Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (24 page)

“Uhhhhhh.” He gripped the sides of the counter as hard as he could to hold himself upright. It seemed to go on and on forever, with Mas eagerly milking every last drop out of him. He could have floated on the high all day, but then a voice drew him back to the room.

“How much is this anyway?”

Dare. Bloody hell.
Perry’s eyes sprang open, and he attempted to get his brain back into gear. Dare was heading back into the room, but he hadn’t seen anything, had he? No, couldn’t have.

“Perry, mate, you with me?” Dare waved his hands around in front of Perry’s face. “This jacket. How much?” He was carrying a fifties trenchcoat in charcoal wool. “Reckon it would suit me.”

“Erm, sixty pounds.” There. Conversational autopilot was working after all. It had to be, because all Perry could concentrate on was the sensation of Mas licking him clean, then tucking him back into his underpants and buttoning up his fly. Dear God, he was almost presentable again, and Dare was still talking… Something about how he was a bit short of cash right now.

“…you willing to knock it down a bit? You know, for an old mate.”

“I already told you, it’s sixty pounds.”

“Yeah? You drive a hard bargain, you know that?”

Perry nodded, fighting down the absurd urge to giggle. He’d just been very hard indeed. “It has sentimental value for me,” he said eventually, hoping that would get Dare off his case. “I couldn’t let it go for less.”

“Sentimental? Okay, can’t argue with that, I s’pose. Can remember how I felt the last time someone tried to convince me to sell Matilda. Ain’t gonna happen, no matter how much they offer. Too much has gone on in that old Airstream. She’s seen a lot of action, you know what I mean?” Dare winked, and Perry wobbled on his knees.

“Action. Oh yes. I know.” He did his best to stand still, but Mas cupping his balls through the fabric of his trousers really wasn’t helping.

Dare sniffed loudly. “That so? Won’t be able to buy this today. Shame. Anyway, I’d better be off. I’ve got some bloke dropping off a knackered old VW Camper for parts. Should keep me busy for a few days, stripping that lot down. See you later, mate.”

“Bye.” Perry breathed a long sigh of relief, then startled as Dare turned back from the door.

“Oh, and by the way, you might want to leave the door open or something. Smells really strongly of cock in here.” He smirked and strode on out, hands in his pockets.

“Oh my God.” Perry leaned his head down on the counter.

Mas sniggered, and Perry felt him sniffing at his crotch. “He’s not wrong there, you know.”

“Shut up.” But he wasn’t really annoyed. How could he be, when inside his chest there was a fizzing sensation that made him want to dance and sing. It wasn’t going to happen, but for the first time ever, he could perhaps understand why people might want to.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning, a rich buttermilk vellum envelope with elegant writing arrived on the doormat. Perry found it first, having gone downstairs to open up while Mas slept off the previous night’s marathon lovemaking session.

It was probably the endorphins still circulating in Perry’s blood that allowed him to view the envelope calmly. He took it to the counter along with the rest of the assorted junk mail and final reminders from the utility companies before slitting it open. It had to be from Farnsleigh House. It was postmarked Tunbridge Wells, and besides, he recognised his sister’s handwriting.

He drew out the card inside, already fairly sure of what he’d find written on there. There had never been any question that Letty would marry Hector Glenlivet. Their parents had arranged it before they were even born, in much the same way they’d tried for Perry. Letty and Hector were just lucky enough to get along well enough to make it work. Things hadn’t worked out so well for him and his intended beloved.

Perry sighed and tucked the card into his pocket. It said he could bring a guest, and there was only one person he’d even consider taking. But first he was going to have to come clean to Mas. Not that he’d told any deliberate lies about his past, but he’d not shared certain information, uncertain how Mas would react. They came from such vastly different backgrounds, and he didn’t want to play the poor-little-rich-boy card. It was unlikely to pass muster with someone who’d grown up with nothing, and who’d been effectively orphaned by a screwed-up religious nut of a mother.

Knowing how to broach the subject, though. That was another matter.

