For the Love of Luke Page 10

  He repositioned his arm on the American’s shoulder. Luke stirred. He stretched his long legs and unfurled his fingers to pull them tight on Rupert’s shoulder. His lips parted to exhale a deep sigh. Rupert shifted his hand and cupped it around the back of Luke’s head. Gently, he massaged Luke’s scalp through the tight curls of his short black hair. The American’s eyelashes flickered, and he opened his eyes. Rupert kissed him on the forehead.

  “You okay?” asked Rupert.

  Luke tipped his head in assent. The long, brown eyelashes flickered shut, and he sighed once more. “What time is it?”

  “Early,” replied Rupert. “Nearly dawn.”

  He kissed Luke and stroked the side of his head. “For a man who’s lost his memory,” he said in a low voice, “you certainly know how to give pleasure.”

  Luke chuckled and opened his eyes. He reached up and kissed Rupert on the lips. For a moment, his mouth parted, and he gently bit on Rupert’s lower lip, allowing his tongue to massage behind the gentle bite of affection. “You too, Rupert.”

  The two men lay in silence for several minutes; their chests rose and fell in empathetic breathing. The hint of a cool breeze from the open window swept across the room. Luke shivered.

  “Cold?” asked Rupert.

  Luke shook his head as he lay in the hollow of Rupert’s chest.

  “Not with you here,” he replied.

  “I have to ask you,” said Rupert after a few more minutes of silence. “What changed? Yesterday evening in the kitchen, you wanted to take things slowly. Then last night, when I came back here, and you were standing there without a shirt….”

  “That wasn’t deliberate, you know,” interrupted Luke. “I genuinely tipped the goddam sauce over it. I’m damn sure I wrecked it too.”

  He looked up at Rupert, and his deep brown eyes sparkled. “What changed? Lots of small things. But significantly, you took care of me the night I blacked out in the bathroom. You put up with me when I flipped. Twice now. And last night when I called you, you came back. You didn’t judge. And you stood there in the hallway….” His voice tailed off, the sentence left unfinished, and looked at Rupert forlornly. “I’m so lost. And so screwed up right now. I’m trying to make sense of things, and I’ve got no one I can trust.” He looked away from Rupert as he added, “But maybe there’s you.”

  Rupert stroked the side of Luke’s head. “You know, I don’t usually do waifs and strays. It’s too risky for me. I was with a guy once, and he got sick. And I nursed him through pneumonia. I was really in love with him. And I thought he was in love with me. Then he got better. And he went away.”

  Luke shifted his arms to lay them across Rupert’s broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere Rupert. At least, not as far as I know. But I don’t know what’s happening with my life right now.”

  He propped his head on the palms of his hands. “You know, caring for someone when they’re sick is a part of love. But it’s only a part. There are so many aspects to love. So many ways we can show it. So many ways we can feel it being shown to us.” He sighed and rested his head back on Rupert’s chest. “Somehow, I know I’ve been in love in the past. I just wish I knew it was true.”

  Luke gently played with the curls of hair in the hollow of Rupert’s chest. Rupert laid his head on the pillow and thought back to his previous failed relationship. Andrew was a journalist working for the Washington Post who had recently returned from a posting to China. They met at a party, and after less than a month the two men moved into a one-bedroom apartment together in Georgetown. They were inseparable for nearly six months, working side by side for their rival employers. Andrew was rushed to hospital one night, where the pneumonia was diagnosed. When he finally left the hospital, Rupert nursed him through recovery. After four months, Andrew announced he had accepted a posting to Berlin. Rupert was furious and felt betrayed. That was eighteen months ago. He had not heard from Andrew since.

  “So tell me everything you know, my little waif and stray,” said Rupert. “I want to help you.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow at Rupert. “Don’t repeat the patterns of the past. If we are to fall in love—”

  Rupert started to speak, but Luke lifted his hand and covered Rupert’s mouth.

