Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (3 page)

“Nice to meetcha, Peregrine.” The name came out tentatively, as if he was testing it on the way. “Is that like the falcon?”

“It’s a family name. My paternal great-grandfather’s. But please call me Perry. Everyone does.”

“Perry. I like it. I’m Mas. And that’s short for Tobias Maslin, so I guess that’s kind of a family name too. Not that I ever knew my dad’s surname. Some Greek waiter called Cassius, according to Mum.”

“You’re Greek?” Perhaps that explained the colouring. Mas’s bone structure was too dainty to look classically Greek, but he had a golden bloom to his skin, and the thickest dark eyelashes Perry had ever seen.

“Possibly half-Greek. Or Mum might be lying. Or he might have been lying and was really from Chigwell. There’s no real way of knowing, is there? Not without a time-machine, and I ain’t got one of those stashed away at home anywhere.” Mas seemed perfectly cheerful about his status as a bastard of indeterminate ethnicity, but then again, not everyone had been brought up in a family that could trace their ancestry back to beyond the Norman invasion. Not everyone had a family coat of arms either. Perry wished he could swap places with the hoi polloi. Life must be much simpler without the weight of all that history dragging you down.

“So, Perry, mind if I ask you a favour?” Mas began, and to his horror Perry watched him start to unbutton the trousers. “What?” Mas glanced down at his hands, then back up at Perry. Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Oh, not that kind of a favour. No need to panic. Not that I’d turn you down if you offered or anything, but I wouldn’t ask. Well, that’s bullshit. If we were in a club, I might. You’ve got a lush set of lips on you. Bet they’d feel amazing.”

Perry clapped his hand over his mouth.

Mas smiled, but this time it was a kind of lopsided, closed-mouth affair. “Sorry. Being too bloody forward again, aren’t I? Lewis keeps telling me I’m way too in your face, but like I’m going to take pulling advice from Mr. Cautious? Even if he did nab Jasper right out from under my nose. Not that I’m bitter or anything. They’re disgustingly cute together, and even I can see he’s way better for Jasper than I ever was.” All the while he was speaking, Mas was shimmying out of the trousers, and try as he might, Perry didn’t seem to be able to rip his gaze away. Mas had slim, hairless tanned legs every bit as shapely as his rear, and the tiniest purple Lycra briefs that left very little to the imagination. Why would anyone wear something so tight and synthetic? It couldn’t be comfortable, surely?

Although perhaps comfort wasn’t all that high on Mas’s agenda.

With a start, Perry realised he was standing there, ogling another man getting changed. He spun around and pushed back through the curtain, mumbling his apologies.

“Hey, don’t go! I was just about to ask you something. Actually, no, that’s fine. You’d need to be through there anyway. Would you mind sticking your head out of the door and seeing if there’s a man still hanging out at the next corner. Great big guy in a rent-a-cop outfit. Bald head. Can’t miss him.”

“Of course. I’ll go and check.” Some cool air was definitely in order to calm his blazing cheeks.

Once outside, Perry pulled at his collar, uncomfortably aware of the sweat prickling his nape. The March breeze cooled his skin, making it unpleasantly damp and chill, but it was better than boiling like a lobster. He was straightening his clothing again when he remembered why he’d gone outside in the first place. Oh yes. He peered down the street towards the junction with the main road. There was the man Mas had mentioned, standing with his arms crossed outside a doorway. From this distance, Perry would have taken him for a real policeman, if Mas hadn’t told him otherwise. But how could he trust a man he’d only just met? What if Mas really was on the run from the police?

But no, police officers always wore helmets, didn’t they? Perry racked his brains, trying to recall any times when he might have seen one without. He came up blank. It should have been reassuring, but even if the chap was a security guard of some sort, Mas was still hiding from him. What was he afraid of? And why had Perry just left a complete stranger in the back of his shop? What if he found the door to upstairs? Perry’s stomach plummeted, and he headed back inside, flipping the latch on the door as he went.

Because whatever Mas had done, Perry would rather take his chances against that delicate scrap of a lad than the Neanderthal waiting outside.

He pushed through the curtain to the back room.

Mas was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Three

Mas had his work trousers pulled up when his mobile vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and squinted at the number. Not one he recognised. He answered anyway. Could be that guy he’d snogged on Friday night. The one with the enticing bulge in his jeans and the whole bad-boy thing going on.

