A Man Called Darius Read online

  “What’s troubling you Jeremy? You don’t look at all well. Is Aunt Martha alright? I saw her the other day and it was just a cold, but she....” He shook his head slowly from side to side and then removed his hand from his face and I could see he was crying. “Whatever is the matter Jeremy? Please tell me. I want to help.”

  I poured the coffee and he cleared his throat as he took a mug from the tray, adding several spoonfuls of demerara and stirring clumsily with his spoon. Jeremy always had a sweet tooth.

  “It’s Sebastian....” he said slowly and his voice was ragged, “He... he’s leaving me Frannie.”

  I wanted to say something appropriate, that would make him feel better and forget his loss, but I couldn’t find any words that would convey my feelings of sorrow for him in his desolation. Now I know that may sound insensitive of me, but although I loved Jeremy, I have never really understood homosexuality and although I know it exists I have never given it much thought. It was a way of loving that didn’t affect my way of life, but I wished that night, I knew and understood more about it... for poor Jeremy’s sake. I watched my dear step brother go into a love-crisis that confused me and I wanted to understand. I wanted... NO, I needed to help him, after all the help and understanding he had shown to me.

  “You don’t really understand.. do you Frannie,” he asked and his face was creased. I knelt down beside him and held his hand.

  “Darling, I love you. You’re my brother and my very good friend and I want to help.”

  He looked at me sadly … his eyes were red from crying and slowly he turned his head away.

  “But you’ve never been in love... have you?” he asked and I felt ashamed that he should have said that. “I mean,” he went on, “This business with Blythe-Summers is just a sham... we all know that... don’t we?” I hesitated... knowing the latter part of his statement to be true, but he didn’t know about Darius Crane. Jeremy picked at his fingers as he continued to explain. “I love Sebastian, Frannie ...I really, really love him and I don’t want him to leave me. What can I do? Please tell me, what can I do … don’t laugh at me Frannie... please... “

  “I’m not laughing my darling... and I do want to help. We’ll think of something together we will... have some more coffee.” I tried to relate to my own feelings for Darius as I thought how best I could help Jeremy, but my mind went blank. Perhaps it was the very early hour... I don’t know... but I just could not think clearly

  . “Does he love you, Jeremy? “ I asked after some time of long, pensive moments in silence, as he sipped his coffee and wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

  “I’ve forgotten my hankie, Frannie.”

  I reached into the pocket of my robe and gave him mine.

  “Take this one... I’ll get another in a moment, but first have another coffee. Let me get some fresh from the kitchen... this is getting cold. You won’t go now, will you, when I’ve gone?” I laughed, trying to bring some humour into the conversation but he only smiled sadly.

  “Where would I go?” he asked... “This will do fine. Don’t leave me Frannie. Come, sit down here again, please.”

  I came back and sat down again, touching his hand to make him feel that I really wanted to help. It was warm and smooth and very boyish.

  “You asked me if Sebastian loved me Frannie... well, I don’t know... I thought he did.”

  “Have you talked it through together... how you each feel, I mean?”

  “No, he won’t talk. He says he has to go ...that’s all. He says that what we had in the past has gone... and it will never come back.”

  I hesitated again, daring to put my next question to him.

  “Has he got someone else, darling,” I asked and touched his wet cheeks with my fingers as I tried to look into his sad eyes. He nodded and his shoulders shook, then he opened his mouth wide and threw his head back in the air. I thought he was about to scream from the despair I saw in his face and the thin vibrating threads of saliva spread across his open mouth “Don’t cry Jeremy. Please don’t cry. It hurts me to see you like this.”

  He dabbed his eyes on the handkerchief and his voice shook with emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Frannie....I can’t... I can’t help it.”

  “Can’t you go to Aunt Martha? She will understand.”

  He sat upright on the settee and his eyed widened with fear.

  “My God, Frannie... she’d die if she knew I was... queer. I know she would.”

  I smiled and touched his hand... what could I say?

  “Jeremy... Aunt Martha loves you. She loves you very much and love means understanding.”

  He threw himself into my arms and sobbed uncontrollably as I patted his shoulders and lulled him as I would a baby.

  “Do you want to stay here tonight, Jeremy?” I stared into the red-rimmed eyes before me as I spoke and I could see and feel the agony that was his. “You can have a shower if you like and... let me make some fresh coffee, eh?”

  “Thanks Frannie. If you don’t mind, I’d like that, but what about Monty? Is he due home soon?”

  “He’ll be away until he tells me he’s coming back, that’s all I know, but it doesn’t matter about him. Tell you what... why don’t we go down to Rowan Trees for a few days... you’d like that, wouldn’t you... and then you can get your thoughts straightened out and come back refreshed... what do you say?”

  “Oh Frannie... that would be lovely. I’ve a few days owing to me from my holidays and I could ring the office tomorrow and tell them I’m taking that leave now.”

