumbled Drew.

“I don’t think so,” Mordy returned, pointing.

“Holy shit!”

There was a grave monument which Drew hadn’t seen; a cross and anchor; decrepit through age and neglect but the most obvious place to start.

The grave may have been less well hidden than expected but it still looked as if it hadn’t been disturbed for years. They cleared the undergrowth away and even then there was nothing to say it was Nathaniel’s;

“What now?” asked Mordy.

“Well, if it is his, then any markings have long since gone. Assuming it is his, then this is just confirmation that the story is true; maybe if we find his house, and there is a museum that might throw up something, we’ll get somewhere…”

“Cup of tea first, seeing as the plantation is en route to Ponta Del Garda and that’s where the museum is…”

“Tea?”

“They show you how tea is processed and I’m interested to see how they do it and I’m parched!”

They smiled and walked back hand in hand, totally oblivious to the looks of the coach load of tourists that had turned up whilst they had been at the cemetery.

“When did you parents come here?” asked Drew over the cuppa.

“A year after they got married.”

“Maybe they were the last to see the grave, because it didn’t look like anyone had touched it for a very long time.”

“The markings would have disappeared years and years ago. I reckon they came but it was just out of respect or curiosity. There is no clue; not there at least.”

“Shit! We didn’t look in the church.”

“So?”

“Often there are memorials; maybe there’s something in the church.”

“Later; I want to go to the pottery and buy a present for Linda.”

“Tell me honestly; what do you really want to do with the investigation?”

“Forget it. We’ve got the money to travel around the world, a pension plan in the cellar, and to be very honest, better things to do.”

Drew was silent, and if he was honest, he had been expecting something along similar lines.

“Don’t you want to know what happened; what it all means?” he asked.

“Not really. I want us to get on with living our lives and do amazing things which mean something to us. I’ll happily go to the museum but after that, I want us to have a break, and then plan the serious adventure of driving around Australia and sailing around the world…”

“Won’t the unanswered questions plague you?”

“I have the answers to all my questions. I know you want to chase this; so chase it, but not with me.”

Silence descended; not that it was an uncomfortable one, just a thoughtful one and Mordy was the first to break it.

“Come on…let’s go to the museum…”

“Okay,” Drew replied.

He wasn’t surprised. He knew himself and his tendency to get obsessive about things, especially details. They did have a wonderful future to plan but he knew that the unanswered questions would plague him. Still, he could pursue it alone whilst Mordy was setting up his business and writing travel logs. A separate interest is all it amounted to. The line from Giran’s prose came back to him;

“…and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow…”

The museum bore a kind of fruit; a scale replica of ‘The Shell’ aka ‘The Granite Pearl’.

“Well, there she is…” said Drew.

“I think it explains why the back half of the lugger was sawn off; an attempt to hide her identity and with just a prow in the murky depths, who would have been the wiser? Maybe in the past, before the sands and tide did their thing, the opening was the way in for the guys who were looting her.”

“It’s as good a theory as any but, it still doesn’t explain her condition,” ventured Drew.

“Maybe for a while she was still afloat and since then they’ve looked after her; especially when diving was easier once the equipment became available. They kept her intact to protect the loot which, if you think about it, was pretty complete and untouched when we disturbed it. So, if they were looting it, they either didn’t know the hoard was there, or, God knows what they did carry away…”

“Is your interest pricked a little?”

“It always was, but now I’m satisfied. I’ll go back with you to the church to see if there is any clue there, but after that, it’s your ball game.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Go back to the hotel.”

“Oh!”

They did, and bypassed the church for another day, and made love as the sun set.

The following day they went back to the ruined church and carefully picking their way through the fallen masonry. They came across a marble plaque that was reasonably well preserved. It translated;

‘In memory of Nathaniel Stern; died September 21st 1603’

“Our wedding day!” interjected Drew.

“If Mordred is a direct descendent, then so am I, and the last of his line.”

“You know what we haven’t looked at yet?”

“What?”

“The sons of the other five men.”

“They all had sons; that I know.”

“Strange how the fathers went out that day to the wreck and not the sons.”

“Perhaps they don’t know yet. Perhaps the secret was only passed on at death.”

“Do you know any of the boys?”

“Passing acquaintance with two; Beryl’s and Sheila’s…”

“If it was somehow passed on at death, then I wonder if they know now. Letters to be opened at the time of death; that kind of thing…”

“Good luck to them if they don’t know. Perhaps the chain should be broken…”

They left it at that.

Mordy got his way and they did the honeymoon thing and spent three weeks on the islands before returning to London and it was a kind of watershed. The future lay before them and Mordy had made his feelings pretty plain on the subject of the mystery.

“I’m setting up the business and planning the trip.” Were his final words as they got back just before the end of October.

“What did the publisher say in his letter?” Drew asked, having seen it on the pile when they’d sorted out the junk mail.

“It’ll be published in time for Christmas. I’m getting an advance of one thousand pounds and royalties of thirty percent.”

“That’s fantastic!”

Mordy beamed. Smiles that broad were still rare for him.

“I can’t wait to tell Linda,” he said.

“Best you start the travel log because they’ll want another manuscript before the end of March.”

“Let’s see if the journal sells first. What are you writing next?”

“An historical romance; loosely based on Mary and Nathaniel…”

“When you’ve finished it we’re leaving for Australia.”

“Jesus! Really?”

“Yes! Else it won’t happen. We’ll sell the camper and use the money to buy one over there.”

“And the rest of the loot?”

“Safety deposit box. It’ll wait until we get back and we’ve got the money for the trip. Rent the house out and let’s go!”

Chapter Five – Christmas Once Again

Between the end of October and Christmas, Mordy set up the business, just loosely, researched the trip around Australia and got things ready. Drew ploughed on with his fifth novel and Mordy’s journal was published. It was called, simply, ‘The Journal’ and came out on December 5th, with little fanfare, but it didn’t matter. The publisher sent Mordy five copies, which he signed and gave to the Scrabble Group members.

Christmas meant two things; Mordy’s birthday on Christmas Day, his thirty-eighth, and lunch at Linda’s and the rollercoaster ride between this and the last was not lost on the two men.

“It will have been quite a year,” said Drew sagely.

“As they go, pretty fucking remarkable and unforgettable!”

“We announced our engagement last Christmas. What do we do for an encore?”

“Our departure…”

“Did you look at the flights?”

“Middle of May.”

“Oh my God!”

“Oz first, then sail back. That’s how I see it.”

“Jesus! I can’t believe we’re really going to do this. And the house?”

“Linda’s friend Monica wants to look at it with a view to renting from the end of May when she takes up her new job at the college. Linda has offered to look after it whilst we’re gone.”

“So there’s nothing to stop us.”

“Nothing.”

In truth, Drew was still hesitating, just a little; leaving everything behind for probably eighteen months was as scary as hell, but why not? They had the money, their pension plan and the house. So why did he feel apprehensive? In his personal moments he admitted the truth to himself; he felt less confident than Mordy. He, the seasoned traveller, had no such hang ups. Drew didn’t think of himself exactly as a fish out of water, but definitely in the shallows and breathing was becoming difficult.

Christmas went the same way as the last with the exception that Brian was absent and not unexpectedly and it made for a more relaxed atmosphere. Tales of the wedding and the trip to the Azores, the plans for their odyssey and the journal’s publication provided plenty of discussion points around the table.

“When are you leaving then?” asked Gareth.

“May 15th. As long as Drew’s finished his novel by then,” replied Mordy.

“How long will you be gone?” asked Anne.

“At least eighteen months. It depends how long it takes to sail back.”

“That is going to make for one hell of a travel journal! I take it you will keep one?” asked Linda.

“You bet!”

Drew was attentive and quiet. It made a change for Mordy to do all the talking; a fact not lost on some.

“Has Monica taken the house Drew?” asked one of the guys.

“Provisionally, yes. There’s nothing standing in our way now.”

The tone registered only on his sister, who kept her own counsel for the time being.

They exchanged gifts. Of course, Linda got her Arsenal season ticket and a deluxe Scrabble set. In return, Mordy got ‘Robinson Crusoe’ bound in leather. Drew bought Mordy the best travel notepad computer.

“You can type as you go…”

It elicited the tenderest kiss witnessed since the wedding.

“Thank you so much. I’d never have started had it not been for you.”

Mordy bought Drew the latest digital camera.

“Why have I got a waterproof case with it?” he asked a little dimly.

“So that after you’ve done the diving course you can go and photograph the marine life on the Great Barrier Reef…”

“I’m doing a diving course?”

“It’s booked and the paperwork is in that envelope.”

They exchanged another kiss, as tender as any they had bestowed on each other, and it lifted Drew a little. He’d never have thought about it until after he got back. Now he had something amazing to look forward to. Linda had bought him a diving watch.

“Conspiring against me I see.”

Mordy and she exchanged smiles and it was as if they knew he was suffering a little. The hubbub around the table was broken by Justin.

“When will one of you win a prize and eclipse Brian’s half century old gong then?”

“I’ve entered the Sci-Fi into the Quasar Awards, well, the publisher has. They think it has a reasonable chance, but it’s a little quirky, and actually, only Mordy really liked it.”

“What about the journal Mordy?”

“The publisher hasn’t said anything so I don’t know…”

“You should; as a debut author; it’s really good,” said Linda, albeit a little biased.

“I’m just happy they published it,” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed because sales of the journal was quickly catching up with Drew’s fourth novel. They weren’t that far behind the third; facts he, Drew, was currently unaware of. “Drew deserves to win because he made up the story. All I did was write down what happened; any idiot can do that. Drew’s got the imagination.”

They exchanged looks of the loving kind and everybody else exchanged looks of a very different kind.

“Let’s get ready for the speech,” marshalled Linda, and what with that, deluxe Scrabble and high tea, the day ended pretty well for everyone. Mordy and Linda cleared up.

“Make sure the publisher gets it in the competition because you won’t have a better chance than as a debut author. Then it gets extremely competitive.”

“I’ll speak to them, but I’m already working on the guide to The Azores; I’ve kind of left the journal behind.”

“Don’t belittle your achievement. You may only have written down what happened, but it’s still excellent and actually very gripping, like a story. My heart stops every time I think of you lying there in that alley in Marseilles bleeding to death before the prostitute finds you…”

“It feels like a thousand years ago now. Why don’t you write?”

“Good question. I should. I was always just afraid of being the not so gifted amateur of the group, but you’ve shown me just how it could be done. I might try something now.”

“You should write a book that helps people to learn English. No one explains things like you do.”

That earned him a kiss and a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” she said, almost tearfully.

“We’ll only miss one Christmas probably.”

“It’s a long time, and sailing back sounds very heroic!”

Everyone headed off and the boys were on their way back to the house. The mood was quiet and thoughtful with so much of the trip having being shared and discussed with everyone else around the table.

“Thank you for the diving course. I can’t wait to do that,” said Drew smiling.

“I just remember how much I really enjoyed it.”

“I know how you feel about it but, I also want to dive down to the wreck of ‘The Shell’/‘Granite Pearl’, when we get to the Bahamas…”

“I know, and it was one of the reasons I booked you on the course, so you could do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Little did Mordy know how much he’d inadvertently steered them out of dangerous waters with that gift.

Chapter Six – New Year Sales

No doubt driven by the spending of book tokens received at Christmas, and in some part due to the judicious advertising of the journal by the publisher, but it sailed passed Drew’s fourth novel and inched passed his third. And it wouldn’t be long before it was on its way to beating his second, which was considered by most to be his best work. It dawned on them when Mordy received his first royalty cheque at the end of January.

“Jesus!”

“What?” asked Drew, over the tea and toast at breakfast.

“They’ve sent me a cheque for thirty thousand pounds.”

“Fuck!”

Drew knew what that meant in terms of sales and where they therefore stood in relation to each other.

“Well done!”

“Thanks!”

Mordy couldn’t believe it and Drew smiled but it needed some effort on his part.

“What did they say about The Azores’ Guide?”

“Like you said, end of March please.”

“And the competition?”

“Entered but the result is out after we leave. They want me to do a signing event in London next month.”

“Wow!”

Drew went to his office to contemplate the situation and berate himself for his childish jealousy. He’d never hit the top of the best seller list and never before had he denied anyone who had, their due merit.

He knew how the buying public was at times; sucked in by the hype or encouraged to buy the book because a film had been made. Mordy’s journal was a one off and it hit a nerve. People liked the quirky, brutally honest style and there would only be one and he already had four novels published and was almost assured of the fifth, with more coming out after the trip. So why did he feel this way? Was it because Mordy was no longer the poor relation, no longer the charity bag hand-me-down, no longer the bruised and battered traveller, no longer illiterate, no longer inferior?

A month later, spurred on by the signing event, the journal surpassed Drew’s second and first works and the publisher had broached the subject of the film rights. None of Drew’s had been picked up, so he was feeling just a little bit sorry for himself.

“Should I sell the rights?” asked Mordy.

“Of course!” Drew replied, with a little too much forced enthusiasm.

“Drew?”

The cat’s head was out of the bag.

“I’m really sorry, but if you want anyone’s guidance, then you should talk to your literary agent.” He excused himself and went to his office. Some while later Mordy appeared at the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m really happy for you and I don’t know why the success of the book should be affecting me this much.”

“Was Gareth angry when your first novel out sold his?”

“No of course not, but…”

“He’s a professional author like you, so it’s okay. When the amateur does it, you have a problem. I haven’t been out to secretly buy up all those copies. It’s sold more than anyone expected, so what? We have more money to fund the trip with, that’s all…”

“It’s not that…”

“What then? I didn’t have to do it the hard way; wasn’t rejected by all the publishers first time round; haven’t suffered enough; had it too easy?”

“I don’t want you to think that I…”

“You were the one who said to put it in front of the publisher in the first place…”

“Yes, I know and I’m glad you did.”

“No, you’re not, because now we’re equals and it doesn’t leave you any place to go. I can take that from the likes of Brian because he’s a miserable, bitter, sad old queen, but not from you. You liked the idea I wasn’t as successful; happy that I did the garden and fixed up the house, but there the line was drawn…”

Drew was struggling to find the words.

“You know what Drew? Fuck it! You’re like everyone else…”

“Mordy!”

But it was too late and Drew knew it.

“Where are you going?” he said, after he’d reclaimed some composure and went to find Mordy, who was in the bedroom packing.

“Why do you want to know?”

“We’re a couple and we need to work this out.”

“You need to work this out, and if you do, then find me.”

“What about the trip?”

“What about it? Go! Do it; learn to dive; find the wreck. Do what the fuck you want…”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving.”

“Believe it!”

“Please don’t go…I’m sorry.”

“When you’ve worked out what you’re sorry for, then apologise. Thanks for everything!”

“But…how will I find you? Where are you going?”

“Back where I belong.”

He pushed his way out and left with just the rucksack into which he’d just thrust the most basic of things, leaving behind the computer which Drew had bought him.

Only when Drew went back down stairs, hoping it was a vile dream, did he see the ring on the hall table, and then everything hit him and he collapsed.

Chapter Seven – Back at the Beginning

Drew had already lost Mordy once and that had been hard enough but this was infinitely worse. Linda was a degree less than supportive than she had been the first time. In fact, everyone was a degree less supportive and he knew he deserved it but that didn’t help. He loved Mordy as dearly as life itself and would give anything to put it right and have him back.

He was at Linda’s.

“When are you going to stop moping and actually do something?” she asked with a kind of acid tone.

“I don’t know what to do. Where do I start to look?”

“Inside your heart Drew; that’s the first place.”

“I love him.”

“Really? Then why the jealousy?”

“It took me by surprise that’s all.”

“If you truly loved him, then you’d have been wishing for the success of the book as hard as he was, probably more.”

“I wanted it to be a success.”

“But not as successful as yours. Why?”

“It diminishes me. He has so many skills and qualities. The writing was all I had.”

“But you weren’t competing. He’s the least pretentious bloke you’re gonna meet.”

“It was simple when he did the difficult handicraft stuff and I wrote.”

“Everyone has to grow Drew.”

“He’s just more confident.”

“So, what now? If he was sat there what would you say?”

