SIGHT LINES - continued, part 2

 

The first days with Agnes taking care of him were busy and pretty much routine. Damien’s attitude, though cold and detached, was compliant. He stayed in his room, took his medication, and avoided the Lord of the House at all cost. It was not hard, as Cade himself stated he had business to attend to and locked himself in his office most of the day and his room at night. Spending a great deal of time on the phone, he gave Mrs. Coletrane Carte Blanche and in her easy, eager stride she had the place humming in a mild routine by mid-week.

 

Day was torn in two. Sitting in his room as Agnes brought him his evening tray, plopped his pills in the palm of his hand, and cheerfully instructed him on his responsibilities, he wanted to hate her for her betrayal, for calling the one man he wanted to get as far away from as possible. Throughout the past three days he had often answered her in curt, sharp comments that dug a little deeply into the side of trust and honor. “Guess I’d best, or you’ll turn me in for bounty,” upon taking his pills; “Do you get a bonus if I eat all my vegetables?” when she happily informed him that the green beans were especially prepared for him, her secret recipe.  Several times he was equally content to see a short pain crease her face before the cheery demeanor came back into place and an equally sharp pang of guilt at his own cruelty, but he just could not stop himself. He wanted to prod and push her until she broke down, cried and abandoned him, admitting defeat like everyone always admitted when it came to dealing with Damien St. Claire.

 

On Thursday, Doc Bailey had made a short visit early in the morning. Marking down some statistics on his chart, he smiled at his moody patient. “You seem to be thriving under Agnes’ ministrations. Doesn’t surprise me, the woman has a way about her; a real caregiver she is.”

 

“She’s a saint, all right,” Day grumbled, showing as much attitude as he could. The return of his appetite and health were turning him bitter and he couldn’t understand why. He wanted nothing more than to get well, pay his debt and be gone from this hellhole, yet, he hated even thinking about it.

 

“I’ve a mind to let Mark know about that attitude,” Peter said, angrily folding his stethoscope and placing it in his bag, “he’d no doubt heat you in places that would make sitting damned uncomfortable.”

 

“You know, I’m damn tired of being looked at as the villain in this little drama,” Damien raged, slamming his fists down on the bed covers as he sat back against the headboard. “Vincent Cade hit me with his car. I should be suing him. But I’m willing to pay off the damages to his car and keep from being deported, but I don’t have to like it one damn bit. As for that woman, she had no right to call Cade. I was seeking shelter with her from the rain…she had no right.”

 

“You’ve no right to judge Aggie, my friend, no right at all.  She did what she needed to do, and you know it.” Peter said firmly, as he repacked his bag and left the room.

 

Opening the door to leave, Agnes Coletrane stood outside the door, ringing her hands with worry, as though the raised voices meant violence pending.

 

Peter placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled, turning slightly back to give Day a cold look, “It’s all right, Aggie, he’s fine. He’s thrived, in fact, under your good cooking. His colors back and I’ve taken some blood samples. I’ll have a work up done; his temperature is normal and his cut is almost healed. I think he can start on some light activities around the house this week. Just make sure he rests when he feels tired and he will be back to normal by next week.”

 

Agnes sighed against the wall, happy to hear that the young man was making such a wonderful recovery. She knew Day would be overjoyed at being allowed up and about. She had kept him quiet, making him either stay in bed or sit on the chairs in his bedroom. The restrictions were per Vin’s orders, but to him it was only another resentment to hold against her, another reason to push her away and reject all her efforts to connect with him. She hoped with more freedom, the loving and kind personality that she saw in brief snatches would make itself known increasingly.

 

Day looked back out the window, deciding to just ignore the two people who were bearing the brunt of his anger, humiliation and frustration.  He heard the door close quietly.  Hurrying out of bed, he tiptoed to the door and listened. The pair had moved down the hall towards the staircase, but Day cracked the door a bit.

 

“How are you doing, Aggie? He's not too much for you is he?” Peter sounded concerned.

 

“Don’t you go worrying yourself about me, Peter Bailey. I've been a mother long enough to recognize when a lad's hurting and just striking out at whatever he can. If Mark sees those creases on your forehead and gets suspicious, I’ll be having words with you. Now how’s about a cup of tea and there are other patients awaiting you, I know, who need you far more than I do or that poor, lonely boy up there.”

 

 

 

 

 

That evening, Mrs. Coletrane knocked on his door.

 

“Come in,” Day said, sitting up reading by the fireplace.

 

“Come on, my boy, you’ve a clean enough bill of health to start taking your meals downstairs in the kitchen and dining room. I think it’s time we had a fine dinner, just the three of us.”  Agnes stood at the door, not making any effort to move.

 

“I think I’ll just take a sandwich up here,” Day insisted, putting his head back into the book.

 

Agnes walked over quickly a dishtowel swung over her arm. She snatched the book out of his hand, shut it and placed it firmly on the table.

 

“You, Damien St. Claire, will come down to dinner right now. This is not a hotel; I am not your maid. I came here to look after you, cook meals for you and help you get better. A change of scenery might lighten that sour puss of yours. Part of that effort must come from you and you will meet me halfway. Do I make myself clear? Or would you rather Mr. Cade come in here and persuade you to my way of thinking?”

 

Day opened his mouth to argue, but when she half turned to call Cade, he quickly scurried from the chair and walked like a truant schoolboy down the hall ahead of her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dining room table was nicely set, lace tablecloth, fine china, silverware and napkins. A large soup tureen sat in the middle of the table, fresh baked rolls were stored in a covered serving dish, and the lights glowed warmly in the room, competing with the fireplace and its roaring blaze. Cade was already seated at the head of the table. Mrs. Coletrane took the seat to Vin’s right and the only other place setting was to his left.

 

Damien walked in slowly, almost pathetically, not wishing to look too able-bodied just yet; still striving for whatever sympathy he could garner from these two. Since Aggie failed to give him his due, he thought Vin might still be in the dark as to the degree of his recovery.  The brown eyes met his briefly.

 

“Good to see you up and about, Day,” Vincent said politely, as though to any houseguest.

 

“I’m keeping food down, that’s about the only change,” he said to downplay his recovery.

 

Sitting down and placing his napkin in his lap, he missed the rolled eyes Agnes threw at Cade and the returning wink of understanding.

 

The meal started well enough, Vincent passed the dinner rolls and mashed potatoes while Agnes filled everyone’s plate with a large helping of meatloaf.  At first Damien tried to show indifference towards the food, lest his healthy appetite whetted by the savory aroma give away his return to full health. That would mean working around the estate, and he was not quite ready to give Vincent Cade his servitude just yet.

 

“What are you good at?” Vincent asked him, out of the blue, taking him by surprise.

 

Damien looked up from buttering his roll, the knife poised in one hand, the roll carefully held waiting his ministrations. Then, as though realizing the reasoning behind the question, he put the roll on his plate and slammed the knife down hard on the china. “I’m good at many things, most of which you’ll never know, but whatever you set about for me to do, I’ll do it and get the hell out of here as soon as I can.”

 

Cade’s face hardened, he was ready to retort to the angry response, but Mrs. Coletrane jumped in, “Heavens, young men are all pretty versatile. If he’s not up to gardening, Mr. Cade, perhaps he can clean out the attic, help set up the studio for your paintings. Lord knows you’ve been talking to me about turning the old servant’s quarters into a proper art studio for the longest time.”

 

The hazel eyes would not leave the brown ones and some silent war was going on behind the scenes of pleasant dinner conversation, as though a parallel universe were simultaneously running. What looked to any distant observer like a pleasant dinner was becoming to someone on the set a war of wills.

 

The brown, muddy pools never once retreated; the hazel flames were igniting with defiance; then the blue eyes, the wise eyes, sparkled and an idea came to mind.  “I’ve got it, Mr. Cade, he can start by helping Mark with the terrace and south gardens.  Mark’s a strong lad and can do the heavy lifting. Mr. St. Claire will surely love working out of doors, getting some sunlight, learning a thing or two about landscaping. When he’s got the hang of things, you can set him about his own, separate chore. What say you to that, Day?”

 

Damien finally relented and met Agnes’ gaze across the table, but not before he narrowed his eyes at Cade in a signal of non-compliance. “Sounds fine with me, I might be able to teach Mark a thing or two about the great outdoors.”

 

Agnes smiled, not amused, but in the patronizing way a mother will smile at a child who insists on being contrary, when in her heart she knows he is only confused and frightened.

 

“See, Mr. Cade, Damien has talents, he’s just holding off to surprise us all.”

 

After that, the veil broken by the hard facts of Day’s place in the scheme of things, the meal commenced with certain camaraderie. Day seemed willing, if not eager, to go along with the pleasantries if not for Cade’s dinner companionship then for Agnes’ efforts at trying to make a fine meal and a nice evening for all.

 

It would have held up fine, save for Mark Coletrane.

 

The three diners were well into their chocolate cake and coffee. The conversation had drifted to movies and the differences in American and British screen. Damien was actually laughing at Mrs. Coletrane’s perfect imitation of Angela Lansbury, and though he thought her familiar looking before, he never realized how strong a resemblance she did in fact have to the screen star.

 

“Mum?” the shout came from the hallway beyond the kitchen, towards the southeast side of the house.

 

“Mark!” Cade called, “In the dining room.”

 

The well-built young man bore little resemblance to his mother. The strong jaw line and sharp features were probably gifts from his father, only the ice of the blue eyes hinted at the relationship between mother and son.

 

“Hello, Vin,” Mark said cheerily, long accustomed to being treated like a family member in the house of his employer. He came in and planted a quick peck upon his mom’s cheek. Totally ignoring the young man who sat across from his mother, he asked, “Can I have some of that cake, Mum?”

 

Reaching over her head, he grabbed for the cake platter, “Ow!” Her hand came from out of the blue and swatted him soundly on his outstretched hand.

 

“Where are your manners, Mark Coletrane?” Agnes scolded.

 

Vin sat back and laughed, watching the familiar scene of maternal discipline.

 

“Sorry, Mum,” he came around and pulled a chair next to his mother and said politely, “Please, may I have some cake and coffee?”

 

“That’s one,” Agnes said sternly, “but I was more concerned about your manners towards Mr. St. Claire.”

 

Day looked up sharply, well used to being ignored or treated with mild contempt for his longish hair and youthful good looks, he was surprised by Agnes’ concerns.

 

“Who?” Mark said with disgust, “the kid? I thought he was here to pay off a debt, not the royal guest.”

 

The hand came down sharply again, but this time on the strong knuckles that were still making their effort at obtaining the desired chocolate cake. “Ow! Geesh, Mum, enough already.”

 

“Then mind your manners.”

 

“Good evening, Damien,” Mark said grudgingly, “good to see you up and about.”

 

Agnes watched closely, making sure her son meant the greeting. Convinced he was truly putting forth an effort, she reached over, placed a large slice of cake on a plate and put it before him.  Mark smiled at her, pleased with the prize, then he reached for the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup, he turned his attentions to Cade.

 

“The south wall is coming along nicely. The workers are good, but the spring rains have put the work behind a bit. I’ll start on the gardens and lawns this week. I’d like to plant flowers in all the urns. They’re old and well-worn, but of fine craftsmanship. You’ve a good place here, Vin. It will take all summer to get the lawns in shape, but you’ll have one of the best gardens in the area in no time.”

 

Cade sat back sipping his coffee, looking at the young man he had come to call friend long before he had employed him on the grounds. Mark was a stoic sort and by-the-book Englishman. Cade had met him briefly during official military business in England. When he had bought Halcyon, he was surprised to find the young man a neighbor; they soon resumed their relationship and had taken it a step further towards friendship.

 

“How would you like some help?” he watched Mark take a huge forkful of cake, washing it down with coffee, then his eyes widened dawning with the light of understanding.

 

Pointing his fork, still chewing, he almost coughed, “You, you mean him?”

 

“He’s here to work, pay for the damages on the Mercedes. I’m not quite sure what he’s good at, but I thought starting him off under your watchful eye might help direct his talents and interests towards seeing I get full remuneration.”

 

“I’d get you full remuneration. I’d put the brat to work on hard, physical labor, preferably smashing the bad stones into gravel for the driveway.”

 

Agnes glared threateningly, but Mark chose to ignore her this time.

 

Damien didn’t like the turn of events. He resented being talked about while he sat there like a naughty child.

 

“Excuse me,” he stood up and all eyes turned towards him. “I am here, and I have ears. If you two want to talk about me, I would appreciate being included in the conversation,” Day said, sarcasm dripping with each word. “Otherwise, you can all shut the fuck up and stop talking about me.” With that statement, he threw his napkin down and started to rise from the table.

 

Before he could take one step away from the table, he was hauled unceremoniously back. His chair toppled backwards as he groped for some leverage, but the steel bands that had encircled his waist were determined and unrelenting. He found himself held tightly against the rock, solid chest of Cade, with one across his midriff anchoring him in place. His eyes widened in fear and recognition of that one point of no return. He had gone too far with this man.

