This Other Country Read online

  It took them just under an hour, taking this longer track, to reach the top of the tor. For the last hundred feet, Nikolas dismounted, hobbled the horse, clipped Radulf to his lead, and climbed. The granite rocks were easy for a human but contained hundreds of hidden traps for a horse’s legs.

  From the top, Nikolas could make out the coastline with the Breakwater and Plymouth Sound hazy in the distance. The other way, he stared out right over their valley, and all he could see was the tops of trees. There was no indication of the house or the rest of the estate. He smiled. It was just how he liked it. He sat on the rocks and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Old habits died very hard for Nikolas. He made elaborate plans and decisions to give up, but he enjoyed smoking. He’d enjoyed it since he was ten and didn’t see why all the good things he had in his life now should be held in some kind of bargain with God against the bad. He’d used the same rationale with the red wine and that was working out pretty well too. He limited himself to one or two cigarettes a day, always at moments like these when he was completely alone. They helped him think.

  Introspection. Ben had accused him of it the night before. And he’d been right—it wasn’t something Nikolas usually indulged in. The visit to the superbly named Doctor Wood had disturbed him.

  He preferred his relationship with Ben to be like the house: invisible unless you knew where to look. When they’d first met, it had been completely secret from everyone. He’d booked hotel rooms for them to meet in. They’d had sex, and then they’d gone their separate ways, not even using the rooms to sleep in afterward. Gradually, he’d started inviting Ben down on weekends, but then the sex had mostly been out of the house—on the beach, in the grounds—except for the billiard room, which was understood to be his domain and had a good lock on the door. Then Ben had moved in with him. From that point on, Ben had been removing the metaphorical trees that hid the truth of their relationship. Soon, Nikolas knew, there wouldn’t be much left standing between him and a realisation of what they were—what he was. And he didn’t appreciate it.

  Take yesterday for example. Tim answering him back…Ben kissing him in front of Tim and treating him as an…of course, Ben was his equal…Nikolas wasn’t implying he wasn’t. Or at least, not when Ben was actually present. But still…Nikolas scrunched his face and considered this concept of their equality for a while. Then he lit another cigarette. One wasn’t enough for such a deep level of contemplation.

  Even pretending, he hadn’t enjoyed speaking about his relationship at the doctor’s office. What did that say about him? Why was he like this?

  Sooner or later, Nikolas knew he was going to have to address the issue of whether he was…He’d been going on the later option—maybe when he was sixty—but events were spiralling out of his control somehow. Ben had kissed him! Mocked him! In front of Tim and that other idiot! Ack, but he was refusing to address the main issue. He’d teased Ben back. For one moment, he’d forgotten how things were supposed to work, and, entirely unselfconsciously, he’d made fun of Ben back as if they were…

  Nikolas took a deep drag of smoke and filled his lungs, relishing the pleasure.

  Smoking had been so difficult in prison. He’d had a nice seven-year habit going by the time he’d been committed—in young lungs, too. He’d had no intention of giving up, so, along with food, that had been another thing he’d had to work hard to be allowed to enjoy. If the prison had been filled with women, he’d have fucked them for a cigarette or a hunk of bread. It was no different. It didn’t make him…

  But it hadn’t been full of women. It had been packed with men, and the next prison, and the one after that…A vast succession of men, which in its own way had formed another habit hard to break…It wasn’t all bad, however. He’d learnt early to use his power, to flex what psychological muscle he had, and he was not blind or stupid. He knew people desired him, feared him—gravitated to him. They would desire him, fear him and gravitate to him a great deal more if he’d let them. He’d never needed any of it, so held the world at arm’s length. But habits formed in prison had continued into his life in Special Forces. He fucked women when it suited him, but, like prison, Special Forces tended to be a world of men, most more than willing to explore games of dominance and obedience, reward and punishment.

  So how did any of this make him…?

  He lit another cigarette.

