Chapter One
Richard Philips' latest book had just sold a million copies and he was celebrating in style. The room was warm, drinks were circulating and the atmosphere was one of general hilarity. A young man in jeans and a white jumper was playing the piano flamboyantly, with a wealth of flourishes and trills. A short balding man in a black dinner suit beamed as he listened to a girl in an orange caftan - the publisher and one of his assistants. Two women in cocktail dresses hovered over a table covered in delicious savouries. "I just love smoked oysters," one told the other. "And that's not all that looks tasty," she added throwing a glance over her shoulder to a tall man several feet away.
"Him?" queried the other woman. "He's a cop would you believe; one of Richard's closest friends. He's okay, but aloof if you know what I mean. You'd probably have more luck with Richard, although he's rather hard to get at, too. He'll give everyone a kiss and a cuddle, but he doesn't do one night stands, at least, I suppose, as far as I know! We get on well. How did you meet him?"
"I'm with the publishing company. There was a general invitation and I leapt at the opportunity." Their talk drifted on to work. A young hotel waiter stood inconspicuously by the table, checking that everything was running smoothly, but looking wistfully at the prettier of the two women ... as if he wished he were part of the celebrations.
Chief Inspector William Harper of the Sydney Police Department looked through the laughing, chattering crowd to the man who was threading his way across the room, a glass in either hand. At six feet he was an inch shorter than the detective, with thick unruly brown hair, intelligent blue eyes and a perfectly straight nose. His soft, chocolate coloured shirt and black trousers accentuated his broad shoulders and the athletic grace of his figure. He was one of the two best looking men in the room, Harper being the other. He paused to give one glass to the man at the piano, who acknowledged it with a quick nod. Then he came across to the detective. He handed him the other glass.
"Here you are Bill, Peter Dawson with ice."
"Thanks, darling," the detective replied, fluttering his eyes dramatically amidst delighted squeals from the women.
For an instant Philips was taken aback. What long lashes Bill has he thought inconsequentially. He grinned and retorted, "Any time, love." Two could play at that game!
The women broke into excited laughter and Philips felt suddenly embarrassed. He nodded to them and moved away, feeling an odd tingle as Harper's eyes followed him boldly. I'll get him back for that, he resolved, I won't let him live it down in a hurry.
The party swirled on gaily until midnight when Munro, Philips publisher, stood on a chair and proposed a toast. Champagne corks popped, and glasses were filled. Someone handed a large one to Philips.
"To another million copies!" cried Munro.
There was a ragged echo, and people raised their glasses and drank. Philips grimaced at the size of his drink but managed to empty it. What the hell! An occasion like this didn't come every week, or even every year. Munro called for another toast. By two o'clock, Philips realised vaguely that he had never been so drunk in his life. He caught Harper's arm as he passed and grinned.
"I thin' I betta go home...before I pass out."
Harper laughed. "Okay Richard, I'll come with you. Hang on while I get a taxi, will you?"
He left Philips standing unsteadily in the middle of the room and went over to speak to the waiter. He was back in a minute. "Come on, there's one out the front now." He put his arm around the other man's shoulders, and they made their way to the door. Goodbyes echoed around them.
Philips insisted that everyone should carry on with the party. "No need to stop just because I'm going, Jack," he told Munro.
The noise of the party followed them down the corridor until it ended abruptly as someone shut the door. Outside Harper paused to take a deep breath of the cool night air. The lights of Sydney lay before them, and he gazed admiringly before starting down the steps to the waiting taxi. The hotel steps were broad and they managed them without too much difficulty.
A porter opened the taxi door for them as Philips turned to Harper. "You don't have to come with me, Bill. Stay and have fun."
"It's okay. I think you'll need my help getting up to your flat!" Harper eased Philips in first, and slid in beside him. "Balmain, please," he told the Lebanese driver. "104 King Street." He lent back against the seat, letting his arm rest lightly across Philips' shoulders.
The driver nodded and started the engine, "Okay mate." There was hardly any traffic on the roads and they made good time.
104 King Street was a modern block of flats a few streets back from the main road, made up of brown bricks and lots of windows. Phillips had taken out a loan when his first book was published, now he owned it outright.
Harper paid off the driver and hauled his friend inside. They took the elevator up to the third floor, just managing to get out before the doors shut on them. The blue carpet muffled their footsteps and the dim light encouraged silence, Philips' apartment was the third on the left. Leaning heavily against the other man, Philips hunted in his trouser pockets for his keys. He found them, sorted out the right one, fumbled with it for a minute around the lock and dropped the bunch. "Shit. You betta do it Bill. I can't seem to manage it."
Harper grinned and took a firmer grip around Philips' waist before removing one hand to pick up the keys. He unlocked the door and went in. Half leading, half dragging the other man, he switched on the lights and sat Philips on a large sofa resting just inside. The room was a lounge with two armchairs, a colour television - which Philips had bought as soon as it came on the market a few months ago - and several potted plants. One wall opened off to a compact kitchen, filled with the latest appliances. Philips enjoyed fancy cooking. A glass cabinet on top of a wooden bench displayed a variety of wine glasses and crystal bowls, in addition to acting as a partition for the two rooms. Further around, a closed door led to the bathroom and a second door gaped to reveal a large bedroom with a double bed. The furniture in both rooms was made of dark wood with olive green covers made of wool. A thick cream rug contributed to the luxurious air.