 

“I won’t have such language used at my dinner table. I would judge by this display that you are healthy enough to start some light chores tomorrow. I am putting you under Mark’s auspices and YOU WILL obey him. Do I make myself clear?” Cade’s mouth was near his right ear and he could feel the warm breath tickling his lobe. He was afraid, yet he was also excited by the closeness of the man. Feeling the strong muscles that rippled across his gaunt stomach, the hard pecs that grazed his upper arm, he felt himself rising with feelings he didn’t want, couldn’t give way to. He wiggled as much as the position allowed, trying to break free, but it was impossible.

 

Cade saw the wide eyes seeking him out along the side, the mouth dropped in surprise, wet and inviting as it quivered in anger. The boy was scared, good; a scared and pliant boy would make this easier on everyone. Lowering his guard, thinking he had won, Cade smiled.

 

“Is he from your stable?”

 

The turn of the whole conversation threw Cade off balance.

 

“What?” What are you talking about?”

 

“Him,” Day said, moving his head towards Mark, who sat cautiously with one arm across the back of his chair.

 

“You collect young men? Keep them working on your estate for your own personal amusement?”

 

Suddenly Day was pushed away and he would have fallen except for the table a few feet in front of him.

 

Vincent Cade’s face was awash in disgust and anger as the meaning of the boy’s words sunk in.

 

Mark Coletrane opened his mouth in surprise. Agnes watched, a quizzical look in her own blue eyes. Damien wore a self-satisfied smile, glad that he had finally hit a sore spot.

 

“I’m out for a drive, Mrs. Coletrane. Thank you for the meal,” and with that, Vincent Cade stormed out of the dining room. Several minutes later, the roaring engine broke the stillness of the night, as he gunned the engine of the car down the long driveway.

 

“Was that necessary, lad?” Mrs. Coletrane asked in a sad voice. Then with no further time for reflection, she rose to clear the table. “I’ll have you two helping me. Mark, bring the plates, please. Damien, the coffee pot and tureen, please.”  Turning, not waiting for an answer, she disappeared through the doors of the kitchen.

 

“Smart ass, brat,” Mark couldn’t help making the comment as he gathered the plates. “What was that all about? Does Vincent Cade really strike you as someone who collects men? Do I strike you as someone like that? Does my mother seem like the kind of woman who would give her respect and time to someone like that?” Mark asked, his voice rising in anger with each question.

 

“Yes, you do, Mark,” Day said simply and calmly.

 

Seeing red, Mark slammed the plates down and started to race around the table, just as Agnes returned through the swinging door from the kitchen. “Take the plates into the kitchen, Mark, and then I think you’d best be getting yourself back to Peter. You’re on him often enough about the hours he keeps, just mind you set him a good example.” When she saw him standing there, offering a challenge to Damien with his eyes, she said firmly, “Off with you, I said.”

 

Mark took the stack of dishes once more in his massive hands and exited the dining room. A few moments later, the side entrance to the servant’s quarters could be heard slamming shut with a vengeance, temper and mood shocking the still night.

 

“Did you enjoy that, lad?” Agnes asked as she busied herself stacking bread and cake dishes, collecting loose silverware.

 

Damien remembered displays of his temper as a child. How his father would depart to his den, his mother would excuse herself with a raging headache, and the servants would stand by as he wrecked the dining room, patiently awaiting their opportunity to set things right.

 

Agnes didn’t run. She seemed almost used to this kind of dinner activity.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, I didn’t start this. That son of yours did.” Damien needed to justify his actions, he needed cause other than the man whose memory and feel still did things to places on his body.

 

“Mark’s a problem at times, I’ll agree with you there, but you were baiting Mr. Cade from the moment you sat down.” She stopped briefly in her ministrations to look at him across the table.

 

Slowly he lowered his eyes, “I don’t want to be here.”

 

Deliberately misunderstanding him, Agnes laughed, “Well, then, let’s get us in the kitchen and start washing these dishes.”

 

 

 

 

 

It didn’t take Agnes Coletrane long to have Damien’s life story told in simple chapter and verse. She had that way with her, that eager interest in the lives and emotions of people in her circle. The dishes long put away, the dining room quietly closed shut, and they sat at the kitchen table over a last cup of coffee.

 

“Mother had no time. I’m sure she loved me, but there was just never enough time with the social activities she just HAD to attend. Father had high hopes for me until I brought Jeffrey home at Christmas, then he was willing to push me off, just like he did Ryan. You know, Mrs. Coletrane, although I never got to spend a lot of time with him, I liked Ryan, I felt sorry for him. I understood him. I think he envied me, thought I had the father and home life that was denied him, but he was wrong…he never realized how wrong.”

 

Agnes reached a well-worn hand out to him, placing hers gently on his; she squeezed reassurance and understanding in the gesture. “We’ve all made mistakes, laddie, every parent messes up sometime or another. You can hold it against your mum and dad for the rest of your life, and the bitterness will soon erode any warm memories you do have. Or, and it’s a hard choice, but one that can be achieved, you can forgive them, accept them for who and what they were and move on, landscaping your life with the best they did give you.”

 

Damien laughed, feeling good about himself for the first time in a long time. “You sound like a writer, Mrs. C, ‘landscaping my life.” Another laugh escaped him, “but I like it.”

 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she blushed, batting a hand away to indicate her discomfiture, “but it’s true, because like Mark always tells me, landscaping is a living art, trees and bushes grow and are nourished, you place them in the best location for light and shade and water; you show them off to their best glory. It’s a matter of sight lines.  A pansy, small and limpid, can reign queen of the garden if properly placed.  I’ve always had a fondness for purple pansies and goldenrods, quite the pair those two make.”

 

“I didn’t see any flowers in your garden?”

 

“Oh, I don’t garden myself anymore. Samuel was the gardener. No doubt passed his love of the land onto Mark. But when Samuel was alive, it was indeed purple pansies and goldenrods in my backyard.” Feeling embarrassed by the memories, she hurriedly wiped her hands on the towel and glanced at the clock.

 

“Damien, way past your bedtime. Mr. Cade comes home, he’ll be a bear thinking you not getting a good night’s rest. Off with you now,” she said as she rose. Damien scooted out of the kitchen, a smile on his face, it was a rough night and he was not happy about the commencement tomorrow of his servitude. But all in all, he couldn’t remember feeling so good in quite some time.

 

 

 

 

 

Mark Coletrane and Damien St. Claire were of opposite makeup. Damien was oil, easily ignited by the slightest spark, warmed and slick in his demeanor, he could change to meet the situation and ooze with charm if the need were called for.  Mark was water, pure, basic, clean, and simple. He believed in hard work, the determined grind of a day’s labor, and the enjoyment of friends, good sport, and a night at a pub.

 

The combination of oil and water meant they would never be friends.  Damien met Mark outside on the terrace right after breakfast. His appetite curbed by the thought of hard labor, he managed to eat one of the pastries Mrs. C had fixed, but couldn’t bear the thought of the pancakes and sausages.

 

“Why have you lost your appetite, lad?” she asked, all solicitude. Placing a warm hand on his forehead she clucked, “No temperature, but maybe I should check…”

 

“NO!” Damien yelled. Then realizing the rudeness of his outburst, he amended, “I’m sorry, I mean, it’s just nerves. I’m not sure what’s expected of me and I want to carry my weight.”

 

“Don’t you go worrying, Mark’s a fair man. He won’t put you to any tasks you can’t handle.”

 

“Where’s Vin?” Day finally asked. He had made it down to breakfast a bit late, putting off the day for as long as he could, but a part of him dreaded facing the Lord of the Manor. Part of it was the embarrassment of the previous night’s incident, but the other part was the horror of finally paying his dues, Vincent there to gloat at his penance.

 

“He had business with a client, an urgent phone call this morning. Said he’d try to make it back for lunch, but don’t count on it.”

 

Day relaxed, maybe today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Indeed, the warm spring sun lit up the landscape and the southeast side of the house glowed with activity. The bricklayers were busily laying the new terrace wall and each nodded a curt, but friendly greeting to Day as he cautiously sought out his taskmaster.

 

Mark had already removed his shirt and the muscles rippled along his back as he struggled with a huge urn, dragging it across the stone terrace towards its proper location. Finally situating it into position near the completed wall, he stood up to wipe his brow noticing Day for the first time.

 

“I’ll set you to planting the spring flowers in these urns. There are flats along the side portico. Let’s see what talents you have for color and decorating. I’ll leave you to it, but I warn you, if it’s not to my liking, I’ll have them all replanted properly.”

 

The blond head nodded curtly, but as he turned towards the east portico he mumbled his displeasure, “Ass, I’d plant your head but I choose not to treat the earth so rudely.”

 

With that train of thought amusing him, Day started towards the portico. He was amazed at the number of flowers, lying in their small pots waiting his pleasure. All the colors of the world were gathered in those blooms, vibrant and warm, cool and quiet, blending blooms in shades of purple, fuchsia, pink, red, carnelian, white, yellow, golden, bluebells, lilies, carnations…the whole range of floral pleasure.

 

Damien set about his task with a renewed fervor. He had a passion for beauty and an eye for design. He would show the smug gardener what patterns and light and color could do to a quiet, Grecian urn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lunchtime took him indoors. He had seven potted urns completed and Mark had merely passed him occasionally grumbling his approval. At first, Damien was angered by the lack of praise and surprise for his talents, but he soon realized that the grumble was the best he would get from a stoic man like Mark. It was Mr. Cade who would have final say and Cade was the one he wanted to beat in this little game.

 

After a warm lunch of hot beef sandwiches ladled with gravy and mashed potatoes, he and Mark resumed their work on the east terrace. It was towards the latter part of the afternoon when things got a bit testy.

 

Mark had chosen a small metal ladder to reach the eaves overhead. There were leaves piled high in the gutters and he decided to clear them away, lest the rainfall not flow smoothly out the pipes towards the yard.  This was the corner end of the terrace where the patio narrowed towards the stairs down into the east portico.

 

“I wouldn’t lean her that way,” Day offered as he knelt before the urn several feet away from the corner where Mark decided to start.  A small statue stood under the eave, a cupid-like angel holding her arrow upward towards the heavens, poised to shoot the stars.

 

“How much landscaping have you done, Mr. St. Claire? Or is this the voice of radical experience, setting charges on rooftops and sabotaging hotels.” Mark said sarcastically as he started to ascend the seemingly sturdy ladder.

 

Damien had enough, the temper flared within him and he rose, “Fucking bastard, I’ve been around enough of the great gardens of the world to know what looks good and what doesn't.  I think I can manage to put some plants in some containers.  I do have a college education, you know."

 

Mark turned to look down at the obnoxious young man, who stood below him, hands placed on his hips glaring up at him. Reaching into the gutter, hoping to extract the wet and putrid compost he thought pleasantly about heaving what he found on the head of his helper.

 

The shifting of his weight upset the precariously placed ladder.  Mark’s balance was thrown fully towards the right as the ladder shifted and began to lean, towards Damien, but also directly down onto the arrow pointing heavenward.

 

 

 

 

Vincent exited the car and came around the southeast portico to check on the progress of the renovations and to see how Day was behaving himself. The array of brightly colored flowers touched the artist in him and he took a deep breath, calming himself with the pleasure of their scent. He turned the corner of the house just in time to see Damien push the ladder with all his might away from the house sending Mark Coletrane flying backwards, over the newly erected wall, onto the green and muddy lawns beyond.

 

 

 

 

“Mark!” Vincent yelled as he ran forward.  Enraged, he turned to the fair-haired young man who had just pushed the ladder. Vincent grabbed the young militant and shook him.  "What the HELL do you think you are doing, Damien!" Vin yelled at him, shaking him again.  Day opened him mouth to say something, but Vin wasn’t up to hearing excuses just then.

 

Releasing the younger man so quickly, he stumbled back a step, Vin held up a  handa hand, "NO!" he ordered.  "I don't want to hear any excuses.  I don't care how he provoked you, I don't want to hear it right now, Damien," Vin said, his voice tightly chorded with anger.  "I think it would be best if you just go upstairs to your room." 

 

Day started again, "Vin..."

 

"Damien!" Vin all but shouted, "I don't care right now.  Go upstairs and wait for me," his tone clearly leaving no room for argument.

 

Looking out at the prone figure of Mark while biting his lower lip, Day spun around and bolted through the door.  

 

Dismissing the brat from his mind briefly, Vin turned his attentions to Mark who was starting to sit up.

 

Agnes raced across the terrace from the kitchen at the sound of Mark's yell.  Wiping her hands on her apron, she asked worriedly, "Mark?  Vin?  Day?  What's going on?"

 

“Aggie, we are down here.  Mark took a bit of a tumble," Vincent called out, as he knelt beside the stunned gardener, the ladder lay several feet away.  "He looks fine, just got the wind knocked out of him.  No damage." 

 

Mark gave Vin a shaky smile before calling out, "Mum, I'm fine." 

 

Vin shook his head at the other man, "Mark, you must have hit your head if you think those three little words are going to make a difference to her right now." 

