Chapter 2

Leslie slowed down his drive as they approached and Percy caught the last words of the taller one in a very nicely cut jacket “You’re going to get us hauled up before the beak, Phil. He could be anyone!”And that mirrored Percy’s conversation with Les so precisely that Percy found himself grinning.

“Phil!” Leslie greeted them. “I’m sorry we’re a bit late. The tube…” He tailed off.

“Not a problem,” the older chap replied. “I’m very pleased you could make it at all.” He smiled and Percy could see what had drawn Les to him. He turned to his companion. “This is Adrian, I tend to drag him along to these things, under sufferance.”

Adrian held out his hand for Leslie to shake. “That’s a lie,” he said. “I don’t need much persuading! Very pleased to meet you.” He turned to Percy. “Adrian Framlingham,” he said.

“Percy Wright,” he replied. Adrian’s hand was warm and his grip was firm but not aggressive. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Shall we go in?” Phil suggested. “I think all our seats are together, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I think so.” Les was digging their tickets out of his wallet. “They issued them sequentially.” He peered at the numbers.

He’d left his glasses at home, then. Definitely out to pull, Percy thought. He was a vain little sod about his vision. Too much time staring at music scores was making him short-sighted. T fully he kept pace with Adrian and left Les to walk ahead in the crowd, beside Phil. They were chattering about the Elgar. Percy liked music, he was looking forward to the concerts they were planning to see, but he didn’t love it with the passion Les did. He taught music and maths at their little private school and Percy taught science.

“Les said he’d been subtle,” he said, aloud, without thinking, watching the two of them talk animatedly in the slow-moving crowd going through the doors.

Adrian snorted beside him. “Phil’s never subtle about music. What about you? Are you subtle?” he asked. He didn’t look at Percy, but it was definitely a loaded question.

Percy shot him a sideways glance. He was a nice-looking man. “I try,” he said, eventually. And then, “I don’t think Les was ually trolling for trade, earlier. He’s a fool about music.”

He saw the other man grin. “He’ll get on with Phil, then.” He gestured at them in front of him. “He’s the same.”

The press of the crowd going up the stairs meant their conversation was naturally constrained and, in the shuffle and buzz of settling down, they didn’t resume chatting until they were all seated. Somehow, Phil and Les were together and Percy was next to Adrian, on the end of the row. The other man stretched his long legs out in front of him as he settled into his seat. He was wearing some sort of pleasant, orange-smelling aftershave that didn’t revolt Percy as much as the Aramis Les insisted on splashing on liberally each time he left the house.

“Are you planning on coming to many of the concerts?” Percy asked, groping for conversation.

Adrian looked over at him. “Phil tries to come to as many as he can manage. I tag along if I have time. What about you?”

“We’re only in town until the end of August. Les wants to come to as many as he can and I suppose I’ll get dragged along too, unless he has a better offer.” He nodded along the row toward Phil. “I’m more inclined to stage musicals myself. I’ve got a yen to see cabaret. And Canterbury Tales, if I can get a ticket.” Then the overture began and blessedly he didn’t have to make any more small talk.

Surprisingly, the after-concert supper was unconstrained and easy. They chatted about the music, the new Bond film they had all seen, shows Les and Percy planned to see over the summer. A bit about the riots in Detroit. Nothing personal, nothing about where they worked or their lives. It felt untethered somehow to Percy, an evening unmoored in time. Slightly surreal, but nevertheless pleasant. As they split the bill and stood to leave, it was very obvious Les was going home with Phil.

Percy and Adrian were left on the pavement outside the little restaurant, watching as the taxi pulled away.

“Well, that’s that,” Adrian said, turning to Percy. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his open raincoat. “I feel a bit like we should be throwing confetti after them.” He tilted his head to one side, looking at Percy diffidently. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Home and bed, for me,” Percy said. “I’m not really a night bird.” He wasn’t. This London summer was Les’ idea. He was in his mid-twenties, not that long out of university and teaching college, and desperate to kick over the staid, term-time traces of a boarding school housemaster. Percy liked him a lot, but already the two week’s freedom seemed to have gone to his head. Percy had passed thirty, three years ago. He wasn’t a chicken any longer and didn’t had the inclination or stamina for all night partying or unwise liaisons. Although this didn’t seem as unwise as it could have been, having spent the evening talking to the two older men.