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump, but then he leaned back into the warmth of Mas’s embrace.

“Hey darlin’, why so serious? Not more from the gas board, surely? How the hell do they expect you to find that kind of money? They think you can just pull it out of your arse or something?”

Perry extricated himself from Mas’s arms and started fussing with the display of bow ties on the counter. He should come clean about the invitation, but he took the out offered. “Don’t worry. Another few days like this weekend, and I’ll be able to start up paying them back on some kind of long-term schedule. They’ll back off once they’ve got something coming in.”

“They’d better, or they’ll have me to deal with.” Mas scowled and clenched his fists, and although the effect was more comical than frightening, the strength of his feeling warmed Perry inside. It was almost enough to make him forget about this Grant fellow, his rival for Mas’s affections.

“What did you have planned for today?” he asked, changing the subject to something neutral. “Did you want to get started on any redecoration yet?”

“The outside definitely needs a fresh coat of paint, but I thought we could save that for next Monday. Don’t want customers walking into wet paint, do we? Although if they did, perhaps we could sell them some new clothes to replace the painty ones… Nah. We want them to come here for quality kit. Not out of desperation. Desperate shops have a whole different feel to them. We don’t want to end up looking like Primark on a busy Saturday.”

Ask Mas a simple question and you got a convoluted essay response. Sometimes Perry wished he could use multiple choice instead. Although perhaps that could work. At any rate, there was nothing to say he couldn’t give it a try in the interests of greater clarity and finally getting to the point. “So do you just want to man the shop, look for more stock upstairs, or rearrange things down here?”

“Yep.”

God help him! “But which one?”

“All three, of course. But how’s about you show me up to the second floor? That’s where you’ve been keeping most of the stuffed animals, yeah? I could do with one or two of them for my gentlemen’s room. You think you’ve got anything like a stag’s head? I was thinking one of those might look the part on the chimney breast in there. I know there isn’t a real fire or anything, but it wouldn’t be hard to track down an old mantelpiece to put up, and I could always paint a fire underneath it, or get one of those old fire-screen thingies. Could look pretty cool, I reckon.”

“Stag’s head? Errr, yes, there should be. Somewhere.” He could remember the poor thing from Aunt Betty’s drawing room. She’d never used the room much, saying it gave her the creeps, but she hadn’t exactly been short of reception rooms in Ledborough Lodge, after all.

“Excellent. I’ll have to mount an expedition. Think you could look it out for me while I man the shop? Or maybe if you give me the key, I can have a look myself. Yeah, that’s a better idea. Bet there’s all kinds of cool tat up there I can find a place for.”

Mas, poking around the second floor all by himself? No. Unacceptable. “How about I show you later? I need to do some work this morning. And besides, I’d rather like the pleasure of your company when you see it for the first time.” Perry did his best to sound casual, but his voice persisted in coming out all stiff and formal. Mas gave him a funny look, but other than a muttered, “Whatever floats your boat, mate,” he let it pass without taking issue.

Relieved, Perry made his escape and lost himself in the finer points of adding a steampunk-esque wire exoskeleton to a scorpion crafted out of linen dipped in plaster of Paris.

Hours later, Perry was putting the finishing twists on the wire when a rap on the door made him jump. “Blast! Who’s there?”

“Who’d you think? The Queen Mother? Nah, actually it’s your butler, come with lunch, milord.”

Perry turned to find Mas framed in the door, holding a tray with a couple of steaming mugs and what looked like a mountain of well-stuffed sandwiches.

Perry’s stomach rumbled loudly in appreciation. “Gosh, what time is it?”

“Half one, and I bet you haven’t even stopped to take a sip of water all morning, have you? Nah, thought not. Come on, tuck in.” Mas plonked the tray unceremoniously down on the work table, narrowly missing Perry’s creation, and then sprawled on the other side of the desk.

Perry reached out for a sandwich then hesitated. “But…the shop. Did you lock up properly?”

“Yes, Mr. Worry-pants. I locked up.”