 

 

 

 

Damien St. Claire entered his bedroom in a daze. He felt very little as he systematically stuffed his belongings into his backpack and duffel bag. It was always the same. The lack of trust placed on his motives, the feelings of being an outsider looking in.

 

Realizing how foolish it would be to run again, knowing that this was Cade country and his merry men were everywhere, it seemed futile to even try to hit the roads.  Not knowing what else to do, Damien walked out of his room and down the stairs. Realizing the back exit would offer opposition and confrontation, Knowing that going out the back would not be a good idea, he headed through the front door and out onto the drive. The late afternoon sun was slowly setting and the temperature was dropping, but Daydid not seem to notice hardly noticed.  Sometimes the mind numbs the body as it pulls in on itself and seeks the comfort and shelter of indifference.

 

Still dressed in the sweat pants and shirt from his labors, he slowly walked  trudged away from the house, wearily determined to gain some distance, both physically and mentally, from Vincent Cade.  When he felt he was safe from anyone who might be looking for him, he turned again and headed down the side of the property toward the river. Unsure of direction, spurred on only by the need to keep moving, he cleared the view of the house beyond the high trees and bushes landscaping the driveway and veered south towards the river.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peter Bailey sat back on the huge sofa in Cade’s living room. Using a tender and loving hand, he gently stroked the blond hair nestled on his lap. A thankful joy radiated off the boyish face as he studied the ruggedly tanned features of his lover’s face. Peter Bailey sat on one of the sofas in the living room, his lover was stretched out with his head resting in his lap. "Mark, you have to be more careful,." he said quietly as he slowly petted brushed the locks off his lover’s forehead. “You’re damn lucky the earth was still softened by the rains, but even luckier you missed the wall. Even that thick skull of yours can’t take on bricks.” 

 

"I know, Peter, it was stupid.  I was in a hurry and not paying attention. I wasn’t thinking too straight.  I allowed Damien to pull me into a battle of wits and I admit a quick comeback to his barbs held more of my attention than the work I was doing.Day and I were fighting about something stupid and I was paying more attention to what quick comeback I was going to say to him, then what I was doing." Mark said, struggling to sit up.

 

Peter moved the hand he was using to pet his lover and delivered a swat to his hip.  "Lieay still for a little while longer, love.  I want you to rest some moreto make sure you’re all right.  Plus," he said, bending down and delivering a soft kiss on his lover's temple, "I want to just sit here and hold you. Getting that call from Vin scared me.  You have no idea how much I’ve aged this past hour. be quiet with you for a little while longer."  Peter resumed his pettingthe gentle strokes. and then quietly added, "You scared me with by not thinking.  “Don't do it again, love."

 

Mark leaned forward and kissed the only part of his lover that was available to him, his pants covered kneeturned his head and kissed Peter’s knee, the only body part easily reached from his position.  Snuggling up contentedly on his partner’s lap, he felt remorse.  "I'm sorry, I won’t let that brat pull my strings so easily again Peter.  I’ll be more careful from now on. You have my word, Peter."

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him, Mrs. Coletrane. I swear, I rounded the corner of the house and I saw Damien push the ladder. Saw it with my own eyes, no doubt in my mind of his intentions. He’ll be up and out, packed to go back to London before the day is through, I promise you that,.” Vin said, pacing around the kitchen where he and Aggie had retreated to after seeing Mark settled in the living room.

 

“Oh dear, Mr. Cade, I think that’s a little farfetched?  Do you honestly think that the Damien we know would deliberately hurt someone?.  We haven’t heard the full story yet, and youwe - ---regardless of what you think you saw- -- weren't there,." she said reasoned calmly, using logic to get through to the upset man.  "There are several things that could have happened.  Maybe he tried to hold the ladderit, keep it from slipping and you misjudged. Or he accidentally bumped into it and was struggling with it when it slippedyou came up the stairs.  You don't know and you won't know until you talk to him.”

 

“I do not misjudge, Agnes, I see clearly. I’m a trained military man. I’ve been trained in assessing situations quickly and with an astute eye.” Vince sounded smug even to his own ears, but he couldn’t help it. He was amazingly good at his job...always had been.

 

Aggie snorted very unladylikegave an unladylike snort., "Oh, don't give me that, Vincent Cade.  For someone so bent on finding out the truth, I notice that you have failed to interview the two people who were actually there and can tell you exactly what happened.  I suggest you do that before you start packing Day's bags for him and branding him a criminal."  With that, she turned her back and began to rummage through the refrigerator, effectively ending the conversation.

 

Vin looked at her, dazed by the logic and perspective offered him, then he turned sharply and left the kitchen. for another few moments before turning sharply and walking out of the kitchen.  Looking up the stairs and then down the hall to the living room, he Vin decided to talk to the witness who would be the most likely, in his mind, to tell him the truth about what happened on the terrace.  He coughed exaggeratedly as he neared the living room entrance, giving the lovers timely warning of his arrival. Knocking lightly on edge of the open door to the living room, he said softly, "Peter?  I'm sorry to bother you two, can I come inmind if I ask Mark some questions?"

 

Peter smiled, his head thrown back on the sofa, relaxed and content with his treasured partner still comfortably situated on his lap.Peter had rested his head sideways on the back of the couch and he and Mark were talking quietly.  He looked up and smiled They had been, no doubt, enjoying the silence such relationships offer in the nearness of just being together., "Of course, Vin, come on in,  Mark and I were just talkinggetting our heart rates down."

 

Mark opened his eyes and stretched out his full form on the long sofa, pleasantly content to remain where he was, but still offering the macho resistance, Mark called out from his still prone position, "Hi, Vin, I'd get up but my overly protective partner here would have a fit. I think he’s the one resting and getting his second wind. I feel fine."

 

Vin laughed as he came in, "We don't want that now do weThanks for complying, Coletrane.  I’ve seen Peter in a full-doc mode and he’s more than I can handle."

 

Sitting down on the coffee table, placing both hands on his knees, he faced his friends. He sat down on the coffee table so he was facing the two men on the couch.    "Mark, what happened on the ladder?  When I came around the house, I swear, I saw Day push  the ladderit with all his might, causing it to go over.  Is that what happened? And why the hell did he do it?"

 

Mark looked at him stunned, slightly raising himself up, until he met the slight resistance of his lover’s restraining hand, he blinked several times to clear his mind, wondering if he heard Vin’s assessment of the situation distinctly..

 

Vin misunderstood his stunned expression and hurried on, "I know, I could barely believe it myself.  But, that's what I saw.  Were you two fighting?  That doesn’t excuse what he did, a.  And I can assure you ...."

 

Mark interrupted the rush of words, “Vin! Blasted, man! , Yyou are totally wrong about this.  I can't believe you thought that or I would have said something much sooner. Damien didn’t push me,” Mark he said, reaching for Vin’s hand, desperate to anchor the man and gain his full attention.

 

   “Yes, he pushed me, but he pushed me out of harm’s way, the best and only way he could. The angel, man, the damn, stupid cupid I’ve raged about. The damn statue that you had me lug out of the basement, refurbish and position there at the top of the stairs.” His voice raised in his own remembrance of the statue that had caused him so much trouble, so much work, and now this.  “Don’t you see?, I was going to fall on it. I'm sure I would have impaled myself on it and be hurt a lot worse, if not dead, if he hadn't acted so quickly. That damn angel's had it in for me for some time now,” he added jokingly, “must know about the pub crawl that night in London.”

 

Peter playfully swatted Mark’s rump, remembering all too well the night they closed the city down.

 

Vin groaned and bowed his head, "Shit" he said, "I have totally messed up this whole situationthings up."

 

Peter looked at him, "Vin, tell me, - please, tell me you didn't honestly think that Day would try to hurt Mark.  I know they don't get along sometimes, but to actually hurt him?  I thought you had a pretty good opinion of the kid?" he asked, his eyes full of reproach.  "You should have known better, old boyVin."

 

Vin just shook his head,Shaking his head, wishing he could put the clock back a few hours, Vin said, "I know.  I ... just was so sure of what I'd seen.  I mean, I saw him push the ladder."

 

"And jumped immediately to a conclusion without really thinking,." Mark said.

 

"Yes."

 

"Well, old man, I suggest you go and apologize right now to that boy.  You owe it to him and you better hope he understands and accepts it,." Mark encouraged, content to see things clearing up around him, while he lay nestled in Peter’s lap.

 

"I know,." Vin said softly, "I only hope he does, too."

 

 

 

 

 

Damien walked along the raging river as it banked and narrowed, widened and flowed, settled itself in areas and rumbled in rage in others. He liked the sound of her, the constant murmuring of her flow. He hadn’t walked far, just up towards the plains nearby the old site of Salisbury. No one was out and about our this late in the day. He shivered against the early evening chill, but it was an involuntary response from his body, he really didn’t feel the cold. He was still too numb.

 

In all his life, Damien had learned to leave himself in hours of distress. It didn’t pay to stay around and suffer. You just shut yourself down. He was shut down now. Oblivious to the consequences of leaving the manor house, unaware of the cold evening faced with no place to go, unsure of himself, but not caring what happened. He allowed himself to luxuriate in the sound of the river and purposeless route he followed.

 

It was always like this. Friends, family, relationships, they all ended in harsh words of rejection. Simple gestures mashed and pulverized in the daily hassles of life, taking on nefarious meanings simply because no one took the time to get to know you, understand the man behind the facade. So be it. He was tired of leaving himself open to rejection.

 

He would be lucky if he could return to the manor house, pack his bags and be allowed to leave without having an attempted murder charge placed on his head. Damn fool, showing off on the ladder, it’s a wonder he lived this long, Day thought to himself. Remembering the shock on Mark’s face as he looked down on the angel, the deadly stone arrow waiting to impale him, he grimaced.. It was the look on Mark’s face that registered the danger to Damien.  Doing the only thing he could think of in the brief second he had to assess the situation, he pushed the ladder and it's occupant out of the way of certain death and angled him towards a severe bruising.

 

Things would have been explained and understood if that damn asshole Vincent Cade hadn’t chosen that moment to return home. He was making a point of staying out of my way, doing all sorts of business, Day thought sarcastically, just to avoid seeing me. Had to choose that moment to come home and see things the only way he wanted to see them. Hates me, the asshole hates me and I don’t know why he didn’t just let them ship me back to the states.

 

Suddenly Damien felt tired. He didn’t think he could move one step further along the riverbank.  Finding a soft, grassy spot under a tree, mere feet from the river’s edge, he sat slowly down while bracing his back against the hard wood of the tree. He would just rest awhile here and if he fell asleep and froze to death things would be better for the world. The world didn’t seem to care too much one way or the other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vincent Cade walked up the stairs, and knocked softly on the closed, bedroom door.  When there was no answer, he cautiously open the doorcracked it open, ready to see this through., "Damien, please, I need to talk to you,." he said gently.  Looking into the room, it was clear in seconds that it was empty.  Walking quickly into the connecting bathroom, Vin confirmed his fear that the boy was gone.

 

Hurrying down the back stairs, he opened the door into the kitchen quickly.  "Aggie, have you seen Day?  He's not upstairs."

 

The housekeeper was startled by the news. The housekeeper startled at the sudden appearance of the man, but quickly recovered.  "No, I haven't."  Putting down the bottle of juice she was pouring for Mark, she said simplywith a knowledge garnered from raising four sons, "He's run off.  You made him feel so unwelcome in this house, Mr. Cade, that he's gone."  Her voice was not accusing, simply stating a fact that they both were well aware of.neither could deny.

 

Vin noddedNodding his head, Vin steeled himself to all blame, but now his concentration was focused on something he could damn well see through, finding the lad., "I know.  We have to find him.  Where do you think he'd go?"

 

Aggie sighed, "I don't know, last time he tried to walk to the road, hoping to catch a ride back into town.  He might be trying that again."  Then, thinking for a moment, she added, "He liked to walk down by the river.  He might be down that way. Knowing the lad, he’ll be on to your ways of tracking him down. He’d choose the most un-traveled area to hide out."

 

Nodding at the logic of her words, absently, Vin said, "Aggie, please,  - get in your car and drive the road to Salisbury and see if you can't find him.  I'm going to go ask Peter to drive the opposite way and I'll take the river."

 

Wiping her hands on a towel, she quickly snatched her keys and purse and hurried out the door. 

 

Vin walked quickly into the living room.  "Day has run off,." he announced without preamble.  "Agnes is going to drive toward Salisbury hoping to see himcatch sight of him.  Peter, I was hoping you could drive the other way and see if you can't find himover the opposite direction.  I'm going to go walk down by the river and see if he's gdone there."

 

Mark eased himself up with the help of his lover, Mark sat up and standing up said, "I'll help you down there, this way we can both take a direction and cover more ground."

 

Peter, understanding the need for a full-fledged posse, still wanted Mark protected. Placing a restraining hand on his arm, he said,  stood too and placed a restraining hand on Mark's arm.    "I know you want to help, but I want you to drive and I'll walk down by the river and help Vin."

