For the Love of Luke Read online

  “Luke,” Rupert called again. This time Luke paused and looked across to him. Still he said nothing. Lady Pendley-Evans appeared at Rupert’s side.

  “What’s the matter with the boy?” she asked. “He seems to be in his own little world.”

  Rupert ran to the ladder and placed his hand on Luke’s shoulder. Luke kicked out hard, and his foot connected with Rupert’s groin. The pain was instant and eye watering. Rupert fell back to the ground, winded.

  “Shit,” Rupert cried. “It’s me. What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

  Luke stared at him silently with cold, empty eyes. He turned back to the ladder and once more began to climb. Rupert scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around Luke’s legs. Luke kicked violently, but Rupert clung on grimly and used his weight to try to dislodge Luke from the ladder.

  Lady Pendley-Evans reached up with her walking stick and brought it down hard on Luke’s hands. His fingers slipped and lost their grip on the rungs of the ladder. Luke fell backward, and Rupert let go of his legs. He rolled to the side to avoid Luke as he fell to the concrete floor of the barn. Rupert turned to see Lady Pendley-Evans stride over and raise her walking stick above Luke’s head.

  “No!” Rupert called out. Lady Pendley-Evans paused, the stick frozen in midair. Luke shook his head and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the stick from Lady Pendley-Evans’s hand and brought it down hard on her shoulder. Rupert watched, horrified, as his mother fell back. He lunged forward, grabbed the walking stick from Luke, and threw the American to the floor. The two men rolled until Rupert was on top, using his hands to pin Luke’s shoulders to the ground.

  “Stop it, Luke,” said Rupert. “Just stop it.”

  Beneath him, Luke panted heavily. He struggled to lift his shoulders. His head strained forward, and his eyes were wide with terror.

  Rupert held firm, and Luke’s struggles subsided. He stared at Rupert, and it was as though his eyes gradually refocused. The look of terror was replaced with one of recognition. His shoulders sagged to the floor, and he released a long, exhausted sigh.

  “What have I done?” he said. “What have I done?” His shoulders shook, and tears trickled down his cheeks. “It’s all my fault.”

  Rupert leaned forward and kissed Luke on the lips. “We know it’s not your fault.”

  Luke opened his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I told you I was too complicated. I’ve fucked it all up, haven’t I?”

  Rupert kissed him again. This time long, and slow. Their lips parted, and Rupert saw a look of defeat in Luke’s eyes. “I love you, Luke,” he said. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. But it’s all over. I’ll protect you from now on.”

  Luke wrapped his arms around Rupert and hugged him tight. “And I love you too, my beautiful Englishman.”

  “Well, that’s all bloody fine” came the voice of Lord Pendley-Evans from behind them. “But what about your bloody mother?”

  Rupert sat up and looked across to Lady Pendley-Evans. She had drawn her knees to her chest and was trying to stand. There was a thin trickle of blood running down her neck from a head wound. Rupert jumped off Luke’s chest. He went over to his mother, knelt down, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Mother!” he said. “Don’t get up. You’re injured.”

  “Oh fuck,” said Luke behind him. “What have I done?’

  “Don’t worry, young man,” replied Lady Pendley-Evans. “Just a flesh wound. Had worse coming off a bally horse, you know.” She sat down heavily on the floor, and her body swayed.

  “Must say, though,” she continued. “Feeling a bit woozy.” She looked at Luke. “Damn fine right arm you’ve got there. Do you play tennis?”

  Luke stood and walked over to kneel beside Rupert. “I’m real sorry, Cynthia. I didn’t know what I was doing just then.”

  Lady Pendley-Evans held on to Rupert’s arm to steady herself and fixed Luke with a hard stare. “Well? Do you play tennis?” she repeated. “We need a decent doubles partner around here.” She looked up at Lord Pendley-Evans, who was standing beside them. “Isn’t that right, Clarence? We’re getting fed up with thrashing the locals. They’re no bally good at all.”

