Lovers of the Classics Pt. 01

[Author's note: This is the first part of what will be a five-part story. As it's driven by characters and plot, this part is relatively light on action - but that will be rectified in future installments!]

The sleek chassis of the brand new Austin 7 gleamed under the midday sun. Benjamin Farrington, his brown hair blown about by the wind, felt the machine's power thrumming between his thighs as he navigated the roads of the Cotswolds. Fresh from the hallowed halls of Oxford, his degree still an abstract notion rather than parchment in hand, Ben's grip on the steering wheel was both taking him away from academia and bringing him into the uncharted territory of his future.

"To summer 1925 and beyond..." he declared to nobody in particular, the words dissolving into the rush of air, as hedgerows streaked past in a blur of green. His mind drifted to thoughts of the classics he had been studying so hard at Balliol College--of Daphnis and Chloe, Tristan and Isolde, and the pastoral romances that seemed so distant from the modern world. Yet here, amidst the undulating hills, the connection felt almost carnal.

As the car crested a hill, the panorama unfolded before him--a voluptuous landscape of rolling pastures, dotted with sheep. The tapestry of greens, from emerald to sage, whispered promises of fertility and life, their hues deepening where shadows caressed the contours of the land. The Cotswolds, in their timeless beauty in the middle of England, were a lover laid bare, inviting exploration with every curve and hollow.

The car descended now, following the trail of the road as if tracing the lines of a lover's back. The thread of the river appeared, a silver ribbon tying together the landscape with a shimmering bow. Ancient trees, witnesses to centuries of secrets, stood guard along its banks, their leaves whispering tales of trysts under their boughs.

Ben wondered if he would find his own romance amidst these rolling hills. The prospect sent a shiver of excitement through him, of passions yet to be stirred. He had been studious at Oxford, unlike his roommate Hugo: Ben was able to boast first class honors in the classics. However, if Hugo had less stellar results in his academic assessment, he finished his time at Oxford far more knowledgeable about women, love and sex.

*

The family estate loomed, a titan of stone and legacy, its squat Jacobean stature on top of a low hill somehow conveying a sense of domination over the land nearby. Farrington Manor, cradled by acres of verdant lawns and meticulously sculpted hedges, was a testament to the family's lineage--although after the last decade of loss and upheaval, it was a bastion of tradition in an era of extraordinary change. Ben guided his automobile up the gravel drive, enjoying the crunch beneath the tires. He looked out over the familiar grounds.

"The gilded cage," he murmured, his voice laced with both affection and a whisper of rebellion. The car came to a halt before the grand entrance, and he stepped out.

Inside, in the parlor, beneath a vaulted ceiling that held the echoes of centuries of whispered confidences, Lady Eleanor Farrington held an ivory tea cup, her nail clicking it with a rhythm and speed that betrayed her impatience.

"Charles, he cannot simply waltz through life, living off the fumes of our dwindling coffers," she said, casting a steely glance at her husband. Lord Charles, ensconced in a high-backed chair that had supported generations of Farringtons, regarded his wife with a mixture of admiration and exasperation.

"Eleanor, our Ben is sharp. He'll cut his own path, you'll see."

"But with whom?" Her eyes were hawk-like, missing nothing. "It's imperative that he marry wisely--"

"Oh come, Ellie," Charles interrupted, setting down his newspaper with a rustle. "You and I both know that Ben will not be led to the altar like a lamb to the slaughter."

"Love is a luxury we can ill afford," Eleanor countered, steel beneath her velvet tone.

"Perhaps," Charles conceded, his voice low, "but it's one I'd rather not deny him."

Their gazes locked, two generals on the battlefield of their son's future, each armed with their own arsenal of desires and fears. As Ben approached the parlor door, he whistled a tune to serve notice on his parents' battles.

"Speaking of the devil..." Charles nodded toward the doorway.

"Darling," Eleanor rose, her movements the choreography of grace, "we were just discussing your prospects."

"Prospects?"

"Marriage, my boy," Charles interjected, rising to clap a hand on Ben's shoulder. The touch was meant to be grounding, but it felt like a yoke.

"Ah," Ben managed a chuckle, pushing the disquiet aside. "Well, surely love should have a say in the matter?"

"Love," Eleanor's lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "is a flame that needs careful tending lest it consumes everything."