“We’ll lose trade.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already taken a hundred quid this morning. And anyway, I put a sign on the door saying I’d open up again at 2.30. You’ve got to eat, mister. And it’s proper posh nosh. Nipped down to Sainsbury’s earlier. It’s chorizo, sun-ripened tomatoes and baby leaves, although I’ve got to be honest, it tastes pretty much like a BLT to me. Still, you’ve gotta give these things a try sometimes, haven’t you? See how the other half live and all that. Figured you’d like it, anyway.”

What had Mas found out? Perry patted his pocket, but the incriminating invitation was still there. “Actually, I think if you want to make properly posh sandwiches, you need to make them cucumber with the crusts cut off.”

“What, toffs can’t eat their crusts? Are they a bunch of softies or what? Christ on a bike. I suppose it’s no wonder if they’ve got bloody butlers to do everything for them.” Mas scowled, then chuckled. Sometimes his moods changed faster than the traffic lights at the end of the road. “Can’t imagine how lazy I’d get if I had someone paid to wipe my arse for me. Then again, I reckon I’m more likely to be the poor sod who ends up having to polish the rings of the high and mighty. Still, I suppose it could be worse. I’d rather that than have to work in a coal mine or something. Or the sewers. Ugh, can you even imagine? Bet the smell would linger even after you’d scrubbed yourself raw.”

“Umm, yes. I expect it probably would.” Perry picked up a sandwich so he didn’t have to contribute anything else. Mas’s contempt for the upper classes didn’t exactly bode well for him. Maybe he could just miss the wedding altogether. But then his father would be bound to send someone over—perhaps even condescend to pay a visit himself—and that would be far worse than Perry confessing. He just had to find the right moment.

It definitely wasn’t now, though. Not when he had a mouth full of rather tasty sandwich. “This is good,” he mumbled around his food.

“You sound surprised.” Mas tossed his head like he was offended. “I can cook, you know.”

“I thought you told me you couldn’t.”

“Oh yeah, I always say that to begin with. Don’t want anyone taking advantage of my culinary skills. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t get on
MasterChef
or anything, and I’d probably lose
Come Dine with Me
too, but I can throw a bunch of ingredients together and come up with something edible. Had to learn, didn’t I? It was either that or put up with a diet of frozen ready meals, and I didn’t think my skin would survive that kind of trauma. Let alone my waistline.”

“You have perfect skin.”

Mas beamed and took a large bit of sandwich. He spoke around his food, but Perry caught the gist of it. “Yours is lush too. All them speckley freckles.”

Perry was about to argue about freckles being a blemish, but then he decided against it. He’d just paid Mas a successful compliment. It wouldn’t do to spoil it. This Grant chap probably didn’t put himself down all the time.

When the grandfather clock chimed six, Perry walked slowly and deliberately over to the front door and flipped the sign, while Mas nipped out the back and around the block to lower the security shutters. He should tell Mas now, shouldn’t he? It was a risk, but not the biggest one he’d ever taken. It was simply that a rejection from Mas would be so much more painful than the rejection of his family had been.

But when Mas came back into the room, he grasped at anything to avoid saying the words. “We should go upstairs. I’ll show you the second floor.”

“Cool. Stags’ heads and crazy taxidermy, here we come. Hey, you got any of those gert big tiger skin rugs with the heads still on?”

“No, but I seem to remember there are a few curios. Some Victorians became rather bored with stuffing regular animals, and they got creative. Did you know they used to fake mermaids using half a monkey sewn to a fish’s tail?”

“No way! Really? Have you got one, then?”

“No, but I’ve got a jackalope. They were mostly made over in America. It’s a rabbit with antlers.”

“Cool. Show me, show me!” Mas bounced up and down on the soles of his feet, looking for all the world like an overexcited, overgrown child. The kind of child Perry had never been. He smothered a sigh but then remembered that at least he’d enjoyed some of his childhood, and the best bits were upstairs. He just wasn’t sure he could share those just yet.