  Before he could reply, there was a commotion at the entrance to the barn. Rupert turned to see Christian and Frank shove a tall, elderly man through the doorway. The man stood with his head bowed. Frank held the man’s arms firmly behind him. In the distance, Rupert heard the sound of several police sirens.

  “We found him trying to break into the Jaguar, my lord,” said Frank.

  “Who the devil is he?” asked Lord Pendley-Evans.

  Rupert turned to Luke. The American’s eyes were open wide with terror. Rupert put his arm across Luke’s shoulders. He was shaking with fear.

  “It’s your father,” said Rupert. “Isn’t it, Luke?”

  LORD PENDLEY-EVANS entered the main reception room at Pendley House. He held up a whiskey bottle and waved it at Rupert.

  “Another snifter, old boy?” he asked.

  Rupert shook his head. He sat on one of the large couches alongside the fireplace with Luke in his arms. Christian sat on the couch opposite, a glass of water in his hand. The doors to the garden were open, and the night breeze filled the room with a heady scent from the roses in the flowerbeds that lined the veranda.

  “Your mother’s sleeping,” said Lord Pendley-Evans. “Snoring like a trooper.”

  “I wish she’d gone to the hospital,” said Rupert. “She ought to have that head wound looked at.”

  Lord Pendley-Evans waved his hand dismissively. “No need for any fuss. Jeanette bandaged it for her. She’ll be right as ninepence in the morning.”

  He sat down on the couch opposite Rupert and Luke and poured himself a large whiskey. He turned to Christian alongside him and raised his glass. “Cheers, old boy.” He took a long drink from the glass. “Now, young man. You’ve got a few things to explain.”

  “I’ve told the police everything,” said Christian. “Pa forced me to tell him where Luke was hidden. He’s always had this power over Luke and me.”

  He turned to Rupert. “I wanted to call you to warn you. But Pa had taken my mobile phone. So I came up here to find you.”

  Lord Pendley-Evans snorted dismissively.

  “You knew Luke was in danger,” said Rupert. “You’ve known for a while. That’s what you warned me about this week. Why haven’t you ever told the police?”

  Christian shifted in his seat. He looked down at the glass of water cradled in his lap. “I just thought Pa wanted to treat him. I didn’t think he was going to go that far.”

  “Treat him?” asked Lord Pendley-Evans. “Treat him for what?”

  “For his sexuality,” replied Christian. He continued to look down at his glass. “We needed to convert him.”

  “We?” asked Rupert. “You mean, you were in on this too?” He held Luke tighter in his arms. “He’s your brother. What the fuck were you thinking of?”

  “The Family Council says that those who are homosexual are evil and sinful. But they can be converted to their natural sexual nature—”

  “You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?” asked Lord Pendley-Evans. “Good God, man. Where do you think you are? Seventeenth-century Salem? We don’t burn witches in England any longer, you know.” He took a drink of whiskey. “Neither do we punish decent young men for loving each other and doing what comes naturally to them.”

  Rupert looked at Lord Pendley-Evans with astonishment. His father was full of surprises this weekend. He turned back to Christian.

  “So just what exactly was your involvement in all this?” he asked. “Luke’s been tortured, hasn’t he? I guessed that from the nightmare he had the other night. What did you use? Electric shocks? Branding irons?”

  Christian shook his head vigorously. “I had nothing to do with that.” He looked at Rupert. There were tears in his eyes.

  “But you knew it was happening, didn’t you?” asked Rupert.

 
Christian avoided Rupert’s glare and lowered his head again. “I knew something was happening.” He took a drink from his water and lowered the glass. Staring into it as if he might find his courage there, he began to speak.

  “It was last January. Two o’clock in the morning. I got a call from the emergency room. Someone had found Luke. He was about to hang himself from a tree on the grounds of the university. They cut him down and called 911. When I got to the hospital, he’d lost his memory. He didn’t know who I was.”

  He looked over to Luke.

  “I love you, brother,” he said. Tears were trickling down his face. “I never meant for all this to happen.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “When I found out what they were doing,” he continued, “I brought you to London. I gave you a new identity. I’ve got plenty of money. I set you up in the apartment.”

