‘Okay, well if you don’t enjoy it more, then…hmm…I’ll go with you to Barton Combe next time you go visit Phillipa when she’s there.’
‘Acceptable. And if you win?’
Ben immediately retorted, ‘You get the electricity turned on.’
‘Huh.’
‘Not feeling so confident now?’
Aleksey gave him a disdainful look, the level of utter contempt he usually got from his other half. As if anything would be better than what he’d planned…
They arrived at Oasis Rock within the hour.
Compared to the nightmare swim they had endured going the other way, it was an easy motor up the northern coast. Ahead of them to the west, a disc of amber-orange sank slowly into a volcanic red sky which stretched above the vast horizon.
Ben moored up to the spear which jutted out from the shallow reef and unpacked the boat. He’d brought the camp stoves, food and wine, but most importantly the new snorkel set Miles and Emilia had given him for his birthday, along with the one they’d inherited from the boathouse.
He set up lanterns around the rock, put some water on to boil on one stove, a pan of gourmet sausages to fry on the other, grabbed his dive set and held out the other to Aleksey. The stars were just beginning to appear in the east where the darkness was catching them up. They stripped to their swimsuits and manoeuvred carefully over the shallow reef until they reached the dark edge of the ocean and then plunged into the coolness.
Aleksey could not now recall the exhaustion and fear he’d felt when they’d been here before. He had entirely regained his love for the ocean, and dived down to explore the reef, his light, bought to match Ben’s, strapped to his wrist, illuminating the fronds of seaweed and the tiny, hidden cracks and crevasses. He turned onto his back, holding onto a protrusion to watch Ben. He was hanging onto a spar of wood, scooping sand up from the seabed, letting it run out between his fingers. When they finally emerged from their swim, it was almost full dark. Ben had brought a couple of roll mats and some blankets which he spread on the uncomfortable rocks, and they sat side by side watching the sizzling food. They passed a wine bottle between them, pricking sausages from the pan with the tips of their dive knives and eating them like savages, grease dripping down their chins.
When they were done, Ben made tea, produced a couple of huge slabs of chocolate, and as the darkness engulfed them, they kissed, chocolate passing between their mouths, salt on their skin, beards rasping and erections returning with a power and urgency that overwhelmed them both.
Once more, Aleksey had the strange sensation of looking down upon himself from a vast distance, his God-like eye caught perhaps by this glimpse of light in the darkness, the only movement on the otherwise viscous, oily water. They were pale bodies compared to the black rock. They moved with sensuous grace over one another, coiling and writhing, rising and lowering.
When they were entirely spent, hearts beating wildly, breath fast and shallow, they curled into one another, pulling the blankets over them for warmth in the cool September air.
He traced a fingertip across the ridged lines of muscle on Ben’s belly. ‘When is the last time I told you I loved you, Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘I don’t—’
‘When you invited Phillipa.’
Aleksey snorted quietly.
The tide was rising, little slaps and sloshes now disturbing the peace, adding to it also in a way.
They polished off the rest of the chocolate, drank their cold tea and prepared to leave. They were both shivering slightly, their clothes hard to pull on over salt-sticky skin.
Aleksey pictured a pounding, high-pressure shower massaging his aching muscles, washing his salt-encrusted hair, easing the shaving of a week’s beard growth.
A luxury which he could now have installed, he supposed.
Given he was turning the electricity back on.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Fortunately Ben had made the fire ready earlier, so when they returned, cold and tired and still hungry, one match was all they needed to set it alight. They brought the rest of their purchases that morning to the drawing room and made themselves as comfortable as they could on the floor with a few blankets for padding. As usual, Ben lay on his belly, the small of his back inevitably becoming Aleksey’s pillow.
Searching through the bags for something to eat, Aleksey discovered the books he’d bought in the little museum. One was on horticulture on St Mary’s, which he immediately put aside to give to Harry, but the other was much more interesting:Lyonesse, Fact or Fable. Excellent. He scanned for pictures first, childhood’s habits dying hard, then settled down to the preface. Ben was writing some postcards to Molly. As she, obviously, didn’t have a phone yet, it was his way of keeping in contact with her. He often illustrated his penmanship, and was clearly no better an artist than his daughter. She had an excuse: she was only three.
‘Tell her I say hello, too.’
‘I already have.’