 

Seeing the logic and not wishing to take time to argue, Mark nodded his head, "Okay, that makes sense."  Turning to Vin, he offered some small hopesaid, "Don't worry, he couldn't have gotten far.  We'll find him."

 

Several minutes later, Peter and Vin walked out the back door, armed with flashlights, an extra mackintosh for the foolhardy lad, they parted at the river. The search party had agreed to meet back at the house in ninety minutes. and headed down the path to the river.  In the still of the evening, they both heard Mark pull away from the house, all agreeing to be back at the house in 90 minutes to reassess the situation.

 

 

 

 

 

Damien awoke with a start. The chill air was seeping into his bones and the night sounds of crickets, frogs and nocturnal things filled the air. The ratty sweatshirt he had worn to work the urns was little protection against the dampness. His butt felt frozen to the earth and he shifted his weight to alleviate the dampness that had settled into his fleshy buttocks.

 

The sound came again, a sharp snapping of twigs and branches as though something large were wending it’s way along the bank straight towards him. This time, accompanied by bouncing light and a loud voice calling "Damien!".  Knowing exactly to whom that voice belonged to and not wishing to meet himhe rose quickly, avoidance uppermost in his mind., he rose quickly, too quickly for the moist ground. He lost his footing and slide toward the river, splashing slightly into it with his feet before he was able to stop himself.  The sudden change in elevation upon his sleep-crusted mind, caused him to teeter, loosing his footing in the soft, muddy riverbank, he began to slide feet first down the embankment.

 

His feet had broken the surface of the water, when Ssuddenly large hands were grasping his upper arms., Hhe heard a curse, a soft utterance for damnation and young fools and he was pulled up and forward hitting hard against a massive chest. He wanted to fight off the hard frame that was holding him tightly pulling him forward upon firmer ground, but it was warm here and safe. The arms were the kind you could find shelter in. His resistance easily softened, not sincere enough to gain much purchase.

 

As Vin pulled him up, he muttered, “Damn brat, be careful.”

 

He was roughly hauled up and Vin ran large hands over him, Large hands checked him over, gauging the dampness of his sweatpants, the soggy shoes and socks, but also checking for injuries.checking for injuries.    Then much to Day's surprise, he was pulled into a hard hug.  "Thank Ggod you are all right."

 

Cade loomed over him in the darkness, the soft moon glow accentuating his teeth and the whites of his eyes.

 

I want to be left alone,” Day said and he shivered shivering, realizing how at the pathetically childish sound this the statement madesounded.

 

Cade ignored him as he bent to pick up the mackintosh he had thrown to the ground when he made his grab for the falling youth. He bundled the young man up, zippering him up to his chin in the oversized folds of the warm coat.

 

“You’re coming back to the house with me,.” Cade said harshly.  Then, realizing his highhanded manner caused this whole misunderstanding to begin with, he softened his voice and gentled his approach.he said in a gentle voice.    "I'm sorry, Day.  I was wrong this afternoon.  I should never have jumped to the conclusion that you had pushed Mark that you would deliberately try to hurt him or anyone for that matter.  I came around the corner of the house and saw...." Vin's voice trailed off and he recgrouped, knowing that there would be time later to explain to Day, now he simply needed to know that Vin knew he was wrongthe truth was out.  "I saw something that I didn't understand and jumped to the wrong conclusions. I’m a man used to dealing with facts, situations as I assess them with split-second timing. I admit, this time I was wrong. , conclusions that I never should have even thought.  I was wrong, and should have known better, I do know you better."  Vin paused for a moment, giving the stunned man time to process what was being said to him.  "I'm sorry and I hope you accept my apology and forgive me." I can only say I’m sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

 

 

In the short life and times of Damien St. Claire people rarely admitted they were wrong, that they had misjudged him. He searched the archives of memory and he could not recall someone apologizing to him. He pulled his upper lip in, securing it with his teeth, trying to keep the tears from welling in his eyes. Day looked stunned at what was being admitted to him.  Rarely did people apologize to him and he didn't remember anyone ever admitting they were wrong.  "You have no idea how much you thinking I would do that hurt, Vin.  I know we haven't always gotten along, but for you to think that of me...." his voice trailed off as he shook his head, "That hurt…,  that really hurts."

 

Pulling him into another hug, Vin sighed heavily against him. Vin pulled him into another hug, "I know, Day, and I am sorry for that.  I wish I could go back and restart the whole afternoon. But, I can't.  I can promise you, though, I will not jump to anymore conclusions when dealing with you.  anymore.  I will always listen to your side before I accuse you of somethingof things, avoiding accusations.  You have my word on that, Damien, a.  And that is not something I give lightly."

 

Long, cold minutes passed as the wind picked up along the river. Day shivered in his mackintosh, as he stood trapped by Cade’s strong arms. Pulling away, he nodded his head slowly. Several long minutes passed before Day pulled away, nodding his head, "OkayK.  I understand.  We all make mistakes." He looked up and locked eyes with Vin, "Just don't do it again, I won't be so quick to forgive you next time." Day rather liked the shifting of weights. It was good to see this large, overbearing man brought down to his knees, well, okay, not his knees, but at least bowing his head a bit.

 

Vin realized how easily he could have lost all trust in one single judgment call. How this boy could have been sent packing because Vincent Cade, artist, military strategist, intelligence gatherer, did not take the time to get all the facts. Grateful for the second chance, Vin smiled and gave a smart salute.  "Yes, sir."

 

Day laughed, "Can we start back now?  I'm hungry."

 

Vin smiled and couldn't resist the urge to ruffle the blond head in front of him. "Sure.  We aren't very far from the house." 

 

As they started back along the river, Vin holding the flashlight to guide their way, he draped an arm around Day's shoulder and pulled him close, not saying anything, just guiding and supporting and staying close..

 

 

 

 

 

Damien sat at the table. Dressed in clean sweats and wrapped in a huge terry cloth robe that no doubt belonged to the master of the house, he was freshly showered and warm and snug. Like a runaway child with his two parents sitting across from him, he ate the hot soup with a relish he failed to disguise.  Mark and Peter had arrived back at the house, both relieved that the runaway had been found safe and sound.  Soon afterwards, they made their good-byes and headed home, turning down Aggie's offer for dinner.  Mark was stiffing up from his fall and was looking forward to the promised backrub from Peter.

 

Aggie and Vin ate their own soup, each lost in their own thoughts of how the day could have turned out differently. The only exchange was to pass the large homemade bread which went perfectly with the soup. Neither spoke to Damien. Aggie just kept grabbing his bowl as it emptied and refilling it without asking the diner if he wanted more. Day was hungry and tired.  He was still processing the conversation he and Vin had down at the river.  He was still a little in awe that the other man had apologized, but that didn’t stop him from viewing the turn of events from his angle, his corner. Perhaps things could work out to his advantage now..  He wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but his tired brain was not up to the complex problem tonight and thus the silence was a welcome reprievetreat...

 

No sooner had Aggie removed the bowls and silverware from the kitchen table, when Vincent stood up.

 

“Damien, come with me,” so we can talk.” was all he said as he left the dinning room and headed towards his office.

 

Day shot a frightened, unsure look at Aggie who watched the scene from the kitchen sink. She nodded her head encouragingly and smiled.

 

Clutching the robe tightly around him, Day trudged off after the taller man.

 

 

 

 

 

Vin’s office was not small, but it was not huge and pretentious either. It was a cozy room with bookshelves along one wall. A leather couch was stretched against the wall next to the door. Across from the couch Cade’s rich mahogany desk was neatly organized, a leather swivel chair behind it that could easily be turned around to view the front driveway out the window. Along the right wall was a small bar with crystal decanters and glasses. Day liked the room; it wasn’t anything like his father’s study at home. The huge room was all show for guests, every piece of furniture opulent---a room of affectations. This room was a cozy den for a man who had no desire to impress people with showiness.

 

Cade walked behind the desk, but did not sit down. Instead, he looked out the window upon the lawns in front of the huge home with. Hhis hands clasped behind his back., Tthe lord of the domain in contemplation, Damien thought and almost burst out laughing...the thought striking him funny and he couldn’t even reason why.

 

Cade turned and looked at him with an unreadable expression. Day suddenly feared he had spoken aloud without realizing it.

 

“Sit down please, Damien,."  he said calmly.

 

Moving quickly towards the sofa, Day sat on the edge.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” Cade walked towards the door and closed it. Now the room seemed even smaller to Day. The huge man standing there blocking any escape.

 

“Tell you what?” he asked, not quite sure what this ape of a man was talking about “tell you that your dumb fuck gardener didn’t listen to my advice in the first place.”

 

“That you were trying to save his life…keep him from falling on the statue?” Vincent said, sitting down in one of the chairs.  "I know I didn't really give you a chance on the terraceporch, but why run away?  I was going to talk to you, why didn't you wait for me?"

 

“Oh yeah!” Damien yelled as he rose from the leather sofa. "Like you would have believed me! Fuck you!"  Walking angrily towards the window he folded his own arms across his chest, enraged by this man’s open dialogue attempts NOW! It was too late, always too late. He was always earmarked as a troublemaker without proof or reason. Who gave a fuck now…now it just didn’t matter any more.

 

A low throaty groan came from behind him and Day shivered at the sound. He was no doubt used to people fearing him, moving out of his way, giving him little resistance. Well, Day thought, maybe a little resistance was good to give the wolf before the rabbit died. Why simply offer yourself up as a meal.

 

“Damien, watch your language,” Vin warned, “I'm sorry that you think you could never haved explained to me what happened, even after I calmed down.  I am sorry if I've given you that impression of me..,” Vincent said.    He was standing directly behind the young blond now and Day didn’t even remember hearing him cross the room.  "I want to get some things cleared up between us, and I can see that's one of them.  I understand that I am going to have to prove to you that you can tell me anything, but you are also going to have to trust me.  I know that might be difficult, especially now - ---after this afternoonwhat happened--- - but we have to both try."  Gently reaching out a hand and laying it on the boy's shoulder, Vin continued, "Don't you agree, Day?  Don't you think it would make your time here more enjoyable and pleasant?"

 

Nodding his head in agreement, he turned slowly from the window, fighting a desire to hide and find comfort in the strong arms that had held him earlier.  Damien St. Claire looked up at the taller man merely inches away and felt a desire for something more then just comfort from him. Even rebels tire of the game, when they are offered something else---something they long for so badly. The hard set of his lips pulled the older man’shis attention, like a magnet demanding its due. Day ran a wet tongue over his lips,lips; it paused briefly on its route and stood poised at the upper left corner of his mouth. He had no idea how tantalizing he looked.

 

Vincent stood mesmerized by the slow movement of that tongue. What a sensuous trip it took along the tender petals of that mouth. He wanted to clamp down on those lips, seize that pink opening like territory to claim and invade with all the passion and hot desire he now felt.

 

Damien lost himself in the dark pools. He felt himself falling as though into a dark, muddy pondol and his only salvation now was to break the pull.  Feeling the strength of his own reaction, Day panicked, he wasn’t ready to surrender---not to anyone. Reaching a hand along the small credenza behind him, under the window, he picked up the first thing within reach and threw it with full force against the opposite wall. The small, glass paperweight did not shatter, but it left a huge chip in the wood paneling.

 

Vincent didn’t move. He barely flinched at the sound.  Instead he smiled inwardlyknowingly, knowing realizing that whatever heat and passion he felt was returned in the hazel depths.  "Day, that was uncalled for, don't you think?"

 

A loud pounding on the door was the only prelude to Mrs. Coletrane rushing into the room. “Lordy, sir, what happened?” She quickly assessed the situation, making sure that murder was not the outcome of the noise.

 

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Coletrane. It seems I’ve been clumsy again and I’ve dropped my paperweight.”

 

Agnes looked at the large chip in the paneling across the room from where the paperweight was always placed, across the room from where Vincent Cade and the young blond man now stood inches away from each other. No falling objects flew across rooms unless they were thrown.

 

“Mr. Cade, sir, a word please.” Agnes did not make a request it was a command. Vincent gave one last look at the other man and said, “We’re not through yet and we will be discussing that little incident,” before he turned to follow the small, gray-haired woman out into the hallway.

 

 

 

 

“Vincent Cade, I’m sorry, but I am going to speak my mind,” Aggie said, placing her hands on her hips.

 

The tall man threw back his head and laughed, “Like that's unusual for you, Agnes Coletrane?”

 

Indignant by the laughter, not by the statement that was all too true, Aggie straightened to her full five -feet- five inches. “You think you're so smart, Mr. Cade?" Aggie said with laughter in her voice.  Then, turning serious again, she said, "Vin, you messed up this afternoon with that boy.  Nevertheless, that does not mean that you can now allow him to run amok now because you are afraid of making another mistake with him. He is itching for someone to take him in hand and you know it.  I know it, too, and typically, I would agree with you giving him more time to adjust to your rules and talking about them before hand. But, I’ll be hard pressed to hold my tongue when he starts throwing things around like a spoiled brat. He’s a dear boy, reminds me of Adam when he was a wee mite, all piss and vinegar, self-pitying, no one understands me kind of loneliness that I will not tolerate myself much longer. Adam would have sulked himself through his teen years if it were up to Samuel, but I had my fill of his silent sulks and his fits of pique one day. A sound thrashing on his backside and he was a bright and cheery lad eager to discuss what was bothering him.”