""Ave another drink Bill?" offered Philips.
"No thanks! I've had enough and so have you for that matter. I'll get you a large glass of water in a minute." Harper looked at him a little strangely. "I've never seen you this drunk before, you're practically helpless."
"I'm fine," protested Philips. "But I think it's bed time for me," he added as the room started to spin. He took the glass of water Harper offered and drank it all before trying to stand up. Harper bit his lip, speaking quickly as if he wanted to commit himself before he changed his mind.
"Come on Richard, I'll give you a hand," he offered.
Philips nodded, thinking that if he shut his eyes he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. The detective hoisted him to his feet and into the bedroom, where he pulled back the covers and let Philips fall onto the bed. He bent down to take off his shoes and socks, his face looking strained as if something was worrying him but Philips didn't notice.
"That'll be okay, Bill. Just pull the covers over me and I'll be fine," he murmured.
"It's not a problem," Harper replied. "You'll be more comfortable if I take your shirt and trousers off." He lent over his chest and began to undo his shirt buttons, his long brown fingers fumbling a little. Philips looked patiently at his friend's bent head, black hair curling over his collar and falling into his eyes. His tanned skin was drawn tightly over his features, giving him a thin, almost ascetic appearance.
He slipped over the edge of consciousness, vaguely aware that Harper was taking a long time over his trousers as if the zipper was stuck. He floated back to the surface again sometime later, with the impression that something incongruous had happened to wake him ... but he couldn't remember what. As he puzzled over it he realised with embarrassment that Harper had stripped him completely naked and that he was partially aroused. Then he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead and he remembered what had awoken him. Someone had kissed his lips.
Who on earth was with him now? Surely one of the women from the party hadn't followed him home? That one who'd been talking to Mary perhaps, who'd made eyes at all the men? He opened his eyes slowly. The shock was like a bucket of icy water, it sobered him completely for the moment. Harper! Harper with brown eyes blazing, fingers trembling, mouth tight with desire. Desire for him. He felt Harper's hand sliding softly down over his bare stomach, saw his face leaning over him again and reacted instinctively. His eyes opened wide and he cried with unmistakable clarity,"No! Bill!" Then he closed his eyes to slits again, waiting to see what would happen.
The effect was devastating. In a second Harper was at the door, his chest heaving, and face stone white. "Oh God!" the words were torn out of him. He stayed frozen to the spot, his eyes fixed on Philips, poised for instant flight. As the minutes ticked past, with no further sign of consciousness from the man on the bed, Harper slowly relaxed his position.
"Richard?" the word was a hoarse whisper. "Are you awake?" Silence. "Can you hear me?" Philips wondered frantically what he would do if Harper approached him again.
"Oh God. I thought you were right out to it, I wouldn't have touched you otherwise. That doesn't sound very good, does it?" he confessed harshly. "But I know that's the only way I'd ever have you, and I've wanted you badly for months. For years." His voice was now filled with despair. Irresistibly he was drawn back towards the bed but he just stood there, looking down at his friend, fists clenched at his sides.
"Tonight, at the party, I just kept daring myself to go further with you, to keep touching you, holding you, to see how much I could get away with. I can't think straight when you're near. And then I was drinking - I should know never to drink when I'm with you - I just lose control. I look at you now, and I want to kiss you, stroke you, make love to you - it's driving me mad." He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever known, I'm in love with you. But don't be afraid," he said, bitter with self mockery. "I won't touch you again in case you wake up! God, I'm a coward."
He shifted his feet. "I pray that was just a flash of consciousness you had, because if you're listening to me now, I swear I don't know what I'll do. I might decide to hang for a sheep as well as a lamb. I don't think you could do much to stop me at the moment." He shook his head. "No I couldn't do that to you. I know that would be rape, and I'm not that selfish. You've made it very clear what you would think of that. Thank God you can't hear me babbling away here." He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes and sighed. Gently he pulled the bed covers up over the other man, to Philips' infinite relief. "Good night Richard."
He bent over him and Philips braced himself for the touch of his mouth, he hoped he could control himself enough not to react. His hands clenched under the blankets, and then he heard a choked "I can't" as the other man swung away.
For a split second Philips wished he was brave enough to call out, "Bill, come back and stay with me if you like!" But he was silent, and he heard the outer door open and close.
XXX
Well, you never knew. You saw a man for days on end, ate with him, talked with him, worked with him and you never even guessed something as important about him as that. Bill, a queer. No, what was the new word they were using? Gay. How long had he been like that? Always? It was hard to believe. Philips stirred his third cup of coffee and sipped it. He could almost believe the whole affair last night had been a nightmare - almost. Thank heavens he had woken up in time! He rubbed his lips again where Harper had kissed him; remembered that glow of arousal when he had woken. What had Harper done to him while he was unconscious? Part of him was embarrassingly curious, but another part just didn't want to know. How far would he have gone? He squirmed in his seat, how could he ever look him in the face again? How could he touch him? Be alone with him?
