Giles Pt. 01: Down Among the Dead Men

"That business at your brother's wedding reception. You're quite the talk of the town."

Giles looked at their faces. They all had identical knowing smiles except for the smartly turned out man nearly opposite, who frowned.

Another of the immaculately coiffed gathering tittered, "I can't believe you took on Rosemary Ogilvie, Giles. That's quite some cojones you have!"

"I didn't know who she was," he muttered to more hilarity.

"'The Art of War instructs us that the wise warrior should always know his opponent," quipped one.

"Sun Tzu says nothing of the sort, Sebastian!" Matt observed to his own surprise.

"How would you know, Matt?"

"I may not have gone to Sandhurst, but at least I left my alma mater more knowledgeable than when I went in."

General laughter at Sebastian's discomfort shifted the focus of their attention from him, and Giles folded in on himself. He nursed his drink and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. He had nothing that would count for currency in their city of graphite and glitter.

After a few moments he detached himself from the group and made his way to the window. Matt watched him go and his heart panged at the misery on Giles' face. From his work in court, he was well acquainted with the look of grief, even buried under the blank mask Giles was wearing.

His gaze lingered on the other man's long legs and as Giles settled himself by the window, he turned and Matt's breath caught again at the brooding saturnine profile, the aristocratic cheekbones, the predatory ruthlessness implicit in his face. Matt blinked hard. He was behaving like the heroine in some adolescent erotic novel. Unable to help himself, he continued to stare.

"Go over," Martin said in his ear. "You haven't looked this smitten in an age. Take a chance, Matt, for once. Or do you want to grow old and shrivelled on the shelf?"

Matt glared at his companion and then turned to look at the rest of the pack who were joking about some trader who'd come a cropper on a dot com venture. No one had noticed his sudden interest, apart from Martin. He glanced sideways at the other man's gentle smile and came to a decision. He took a deep breath and started forward.

Giles stared unseeingly through the polished glass. He'd lost everything. Despite the pin money from the piano gig, the funds were fast disappearing, and he had no idea what he would do when they ran dry. There was a polite cough behind him, and Giles turned to see the young man that had risen, however obliquely, to his defence, looking at him in a kindly way. A hand was offered.

"Matthew Gascoigne. Matt to everyone that knows me. Now that includes you!"

"You already know my name," Giles muttered.

Matt frowned and then his face brightened, "I thought you looked familiar! You're that amazing pianist at that cocktail lounge on the north side of Kensington Gardens, what is its name, now?"

"The Chicago 49," Giles answered shortly.

"That's the one! You're famous, old boy! People have been talking about you for weeks. Especially as you seem to have materialised out of thin air! Now I know who you are, it's understandable. You don't come to town much, do you?"

"No. And now I'm here I don't know what I am doing." Giles' mouth turned dour. "I don't want to be known just for being on the losing end of a run-in with Rosemary Ogilvie."

Matt dismissed this. "My dear old thing! Don't look so down. They're a bunch of arses but they're not malicious. They've probably already forgotten about you."

"I don't want to be forgettable, but I don't want to be remembered for that."

"They'll see it as like a corporate takeover. You lost but you'll dust yourself off and move on to some other venture."

Giles got the impression that the complication with Naomi was not known. This was simply him being elbowed aside by his sister and the Bitch. "I'm not exactly fighting them off with a stick."

The other man laughed. He had a perfect laugh, to match his perfect teeth and his perfect clothes. Giles felt like a country cousin. Matt leaned in and murmured, "As I understood it, they pushed you overboard for being a bit of a tosser."

Giles cringed. It was doubtless to do with Britain being a seagoing nation, but that bloody nautical metaphor was following him around.

"How is it that everyone knows my business?" he said bitterly, unconsciously echoing David Piper's realisation that one's affairs are rather less private than you suppose.

"It's a morsel of gossip," Matt said, smiling. "It'll be overtaken by something else in a week or two."

"I don't have a week."

"How so?"

"I need an income."

"Oh dear, you are in a bad way!" Matt chuckled. "Where are you staying?"

"The Regency."

"Heavens! I don't know how much they gave you to go away but it's not going to last long there. You must have a club."

"They barred me," Giles said, shortly.

Matt's eyebrows rose. "What did you do, Giles? It has to have been something more than being disinherited."