  “If we are to fall in love, I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be simply the invalid patient you care for. I’d like to think there’s more to me than this fucked-up individual you see lying across your chest at the moment.”

  Rupert pushed Luke’s hand away from his mouth and leaned forward to kiss him. “I’m sorry. I won’t say waif and stray again. It’s a stupid phrase.” He kissed Luke once more and leaned back against the pillow. “Tell me everything you know. Maybe I can help you find out more.”

  “According to my driver’s license, my name is Luke Diamond. I’m thirty-two years old, and I live here. I’m licensed to drive any vehicle up to seven tons and—”

  Rupert laughed. “I don’t need all the fine details, like your license number. Do you have a passport?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve got a US passport with an immigration visa in it. I found a bunch of energy bills and water bills shoved in a drawer in the kitchen. They’re all in my name, and they date back six months. That must be when I moved in here. But I can only remember from February twenty-third. The day I walked into the police station.”

  “What about your mobile phone?” asked Rupert. “You said there were numbers in it.”

  “Yes, twelve of them. The landlord, the telephone company, the gallery….” Luke stopped and sat up, his eyes alight with excitement. “Hey. I forgot to say. That’s a weird thing. I’m in their exhibition next spring.”

  “You told me yesterday,” said Rupert. “Remember? When you showed me your work. It’s a great achievement.”

  Luke dismissed the praise with a shake of his head. “Yes, but I never asked them to exhibit my work. They booked me in ages ago. They told me when they rang to confirm some details two days after the police brought me back here.”

  “But they must have seen you and your work at some stage,” said Rupert. “Did you ask them when?”

  “They said they saw my work last Christmas,” replied Luke. “And they were very excited by its originality, and it would fit into a themed exhibit they’re doing next spring. But I’ve got no memory of going to see them at all.”

  “Have you been back to the gallery since you spoke to them?”

  “I went over there, the day after they called. But it’s like, fancy. Real upscale. I chickened out and didn’t go in. Instead, I came back here, picked up a paintbrush, and kept on painting. It was like, really weird. I didn’t know I could paint. But I could. I just seemed to know what to do. That’s happening a lot. I find I can do stuff, like cooking and—”

  “Sex?” said Rupert with a smile.

  Luke chuckled. “Yeah. That was my latest revelation tonight.” He leaned forward and playfully flicked Rupert’s nipple with his tongue. “But maybe I’m just a quick learner.”

  “I don’t believe anyone gives head like you do on their first outing,” Rupert said. “You could read me like you were plugged into my brain. You’ve got incredible empathy.”

  “But I don’t remember ever doing that before,” said Luke. He leaned his head forward on his hands and stared up at Rupert. His eyes were so beguiling, like a puppy waiting for his master to rub his head. “That’s why I wanted to take things slowly with you. I was terrified I’d have no idea what to do. I felt like a virgin.”

  Luke absentmindedly combed the hairs on Rupert’s chest between his fingers. “That’s how my life is right now. It’s like I’m doing this stuff for the first time. When in reality, I know I must have done it all before.”

  “I’ve got to ask you,” said Rupert gently, “what is it about my phone? Twice now it’s freaked you out. How come the same doesn’t happen when your phone rings?”

  “Here’s the thing,” began Luke, and he turned his head to look up at Rupert. “Have you noticed a
nything missing in this apartment?”

  Rupert looked around the bedroom and pondered for a moment. There was nothing he could think of. In his mind, he tried to picture the living room. It held everything he would expect in a typical apartment.

  “What business do you work in?” asked Luke.

  “Television,” replied Rupert. “Oh, sure. But there’s quite a few people I know who don’t have a TV these days. It’s becoming the fashionable thing among the chattering classes. They shun the big TV in the living room. They say it’s an ugly piece of furniture. They call it a symbol of passive supplication to the controlling media moguls—”

  “You seriously think I’m like that?” asked Luke, his eyes widening.