“I love you, please forgive me. I really am thrilled about the book; I truly am. You deserve for it to be successful and it doesn’t matter if you outsell me with this and every one of the travel books you write in the future. I know you love me unconditionally and I can’t believe I hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. Please come back so we can go to Oz and then sail home. I miss you…”

‘Not bad, but how are you going to change? If every book he writes outsells yours, how are you going to cope?”

“I’ll develop new interests; the Sci-Fi would be great as a web series and I could get into directing or produce the series myself…”

“And if he doesn’t forgive you?”

“I don’t know. I can’t really contemplate life without him now. I lost him once and the black hole almost swallowed me. I can’t go there again; my heart skips a beat every time I see him. No one else is going to affect me the way he does and I couldn’t love anyone else more than I love him. If I don’t have him then I have nothing…”

“Then if you manage to get him back, you’ll be damn lucky.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“His last letter is in the conservatory…”

Drew went to fetch the letter but it wasn’t the letter that was in the conservatory but Mordy himself and he’d heard every word. Drew stifled a cry when he saw him, albeit Mordy’s back was turned to him;

“Mordy?”

He turned and just looked.

“Mordy…” Drew repeated hoping to get a response of any kind.

“We’re fucking lucky we have a friend like Linda otherwise you would have nothing and I’d be back to foraging like a stray dog. If you meant everything you said, then come here and kiss me like your life depends on it.”

Drew was already on the move before he’d finished his sentence and as he did, Drew’s lips were pressed against his. It was hard to tell who cried more.

“I’m so sorry for being a complete shit,” apologised Drew, once they finally broke off.

“I’m sorry I took off the ring; that was just spiteful on my part.”

Drew had it on a chain around his neck these days. He pulled it out from under his shirt and unfastened the chain so he could give the ring back to Mordy.

“He didn’t make any more so you can’t lose this one,” said Drew, smiling and fumbling to get it back on Mordy’s finger.

“I promise I’ll never take it off again.”

“I promise that I’ll try to live up to the words I said to you at our wedding. You are extraordinary and it is an honour to call myself your partner.”

“I’d be lost without you…but don’t think you get away with it that easy. You have to help me write the speech that I have to give when I accept the award next Wednesday.”

“You won!”

“I won…”

“You deserve to win; none of the other finalists’ pieces came close. It is an outstanding work and no one can say different.”

“Thank you. Can we go home now? We have to re-book the trip and find a new tenant for the house.”

“I’m sorry; I really fucked that up didn’t I?”

“Drew, forgive yourself; I have. I did weeks ago but I didn’t know how to come back, and it was Linda who said I should come today to listen to what you had to say…”

“We owe her big time.”

“I have a suggestion for a present but later. I need to get you home; if you know what I mean.”

“You need some help with the speech; there’s a lot of mail waiting to be opened; the grass is terribly long…”

“Drew, why are you still standing and talking? Get moving!”

They didn’t surface for three days and only then because it was Linda’s birthday.

Chapter Eight – Re-start

“You weren’t wrong about the grass!”

“I couldn’t get the mower started so I gave up.”

That kind of put everything into a nutshell.

“Then let’s have a look at it and get it going.”

Both knew it would be a little strange at first.

“Is Mordred ever likely to come back from Berlin?” asked Drew absently, as they raked up and the lawn finally looked respectable.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him recently. It’s always the same I guess; putting her back together and then getting back on track.”

“What will you do about your mother? Will you try to see her again?”

“Depends what Mordred says. It’s doubtful, but I suppose you can’t be rejected twice.”

It seemed everything these days was partly open and partly closed. Nothing was conclusive and all too fluid. Something had to land, and it did; but it wasn’t in any way they expected.

Mary died. A heart attack was the official cause, but the boys just read that to mean that she broke down, finally; too fragile to survive the knocks anymore, despite Mordred’s constant support.

She was buried on the island, next to her ‘husband’. Officially, they had never got a divorce. It was what she wanted apparently.

“It must be hard for Mordred,” acknowledged Drew, a day or two before.

“I think he never really had her; something to look after but never truly possess. She was born here, so it’s right on the one hand.”

“What’s he going to do now?”

“Go back to Paris, he says; not sure. There isn’t anything for him here.”

“He’s got you.”

“I’ll leave it up to him. He needs space to work it all out.”

They buried Mary and Mordred left for Paris leaving the boys behind. They were staying at the hotel and kind of reaching a decision about leaving and picking up where they had left off.

“Our trip seems to be always dogged by something. Is it a sign do you think?” asked Drew

“A sign to leave well alone? Maybe; we’ve got the loot, so perhaps it should end here. He’s dead and now her…”

“What about the diamond?”

“What about it? We can’t sell it and we don’t know who it belongs to; just give it away…”

“I thought about that and wondered if we shouldn’t give it to Linda.”

“It was the present I had in mind but, what about the future?”

“If you’re writing travel guides then you’ve got to travel!”

“And the Sci-Fi thing?”

“Is a long way off and the fifth novel, the one loosely based on Mary and Nathaniel, is expected by the end of September.”

“So there’s enough to do and plenty more ahead. What question really burns you?”

“About the whole ‘Granite Pearl’ affair?”

“Yeah.”

Drew had to think because up to then it had just been the whole deal; Mary and Nathaniel’s flit, their betrayal by William, the wreck and the loot, the six men passing on the secret to their sons, the diamond, the ‘Granite Pearl’ wreck in the Bahamas, Nathaniel’s sojourn and ultimate demise on the Azores, Mordred’s family tree and whether he was related to Nathaniel.

“Who the diamond belongs to and why your mother and father went to the Azores. They are the brain teasers in all of this.”

“The diamond belonged to the Queen, just like the pearls did and both were stolen by Mary. The trip to the Azores was just coincidence or idle curiosity or…”

“Much more significant than we realise…”

“There’s nothing there except for the plaque in the old church.”

“As far as we know.”

“So, what then?”

“How did your mother meet Mordred?”

“He lived on the island. He was, still is, a druid…”

“And the wives of the five other men were all druids too. Whom Mordred asked to look out for you when he decamped with Mary.”

“I can sense something but what?” said Mordy more than puzzled.

“The wives of the men were all druids. That’s a bit of a coincidence don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is strange, but it is a small island.”

“Do we think they knew about the wreck; I mean, the men were all divers, but did the wives know about the loot?”

“Beryl and Sheila don’t give that impression.”

“Dare we ask them?”

“Depends on what you’re angling for.”

“The men were looking out for William and his interests; Mordred was almost certainly related to Nathaniel, the man betrayed; he and the wives were looking out for something else or someone else.”

“Apparently they were looking out for me.”

“Nathaniel and Mary didn’t get away in the end; never married and never had a child as far as we know,” Drew lobbed in; “But almost without doubt, your mother was related to the original Mary Blanchestone.”

“So, is there something special about their bloodlines?”

“You are the product of the union of Mary and Mordred, the descendants of Mary and Nathaniel.”

“Who were Mary and Nathaniel married to at the time?”

“That is something we don’t know and should probably find out.”

“But in the end why does any of it really matter?”

“It’s who you are Mordy. Not William’s son, Mary and Mordred’s. You’re at the end of the line and a chain stretching back to the Middle Ages has to mean something.”

“Beryl said my family tree would be important one day.”

“And not the Wylde family tree either. Despite the big hitters in your list of ancestors, they aren’t your ancestors; Mary and Nathaniel’s are yours and if she was a lady in waiting to the Queen and he was a successful industrialist, then their family trees are going to be even more interesting than William’s.”

“But what could it be? Unless I’m due to inherit a fortune.”

“You need to talk to Mordred.”

“But if I do, then I’ll have to tell him about the wreck and the loot.”

“Tell him we’re researching the family trees as part of the research for the novel and you’re just curious.”

“Maybe I’ll wait until the dust has settled, literally, on Mary’s grave.”

“Absolutely!”

“So what happens to the trip?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why does it feel like this has infected us and until it’s unravelled we’ll never be able to move on?”

“You are someone; more special than either of us realises.”

“Is that possible?” Came the obvious jibe.

“Clearly in many ways! The real teaser is whether your mother and Mordred knew anything about the dim and distant past or if their affair was just coincidental. All the wives were druids; that is too coincidental and just a little spooky.”

“What now?”

“Research the family trees.”

“The Azores?”

“Holds a clue.”

“Mordred?”

“Let him grieve.”

“The diamond?”

“Give it to Linda.”

“The trip?”

“Let’s take a break to the Bahamas, where you write the travel guide and I’ll do the diving course; then we’ll visit the wreck.”

They made their preparations to leave and return to London. As they left the hotel, a day or two later, the receptionist called out to them.

“Gentlemen…this arrived earlier for you,” she said as she handed over a plain envelope.

“Who left it?” asked Drew, seeing as the envelope was neither stamped nor addressed.

“It was couriered over.”

Mordy opened it.

Contained in the envelope was a single sheet of paper upon which were typed the words, ’we want it back’.

Chapter Nine – Who and What?

In the relative sanctuary of Putney the obvious questions were asked.

“Who wants what back?” posed Mordy.

“The diamond; and the sons of the five men killed.”

“How do they know about it? We found it in the hidden compartment. So maybe they mean the loot in general, or something else. The box and the pearls were on the sea bed and not in the locker…”

“How do they know we’ve got any of it?”

“Someone was watching or put two and two together.”

“Why now? It’s been an age since we found it.”

“Maybe the five sons have only just got together. They didn’t all live on the island.”

“Do we ignore it and even if we wanted to give it back, how?”

“It has to be the sons…”

“Or the druids…”

“Druids?” repeated Mordy, “My father would have said something…”

“We don’t know what Mordred knows or doesn’t. Nathaniel may have been a druid.”

“But these aren’t druid artefacts. Mary stole them from the Queen…” countered Mordy

“For sure, except in the case of the diamond. That wasn’t mentioned specifically; a jewelled box, but not the contents. Nathaniel had the other box so we assume she stole the one in which we found the diamond. Whether she stole that is anyone’s guess. It has to be the diamond. All along the identity of the owner was going to unlock this one…”

“If the box contained the diamond, then the people who want it back could also be the Royal Family.”

“If only we knew who had couriered the letter over,” mused Drew.

Mordy had a look in his eye.

“What are you planning?”

“Beryl’s niece is the receptionist at the hotel.”

“Ah…perhaps you should write detective novels instead of travel guides!”

Chapter Ten – Stranger Than Fiction

“Well?” Drew asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

“Oscar Stubbs…”

“Who the fuck is Oscar Stubbs?”

“The name of the person who couriered over the letter to us at the hotel on the island.”

“Do you know him?”

“No...”

“Have you got an address?”

“Somewhere in Paris…”

“Paris?”

“Yeah…”

Mordy handed Drew the piece of paper with the address which Mordy had scribbled down whilst on the phone to Anita.

“In the ‘Rue des Archives’…”

“Oh, that’s how you pronounce it…yeah, do you know it?”

“It’s in ‘Le Marais’; Paris’ answer to Soho.”

“So what now?”

“Me thinks you’re gonna get another chance to write that Paris travel guide.”

“Hold on Drew…he knew how to get hold of us; we don’t know him; this could be dangerous.”

“You’re right and the letter said, ‘we want it back’…”

“But, we have an address, so we could try to contact him first.”

“Yes, we could do that. I’m sure we can find a telephone number…and maybe ask Mordred to go have a look for us.”

“We’d have to tell him.”

“Well, maybe we should.”

That suggestion parked things for a while whilst the boys retreated to their respective dens and cogitated this turn of events.

“What do we do?” asked Mordy, later, over dinner.

“I say, let’s go to Paris and check this guy out, before we do anything else.”

“When?”

“Whenever; tomorrow?”

“Always another twist that keeps us from leaving and doing what we want.”

“I think this will be it; the finale,” offered Drew, already thinking of the crime thriller he was going to punch out when this was over.

“Okay, I agree to go, and the sooner the better. I’ll call my dad.”

“Is staying with him a good idea?”

“I wasn’t suggesting we did, but he’ll probably suggest it. Do we want to?”

“It might put him in danger.”

“Then I’ll say we’ve already booked something on the spur of the moment.”

“Good idea. Call him later and I’ll get on line and book the Eurostar.”

“You know, it’s strange this guy should be in Paris. It’s where my father lives and where my mother did too, for most of the time.”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

“If my father is related to Nathaniel, then he might well know everything about the wreck.”

“Yeah, maybe, so why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Perhaps he didn’t think he needed to. We haven’t told him about the loot.”

“Phone him and I’ll book the train.”

“Drew…”

“Yeah…”

“This is it for me…I’m so done with this once we get back.”

“Agreed.”

Mordy called his father and Drew booked the train for two days hence and a hotel room on the edge of the district in Chatelet. They re-convened in the bathroom as they got ready for bed.

“The train is booked for the day after tomorrow at noon.”

“Mordred is looking forward to seeing us.”

“I’ve already done a pile of searches online and I didn’t find anything on Oscar Stubbs.”

“We go; we find out what we can; we see this fella and then sort it Drew, once and for all. This is getting in the way of our plans.”

“I know; but…it’s exciting!”

“Perhaps Brian was right and you did catch something from me.”

“Come to mention it; I do have an itch…”

“That is so lame.”

Drew smiled and sidled up to the Mordy, slipping his arms around him, pulling him in.

“I’ve got an itch,” he repeated, in the sexiest voice he could muster, which was never very difficult when Mordy was pressed up against him.

“I’ll scratch yours if you scratch mine,” Mordy replied, sexier, dragging his hair out of the band he wore it in most of the time.

“Jesus! You know what that does to me.”

“Where’s this itch then?”

“Down there…”

“Of course it is…”

Mordy descended to investigate the cause of this irritation and scratched Drew’s sack until his cock was fit to burst.

“Mordy!” Already breathless and in ecstatic pain.

“Fuck me!” and he dropped onto his hands and knees, throwing a look over his shoulder as Drew positioned himself; “I need you…”

As soon as Drew was in he stopped to regroup. Mordy didn’t usually want it like this. Sure, Mordy took him like this, but when their roles were reversed it was usually more sedate, in bed, after Mordy had fucked him. Mordy spread his legs a little and dropped his back but raised his arse to give Drew the best angle.

“Fuck me Drew!” and the tone was one of definite pleading.

Drew grasped Mordy’s hips and slid in smoothly until he couldn’t go any further; “Jesus!”

“Fuck…” but the word died as the first deep thrust was delivered.

Drew fucked like the stray dog that Brain accused Mordy of being; fucked until he was light-headed and in that place where he didn’t even know if he was still hitting the target; it was all target. Mordy brought him out of the fuck-clouds.

“FUCK!”

Drew re-connected with the sensations in the body corporeal and had never felt more potent, never more in that zone and just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Mordy reached under himself and zapped his balls;

“Mordy, I’m cumming; Jesus! I can’t…”

And he couldn’t speak because his sex was in his throat, like he was fucking his own mouth.

“Just keep it going a bit longer, I’m gonna cum too. Fuck, I’m gonna CUM!’

The sound of double-barrel shotguns going off deafened them momentarily. Drew was pressed in so hard it actually hurt his pelvis bone and Mordy was clenching, unclenching, panting and yelping like the stray dog he most definitely was. Mordy lowered himself and twisted at the same time so that Drew fell onto his chest. Hot, sweaty and high on the scent, they just lay until their breathing had returned to normal.

“I think that was the best fuck I’ve ever had,” Drew concluded, justifiably proud of himself.

“No doubt about it.”

“Praise from the master.”

“Yep, you’ve definitely caught something from the stray dog!”

“Cheeky sod.”

“I’m leaking.”

“I suppose if I was a stray dog I would be straight in there to lick it up.”

“Be my guest, ‘cos if you do, I’ll get hard again and I’ll fuck you.”

“Show the dog the bone then…”

Chapter Eleven – Paris Revisited

Drew did have some slight reservations about Paris when he actually thought about it. The last time they were there, Mordy had been reunited with his mother; had met Mordred, his father; been rejected by Mary for being gay and had flipped. Mordy had gone missing for months and it’s was Drew’s worst memory. Mordy had recovered since then, as far as anyone could tell.

The next day, the day before they left, Mordy was upbeat and genuinely excited.

“I can’t wait to go back actually,” he said, “there are still so many things I want to see and last time it all got fucked up.”

“You’ll be okay?” asked Drew, his tone chosen very carefully.