 

Vin sighed, "I know what you are saying Aggie, and I agree with you.  Do you think that's what the boy needs right now?  Even with all that’s happened this afternoon?  I hurt him, I need him to understand that I'm sorry and it won’tt' happen again."

 

Aggie cut him off with a wave of her hand, "Vin, you screwed messed up.  You said you were sorry, it won't happen again, now get past it.  Don't allow that to alter how you would deal with him for another second.  The more you dwell on it, the bigger of an issue it will be.  How long would you walk on glass around him, letting him do what he wants because of several5 minutes of stupidityblindness?  A day?  A week?  It won't change anything, only make it worse.  Go in there, lay down the law and pull him back in line and establish the rules.  It will make him happier in the long run."  With that, she gave him a warm smile, patted his arm, turned, and walked down the hall.

 

 

 

 

 

Vince shook his head; still not sure this was the way to go. Opening the door he found the impudent brat sitting behind his desk, leisurely pushed back in the soft leather chair, his stocking feet on the desk looking to all the world like the owner of the house. Vincent’s cheeks reddened in anger, but he didn’t say anything. He closed the door and walked to the window. Again clasping his hands behind his back, he looked formidable in the thick, beige, cable-knit sweater and gray tweed slacks…debonair, but formidable.

 

“We’ll add the cost of repair to that wall to your list of repayments. You keep up the attitude, my boy, and you’ll be working here until you’re in your seventies.”

 

“Why don’t you and I cut the bullshit,” Day said, sarcastically. “You don’t like me and I don’t like you. I have an estate to be settled back home. I’m due an inheritance that will more than cover the damages to your damn car and any I could possibly do to this dilapidated, old, relic you choose to call home.”

 

Vin bristled at the change of structure. He didn’t like being lectured from his own desk like a truant schoolboy.

 

“I’m not the poor wayward youth you’ve considered me from day one. I have lawyers and family back home that would have a lawsuit against you in no time if I place one phone call. You are nothing here, Mr. Vincent Cade. My father is a banker back in New England, he loves me and he’d have a cadre of legal eagles here…”

 

“ENOUGH!” Vincent said in a strong, sure voice as he turned from the window.

 

“Damien, I'm afraid you have underestimated me.  I know a lot more about you than you know of me.   I had my people do some checking on you, your family and situation before you were even out of the hospital.  You’re an orphan pretty much now,” he got no satisfaction when he saw Day’s face pale, the eyes lose their cocksure attitude of defiance. “You’ve an estate in the courts right now with Ryan St. Claire your legal guardian and executor until you reach the age of thirty or prove yourself capable of handling such large sums of money. You ran to England to escape the court battle and the pressure to prove yourself a worthy recipient. And, judging by the way you were living, you need to fear your whereabouts being reported to Ryan St. Claire and the investigators he’s had searching for you.”

 

Day pushed his feet off the desk and jumped up. “You son of a bitch, checking up on me, you fucking, shithead, you…”

 

Day didn’t get a chance to finish. Vincent grabbed the large sleeved robe and pulled the stunned occupant of its folds towards the sofa. He was not going to enjoy this and this was not how he envisioned spending the evening, but Aggie was right---something had to be done. He was determined to be fair about his intent to teach the boy respect, proper language, attitude and responsibility; and if that lesson need to be taught with the boy over his knees being spanked, he would do just that.

 

Reaching down he pulled the belt knot open. Holding the robe by the collar he tugged it free and let it fall to the floor. Next Damien was pulled down hard across the huge thighs as Vin sat on the sofa. He gasped at the horrendous position he found himself in. “No!” was his only response.

 

“Yes! It’s what you deserve and need, my boy.  You have been rude and disrespectful, not to mention the damage and the tantrum when you threw that paperweight.  Whatever you were feeling, there are better ways to deal with those emotions instead of throwing things.”

 

Vincent pulled the sweatpants down. Then the boxers were sent to join them in their lonely exile around Damien’s ankles.

 

He kicked, he squirmed, he pleaded, he whined about life and age and his dignity, but Vincent Cade was determined.

 

“I’m a grown man. I’m no child. Let me up. We can talk. I can be respectful.”

”Ha!” was Cade’s only response. “You have only shown me you can't.”

 

Cade raised his hand and brought it down sharply on the soft rounded mounds that looked up at him enticingly. They were perfect, like Vin remembered them from taking his temperature. They were white and softly shaped with the impudence and firmness of youth.  Soon they were red mounds, angrily hot and bitter in the retribution Vincent sent their way. Flesh slapping filled the hollows of the small room and Day cringed as much from the sound as he did from the hot, stinging contact upon his soon-sore bottom.

 

“Please, no more. Please, Vin, please….I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

 

It was the plaintive cry of a lost soul. It was the remorse and self-serving sorrow that anyone feels when he realizes he is getting what he deserves that brought Vin to a stop.

 

Releasing the smaller man who lay limp and lifeless across his knees, Vin rubbed his back, looking down at the reddened flesh as it glowed in the lambent glow of the desk lamp.

 

Damien struggled to right himself. He stood to pull up his boxers and his pants, sniffling as he tried to hide his embarrassment. Turning to walk away, he felt his hand grasped and he was pulled back onto the sofa. A soft gasp escaped his lips as his tortured flesh met the soft leather of the sofa. “Sit here,” and he sat, squirming in discomfort.

 

“Talk. I want answers about this afternoon's disappearing act and this evening's tantrum. No attitude. No commentary. Answers.” Vincent’s voice was coldly detached.

 

“I pushed him away from the statue. It was the only alternative. I never meant him any harm,” Damien blurted out, eager now to escape the inquisition.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me then? Surely you realized how it seemed to me. Why didn't you give me some time to calm down.”

 

“You are a man who makes judgment calls on seems,” Day threw back at him.

 

“You are a young man about to face the floor again.” Vincent parried back.

 

Damien bit his lower lip. “You saw what you wanted to see.” A tear teased the corner of the hazel eyes, then another pushed from the outer corner of the other orb, the lips quivered and Day was fighting hard to stay firm, to keep himself together.

 

However, Cade saw them and realized that Day needed comforting more than an interrogation at that moment.  He reached out two strong hands and grasped the shoulders of the fragile figure beside him. Pulling the compliant youth forward, Vin laid him face down on the couch so that his head rested on a small pillow in his lap. The blond stiffened not knowing what was going to happen, but a large hand rested on his back and began making small loops and circles in a quieting gesture. Day found himself breaking up in small increments until the sobs erupted and he pulled himself up into a slight ball and cried.

 

Vincent Cade simply sat there, making comforting sounds while he rubbed his back, allowing the free flow of emotions to do their cleansing. 

 

 

 

 

 

A peace had pulled itself upon Halcyon Heights at last. The name for once rang true to the scene of contentment that carried the three inhabitants about their business. Agnes Coletrane pulled the boy in; like a soft sand dune, he slid helplessly into her maternal graces and was lost in pleasing her. Damien grew respectful of Vincent, still somewhat cautious around him, but not fearful.  He received a firm lecture on what was expected of him in the weeks to come and what the price would be to his tender backside if he chose to show contention.

 

As much as Day was loath to admit it, he found himself liking the routines of the day and simple cause and effect layout of his life now. Follow the rules, enjoy the peaceful country life while at Halcyon, or pay the price of any insurrection. He discovered, to his surprise, he actually liked decorating the urns in magnificent patterns of color and bloom. Several times he saw Vincent standing off to the side as he and Mark worked, and the older man would smile before turning away and returning to his own activities.  Those rare and private smiles seemed to be for him alone, leaving Day puzzled by them and his own reactions to so simple a gesture.

 

However no relationship flows smoothly all the time, save those in fantasies. It was shortly after dinner when Aggie announced a night out with Peter and Mark. Wishing her well, Day took off to the large living room, eager to return to his book, happy to have an evening of relaxation.

 

Deciding to join him, Vincent picked up two large mugs from a shelf and poured two cups of steaming coffee. Walking into the living room, he put one cup down on the coffee table in front of Day earning himself a smile from the younger man. Secretly pleased with the gesture, he walked to the window to peer out onto the back yard.  The terrace he saw was coming along nicely with the new wall, the urns adding color and balance to the wide verandah.

 

Shaking his head in patient amusement, Vin saw the garden tools still left beside the urn off to the right of the great hall window.

 

"Day, what is this?" he asked.

 

"Huh?" the figure said, not raising his head from the book, barely listening.

Vin turned to look at the relaxed young man engrossed in his book. "Damien, look at me."

 

"WHAT? I'm reading,” came the irritated response.

 

Glaring at the blond man, he held his temper in check. "Put your book down and come here, please,” he said, trying for patience and polite reasoning.

 

Sighing disgustedly, Damien made a big production and show of placing his book on the coffee table and standing up. Trudging over to Vin, he snapped, "Yes? What?"

Vin put his cup down on a side table and placing both hands on Day’s shoulders, he directed him closer to the window. Pointing towards the forgotten tools, he said,  "What is this?"

 

"Boy, Vin, if I had to guess, I'd say it's the patio," he answered, looking at Vin with a smug expression. "What do I win?"

SWAT! The large hand awakened his partially numbed bottom.  "Don't be smart. What is ON the patio?"

 

"Garden tools.... it's a garden, there are garden tools out there. What did you think I plant the flowers in the damn urns with? My hands?"

"Watch your language,” he warned in a soft voice. Turning the young man around he looked into the hazel eyes. Patiently as though talking to a small child, he asked,  "Why are they on the patio instead of put away like Mark told you to do when you were finished?"

 

"Because Mark is just as anal and tight-assed as you. I'm going to work on the urns tomorrow, why put the tools away only to take them out again. You see I'm saving you man-hours. The time it would take me to put them away and take them out, you have actual labor from me." Grinning a self-satisfied smile, he was proud he was one up on the old man.

Vin, however, did not see it that way. "You need to put them away because I am telling you to. Your man hours belong to me for this month and if I want them spent hauling tools from the tool shed to the patio and back again, that is what you need to be doing, young man."

Glancing at the clock, he made a quick judgment call.  "Now, put them away and head off to bed, you're cranky tonight, perhaps because you didn’t get enough sleep last night. You can go to bed early tonight and hopefully be in a more cooperative and reasonable mood tomorrow."

 

Pulling away, Day started heading back towards his place on the sofa. “Like hell I will."

A large hand hooked out and detained him. "Excuse me?"

 

"You're just looking for an excuse to jump all over me. Those garden tools aren't in anyone's way, they're not hurting your precious lawns or your elegant home, so why are you being such a prick over this?" Pulling back a bit, Day tried to remove himself from the situation, but the grip on his arm only tightened.

"Damien, it is not about whether or not the garden tools are in anyone's way, it's not about if they are hurting anything, it is about the fact that you were told, twice now, to put them away."

 

Vincent held his temper in check, trying to be patient and reasonable and just get the garden tools put away and this rebellious young man into doing what he was told. "So, make this a lot easier on yourself, go and pick up the tools. It won't hurt you and it's not worth the battle, little boy,” he said in an appeasing manner.

 

"Vin," Day mimicked the silky and patient tone mockingly, "it is not about whether there are tools on the patio or not, it's not about them hurting anything, it's about the fact that you're the Lord of the Manor and a control freak. Give me a break, man, I've worked all day out there, let me have a little time to myself. Just once think about me, think about how I feel, instead of your precious tools and rules."

 

The soft approach was not working, so Cade, military man used to being obeyed shifted gears quickly. "I am thinking about you, little boy." Marching him over to the corner, "You are going to stand here and think about this battle you are starting.  Think about if you really want to do this and if it's worth it."  Pushing him toward the corner, Vin delivered a couple of hard swats to his sweatpants.  "There are rules and the sooner you learn to live by them, the happier you will be."

 

"NO!" dragging his feet as the duet marched into the corner; Day was fast becoming unhinged.

"Damien!  Stop it!"

 

"NO....please, not for discussing this with you. You can't punish me for discussion.   I'm entitled to plead my case.  Every man gets his day in court." No sooner was his nose pressed to the corner, his arm released, than he turned ready to bolt.

 

"I'm not punishing you for discussing this, I am giving you a place to quietly reflect on what you are starting and to give you a chance to calm down." 

Taking his arm again, Vin turned him towards the corner and silently urged him forward into its silent space, hoping he would comply and not force his hand. "Turn around, Damien, and think about your actions and the consequences of them---and decide if it's worth it."

 

"VIN!" Day wailed his anxiety loud and clear.  Stomping his foot several times in anger, but still facing the corner, he tried again, "Please, Vin." Casting a woeful glance over his shoulder, he looked for a pardon.

