Given Time Read online

  Finally, when no one was in sight, Angel exited his car and strode across the street. He punched in the last PIN he knew for entry through the gates. A flicker of surprise made him raise his eyebrows as the gates swung open. He’d expected Rory to have changed the code. Angel walked in and closed the gates behind him. He’d use another entrance for the car. He didn’t want to crush the flowers and wreaths. Angel walked around the house to the side entrance. His heart pounded inexplicably as he unlocked the door and went into the short corridor. Rory’s muddy boots lay strewn on the floor and Angel bent to straighten them, placing them upright alongside the tall, whitewashed vase that served as an umbrella stand. He passed the coat hooks where an old sheepskin jacket hung. It reminded him of walks with Rory along the riverbank.

  Angel turned into the kitchen. It shone with chrome and spotlessly clean, pale granite countertops. He walked around it. The antique oak table used as a kitchen meeting and eating place held a small bowl of mandarins. He checked the larder for instant coffee. After putting water to boil in the electric kettle, Angel walked around the downstairs rooms. Nothing had changed since he was last in the house. It made his heart ache. He went up the backstairs to the studio extension. The same cold smell of clay and expectation wafted around the main workroom. The skylight was open and he wound the handle on the wall below to close it. A smattering of rain had slipped in through the narrow rectangular opening and patterned the tiled floor beneath with wet stars.

  Angel went to stare out of the huge windows that made up one entire side of the room. Darkness was falling. Clouds covered the moon. The only evidence it existed was a white glow seeping around the gray billowing shapes. Angel turned and surveyed the empty studio. This is weird. Rory always had a sculpture he was working on. Where is everything?

  There was nothing. Not even a set of sketches on the drawing table depicting Rory’s ideas for his next piece of work. Angel left the studio. He took the stairs to the landing where a door to the adjacent hall led off to the bedrooms and bathrooms.

  Angel stopped outside the room that used to be his brother’s bedroom. The closed door wasn’t the only deterrent to him going inside. He couldn’t face seeing the bed where Rory spent his last night, or the window seat where he and Rory sometimes sat for a game of chess when he was younger. I bet the board is still set up on the table there. He reached out his hand, but couldn’t even clasp the door handle.

  He spun around and went to the far end of the corridor. The door to his old room was wide open. He went in and flipped on the lights. The quilt was folded on the end of the stripped mattress, pillows stacked on top. The drapes were drawn. Angel gazed around. Tears gathered in his eyes. I can’t sleep here tonight.

  He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. The kettle had boiled. Angel flicked the electric socket switch to off. He locked the house and strode out of the grounds to his car.

  Angel swung his car around. Rain speckled his windscreen. His headlights made long shimmering beams in the darkness of the country road. Angel knew the hotel only two streets away. Hopefully they’ll have a vacancy.

  Chapter Four

  The hotel lights beckoned. Angel entered the forecourt and parked as close to the front door as possible. He got out of his car and sprinted in the rain. He burst through the partially open door and shook the water from his hair. Angel strode to the desk.

  The man behind it broke into a smile.

  “Mr. Starc, good to see you. We’re all so sorry about Rory. What can we do for you?”

  Angel gave him a quick smile. “Thank you, David—you still work here—good to see you, too. I’m hoping you have a vacancy. I can’t face staying at the house tonight, maybe not tomorrow either…”

  “That’s understandable, sir. I have a suite free for three nights. It’s on the river-outlook side of the building. Will that suit you?”

  Angel nodded his acceptance. “Will you book me a table for dinner, David? I’ll be down around seven-thirty. It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course, Mr. Starc. Would you like Patrick to bring in your luggage?”

  “I only have one bag so don’t trouble Patrick. I’ll go out to my car now.”

  “No trouble, sir, but as you wish.”

  Angel dashed out into the night. The rain had eased, but the chill in the air penetrated his jacket. He retrieved his bag and the suit in its cover.

  David had the key to his suite ready, and Angel laid the suit over his arm to take the key.

  The hotel was not large and Angel had stayed there a few times in the past, not wanting to bring a guy home with him, so he knew the layout. He took the central stair to the second floor. His suite was two doors along the corridor. The lights were on and drapes drawn in the warm rooms. Obviously, David had sent someone along to make sure it was welcoming. A fruit basket that also held a number of foil-wrapped chocolates sat on the table.

  Angel unpacked his few clothes and put his toiletries in the bathroom alongside the ones supplied by the hotel. He found the TV remote and switched on the flat screen attached to the wall. He flipped channels for a moment, looking for any report on his brother’s death. A knock at the door took his attention away from the weather report.

