Sparkles (15 page)

The two men ate in silence, washing down the last morsels of Amal’s quiche with what was left of the mimosas.

“I could get used to this, but I have to eat and run. I’ve got to get back to my digs before Glacier gets it in his head I’ve abandoned him,” Stephen said.

“Who is Glacier?”

“I’m renting a bride’s cottage on the Fisher estate in Bryn Mawr. Glacier is my dog. I’ll need to call a taxi. I left my car at home.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you home. If I know Amal, he’s already cleaned your clothes and laid them out for you.”

“Now I
know
I could get used to this!”

THE BRIDE’S
cottage was a small two-story structure made of gray fieldstone, topped with a roof of cedar shingles that was covered in a thick layer of emerald green moss. The house sat in a secluded glen at the end of a narrow lane. Thick belts of Canadian hemlocks covered the steep hills on either side of the road. Jan could just make out the rooftop on the Fisher mansion atop one of the hills.

“It’s hard to believe that the hustle and bustle of center city is just a thirty-minute drive from here. It’s so peaceful. How on earth did you find it?”

“One of Larry Sinclair’s cousins married a Fisher. Years ago the Fishers built this cottage for their newly married couples. Once they started a family, the couple would move to a larger house. It’s been a custom for generations of Fishers… at least that’s what Larry told me. It was unoccupied so I got it.”

The two men got out of the car and walked along a gravel path toward the front door that was set deep in the wall. Snow fell in heavy swirls. Once inside, Stephen switched on a table lamp. The room’s walls and ceiling were painted a soft oyster white. A small Christmas tree, decorated but unlit, stood in a corner of the living room.

At the far end of the living room, a faint light seeped from a slightly open door. To the left was a raised hearth fireplace. Embers still glowed from a fire laid earlier in the day
.

Stephen didn’t light
this fire. Who else lives here?

A large tiger-skin rug sprawled across the flagstone floor. To the right a wide archway led into the dining room. A sofa of red leather sat facing the fireplace. Above this hung an oil painting. A young couple stood with smiles frozen in time. The woman, beautiful by any standard, was dressed in a flowing cream-colored gown. She held a bouquet of yellow flowers that matched the color of her hair. The man with a dark complexion and piercing brown eyes wore a military uniform. He wore a medal pinned to a light blue sash. Jan leaned in close.

“My father was very proud of that. It’s the Order of Alexander Nevsky. It was his grandfather’s.”

Long live the tsar!
Jan thought. “I can see where you get your dark looks…. She was very beautiful, your mother.”

“They both were. I’m told my father was a very nice man. She loved him very much.”

Jan shivered. “Damn, it’s cold in here.”

“I’ll get some wood for a fire,” Stephen said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jan stood eyeing the tiger-skin rug
and hoped its last terrified moments when life was violently wrenched away were quick.

Stephen quickly returned to the living room, pulling a small wagon filled with logs.

“Here, let me help you,” Jan said.

With patience and lots of kindling, the logs were smothered in flame. Jan sat on the sofa and curled up, savoring the moment—the fire’s glow, the scent of pine from the tree, a cottage in the woods, and an honest-to-goodness royal prince.
People write novels about this kind of thing.

“Don’t you ever wear a coat in the cold?” Stephen said as he took off his parka and sat down next to Jan. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with one.”

“No. I’m not comfortable in bulky clothes, especially when I’m driving. That’s what the heater is for.”

Stephen looked at Jan’s face for a long moment. “Jan, are you going to kiss me, or are you going to spend the rest of your life pretending you don’t want to?”

Jan grabbed Stephen’s sweater, pulling him down. Their lips met ever so lightly.

“Yikes!” Stephen said.

“Yikes?” Jan said laughing. “I’ve never had that reaction before.”

“No! I forgot about Glacier! He’s still out back!”

Still laughing, Jan muttered, “I knew this day would come. I’ve been thrown over for a dog!”

Moments later, Stephen’s laughter and the clatter of nails across the dining room floor announced the arrival of Glacier who, as it turned out, was a one-hundred-pound dog with long curly white fur.

“Oh my God! He’s a Russian wolfhound!” Jan said laughing. “Ha! I might have known!”

