wonder. Is that the fashion among gay couples or not?
Hetty was ushered into the tiny hall, the mirror image of her own. On the walls were framed theatrical bills and prints. Michael Redgrave and John Gielgud brooded in black- and-white photographs. In the main room stood the grey-haired man she had seen on the path. His skin was grainy and loose under the chin; he was much older than Christian – perhaps the same vintage as herself.
Markus accepted the wine and examined its label. ‘Jacob’s Creek Shiraz Cabernet,’ he commented approvingly. ‘You like Ozzie wines?’
Hetty was nonplussed. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘My husband used to choose the wines. I just asked at Oddbin’s what would be suitable for –’ she stopped.
Christian laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He was so tall . ‘For a couple of poofters, hey, Hetty?’
She was scarlet.
‘Come on, you’re forgiven.’ Christian led her into the living room where Markus was already pulling the cork of her gift.
The older man had a more serious expression on his face as he poured the wine. ‘Perhaps I understand better than you do, Christian. When Hetty and I were young, it was illegal to be gay. Nobody would admit it. They’d be sentenced to ten years. Even Wolfenden regarded it as an illness. Our family doctor offered psychiatric treatment.’
‘That’s why he needs someone mad like me,’ Christian teased. ‘He still hasn’t properly come out.’ He kissed Markus full on the mouth. Hetty blinked. Markus brushed him off and motioned courteously to Hetty to sit down.
The furniture was minimalist: tan leather, with a Persian silk carpet in shades of lilac and gold. A few books, large and glossy. Ovoid glass tables, a fig tree in a rough ceramic pot. Ikea? Hetty wondered, then understood. Not Ikea. Carefully, she asked, ‘D’you mean it’s a secret that you – ah – live together? Would you rather I didn’t mention it at the theatre?’
‘He hasn’t told his mother yet,’ Christian butted in, in the same teasing tone. ‘She still thinks he’s playing the field.’
‘It’s not a secret – exactly. But I prefer not to be the centre of attention for that. I am entitled to my privacy, like anyone else. My work, that’s more important to me, and the most important thing about me.’
‘We argue about it, as you can see,’ Christian continued. ‘I reckon if he said it it’d make it easier for lots of other men. The more the merrier. He’s a public figure, on the Arts Council. He was in the honours list last year, CBE. He has a duty.’
‘I’m a producer, not a professional homosexual,’ said Markus irritably, ‘and I find it much harder than you do, Christian, to talk about it. I’m not an exhibitionist.’
Christian laughed.
Hetty suspected that the glass in his hand was not the first that evening. She decided to take sides. ‘I can see Markus’s point of view, Christian. You’re too young to remember. But anyone caught had to go and live abroad, and careers were wrecked. Particularly politicians. It was seen as – dirty. Nice people didn’t. Only … entertainers, I suppose, and writers.’
‘More than that. They got married,’ Markus said, bitterly. ‘I nearly did, once. We thought you could overcome the urge if you fell in love with a beautiful girl. Well, I was in love but I couldn’t go through with it. She married somebody else soon after and was terribly unhappy. But I couldn’t tell her.’ He brooded, and mentioned a well-known name. ‘Still can’t, but she must have guessed by now.’
There was a silence while Christian poured out the remainder of the wine. That didn’t last long, Hetty thought. And this is my second go at alcohol today. ‘Thanks, but no more for me. If I carry on like this, my daughter will be proved right. She says I can’t possibly manage on my own and that I’ll go bonkers. Funny how any – ah, unconventional behaviour has our friends and family calling for the
Hetty was ushered into the tiny hall, the mirror image of her own. On the walls were framed theatrical bills and prints. Michael Redgrave and John Gielgud brooded in black- and-white photographs. In the main room stood the grey-haired man she had seen on the path. His skin was grainy and loose under the chin; he was much older than Christian – perhaps the same vintage as herself.
Markus accepted the wine and examined its label. ‘Jacob’s Creek Shiraz Cabernet,’ he commented approvingly. ‘You like Ozzie wines?’
Hetty was nonplussed. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘My husband used to choose the wines. I just asked at Oddbin’s what would be suitable for –’ she stopped.
Christian laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He was so tall . ‘For a couple of poofters, hey, Hetty?’
She was scarlet.
‘Come on, you’re forgiven.’ Christian led her into the living room where Markus was already pulling the cork of her gift.
The older man had a more serious expression on his face as he poured the wine. ‘Perhaps I understand better than you do, Christian. When Hetty and I were young, it was illegal to be gay. Nobody would admit it. They’d be sentenced to ten years. Even Wolfenden regarded it as an illness. Our family doctor offered psychiatric treatment.’
‘That’s why he needs someone mad like me,’ Christian teased. ‘He still hasn’t properly come out.’ He kissed Markus full on the mouth. Hetty blinked. Markus brushed him off and motioned courteously to Hetty to sit down.
The furniture was minimalist: tan leather, with a Persian silk carpet in shades of lilac and gold. A few books, large and glossy. Ovoid glass tables, a fig tree in a rough ceramic pot. Ikea? Hetty wondered, then understood. Not Ikea. Carefully, she asked, ‘D’you mean it’s a secret that you – ah – live together? Would you rather I didn’t mention it at the theatre?’
‘He hasn’t told his mother yet,’ Christian butted in, in the same teasing tone. ‘She still thinks he’s playing the field.’
‘It’s not a secret – exactly. But I prefer not to be the centre of attention for that. I am entitled to my privacy, like anyone else. My work, that’s more important to me, and the most important thing about me.’
‘We argue about it, as you can see,’ Christian continued. ‘I reckon if he said it it’d make it easier for lots of other men. The more the merrier. He’s a public figure, on the Arts Council. He was in the honours list last year, CBE. He has a duty.’
‘I’m a producer, not a professional homosexual,’ said Markus irritably, ‘and I find it much harder than you do, Christian, to talk about it. I’m not an exhibitionist.’
Christian laughed.
Hetty suspected that the glass in his hand was not the first that evening. She decided to take sides. ‘I can see Markus’s point of view, Christian. You’re too young to remember. But anyone caught had to go and live abroad, and careers were wrecked. Particularly politicians. It was seen as – dirty. Nice people didn’t. Only … entertainers, I suppose, and writers.’
‘More than that. They got married,’ Markus said, bitterly. ‘I nearly did, once. We thought you could overcome the urge if you fell in love with a beautiful girl. Well, I was in love but I couldn’t go through with it. She married somebody else soon after and was terribly unhappy. But I couldn’t tell her.’ He brooded, and mentioned a well-known name. ‘Still can’t, but she must have guessed by now.’
There was a silence while Christian poured out the remainder of the wine. That didn’t last long, Hetty thought. And this is my second go at alcohol today. ‘Thanks, but no more for me. If I carry on like this, my daughter will be proved right. She says I can’t possibly manage on my own and that I’ll go bonkers. Funny how any – ah, unconventional behaviour has our friends and family calling for the
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