  The hotel management had sent a tray of coffee and a glass of his favorite Scotch. The gesture touched Angel. He sat on the small couch and gazed at the TV screen as he sipped at the whisky. A news update featured pictures of the floral tributes outside Rory’s house. Regret filled Angel. He’d not laid flowers—not even thought to buy any even though he’d sat there in his car and watched others do it. What’s the matter with me? He tried to remember the last words he and his brother exchanged, but all that came to mind was his angry, ‘See you around.’

  His smartphone buzzed from the table where he’d left it. Angel picked up the call.

  “Angel Starc.”

  “Mr. Starc, this is Detective Inspector Taylor. Please accept my condolences on your brother’s death. I must apologize for not contacting you earlier, but we believed that you were on a flight to Paris.”

  Angel raised his eyebrows as he wandered to the window, listening to the detective. How did they get that information? He didn’t ask.

  The detective continued. “Rory’s wife, Samantha, indicated she would call you. The coroner has reported a heart attack as the cause of death. You probably know Rory had been ill for some time. We can release your brother’s body as soon as you’ve made arrangements. There are no suspicious circumstances. It’s a small town. Everyone knew and loved Rory. The coroner conferred with your brother’s doctor after concluding his own examination. Again, I’m sorry. Do you have any questions, Mr. Starc?”

  Angel tweaked the drape back and gazed out the window at the night. I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.

  “Can I see him?”

  Detective Inspector Taylor hesitated. “I can arrange that for tomorrow afternoon. Where are you staying? I’ll bring you to see him, but you’ll likely want to make funeral arrangements soon. The undertaker will collect your brother’s body for you.”

  Angel dropped the corner of the drape. “I’m at the hotel in town. There is only one, but you can pick me up from the house, Rory’s home, tomorrow afternoon—one will be good.” Angel supplied the information without thinking that the detective would already know.

  The police officer ended the call. “One PM. I’ll say goodnight, Mr. Starc.”

  Angel slumped onto the nearby armchair. Sorrow welled up in his heart. I talked about him as if he’s a stranger. He was ill. Why didn’t he tell me?

  He cast around for some kind of comfort and normalcy. Angel called his assistant.

  “Sorry, Marcie, I meant to call earlier, but I’ve arrived and everything is so … strange … anyway, I’m here safe. How are things?”

  His assistant’s voice held sadness. “I saw the news and the flowers outside your brother’s gate. It must be hard. I called Michel and they’re going ahead with shooting the stills around Pari
s for the opening montage. They’ll follow your storyboard and plans. Michel will email them to you, that way you can decide if you need more or different shots. Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

  “Thanks, Marcie. Goodnight.” Angel slid the phone into his pocket.

  He brought his laptop out of the protective sleeve in his bag and set it on the small desk. The hotel provided free Wi-Fi and a triangular card prism with printed instructions and password lay on the back of the desk. Angel booted his computer and joined the network. With a sigh and a heavy heart, he searched for a local funeral parlor. There was only one. Angel keyed the phone number into his smartphone and closed the Google street view. I’ve been on that street so many times, and I never saw the place. It’s right next to the flower shop. The atmosphere lay heavy with unreality. He felt as if he swam through a fog of regret and unanswered questions.

  He checked his list of contacts on his smartphone. The family doctor’s number was still there even though it had been years since Angel called the practice. He chanced a call remembering they remained open until nine on two evenings a week.

  The receptionist answered. As soon as she heard it was Angel calling, she transferred his call to the doctor.

  “Angel, I expected a call from you. I’m so sorry about Rory. How are you holding up?

  “I’m shocked I guess. I had no idea Rory was ill.”

  The doctor supplied information immediately. “Almost a year ago now, he suffered a cardiac event. Investigations turned up a congenital heart defect. I’m sorry, Angel. It should have been caught at birth. He could have died at any time in his life. We thought there was a possibility of fixing something in the heart, but it would have been a long shot. He chose to work and enjoy what he could.”

  Angel stood and walked the length of the room and back, taking in the news. Eventually he croaked out, “I see.”

  The doctor’s voice held concern. “You have nothing to worry about. You were thoroughly checked because of your mom’s age.”

  Angel had no answer. The fact he might have the same defect hadn’t entered his head. He took a deep breath.

  “If you need anything, Angel, call me. Don’t try to cope alone.” The doctor’s gentle tone brought tears to his eyes.

  “Thank you, I will.” He ended the call, slid his phone onto the desk, ran his hands through his hair, and walked across to the bathroom.

  Angel scooped handfuls of water and splashed it over his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked the same as usual. It didn’t seem right. He turned and went to put on his jacket. His stomach growled. Despite everything, Angel was hungry. He never ate before a flight, so it was a full twenty-four hours since he’d eaten. He picked up the suite key and left to go downstairs to the restaurant.