“Oh, Christ, I’m fine…shit; don’t worry about that.”

“Good…I was worried,” Drew admitted to him.

“It was the rejection that triggered the episode then, nothing about the city. I don’t really think of her there.”

“Remember your notepad so you can type as you go.”

“That’s a good idea actually and don’t forget the camera.”

“Did you telephone your dad and tell him where we’re staying and arrange to get together?”

“Yes, but he’s busy the day we get in, and suggests we meet up for lunch the day after.”

“It’ll give us time to check out this address and to decide what, if anything, we plan to tell him,” suggested Drew.

“Agreed, and if we tell him anything, then just the bare bones.”

They left the following day and got to the hotel by four in the afternoon. Drew had booked an apartment hotel just off Place des Innocents, with a view over the square and the fountain.

“It’ll give us more space,” ventured Drew.

“No, fine, I’m happy. I’ll never get used to just booking something and handing over the credit card.”

“Well, we are both successful authors with a reasonable income.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

“What?”

Drew was horror-struck because Mordy didn’t keep secrets.

“The film rights have finally gone.”

“Oh my god, that’s great! Who to?”

“Seb’…”

“Jesus! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Drew then realised why Mordy hadn’t told him sooner; it had been the film rights that had caused their one and only argument and temporary break-up.

“I…wanted it to be signed and sealed first,” replied Mordy, deliberately, and charitably, keeping the tone light.

“So?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Fuck me!”

“Drew…”

“Mordy…I’m so happy, really, I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

“Cause for celebration tonight and you can buy the champagne.”

“Thank you; ‘cos it was all down to you; I’d never have started; Jesus! If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have probably…”

Further revelations were smothered under a blanket of kisses and a rampant session to make even the strayest dog on a Paris street green with envy.

They headed out for dinner and as it was close by, they checked out the address of Oscar Stubbs, and the address was genuine. The bell push on the street door was labelled ‘Stubbs’. The label was pretty old by the look of it, quite faded and mottled with damp.

“So…tomorrow, after breakfast. We’ll do what? Just turn up and ring the bell?” asked Drew, over dinner.

“Why not?”

“He said, ‘we’…”

“Figure of speech?”

“Perhaps…”

“We don’t have the stuff here, so he, or they, ain’t gonna do anything until we hand it over are they?”

“No. It is our insurance policy.”

“Let’s play it nice and easy.”

“What time are we meeting you father tomorrow?”

“One o’clock.”

“Okay. We go to the apartment; see what’s what, and then have lunch with Mordred; telling him what we think he needs to know, depending on what this Stubb’s fellow wants.”

“And if he just asks for the loot back; what then?”

“I guess that depends on why he thinks he deserves it more than we do.”

“To be honest Drew; anything to get this over and done with…I ain’t saying that we just hand it all over and walk away; but can we please bring this all to a head and get the fuck going to Oz!”

“Yes, agreed.”

“Right, get a move on.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to walk hand in hand along the river.”

Drew spluttered;

“Shit, sorry…you could have given me more warning.”

Mordy just grinned and spooned chocolate mousse into his mouth.

The following day they had breakfast and walked to the building on Rue des Archives.

“Here goes,” said Mordy, as he pressed the bell.

Without any prompting, the buzzer went. After a quick glance at Drew, Mordy pushed the door.

Typical of Paris buildings they stepped into a kind of ‘corridor’ that led from the street door to an inner courtyard. On both sides of the corridor there was a door; one was an apartment and the other revealed a lift and a staircase. The apartment of ‘Oscar Stubbs’ was on the third floor, so they marched up; Mordy in front and Drew one step behind. When they reached the third floor they exited on to a landing and there were two doors; apartments 3a and 3b. The door to 3a, the one of the right, was ajar. Mordy turned to Drew who was at his shoulder.

“Strange, don’t you think? Just leaving the door open.”

“Do we go in?”

“Fuck this…”

And Mordy stepped up and pushed the apartment door wide open.

“Salut!”

Just about the only word of French that Mordy knew. A second later and;

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Come in…”

Chapter Twelve – Oscar Stubbs

“Mordred!” cried Drew, over Mordy’s shoulder.

“Come in off the landing…”

Mordred’s voice was like nothing the boys had heard from him before; restrained power, authoritative and compelling.

“…come in and close the door.”

The boys walked in and closed the door behind them.

The apartment was nothing like they expected either; not the bohemian rather shambolic pit that he had inhabited with Mary. Everything was clean, modern and very business-like. More like the interior of someone’s office than their home, and the office of an extremely wealthy businessman, not an ageing Druid priest.

“Dad…”

“Sit down…do you guys want a drink?”

Mordred moved off to make a coffee for himself without waiting for a reply. Apart from the bathroom and the bedroom, everything else occupied one space. The kitchen took up one corner and was separated from the main living space by a counter. Mordred expertly made himself an espresso and then re-joined the guys who had plonked themselves down on one of the big sofas.

“I guess we would have reached this point sooner or later,” he said, between the quick glance at the two men and taking a sip.

“Dad…what the fuck is going on?”

“Mordy, you and Drew have stepped into a situation and one I was rather hoping to keep you out of…still, you’re here now.”

“Yes, but why are we here Mordred?”

“Is it the diamond?” threw in Mordy and Drew jumped involuntarily.

“Ah, the diamond…you’ve still got it?”

“Yes!” they replied in unison.

“Good!”

“Dad, can we cut the ‘mysterics’…”

Mordred raised an eyebrow and Drew actually had to work quite hard to stifle a laugh, but it was more out nerves than in response to Mordy’s ‘mysterics’.

“Fair enough; you know too much anyway, so you may as well know the rest and then we can sort this out.”

Drew didn’t much like the tone of voice; it sent shivers up and down his spine and the pit of his stomach was ice-cold.

“So…” Mordy prompted.

“When you got back to the island, Beryl and Sheila contacted me but I had my hands full at the time, otherwise I would have come over sooner. When I did, you were already gone, but, I had no idea that you had dived to the wreck. When I saw that the five had died at the site, I assumed, wrongly, that they were clearing out the loot…”

“Why didn’t you come to London?”

“There was no absolute need at that time; I didn’t think you had the loot and Mary needed me.”

“Didn’t you want to see me?”

Silence as thick as fog hung in the air.

“I knew you were alive; I knew you were with someone and safe. I would’ve got to you as quickly as I could Mordy, believe me, and then you stole a march by turning up in Paris.”

“You could’ve called me. Beryl and Sheila both had my number.”

“I didn’t want to call you out of the blue.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when we met in Paris the first time?”

“I didn’t think you had found the wreck and it was better, would have been better, if you never had. That knowledge is dangerous…”

“Dad, can you tell us why this wreck and the stuff are so fucking important? It’s a pile of loot and we’ve sold the pearls anyway.”

“Yes. The cost of the wedding and something you said at the funeral suggested to me that you must have found the loot and then I had to act, hence the letter.”

“…’we want it back’…what was that all about?”

“I knew you’d have to find out who sent the letter and just kept my fingers crossed.”

“Why didn’t you just call?”

“Because Mordred is dead. I’m Oscar Stubbs, as far as anyone else is concerned, so I didn’t want to reveal myself until it was apparent that you hadn’t been followed…”

“Fucking followed by who?” Mordy shouted and the thermostat on the boiler had most definitely been turned up.

“Some rather nasty people who you don’t want to meet,” replied Mordred, ignoring the increases in both volume and emotion.

“Jesus! Dad, this is all bollocks…what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t want to tell you anymore than I have to Mordy...”

“Why?”

“The more you know the more danger you put yourself in…”

“So what now then?”

“Certain articles that don’t belong to you need to be moved to a safer place.”

“The diamond and the box it came in?” Drew threw in.

“Yes. The pearls are gone you say.”

“We kept the box,” Mordy confirmed.

“And the coins?”

“We only sold a few,” answered Drew, feeling responsible as the proceeds had been used to do up his house and garden.

“How?”

“Dealers in London. We concocted a story that we’d found them in the attic,” admitted Drew, feeling a bit sheepish now.

“And they believed that? Of course they did, they just wanted the coins.”

“There’s some other stuff we found in the hull; a brooch, a buckle, the lead shot, some ship’s rum and a knife…”

“Only the diamond and pearls really matter…and their boxes.”

“We kept two of the pearls as mementos.”

“Did you? Excellent!”

“Well, what do you want us to do?” asked Mordy.

“I need to go back with you and collect the stuff. You can keep the coins but don’t try to offload them through normal dealers.”

“We didn’t plan to sell any more of them. We got enough for the pearls to fund the trip.”

“What trip?”

“Fly to Australia, drive round the coast, and sail back.”

“Do it!”

“Checking in on ‘The Granite Pearl’ on the way back.”

“What’s stopping you from going as soon as possible?”

“Well, nothing really, except getting a tenant for the house, and the usual stuff you need to do if you plan to be away for a year and a half…”

“Leave the house empty.”

“Why?”

“No one can get hurt if it’s empty.”

“Shit!”

“We need to go back to London. We’ll go tomorrow and it would be better of you left within a few days.”

“I don’t think we can be ready in two days Mordred.”

“You lives depend on it. So get on a plane and sort the rest out when you get there. I thought that’s what the internet was for.”

Both Mordy and Drew looked at each other; perplexed, stress-fatigued and frustrated;

“Dad, answer me this…are you one of the good guys or the bad guys?”

The bullet entered Mordred’s head precisely between his eyes and exited just beneath the atlas, severing the brain stem; a single bullet which killed him instantly.

Chapter Thirteen – On The Run

Immobile and stupefied, Mordy and Drew had remained seated, watching Mordred get thrown back and crash onto the floor, as if they were watching the scene being played out in some movie.

Only when the breaking glass, the clatter of the coffee cup and Mordred’s fall shattered in their ears did they move; likewise, throwing themselves onto the floor, pressing themselves up close to the sofa to keep out of sight. They had been sat on the sofa with their backs to the window. Mordred had been stood in front of them, facing the window. They couldn’t see the mess at the back of his skull, only the pooling blood that was seeping out from under his neck and extending towards them across the highly polished wooden floor. Some red carpet! Fortunately his head was slightly turned and they did not have to stare into his lifeless eyes as they sat and held their breath.

Neither was able to speak for a few seconds and all that could be heard was some glass falling out of the window frame onto the floor and some traffic noise. Drew broke the silence;

“Shit! Mordy…” Drew shouted in a whisper and he didn’t really know why he was whispering.

“I’m okay…you?” but the voice didn’t sound like it was really connected with anything.

“Yeah…what the fuck do we do now?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“What about your dad?”

Mordy looked over at the man lying on the floor;

“That’s not my dad.”

“I don’t think he meant…”

“C’mon!”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the hotel.”

They crawled across the floor, thankfully not through the blood, and got to the front door.

“What if they’re out there?”

“If they planned to kill us, they would’ve done it already.”

Drew was beginning to go into shock and began gulping as he tried to stifle the sobs.

“Drew, get a grip!”

Drew was amazed at how calm Mordy was. He couldn’t have believed Mordred when he’d said he wasn’t his father.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out, but he began to cry through gritted teeth and Mordy had no choice but to take him in his arms and let the shaking and shuddering take its course. He cried too, but it wasn’t those tears yet; they had to wait.

It had to have been at least ten minutes maybe fifteen since the bullet had come through the window and no one was trying to smash down the door. Mordy relaxed a little, by one degree, and held Drew tighter and pressed his lips to the top of his head and just clenched his eyes closed, trying to squeeze out the image of Mordred’s death mask.

“Drew…we have to go!” he urged after another few minutes.

“Okay…I’m sorry,” he squeaked.

“Don’t be…c’mon…”

They picked themselves up and checked each other over before heading out. On the landing, even before the question could be asked, they heard the lift making its way up and they headed for the stairs;

“Which way?” asked Mordy, as they tripped down two at a time.

“Cross the street and head down Rue Saint Merri; the road opposite…it’s straight through to the square.”

They exited the building and immediately crossed to the other side of the street.

“Down here,” said Drew, as he pulled on Mordy’s arm and they entered Rue Saint Merri and started walking swiftly towards the Pompidou Centre. “Straight down here and cross the big road and then through to the square.” A horn blared and they turned round instinctively. A car was trying to turn into the street but it was one way and another car was already at the entrance to the street trying to get out.

“Shit! It has to be them…c’mon!”

Mordy grabbed his arm and began to run, away from the entrance and towards to Pompidou Centre; barely checking for traffic on Rue de Renard. Then they were into the busy area around the Pompidou Centre and Les Halles. They cut through into Rue de la Ferronnerie and at the end they reached the apartment hotel into which they threw themselves. They headed immediately to the suite. Not before they were inside did either one say anything.

“We need to leave.”

“Mordy! Please; stop for a minute…what about Mordred?”

“That wasn’t my father; that wasn’t the man who stood with us and held our hands when we got married; that wasn’t anyone I know…”

“Are we just leaving then? Do we go like he said? We don’t even know what we’re running from…”

“Whoever killed Mor…Oscar Stubbs didn’t want him to tell us something. We just need to disappear, like now!”

“But…”

“Drew…when this was just some historical romance that was one thing; now it’s getting just a little bit serious.”

“So we just leave?”

“We were going to anyway.”

“Won’t they come after us when they realise Mord…Oscar doesn’t have the diamond.”

“I have no idea. I wanna be twelve thousand miles away when that happens.”

“We’ll never be able to stop running.”

“There’ll come a time when we can confront this; but that ain’t now.”

“When we get back to London…”

“We’re not going back to London.”

“We have to”

“Why?”

“To finish sorting stuff out and to say goodbye to Linda…what about the visas and the insurance?”

“Drew…we’re not going back to London.”

Drew looked at him, searching for answers, strength, assurance; he found it but also Mordy’s own pain and fear.

“I’m scared Mordy.”

“So am I.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Let the dust settle; get out of the city and find a safe place to stay for a while. When we’re sure no one is watching, then we’ll sort some stuff out…”

“Fucking hell…”

“What?”

“You read this stuff; you don’t live it!”

“You can type as we go.”

They both laughed and it loosened a knot and it was necessary to start the process of getting things done.

“Where are we heading?”

“South; but we need transport.”

“Shouldn’t we just take the train?”

“How do we get south?”

“Well, twenty five yards from the front door of this hotel is the Metro and it takes us to Montparnasse. From there we can get a train to Bordeaux.”

“Let’s go…”

“Mordy…I love you…”

“I love you too.”

“Please just hold me for a minute…I need to find my strength.”

Mordy closed in and wrapped Drew in his arms. Mordy could feel the bubble in his guts expanding and rising but there was no time for that yet.

They had travelled light from London so packing was an hour’s job and they were ready by lunchtime. The police weren’t beating down the door and nor was anyone else so they assumed the coast was clear. They checked out and from the door of the hotel they could see the entrance to the Metro station.

“I don’t know what happens next Drew.”

“I know; it’s okay. This is probably how it was always meant to be…”

“Yeah, strangely, I agree…”

Chapter Fourteen – Holed Up

“It’s a cleft graft.”

“You make it sound so fucking horny!”

“Drew; watch and learn; ‘cos you’re doing the rest.”

Grafting apple scions onto root stock was not how Drew had envisaged that they would keep a low profile. Neither was working on a farm in exchange for the use of the caravan and thirty euros a week. Certainly not his idea of the luxury hole-up he had hoped for; but then Mordy can be very persuasive. They were safe at least; except from wasp stings!

“Don’t whittle the wedge end; just one clean cut either side to make the wedge; then push it into the cleft.”

“I think that’s a technique I could use elsewhere.”

“Drew…pay attention and stop trying to distract me.”

“Yes Mordy.”

Despite the stern words the eyes were laughing and a smile was flickering around his lips. What with the hair and the lips, Drew didn’t really stand a chance!

A low profile it was but still the questions remained unanswered. Three weeks they’d been at the farm; somewhere Mordy had worked before and it had been easy to get the gig. So far, no one was suspicious that they hadn’t returned to London. The only call Drew had risked making was to Linda to ask her to keep an eye on the house. She’d asked after Mordred and Drew had just said, “He’s fine; still coming to terms with Mary’s death.” What was he going to say?