"Or perhaps it's the very fire we need," Ben retorted.

"I see that degree is paying off", Charles said with a chuckle. "But fire or no, we must think of the future." The words were heavy, with the family's decaying fortune the unseen force weighing them down.

"Of course," Ben acquiesced, his submission coating his tongue like bitter tonic. "I understand my duty."

"Good," Eleanor's approval was a cool balm, although she cast a glance at her husband of 25 years with genuine affection. "And remember, pleasure can be found in even the most... strategic alliances."

Her words ignited something within him, a spark that promised more than dutiful embraces. It promised the heat of bodies entwined, the gasp of discovery in the dead of night, the unspoken language of touch. Ben swallowed, the image searing itself into his thoughts.

Just then the new telephone rang in the hall. The butler came in to inform them that it was Hugo, Ben's roommate from Oxford. He would be arriving in half an hour.

*

Outside, Ben paced restlessly on the gravel drive, as the anticipation of Hugo's arrival built. They had shared more than just a cramped room at Oxford; they had shared secrets, dreams, and the kind of laughter that left one gasping for air. But since finishing College two weeks ago, they hadn't seen each other at all.

"Ben!" Hugo's voice boomed across the courtyard as his motorcar roared up the drive, scattering pebbles in its wake. There was a nasty crack in the windshield window at the front.

"About bloody time," Ben called out, but his chiding tone was betrayed by the grin splitting his face. He strode towards the vehicle, taking in Hugo's familiar frame as he unfolded himself from the driver's seat--tall and commanding.

"Miss me, did you?" Hugo slapped Ben on the back with a laugh that resonated against the old house.

"Like a toothache," Ben quipped, but his eyes shone. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I went for a drive this morning. I borrowed my sister's new car. It's so liberating, isn't it?" Hugo began. "And I just kept on going and got hopelessly lost and then a stone hit the window... and well you can see the rest." He pointed at the broken windshield. "I stopped in a village not far from here, Shipton I think, to see if they could fix it--they couldn't--and then I thought why the blazes shouldn't I check in on you? I trust you haven't forgotten my birthday soirée this weekend? I need my wingman."

"Forgotten? How could I?" Ben teased, clapping a hand on Hugo's shoulder.

"Good. Because this isn't just any old night of debauchery--it's my 21st birthday. A weekend of great food, even better Champagne, some tennis... and of course there will be ladies," Hugo said, the last word rolling off his tongue like a promise. "Ladies who requires a man of your... finesse."

"Ah, so it's my finesse you're after?" Ben joked, though the fluttering in his chest betrayed his excitement.

"Indeed," Hugo grinned. His expression held a depth Ben hadn't seen before. It was as if Hugo sensed where they stood--a threshold between youthful dalliances and something much deeper.

"Then it seems I shall have to prepare myself for quite the weekend," Ben mused, his pulse quickening at the thought that this weekend might bring his first conquest.

"Hungry after all that time lost in the Cotswolds?" Ben asked. "Come, let's have something to eat."

"That's very kind," said Hugo, "I really need to get that windshield replaced, though, and make my way back home."

"There's a village just at the end of the avenue at the back of the house, Charlbury, and there's a garage there. Let's have lunch and then we can pop into the village and see if they can do it."

They entered the hall of Farrington Manor and, within a few minutes, they were seated in the dining room. The opulence of their surroundings created an impression on Hugo. And it did little to stifle the warmth that radiated between the two companions. Seated at the long mahogany table, the clinking of silverware played counterpoint to their laughter. Over lunch, they shared memories and Ben found himself buoyed by Hugo's infectious spirit.

"Remember that time at Oxford, during the Christ Church regatta?" Ben began, a glint in his eye as he recounted the tale, "When you wagered your entire term's allowance on that crooked race?"

"God, don't remind me," Hugo groaned, though his smirk betrayed him. "Nearly had to beg you for scraps from the buttery for a month!"

"Ah, but you didn't," Ben said, leaning back in his chair. "Because despite your wild antics, you always landed on your feet. Much like a cat, albeit one with a penchant for mischief."

"Speaking of landing on one's feet," Hugo segued, a smile curving his lips, "Are you prepared for the onslaught of eligible maidens at my birthday extravaganza?"

