rate.
So
tedious.’
‘Yours was love at first sight,’ said Henry. ‘We took a little longer. But no, I suppose I do feel responsible.’
‘Ridiculous,’ said Lampo. ‘How you do overestimate your importance in the scheme of things.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He’s slower than ever these days.’
‘Shouldn’t you be helping?’ asked Hilary gently. ‘Don’t you think it’s all getting a bit beyond him?’
‘He can’t bear having me in his kitchen,’ said Lampo, ‘and when he can’t manage it on his own any more, it’ll be a dreadful blow. I have to be cruel to be kind. I never lift a finger, much as I might want to. It’s a sacrifice I have to make.’
At last Denzil was ready. They had smoked salmon and pork casserole and all the time, as they talked, Henry felt the presence of the shadow of his knowledge of Lampo’s duplicity.
The opportunity to speak about it arose while Denzil was clearing away the main course and preparing the dessert. It had seemed wrong to launch into the subject before the meal, but now, well into the evening and mellow with wine, Henry felt that he could avoid it no longer.
‘Lampo?’ he said in a low voice.
‘Oh dear! Ominous change of tone,’ said Lampo. ‘H.E. Pratt (Orange House) is going into serious mode.’
‘Do shut up and listen. Lampo, I know that on the night of my sixtieth you didn’t go to an auction.’
Lampo didn’t reply. His mouth opened slightly, and his skin looked as if it couldn’t decide whether to go white or to blush.
‘I phoned Christie’s, and there was no auction.’
‘Your deep interest in the details of my life flatters me, Henry. I happen to work at Sotheby’s.’
‘I rang Sotheby’s too, Lampo.’
‘Oh.’
‘There was no auction there either.’
‘No.’
Lampo poured a little more Fleurie into their glasses, carefully, immaculately, ascetically. Their glasses had been far from empty, so it was obviously a displacement activity.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I really am most dreadfully sorry that you’ve found out. It must have hurt. Your sixtieth too, and I was very, very sorry to miss it. But it was quite unavoidable.’
‘I’m not talking about my sixtieth, Lampo. I’m not talking about me.’
‘Henry isn’t that self-centred, Lampo,’ put in Hilary.
There was a loud crash from the kitchen.
‘Not as steady as he used to be,’ said Lampo. ‘Hurry up in there,’ he shouted. ‘We want our pud.’
‘Don’t evade the issue, Lampo,’ said Henry.
‘Oh, I’m not,’ said Lampo. ‘I’m buying us more time. The more I tell him to hurry, the longer he takes. His desire to infuriate me is what’s keeping him alive.’
‘Perhaps he senses that something’s up,’ said Hilary very softly. ‘Perhaps he suspects.’
‘No,’ said Lampo firmly. ‘No, I’m very careful.’ He lowered his voice still further. ‘I will never hurt Denzil. Never. But I have to think of my future … after … after he goes. I have to … prepare the ground. Death is difficult for gays.’
‘It’s not exactly a doddle for the rest of us.’
‘No, but we tend to be lonelier. We have no families.’
‘Your choice.’
‘Henry! You know perfectly well that choice doesn’t come into it.’ He lowered his voice even more, and Henry had a sudden, disturbing vision of Sally Atkinson, lowering her voice in the Green Room. God, she’s lovely, he thought, to his surprise.
He realised that this was
his
displacement activity. All this was very painful to him, the secrecy, the tension, with poor Denzil slowly, innocently preparing his dessert in their tiny kitchen.
‘I … er … well, you may as well know,’ said Lampo, ‘I have a friend. A young man. Well, young to me. He’s thirty-six.’
‘Young to me too.’
‘He’s …’
‘I don’t think we need to know who or what he is, Lampo, thank you very much.’
Lampo looked hurt. They realised that he wanted to talk about his lover.
‘Besides, Denzil may
So
tedious.’
‘Yours was love at first sight,’ said Henry. ‘We took a little longer. But no, I suppose I do feel responsible.’
‘Ridiculous,’ said Lampo. ‘How you do overestimate your importance in the scheme of things.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He’s slower than ever these days.’
‘Shouldn’t you be helping?’ asked Hilary gently. ‘Don’t you think it’s all getting a bit beyond him?’
‘He can’t bear having me in his kitchen,’ said Lampo, ‘and when he can’t manage it on his own any more, it’ll be a dreadful blow. I have to be cruel to be kind. I never lift a finger, much as I might want to. It’s a sacrifice I have to make.’
At last Denzil was ready. They had smoked salmon and pork casserole and all the time, as they talked, Henry felt the presence of the shadow of his knowledge of Lampo’s duplicity.
The opportunity to speak about it arose while Denzil was clearing away the main course and preparing the dessert. It had seemed wrong to launch into the subject before the meal, but now, well into the evening and mellow with wine, Henry felt that he could avoid it no longer.
‘Lampo?’ he said in a low voice.
‘Oh dear! Ominous change of tone,’ said Lampo. ‘H.E. Pratt (Orange House) is going into serious mode.’
‘Do shut up and listen. Lampo, I know that on the night of my sixtieth you didn’t go to an auction.’
Lampo didn’t reply. His mouth opened slightly, and his skin looked as if it couldn’t decide whether to go white or to blush.
‘I phoned Christie’s, and there was no auction.’
‘Your deep interest in the details of my life flatters me, Henry. I happen to work at Sotheby’s.’
‘I rang Sotheby’s too, Lampo.’
‘Oh.’
‘There was no auction there either.’
‘No.’
Lampo poured a little more Fleurie into their glasses, carefully, immaculately, ascetically. Their glasses had been far from empty, so it was obviously a displacement activity.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I really am most dreadfully sorry that you’ve found out. It must have hurt. Your sixtieth too, and I was very, very sorry to miss it. But it was quite unavoidable.’
‘I’m not talking about my sixtieth, Lampo. I’m not talking about me.’
‘Henry isn’t that self-centred, Lampo,’ put in Hilary.
There was a loud crash from the kitchen.
‘Not as steady as he used to be,’ said Lampo. ‘Hurry up in there,’ he shouted. ‘We want our pud.’
‘Don’t evade the issue, Lampo,’ said Henry.
‘Oh, I’m not,’ said Lampo. ‘I’m buying us more time. The more I tell him to hurry, the longer he takes. His desire to infuriate me is what’s keeping him alive.’
‘Perhaps he senses that something’s up,’ said Hilary very softly. ‘Perhaps he suspects.’
‘No,’ said Lampo firmly. ‘No, I’m very careful.’ He lowered his voice still further. ‘I will never hurt Denzil. Never. But I have to think of my future … after … after he goes. I have to … prepare the ground. Death is difficult for gays.’
‘It’s not exactly a doddle for the rest of us.’
‘No, but we tend to be lonelier. We have no families.’
‘Your choice.’
‘Henry! You know perfectly well that choice doesn’t come into it.’ He lowered his voice even more, and Henry had a sudden, disturbing vision of Sally Atkinson, lowering her voice in the Green Room. God, she’s lovely, he thought, to his surprise.
He realised that this was
his
displacement activity. All this was very painful to him, the secrecy, the tension, with poor Denzil slowly, innocently preparing his dessert in their tiny kitchen.
‘I … er … well, you may as well know,’ said Lampo, ‘I have a friend. A young man. Well, young to me. He’s thirty-six.’
‘Young to me too.’
‘He’s …’
‘I don’t think we need to know who or what he is, Lampo, thank you very much.’
Lampo looked hurt. They realised that he wanted to talk about his lover.
‘Besides, Denzil may
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