Grafting the apple scions on the root stock temporarily occupied his mind but the reasons for their flight from Paris, and the shit storm that was waiting for them, were never too far away. As far as Drew was concerned, they were avoiding danger, but not moving anywhere. He didn’t think the person, or the people, who’d shot Mordred, would forget quiet so quickly that they had been in the apartment, and probably had the diamond. Mordy was still very strongly of the opinion that they needed to wait for the dust to settle. Drew thought to himself that Mordy looked perfectly happy to be back on the road; the habits of a lifetime can’t be forgotten that rapidly. He broached the subject, cautiously, over dinner.

“Mordy…”

“You did great today; Jean is really pleased…”

“Good! So…”

“I know what you’re thinking; it’s too soon to move.”

“Why do you say that? We don’t know who killed Mordred, or why; or that they’re even looking for us. No one alive knows we have the diamond…”

“We think…”

“Mordred didn’t seem to think anyone knew.”

They’d abandoned referring to Mordy’s father as, ‘Oscar Stubbs’, it was too weird.

“I agree with that. If no one knows, why are we here?”

“Because someone shot your dad.”

“And we were in the apartment; so they would’ve have seen us.”

“I just think that we need to bring this to a head, sooner rather than later. We can’t run and hide all our lives.”

“I know.”

Drew was also waiting for the grief, or some reaction, from Mordy; his dad had been shot dead, even if he didn’t recognise the man in the apartment that day. Drew knew that Mordy could bottle things up, for years in some cases; so this wasn’t healthy in his opinion, but he didn’t know how to get that one out in the open.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Drew asked tentatively.

“Sure…”

“We go back to Paris; see what’s in the apartment; and if we get a clue, pursue it; otherwise, dive back to London and then head to Oz.”

“You’re gonna go looking for danger?”

“No. This is dangerous; we’re out of touch and I think we’re lulling ourselves into a false sense of security.”

“Give me another week.”

“Okay; we’ll have finished the grafting by then.”

Drew was sure that the procrastination was nothing to do with the possible dangers they might find, but, more likely that Mordy felt at home and very happy to have slipped on the work gloves.

“It’s time for bed if we’re up early,” he added.

“More grafting?”

“If you don’t plunge your wedge into my cleft soon, it’ll fucking heal over!”

“As if that is possible.”

“I need a lot of wedge.”

“No whittling.”

“Just fuck me you insanely beautiful creature.”

Chapter Fifteen – Return to Paris

“Going back to the apartment seems pretty risky,” offered Mordy, during the last full day before they left for Paris.

“Well; if the window has been repaired, we’ll know something. God forbid your father’s body is still lying on the floor…”

Drew’s stomach did a flip at the mental image of Mordred’s body decomposing in the flat.

“If it isn’t, then I’ll have to find him and take him back to the island so he can be buried.”

“Whatever feels right for you…” he managed.

“Okay; I’m ready. Tomorrow we’re leaving and heading back to Paris to see what’s what.”

“He said that the diamond, the pearls and the boxes were all that were important. All those came from Queen Elizabeth. Nathaniel was given one and Mary stole the other.”

“But, they’re valuable, but hardly priceless.”

“I agree; not the Holy Grail, but of some vital importance, to someone.”

“Worth killing for…”

“And dying for…”

“Not you or me!”

“I don’t think we’re gonna see this one until we’re right up close and peering over the edge.”

“What can be so fucking important about this stuff?”

Mordy’s question remained unanswered again. They headed off to see Jean and say goodbye. They returned to the caravan for their last night with a bonus of five hundred euros.

“That was really good of him,” suggested Drew.

“It happens from time to time; there are good people on the road.”

“What do you miss?”

“Freedom to move on just when I pleased”.

Drew’s heart skipped a beat and his face must have betrayed what he was thinking because Mordy quickly added;

“No. I didn’t mean it that way. Everything changed when we met. I don’t want to go back to this.”

But Drew felt less convinced than he should have been by that comment.

They got in to bed and because it was so small they had no choice but to squash up. These moment were amongst the happiest for Drew; lying with his mate, getting toasted by his heat, heady from the scent; feeling safe and above all, loved.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you too.”

Drew had his head on Mordy’s chest and he automatically turned to plant a kiss dead centre. He was going to turn his head back but decided to continue the journey south. He reached the ‘wedge’ that he was aching for and kissed the semi-erect shaft. The skin was so soft and warm and it seemed to buzz like an electric current was flowing through it.

It bucked whilst his lips were gently pressed to the surface, parting his lips a little. He kissed back towards the base and then forward towards the head, never letting his lips completely leave the skin; just grazing over it, until he reached the glorious head. By now it was rising and exerting more pressure against his lips. He smiled and took Mordy’s manhood into his mouth.

Apple wood, leather gloves, tar, sweat and sex; it all added up and sent Drew into sensory overload. The apple-size glans in his mouth throbbed and seemed to grow in size and fill his throat and he sucked. Mordy’s hands made their way down and Drew relished the pressure of his hands on his head and he wanted Mordy to force himself further into his throat; scion and root grafted.

The following morning found them both awake early but in no great hurry to get out of bed. It was the deep breath before taking the plunge.

“Mordy…”

“I know what you’re thinking; if something happens to one of us…”

“Yes…”

“You know I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“I know that. And I won’t let anything bad happen to you. If something goes wrong…”

“Don’t say it.”

And Mordy pressed his lips to Drew’s to stop the words and if a simple kiss can spell out all the dangers, all the fears, all the hopes and especially, all the love, then it was that kiss. Nothing more needed to be said.

“C’mon!” urged Mordy, “Jean’s offered to take us to the station; let’s get going.”

An hour’s drive to the station and a four hour journey by train and they arrived at Gare de L’Est. It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon. They hadn’t planned to go straight to the apartment, and the decision about where to stay now presented itself.

“Somewhere cheap where we can afford to pay cash,” offered Mordy.

“Why?”

“Low profile.”

Drew frowned a little; not because he was unhappy with cheap accommodation; anything had to be better than the caravan; it was the fact that it was a reminder of why they were there. If Mordy had fallen into his old way of life easily, then Drew was pining for his London lifestyle just as much and maybe for the first time he wasn’t so obsessed with finding the answers.

“Right! Well, no Zone One hotel bed for you tonight; we’ll try Republique.”

As they made their way to the Metro station within the mainline station complex they saw an advertisement for a new hostel in Montmartre.

“That’ll do,” said Mordy, pointing it out.

“A hostel!”

“Cheap and low profile; good enough for a couple of stray dogs!”

“Flea ridden and we’ll get no sleep; and we’ll have to share with other people.”

“Drew!”

“Okay…and no sex…” he added quietly, which elicited a swipe to the bum.

They headed over there and were very pleasantly surprised to find that the hostel was relatively new; had private double rooms with en suite facilities, and all for 35 euros a night.

“Book five nights,” urged Mordy, as they stood at the counter.

“Why?”

“Because this is my third time in Paris and I might actually get to do some of the cool stuff without flipping out or getting shot at.”

“We were meant to be here just to check the apartment…”

“And we are; but what if the window is repaired? What then?”

“Take your point? Five nights then.” The latter being directed at the receptionist; in response to her original question.

They checked in and headed for the room. A remarkably comfortable room waited for them and they wasted no time in testing the shower.  The plan was to eat somewhere and then decide what to do at the apartment. The window could be seen from the road, so it would be easy to check to see if it had been repaired. Both thought it would have been; but what then?

“Let’s check the window tonight; then we won’t waste time tomorrow,” suggested Drew.

“Agreed. Fixed or not; what are we going to do, break in?”

“Where else do we look for the clue or the answers?”

They headed back to Rue des Archives and with some surreptitious straining of necks and the odd skyward leap, they ascertained that the window had been fixed. No lights were showing in the apartment. They grabbed falafel and went back to Place des Innocents.

“How are we going to break in?” asked Drew.

“I could pretend to be Mordred.”

“What about the door to the apartment?”

“Call a locksmith?”

“Uh, yeah. This sounds too easy. We don’t actually know if the apartment was his…”

“Drew; what else is there?”

“We don’t have anything else. Okay. Tomorrow, we’ll get in the flat and try to find something, anything.”

“And…we need to go back to the flat that he was living in with my mother.”

“Oh Christ! I’d forgotten about that. The hostel isn’t too far from there actually.”

“Let’s go there first; we know they lived there.”

They headed back to the room. Both were, in some respects, relieved that their first port of call was the other flat; neither was feeling particularly brave but nor did they want to admit to it.

A comfortable room but pretty cheerless, even though it had WIFI and they could get on line and check out locksmiths and confirm that Mordred owned the other flat.

“And there’s the place in Berlin,” mentioned Drew.

“That must have been my father’s too, because none of this was mentioned in my mother’s will, in fact, she had practically nothing.”

“Protecting her?”

“Yeah; but living a double life; why would he need to do that?”

Neither could hazard a guess. It was time to call it quits for the day and too many thoughts circled to allow for a night of unbridled passion. They just held each other and dropped off. Mordy fell asleep first and when his breathing had quietened, Drew just gazed upon his face. There was just enough light to see his features, framed by the insanely curly mop.

“I love you.”

Chapter Sixteen – The Apartment in Pigalle

The apartment in Pigalle had been the scene of the rejection and Drew was worried that it would reawaken painful and damaging memories.

“How do we get in?” he asked, trying to broach the subject.

“We’ll knock up the concierge and tell them that we’re looking for Mordred; he’s not answering his phone and we’re worried.”

“Yes, that would work…perhaps they’ll remember you from the last time,” and Drew, almost bit his tongue but he unwittingly provided the perfect lead in.

“Well, they would have heard the shouting and screaming if nothing else.”

They headed off and pretty soon they were at the flat and Mordy straightaway pushed the bell for the concierge. After Drew explained that they were worried because Mordred wasn’t answering his phone, the woman gave them the spare key and let them go up. Neither was afraid of opening the door or of what they might find. As Drew said;

“Mary lived here didn’t she? And I’m pretty sure ‘Oscar Stubbs’ isn’t linked to this place…”

“Probably empty then,” returned Mordy.

They opened the door. It was far from empty. Mordy had been there before of course and much for the stuff was vaguely familiar but it also looked as if someone had dumped a whole load of other stuff there; ‘their stuff from Berlin’ was Mordy’s assumption. However, upon closer inspection, it didn’t look like the kind of stuff hoarded by two, apparent, ageing hippies; a lot of it looked like the inside of a teenager’s bedroom.

“Where the fuck do we start?”

Mordy hadn’t even finished his sentence when they heard the key slide into the lock of the door. It was too late to hide or get out so like rabbits caught in the proverbial headlights they waited for the door to open.

The scream would have shattered lead crystal had there been any hanging about. The girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, let out an ear piercing scream and would have managed to turn tail and run back down the stairs, had she not slipped on the doormat, as it scooted out from under her as she tried to turn too quickly.

“Please don’t be afraid,” shouted Drew; Mordy was transfixed; “we’re friends of Mordred…”

The girl remained on the floor. The phone she’d been carrying had fallen out of her hand and skidded too far away from her to be of any use.

“…I’m Drew and this is Mordy…”

The girl was just staring at Mordy and then Drew realised why; they were carbon copies of each other.

“What the …” Mordy breathed out.

“We’re not here to hurt you or anything like that…we came looking for Mordred,” Drew said as reassuringly as possible, “what’s your name?” he added.

“Ffraid…”

“Don’t be af…”

“It’s her name,” interjected Mordy, at last showing signs of animation, “I’m Mordy,” he directed at the girl.

“I’m Ffraid,” she said very clearly, but softly, in an accent that was unplaceable.

Mordy stepped forward and held out his hand and she tentatively placed hers in his and allowed him to pull her to her to feet. He relinquished her hand once she was righted.

“How do you know my da…Mordred?”

“I’m his son.”

The girl eyed him intensely; armed with that knowledge she seemed to scrutinise his face even more closely and judging by the look on her face, was convinced of something.

“He’s my dad too…”

Mordy did the most unexpected thing and broke out a smile and Drew had never seen such a smile on his lips. It transformed his face, making him look years younger and twenty or more years of care and worry seemed to drop off his brow and shoulders.

“I never knew I had a sister.”

“I didn’t know I had a brother.”

Drew and Mordy had already worked out that Mary couldn’t have been her mother from her age.

“Where have you been?” asked Mordy.

“School.”

“I mean; where have you been living? We came here before but you weren’t here then.”

“Boarding school in Switzerland.”

“Ah…”

“Where have you been?”

“Travelling…”

“Whose your mother?”

“Mary…”

“I didn’t know her very well. My mother is Ingrid; she lives in Berlin.”

“Mary died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you seen Mordred?” And Drew couldn’t help start at the question.

“Not since I got back from my holiday with my mother.”

“When was that?”

“Two days ago. Why?”

Drew wasn’t certain what Mordy was going to say next but prayed he didn’t just blurt out the truth.

“We’ve been looking for him too.”

“Why?”

“Family business…”

“Well; he hasn’t answered his phone or replied to any emails all the time I’ve been away; I guessed he was with Mary. When he’s with her, he tends to forget everyone else.”

“Yeah. I know how that feels.”

“When did you last see him?”

“About five weeks ago. You?”

“About six weeks ago. He came and fetched me from school and we dumped my stuff here. Then he took me to the airport so I could catch my flight and meet up with my mother.”

Silence descended.

“I’m Drew…pleased to meet you Ffraid.”

“Is Mordred your dad?”

“No; I’m Mordy’s partner,” Drew said, unthinkingly, but the disclosure didn’t faze the girl.

“A-ha, cool…”

Chapter Seventeen – Ffraid

She was fourteen and the child of Mordred and Ingrid. Ingrid was German and Mordy had never heard of her.

“You got back from your holiday and what?”

“He wasn’t at the airport; so I figured he was still with Mary. I came back here…”

“By yourself?” asked Drew.

“Uh, yeah…looking after myself kinda comes with the territory.”

“Why did you bring all your stuff back from school?” asked Mordy.

“Oh; I’m switching schools; I’m coming to study in Paris. Dad suggested it, so we could spend more time together; joke, right?”

Mordy didn’t say anything.

“Did you phone your mother?” asked Drew.

“Yeah; she’d heard nothing.”

“Are you going to back to Germany now?” Mordy ventured the question and for some reason Drew knew he wanted her to say no.

“Don’t know; school’s already paid for.”

“But you can’t stay here by yourself.”

“Dad’ll be back…eventually.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Mordy.

“A bit…”

“Let’s go eat!”

Despite being only an hour after they had breakfasted they headed off to a café and the boys just had coffee but Ffraid ordered the menu.

“I don’t know Ingrid,” Mordy said.

“She doesn’t know about you either; least, I don’t think so. I’m sure she would have said.”

“Dad never told me about you.”

“He liked his secrets. I teased him that he was a secret agent.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Drew thought.

“I’d never seen him; not until just over a year ago…”

Mordy told the tale of their reunion and the key things that had happened since, albeit the heavily edited version. For a fourteen year old girl, Ffraid seemed to take it all in and nothing seemed to faze her.

“So what do we do?” asked Drew.

“Ingrid says that if he doesn’t show by the end of the week then I have to go back to Berlin.”

“Do you want to go?”

“I don’t know; I like Paris. If dad doesn’t show, then it would’ve been easier to stay in Zurich.”

“Can’t you go back?”

“Who pays for the school, and how do I get my stuff back there?”

“How did you get it here?”

“Dad came and picked me with a van.”

Silence descended in the absence of anything concrete to say on anyone’s part.

Drew thought Ffraid was remarkably collected given the circumstances; much like Mordy in that respect probably, and she seemed not to have any illusions about Mordred. The references to his absences and “secrets” spoke volumes; though of the ‘chicklit’ and not the ‘crime thriller’ variety, Drew hoped.

“What are you guys gonna do?” she asked, and that was the burning question in both of the men’s minds.

“Wait and see,” replied Mordy, “Until the end of the week, like you; I guess.”

“School doesn’t start for a week or so; perhaps we could see each other again.”

“Definitely! I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re on your own though.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“If we get an apartment for the rest of the week, then you could stay with us,” suggested Drew, “but what about all your stuff?”

“I’ll take the essential stuff and I’ll come get the rest later with my mother; depends on whether dad shows…”

“Yeah. Do you wanna stay with us?” asked Mordy.

