‘He was rich because he’d founded a tech company. You just inherited your wealth.’
Aleksey laughed inwardly. Where was yes sir, no sir Ben Rider? Fifteen years behind them and not missed at all, that’s where. He wanted to push this man, his Ben, against the wall and kiss him. Hell, he wanted to do a great deal more than that.
But the city centre wasn’t entirely deserted; one or two pubs were emptying out and a few stragglers were still wandering around. They didn’t look particularly friendly, and in another time and another place, he’d have been exceedingly wary of even walking this close to a man in full view of such people—not for his safety, obviously, but for theirs. Nothing soldiers liked more than ruining a few civilians’ faces after a pleasant night out. And though Ben would never admit to having a very similar past to his, he actually did in many ways. No local bloke in Hereford messed with anyone they didn’t personally know. It was just too risky.
It became more and more deserted on the streets the further they went away from the shops and pubs. Eventually, Aleksey could smell dampness in the air and they emerged out onto the banks of the Exeter canal. The water seemed particularly still and oily, almost solid in the faint amber glow from the streetlights. The canal bank was littered with rubbish. Weeds grew out of the old walls, and where they weren’t growing, there was graffiti.
Aleksey thrust his hands into his pockets, staring around. Ben tapped his arm and flicked his head over to an old caravan which was half-concealed between two crumbing warehouses. The interior of the van glowed orange and there were a couple of people queuing in front of its open side hatch.
Ben went over and stood in line.
Aleksey followed. When they got to the front, Ben waited for a woman to look up. She eventually stopped fussing with her counter, a barrier she was barely tall enough to see over, and smiled, toothlessly cheery, ‘Right, what can?—My sunshine’s back! Would you look at that face? What can I do for you, Ben, my lover?’
Aleksey would have resented anyone else claiming Ben’s natural illumination for their own, or calling him their lover, had not this woman been older than he was by some considerable years. Possibly twice his age, if that were possible. And in a nun’s habit with a full wimple—that also took away any residual slither of jealousy. Ben grinned at the tiny nun, an expression, Aleksey noted dryly, which only increased the twinkle in her eyes. ‘We’re looking for someone, Sister. My friend here wants to have a chat with him, that’s all.’
She pursed her lips, pouring out two mugs of tea, casting swift, sharp glances at Aleksey. Her teeth had obviously given up the ghost and departed for the next life, but her eyes were still sharp and clear. He wasn’t sure whether to try and look harmless, homeless or helpless. In the end he tried to opt for honest, but he wasn’t too practised with that expression either. She handed them over the teas but waved off payment. ‘All free. Give, and it will be given unto you.’
Nevertheless, Aleksey put all five of the twenty pound notes he’d withdrawn down on her counter. ‘God also helps those who help themselves, I believe.’
She nodded and picked up the bundle. ‘It’ll be chockie bickies for the boys for a good few weeks then. Good lad.’
It had been a while since Aleksey had been called a lad. As with Harry calling him son, he rather liked it. ‘So, who do you want to talk to?’
‘A man called Harry. He’s in his sixties or seventies, tall, wiry, steel-grey hair cropped very short.’
She pursed her lips once more, the creases in her face even more prominent. Aleksey noticed her hands shook as she hefted the huge metal teapot to one side. It was almost bigger than she was. She was dressed all in white, with thick and thin blue bands on her wimple. Aleksey was minded to recall men of light dressed all in white, but repressed this extremely annoying thought.
Ben suddenly chuckled. ‘He’s got a dog called Snodgrass.’
The nun suddenly began to wheeze, and she sounded so much like Radulf trying to produce something unpleasant that Aleksey wasn’t sure whether to expect a hairball or a sneeze. Apparently, she was only laughing, for she then shook her head fondly. ‘Ah, wee Snodgrass. Now, there’s a dog who likes his tea and bickies. Old Harry comes up from Topsham. He’s got a patch down there. In the ship yards, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘What do you know about him?’
She started furious wiping of her counter again. She’d be crap at poker, Aleksey reckoned, before he remembered she was a nun. ‘I don’t ask questions. I just serve God through tea and the occasional hobnob. But he’s a queer one, I’d say.’
Aleksey glanced at Ben. Ben just gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. They both assumed she was using this in its older sense. ‘I reckon he’s seen better days. He’s got lovely manners and, I don’t know, a way about him.’
Aleksey realised she was right. He’d not really thought this at the time of meeting the man because he had seen only interloper and possible threat, but Harry had stood to be greeted, and he’d been courteous in everything he’d said and done. His accent, too, spoke of better days.
‘How often do you see him? Is there a pattern to the days he comes here for tea?’
She apparently didn’t have to think about this. ‘Sunday. He comes for the services in the cathedral. Says it’s the only building big enough for him to enter—doesn’t set his wobblies off.’
Other people had gathered behind them by this time, so Ben and Aleksey moved off to one side. Some of those queuing for the tea didn’t appear homeless, but more likely pub-goers walking home. The sister served them all equally.
Aleksey perched on a small wall and Ben sat down next to him. ‘Topsham’s about five miles or so.’ He dragged out his phone and checked the time. ‘Take us an hour or so to walk it. Probably won’t see much in the dark.’
Aleksey nodded and drank his tea. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing anyway, or why he wanted to find the old man. But as he didn’t want to return to the church and spend the night on a hard pew in lieu of a hard Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, he suggested they walk down the canal for half an hour or so to pass some time, then cut back through to the green another way. Ben, who had never said no to something physical in Aleksey’s recollection, readily agreed and they chucked their empty cups into the provided bin and set off.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
When they were away from the caravan, Ben slid his hand into the back of Aleksey’s jeans—his familiar tethering or affection, either being equally welcome. ‘Sister Agnes is from the Missionaries of Charity. They were founded by Mother Teresa; you know, that little nun in India? She was Russian or something.’
‘Romanian.’
‘Anyway, she’s there every night, makes sure there’s always a hot cuppa and a biscuit for the guys if they need one.’