  Luke sat up and leaned forward. “A new identity? My name isn’t Luke Diamond, then?”

  Christian shook his head. “I only changed your last name. Your Christian name is Luke. But you’re not Diamond. You’re a Matthews, like me.”

  “So is it you who pays money into my bank account?” asked Luke. “And pays the bills for Dr. Ballantyne in Harley Street?”

  “Yes,” replied Christian. “She’s the best in the profession they say.”

  Luke thought for a moment. “Did you set me up with the exhibition at that gallery?”

  “You’re a wonderful artist,” said Christian. “I hoped it might help bring your memory back.” A note of pride sounded in his voice. “And the gallery wouldn’t have wanted to exhibit your work if they didn’t think it was good.”

  Luke sighed. “I don’t understand you. You did all that. And then, in another breath, you say I’m evil and sinful.” He stood up and looked down at his brother. “Do you think I’m evil? Do you think I’m sinful?”

  He turned to Rupert and held out his hand. Rupert stood and wrapped his arm around Luke’s waist. The two men turned to face Christian. “Do you think,” continued Luke, “that because we love each other, we must be sick? That we must be cured? Christian, I’m your brother. Answer me.”

  Christian didn’t respond at first. He lowered his head and his shoulders shook. Tears fell into his lap. Then…

  “I don’t know anymore” was all he said.

  Chapter 27

  RUPERT CARRIED the large package into the living room of Luke’s apartment and put it down on the table.

  “It’s the post, Luke,” he called. “There’s a package just arrived for you.”

  The parcel was about two feet square, three inches thick, and weighed a couple of pounds. Rupert turned the package around on the table and examined its brown-paper wrapping for evidence of where the parcel had come from. There was no address for the sender and no postmark to betray its origins.

  Luke entered the living room and crossed to the table. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and another slung around his neck. He kissed Rupert and picked up the package.

  “Well. I know it’s not my birthday,” he said. “And I don’t remember ordering an expensive present for you.” He turned and kissed Rupert again. “So I wonder what’s in the mystery package?” He put it back on the table and headed for the living room door.

  “But first, coffee.” Luke went into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and took out two cups.

  “I don’t believe you!” said Rupert. “You can’t keep me hanging in suspense like this.” He tore at the wrapping of the parcel, only to reveal further packaging inside.

  “Hey, hey!” called Luke from the kitchen. “That’s mine.” He dropped the cups on the counter, hurried back to the living room, and made a grab for the parcel.

  “Oh no,” said Rupert, holding the package above his head. “You didn’t want to open it. So it’s mine now.” He continued to tear at the packaging, and shreds of paper rained down from his hands. Luke grabbed Rupert around his waist and began to tickle him.

  “That’s not fair,” cried Rupert. He dropped the package, bent forward, and wrapped his arms around Luke’s shoulders. He kissed Luke on the lips, and the American’s tongue ventured into his mouth. Rupert pulled back and rested his hands on Luke’s waist.

  “Wait, wait,” he said. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that.” Rupert bent down, picked up the partly unwrapped parcel from the floor, and handed it to Luke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope I didn’t damage it when I dropped it.” Luke kissed him one more time and carried the package over to the couch. Rupert followed and was about to sit next to Luke when the doorbell rang again.

  “Busy day,” he said. “I wonder if that’s the postman with more gifts for you.”

  He walked down the hallway and opened the front door.

  “It’s not too early, is it?”

  “Rosalind,” said Rupert to the pathologist. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’ll go away again if you don’t want me here,” said Rosalind, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. “But I thought you’d be interested in the developments since your little shenanigans up at Pendley House two nights ago.”

  Rupert stood aside and gestured with his hand. “Please come in. We’re about to make some breakfast.”

  “Oh, not for me,” said Rosalind. “I’ll just have a cigarette.” She entered the apartment, walked down the hallway, and waited by the living room doorway for Rupert to catch up.

  “And you must be Luke,” said Rosalind. She turned to Rupert, and as if confirming a diagnosis to a fellow doctor, said, “Now I understand.”