"I don't want to talk about it," Giles said shortly.

"Then we won't talk about it," Matt said brightly.

Giles relaxed and lost his frown. He inspected Matt with those amazing dark eyes and Matt found himself a little dizzy. He sought a distraction.

"Let me buy you a drink."

Giles visibly hesitated, and Matt's heart turned in his chest. He already wanted to move heaven and earth to bring a smile to that saturnine countenance.

"Rum." Giles said, shortly. "Please."

Matt summoned an amused smile and turned towards the bar.

***

Later that evening, they sat side by side on the edge of the pavement, the noisy late-night Soho crowd swirling around them.

"Oh, I'm so drunk," Matt moaned. "How do you do it?"

"Years of practice," Giles slurred. He couldn't seem to break his mood. He was deep into a funk and the alcohol was only making it worse.

"Come on, let's go back to my place."

How could Matt still speak so clearly?

Matt started to try and stand, using the other as a prop. Eventually, sort of upright and leaning at a jaunty angle, he looked down at the disconsolate Giles.

"Come on old man, we can't stay here all night. The rozzers will move us on or throw us in the clink for D&I."

Giles gave a heavy sigh and tried to get to his feet. Halfway up he lost his balance and fell heavily to his hands and knees. As he recovered himself, he realised he was crawling in the gutter. Aghast, he inspected his hands, filthy with the detritus of the day. A terrible sob rose from inside him and he quashed it with a Herculean effort.

His companion realised something was amiss when Giles failed to emerge from the gutter. Blearily, he surveyed the kneeling figure with their hands in front of their face, almost as if they were praying. Something was amiss.

"Come on old man," Matt repeated.

"You don't understand!" Giles howled. "I've lost everything!"

Some heads briefly turned their way, but then this was just another day in the metropolis. So many dramas playing out in ways large and small.

Matt reached out to put a hand on the other's shoulder. "There, there. It'll all seem better in the morning. Come along."

Dazedly, Giles looked at the consoling hand and decided that, on balance, it might be better to get a night's sleep.

Once upright and holding each other up, they staggered some distance. Giles wasn't sure where they were as all the streets looked the same, but Matt's homing instincts seemed to be sound.

Eventually they fetched up in front of a terraced townhouse and faced the tricky hurdle of the three steps to the front door. After several attempts, Matt handed the keys to Giles, and slid down the railings at the front to sit in a heap on the pavement.

***

The next morning Giles awoke to a pounding hangover in an unfamiliar room. His mouth was... unspeakable. For one dreadful moment he wondered if his drink had been spiked again.

He rolled on to his side and realised he wasn't alone in the bed. Matt lay flat on his back, fully clothed, snoring loudly.

Oh God.

He sat on the edge of the bed and remembered how he had unfolded the whole sordid story. The other man had simply sipped his whisky and nodded throughout.

Oh God, Matt knew.

Unable to face the consequences, the alcohol still messing with his sense of balance, Giles rose unsteadily to his feet and wondered blearily where his shoes might be. The layout of the flat was unfamiliar but through trial and experiment he found the front door. Half-way through it he heard a voice behind him.

"Don't you need your shoes?"

He turned to see a face almost as wretched as his own offering a pair of brogues at arm's length. They stared at each other over the length of the vestibule until Matt's arm gave out and the shoes fell to the floor.

"At least have breakfast," he mumbled and turned back into the flat.

Giles considered this in a blank kind of way and then followed him into the kitchen. He propped himself up against a cupboard.

"Full English?" Matt asked as he rummaged in the fridge.

"You decide," Giles murmured, his forearm shielding his eyes from the light.

Soon, despite his companion's fogged brain, they were facing plates of sausage, bacon, beans, black pudding, fried egg, and fried potato. The noise of the coffee grinder was the soundtrack to the end of the world. However, black gold from fresh grounds was like the boot-up for his nervous system, and Giles started to feel marginally more human after the first few sips.

"So," Matt said, waving a forkful of sausage and fried potato at him, "the Naomi thing is why you can't go back."

Giles, still numb from the booze, looked at him mournfully. "I guess."

Matt's legal brain was starting to work the angles. "So, who else knows?"

"Rosemary Ogilvie, her wife, her sister, her... consort."