The big dog looked Jan up and down, sniffed his hand, and then curled up before the fire to dry off the snow that still clung to his heavy coat.

“Was it something I said?”

“It means he accepts you,” Stephen said with a smile. “If he didn’t, you’d be running to your car just about now.”

“Interesting name. It sounds frigid.”

“It is. These dogs take a while to warm up to strangers, but once they do, look out! They’ll lick you like an ice-cream cone. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Stephen led Jan up a winding staircase to the second floor that consisted of just two rooms: a large bedroom and an equally large bath. Standing at the door, Jan took in the room. To the left, an armoire made of tiger maple ran the length of the wall. Opposite this, a row of windows looked out into the woods. In the middle of the room, a king-size bed flanked with short chests of drawers sat on a thick Persian carpet of gold and blue. A corner fireplace finished off the room.

“This is very nice,” Jan said. “It’s just right for one person.”

“Or two,” Stephen said as he stood close to Jan. “Jan, I’ve never felt like this before, I mean wanting someone to share a life—my life. You know, having someone special—someone to let in close.”

Jan smiled and nuzzled against Stephen’s cheek. “I’m feeling things too. Mostly I’m feeling hungry.”

“Hungry for me?” Stephen said with a lilt in his voice.

“For food. You ate most of Amal’s quiche.”

Stephen sighed his disappointment. “Come on, then, let’s see what I can rustle up, as they say at the Calgary Stampede.”

“Moo,” Jan said, laughing.

Stephen rolled his eyes at Jan’s lame joke. “Great, I’m falling for a comedian.” Grabbing Jan’s hand, Stephen led him downstairs, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. “Mm, something smells good,” he said. He picked a Post-it off the counter. “Mrs. Potts left us a note.”

“Mrs. Potts?”

“The cottage comes with a housekeeper and cook all rolled up in dear Mrs. Potts. It seems she fed Glacier, and she’s left us vichyssoise in the fridge. There’s also a chicken in the slow cooker. Would that satisfy you?”

Jan glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s almost five! I didn’t realize it was getting so late. Amal will be wondering if he should start dinner.”

Stephen turned his back to Jan as he pretended to check on the chicken. “Why don’t you call Amal and tell him you won’t be home for dinner?”

Afterglow

JAN STIRRED.
He reached down between his legs. Erect again, he felt the dampness that clung to his balls and inner thighs. He smiled with remembered passion. He remembered too the return of a long dormant feeling… an infatuation with a stranger—that first flush that promises much and often risks more. Opening his eyes, he searched for Stephen, who should have been next to him. The bed was empty except for a depression where Stephen had been. Jan shot bolt upright. Dim light from glowing embers in the fireplace painted the room with insubstantial shadows—shadows that, just a few hours before, had swayed and moved to their lovemaking—and the sounds of Yo-Yo Ma’s magic cello playing Bach.

Jan slipped from the bed and walked naked to the man who had captured not only his body, but was on his way to capturing his heart as well. Stephen sat in a window well, set deep in the stone wall. Outside, heavy snow fell in ragged ranks. Stephen had wrapped himself in a blanket, his legs drawn up against his chest. His head, turned out toward the silvery sky, rested on his knees.

“Are you all right?” Jan asked as he approached.

Stephen turned and smiled. “Better than all right.” He reached out and pulled Jan to him. “You know, holding you is like holding a teenager. I… I’m probably not saying this right.”

Jan laughed. “Trust me, I left my teenage years behind long ago. But I know what you mean. Sometimes I go to bed thinking that in the morning I’ll wake up looking like a woman’s old handbag, and that will be that.”

Stephen turned serious. He held Jan’s hand tight. “Jan, I’ve had sex a few times, but I’ve never known a feeling like this—until tonight. I hope you don’t mind me saying it. I’d be miserable trying to hide how I feel.”

Jan held Stephen’s head to his bare chest, his early morning beard rough against Jan’s smooth skin. “Stephen, I never thought I’d be in love again, especially after Michael… I guess I felt I’d had my shot at love, twice actually. But for whatever reason, the strange gods who govern our affections seem to have decided to give me another chance at happiness.”

