Nikolas looked up sharply, both amused and revolted. Ben frowned. “That didn’t come out quite as it sounded in my head.”
“No, I should hope not. My corpse rotting and you still going down on?”
“Shut up! Fuck.”
“Bits falling off in your …”
The waiter came to take their order. Nikolas knew Ben had intended to order steak, his favourite, because he was starving, but he ordered fish instead. Nikolas was therefore finding it hard to order for laughing, and he’d been trying to remain mature and serious. He’d been enjoying his argument, winding Ben up, outmanoeuvring him, keeping him off balance. Sometimes, he went too far, he knew, but Ben always bounced back—usually on him. That was what made it fun.
It wasn’t long before they’d drunk a couple of bottles of wine and several beers between them. Nikolas still didn’t eat much, but he usually managed to outdrink Ben. But then, as he’d once pointed out, he was half-Danish, half-Russian; it was inevitable.
When the waiter left after bringing them another couple of beers, Nikolas said with a resigned sigh, “So, Christmas in a log cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, just you and a hot tub. How ever am I going to cope?” Ben leant back and thoughtlessly ran his fingers through his hair, lifting it and letting it drop. Nikolas watched with fascination. “Don’t worry. I’ve just thought of what we can do to keep busy.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’ve told you many times that I’m never drunk. Well, all right, I admit once you’ve seen me drunk, but that was an extreme case, and I believe the vodka was…how do you say??”
“Flowing too freely?”
“No. Hmm. Spiked.”
The food arrived, and Ben tackled it like it was going to reanimate and escape. Nikolas ate more slowly, but it was still challenging for him to eat anything in public. He was very glad Ben didn’t comment on this, though. Commenting on anything to him, he acknowledged, tended to make him perverse and do the opposite.
When they were finished, Nikolas began to fiddle with his cutlery, a habit that’d only developed since he’d stopped smoking. He started drumming his fingers.
“Stop it.”
He narrowed his eyes at Ben. “You’ve never given up. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “Order some coffee. I’m going…” He waved vaguely toward the bathroom and got up. Nikolas then had the dubious pleasure of watching everyone ogling Ben again as he crossed the room. Focused on just how good Ben looked in the clothes he’d bought him, thinking about the removal of them later, he was jolted back to the present when a woman slid into the chair Ben had just vacated. She smiled and held out her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to say hello. I’m Anna.”
Nikolas held out his hand then hesitated as he tried to remember which identity he’d travelled to Denmark under. “Christian Beck.”
“Christian! Oh, sorry, I thought you must be Nikolas. You look just as he says Nik does. How strange.”
Nikolas hesitated for a moment then conceded, “Nikolas is my middle name.”
She nodded, pleased. “I knew it. He can’t have too many friends that match your description, can he? He mentioned you’d come from Russia unexpectedly.”
Nikolas drew his eyes away from her bosom, which was difficult because it appeared to be trying to climb out and join him at the table. He focused on her face. She was heavily made up and appeared to think given enough application of artifice she could still be as attractive as she must have been twenty years ago. He’d place her in her late forties but reckoned she could be younger. He conceded privately he was probably not the best person to be judging these things.
She was studying him as well. When he appeared disinclined to elucidate why he was not still in Russia, she continued, “I was surprised, you see, to see him here tonight because he cancelled our date at the last minute.” She simpered a little and waved at her bosom. “I don’t always dress like this, you know. But he moaned about something coming up unexpectedly—something awkward. That he had to go out. But I suppose he’ll tell me later.” She blushed. “He’s quite chatty after…well…”
Nikolas sat back, assessing, thinking. Finally, at rather a loss for words, he asked, “Sorry, but who are you?”
“Oh, has he not told you about me?” She frowned then nodded and gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, perhaps because of the divorce. He said it’d hit you rather hard. He wouldn’t want to upset you while you’re still recovering. You know Ben.”
“I thought I did. Told me what?”
“Oh, we’re going to be married!” She patted her stomach and glanced around shyly. “We were hoping in the next few months—before I start to show. We weren’t expecting you to come to Aeroe, of course. He was so sure you were going to be away until December and then go straight to London. So perhaps he wasn’t going to tell you until after the ceremony?” Nikolas was now studying her even more closely. He took a swallow of wine.
“You’re talking about Benjamin Rider? The Englishman who’s staying?”
“With Ingrid. Yes, of course. He was here a moment ago, wasn’t he?”
“How did you meet, did you say?”
“Oh, we met here in Aeroeskoebing when he first arrived. He came to the market, and we just sort of clicked. I know what you’re thinking?”