 

"TURN around, Damien,” Vin said forcefully. "Stop whining and be quiet and think about what you are doing…how much more trouble you can buy yourself.”

 

"It's not fair...I can't stand here if I don’t' deserve it and I DON'T deserve it.  I'll go...let me go put them away," he said, taking a small step out of the corner toward the door.  "See, I'm going right now."

 

"Damien, STOP IT!"  Vin said, placing a restraining hand on the other man's arm.  Placing him back into the corner, Vin began to rub Day's back slightly, trying to calm the excited young man down, help him to avoid further trouble. "It's too late for that right now.  I want you to stand here and think back over this conversation and think about how else you could have handled it." Still gently rubbing, "We'll talk about it in a few minutes. Now hush and think."

"Vin, I just want to go put the damn tools away and go back to reading my book...okay?" Day said, trying to be reasonable, desperate to change the course of events.  SWAT! A loud smack echoed in the large room. “Ow!”

 

"I told you no and I mean no," Vin said, remaining calm and controlled as his companion became more unhinged.

"Why are you so rigid, man? Why can't you take an apology when it's offered and forgive and forget?

 

"Because, little boy, your apology is hollow, you are only sorry because you are now in trouble. I told you there are consequences to your actions and this is one of those consequences. Now, turn around, face the corner and don't open your mouth again until I tell you to."

 

“Standing in the corner---I suppose you see that as somehow productive, but I don't.

I'm willing to collect the goddam tools and put them away, but you have to have your due, don't you, man?" Wetting his lips, Day looked directly into the brown eyes. "I could think of other ways of spending time, making amends." Day pulled himself closer to Vin. Curling his fingers into the man's shirtfront, he began to tease the hard chest beneath with small circular motions.

 

"Excuse me, little boy?" Vin said, taking a half step back, struggling with his emotions, "I think you need to stand here by yourself and give your actions a lot of thought."  Taking Day by the arm, he delivered a very hard swat, and turned him back into the corner.  "Stand there and don't turn around again or I use my belt on you."

 

Vincent backed away taken aback by the obvious seduction, wondering if he was only reading things his own desire wanted there. Perplexed by the change in Damien from rebellious brat to seductive imp, he realized that there were layers to this young man he had yet to see.

 

Day stood there for several moments thinking, but soon became infuriated with the lack of control he had over the situation. Long used to pulling strings, tucking corners, calming waters with hazel eyes and wet lips, taking the edges off of other's sharp intents, he was perplexed by how easily he had lost this battle.

 

Spinning around, he began to rage at the man standing several feet behind him, "DAMN YOU!   YOU JUST HAVE TO PUNISH ME, DON"T YOU? It's all about hurting me, isn't it? You're not happy with the tools being picked up, or me making you feel good, you just have to hurt someone."

 

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes briefly, Vin centered himself, trying to ease himself into being calm. "No, that's not true. Now, what did I say I would do if you

turned around again?"

 

Day's eyes widened at the threat, the warm blood of remembrance heating his face with embarrassment and dread. He gulped and his lips quivered. After a quick glance towards the door, calculating his chances of escape, his eyes returned to Vin's. There was only pleading there now, a quiet prayer for mercy.

 

Calmly again, enunciating each word, "Damien, what did I say would happen if you turned around again?"

 

Not quite sure he could form the words on his trembling lips, Day closed his eyes.

'Think', he told himself, 'there has to be a way to backtrack, a reset button, a try again, an escape'.  But for him, this was a new game and the gamekeeper was a pro. Slowly raising his eyes, he sighed, "You'd whip me until I bled." The exaggeration pronounced, not in sarcasm, but in his only avenue of defense.

 

Calmly, Vin pushed onward, "Damien, is that what I said? Yes or No."

 

Again, the tentative tongue passed quickly over the dryness of his mouth. The lips compressed as he bit into his lower lip. "No, sir.  Please Vin, I'm sorry and I won't allow myself to get that far out of control again if you would give me a second chance.  I'm sorry," Day said politely, truly repentant.

 

Sorry that the situation had taken this route, despite his efforts to veer it elsewhere, he frowned.  "I'm sorry, too, Damien, but, you had more than your fair share of second chances and you chose to push me and force my hand."  Taking hold of Day's upper arm again, he walked him over to the couch.

 

Damien tried to pry the strong fingers from his arm, his concentration so intent on pulling the curling talons off, that he negated all struggle and actually walked dumbly along.

 

"Little boy, your actions have brought you from a few minutes of corner time, to a whipping," Vin said gently, regrettably. "I had no intention of going this far, but your actions have consequences and this is the path you chose. Now, lower your pants and bend over."

 

Day's mouth dropped, his eyes like saucers, "What? Why? No....no way...please ..you can't be serious. Please don't, I'm sorry."

 

Vin looked at him for a moment and then gently pushed him over the arm of the sofa. Damien seemingly incapable of offering anything but vocal resistance let out a soft moan. Vin quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his pants. 

 

Day seemed unaware that he was not being restrained. He simply laid over the couch, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

 

Laying the folded soft leather on the arm of the couch by Day, he pulled down the boy’s sweatpants. Picking up the belt again, "Damien, I told you this would happen if you turned around again and I always keep my word. Five strokes."

 

Tensing his body, Day's spirit had left him as quickly as his sharp wit and valor; he had no more magic to offer up to ward off the evil that had befallen him. The only sign that Day had heard him was the tight clenching of his buttocks in dreaded anticipation of the whipping. Images of flogged men aboard ships in childhood books flashed across his mind, the terrible running welts of the lash burning in his mind's eye, and he felt his stomach rage against him. He gulped to hold back its contents and waited.

 

Taking a deep breath, Vin placed a firm hand on the boy's lower back, raised his belt and brought it down sharply against Day's bottom.  Raising it again quickly, he delivered the remaining strokes, not striking the same place twice and not putting his full arm into the swings. It was over in less than thirty seconds.

 

Day cried out at each stroke, more in response to his fear of pain than the actual pain itself. Even though Vin did not strike hard, he brought the belt down forcefully enough to impress the point home quite clearly that his sarcasm and tricks wouldn’t be tolerated.  

 

"Come on, little one," Vin said when he was done, rubbing the shaking back gently, "corner time." Pulling up Day's pants and helping him stand up, he led him to the corner. "I want you to stand there and think about how this got started and what happened to lead you here."

 

There was no more fire, only dying embers of regret, in Damien St. Claire. Leaning into the juncture with a forlorn desperation, he sought comfort in the lonely realm. All the loneliness and feelings of abandonment he had known most of his life surfaced like boiling water. Sobbing loudly, great heaving gasps escaping through some opened portal of his soul; he slumped forward, conquered and pathetic.

 

Vin stepped from the corner and sat in one of the small hard chairs against the wall, his eyes darting between the wall clock and the figure in the corner. Torn between a great need to pull the boy into his arms and comfort him and the need to see the punishment through, he focused on the clock above the mantel.

 

Five minutes later, he stood up, "Come on, little boy, enough." Leading him to one of the leather chairs, he sat down, pulling Damien down on top of him. Putting his feet up on the ottoman, Damien fit comfortably sideways on his lap. Picking up a lap rug from where it had fallen on the floor, Vin draped it around the boy's shoulders, whispering comforting, nonsense words.

 

Damien could only think of the warmth and security those arms now offered, the same arms that fought him into submission and subjugation moments ago now harbored him. He could think of no place he would rather be. There was no sexual tension here, no feelings or concerns that the holding would soon turn passionate. Damien let himself drift into the person he used to be, the little boy who only wanted to be loved and comforted and accepted. Crying out the last of his misery, he buried his face in the broad shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled against the fabric. "I'm not nice and I'm sorry I'm not. I just thought you expected..." his small voice trailed off, unsure of where he was even going.

 

"You thought I expected what, little one?" Vin asked, tightening his hold, rocking slightly, "what was going through your head a few minutes ago. All you had to do was turn around and keep your mouth shut."

 

Damien nuzzled more deeply into the shoulder, groaning in self-hatred.

 

Vin tapped him gently on the shoulder, “Tell me what that little flirtation was all about.”

 

The question seemed to increase the steady flow of tears for several more minutes before slacking off.  Taking the offered tissue and blowing his running nose, Day said miserably, “I was trying to get you to think of something else to do with me other than punish me.”

 

“Little boy, if that day ever comes between us, it’s going to be pure and sweet and good. Not a weapon, not a ruse, and not in place of punishment.”

 

“But I can be things. I can be anything you want me to be. Just tell me.”  Pulling Vin’s shirtfront tightly in clenched fingers, he tucked his head further down. “I’ve been in relationships. I’ve lots of experience…doing things.”

 

Vincent suppressed a smile, taking a deep breath before he answered, “I’m sure you are very, very experienced and no doubt you could teach me a thing or two about life in the fast lane, little boy.  But I have been around the block a few times myself and I don’t think you could do or say anything that would shock me.”

 

“I’ve been in bondage relationships, S&M. I just wanted to be loved, and I never know what anyone wants from me and so I screw up and I ruin everything.” Day pulled his hand up to his mouth and Vin saw him bite down hard on his knuckles, hoping to stop some emotional break.

 

Vin pulled the hand out of his mouth, much like a teething baby and rested his cheek on the other man's head. Softly, he said, "All I wanted from you, little boy, was for you to pick up the tools you left out."

 

“I can’t be owned so completely by someone. That’s why I think I failed with Jeffrey.  I tried really hard to be submissive and obedient, but Jeffrey would lose patience with me. He wanted me whipped and humiliated and totally submissive to him.  That's what he thought I wanted, too, I wanted so much to be with someone that I wasn't honest.  He figured it out quickly though and let me go.”

 

Vin sighed, "Demon, I have no desire to own you, I have no desire to inflict pain on you or to humiliate you. I do have a desire to see you happy, to see you make something out of your life and to stop fighting against---whatever it is that seems to be eating at you. The best way I know to do that is to give you firm boundaries, to guide you, to give you something to hold onto while you figure out what is going on inside of you.  I think you need to talk to someone to help you figure that out, I'll be here to help support you, to not let you fail or fall apart, to give you some solid foundation to rely upon. I might be harsh, I might hurt you, but I will never do it without a clear reason and cause on your part and it will always be done with the love and respect that you deserve. I promise you that, Damien.”

 

The golden head was lying in a sweet abandon now, slumber touching the borders of Day's mind. Half listening to the words being spoken above him, he burrowed deeply into the warmth of the shirt. Murmuring his responses to a conversation only he was hearing, he barely let the words out before exhaustion overcame him, "It feels safe here," he mumbled.  Then he was lost to the other place, where weary souls find escape, and little boys find peace.

 

Vin could feel the heaviness of the young man increase as he relaxed into sleep.

Making sure the blanket was secure, he leaned his head back into the juncture of the chair and its winged side and closed his own eyes. His mind racing with what should be done with the problem currently nestled on his lap, he prayed for guidance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The night was quiet. Mrs. Coletrane was still out with her son and Peter for a late night dinner and movie.  Damien had been in bed several hours since his admissions of the day; he was emotionally exhausted and Vin admitted he was a bit concerned about the young man.

 

Wearily checking the doors, making sure the hall light and side portico lights were on for Mrs. Coletrane’s return, he wearily trudged up the stairs. Revelations in others can at times be just as trying to the receiver of information as to the soul-barer, Vincent mused.

Quickly peaking in on Day one last time, he quietly shut the door and continued down the hall to his bedroom.

 

Eager for the cool sheets, he stripped quickly and pulled the covers back.  He was fast asleep before he had time to ruminate over the day’s revelations.

 

 

 

 

“NO! Not like that! No!”

 

Vincent was awake and out of bed in a flash, his boxers hanging on his slim hips, his hand poised near the bedside drawer where the small gun he owned was safely tucked far back in a secret compartment he had specially built. Being ex-military, Vincent had a terror of children or the curiously untrained harming themselves with weapons. Both guns in the house were tucked away in secret places of which only the owner knew.

 

Moving towards the door, the gun forgotten, the realization settled upon him like a slight chill. It was his houseguest being tormented in his sleep.

 

As Vincent entered Day’s room, enough moonlight seeped into the room through the sheer curtains to ascertain that all was basically well. Damien tossed and turned and flipped and flopped as Vincent watched him, a soft murmuring of denial, hands pushing away some intruder.

 

Putting the gun on the dresser by the door, Vin walked over to the sleeper. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he gently nudged the traveler of the night. “Day! Damien! You’re having a bad dream.”

 

Suddenly the lids flew open, the hazel eyes stared in wonder at the form sitting beside him, his mouth opened poised to holler out, then recognition cooled the fires and he blinked sleepily.

 

“I’m sorry. I must have been talking in my sleep.”

 

“Yelling’s more like it.”  Vin reached up a hand and brushed the golden locks off the sweaty forehead. “Are you okay?” Concern now obvious in his voice as he looked closely at the younger man.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

 

Vin tilted his head at the uncertainty of the statement.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Damien said a little too quickly with the force and conviction that was a clear indication of everything under the sun being wrong.