"Prepared?" Ben feigned nonchalance, "I am the very picture of readiness." But internally, there was a flutter in his stomach. He had been so focused on his studies and was beginning to regret not having learned a bit more about earthly delights while at Oxford.

"Good," Hugo nodded approvingly. "Because I've no doubt they'll be vying for your attention." He paused for a minute. "Right, let's find this garage and see if I can get sorted."

***

The village of Charlbury nestled in the crook of the rolling Cotswold hills, under the watchful gaze of Farrington Manor, which was only a few hundred yards away, beyond where the greenery thickened and the land sloped gently upwards. Its honey-stone cottages basked in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. A stream wound through the heart of the village, flirting with the roots of ancient willows.

"A charming place, isn't it?" Ben said to Hugo, from the passenger seat of Hugo's car.

"Indeed," Hugo Belmont replied, from behind the driver's seat, "the Cotswolds are truly one of England's delights."

Turning into the village, Hugo guided the car towards the local garage, its new red-brick facade a stark contrast against the sandstone buildings throughout the village. He pulled up and killed the engine. The mechanic, a stout man with grease-stained overalls, ambled over, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Good day, Mr. Farrington," he said, nodding to Ben and tipping his cap.

"Morning, Tom," Ben replied. "This is my friend from Oxford, Hugo Belmont."

"Mr Belmont", Tom answered. "How can I help? Nasty crack on your windshield." He stepped around and looked at it with a frown.

"Yes," Hugo started, "Took a stone on the way here from Ascot."

"Let's have a closer look then." Tom leaned in, squinting at the damage. "I reckon you'll need a new windshield. I can sort certainly sort it out for you pretty quickly, but only once I have a new one to install. It will be tomorrow morning before the new windshield is here. Is that alright?"

"Ah", Hugo replied, "I was very much hoping it would be something that could get fixed today. You see, I have my 21st birthday party starting on Friday and I need to be home tomorrow to help with the preparations."

"Don't worry," Ben intervened, "you can stay at Farrington Manor tonight and leave first thing once the windshield is replaced."

Hugo weighed this up, involuntarily shifting his weight from foot to foot as he thought through his options. Looking at the car and then back at his closest friend, he relented.

"Tomorrow works, many thanks," Hugo said to Tom, before turning back to Ben.

"But that means you and I must seize this opportunity for a night to catch up properly!"

"Mr Belmont, could I just get a few details from you?" Tom asked.

Ben took his opportunity to go find a present for Hugo. "I just have to pop into one of the shops. I'll meet you back here in ten minutes," he said to Hugo, who winked in return as he headed into the mechanic's office.

*

Ben navigated the familiar path to the bookshop, its Tudor façade a comforting sight nestled between the village's modest establishments. As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, a bell tinkled overhead, announcing his entry into the literary sanctuary. The air was thick with the musk of leather-bound histories. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting a warm glow on shelves overflowing with things to learn.

"Good afternoon, Master Farrington," greeted Mrs. Davenport, the owner, her spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. Despite his age, she referred to him as Master, rather than Mister, because he had spent a disproportionate amount of his teenage years in her shop.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Davenport," Ben nodded, his gaze already drawn to the 'Classics' section near the window. His pulse quickened slightly at the thought of the gift he sought--a copy of the Greek romance, 'Daphnis and Chloe' by Longus, a story of love both innocent and fervent.

He passed a stack of newly arrived volumes, fingertips grazing their spines in silent reverence. As he did, Ben's gaze wandered from the books out through the window and its lace curtain, into Charlbury. Its village life played out beyond the bookshop's pane like a silent film.

Then, a singular figure commanded his full attention. She arrived on a bicycle, which slowed gracefully to a stop outside the shop window. She alighted with what seemed like habitual grace. Her outfit marked her as a very modern lady: cycling cap and blazer, blouse and trousers defying the traditionalist's call for skirts and modesty. Ben watched, entranced, the lace curtain adding an ethereal quality as she strode with a casual authority from her bicycle towards the bookshop door.

She pushed open the door, the bell above chiming her arrival, and Ben felt his mouth go dry. Now in full technicolor, her confident stride created a gentle breeze that passed, ever so gently, through her wavy auburn hair. Eyes that were a stunning shade of green scanned the room.