  “Well, I didn’t mean you specifically,” said Rupert hurriedly. “I just thought you’d decided not to have one. A lot of people watch TV on their laptops instead.”

  “I don’t have one of those either,” replied Luke. “Nothing electronic with a screen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I see one, it terrifies me.”

  “But there are so many screens. All around us,” said Rupert. “How do you avoid them? Shit. They even have them on the bus. There’s a TV security screen in the shop on the corner—”

  “I try to avoid going in there,” said Luke bluntly. “I don’t use the bus or the Tube. I ride a bike everywhere. I can’t go into stores that sell electronic goods. Even when—”

  Luke stopped. He lowered his eyes and said nothing for a moment.

  “Okay, I didn’t tell you the truth earlier,” he said finally. “You were right. I am having therapy. That’s where I was yesterday. I go to Harley Street once a week to see Dr. Jemima Ballantyne. Not that I get much out of it.”

  Rupert gently began to massage the back of Luke’s head. “It’s okay. How did you find her to book yourself in?” He stopped rubbing and sat up. “Hang on. A private psychiatrist in Harley Street? How can you afford it?”

  Luke rolled off Rupert’s chest and leaned over the edge of the bed. He reached out to the bedside cabinet and opened the drawer, pulled out a piece of folded paper, and handed it to Rupert.

  “That was shoved in with the bills and other paperwork I found,” he said.

  Rupert unfolded the paper and stared at it in amazement. It was a statement from Coutts Bank in the name of Luke Diamond. The account contained over 250,000 pounds.

  “Not bad for an art student who’s a crazy guy, huh?” said Luke with a smile. “Stick around, kid. You just found yourself a sugar daddy.”

  Chapter 14

  THE COMPUTER screen flickered into life. Rupert opened up the search engine and typed in the name Luke Diamond. Screen after screen of results appeared. He sat back in his chair and looked around the newsroom. It was one o’clock, and the lunchtime bulletin had started. Rupert’s desk was in the far corner, out of vision of the glass-and-chrome news set surrounded by cameras. When a bulletin was on air, he made sure he could not be seen in the background of any shot. A colleague had once been caught on camera, picking his nose. The tabloid newspapers had a field day with the enlarged images from the video footage. Not that Rupert would ever pick his nose. Not in public anyway.

  He turned back to his computer screen and added some key words to Luke’s name: Artist. Battersea Bridge. He added Luke’s age. There were still thousands of results. He sat thinking for a moment before he picked up his phone.

  “Will? Hi, it’s Rupert here. I was wondering if you could help me with a police report?”

  Will Sutherland was a cute police officer Rupert had picked up in the Royal Vauxhall Tavern on a cold November night four years ago. They had seen each other a few times for sex, but Rupert soon found their shared enthusiasm for European cinema was stronger than any sexual chemistry between them. Periodically, they continued to meet for screenings of a Buñuel or Almodóvar season on the South Bank. It seemed to satisfy Will, and the young man’s access to Niche RMS, the police database in the UK, was useful for Rupert. Sharing the confidential information was an instantly dismissible offense for Police Constable Will Sutherland, but he seemed not to care.

  “Hey, Rupert,” said Will. “I was just thinking of you. They’re doing a bunch of Derek Jarman screenings this month. It’s part of the gay cinema retrospective. Do you want to go see Caravaggio on the big screen?”

  “Oh sure,” said Rupert. “Are they showing Sebastiane as well? One of the sexiest films I’ve ever seen. Very daring for 1976. It’s got an erection in it. A very beautiful one too. The first ever in a film not classified pornographic.”

  Will laughed.

  “I’ll check, but I’m sure they must be screening it. I know other pieces of trivia about Sebastiane too,” he added, enthusiastically. “It was the first English-language film shot in Britain with English subtitles. And Jarman had the script translated—”

  “Into Latin by a top scholar,” interrupted Rupert. “Yes, I know. Apparently the professor was rather turned on by the more erotic bits. Find out the screening dates, and let’s see if we can go see one of them. It’s been a while since we last met up. Now. Any chance you can help me with this report?”