“Sure.”

That garnered them all into action. Ffraid went back with Mordy to pack up the essentials for the rest of the week. Drew went on to the hostel first, to grab their stuff and then headed to the apartment hotel in Chatelet, where they agreed to meet.

“Call me when you arrive,” Drew said, “and I’ll come down.”

Two and half hours later they were installed in the suite and it was barely lunchtime. It was Drew’s suggestion that half-brother and half-sister spend some time together and they went off to lunch with a possible excursion to some art gallery thrown in to the bargain. Drew said he was going to write.

Chapter Eighteen – Out of the mouths of babes, indeed!

Mordy had never spent that much time with teenagers; let alone teenage girls. When he was on the road he might have worked with the odd lad or two; other travellers, the son of the owner of the campsite or the vineyard. Like most people, however, he had kept them all at arm’s length. Ffraid struck him as fairly boyish. She wore a pair of leggings, a little jersey material skirt and a multitude of thin, layered tops. Her feet were shod in regulation Doc Martin’s. Her hair was like his, an unruly mop which she, like he, did nothing much to tame.

She strode out with him with the same indifference to everything around her; the same confidence, the foil to the nagging worry and doubt that comes from not knowing who you really are and whether anyone truly loves you.

From the hotel in Chatelet they headed along the Rue de Rivoli towards Palais Royale and the Carousel du Louvre. They piled in to the entrance to the museum that leads you through the shops and cafés before you reached the main atrium. Ffraid guided them to the food court and they opted for the Mexican food stand and the enchiladas; grabbing bottles of water. Not much had been said until this point, but as they sat down Ffraid seemed more relaxed and opened the innings with;

“I’m gay…”

Mordy looked into her face and smiled.

“Runs in the family…”

She smiled back.

“I wonder why no-one told me about you.”

“Or me about you.”

“Dad never spoke much about Mary or anything to do with the past.”

“Mary spent a lot of time in Berlin; I’m surprised you didn’t meet her.”

“As far as I know, she never came to Berlin.”

“But Mordy was always hopping off there.”

“Yeah. To see my mum.”

“Ah. The double life!”

“Two cities, two mistresses and two illegitimate children…”

Mordy felt a little uncomfortable having it spelt out so plainly. It was true that Mordred had never married Mary; he couldn’t, she had never divorced his ‘father’. He didn’t know that he hadn’t married Ingrid. He’d never felt sorry for himself for that reason. He suddenly felt sorry for Ffraid, despite the fact she still had Ingrid, and now him.

They chatted about school and Zurich, which Mordy had never visited.

“Where is he do you think?” Ffraid asked, and Mordy felt sick. He certainly wasn’t going to blurt it out in the restaurant.

“Who knows; I never knew where he was.”

He had been about to add, ‘I never really knew him’, but stopped just in time, knowing that Ffraid would quickly pick up on the use of the past tense. They ate for a few minutes, just glancing at each other, between the bites and the swigs of the water. Mordy had no idea how he was going to tell her. He’d prefer it if Ingrid was there, and maybe waiting would be best.

“We mustn’t lose touch now,” he said gently.

“No. It’s kind of cool to have an older brother; especially a gay one.”

Mordy stuttered; being some fourteen year old girl’s cool, gay older brother had not figured in his future; he didn’t mind though.

“Yeah, and it’s kind of cool to have younger, gay sister; you can tell me when I’m trying to dress too young.”

“You look okay.”

“For a man of my age?”

She grinned.

“I read one of Drew’s books; he’s quite good,” she added.

“Did you read mine?”

“You published a book?” queried in a tone of complete astonishment.

“My journal about the twenty years I spent on the road; ending when I got back to the island and met Drew.”

“Cool! I’d like to read it.”

“I’ll get you a copy.”

“Can you autograph it?”

“If you like,” he laughed, feeling a little bashful.

“I prefer it when you smile; when you’re serious looking, you look too much like dad.”

Mordy wondered why looking too much like his dad was a problem.

“Why is that a problem?”

“When he got his serious face I knew he was gonna disappear for a while.”

“I won’t disappear. I had a thought actually; could you live and study in London?”

“Sure…but mum wants me to go back to Berlin.”

“You were in Zurich; would she mind that much? She could visit; we have a big house.”

“And you’d be there, right?”

“Yes, and Drew. I could take you to the island; you have relatives there…”

“I’ll think about it and talk to mum. You and Drew would have to meet her first.”

“Sure.”

They finished up eating and Ffraid gave him the option of heading into Le Louvre or going shopping. Neither really filled him with joy, but he was with Ffraid and he already liked her, so it didn’t matter;

“Whatever you want. I’m just so happy we met,” and he smiled that smile again, the one that Drew had never seen before.

“A girl must have shoes! Good for you that I hate shoes; so we’ll go to the bookstore and you can buy me a copy of your journal and Drew’s latest. Then you can both autograph them for me.”

They headed to the bookstore that wasn’t far from Place de la Concorde and picked up a copy of ‘The Journal’ and Drew’s latest; the edition in French.

“You wanna read it in French?” questioned Mordy.

“I need the practise. I speak German, French, English and Italian…”

“Shit!”

“Dad insisted and this term I was gonna start Spanish and Portuguese.  He wanted to go to The Azores on holiday…”

“We’ve been there.”

Before the words died Mordy had that strange feeling of deja vu when he remembered why they had gone. He shook it off and they headed back to the hotel, but not before they rode the Ferris wheel that stood in front of the gate of Le Jardin des Tuileries.

Fortunately, Ffraid like to walk, so they walked back and Mordy was even more reminded of himself. Not so when Ffraid slipped her hand in his. She sensed his discomfort and squeezed.

“We’ve got each other now…”

He squeezed back but failed to stop the tears running down his face.

“Drew will be happy you bought his book,” Mordy suggested.

“He’s nice.”

“Yes, he is…”

They got to the hotel and headed up.

“We’ll talk to him about meeting Ingrid and the idea of you moving to London and studying there.”

“He won’t mind if I stay?”

“Of course not; as long as you don’t mind living with us; we’re not exactly ‘hip and cool’…”

“I don’t care about that. As long as I know where you are from one end of the week to the next…”

Mordy called out as they entered the room to announce it was them; stony silence.

“Maybe he popped out for something to eat,” suggested Ffraid.

“Probably,” returned Mordy, but it didn’t feel right somehow.

Ffraid plopped herself down on the sofa to dive straight into ‘The Journal’ and Mordy headed for the bedroom to check that Drew wasn’t asleep. As he entered the room his suspicions were confirmed because there were signs of some kind of ‘disturbance’. On the desk was Drew’s laptop and resting on the keyboard was a piece of paper. Before he picked it up he knew that it wasn’t from Drew; a quick note to explain where he was. It was a note explaining where he was, but it wasn’t from Drew;

“If you want him back in one piece then you know how to get him. We’ll be in touch”

It would, under different circumstances, probably have pushed Mordy over the edge. As it was, Ffraid wandered in; looking pale and her face was tear-stained.

“Mordy…” she blubbed.

He turned, his face mirroring hers.

“I…” he began, but before he could say anything else she’d flung herself into his arms and was sobbing her heart out.

He realised, even though he was teetering on the brink, that she’d read the first few pages of the book and had reached the description of his abuse at the hands of his ‘father’.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried into his chest.

He hugged her back and pressed his lips to the top of her head and let his own tears fall. For several minutes they clung to each other and then Ffraid pulled back.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, gazing into his eyes, trying to send him some kind of salve, but of course, not realising that he wasn’t crying about the same thing.

“We need to talk Ffraid.”

He grabbed her hand and led her to the sofa and over the next hour told her everything, absolutely everything, right up to the minute they had gotten back to Paris and met her for the first time.

He handed her the note and she read it out loud;

“…’if you want him back in one piece then you know how to get him…we’ll be in touch’…”

“I can’t lose him…”

“We won’t!”

Chapter Nineteen – Chilly for the time of year

Drew woke by degrees. The ‘inner-self’ awoke up first; the drone of machinery told him he wasn’t dead. The disgusting headache and the foul taste in his mouth confirmed he hadn’t dreamt the assault in the hotel room. He started to concentrate and identified the drone of the machine as some kind of compressor; the kind you find in a refrigeration unit. That was confirmed by the temperature and he suddenly felt chilly, even cold. He was seated and tensing his arms and legs just proved what he feared; he was bound at the wrists and ankles to the chair; though it was a comfortable chair.

He risked opening his eyes and for a heart-stopping second he thought he was blind; it was pitch black. A captive in total darkness; in some kind of chiller room or big walk-in fridge; alone and very, very afraid.

As a means of remaining calm he tentatively recalled the events that had led him here; as far as he could remember them. The recollection was a little fuzzy and the taste and headache tended to suggest drugged. The hand and the cloth; the foul smelling cloth forced over his mouth and nose by the bigger of the two men.

Once Mordy and Ffraid had left, he’d started to write and that, in itself, had been an antidote to the worry and the reluctance to really think about what was going on, and, what the Hell they were going to tell Ffraid about Mordred. One hour turned into two and then he got hungry. He’d ordered Room Service, berating himself for not stepping out and grabbing something at the café not twenty metres from the entrance to the hotel. Twenty minutes later there came a knock at the door.

He’d opened it, expecting to see some young room attendant with a tray; the two men had bundled in and slammed the door before he could react. He had stumbled backwards and fallen over his feet. Once on the ground he had backed up but the larger of the men loomed over him and the cloth in his hand, practically a cliché, was quickly forced over his mouth and nose by a very strong hand. They’d said nothing and even if his life depended on it, he was sure he wouldn’t recognise the men; certainly not the man behind the large one who had rendered him unconscious.

His one hope was Mordy. Mordy would return to the hotel room and find him gone. He assumed that they, whoever they were, were ransoming him for the diamond; so they would have left a note. Mordy would do as they asked and he would be released, or maybe killed, along with Mordy, and possibly Ffraid. No doubt they’d kept tabs on her and seen her enter the apartment in Pigalle. Once they’d all left, it had been easy to choose the moment to act. In many ways he was grateful they had taken him and not Mordy. He was more confident in Mordy’s ability to deal with the situation that he had in his own. For now, he just had to sit tight.

Just sitting tight was his only option but, he could think. Thinking also distracted him from the chill, which he could swear was getting worse, but that might have been creeping panic.

Mordy had been right; as a historical romance it was touching and intriguing; this was frightening and deadly serious; the ingredients of a first rate thriller in which he did not want to feature.

His first thought was concerned with Mordy and Ffraid and just how many more surprises were in store for them? He couldn’t fathom Mordred and this double life of his. The compressor kicked in and sent a blast of chilled air into the chamber for ten seconds or so; the temperature dropped appreciably and he reckoned it couldn’t be much above twelve degrees, maybe not even ten. To quell the panic he recounted, in as much detail as he could remember, everything to do with the mystery, starting with the wreck that Mordy had found and their salvage operation that had liberated a small fortune in Elizabethan loot.

A red light winked up in one corner. It caught his attention and he wondered if it was some kind of warning system, monitoring and regulating the temperature. It blinked for thirty seconds and then disappeared; no arctic blast ensued so he ignored it.

So, the wreck. The wreck of, ‘The Shell’; giving the craft her proper name. The name plate that Mordy had found, ‘The Granite Pearl’, an attempt to hide her true identity. A coastal lugger that had belonged to one of Mordy’s ancestors, ‘William Wylde’. Subsequently, however, they had found out that he wasn’t one of Mordy’s; Mordy wasn’t the issue of William Wylde or any of his line. Mordy was the son of Mordred and Mary; most likely the respective descendants of Mary Blanchestone and Nathaniel Stern.

Mary and Nathaniel had tried to escape with a fortune in gold and jewels only to be betrayed by William at the end. The loot tucked up in ‘The Shell’; the lugger was then scuttled and plundered at will by the William and his confederates; a secret passed on from father to son; until Mordy arrived. Mordy had found the wreck and he and Drew had emptied her of the precious cargo. Then, the five remaining men, presumably checking on her, died when the hull collapsed.

They’d moved back to London and identified the pearls as belonging to Queen Elizabeth; subsequently learning that she had gifted them to Nathaniel in a beautiful box. Mary had stolen the coins and another box, which contained the egg-sized, pale yellow diamond. Mary’s theft of the coins and the box had been reported at her trial; nothing was written about the diamond. Mary had refused to disclose the whereabouts of the loot and had been executed for treason. Nathaniel made it to The Azores, where he died in penury. His ship, ‘The Granite Pearl’, disguised as ‘The Shell’, sold by William to the Spanish as they rebuilt their fleet after the Armada.

Drew and Mordy had sold all bar two of the pearls and a small quantity of the coins. Mordred had divulged the fact that only the diamond and the boxes, together with the two remaining pearls, were important. He had just been on the point of telling them something when he had been shot dead.

Now the stakes had just got higher.

Drew had researched all of this for months and had drawn a blank. They were equally clueless as to Mordred’s role in all this; why he had called himself ‘Oscar Stubbs’; why he had carried on a double-life with Mary in Paris and Ingrid in Berlin and why he had been killed. This cogitation consumed what Drew estimated to be about an hour. He was no further forward in his thinking; though he was calmer.

In thinking about his situation he hoped and prayed that Mordy had the presence of mind to demand proof that he was still alive. He couldn’t contemplate the thought that he might never see him again; or anyone else for that matter. Cold and dead; he wasn’t that far from it in reality. The compressor blew out another blast and he couldn’t stop shivering now. If he could’ve moved around to keep warm it would have been something; sat as he was, he just felt the chill eat into his skin and already his toes were numb.

“Mordy will save me.”

If he was being ransomed for the diamond then he knew that Mordy would need to return to London. That put hours in front of him, but then he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious; maybe he was minutes away from release.

The red light winked again for thirty seconds; nothing else happened.

Chapter Twenty – Instructions are received

Mordy and Ffraid sat quietly. Until contact was made there wasn’t anything else to do, save think. Mordy didn’t think about the wreck; his thoughts were dominated by his father, Mordred, and the shit his father had gotten himself into; deadly games that had ended with a bullet between the eyes.

Ffraid sat beside him was a constant reminder of the double-life his father had led. A half-sister; and her mother, Ingrid, neither of whom Mordy hadn’t even known existed until Ffraid had showed up that morning. He, like Drew, assumed that the girl had been kept under surveillance. Her arrival at the flat at that precise moment turned out to be very bad news for the guys, but, Mordy was over-joyed that they had met.

Whilst they waited she read Mordy’s published journal. Every so often she would look in wonder at him as she reached a new episode. When she threw herself into his arms again he knew she’d reached the description of the near fatal incident in Marseilles.

“Shush; I survived.”

Would Drew; would they?

His mobile phone bleeped and he scrambled for it and grabbed it off the coffee table in front of him. His hands were shaking so much he couldn’t operate it.

“Mordy…give it to me,” Ffraid said, gently but firmly. He handed it over and looked more child than she.

She read the text and then, on a piece of the hotel stationery, wrote some stuff down; then handed the phone back to Mordy.

“So?”

“They want the diamond, the two pearls and the two boxes in exchange for Drew…”

“Okay. Where and when?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“But we don’t know that he’s still alive…”

“They’ve sent us a website address, which, they say, will prove he is alive.”

“How?”

“Don’t know. Let’s get online.”

They decamped to the desk in the bedroom and without asking Ffraid got online and searched for the address. The page was only accessible with the ID and password the kidnappers had sent in the text message. She entered the information and when the page loaded, it was blank. Having said that, only most of the screen was blank; there was a button that had the words ‘click here to activate camera’ displayed beside it. Ffraid clicked the button and they waited. The screen refreshed and then an image was displayed in the frame; a fuzzy video feed, like you’d see on a security camera monitor.

“What the fu-“

“That’s Drew,” Ffraid ventured.

“Why is the picture like that?”

“It’s pitch black in there; it’s some kind of ‘night vision’ camera. Drew’s in the pitch dark…”

“Jesus!”

“Well…he’s alive.”

“He’s bound to the chair; look there, you can make out the bindings.”

“We just have to do as they say.”

Mordy was shivering and quaking with the shock and the fear.

The phone bleeped again and Ffraid picked it up.

“Mordy…MORDY!”

“I’m sssooorrry…”

“We’ve got our instructions.”