Until now he had not actually thought that much about homosexuality. Working in the arts meant that he knew several men who were gay and although he had not been particularly disturbed by their sexuality, he had not made friends of them either. But what did you do when one turned out to be your closest friend, a man you had liked and admired? You couldn't just brush him off; cut the friendship, could you?
XXX
Joe's delicatessen had stood on the corner of Stanley Street for over twenty years, its name written in red paint on the window. The words "Bread", "Continental Food", "Ice-cream" and "Drinks" were painted in yellows, blues and greens beneath the name. The rest of the window was covered by posters and brand name stickers. Wire frames bursting with yellow news sheets leaned against the small blue tiles which covered the brickwork around the window, and coloured strips of long plastic served as a door when the shop was open, as it was now.
Inside, rows of shelves lined the walls, full of tins of soup and vegetables, jars of olives and pickles, boxes of chocolates, and stacks of wire trays dotted about the room overflowed with bags of yellow pasta. The counter was on top of a long white refrigerating complex which displayed milk, cheese, cream and various types of salami through a window in the front. Despite the name and the stock of continental goods, the shop was run by an English widow. In fact, Joe had only lived there for two years before selling out to a semi-retired couple and moving to Adelaide. The couple Mr and Mrs James Gordon, themselves only recently come out from England, had hesitated about the continental basis of their new shop but the heavy local demand for those goods had soon convinced them to keep things as Joe had left them. As well as the regular customers, a steady stream of passing motorists ensured good business and a reasonable profit. It was the factor of profit and the assurance of something to do which had made Mrs Gordon decide to keep the shop after her husband's last, fatal illness.
The shop was actually the converted front room of a small six roomed, two storeyed house and the widow was able to accommodate a succession of girl assistants on the premises. For the past year her youngest niece, Toni, had occupied both the spare room and the job - an arrangement suitable to both of them though not without its occasional crises, particularly over boyfriends and loud music.
At the moment, Toni was looking eagerly out of the window. She bit nervously on the tip of her middle finger, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with excitement. There he was! She stifled a nervous giggle. A tall man came around the corner, walking with long strides towards the shop. The girl flew back behind the counter, her red skirt swishing around her legs. She rearranged cans of soup on the shelves behind the cash register, stacking them into pyramids. The man pushed through the plastic strips and spoke hastily. "Just a carton of milk today, thanks, Toni. I'm in a hurry, unexpected visitors." He smiled, oblivious of its heart stopping effect on the girl.
Hiding her disappointment, Toni fished a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and put it on top of the counter. "Twenty cents, please," she smiled.
He put the correct money into her hand and took the carton. "Thanks, Toni." The plastic swished behind him and she went to the window again to watch him all the way back to the corner. Heavens, he was gorgeous. Each day was a torture of anticipation until he came. When he was in the shop, every look, every gesture, every word was carefully stored up and treasured, to be relived again and again until the next time. Today's visit was almost worse than if he hadn't come at all. She flicked a dark strand of hair out of her eyes and sighed heavily.
"Br..brrrr. Br.. brrrr" the telephone broke shrilly into her thoughts. Taking a quick look out the window for approaching customers, she turned and brushed through the thin curtains to the room beyond.
"Hullo?"
"Hi Toni, it's me, Carol. Has he come yet?"
Toni lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Just a second ago."
"Well? What happened?"
Toni hesitated, torn between her wish to keep her feelings private and the desire to impress her friend. "Nothing much. He just kissed me," she added daringly.
"Really?" Carol sounded excited. "What was it like?"
"Ooh, terrific," replied Toni dreamily.
"Has he asked you to ... you know ... yet?" There was a delicious taboo about the correct words which they both enjoyed.
"No, of course not!"
"Why not? If he's as crazy about you as you say? I think you're just making it all up, a guy like him falling for you." Carol was suddenly sceptical.
"That's all you know! Promise not to tell anyone?"
"'Course!"
"Well," she lowered her voice again to a whisper, "He has asked me, sort of. He asked if he could come and see me one night when my aunt's out. That's pretty clear isn't it?"
"What did you say?" the other girl was enthralled despite herself.
"Okay, of course," said Toni rashly. "Aunt Jane's going out next Saturday to her Bingo, and he's coming round after she's gone."
"Oh my God, Toni. Are you really going to do it?"
"I don't know yet, I haven't made up my mind."
"Be careful. He might get mad if you jerk him around," warned Carol.
"I'll be okay," Toni was confident. "I know how to handle him."
"Can I come over and meet him?" teased Carol.
"No!" The reaction was too vehement.
"Why not? Isn't he coming after all?" she asked suspiciously.
"'Course he is!"
"Oh yeah? Then you won't mind if I look out of my window to get a look at him will you?"
"What on earth for?"
"Because I don't think he's really coming. I reckon you're making the whole thing up, Toni Gordon!" Carol answered frankly.
"See if I care. Look out your stupid window then." Toni crashed down the receiver. She'd show her! Just because nothing exciting ever happened to Carol, she couldn't believe it could happen to anyone else.