  Rupert heard Will sigh deeply.

  “It’s getting kind of tricky you know. They’re tightening up on access to the main database. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  Rupert told Will the few details he knew about the night Luke walked into Battersea police station.

  “You say he’d lost his memory?” asked Will. “I would have thought they’d have handed him over to mental health services on a section 136. That’s the procedure we follow in the event that a person is a danger to themselves in a public place. Of course, they would normally need to consult a health professional before they did.”

  “But could you take a look?” asked Rupert, ignoring Will’s passion for precision. “He’s a bit of a mystery man. I can’t seem to get any background on him.”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  Rupert hesitated.

  “It’s probably best I don’t tell you anything,” he said finally. “Then there’s nothing you have to deny, if you get asked.”

  “Hmm,” replied Will. “I’m not sure why I keep doing this.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you know what will happen to me if they catch me?”

  “You get out of that dead-end job and go work on film festivals,” replied Rupert. “Like you always wanted. I told you, I’ve got a contact in the British Film Institute if you ever decide to quit. Your film knowledge would be gold dust to them.”

  “Okay, your flattery wins me over. As ever,” said Will. “I’ll call you back in my break later on. And, yes,” he added, “I’d like to meet your contact at the BFI. It’s time I got out of here. Before I go nuts.”

  Rupert ended the call. He turned to the phone’s photo album and found the image he had recorded before he left the apartment that morning. It was a close-up of the photograph sitting in Archibald’s lap on Luke’s bedroom dresser. Rupert downloaded the picture to his computer and enlarged the image to fill the screen. The faces of the six people in the photo were indistinct, even more so with the picture magnified. An older man and woman held hands in the middle of the frame. Two young women stood to the left of the couple and two young men to their right. Rupert peered closely at the young men. They could have been aged anything from sixteen to their early twenties. They wore dark suits and ties and stood erect, almost at attention.

  “Is that your Luke?” asked a voice from behind him. Sandra jabbed a finger at the two boys standing on the right of the screen. She leaned in to the screen to stare closely at the image. “Certainly looks like ’im.”

  “Do you think so?” Rupert looked again.

  “Oh yeah,” Sandra said with conviction. “A lot younger. But it’s the way ’e’s standin’. Surely you can see it? Look at them legs. And the shape of ’is face.”

  Sandra swiveled around and hoisted herself up onto Rupert’s desk, where she sat sw
inging her legs back and forth.

  “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

  “It was in his bedroom last night,” replied Rupert. “Luke said it had just appeared—”

  “In ’is bedroom, eh?” Sandra said loudly. “So ’ow was your night of passion, then?”

  Rupert looked round to see if anyone had heard. He raised a finger to his lips.

  “Will you keep your voice down, Sandra Giles,” he said with irritation. “I don’t want my private life broadcast round the entire newsroom.” He turned away from her and peered again at the image on his computer screen.

  “If it is him, I wonder if that’s his family.” He looked at the cityscape behind the group in the photograph. “It would be good to know where it was taken,” he continued. “It doesn’t look like anywhere I know.”

  “Well, ’e’s got an American accent, so chances are it’s somewhere in America.” Sandra grinned. “That narrows it down a bit. Why don’t you send it to Betty in the Washington bureau? If anyone’s goin’ to know it’s ’er.”

  Betty was the fixer in the BBC’s Washington offices. It was her job to make sure camera crews and correspondents got the resources they needed, wherever they were in the United States.

  “Yes, good idea,” said Rupert. “I’ll send it over now.”

  “So you still ’aven’t told me,” said Sandra, watching Rupert draft the email on his computer. “Did the earth move?”

  Rupert clicked Send, closed the lid of his laptop, and stood up.

  “Can’t talk now,” he said with a smile. “I’ve got an appointment with a dead body at two o’clock. Can’t keep him waiting.”