They had twenty four hours to retrieve the loot from London and be back in time for the handover.

“What if they follow us and grab the stuff in London?” Ffraid asked; the only one really thinking straight. “Mordy!”

He was attempting to pack a few things but he could barely hold it together. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and he couldn’t even see what he was doing. Ffraid stepped up to him. She held him by the upper arms, though her small hands barely covered the top of his biceps. He stopped moving and looked into her eyes; steely determination gazed back;

“Mordy…get a grip,” she urged, but nothing was happening and she sensed the light start to fade in his eyes.

SMACK.

He caught her wrist before she could land the second blow to his cheek. The light came back and burned bright.

“Got your passport?” he said in a low, even voice.

“Always.”

He picked up his passport, wallet and keys and straightened himself out. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

But before he steamed off she stayed his arm and made him look her in eye. “I’m sorry,” she offered, and she reached up to put her arms around his neck. He caught her up and hugged her tight.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Let’s save Drew…c’mon!” She urged and they fled the room.

Chapter Twenty-One – Drew is not himself

Drew had already tried to wriggle free of the bindings that held his wrists and ankles but they were made of plastic and very strong. The chair was not heavy and if he titled forward and tried to stand up he could get into a semi-standing position and he did, to ease his muscles and numb arse.

He could shuffle a little, very slowly. By his own reckoning he thought he was probably opposite the door and the doors of these things had handles on the inside; to release the door if you happened to shut yourself in. This is what he hoped anyway.

His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair so that his hands were just over the end of the arms. If only he could get to the door he might be able to open it; providing the handle wasn’t too high. All of this provided an occupation that took his mind off the cold and the dark. He was not afraid of the dark; only afraid of dying from hypothermia. However, any exertion made him sweat and the next blast from the compressor chilled him to the marrow. His head came into contact with the side of the unit. Despite the chill, he welcomed the cold surface that pressed against his forehead. His upper body was more mobile than his lower body and he rubbed his forehead over the surface of the wall; first to the left and then to the right.

On the right sweep he felt the tell-tale groove of the gap between the door and the frame; but he didn’t know if he had found the hinge side or the side that opened. He followed the gap down as far as he could; stretching to below the level of a handle, as far he could reckon;

“Shit! Wrong side.”

He took a chance and decided to move further to the right. He tried sitting down and making the chair ‘jump’ but it took considerable effort and he almost toppled. By agonising centimetres he managed to shuffle along. A metre later and he felt the gap.

“Thank you!”

He followed the gap down and came across an extrusion; the handle, which was a kind of paddle, that could be pressed rather than one that needed to be turned.

“Do I open it?” he whispered to himself, “what’s the worst that’s gonna happen? Don’t go there. No; they won’t kill me until they have the diamond. Open it.”

He positioned the top of his head against the paddle and pushed.

“Please don’t be locked!” he pleaded.

It took some force but it gave a little then moved freely. The door didn’t swing open; it was heavy but there was a gap and relatively warm air flooded in. It was dark outside the unit, but not pitch black.

“Okay, what now?”

He couldn’t open the door by normal means. Pushing with his head opened it a little but it swung back. Still, he was warming up and felt less afraid; more than mildly pleased with himself seeing as he usually failed to get the lawnmower started. His only option was to topple against the door but that was fraught with uncertainty and being on the ground gave him no option to move. He shuffled forward until his left foot was against the door. In the dimness he could see that there was a drop of about ten centimetres to the floor outside the unit. If he shuffled forward and opened the door he’d have to trust that once his feet were over the edge, he didn’t topple forward. If he did, he couldn’t safe himself from landing on his face. He shuffled so that half his foot was over the edge and in so doing the door was open by about forty centimetres. The room outside was silent and by craning his neck he saw that it was a fairly large room; probably a kitchen; deserted.

‘It has to be a hotel or a large restaurant…”

Not a busy one; although he didn’t know what time it was; perhaps it was three in the morning. Six more centimetres and his feet would be over the edge; then he had a moment of genius. He could reach the door frame and pull a little and steady himself at the same time.

“Jesus, Drew! All for a pretty bauble.”

He shuffled a little and now his heel was right on the edge. If he raised the front of his foot it dragged his heel forward; if he could get his heel against the edge of the door sill he might be able to exert enough pressure to move enough so that the front legs of the chair passed over the sill. By grabbing hold the frame and pulling, the right side of the chair moved forward first and the leg passed over the sill and that meant his toes came into contact with the floor. The door was resting against his left foot so it was harder to move because of the weight; but it also steadied him too. Finding herculean strength but only being able to apply it to very small movements, slowly, was exhausting and he rested for a few minutes with his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes he decided to risk making the left hand side of the chair ‘jump’, so that he could compensate for the weight of the door and get the leg of the chair over the sill so that both feet were on the floor. He launched himself in the seat, up and to one side. It was enough to propel the door open a little and move the leg out and finally he had both feet on the floor of the outer room, albeit, the angle of the seat was a little uncomfortable, being ten centimetres lower at the front than at the back. He performed the stiff leg shuffle to move himself further out of the unit; promising himself he would stop when the rear legs of the chair passed over the sill.

He heard a noise outside; perhaps in a corridor; the recognisable sound of a fluorescent light ‘choke’ firing. No light filtered into the room but his eyes were growing accustomed to the low levels and he could make out work tables and shelving; but as far as he could see, the room was deserted. He heard the squeal of some door hinges far off and a muted thud. He moved further until he passed the door and it swung back. It didn’t close shut. He had an idea.

“If I close the door and then manage to hide; anyone coming for me will assume I’ve been moved.” However, there weren’t too many places to hide. Then he spied a cupboard unit that was as high as a worktop and about two metres long, by one metre wide. Unlike the other work units in the room this one was enclosed beneath the worktop on all sides, for storage under. He gauged that the worktop height was higher than the back of the chair, so if he could get behind it and lean forward he might not be seen.

He shuffled back and at a certain distance from the door he threw himself back and the chair tilted. It didn’t reach its zenith. He tried again with more force and it tilted far enough back so that he fell against the door to close it tight. He leaned forward and the chair righted itself. Now he made the long journey to the cupboard unit, agonising pigeon step by pigeon step.

The space between the work unit and the wall was sufficient to allow the chair to pass between them. The wall behind the unit was blank as far as he could see; just tiles. God was clearly listening to his prayers, because, just as he got behind the unit he heard voices outside, in what he assumed was a corridor. He couldn’t see the door into the room and guessed it was maybe recessed or behind some shelving; in any event, obscured from view. He leaned forward and pressed his upper body to his thighs; chin resting on his knees, trying to flatten his back as much as possible. It was very uncomfortable but, turning his head to one side, he was pretty sure he was beneath the level of the worktop and reasonably well hidden. The test came soon enough as a door opened and the voices grew louder.

Two male voices, speaking French, coming from over his right shoulder a little, so somewhat diagonal to his position. They approached and he began to make out the words; a string of odd phrases that meant nothing. He found he was holding his breath. He heard the door of the chiller unit open and then silence for a few seconds. He gathered that one of the men asked the other if the hostage had been moved and he understood the other man to answer that the hostage should have been there. The first man stated that he would call someone but then cursed as he found that he had no signal. The other man rattled off a string of expletives and the door of the unit was slammed shut. Then the voices receded as they left the room.

Drew allowed himself to breathe out slowly.

“Sit tight; God knows if they’re coming back. Well done old sport!”

His moment of self-congratulation was halted when the door opened again and the same voices re-entered. This time the main lights were put on.

“Shit!” he mouthed but in reality he didn’t know if they betrayed his position or not. In actual fact they helped him. As he waited out the tense minute as the voices got closer to the chiller room again, the light illuminated the fact that the sliding door of the cupboard unit that he was hiding behind was open. The unit was divided by a shelf and on that shelf was a block of knives.

He stared at the knife handles, holding his breath. The chiller room door was opened and then slammed again. His hope, that they assumed he had been moved, and no longer in the room. The other hope, that no one had been watching the security camera feed, was not something he was troubled with.

Someone had been watching the security camera feed. It’s what fourteen year old girls with an iPhone do, as they while away the two hours and fifteen minutes that it takes to get to London from Paris these days on the Eurostar. Said brother of fourteen year old girl was also quiet interested as well!

Chapter Twenty-Two – London return please!

Out of the hotel and across the pedestrianized zone and into Chatelet Metro. Down the steps they go and through the turnstile, along the tunnel and onto the platform. Into the train; standing room only; clasps the flesh and blood to his chest and counts the stops until Gare du Nord. Hot footing it to the ticket desk, ploughing through the crowds hand-in-hand.

“Two returns to London please; return today; please hurry…”

“I only have first class…”

“That’s fine.”

“How would you like to pay?”

Credit card handed over; tickets printed; interminable minutes to get the vouchers; all checked and then security; eyebrows raised; she says something in French; a smile all round. They run; aboard with minutes to spare.

Sat across from each other, they let their heart rates quieten and then relax, a little.

“Ffraid, perhaps it would be better to stay in London; out of harm’s way…”

“We have to stick together…”

“They killed dad…”

“We’ll have the stuff.”

“What if they think we know too much?”

“Then it won’t matter where I am…”

They reflected on that. Ffraid got out her iPhone.

“You should contact your mother,” suggested Mordy.

“Yeah…I was gonna text her, but first…”

“What?”

“Wanna catch a movie?”

“I don’t think I’m really…”

Ffraid handed him the phone.

“You can get on line with this thing?” Mordy queried as he took the handset from her, “what the fuck?”

The picture was small and not very easy to make out but there, on the screen, was Drew, shuffling towards the door.

“What is he thinking?”

“He doesn’t know about the camera; that’s for sure…”

“Jesus! He’s taking a hell of a chance.”

“If he escapes, what do we do then?”

Mordy frowned. It was easier to think of Drew trapped in the room waiting for them to rescue him. Drew trying to escape and the danger he was courting, was a set of thoughts that Mordy just couldn’t grapple with.

“If they catch him trying; God knows what they will do.”

“Nothing until they get the stuff…”

They watched as Drew made his snail-like progress. On the one hand willing him to make it; on the other, wishing he would just stay put.

“He can’t even start the lawnmower…”

“You’re rubbing off on him,” Ffraid jibed and smiled.

Mordy squinted at the picture and smiled too but the frown stayed on his forehead. Mordy could hardly bare to watch his progress but all the while he was willing him to succeed. Ffraid texted Ingrid.

“She’s cool with the idea of moving to London.”

Mordy raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of mother was cool with that.

“She doesn’t mind that you’ll…”

“As long as I’m with you; we’re not that close.”

“Does she have a problem with the fact that you’re gay?”

“Not really…”

Mordy was more than a little envious; his mother had rejected him for the same reason and the rejection had sent him plummeting over the edge and he’d gone AWOL for months; ending up back on the island where he was reunited with Drew, who thought he had probably died.

“What does the text say again; about the handover?” Mordy asked.

“Bring the stuff and be under the Grande Arche de la Défense, tomorrow at 9am,” recalled Ffraid.

“What will they do if Drew has escaped?”

“Try to blag it…”

“If we knew he was safe we could just drop out of sight.”

“Until one of us gets nabbed; or worse.”

“You’re right; this needs to end. It’s dominated my life and Drew’s for months and months. I just want to get rid of the stuff and move on.”

They arrived in London and rushed to the house so that they could retrieve the boxes and the jewels. Mordy showed Ffraid just what all the fuss was about.

“Freaking Hell! That’s some diamond.”

“Dad said we could keep the coins. There’s half a million there; enough for school fees!”

“And some…”

They packed the boxes up in a small holdall, wrapping them in towels.

“We’ve gotta go back through security Mordy; what about the diamond?”

“Shit; I didn’t think of that, and the boxes look pretty suspicious; not exactly what you’d expect to find in some stray dog’s hand luggage…”

“A what?”

“I’ll explain later. What the fuck are we going do?”

“Gift wrap the boxes; we can say they’re presents. I’ll put the pearls in my pocket and you can hide the diamond in your jacket.”

“Better idea; Drew takes a shoe two sizes bigger than me. I’ll wear a pair of his and stuff the diamond in the toe of the shoe.”

“Good thinking!”

“I need to wrap the boxes; are you sure you wouldn’t be better off staying here Ffraid; you can stay with Linda…”

“And if they followed us?”

“Christ!”

“Mordy, we need to stick together. In any case, you can’t speak French,” Ffraid countered.

“You’ll have to teach me.”

“I will. Now let’s get going!”

Mordy carefully wrapped the boxes and dug out a pair of Drew’s shoes. The diamond fitted snuggly in the toe. Ffraid put the pearls in her pocket and they headed back out. Linda pulled up outside just as they were leaving.

“Shit!” cursed Mordy, “we can’t stop…”

“Mordy?” Hailed Linda, getting out of the car.

“Linda! Hey…”

Chapter Twenty-Three – Rock, Paper, Scissors

The door of the chiller room slammed. Drew couldn’t breathe for the tension. If sheer will-power alone was enough, the guys would leave and assume that he, Drew, had been moved by a confederate and write the episode off to sloppy communications. But for how long?

He stretched his fingers towards the knife block but was woefully short of his goal.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed, “that would be too easy…think about this.”

The chair was wooden and peg jointed not screwed. It was fairly new and the joints felt solid, but, having shuffled and jumped the chair a fair distance there was some give in one of the arms now. He got into the semi-standing position and realised that, if he could drive the arm of the chair down with enough force he might be able to break a joint, but, he couldn’t lift the chair any higher because it was strapped to his ankles. Straining and pushing weakened it a little but, in so doing, the plastic ties that secured his wrists to the arms started to bite into his flesh and draw blood. He tried ramming his elbow down hard against the arm to snap it; that just hurt but, it did weaken the joint a little more. He gritted his teeth and rammed down repeatedly, knowing he risked breaking his own arm.

“Do it three more times,” he recommended to himself through the tears.

Garnering his strength, he focused on Mordy’s face and the smile he’d seen break out when he’d met Ffraid.

“One!”

The pain increased and he knew he had cut himself.

“Two!”

Something cracked and it wasn’t his arm thankfully.

“Three!” and he put as much effort into the downward motion as he could muster and cried out to fuel his body with some adrenalin; ignoring the possibility of attracting some unwanted attention.

CRACK.

The arm of chair was breaking but not in two halves yet.

“One more Drew, just one more…”

Sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt sick. He took two minutes to compose himself. He screamed at the top of his voice and rammed his elbow down with such force that the arm of the chair snapped. Unfortunately, it didn’t break cleanly and the jagged edges cut into his flesh like a knife; driven in by the force he had exerted. He had no breath for another scream and just collapsed for a minute.

He extricated his arm from the jagged ends and pulled his wrist back so that the plastic tie slipped over the break and freed his arm. Without pausing, he grabbed a knife from the block and cut the remaining ties to free his other wrist and then his ankles. The warm blood was flowing down his arm but he didn’t care.

He moved away from the chair and towards the door. As luck would have it, there was an old hand drying towel on a roll by one of the sinks. He pulled it out of the housing and used the towel, which was remarkably clean, to bandage his arm. He kept the knife. The door was made of solid wood and it had a small glass panel at head height. He could already see the corridor outside was dark so he had no qualms in opening the door just a little to check that the coast was clear. At one end of the corridor there was a door like the one that led into the kitchen. At the other end of the corridor there was a fire door, which he assumed opened directly onto the outside.

He entered the corridor and chose the fire door as the best and simplest means of escape. It could open into a yard or even onto the street; he assumed a Paris street but actually he didn’t know where the fuck he was, what time it was or even what day. He marched smartly towards the fire door and was probably within twenty paces of it when the door at the other end opened. He turned and saw a man coming through, who obviously didn’t expect to see anyone and appeared to ignore him initially, but then he must have realised what he was looking at and started to shout and run towards Drew.

“Stop!” the man cried in English as he reached inside his jacket pocket, for a gun, Drew assumed, who had no options left. He couldn’t make it to the door in time and he believed the man would shot him rather than see him bundle out of the door.