  I made some fresh coffee and got Jeremy an old dressing gown of mine that was ridiculously short on him, but he didn’t mind, as we sat with our heads together like lovers... I knew I had no fears from Jeremy. He would never hit nor beat me. All he wanted was a shoulder to cry on and for Sebastian to tell him he loved him... not me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jeremy and I arrived at Rowan Trees about 2.15 having driven there from London in my old Volkswagen Beetle. I loved that car and had it for over twenty years with very little mechanical trouble that you could speak of.

  I had brought a cold lunch with me so that we could get on with the more serious matters without delay and hindrance such as making the beds, lighting the fire etc., and I cooked some new potatoes when we arrived and we had cold beef and salad to go with them. Jeremy thought the lunch was very tasty and we had tinned peaches and cream for sweet. Jeremy made the coffee, but even that was instant, from a jar. I found it wonderful to be back again at Rowan Trees especially with the company I had and simply great to get away for a while, from the din and bustle of London’s West End. I wished I could have stayed in Banbury for much longer... very much longer in fact... and that I never had to return to the circumstances and situation at Belgravia, that were my sorry lot, but that was all wishful thinking that could never be and besides I had come to Rowan Trees for Jeremy’s benefit, primarily... and not mine.. The whole atmosphere there was like awaking from a nightmare. The air was bracing and revitalizing as we sat drinking coffee after lunch in the garden, with the shade of the great oak tree protecting us from the sun. We spent four long, lovely, enjoyable, peaceful days at Rowan Trees and I could see that it had done the world of good for Jeremy. He was recuperating... even if slowly... from the separation from his friend.

  We went for long walks together, often holding hands... and more often than not, simply strolling along in silence, without uttering a single word. The world was a magic place for us and we knew it in that time. The days passed slowly as we had wished they would and we tried to get as much time as possible, to talk about our problems... mostly Jeremy’s... and our lives in general, since we had never had an opportunity like this before and I was quite surprised at some of the things Jeremy told me about himself and the life he led. I felt that I had only just come to know him. We wou
ld do our shopping in the mornings, in the village and take pic-nics in the surrounding meadows in the afternoons, or even sometimes in our own garden. It was so different from London in every way; the willowy trees with their whispering branches, the variegate leaves and the multicoloured flowers stood out in contrast to the blue sky with its powdery clouds that floated lazily by. It could never be like this in the ‘smoke’... Our hideaway was a dream for us and we wanted to sleep on and never wake up. We had the opportunity of a lifetime to talk our heads off if we wanted to, or stay quiet if we didn’t. There was no ‘Master’ in either of our lives; no pressure, no demands... only peace, where we could tell each other of our joys and sorrows, just as they came to mind.

  We would sit in the evenings by the large fireplace in the sitting-room with its log-heated grate and ruminate at leisure on the events of history as we studied the priest hole by the side of the large, square range, with its hidden door in the wall panels, wondering what poor cleric owed his humble life to that escape route as he fled in fear from Cromwell or the Virgin Queen. The portrait picture of the great Oliver Cromwell himself, domineered us from above the log fire with the warming embers casting eerie shadows across his long-haired, contemptuous face and the smell of the pines lingered in your nostrils.

  ***

  It was on the second evening of our stay there, when we were tired from the afternoon walk, of mostly uphill climb, that I learned more about Jeremy’s way of life than I ever could have guessed in my wildest dreams. We sat at the stout mahogany table in the lounge, with a large glass of beer or cider in front of each of us, as this we found, was the most satisfying way to slake the thirst from the walking exercises of our day.

  “I don’t feel so bad about Sebastian now, Frannie. I suppose in many ways it was my fault that he felt he had to leave me, I guess I’m a bit of a snob at heart... always have been... and Sebastian never liked that in me. He told me often enough, as you know... or did you? He came from Canning Town or Stepney... I’m not sure which.” Jeremy ruminated as he sipped his beer.

  “I didn’t know that Jeremy... in fact, I didn’t know much about Sebastian at all, but he seemed a nice kind of chap.”

  Jeremy wiped the froth from his mouth with a serviette and licked his lips.

  “Oh... he was... well, of course. I would think that, wouldn’t I? But he didn’t like speaking, especially when one of our friends was around. He was broad Cockney, you know, but I loved the way he spoke. I loved the way his mouth moved and the way he used to wave his hands about... I just loved the man as he was and I wouldn’t have wanted him to change... but I think he thought perhaps... my patter was too highbrow for him, ‘though I never meant it to be. I suppose as I’ve said, I’m a bloody snob and I’ve never seen it in myself until now. “

  As Jeremy spoke, I thought of Father Garry’s words to me and my stomach lurched. I could feel the ‘butterflys’. “It would never do for you to marry a commoner, would it Frannie? No, that would never do....”... “ That boy... as you call him … could father a child, you know... given half a chance.”

  I sat in silence and stared into my beer... in shame until Jeremy tapped my hand, interrupting my thoughts, as he played with the beer mat on the table.

  “Are you listening Frannie? You seem so absorbed... are you alright?” he asked, but I was conscious of a deep shame for just being myself.

  “I think all these intimate confessions need something more than beer as a celebration, don’t you, Jeremy? I propose we get into my old jalopy and head for the nearest pub... less you fancy a mosey down there, pardner... “

  “Good idea Frannie... let’s make a night of it... we’ll get some booze and come back here and raise the roof, eh?”