  He had to conclude, therefore, having looked at it from all angles, he was definitely not gay.

  Ack, who needed fucking therapists? Pussies.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, checking the caller ID. He smirked. A text from his second favourite person.

  Have u learned 2 text yet?

  He snorted and replied: what do u think?

  Ok. Boring and slow. I have 2 do essay. Title: Can 9/11 b directly linked back 2 Soviet actions in Afghanistan? Help. Any suggestions—as actual Soviet person in Afghanistan…… xxxxx

  He stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth and texted: I have perfect answer for u: No.

  He waited, smoking happily, and got back. More words maybe?

  Yes and no?

  Thank u. How r u? school is brill

  He squinted at this, shaking his head in despair. No one was supposed to enjoy school. But it had been one of his better moves, he thought, bringing Emilia from Russia to school in England—well, Scotland. A school recommended by Philipa, favoured of her favourite royal and perfect for a girl like Emilia who didn’t see the world in a conventional way. They had an unconventional relationship, Nikolas and Emilia. Neither understood it, so both left its possibilities hanging there to be examined at some later date. They were having too much fun to tie down what they were to each other in customary terms, and Nikolas, like Emilia, could never be bothered to conform to other people’s expectations. That he was a forty-five-year-old man and she was a thirteen-year-old girl with no relation to him didn’t bother them at all.

  On a whim, Nikolas whistled for Radulf, and just as the dog turned, he snapped him with his phone camera. It was the dopey, ears askew and looking appealing expression that the dog specialized in. Nikolas shook his head despairingly again but sent it anyway. A few moments later she replied with a selfie. She appeared to be happy, coppery snakes of hair wild around her face and not stuffed into a hat now. He made a dumb face, took one of himself and winged it to her.

  She immediately texted: U R smoking!

  He winced.

  I’m telling Ben.

  This was bad. What do u want not to?

  There was a long pause. Bribery? U cant bribe kids! Its illegal!

  Since when? So?

  2 come for xmas

  What about Babushka?

  She not seen devon either

  He thought about this. It was the only downside to bringing Emilia to school here—her grandmother had been left on her own once more. But she’d desperately wanted this chance for her granddaughter, so she had agreed. Emilia and Ulyana Ivanovna for Christmas. Why not?

  OK but I want very good present

  I will make u something in manual

  Deep joy

  Love you bye xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx :)

  He smiled—Emilia had learnt early on that kisses, hugs, karma and any form of emoticon annoyed him excessively and never stinted, therefore, in their use.

  I never think about u-goodbye

  He snapped his phone shut, chuckling at the thought of Ulyana Ivanovna seeing the house. He could teach Emilia to ride—and play tennis. It was getting boring beating Ben all the time. Now he could defeat Emilia, too.

  § § §

  Ben was still on the phone when Nikolas arrived back. He had his feet up on the table, and a succession of mugs around him with used teabags on spoons. Nikolas shivered with disgust and thought about calling for a servant before he remembered he didn’t have any now.

  Ben hung up and took his feet down. “Jono’d been seeing the doc once a week for about six months. A couple of months ago the doc men
tioned the possibility of him attending a residential course for a week.”

  Nikolas sat down. “And?”

  “He agreed to go. But I’ve just called Squeezy and asked him about it, and he claimed Jono’d been in Kenya, helping build a school.”

  “Interesting. He wasn’t in Kenya.”

  “Nope. Poor kid. He was on a residential, gay therapy course. But the really weird thing is, he was actually away from home for four weeks, not one.”

  “So…where was he the other three weeks?”

  “Exactly.”