  “Understand what?” asked Luke. He stood and tightened the towel around his waist, looking self-conscious.

  “Why Rupert was so desperate to leave my offices when you called him the other day,” said Rosalind. “If I was straight, I’d feel the same. I’m his doctor friend who chops up bodies for a living, by the way.” She walked across to Luke and held out her hand in greeting. “Rosalind Goodman. Since your ordeal at Pendley House two days ago, I’ve learned a great deal about the fate you’ve just narrowly avoided.” She shook Luke’s hand firmly and looked over to the open doors that led onto the balcony. “Oh good,” she continued. “Let’s go outside. I’m desperate for a smoke.”

  “Do you want some coffee?” asked Luke. “I was just about to make some.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Strong and black.”

  Rosalind walked onto the balcony and lit up a cigarette.

  Rupert turned to Luke. “I’m so sorry. It’s just how she is.”

  Luke laughed. “I’m getting to like your family and friends. They’re a great deal more honest than mine.” He walked to the kitchen door and turned. “And certainly more direct.”

  Rupert followed Rosalind outside. A cloud of cigarette smoke enveloped him, and he began to cough.

  “You’ve struck gold there,” said Rosalind. She ignored Rupert’s discomfort. “I’d hang on to that one if I were you.”

  “Thank you for your advice, Rosalind,” choked Rupert. He leaned over the rail of the balcony to inhale the clearer air. “Okay. Tell me what you’ve found.”

  Rosalind drew deeply on her cigarette and held the smoke in her mouth for several seconds before slowly exhaling.

  “They’re bastards,” she said finally. “I’ve been talking to your chum Jerry at the National Crime Agency, and he’s got a pretty clear picture of what they were up to. We’ve got a nice exclusive for you. But you’re going to have to get your skates on. All the other newshounds are sniffing around.”

  She leaned with her back against the balcony, the cigarette between two fingers. “They’re called the Real Family Council.” She paused for a response, and when none was forthcoming, asked, “Heard of them?”

  Rupert shook his head.

  “Bunch of puritanical primitives with too much money,” continued Rosalind. “They believe people like you and me are evil. That we need to be converted”—Rosalind used her hands to mimic quotation marks in
the air—“from being gay. It’s called gay conversion therapy. They use fake science to justify its effectiveness.” She sniffed haughtily. “I’ve never read such a load of rubbish in my life. It’s been going on for decades. They use aversion therapies. Which means they show you pictures of activities they believe to be evil and give you electric shocks. Or they give you chemicals to make you throw up. They’ve been claiming it cures you of being gay. It’s all bollocks, of course. In the seventies they even used to give people ice-pick lobotomies. Bastards.”

  She took a final drag on her cigarette, stubbed it out on the balcony railing, and flicked it over the edge.

  “Well, this Real Family Council took it to a whole new level,” she continued. “Their fake doctors admit the aversion therapy is a waste of time. But they still think we’re evil. So they simply brainwash their victims and make them go and kill themselves instead.”

  Luke emerged onto the balcony with a tray. His towel had been replaced by a pair of sweatpants and a singlet. He set the tray down on a narrow table.

  “Lovely,” said Rosalind. She picked up the coffeepot and filled one of the cups. “I’ll be mother.” She handed the cup to Luke. “Your father was one of the directors of the Real Family Council. I’m sorry to have to say it, but it’s unspeakable what he’s done.” She poured a cup for Rupert and one for herself.

  “How did they think they could get away with it?” asked Rupert.

  “Oh, in America they were very well-connected,” said Rosalind. “They had people at the highest level covering up for them. The mistake they made was trying the same thing in Britain. They had a few powerful supporters, of course. But not enough, thankfully.”

  Luke sighed and rested his head on Rupert’s shoulder. “I feel so responsible.”

  “Oh my dear boy, don’t be so foolish,” said Rosalind. “How on earth could you have known what your father was up to? And what was he thinking of? To actually want to kill you. His own son. I can’t begin to imagine how you must feel right now.”