  We took the beetle and brought back quite a stock of alcohol, for the explicit purpose of getting stoned out of our skulls and making our confessions as we did so. We had three bottles of champers, two of whisky, one vodka and a dozen or so ‘chasers’ and we intended to make the most of our freedom, in the few remaining days of our ‘parole’ We banked the fire up with some old briquettes that I found in the garden shed and settled down cosily together on the settee, for the evening, with our glasses full and regularly topped up. Naturally it wasn’t too long before our confessions began... and did we strip our souls bare … WELL, I ASK YOU...

  We really had a session of soul-searching truths, with much laughter and a few little tears... and I thought it best to introduce Jeremy to Darius Crane... in this very appropriate time.

  I told him everything about how we met and of his strong and silent demeanour, but most of all about my own stubborn and dignified stupid self, which was akin to what he called his aloofness and how I knew it was that which had kept us apart. I told him how Darius had so totally mastered the work in the Operating Theatre, much to the amazement and surprise of Colonel Steel and Major Tarapor and of his gentle smile as I left him the night before I sailed home for England. Jeremy listened carefully and with great attention as he sipped his whisky.

  “I guess our upbringing has given us this inheritance of being such bloody snobs, Frannie, don’t you think? I mean, it could ruin your life if you let it... but we shouldn’t, should we? We’re no better than anyone else and a damn sight less important than most. What a pathetic pair we are, eh?” Jeremy hiccupped and said “Beg parding “... twice.

  “Couldn’t you write to this Darius fellow and tell him... well, tell him what you’ve told me? I’m sure he’d understand. I mean, you’re a damn fine woman Frannie, you really are.”

  I topped up my glass of champagne and was beginning to feel a little self-righteous already, as the room was getting warmer.

  “Would you write to Sebastian and tell him how you feel, Jeremy?” I asked and he hesitated as he studied his drink, with one eye closed.

  “Ah... now there’s a diffa... diff... DIFFERENCE,” he echoed with emphasis. “He has someone else Frannie. That boy has someone else... I’m sure of it and your Darian hasn’t.”

  “Darius... “ I corrected.

  “Oh, I beg your parding, Mrs.’arding. My chicking’s in your garding.” he giggled.

  “I hope he hasn’t Jeremy, but I couldn’t blame him if he had, could I? Darius, I mean...”

  I felt sad as I uttered the words and wanted to change the subject. “Tell me Jeremy, if I’m not being impertinent … have you ever loved a woman?” I asked but he didn’t look at me as I waited for his answer and I felt ashamed that I should have dared to suggest such a thing, however after a few moments of studying his glass, he did give me a very simple and direct reply.

  “No. I never have....” he said quietly and then he blushed and apologised as he reached across to pour himself another scotch. “Well... I love you Frannie, but you and I are different, aren’t we? I mean... we know how we love each other. It’s not a sexual thing... it’s quite gentle really... a non-offensive sort of spiritual love isn’t it.”

  His voice became a little slurred and I laughed.

  “Well you don’t bash me about a bit, that’s for sure... if that’s what you mean.”

  He reached down and touched my fingers with his own and his hand was cool, despite the heat of the room.

  “I’m sorry about that dahling. I wish it had never happened,” he said softly and I raised my eyebrows cynically and took another gulp from my glass.

  “The marriage, you mean... or the beatings?”

  “Both,” he said boldly, then he finished his whisky and started on the vodka. “I have never ever thought about marriage in the whole of my life, Frannie,” he said and hiccupped again. “I think I’ve been a queer since as far back as I can remember.”

  I scolded him gently for describing his ‘condition’ in such a crude way as I swished the champagne around my glass and it bubbled afresh.

  “Don’t use that word, Jeremy. I don’t like it... and
your not queer ...We are all made differently, that’s all.”

  “Yeth... Sister,” he gabbled and tried to stand up to salute me, but he soon fell back again into the settee and spilled my drink as he came down. “Sorry dahling... sorry,” he said and closed his eyes, “but I’m right, you know. I’ve known all my life that I was deficient... differing... DIFFERENT... gosh that sounds great doesn’t it, even if it’s hard to say... to be different, I mean.” He pronounced the word carefully this time. “I knew it first of all when I was about two years of age and a naval officer friend of mummy came to the house to visit us. He sat me on his knee and I looked up into his beard and. …and …” Jeremy looked into the embers that flickered lazily... and he grinned. “Look at that flame there, Frannie... Doesn’t it look like the head of a lion?”

  “Never mind the fire... what happened when you looked into this fellows beard?” I asked and he sniggered, with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You would laugh if I told you Frannie... you really would.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Honest?” he asked shyly.

  “Honest, “ I said, “Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said and he giggled again.

  “Well... when I looked up at that naval officer I got an erection... all two inches of my thing... would you believe it?”

  I tried hard not to laugh. I really did and I was grateful when he broke the silence that I was stifling to hold back, as he slapped his thigh hard and his glass fell to the floor.

  “My God... the carpet... I’ll ruin your carpet Frannie... Sorry ‘bout that.”