"Say that again!" Matt said with a lopsided grin, eyes wide.

"Charles' wife, her sister is in a group marriage. The Bitch is her wife."

"How very... modern," said Matt, delightedly. He nodded for Giles to continue and shortly had everything he needed to know. "And Rosemary Piper is using this to coerce you?"

"Not exactly," said Giles uncertainly. "After Mother refused to support me, I had nothing."

Matt looked at him steadily until Giles started to squirm.

"I may not have been very pleasant when I was Heir," he said finally, staring into his plate.

"Let me guess, you were the uber-brat."

"You could say that."

"Never mind, darling, despite what they say, leopards can change their spots. Go and have a shower."

Giles found the word 'darling' slightly unsettling. Come to think of it, why was Matt taking such an interest in him? They'd only met the previous evening.

"You don't have to do this, you know?"

"I do pro bono work from time to time." Matt laughed and then clutched his temples. "Ow."

***

Fresh out of the shower and feeling a whole lot better, Giles found clean clothes on the chair beside the sink. He hadn't heard Matt come in.

He held the shirt up and, thinking back to when they'd been in the bar, realised they were much the same height and build. Then he understood that Matt had already done that. The other had already learned a lot about him without divulging much, if anything, in return.

What was his business? Giles cursed himself for being so weak as to rely on the first kind face in the city. He couldn't be robbed, he had nothing worth stealing.

Clean clothes and a shave pushed him a little further up the slope to humanity. He exited the bathroom and made his way into the living room where Matt was reading a newspaper. The other man looked up and smiled, and Giles felt a rush of blood to the head.

"You're not bad looking, you know. When you stop scowling."

Giles stared at him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

There was a pregnant pause.

Matt sighed. "I fancy the pants off you. Quite literally, actually. I take it you're not similarly inclined. I know we slept together last night but I don't think that would cut any ice at couples' counselling."

Giles was silent. Being the pursued not the pursuer was a novel feeling. Apart from Perry, of course, and at that memory Giles suddenly found himself ashamed.

"Your stunned silence is very revealing," Matt chuckled. "Swing both ways by any chance?"

It must have been the remaining alcohol dancing through his neurons. Giles nodded and favoured Matt with a smile.

The other man's face lit up. "I say!"

***

With alarming persuasiveness, Matt suggested Giles stay in the spare room. Eventually concluding that Matt's apartment was a damn sight more appealing than the bland uniformity of the hotel, Giles agreed. That it was also cheaper was a secondary consideration he told himself.

Within a remarkably short time they settled into a routine. Giles became the 'man about the house', while Matt was at work. In exchange for board and lodging, as Matt refused to take a penny in rent, Giles started cooking and ironing and then graduated to shopping and cleaning. The look on Matt's face as he came home to a clean and tidy apartment and a prepared meal brought unaccustomed warmth to Giles' breast.

"You've adapted very well, Giles old boy." Matt remarked as they unwound in front of the television one evening.

"Boarding school gave me most of the necessary. I think the biggest surprise has been discovering how much I like to cook. I never lifted a finger at home," the other responded, sipping his Bordeaux.

"That Thai yellow curry you made the other day was nothing short of sensational. I had many enquiries at work when I had the remainder for lunch."

Giles flushed at the praise and took another glug to cover his embarrassment.

Matt looked sideways at him and chuckled. "And it's nice to come home to some eye candy!"

"Matt!" Giles protested.

"No false modesty now, darling. Your arse would turn the head of Sappho herself!"

***

On his way out to work some days later, Matt made an announcement.

"I'm going to meet up with some friends this evening. Would you like to come along? Get out of the flat for a bit."

Giles thought about it. Once again, he wouldn't know anyone else there and he didn't even know Matt that well. However, if this was to be the pattern of his life now then it was about time he started to try and make something of it. Who knew, maybe he'd even make a useful contact. He looked up to where Matt had a slightly hopeful expression on his face.

"Yeah, alright, whatever."

Matt's face relaxed into a brilliant smile. "Excellent! We're meeting at eight, so you'll need to be ready for seven. Nothing formal, just your own gorgeous self."

Giles rolled his eyes.