“Jan, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes, Stephen. I am falling in love with you. I know it’s fast, some would say too fast, maybe so, but I know what I feel. All that said, before we get too far into this we need to talk.”

“Talk? What’s to talk about? I know how I feel about you. I’ve been thinking about little else ever since Larry Sinclair’s party. Mostly about the settled peace and quiet of a steady, no surprises life I’d have with you.”

Jan’s good angel whispered,
It’s now or never. Tell him!

“Peace and quiet? Yes, well, um, Stephen, have you ever heard of an organization called Mundus, or the Mundus Society?”

Stephen thought a moment and then said, “No, I don’t believe I have. Why do you ask? Is it important?”

“I’m not surprised, it’s not exactly a household name, but have you ever wondered how I knew so many details about Armande’s death?”

Again, Stephen pondered Jan’s question. “Jan, you’re beginning to scare me. What are you saying? Are you telling me you had a hand in his murder!”

“No, of course not!” Jan pulled away and walked slowly to the foot of the bed where his clothes lay. Pulling on his pants and roll-neck sweater, he turned and said, “Stephen, what I’m about to tell you must never be spoken about except between the two of us. You have to agree, for your own safety. Do you understand?”

Stephen ran his hand across his face.

“How can I agree to something I don’t know about? You’re asking an awful lot. Will I… will I lose you if I say no?”

Jan shook his head slowly and smiled. “I’d like to say no, but if I can’t trust you with the truth about who and what I am, a wall will grow up between us.”

“You’re a rich lawyer. Larry Sinclair told me. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“There’s more.”

Snow, driven by a rising wind, pelted the window where Stephen sat. Outside, the world had become a swirling mass of white. Stephen shivered and drew his blanket tighter. He turned to look out the window. He watched snow piling up on the tree’s dark green branches, bending them low. Finally he said, “I’m listening.”

Jan leaned against the window jamb. He ran his hand across his chin and looked Stephen square in the face. “Well, where do I begin? I suppose I should first say that Mundus is a worldwide organization. It’s based on the college fraternity model. Masters must be sponsored and voted in… much like the Templars.”

Stephen interrupted, “I thought you were a Templar when I saw the
Non Nobis
motto in your office!”

“We don’t use the term Templar. There are too many bogus theories and novels written about the order for us to be openly associated with the Knights Templar.”

“Okay, I can see that. But what is Mundus, then?” Stephen asked.

“In a nutshell,” Jan said, “there are seven Mundus Masters, one for each of the continents. I’m the Mundus Master for North America. The rank and file members, and there are tens of thousands of us, are from every walk of life. We’re in cities, villages, isolated farmhouses, and even lonely mountain huts. Mundus counts the super wealthy and the super poor as members. The usual biases that stymie acceptance in other groups are irrelevant. Only the goals of the stability of communities and justice for all people count. Sometimes we succeed spectacularly. All too often we fall well short of our mark, but we continue on.”

“What does this have to do with my brother, and me?”

“Although Mundus is not a secret society, few people have heard of us. Our ability to function depends on deep discretion. My position in Mundus must never be discussed openly.”

Stephen looked at Jan for what seemed like a long time. “Is it dangerous… I mean what you do?”

Jan pondered the question. He nodded slightly. “Sometimes, yes. It can be dangerous. That’s why it’s important that you remain apart from Mundus. Knowing about it is one thing. Being associated is quite another.

“Just remember,” Jan added, “never assume that someone I know, knows about Mundus.”

“All right, I can do that. What about my brother?”

Jan walked to the fireplace and added a log to the fire. He braced his hands on the mantel. Looking down into the new flames, he said, “I was asked by sources close to your father to find Armande. It took some fieldwork, and more than a little risk. I had to send a man, a Jew no less, into the path of al-Qaida to find Armande and bring him out, or at least find out what happened to him. We didn’t find him, but we did learn he was killed along the Iranian border. Telling your father was hard enough. I never in a million years thought I’d have to tell you too.” Jan paused, wondering if he should reveal more. Under the circumstances, he decided that this was enough. “Well, that’s about it… for now. But you should know that I may be called away at a moment’s notice… and Stephen, you can’t know any of the details about this side of my life… not at least for a very long time. Like any relationship, it’s all about trust and confidence.”