In his later recollection of the events, he did not remember purposefully aiming for the guy’s head, but when he turned, he just let the knife fly from his hand. The combined force of the throw and the momentum of the guy as he ran towards Drew was enough to bury the blade in his forehead, exactly between his eyes and he went down like a pole-axed cow. He landed on his face, driving the knife in deeper, no doubt fatally deep. Drew stood with the guy not ten feet from him. He couldn’t move and simply stood, transfixed, whilst watching the blood seep out onto the linoleum-like tiles that covered the floor of the passageway.

Something snapped and he darted forward; pulled the guy’s jacket off and checked his trouser pockets. He found a mobile phone and some keys. He slipped the jacket on over his shirt, thrust the phone and keys into the inside pockets where he also found a wallet. Without stopping or looking back he lunged for the fire door. Breaking through he found himself in a narrow street, more like a passageway, that was deserted. At one end there was no exit, effectively a cul-de-sac. The other end of the alley opened onto a busy street; cars and people were passing to and fro. It was sunny. He straightened himself up and adjusted the bandage, which was already soaked but not dripping. He strode out of the alley way and into the street, turning left.

Chapter Twenty-Four – safety in numbers

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Linda...calm down, for Christ’s sake.”

“Why didn’t you just call the police?”

That stumped him for a second.

“Because…because we didn’t really know what the fuck was going on…”

“Call them now.”

Why didn’t he? Drew was in mortal danger and God knows what was waiting for them back in Paris.

“No. We have to see this through. We can’t wait whilst they decide what they are going to do or risk Drew’s life if the kidnappers catch wind of a set up…”

“Mordy!”

It was Ffraid.

“What is it Ffraid?”

“He’s out of the room!” and she held up the iPhone, which displayed a perfectly blank screen.

“We have to go. Now!”

“I’m coming with you…”

“Jesus! Linda…please…” countered Mordy, exasperated, bordering on angry.

“I’ve got the car; we’ll scoot to mine to get my passport and then I’ll drive us to the station…”

“Linda!”

“A man came in but left again,” interjected Ffraid.

“Okay…fine; but we have to go now!”

They left and bundled into the car. Linda shot off and drove like a bat out of hell to get to her place. Leaving the engine running, she dashed inside and re-emerged two minutes later; jumping back in to the car.

“You’ll have to navigate Mordy; I’ve never driven to Saint Pancras before…”

“Linda…for Christ’s sake!”

“There’s an ‘A to Z’ in the door pocket beside you. Come on!”

Mordy might not have known London that well but he could read a map. Adrenalin surged through his veins and like a rally car driver’s co-pilot he barked directions to Linda.

“Where do I park?” she asked innocently.

“Does it fucking matter? We’ll pay the fine; just get us as close to the entrance as possible…”

They dumped the car and ran full pelt into the station; Ffraid and Linda either side of Mordy who had their hands in his and to all intents and purposes it looked like a family trio running late for the service to Euro Disney!

“You need a ticket,” cried Mordy, “where are the bloody machines?” practically screaming.

“Down there mate!” some bloke hollered, pointing

“Thanks!”

They found the machines and Ffraid immediately dived onto the controls and simply said;

“Credit card!”

Mordy handed over the card and blurted out his pin number. Their bluster carried them through security and into the departure lounge where they had thirty minutes to wait for the train. Linda and Ffraid headed off for the loo, leaving Mordy to pace up and down, muttering to himself.

They got back and he announced he needed to go too.

“Don’t wander off, please,” he begged, as he handed Linda the small holdall that contained the two gift-wrapped boxes. He headed in to the Gents and for all the commotion and turmoil that had accompanied them to this point, he was now calm. Once he’d relieved himself, he washed his hands and went to use the hand-drier; a man entered. Mordy knew he was somehow different; out of place. As the guy passed him he reached inside his jacket. Without hesitation, Mordy swung a fist and landed the man on the jaw, which sent the chap down and sprawling. Before the man could react, Mordy was on him and two further punches knocked the guy clean out.

Mordy dragged him to one of the stalls and hoisted him onto the seat. He dipped a hand into one of the inside pockets of the man’s jacket and felt the cold steel of the revolver. He didn’t flinch but neither did he take the gun. In the other pocket he found the man’s ticket, passport, wallet and mobile phone, which he did retrieve. Without looking at them he shoved them in his own pockets and left quickly.

“They’re boarding, Mordy,” hollered Linda, already in the queue with Ffraid, shuffling to the foot of the moving walkway.

“Okay, okay…”

When he joined them he hugged them both to his chest and kissed their cheeks in turn;

“What was that for?” demanded Linda.

“For luck!”

Chapter Twenty-Five – keep mum!

Mordy did not recount the incident in the toilet just yet; they all needed to calm down and decide what the fuck they were going to do. Drew had escaped the room but they didn’t know anything else. Mordy assumed he would be recaptured and the handover would take place as stated.

If the guy in the toilet had planned to steal the diamond from him in London, then the kidnappers needed to have followed them from Paris. At least the guy couldn’t call in straightaway.

The phone in his pocket vibrated and buzzed. He took it out and flipped the cover. It wasn’t a call but a text message. He handed the phone to Ffraid.

“What does it say?”

“Whose is this?” she asked a bit quizzical.

Mordy recounted the incident and Linda looked as if she was going to keel over.

“What does it say?” Mordy repeated, deadpan.

Ffraid read the text and wiggled her eyebrows, like Mordy did when he concentrated.

“Has target been intercepted? That’s what I think it says; it’s pretty close to that…”

“If the target, which we assume is the diamond, had been intercepted, then we could kiss Drew goodbye…”

“What do we say?” asked Ffraid.

“Say that the target wasn’t intercepted.”

Ffraid replied to the text.

“He had a gun.”

“How?” Linda demanded, “he was this side of Security…”

Mordy’s reply was interrupted by another text. Ffraid read it immediately.

“Roughly translated, it says, ‘what train is target on?’…”

“Shit!”

“Give them the wrong train,” ventured Linda, who was perversely getting quite excited, if not riveted with fear at the same time.

Ffraid checked the Eurostar schedule on her iPhone and suggested the train an hour later.

“No. Tell them it’s on the Euro Disney service that left fifteen minutes before this one,” suggested Linda.

“Why?” asked Mordy

“Then no one, hopefully, will be watching Gare du Nord…”

Ffraid replied to the text.

“If Drew has escaped, he’ll try to call me,” Mordy offered.

“How will they handle the exchange with no Drew?” asked Linda.

“They’ll jump us…”

“Perhaps we should just give them the diamond; assuming Drew is safe,” interrupted Ffraid.

“But then we have nothing to protect ourselves with; as soon as they have the diamond, we’re dead,” Mordy stated, trying to work out the best way to keep them all alive and thoughts of Drew’s ‘condition’ were knocking about in his head like a moth against a light bulb.

Ffraid had a message from Ingrid that she was just about to answer when Mordy queried something.

“Did you tell her you were on your way to London when you texted her earlier?”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t reply to that message…no; tell her you’re on your way to Euro Disney…”

“Why do you want me to say that?”

“They didn’t know where the diamond was. Okay, we could have been followed from the hotel to London; it’s just too much of a coincidence that you told your mother we were heading to London and someone tries to jump me…”

“But that means she’s in on it…”

“I think she is on it…”

“I don’t believe that,” countered Ffraid, but not in the least convincingly.

“Maybe not willingly,” Linda offered.

“You mean someone is using her?” Mordy asked.

“Yes, exactly; forcing her to co-operate.”

Dinner was served and the conversation took on less weighty matters of what school Ffraid should be enrolled in and what subjects she should take at GCSE level. Ffraid admitted, quite shyly, that she’d already taken those, or their equivalent. Mordy reflected on that and wondered, just for a minute, where he’d be now if Mordred and Mary had invested as much in him, as Mordred and Ingrid had invested in Ffraid. That thought died as another text was received, from Ingrid.

“She wants us to meet her there; she’s gonna fly in tomorrow.”

“Tell her to call tomorrow; tell her we don’t know what hotel we’re staying in yet.”

Ffraid nodded her head as she replied.

“Where are we staying tonight?” asked Linda

“Not the hotel. It’ll be the first place they’ll look…somewhere near the handover point,” suggested Mordy.

“Have you tried to call Drew’s phone?” asked Linda.

“No. It wasn’t in the apartment when we got back and we assume the kidnappers took it away from him,” confirmed Mordy.

“I’ll call it and see who answers,” suggested Linda.

“They won’t answer it.”

“My mother wants to meet us at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” relayed Ffraid.

“She’s in on it…tell her that’s fine and we’ll let her know where we’re staying.”

“That’ll…”

“Confuse them…let’s see if the exchange is moved…any second now my phone is going to get a text from the kidnappers.”

Sure enough, the text arrived fifteen minutes later; providing confirmation of the time and location. Mordy simply texted back, ’okay’.

“You should text them and say that we can’t see Drew anymore and we want proof that he’s still alive…”

“That’ll confirm if they have him or not; if they don’t, what are they gonna do?”

“Ignore the request or spin some yarn,” Linda ventured.

Ffraid texted the message for Mordy and they waited.

“If he escaped he should have tried to call me by now.”

“Perhaps he’s in hiding and won’t take the risk of being seen.”

“If he’s hiding, Linda, then I hope he stays hidden. He can’t know the time and place of the handover anyway; he’ll have no choice but to lay low until he assumes the heat is off…”

Mordy’s phone buzzed. Ffraid read the text, albeit, it was in English.

“…’Camera malfunctioned’…”

“Text back that we want to speak to him.”

Ffraid did and all were convinced there would be no immediate reply; there wasn’t. Two hours and fifteen minutes after they had left London they arrived in Paris and Ffraid navigated them through the Metro system to Esplanade de la Défense and one of the Sofitel hotels, which was five hundred metres from the arch. It was now in nine o’clock in the evening; Paris time.

Chapter Twenty-Six – Drew is not himself

When Drew had exited the alleyway and turned left onto the busy street he hadn’t immediately recognised where he was; assumed Paris, but even that needed confirmation. It was swiftly provided because as he reached an intersection and looked, first to the right, to check for traffic, he saw La Grande Arche de la Défense, about a kilometre away. From his viewpoint he could see that he was effectively ‘behind’ the Arche and therefore assumed, correctly, he was in the vicinity of Courbevoie.

He strode steadily towards the arch and at the next intersection there was a café and he stopped to regroup; the adrenalin was almost spent. He ordered a coffee and tried to focus; the image of the knife sticking out of the guy’s head just kept obliterating everything. The phone buzzed; the one he’d taken. The message basically said, ‘where the fuck are you?’ He had no intention of replying, or answering if anyone called. The dominant thought was whether he risked calling Mordy. Drew assumed, if they were playing the game by the rules, that he, Mordy, would have handover instructions, and as no one was aware of his escape yet, then he, Mordy, wouldn’t be either. Once they were aware of his escape, what would they do; blag it and jump Mordy?

He had to call him to warn him that he was no longer captive; did they risk meeting up?

The phone buzzed again, and a similar text arrived; he ignored it but thought about how he could really bugger things up for the kidnappers, but, was anything likely to help Mordy or just hinder? He continued to ignore it and dived into a plate of fries because he was starving hungry above all else!

He reached inside the jacket for the wallet to see if there was any cash to pay the tab. There wasn’t much. He couldn’t help but examine the contents and find out who the guy was. ‘Laurent Dessault’ was his name; so the driving license said. There was a bunch of pretty standard credit cards and the guy’s Navigo pass for the Metro. The driving license also showed that the man didn’t live that far away from where Drew was sat. He didn’t have any real money and couldn’t risk going back to the hotel. He needed a bolthole, clean clothes, a shower and, in spite of everything, a chance to lay his head down. He had the keys and amongst them, a ‘Yale’, which looked like a front door key.

“Let’s hope he lives alone!”

He grabbed a cab as the simplest and quickest way to find the address. It was an apartment building like so many others and it presented the first hurdle; the outer door needed a code to open it. He pressed the bell for ‘Dessault’; nothing. He pressed bell after bell and on the third attempt a woman answered to whom he garbled a message, ending with ‘Dessault’. The door release buzzer sounded and he pushed his way through. He took the elevator to the fourth floor and whilst he waited, he sorted the keys so that he had the ‘Yale’ already in his hand; something told him to walk straight in.

He did, and once he was through the door he stood with his back to it and just listened intently for any sound that might indicate another occupant; a wife, a child or a lover. Nothing. The place was pretty spartan and looked like a furnished let. There was nothing much out of the ordinary; beige décor and mid-range furniture, bland prints on the walls and laminate flooring throughout. Drew acted quickly. He headed immediately for the bathroom and shed the togs which were disgusting now, sweaty and smelly. He gingerly pulled off the shirt to see the cut. It looked like the bite mark of a savage dog, ragged and angry. He searched high and low and found a first aid box.

Before he tended the wounds, he stood in the shower and despite the stinging, washed himself thoroughly. He bound the cuts and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d looked better and the dark rings under his eyes made him look old. There were lines where there had not been lines before and a few more grey hairs! He found clothes; better underwear than he possessed and silk/cotton mixed fibre socks that, even in the present state of tension, he made a mental note to buy once he was home. He thought of ‘home’ and actually laughed out loud. It was nearly a month since he’d stepped inside his own front door and he wondered if he ever would again.

Showered and dressed; he felt better.

He had a thought; if the kidnappers knew he’d escaped then they might assume he’d tell Mordy and they would call off the handover; and wait for a more convenient time to get back the prize.

He couldn’t contemplate a life watching over his shoulder or worrying about whether he or Mordy would show for dinner. He picked up the phone and texted a simple message and thanked his lucky stars that he’d had the presence of mind to take the phone. The message basically said that he, Laurent, was disposing of the hostage’s body; the hostage had attacked him and he’d had no choice but to kill him. Drew went to the desk in the open plan lounge to wait for a reply; sure there would be one. As he waited he gazed at a framed photograph that was on the desk; practically the only truly personal thing he’d seen in the whole place. The photograph was of Laurent and another man; a close up shot; ostensibly a happy, loving couple in a free and easy embrace.

The phone bleeped.

It wasn’t a text from the kidnappers, and, from the content, obviously from the lover. He was going to be late, due back the following afternoon; could Laurent meet him at the airport with the car? It was signed off by ‘Max’; with love and a kiss.

“I’m so sorry…” Drew whispered to himself and tears fell down his cheeks.

The phone bleeped again.

Drew read the message and between the expletives gathered his bollocks were for the chop.

“Okay. Do or die time.” He called Mordy from the phone on the desk.

“Mordy, it’s me…I’m safe. What fucking camera? Jesus!...no; not a good idea; I’ll lay low…when and where is the handover?...I’ll be there; but don’t look for me…yeah, that’s what I think, so be prepared…actually I agree with her; give the fucking thing back and let’s go home…we’ll move some place they can’t find us…give my love to her too; and to Ffraid, and Mordy…I love you with all my heart; please be careful…I know; I’ll see you tomorrow; but don’t look for me; I’m the wild card now…goodnight sweetheart…I know; I’m stronger for that too…I love you.”

He texted ‘Max’ and confirmed that he would be at the airport, signing off with a kiss.

“It was him or me and I’m sorry, truly sorry.” Drew murmured the lamentation as he pulled the photograph out of the frame and wrote a simple confession on the back. At least ‘Max’ would know that Laurent was dead. If he was embroiled in the crime, that was his look out; if not, he could at least move on, eventually.

Drew opened the drawers of the desk to check if there was anything of use in them. There was a gun. He wondered if Laurent had shot Mordred and if he had, then Laurent’s death weighed less heavily on his conscience. He’d never actually seen or touched a gun in his life. He didn’t want to now, and what good would it do him if he took it? He didn’t know anything about weapons; how to check if it was loaded or whether the safety catch was on or off.

“There’s probably a tutorial on ‘YouTube’,” he muttered to himself. There was a laptop on the desk; shut and but plugged in. He flipped the lid on the off chance that Laurent hadn’t password protected it; he had. He didn’t see the point in trying to guess the password. Taking the gun; even if he just used it as a prop; did that make sense?

He wanted to lie down but couldn’t entertain the idea of messing up the marital bed so he lay on the sofa, with the lights out, just watching the glow of the city out of the big picture windows. It was eleven o’clock.

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Destiny’s child

No one really slept; rested their eyes maybe was all. Mordy showered and put the same clothes back on; thankfully there was a guest toothbrush in the bathroom and tiny tube of toothpaste. The face staring back at him from the mirror was looking older and tired.

