“You can’t use grant money to pay the tax man.”
“No, but if the grants can pay for work we were doing anyway, that frees up capital to send to His Majesty.”
William was starting to think like a grifting businessman, and I felt genuinely proud of him.
“Oh, and I’ve got a woman coming up from the village tomorrow morning to talk about starting a riding school here.”
“William, that’s wonderful.”
The next day was my day off. William got me out of bed early, and we rode out across the estate to see the otter cubsplaying in the River Buck. It had been worth the wait to finally see them. The mummy otter appeared incredibly proud—and no surprise. If I could create something so unbearably cute, I’d be pumping out two or three a year myself. William and I spent the day hanging out in the folly, then went into the village pub in the evening to watch the Ireland v England rugby match. As William drove us back to Buckford, he reached across and rested his enormous hand on my leg. My heart almost burst through the windscreen, and my cock was instantly at full mast. I looked over at him, and his eyes met mine briefly.
“I hope you’ve had a good day,” he said, “experiencing all the delights of the estate and village life.”
“I did.” I let my hand rest on his.
“It gets under your skin, this place,” he said. “My father used to say Buckford magnetises the blood, so you constantly feel the pull of the place, wherever you are in the world.”
I squeezed his hand, unsure where this was going. “That’s very sweet.”
“The longer people stay, they more they yearn for the place and ache to return.”
“Well, I can understand that,” I said.
“You can?” William looked across at me again, eyes bright.
“Of course. I feel the same about London.”
William’s eyes returned to the road. An oncoming car momentarily lit the cabin of the Range Rover, then it plunged back into darkness.
“I miss it,” I said, “being so far away from it. My gran, my mates.” I laughed, remembering our big nights out at Miss Timmy’s in Soho—Old Compton Street’s most popular gender-nonconforming restaurant and cabaret venue. “Have you ever been to a drag show?”
William shook his head. “I’ve been to a few rugby club revues where the lads dress up.”
“Not the same. When you come down to London, we’ll get a jump start on your gay education, and you can come to Miss Timmy’s and see Sandy Crotch in action.”
William stiffened. His hand, which had been tenderly holding my leg, set like stone, resting there like dead weight. I moved my hand from his, and he placed his back on the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the car had suddenly become weird and tense.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t go to London.”
“But you’ve been there before?—”
“Anymore.” He tapped the steering wheel, keeping his eyes forward.
“Never?” Jonty had said he hadn’t visited, but I didn’t realise it was policy. William shook his head. “Are you saying when I go back to London, you won’t come to visit me?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Like, ever?”
“It’s not about you. I just can’t go back there, all right?”
This was ridiculous.
“Is this because of the rugby trip? The one when your dad died?”
“Leave it, all right?” He banged the steering wheel with his hand. Then seemed to check himself, balling his hand, then unclenching and tapping it against the wheel more gently. “Sorry. Would you mind if we dropped it for now?”
The headlights of an oncoming lorry lit up the inside of the car, catching the water in William’s eyes.
“Of course,” I said, remembering Bunny’s words about William avoiding life’s stronger emotions. I was beginning to realise how massively avoidant he was in general. As we drove along in silence, a very different thought took hold. What kind of future could we possibly build together after the camerasstopped rolling? Was this thing between us over before it even got started?