  Kate was good at what she did. By the end of the next day, she’d found fifty-seven of Dr Julian Wood’s patients had been recommended to attend the one-week residential course. Thirty-five men had apparently attended and returned home after one week, and some were still Dr Wood’s patients—to varying degrees; many had cut back the frequency of their sessions. But that left twenty-two men who’d attended the course but, as with Jonathan, had an additional unaccounted-for three weeks—no evidence of telephone calls made; no use of credit cards; no attendance at work. In itself, this was not particularly alarming, except of those twenty-two, twelve had returned home briefly and had subsequently disappeared once again, telling family and friends they were going travelling. Jobs had been resigned from, money withdrawn from bank accounts, and no contact had been made since. Of the remaining ten, six were dead—four by suicide and two by head-on car crashes, where they and the occupants of the other car involved were killed. Four men from the original twenty-two that had taken an extended stay at the therapy session were at home. She’d sent their addresses.

  Interestingly, one of the four was ex-army.

  Ben told Nikolas they were paying him a visit.

  Privately, Nikolas was bored of the whole topic, but he knew if he didn’t go along with it, Ben would only continue to pursue it—most likely with Squeezy or Tim. This way, playing along, he at least got to influence the course of events and curtail some of Ben’s enthusiasms.

  § § §

  Andrew Weir had served sixteen years in the gunners and had left the army on early retirement as a major. He’d bought a house in Amesbury, just outside the artillery camp near Salisbury that had been his regimental home. Ben was studying his profile in the car as Nikolas, for once, drove. Nikolas glanced over. “He was a major?”

  “Yeah. Probably would have made half colonel if he’d stayed in.” He looked up. “You gonna have a problem with him being an officer?”

  “Me? Why should I have a problem with that?”

  Ben frowned. “Well, lots of soldiers don’t like officers, do they?”

  There was a long silence, until Nikolas ventured with very uncharacteristic hesitation, “What do you think I did in the army, Benjamin?”

  Ben put the papers down and turned slightly in his seat. “What do you mean? You were a Special Forces soldier recruited into Zaslon.” He rolled his eyes elaborately. “Now I’ve told you, you’ll have to shred me.”

  Nikolas quirked his lip but flicked him a look, his eyes off the road for a moment. “Ben, I was a major general when I left—the British equivalent would be a brigadier. What did you think? I was Sergei Primakov’s son…” The silence was even longer this time. Ben coughed lightly.

  “A brigadier?”

  Nikolas chuckled. “I thought you knew. My God, you thought I was a soldier?” He kept glancing at Ben, not sure whether to be amused or horrified. “Is this going to be a problem between us?”

  “Shut up, or it will be.”

  “Or it will be…sir?”

  Ben opened his mouth to reply, a horrified expression forming on his face, but Nikolas chided brightly, “Oh, look, you’re missing Stonehenge. Really, Benjamin, you have no appreciation for your own culture.” He pointed out the monument to Radulf, only in Russian so he could add a few comments about Ben, which he knew the dog would appreciate.

  § § §

  Andy Weir was very guarded at first, although Ben had called him that morning and explained he was making a documentary on gay men in the military and that he was interviewing as many ex-soldiers as would speak with him. Upon actually meeting ex-Special-Forces-expert Ben Rider, Andy Weir had no problem talking at all. He told them how it had been for him, a senior officer on the staff at the headquarters of the Adjutant General, being summoned into a conference room with two hundred other senior officers, the army’s leaders, and being told by a brigadier that contrary to the army’s previous stance that gay soldiers would adversely affect operational effectiveness, now they had to let them in. European law demanded it. “Brigadier McConaughey stood up there in front of us all and announced, ‘I don’t like it, but we’ve been forced into it.’ What sort of message was that to give? The army’s most senior officers were condoning the continuing homophobia—only now it is all covered up under the guise of welcoming our contribution. Bollocks. They were just forced into it by European law and didn’t want to be sued any more.”

  He leant forward, which immediately caused Ben and Nikolas to shift back slightly in tandem. “I had friends who were seized from their beds in the middle of the night, dragged into interrogation rooms, had their personal things ripped apart in illegal searches—letters read, photographs poured over to see if they could find evidence of them being gay!”