 

Vin cocked his head, hoping the glare he was throwing at the young man made its way through the dark folds and shadows of the moonlight.

 

Apparently it did, for Damien turned over abruptly giving Vincent his back and cold, uncovered shoulder.

 

“Okay, if you want to talk or you just want to be around someone, you know where I'm at,” Vin said, showing tolerance for the gesture. Lifting the blanket he covered the boy up to the golden crown and headed back for his own bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Several hours later, Vincent felt an unease pull him from the layers of sleep that had pleasantly engulfed him. Opening his eyes slowly he sensed another presence in the room, could almost feel the heat from the body that stood in the room, to which his back was now turned.  Again his hand moved slowly under the covers for the side drawer, the instinctive move having little to do with reasoning, habits of military training surfacing in the face of possible danger.

 

“Vin?” came the soft whisper. His hand ceased the movement, still poised, lest the boy wasn’t alone.

 

“Vin? Are you awake? I can’t sleep. I’ve been tossing and turning and I don’t want to be alone.  You said I could come if I wanted to…well, I don’t want to be alone right now.”

 

Vincent sighed heavily, dropping the hand now on the bed, raising his eyes to heaven even though no one could see the gesture.

 

“What is it, little boy? And don’t you think it’s best to find out if I am awake before you go telling me your troubles.”

 

He rolled over onto his back and allowed the hand that had trailed towards the drawer to now hit the light switch at the base of the lamp on the nightstand. The room ignited with a warm glow as shadows popped up around the room, night terrors for children, but reassuring patterns for adults.

 

 

Damien looked like a waif from some battle-ravaged land. His pajama top was half unbuttoned. One sleeve of the long pajama tops had come unsnapped and draped downward towards his knee hiding the appendage that no doubt nestled therein. The other was almost rolled up to his elbow, the collar turned inside the garment, and the general disarray bespoke some bed wrestling in an attempt to find sleep.

 

Vincent, moving over to the far side of the bed, lifted the covers and gesturing with his eyes, he added verbal reassurance, “Come on, you can lie down with me and I'm sure I can get you to sleep quickly enough.”

 

Damien trudged forward mumbling to himself. “I don’t see how you can help me sleep. I just can’t stop my mind from imagining things...things you’re thinking of me.” The last was said in an even softer whisper.

 

Vincent did not pursue it as the small figure settled himself alongside him, pulling himself towards the end of the bed as far away from Vincent as he could and still be on the mattress.

 

A hard hand hit the switch, the expensive bed barely moved as Vincent turned sharply easing himself into the middle of the queen-size bed. Raising himself up a bit on his elbow, he hooked a strong arm around the smaller figure and without so much as a sign of effort he pulled the form close into him, spooning the figure as he eased back down.

 

Damien began to struggle, trying to pull away, “No, I don’t want…not this.”

 

“Shhh! Hush! I told you, I can help you sleep and I don’t mean THAT way.  I don't want anything from you, Damien, except for you and me to both get some sleep tonight.”

 

When the young man nodded and stopped his struggles, Vincent reached a lazy arm behind him and pulled one of the extra large, extra soft pillows from the head of the bed. Handing it to Day, he offered a suggestion. “Take the pillow, hug it to you. Focus on it…the softness, the warmth, imagine your thoughts being smothered there in the thick mass.”

 

“Please….” The frightened, unsure voice broke the darkness.

 

“Listen to me,” Vin whispered softly into the lobe mere inches from his lips. “Relax against the pillow, lie still, and imagine your mind black like some hole. You have no thoughts, there is a void, deep and dark and empty. Imagine it, Day, just let yourself imagine it.”

 

Damien had no idea what this man was talking about, but reached his arms out and pulled the fluffy mass against his chest, resting his chin on top of the rectangular pillow. He pulled his knees up to snuggle around the marshmallow softness, and tried to do as Vin had asked.

 

 “Focus on the blackness…the nothingness,” Vin cooed into his ear, almost like a lover talking dirty. 

 

Damien started to drift and began to relax. Held firmly in place, he had little choice but to remain immobile, no thrashing and turning would be tolerated here. Instead he hugged the pillow desperately, using it as a shield against restless imaginings and soon he was consumed by the blackness.

 

Vincent Cade smiled as the soft sounds of sleep reached back to him. Easing his hold on the now sleeping figure, Cade ventured into his own blackness and pushed back the night as he drifted towards the dawn.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Damien sullenly trudged into the breakfast nook. Looking up at the table he saw one place setting removed. Sighing in relief, he realized that the master of the house had already eaten. He wouldn’t have to face him and worry about the revelations he made last night, nor the foolish need to seek comfort to find sleep.

 

Mrs. Coletrane noted the lack of enthusiasm with which this particular young man met the day and decided to withhold the instructions she was told to impart. Let him eat in peace, she thought to herself. Poor boy has had enough revelations sprung on him this week about the realities of life.

 

Turning with a plate full of golden eggs, scrambled to perfection, two juicy sausages, and finely shredded potatoes steaming hot, she cheerily brought the plate to her favorite houseguest.

 

“Good morning to you, Day," she practically sung as though he had just walked into the room instead of moping at the table for several minutes. “Best have a hearty meal. I always told my boys, ‘a good meal is the ticket to ride the day on steam.’” She chuckled at the pathetic axiom, but her spirits seemed indefatigable this morning.

 

Damien threw her a cautious look, wary of all this sunshine pouring down on his drowsy head.

 

Noting the glance, she pulled back wiping her hands on her apron, placing her right hand on her heart, she laughed, “Lordy, boy, I guess you can tell I had a wonderful time last night. Mark and Peter were such sweet company and we saw the most amazing movie. Anthony Hopkins has always been my favorite actor, him being British and all, but when he smiled behind those bars, he made my skin crawl.”

 

She poured Damien a huge mug of coffee and one for herself. Sitting down next to him she wrapped her hands around the mug and smiled at him. “Did you have a pleasant evening?”

 

His eyes darted up quickly from their sober reflection of golden eggs. “Why?” he asked moodily.

 

“No reason, just a general interest in the state of affairs,” she said pleasantly.

 

“The general state of affairs around here are pretty bleak from where I sit,” Damien grumbled.

 

Then noting the sad look that flashed across her face, he hated himself for bringing her down. She was a hardworking woman who cared about him and Vincent and most everyone else in the world, she deserved a night out and a morning of blissful remembrance.

 

“Sorry,” he said with genuine regret, “I just had a bad night. Maybe it was the fact that I knew my best and only friend around here wasn’t nearby.”

 

Aggie laughed at his comment, "Oh, little boy, you are such a charmer to an old woman."

 

 

 

 

 

Damien approached Vin's office a bit tentatively. It was slightly ajar and he didn't need to knock, but he did anyway.

 

Vin looked up from the book he was reading, took a deep breath to steady himself

and said, “Come in."

 

"Mrs. Coletrane said you wanted to see me. What did I do now?" He couldn't help but add the final question with a slight sarcasm tingeing his attitude. The memory of last night’s altercation still fresh in his mind, he didn't dare show outright defiance, but he was trying to regain some ground after all he felt he lost with his show of weakness last night.

 

Vin glared at him, "Sit down, Damien, and don't be smart. I've given you a lot of thought this morning and I've come to some conclusions."

 

"I can't wait," he couldn't help feeling a bit hostile today towards this man. Vincent Cade had seen him at his most vulnerable last night and the humiliation of throwing himself at the man to escape punishment, made him feel weak and cheap right now. To smooth over the insubordination, he sat, at least doing something that he was told.

 

"Damien, I thought about what happened last night," Vin said again, deciding not to rise to the bait. It seemed the young man wanted a fight this morning. "Last week, I told you about your behavior and I told you that I expected you to behave. I realize now that I should have been more specific."

 

Vin picked up a pad of paper and a pen and brought it to Day. "Here, you are going to write down your rules and if you have any questions we will discuss them now. After this afternoon, I expect you to follow them."

 

"Rules? You've already told me what's expected of me and I've got enough rules to follow with Kommandant Coletrane out there. This isn't the army and I don't remember enlisting anyway." Throwing the pad down on the sofa, he plopped the pen on top with a distinctive sound, then started to rise.

 

Vin placed a restraining hand on Day's arm and looked him in the eye, "Little boy, pick up the pad, pick up your pen and sit down. Don't test me on this.... I’ve had a lot more combat experience and I will win."

 

Day's eyes widened and it was deja vu of last night as he felt his courage seep out

of his soul. Sitting down, he slowly picked up the pen and tablet and placed it on his knee, looking like a secretary ready for dictation. The large, hazel eyes were wide and expectant...the kid was afraid of what was coming.

 

Vin smiled, "Good choice, little boy."  Then sitting down in a chair near the couch,

he said, "Number 1 - No swearing. We will tally up your swear words at the end of each day after dinner and for each swear word, you will write it 100 times."

 

"Hell, that's not fair. I can't go an hour without swearing and cussing at least twenty

times. It's unnatural for me. It's part of my character. You know there's no way I can

follow that rule." Day's hand remained poised over the pad, not even bothering to write the numeric one, so sure this rule would be discarded now when Vin saw reason.

 

"Are you going to write that down, little boy?"

 

Damien glared into the brown eyes, but the muddy pools didn't waver in the least. They only seemed to harden as though all warmth were slowly leaving them and dark pieces of coal now took their place. He wavered, glancing down at the pad, then with a casual shrug, as though he didn't really care who won this battle or not, he started to write.

 

"Another good choice," Vin said, "and as to whether or not you can follow

that rule, it is up to you...you know the consequences.”

 

“Number 2 - you will be in bed Sunday through Thursday at 9:30, lights out at 10. Friday and Saturday bed at 10:30, lights out at 11. You will get up each morning at 6:30 and be ready to work at 8. If you don't, your bedtime for the next week will be adjusted for the time you missed."

 

"I don't believe you, man," Day said, slouching back against the soft leather sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. The position was to show Vin that he was giving up on this project already. It was impossible and his body language only emphasized the lack of discipline he was accustomed to.

 

"I'm not a child. I'm used to all-nighters when I'm feeling fine. I was sick, man, but there's no way I can sleep that early when I'm feeling fine."

 

"Are you going to write the rule down or not?" Vin asked calmly. "Damien, these rules are non-negotiable and you will find that if you follow them, you will be happy."

 

"You're cutting my life down, here, whittling away every little freedom I've obtained since becoming an adult and you want me to do a jig here and buy into some bullshit forecast that I'm going to be happy. Happy? Weren't you ever young or did you just hatch full-dress military and tight-assed boring?" Now Day folded his arms across his chest, sealing out his cooperation completely.

 

Vin looked at him for a long moment, then taking a deep breath, he said, "Damien, I want you to stop right now. Think about what happened last night and why. Now, pick up the pen and write."

 

Damien remained sealed in his snug shell of unyielding form, arms still securely crossed to all reason. Tightening his lips in a pressed line of attitude he glared at the man who was putting more restrictions on him as each day passed in his presence. Then seeing the stone cold determination that exuded from Cade's eyes, he picked up the pen and harshly scribbled out the rule placing the period so hard on the paper he dropped the pen.

 

Vin smiled, encouragingly. This is going better then I thought it would, he said to himself, but aloud,  "Good decision, young man, I see that you did learn something last night."

 

Damien muttered softly under his breath, "Bastard."

 

"Number 3, " Vin said, "You will eat three nutritious meals a day and eat what I tell you to. You have lost weight and need to put it back on, but not with sweets and junk food."

 

The pen remained on the floor at his feet where it had fallen. Once again, he stared

into the brown eyes for round three.

 

Vin sighed, "Damien, yes or no? Are we going to go through this with every rule?"

 

When Day took too long to answer, Vin barked out again, "YES or NO?"

 

Day jumped at the harsh force of those words. “No.”  Then he picked up the pen and wrote out the rule, a look of total disgust covering his features.

 

Vin nodded again. "Number 4 - you will be respectful and polite, no back talking, and you will obey Mrs. Coletrane. You will also be respectful and polite and obey Mark and address him as Mr. Coletrane. Anything they tell you, you should consider coming from me and something that you want to obey."

 

"Why MISTER Coletrane, he's my age? I won't do it. I don't like him and I won't call

him mister."

 

"It's a sign of respect and right now he is your supervisor when you are working in the gardens. He is also several years older than you and you can learn a lot from him," Vin explained patiently.

 

"He doesn't know half what I know. He's a gardener. He has no college education and I refuse to show him respect. Let him earn it."

 

Vin closed his eyes briefly, he had known this was going to happen, but still had hoped that it could be avoided. Walking over to the couch, he calmly took the paper and pen away from the other man. Lifting him up by the arm, he sat down quickly pulling a stunned Day down and across his lap. Pulling down his pants and boxers in one swift motion, Vin landed five quick, hard swats on his captive’s bottom.