***

Off the Tottenham Court Road, the taxi deposited the pair of them outside a fairly imposing pub, all polished brass, black woodwork, and leaded Georgian sash windows. Several small bench style tables occupied the pavement immediately in front of the pub, chock full of groups of noisy young men in various states of inebriation. The big door to the right of the frontage was propped open and a steady traffic of patrons came and went. They were almost all men, he realised. Inside, yet more men and a very few women, some of whom he realised, were also possessed of a Y chromosome. He sighed and Matt looked round.

"What is it?"

"How gay is this going to be?"

Matt pursed his lips. Giles was not part of this milieu, and it was very much a sink-or-swim culture. However, a significant part of his social life involved pubs and clubs like this and Giles would have to get used to being exposed to it - if they were to stay together. Matt wondered unhappily whether it might be an either/or. Still, now was the time to find out. He cast his eyes over the throng and caught the eye of one of the bartenders who jerked a thumb towards the back of the room.

They pushed through the punters and Matt could feel Giles' temper building as they were jostled. He grabbed him by the hand, holding on even as Giles tried to pull away, forging his way to the back room. Fortunately proceedings were rather more sedate here and he spotted Quentin and Billy with relief. He flopped down into one of the available chairs. When he realised Giles was still standing, he twisted to look up at him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"To be introduced," Giles said, stiffly.

Matt shook his head in bafflement and turned back to where the other two were looking on with smiles. Quentin (of course) rose swiftly to his feet and executed a small bow.

"Quentin Sommersby, at your service." He put out his hand and Giles took it to receive a short firm handshake.

Quentin extended an arm to his companion. "This is William Etteridge. Billy to his friends, and my boon companion."

Billy shook his head. "He means fiancé." He heaved himself to his feet and took Giles's hand. He too had a reassuringly good grip and he grinned at Giles.

Giles unbent a little. "Giles Stanforth, at your service. Excuse my manner, this is all very new to me."

They sat and Quentin looked at Giles shrewdly. "Not new as in 'coming out' new but because you're 'not from round 'ere.'" The last was uttered in a faux West Country accent and the three of them chuckled at their little in-joke.

"You are correct," Giles admitted.

Billy hooted. "It's been a while since we had a genuine posho."

Matt laid his hand on Giles' arm and leaned forward. "Country estate and everything!"

"Not anymore," Giles muttered, his dark mood returning.

"Ah, touchy subject?" Quentin said. "No matter, we'll talk about something else then. What are you drinking?"

***

As the evening progressed, Giles allowed the alcohol to relax him and he warmed to Quentin and Billy, mainly because they were excellent conversationalists, but also partly because they were very non-scene. He might have been having a drink at his club, which in a way he was, if he wanted to be a member of this club. Giles didn't know quite how he felt about that.

However, midway through proceedings, a hand landed on Matt's shoulder, and when he looked up to see who it was, he groaned inwardly; this was the last person he wanted to see.

"Introduce me to your new bit of stuff, darling."

Matt struggled to keep his expression neutral. He'd been certain that Ralph had moved on from this place to other brighter, livelier, riskier places. This carried far too much baggage for him, and he wondered what he was going to do if Ralph decided to make a scene. To his amazement, Giles came to his rescue, standing and announcing himself in cut glass tones.

"I'm Giles Stanforth. Who might you be?"

Ralph blinked. He was accustomed to all reactions from aggressive hostility to awkward discomfort, but this unsmiling Adonis entirely derailed him. He fluttered his fingers.

"Ralph. Ralphie to my friends."

"Do you have a surname, Ralph?"

Ralph's gaze flicked to where Billy and Q were watching him with neutral expressions but amusement dancing behind their eyes. Matt was inspecting his drink with determination, assiduously avoiding eye contact. He attempted an offhand laugh.

"Nothing of any importance I assure you."

"I imagine not," Giles said coolly.

Matt looked up. "Don't let us detain you, Ralph."

Ralph stared at Matt in disbelief, since when did Mattie get to kiss him off so peremptorily?

"You used to call me Ralphie, Matthew," he shot back, hotly. "Especially in bed."

"All water under the bridge, I'm sure," Giles said, briskly. "Now, if you'll excuse us?" and he sat down to start talking to Billy.

Matt quirked an eyebrow at Ralph and turned back to the table, dismissing him.