  Nikolas was finding it hard to be sympathetic with the huge chip this man seemed to be carrying on his shoulder. Gay soldiers in his command had been set on fire. It gave an entirely different definition to homophobia. He tuned out for a while, studying the tiny kitchen in the sad little house on the unimaginative estate. Not for the first time, he gave thanks men still wanted to go to war and that it was so incredibly profitable for those who supplied the wherewithal to maximise the misery.

  He was impatient to leave and glad when Ben suddenly asked, “Okay if I use your bathroom before we go?”

  Andrew Weir nodded and pointed to a door across from the kitchen. Ben got up, closing the kitchen door as he went. Andrew smiled hesitantly at Nikolas. “Are you—?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. So what is your role with the film?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I was going to ask if you were the director.”

  “Oh.” Huh. “Yes. I am.”

  “Are you ex-military?”

  “Yes. Russian.”

  “Oh. So, was it okay for…?” Nikolas wasn’t about to tell this very intense man that being gay was considered a mental disease when he’d been in the army, or enlighten him as to the punishments handed out to those discovered. Neither did he mention the flip side of this: the army he’d known obviously had just as many gay men as any other, only they were necessarily extremely secretive and very easy, consequently, for senior officers, like him, to exploit. He hadn’t told Ben much, if any, of this and wasn’t all that happy having to think about these things now. He was profoundly glad when Ben returned and declared they had to go—that they had another interview in London…

  Andrew Weir seemed relived, too. He nodded and rose first, making his way toward the front door. “Sorry if I came over a bit strong there. I was angry for a long time, especially at that dickwad McConaughey, but I’ve been in therapy for a while. It’s really helped, you know?”

  Nikolas found this admission slightly interesting and actually relevant, so he expected Ben to pounce on it and ask a flurry of questions. He was surprised when Ben didn’t seem able to depart quickly enough. He was almost hustled back to the car, which they’d had to park some houses down.

  “What did you think?”

  “About what? You drive.”

  “About Andrew. What did you think?”

  “I didn’t think about him at…”

  “Nik…”

  Nikolas sighed. “I think he’s a very angry and bitter man. He seems obsessed with events well in the past. Isn’t it compulsory for your army to be gay now? I was surprised though you didn’t ask him—”

  “The house is completely stripped bare
upstairs—no furniture at all.”

  “Huh. That is odd. I wonder what he does for—”

  “Even odder? He’s got: ‘I will leave darkness behind me’ scrawled on the wall of one of the bedrooms…”

  Nikolas turned to him then stared thoughtfully back at the house. “I think that’s our cue to return and enquire about the therapy course, no?”

  They were too late. The house was empty, but the gate from the tiny square of unkempt garden at the back was open and swinging slightly in the breeze.

  Major Andrew Weir had left.

  They were equidistance now from their two houses and debated which to return to. Ben checked his messages. “Fuck. Tim’s been trying to get hold of me. I had it turned off.” Ben returned his friend’s last call, walking a little way down the path and along the road out of Nikolas’s hearing. Nikolas debated whether he could get away with a cigarette. Ben and Tim usually spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone, in his opinion. Before he had a chance to decide, Ben came running back. “Squeezy’s gone.”

  Nikolas cast his eyes to the heavens but no respite was forthcoming. He probably didn’t deserve it anyway. “So that idiot friend of yours decides to investigate on his own. What a surprise.” There was no doubt in his mind and likely not in Ben’s either as to why Squeezy had disappeared—or where he was headed. The idiot’s impulsive—reckless—way of tackling life was a constant source of annoyance to Nikolas.

  “How come when he does something wrong he’s always my friend?”

  Nikolas only grunted. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. We’ll go back to Devon.”

  “Nik…”

  “You drive.”

  “Nik…”

  “No. I’m not having this conversation.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say. We nee—”

  “No, Ben, we don’t need to do anything.” He held up his hand, his face set. “No. Don’t speak to me of this again.”