 

Putting the pad and the pen down on the couch, directly in front of Day, Vin said, "Mark is extremely smart, little boy, he has my respect and deserves yours. Write it down and if I find out that you are disobeying that rule and being rude to him, I will treat it the same as if you were being rude to me."

 

Tears pooled in the mossy eyes; he pulled the pad in front of him and bent his head low, like a little schoolboy trying desperately to learn his letters. He swiped at his eyes occasionally and his breath hitched several times as he tried to hold off the hurt and frustration he felt. He had never felt so humiliated or disliked in all his life.

 

With Day, still lying across his knees, Vin rubbed his back, "Good boy, this will

go a lot easier on you if you just do as you are told. Only two more rules."

 

Day looked back over his shoulder, still sniffling, "Can I sit up now?"

 

"No. I think this position will let us get through your next two rules a lot more easily."

 

Day turned back around and groaned, "Then let's get this over with. Mrs. Coletrane could walk in." There was a slight pleading in his voice.

 

Vin smiled knowingly, "Day, the door is shut and she wouldn't come in without knocking and waiting for my answer," he began, "I don't want to embarrass you in front of her either. How quickly we finish this up is dependent on your cooperation. Number 5 - you will not leave the property without permission."

 

"That goes without saying, nothing but a prisoner here anyway," Damien mumbled as

he scribbled fast and furiously.

 

Ignoring the comment, verbally, Vin landed a sharp swat in the center of Day's bottom.

 

“Ow!”

 

 "Last one, Number 6 - You will call your half-brother tonight and let him know that you are okay. Then, you will call him every three days to say hello and let him know how you are doing. He is your only family, and family is too important to throw away. That is, unless you can convince me that he does not have your best interest at heart and is dangerous to you."

 

"No! I refuse!" Now Day started struggling to rise from his prone position, raising his bottom slightly in the air in his attempts to escape.

 

Delivering three hard swats on the center of the upturned bottom, Vin said sternly,

"Damien, this is not a request. Write it down or argue and deal with the consequences of arguing with me."

 

Not being able to move with Vin's steel band pressing across his back, he wrote as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. "I used to admire him, followed him around when I was little kid, but he hated me. He thought I had Dad's love, but I didn't either...I was a bigger disappointment to him than Ryan." Finishing the sentence, he collapsed down on his arms fighting against a flood of tears, struggling to suppress the waves of emotions this man seemed to stir up.

 

Sensing the frustration and fragile emotions, Vin pulled back up the pants, and helped Day stand up, settling him back down curled up against his chest.

 

"Damien, I can't imagine you being a disappointment to anyone. From what I gathered, your brother cares about you deeply and only wants the best for you."

 

"How would you know? He only wants me back to settle the estate, keep my inheritance in the trust and run my life for me." Day clutched at Vin's shirt and buried his face against his shoulder, ashamed of his emotions and weaknesses coming to light so readily lately. "No one cares about me...not really."

 

Vin tightened his hold on the boy, "Day, you are very special. You are smart and quick. Ryan cares about you. Mrs. Coletrane cares about you. I care about you. IF Ryan wants to run your life, maybe it's because he wants to see you settle down and make something of yourself instead of flitting around the world with no direction."

 

"I had direction, HAD IT," Day hiccuped the last of it out, "but you drove your car into me and threw me off course." Pulling away from Vin's shoulder he looked up to see if Vin got the pun and the quivering lips now hungered for a smile.

 

Vin gave him a hard hug, then pushing him slightly back so he could look down into his eyes, he said,  "Let's see if we can't get you up and back on course then."

 

Damien nodded his head, eager to have it all done with, but some ways feeling content now to know that the burdens of choice and flight and avoidance were all taken from him. He was in someone else's hands and he hated to admit it, but it felt good.

 

Standing him up, Vin got the show on the road, "Let's call your brother, it's about 6 o'clock now in New York and then why don't we run into town so I can show you around Salisbury a little. I think a nice lunch out might do us both some good and give Mrs. Coletrane a break."

 

Damien nodded his head and tentatively walked to the phone. Looking up with soulful eyes that almost cried out with "do I have to?" he answered his own question and dialed the phone. In some ways, it felt right to him, like some healing had finally begun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damien paid the pretty salesperson and picked up his bag giving her a cheerful smile. It was good to be out on his own again. Aggie was beside herself this morning, all hustle and bustle in her preparations for dinner. She wouldn’t be specific about any special guests, only that Vincent had gone off to London with Mark and Peter on business and that he specifically asked for a special dinner that evening upon his return.

 

Mrs. Coletrane had settled on her famous Beef Wellington and when she realized she had forgotten to pick up the pate, she had enlisted his help and sent him to the store with a list of supplies.

 

"Damie!," Damien heard a squealing voice coming up behind him as he inserted the

key in the lock of Aggie’s small car.

 

Damien turned around and his stomach sank to his knees, "Rita! What are you doing here?" He asked, glancing around nervously. 

 

"How lucky for us to have run into you!  We've all been so worried. Jason and I were on our way to Bath to protest the exportation of the mineral water.  Most of the group is down there already!" Rita said excitedly. 

 

"That's nice. Well, it was nice seeing you again.  Have a good time," Day said, unlocking the door and putting the groceries in the backseat. She was never someone whose company he enjoyed.

 

"Damie?  You still aren't mad about that little accident back in London are you?"  Her bottom lip trembled as if the thought that Day was mad was too much for her to bear. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and leaned in slightly, "Tell me you've forgiven me."

 

Day jerked his shoulder away and flashed a very weak smile, "Yeah, sure.  I forgive you, not a big deal.  Don't worry about it." Then opening the front door of the car, he said, "Good seeing you again. Maybe we can have a drink on your way back from Bath if you

come by this way. Give my best to Jason and the gang.”

 

Rita pulled back as Damien slammed the door and started the engine, smiling
”Maybe we can have that drink this evening?" she called out.

 

Day pulled away, pretending not to hear her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day quickly drove back to Halcyon, glancing in his rearview mirror several times nervously. He pulled around to the side of the house, gathered his bags and trudged up the stairs.

 

"Mrs. Coletrane!  I'm BACK!" Day yelled as he entered the kitchen.

 

"Damien!" Aggie said sharply as she came out of the living room to greet him in the hall. "Mr. Cade would have a heart attack with screeching like that." Then remembering his

mission, she smiled brightly, "Did you get everything I asked for Damien?  Did you remember to get the goose pate, not the duck, like I told you," she asked, digging through the bags on the counter.

 

“Goose?” Day said, all serious and sorrowful, “I'm sorry - I thought you said moose.”

 

Seeing the twinkle in his eyes, she forced a grudging smile to her lips with the tight lines of disgust at being teased by the young man.

 

Day smiled at her, quick stepping out of her intended swat with her dusting rag.

“Yes ma'am,” he said slowly as though being asked to recite something by rote for the thousandth time.  “I got the pate.. and the eggs...and the butter...and the milk...and the lettuce…and the ham..." he said with a laugh.

 

As he put things away, he looked out the window several times, feeling uneasy.

 

Aggie caught the look and frowned, "Something troubling you, boy?" Then a thought hit her, "Lordy, if you're worried about breaking your rule and going into town, I'll smooth things over with Mr. Cade. He loves my Beef Wellington and he'll be butter in my hands." She trotted past him eager to check her wares and resume her meal preparations.

 

Following her into the kitchen, he reassured her, "No, it's---it's okay. He can't be mad at me---not that that's stopped him in the past, you told me I could go, right?" He asked defensively. "I'm fine, really."

 

Leaning against the counter to watch her cook, he began to nervously play with a spice jar on the counter, bouncing it back and forth between his hands.

 

"Mr. Cade's a good man, Damien. He might seem harsh at times. I think all men,

especially military men can be hard and all, but he's a good man. Been really nice to my Mark. They knew each other in London," she chattered away happily, wiping her hands on her towel, tossing it over her shoulder as she set the oven temperature. "My Mark talked for days about this American Colonel he met. Really made an impression on my boy and I think my son needed a man he could look up to, someone to be there for him after Samuel died.”

 

Turning around from her ministrations, Aggie was just in time to see Damien juggling her personal crystal shakers. Taking the towel off her shoulder, she laid a well-placed swat to his hip, "Get off with you, boy, I'll not have you dropping my mother's shakers. I always bring them with me, makes me feel more at home in someone else’s kitchen."

 

Taking them from him, she placed them carefully on the counter. "Why don't you go and get the wine, two bottles of Burgundy from the cellar, set the table with the lace tablecloth in the sideboard and the best silver. Mr. Cade will be home before we both know it and I'll get my work done much faster without you underfoot."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, he stepped back from the freshly set table and smiled. It looked good if he did say so himself.

 

Agnes entered the dining room, carrying the serving silverware on a tray, setting it

down on the sideboard she pressed one hand to smooth her apron and smiled. "You've done a fine job, Day."

 

Day seemed pleased with her appreciation. Just then the doorbell rang. "Would you mind seeing who that is? I ordered some slippers from London and I had them sent here. Perhaps that's them."

 

Day nodded and walked out of the dining room and into the hall. Glancing out the window on the door, he found himself face to face with Jason Grabowski and the excitable Rita.

 

"Hey, Damien!" Grabowski yelled through the glass when he saw him, "Open up. No way to treat your old planet playmates, now is it?"

 

Agnes called from the dining room, perplexed, "Day, who is it? Why don't you open

the door?"

 

Day yelled back, "It's just some old friends of mine from the states. I met one of them in

town and they must have asked around and found out where I live." Turning back to the door, he opened it, "Hi guys. What are you doing here?"

 

"That's more like it, old man," Grabowski said, grinning widely. Taking over, he placed an arm around Day and maneuvered himself into the hall, Rita following closely behind.

 

"Jason, Rita, what a surprise to see you here. How'd you find the house?"

 

"No trouble t'all, your Mr. Cade is quite the celebrity in these parts." Looking a bit concerned, Jason draped a lazy arm around Rita's shoulders. "When Rita mentioned that she saw you in town, we were beside ourselves. Truly, man. We've been a might worried about you, Damien, seeing as we were the cause of your problems and all." Jason tried to look sympathetic and benevolent, but his hard gray eyes were hard to place in the realms of compassion. "Mind if we talk a bit? I mean we shared space, man, for the past several months, we owe each other the common courtesy, don't you think?"

 

Day glanced back over his shoulder, hesitating for a minute. "I guess it will be all right, for a minute," he said, gesturing them even further into the house. "Why don't I get us all something to drink and we can sit out on the patio and talk. You can catch me up on all that's been going on since I left," Day said with a smile, relaxing. He had to admit that it was a surprise to see Jason again, but having a friend---or at least an acquaintance around was nice.

 

Just then Aggie came into the great hall, her towel over her shoulder, straightening her apron and settling her hair back in its bun. "Who have we here, Damien? Friends

of yours?" She eyed the unusual duet with a critical eye, not quite used to unexpected visitors.

 

Day looked at her, "Yes ma'am. This is Jason Grabowski and Rita Cook, they are friends of mine from London. They are just on their way to Bath and decided to look me up. We were just going to go outside,” he paused, and then added, "if that's okay with you?"

 

"Of course, friends are good," and she paused long enough to reassess the visitors, assuring them that she was keeping an eye on the situation. Then her usual lack of affectation softened her features and she smiled, "My dear, I'm forgetting my manners. You young people go make yourselves comfortable on the terrace; I'll get the drinks, Damien. I hope lemonade sounds good to everyone." Then not waiting for a reply she hustled off into the kitchen.

 

Day watched her disappear around the corner. "Okay, then, why don't we go out to the patio and sit down and catch up on old times."

 

They settled themselves easily under the umbrellas that were recently put out.  Rita pulled her chair close to Jason, practically hanging on his arm as well as every word he spoke.

 

"Damien," he said softly, looking around and guaranteeing their privacy, "I've felt badly about what happened. I'm glad Rita ran into you in town. I want you to know, we never meant for this to happen. I fear Rita might have gotten a bit overcome with emotion.

We're serious. We were quite upset, the whole lot of us, and we want you to know, you're welcome back with us.  If you need money to help pay off whatever else you owe this jerk, maybe we can help."

 

Day's breath caught in his throat for a minute. This was not what he had expected to

hear at all. "Jason, it was an accident, there's no reason to feel bad about what happened. I believe in what you all were doing, and if a few scratches brought more attention to our cause, then it was for the best. What's going on now with the

group?" he asked.

 

"We're on our way to Bath, old man. There's a rally there to stop the drilling of the waters.  We could use a good man to join us."

 

Aggie came bustling out the door with a small pushcart; on it were several pitchers of lemonade, ice tea, and ice water, along with a few scones and clotted cream. "Here we are, a nice respite for everyone. Damien, you play the host, please, I have my dinner preparations."

 

With that, she was off to her ministrations, but as she passed the small intercom that was built into the barbecue grill, a flighty hand turned it on.  Better safe than sorry I’ve learned, she thought to herself as she went back into the house to keep an ear on things from the kitchen.

 

< end of part 2>