As she moved closer to peruse the shelves, the subtle sway of her hips was hypnotic. Ben's eyes traced the outline of her athletic figure, each movement exuding a grace that increased his pulse. The blazer did little to conceal the firm silhouette of her pert breasts, the fabric straining ever so slightly as she reached up to brush her fingers against the spine of a book.

Ben realized his mouth was open and he was staring at someone less than ten feet away. He tried his best to reset himself and went back to the task at hand. He returned his attention to the spines of classics, his fingers brushing over leather-bound volumes.

With a gentle exclamation, he spotted 'Daphnis and Chloe' tucked between its peers, a couple of feet away. He reached out his hand, but as he did, another hand--this one with nails the color of ripe cherries--reached for the very same book. He had been concentrating so hard on ignoring the lady who had entered, he hadn't spotted her move nearer. As their fingers touched, it was like a bolt of lightning hit him and his hand shot back to his chest.

"Apologies," she said, her smooth voice cutting through the musty air. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No apology needed, I should have been paying more attention." Despite everything, the irony of the statement wasn't lost on Ben. This time, he couldn't help but let his gaze linger again. The sight of her up close was dizzying.

"Are you a fan of pastoral romances then?" she inquired, her eyebrow arched in playful curiosity.

"Guilty," he confessed. "But today, I'm buying a gift for a friend."

"A lucky friend," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I don't remember the last time anyone bought me a classic romance." She gave a small laugh, a sound Ben wished to bottle and keep close to his heart, as her fingers traced the spine of 'Daphnis and Chloe'."How thoughtful," she mused.

"Or perhaps hopeful," Ben countered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He watched, rapt, as she tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, revealing the elegant curve of her neck.

"Hopeful?" She tilted her head, the act sending another wave of her scent towards him. "For what? A revival of ancient romance in modern times?"

"Something like that," he admitted, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. The warmth of the shop was suddenly oppressive, the space between them charged with electricity.

"Are you familiar with Longus' work, then?" she asked, eyes directing him to the copy of Daphnis and Chloe. "Beyond the obvious allure of forbidden love and bucolic escapades?"

"Intimately," Ben said, his voice dropping an octave. His mind flashed to the earthy descriptions within the pages, the sensual awakening of the characters, the longing that mirrored his own.

"Then you'll recall how Daphnis pledges fidelity with a simple kiss," Ana whispered, leaning closer. Her breath was a tantalizing brush against his cheek. Every nerve ending was alight with the proximity of her body.

"Only after much persuasion," Ben managed to respond, his heart thundering. He felt the solid weight of arousal press against the fabric of his trousers and desperately hoped this woman from his dreams would not look down at that moment.

"Ah, but it's the anticipation that sweetens the moment," she teased. Ben could see the faint outline of her pert breasts beneath her blouse, making the bulge in his trousers strain even more.

"Indeed," he murmured, shifting slightly. The proximity of her body, the soft swell of her lips, everything about her beckoned him closer to the brink.

"Are you a collector?" She nodded toward the book, her question carrying a weight that made his pulse race.

"Of experiences, mostly," Ben replied, although he wasn't sure why he said that, or even what he meant. He was caught in the web of her presence.

"Ah, a man after my own heart." As her lips curved into what Ben firmly believed was a seductive smirk, her stunning green eyes locked with his. Her gaze lingered, bold and unabashed. The air between them seemed to crackle. Ben's mind raced, thoughts tumbling over themselves--a cascade of yearning and wonder at this Greek heroine who'd stepped from his wildest dreams and into the dusty reality of the bookshop.

"Classics are my weakness," Ana confessed, shifting closer, the scent of her perfume mingling with the mustiness of old pages. Ben found it intoxicating--a primal urge that sent his imagination reeling.

"Mine too," he admitted, feeling a stirring deep within that left him both exhilarated and vulnerable.

"Is it the tales of passion, or the beauty of the language that captivates you?" she inquired, her tone rich with innuendo.

"Both," Ben said after a pause, "the way they intertwine can be... overwhelming."

"Indeed, she commented, a playful glint in her eye, "there's such an abundance of stimulating material."

And with that, she carefully lifted down the volume of 'Daphnis and Chloe' and turned to head to the counter. "Until next time, Daphnis," she called over her shoulder. The implicit promise ignited a hunger in him that was as primal as it was profound.