“I’m waiting outside your flat,” the voice snarled. Walter’s voice. Great.

“Having fun? Wouldn’t have thought there’s much to do there, unless you’re a closet bus spotter. And you do realise you’ve just given up any element of surprise you might have hoped to have. I’ve got a thousand and one places I could spend the night.”

“I’ll bet. But you’ve got to come home at some point, and then I’m going to show you what happens to little shits who think they can pull one over on me. You’re not going to look so pretty when I’ve finished with you.”

“Ooh, and you’re going to be waiting out there twenty-four-seven, are you? Good luck. I can really see your boss agreeing to that. Shouldn’t you be off trying to stop teenage girls nicking lipsticks or something? I’d stick to that if I were you. You’re no good at the undercover work.”

Walter made a growling sound—which could have been a threat or could have been indigestion—and Mas hung up before he could reply.

It was only when he went to put his phone back in his pocket that he realised his hand was trembling. Had that bastard just threatened to give him a kicking? For what? A bagful of perfume that didn’t even belong to him? And that had never even left the premises? Mas’s knees gave way, and he crumpled down against the side of a dark wood cabinet. He sat on the floor, head between his knees, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“Excuse me? Erm, Mas? Are you there?” Perry sounded even posher than usual now he was worried. Mas tried to stand, but his legs were still doing a good impression of overcooked spaghetti.

“Down here,” he said, and at least his voice didn’t shake.

Perry peered over the top of the cabinet, all round-eyed.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Just taking a look at the woodgrain on this thing. Looks pretty fancy. I was wondering if it would go in my bedroom.”

Perry frowned. “You’re lying.”

Mas tried to feel offended, but fascination won out. “Not that I’m admitting it or anything, but how can you tell?”

“You’re hyperventilating. And trembling. Are you having a panic attack?” Perry rounded the cabinet—which took him bloody ages because this room was a maze of furniture—and then he was crouched in front of Mas.

“I’d have tried faking one sooner if I’d known this is what it would take to get you on your knees in front of me,” Mas joked, but he wasn’t exactly feeling the humour. His heart was still hammering against his ribs like it wanted to burst out and do a runner. Perry ignored his lame attempt at flirting, though, and lifted Mas’s hand from where it rested in his lap. For an absurdly hopeful moment, Mas took it as the prelude to his fly being undone, but then Perry was pushing up his shirtsleeve and fingering his wrist like a nurse. He even pulled a pocketwatch on a chain out of his waistcoat pocket.

A pocketwatch? Who the fuck owned a pocketwatch in this day and age?

“You want to know the time, I’ve got it on my phone,” Mas teased.

Perry’s gaze flickered up to his for a brief moment. “I prefer something with a second hand.” They waited in silence for a while, and for once, it was nice not to feel the pressure to come up with a snappy line. Too many of Mas’s friends seemed to see conversations as a competition. Perry clearly didn’t play that game.

Instead Mas concentrated on the sensation of Perry’s fingers on his pulse point. Perry had long, slender fingers, but his grip was strong and the pads of his fingers were much rougher than Mas would have expected. They felt strangely like workman’s hands, although Perry looked about as far away from a bit of rough as you could get. It was an intriguing combination. Hands like those would feel amazing on his body, he bet.

Eventually Perry raised his eyes. “Your pulse rate is 160 beats a minute. You should stay sitting for a bit till it comes down. Take deep breaths. Slower than that. Take them deep down into the bottom of your lungs.”

Mas did his best, although didn’t all breaths go to the bottom of your lungs?

Perry nodded, though, so maybe he was doing it right. “That’s it. Can I get you a drink?”

“I could murder a beer.”

Perry’s lips quirked a little. Aha. So he did have a sense of humour somewhere under all that reserve. “I was thinking of water. You shouldn’t have alcohol right now.”

“Aww, you’re no fun. It would be medicinal. Help me to forget all my troubles.”

“You’re troubled?” Now Perry looked even more worried, his brow creasing heavily between his eyes.