“A holiday; that’s what I need, “ he said to himself, smiling at the bizarre turn of events that had unravelled following his decision to head back to the island after twenty years of travelling and gnawing on bones.

They ordered breakfast and everyone were ravenous for some reason.

“What are we actually going to do?” asked Ffraid.

“Turn up and wait. I suggest we get there half an hour early; it’ll be less busy and we might see someone,” Mordy replied.

“They won’t have Drew; so what are they likely to do?” posed Linda.

“My guess is they will say we have to follow them; someplace out of the way; then they’ll wave a gun about and demand the stuff; leaving us empty-handed or…”

“Don’t say it!” interrupted Linda, finding it hard not to shake.

“What do we say?” questioned Ffraid.

“We ain’t going anywhere until we have proof that Drew is alive; if only to buy some time. This place is a tourist trap; we won’t be alone there; they won’t risk a scene.”

“But they don’t have him, so, it’ll just be a stand-off…”

“Unless we say we know Drew has escaped; so what the fuck do they have to exchange now?”

“Mordy; just give it back; Drew’s safe,” recommended Linda.

“Then we have no insurance policy.”

“Even if we did actually exchange the stuff for Drew; they could still come after us later.”

“If we knew why it was so fucking important it might give us a lever.”

“It’s nearly eight o’clock, Mordy; we have to make a decision.”

He sat just staring at the holdall that contained the boxes and the diamond. These things had caused the death of so many people already; the five men at the wreck site and his father. Maybe even his mother; he didn’t know what she’d known; what she’d had to endure. Everyone’s life was poisoned by this treasure; his, Drew’s, Ffraid’s, and Ingrid’s.

“Let’s get rid of this stuff and find Drew…” His tone was resolute and like granite.

They got ready and headed out. It was eight-fifteen and the sun was shining. The promenade was already reasonably busy with office workers and students. Mordy carried the bag with Linda on his left and Ffraid on his right, holding his hand. They walked at a steady pace towards the arch. They were, in their own way, ready for anything. Mordy was trying to quell the anticipation of seeing Drew; not knowing what the crazy fool was planning.

They neared the area where the promenade opened out and there were the steps leading down into the Metro system. They skirted around those and approached the steps that led up to the arch and the parvis beneath it. Bizarrely, Mordy was excited on one level; he’d always wanted to climb the steps and head up to the viewing deck. The crowd had thinned by this point, though there were a few students and office workers sat on some of the steps drinking coffees and smoking, chatting into mobile phones or to each other.

By now it was eight-thirty and Mordy felt a tightening in his gut, not dissimilar to the one he’d had waiting for the pimp to arrive in the girl’s room, all those years ago. He squeezed Ffraid’s hand and began to scan the area, looking for the out of place, the off-key, the man, or men, who, caught looking their direction, turned swiftly away. No one looked like they shouldn’t be there, but, there were plenty of vantage points and still half an hour before the rendezvous time.

“Fancy a coffee?” asked Linda.

Mordy didn’t know if she was joking; apparently not.

“We’ve got half an hour, and there’s a Starbuck’s up there,” she said, pointing to their left and the steps that took you up to the entrance to the mall and the cinema.

“Why not?” He replied quietly, thinking it might be his last, “it’s a good vantage point too,” he added.

They turned and headed up to the café that also had a seating area outside that took in the whole of the area. Within a quarter of an hour they were stood on the terrace, scanning the steps and the parvis beneath the arch. Still nothing.

“What if they don’t show?” asked Ffraid.

“They will,” Mordy assured them.

Linda had been looking up at the viewing deck atop the arch which these days was closed to the public.

“Mordy,” she began, “there’s someone on the viewing deck but it’s closed to the public…”

Mordy turned and looked. Sure enough, there was man on the viewing deck, a solitary figure. He must have noticed them watching him and then he did the weirdest thing, he waved, discretely.

“It’s fucking Drew!” exclaimed Mordy.

“Mordy, it’s five to nine,” alerted Linda.

They dropped their cups into the waste bin and headed back to the foot of the steps in front of the arch. Halfway up and Mordy’s phone bleeped. He glanced at it and gave it to Ffraid;

“It says ‘stop’,” she announced and they did.

As if by magic, four men appeared. One at the top of the steps and one at the foot and one either side of them, on their level.

“What the fuck now?” Mordy murmured.

The men didn’t move and nor did it look like they planned to; in fact, it looked like they were waiting for someone else. A woman, unnoticed up to that point, got up and straightened her skirt. She was perhaps twenty-five metres away on a step five lower than the trio. She turned and advanced, purposefully angling her ascent, so that, once she had reached their level she was maybe twenty metres away. She continued walking until she was about ten metres away, close enough for Ffraid to recognise her;

“Mum!”

Ffraid started to move but Mordy placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Ffraid, wait…”

“But…”

The woman stopped; her face a mask of indeterminate emotions. Mordy sought out her eyes and they betrayed nothing of her intentions.

“Ingrid?” Mordy posed the question for want of something to say.

“Mordy,” she replied in a heavily accented voice; a German accent; quite clipped and bordering on aristocratic.

“Where’s Drew?” Mordy asked, testing the waters.

“Drew is dead,” she pronounced, without any hint of feeling, like she was recalling the time of the day, “and that…”

“Changes things,” interrupted Mordy, “what now then?”

It seemed to Mordy that she was scrutinising him; aligning her impressions with, perhaps, stuff that Mordred had told her about him. Certainly, Mordred had known about the incident in Marseilles; for all Mordy knew, Ingrid may well have read the journal. Clearly some internal debate was going on.

“Do you have the diamond?”

At last they got down to the brass tacks.

“Yes…what do you have to trade?”

“Your safety.”

“Drew is dead. So why should I believe that?”

The air between them was humming with the tension.

“He acted out of desperation. It wasn’t necessary that he died; he left himself no choice. Whereas you do have a choice…”

“The diamond for our lives; that’s what you’re offering,” and Mordy slipped his hand around Ffraid’s shoulders and reached out for Linda’s, who clasped his.

“A fair trade and Ffraid stays with you…”

“But…” piped up Ffraid, and Mordy drew her closer, to quell the panic that was erupting in her slight frame.

“Stay with Mordy, Ffraid; you’re better off with him…” and the voice begged no argument.

And Mordy heard the inflection which he took to mean, ‘he loves you whereas I don’t’.

“Are you gonna tell us what this all means; why people have died?” And Mordy’s tone was quite plaintiff, definitely sad. Then he was sad; because his father was dead and maybe he wasn’t the arch villain after all. Maybe he’d been caught up in something he didn’t understand.

“It’s pretty simple really…” and there was a hint in the tone that suggested that she thought even he, Mordy, would understand it, “the diamond is priceless…”

“How come I found it on the seabed then?”

“Ah! Yes, the wreck; William was very clever…”

Which one was she referring to?

“I wouldn’t say that…” Mordy retorted.

“Not the last of the line; the first. When he saw the diamond he knew that it had to be special; it was, still is. Its theft caused more grief than you can imagine; and still does; between certain parties…”

“Why?” The obvious question and the only one Mordy ever really wanted to ask.

“The diamond was used as security for a loan. It’s theft by Mary caused a good deal of embarrassment, at first; then its disappearance was seen as more than just convenient; it became a matter of honour.”

“Is it worth that much?” interjected Linda.

“Like I said; priceless; discovered in the central stupa of the fabled temple of Borobudur in Indonesia…it is said to be ‘enlightenment’…its value was enough to secure a loan that funded the entire…”

“Enough history, Ingrid,” Mordy pleaded, “what happens to it now?”

“Returned to the rightful owner and a long standing enmity can, at last, be put to bed!”

“Fine…”

“I have something for you, which Mordred was planning to give you.”

Mordy’s interest was suddenly pricked. Ingrid reached in her bag and withdrew an envelope.

“It’s the deeds to a manor house on the island; once owned by Nathaniel. I know Mordred wanted you to have it. I believe he saw it as, in some way, compensation for the years of neglect. If it is of any comfort, then know that he did try and find you.”

Mordy didn’t answer; the emotions were logged jammed in his gut that felt like it was full of cold granite. Ingrid moved forward and held out the envelope, and Mordy saw it as a kind of surrender. Linda was holding the bag. Mordy took the envelope and Ingrid accepted the bag from Linda. Ingrid didn’t move away immediately; she was close enough to reach out and caress Ffraid’s cheek; perhaps the smile was genuine; Mordy thought the eyes held no love for the child. He wondered what had been so precious that Ingrid had accepted his father’s seed and borne this fruit.

Within a blink, Ingrid dropped her hand and turned, walking swiftly away, ignorant of the tears coursing down Ffraid’s cheeks. When Mordy looked, the men had disappeared and they were suddenly alone on the steps. Ffraid turned into Mordy’s chest and just sobbed. He hugged her close whilst blinking back his own tears; smiling at Linda, for some strength and reassurance.

“Fantastic views from up there…”

Mordy looked round, “How did you get up there?”

“I have friends in high places…”

Epilogue

“Was this the best idea or what?”

“Buying the beach, you mean?”

“Yeah…and Mordy…”

“Drew…”

“Last one in’s a twat!”

Wasn’t this, pretty much, where things had begun?

They weren’t on the beach where they’d first met or the nudist beach. This was their own beach; a tiny cove, impossible to reach except by boat, and now, by steps from the edge of the garden that they had cut themselves, reinforcing the steep slope with old railway sleepers.

“What time is Ffraid coming tomorrow?” Drew asked, as he shook water out of his ears and flung himself back down on his towel.

“Linda is putting her on the midday flight; so about one-thirty,” Mordy replied, shaking his hair over Drew, like some happy dog.

“It must be hard for her…”

“She says they were never close…but, it must be hard.”

“She’s got you.”

“She’s got us and if Ingrid agrees, we’ll soon have a fourteen year old child, officially, to look after.”

“I wonder why they had her.”

“I think Ingrid saw Mordred as a link to the island and hoped he’d find the diamond…”

“So she was just using him?”

“It looks that way.”

“Pretty calculating.”

“She is. Still, she’s paid for the school in London.”

They sunbathed for a while longer, relishing the privacy as much as the heat. The manor house that Mordred had left Mordy was where they lived now. The house in Putney was rented out, with Linda taking care of the tenants. The manor had been owned by Nathaniel, but after his downfall it had been sold and had passed through many hands until Mordred had bought it, many years before. For the longest time it had stood empty.

“Are we gonna re-thatch the roof this year?” asked Drew

“Best to. Got Jacob coming over next week to have a look see and give us an estimate.”

“We’ll have to sell more coins!”

“I was gonna use the money from the sale of film rights…”

“No. Don’t do that. Invest it in the Sci-Fi project. I really want you on-board with that.”

“Okay, but I thought you had the money lined up.”

“If it’s your money I’m playing with I’ll work a lot harder.”

“Rub some oil into my back would you?”

“Mordy…that’s so lame.”

“I don’t want my shoulders to get burned.”

“Of course you don’t!”

Drew poured a little of the oil into the palms of his hands and smoothed it over the skin of Mordy’s back, kneading his shoulders in the process. Drew was kneeling at his side but soon moved and sat astride him. The heat and scent radiated up from Mordy’s body and enveloped him, momentarily blotting out all other sensations.

“You’re so fucking sexy…”

“I love you…”

It was so different these days. Mordy never used to say that whilst they made love; always after and almost always after Drew had said it. Not that he didn’t love Drew; he did; but he wasn’t looking for permission any more. No longer the child waiting to be told they could leave the table.

In some part, his own fragility, displayed during the hostage crisis, made him realise that he wasn’t always the one to be strong. He admitted to Drew that he thought Drew had been incredibly brave and had coped far better than he had during that fateful twenty-four hours.

Drew had killed Laurent. He’d killed him to save his own life. When Drew had recounted the events, Mordy had sat shaking and crying. Drew didn’t think it was the graphic tale that had caused the reaction; it was the realisation that Mordy wasn’t alone anymore, someone did love him, understood his fear and pain and he didn’t always have to be the stoic hero.

Those events were largely consigned to the bin these days. The web in which they had unwittingly found themselves by picking up that box off the seabed was confined to lighter moments; ones in full sun; with no shadows to hide the ugliness. Most of it was just that; grasping, ugly greed.

They had been right in their surmising in many ways. The secret of the wreck had been passed from father to son and Mordy had been denied his part in that by his mother’s affair with Mordred. His ‘father’ had punished them for breaking the line, breaking the spell; he could no longer command the respect of the others.

It had also been he, William, who, years and years before Mordy had found it, had tried to steal the diamond and the box and, in so doing, deny the others their share of the spoils, for their slights on his name. He’d dropped it because he’d gone out alone and the weather had been awful; really too dangerous for diving.

He’d strengthened the compartment and convinced the others that all was safe; saying that as diving was becoming more popular, they needed to be more careful and safeguard against someone stumbling on the wreck and her loot. This was to hide the fact that he’d lost the box; a fact he dare not admit.

Mordred knew about the wreck because he had access to most of Nathaniel’s and Mary’s papers; and could add two and two together. What he didn’t know he was told by Beryl and Sheila. They knew perfectly well what their husbands were doing; new coats, new cars and foreign holidays didn’t come out of the profits of a fish and chip shop or a small general store.

In many ways it was a tale of base greed and covetousness.

The provenance of the diamond was not known. Only after Mordred and Mary went to Paris, and subsequently, during the time when Mary worked in Berlin, did Mordred become in involved with Ingrid.

Ingrid had snared Mordred, knowing something, but not enough to act, without his cooperation or his knowledge of Nathaniel and Mary. Once his usefulness had been served, he’d been side-lined and the daughter shipped to boarding school.

Mordred’s unfaithfulness did not go unremarked upon by Mordy. It was always with some pain that he recalled that aspect of his father’s character; one he hadn’t inherited.

And he did have something that Ffraid didn’t have. Ingrid hadn’t loved her but apparently Mary had loved him. He doubted it often but letters he found in the desk in the manor seemed to prove otherwise; letters addressed to him that Mordred had not seen fit to pass on once they had met. Mordy wondered, therefore, if his rejection by her was just the result of a temporary shock; perhaps given time she would have accepted him.

“I love you too…”

The Carter Seagrove Project is the creative workspace of authors Alp Mortal and Chambers Mars.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One - Chance encounter

Chapter Two - A further encounter

Chapter Three - The Granite Pearl

Chapter Four - The first foray

Chapter Five - Ghosts don’t eat fish and chips

Chapter Six - The day before the dive and more mystery

Chapter Seven - Dive!

Chapter Eight - All things come to he who waits

Chapter Nine - Morning comes and decisions are made

Chapter Ten - London calling

Chapter Eleven - Going, going, not gone

Chapter Twelve - Bliss descends on the household

Chapter Thirteen - A break through on the mystery front

Chapter Fourteen – Christmas and further discoveries

Chapter Fifteen – New Year

Chapter Sixteen – Reunited

Chapter Seventeen – The Months That Time Forgot

Chapter Eighteen – The return of the native

Epilogue and the end of Part One

Chapter One – There Wasn’t A Dry Eye In The House

Chapter Two – Steps Forward

Chapter Three – The Publisher

Chapter Four – Meteors Rising

Chapter Five – Christmas Once Again

Chapter Six – New Year Sales

Chapter Seven – Back at the Beginning

Chapter Eight – Re-start

Chapter Nine – Who and What?

Chapter Ten – Stranger Than Fiction

Chapter Eleven – Paris Revisited

Chapter Twelve – Oscar Stubbs

Chapter Thirteen – On The Run

Chapter Fourteen – Holed Up

Chapter Fifteen – Return to Paris

Chapter Sixteen – The Apartment in Pigalle

Chapter Seventeen – Ffraid

Chapter Eighteen – Out of the mouths of babes, indeed!

Chapter Nineteen – Chilly for the time of year

Chapter Twenty – Instructions are received

Chapter Twenty-One – Drew is not himself

Chapter Twenty-Two – London return please!

Chapter Twenty-Three – Rock, Paper, Scissors

Chapter Twenty-Four – safety in numbers

Chapter Twenty-Five – keep mum!

Chapter Twenty-Six – Drew is not himself

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Destiny’s child

Epilogue