“Not in a mental-health issues kind of way. Just, you know, losing my job. And the thug of a security guard waiting outside my door to give me a good kicking the moment I show my face. He bloody well threatened me, and it’s not like I’d be any good in a fight.” Mas scanned Perry’s arms, wondering if he’d do any better against a man built like a brick shithouse. He was definitely taller than Mas, and while thin, his arms had that kind of ropy muscle that could mean he was a helluva lot stronger than he looked. “You know any of that kung fu shit? Coz if you do, you could totally get in some practice kicking his arse.”

But instead of rushing to his defense, Perry smiled. It was a sweet and rather shy expression. Cute, kind of like Jasper’s smile, although he certainly didn’t look like him in any other way. “We’re neighbours, then?”

“I suppose so. Although not for much longer the way things are going. My rent’s overdue, and the landlord’s getting pissy.” Mas’s heart started pounding again. He blew out a long breath and tried to calm down, but it was tricky. Those weren’t the tiny little problems he usually made a drama out of, like finding a hole in his favourite underpants when he was heading out to get laid. No, this was a whole new level of nightmare reality he had to deal with.

“Ah, landlord troubles. I know the feeling.” And now Mas felt like a total bastard, because that sweet smile was replaced with a frown. He didn’t want to remind Perry of his own crap. Better to take him out of himself. He looked like someone who spent far too much time on his own, chewing stuff over.

He made an attempt to sit up straighter. “So, did you see the shaved gorilla lurking around out there?”

“Shaved gorilla? Oh yes. I see what you mean.” Perry’s eyes crinkled. He had the cutest smile and lovely clear blue eyes. Redheads had never really been Mas’s thing, but he was starting to see the appeal. All that pale, freckly skin… But he couldn’t get distracted by all that when he had Walter on his case.

“Bloody hell. Am I going to have to camp out in here all night?”

Perry’s face went so white it was almost transparent. “Oh, I, erm… I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to put you out or anything.” Seeing Perry’s stricken expression made Mas rein in the sarcasm. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a bitch. It’s just been a bastard of a day from start to finish. And now I’ve got to hang around in here, sneaking peeks out the front door until he gives up and goes home. Suppose I’d better go hang out there now. Could I borrow a hat or something? Might help disguise me if he looks in this direction.”

Perry’s silence dragged on for so long Mas was about to tell him to forget it, but then his face set in a decisive expression. “You don’t need to do that. I’ve got somewhere better for you to spy on him from. Stay there.” Perry disappeared into the front of the shop, and Mas heard the lock turn. Then Perry whisked back through—he could really move when he wanted to—and gestured for Mas to follow him.

Behind the room stuffed full of furniture was another, smaller room which stuck out as a narrow extension on the older main building. It looked like it had once been a kitchen, and there was a door that might lead through to a bathroom, but it was so cluttered up with stuff—wooden chests and sacks of clothing, mainly—that you could only see a glimpse of the original fittings here and there. Mas had thought he’d be led to a staircase to the mysterious upstairs, but instead Perry battled for half a minute with a door before daylight spilled in, almost blinding him after the gloom of the shop’s interior.

Mas blinked as he headed out into the tiny backyard. Dandelions grew up between cracked concrete, and an overstuffed wheelie bin stood by the back gate. But apart from the obvious neglect, it was a nice spot, what with the mellow old brick walls and the sunlight pouring in. “Nice garden,” he said.

Perry looked at him like he’d grown an extra head.

“Well, it could be a nice garden. It has the potential, with a bit of TLC. I can totally see you as a gardener. You know, like an old-fashioned one out of Downton Abbey or something. You could really work that ’20s mojo. Though let’s face it, posh bloke like you’d probably be the lord of the manor, just telling all the lowly gardeners what to do and then taking all the credit for it when your mates come round. Not in a nasty way or anything,” he rushed to say when Perry scowled. “Just, you know, that’s what it was like back then, wasn’t it?” Time to change the subject. He spun around on the spot. “Hey, I like the fire escape.” It was one of those old wrought iron jobbies that spiralled up the side of the building like a corkscrew. The dull blue paint might have been peeling off, revealing patches of rust, but it still looked good, what with the intricate filigree pattern on every step and bracket. “You’ve gotta admire the effort they put in back in those days. None of those fugly metal treads that look like they’ve come straight out of a factory. These are proper job. I mean, really pretty. And all for something you’re just gonna stomp all over.”