  Chapter Five

  The hotel restaurant had a casual but elegant vibe. Angel stopped at the open double glass door and the hostess approached with a smile.

  “Mr. Starc, I’ll show you to your table.”

  Angel followed her.

  His table was alongside the sunroom that ran the full length of the building and looked out onto the river through huge French windows. The place glittered with sparkling white fairy lights among the large-leaved plants in huge pots. The sunroom was divided from the dining area by a glazed partition and just visible through the two sets of glass were the towpath lights.

  Angel took a seat at the table she indicated.

  The action brought forth a flood of condolences from the hostess now that Angel was away from other people.

  “I’m so sorry about Rory. Everyone in town loved him. It’s very sad.”

  Angel nodded slowly to show he accepted her sympathy as he answered. “I’ve been told that so often. He’ll be missed, I guess.” He didn’t know what else to say. He looked down at the table. The situation threatened to overwhelm him.

  The hostess took the hint. “I’ll send over your server for the night, Mr. Starc.”

  “Thank you.”

  She’d no sooner left him than a young man dressed in black pants and crisp white shirt walked rapidly to Angel’s table with the large card that was the menu.

  “Will I send over the wine waiter, sir?”

  “No, I’d like iced water, thank you.”

  The young man left him to read the menu.

  Angel cast his eyes over the offerings, trying to feel normal. His hunger was basic. He didn’t want fancy, just a simple meal. When the server came back to the table with his iced water, he ordered steak and salad.

  Angel sipped the glass of water, absently gazing around the room at the other diners without really seeing them, until his eyes met those of a man a few tables away. A shock of some emotion ran down Angel’s back. His thoughts tumbled as he struggled to recall where he’d seen this man. The breadth of the man’s shoulders and the thick well-cut hair was resoundingly familiar. He stared without realizing into the dark eyes of the sexy stranger.

  A slow smile appeared on the hunk’s lips. His eyes held an invitation.

  Angel’s stomach lurched. He was so out of practice he didn’t know if this was a gay guy sending signals, or another of his brother’s fans showing sympathy from across the room. Angel tore his gaze away. As much as he’d craved the chance to meet a romantic partner in the last year, he didn’t know what to do right then. When the server turned up with his steak, gratitude flooded Angel. He could hide behind eating his meal.

  He studiously cut up his steak and took a bite. The meat melted in a mouthful of flavor. Angel ate a little more and toyed with his salad. Without thinking, he flicked his gaze across the room. The handsome man stared at him. Angel’s heart pounded alarmingly. He looked away. He put down his fork. Hell, what’s wrong with me? This isn’t the time to be looking at guys … although it might take my mind off things. He emphasized the word things in his mind.

  He’d satisfied his hunger and now his spirits sank. Angel chanced raising his eyes to look for the server. The stranger no longer sat at a table. A flurry of mixed emotions ran riot in Angel, disappointment, relief, and a surprising all-encompassing regret.

  The server must have read Angel’s mind because he loped over to Angel’s table with a smile.

  “Can I get you anything, sir?”

  Angel ordered coffee. He gazed at the twinkling lights adorning the sunroom. I need love, or sex … someone in my life … but I’ll never have it. I’m down because of Rory and, and stuff … it’s dredged up all my latent loneliness. I need to get a grip.

  His order of coffee was delivered swiftly. The server bent a little and whispered.

  “Mr. Starc, another guest has asked me to give you this.” He held out a small fold of white paper.

  Angel’s hopes leapt. Maybe it’s the guy from across the room. He accepted the note. More than likely a condolences note…

  The server left him.

  Angel’s fingers shook as he flipped open the fold. His eyes traveled swiftly along the sentences.

  ‘I’d like to buy you a drink. I’ll be in the bar if you’re interested.’ Guilt also pricked him as a surge of happiness rose in his heart.

  Angel glanced around checking if anyone watched. This has to be from the guy I stared at. Do I accept? Yes. I must. I can’t just let this chance go by. It will take my mind off things. I’m a mess. He pushed his guilt away. Normally businesslike, highly professional, and in control, the way his stomach had lurched and his heart hammered at the sight of the attractive man killed his composure. He beckoned to the server.

  “Will you have my coffee sent through to the bar, please?”

  Chapter Six

  Matt cradled the whisky glass in his hand for a few seconds. His heartbeat sped up as anticipation flooded him. The handsome man who’d sat alone and ate little fascinated him. Matt knew the guy stared without seeing for a while, and then the eye contact when he saw Matt, was electrifying. No one had ever looked at Matt that way. The sheer sexual hunger and loneliness in those pale
eyes forced a shock of attraction to spark along his stomach muscles. There was no mistake. This handsome man was gay. Matt swished his drink around and the ice cubes clinked in the glass. Will he join me? Let him take the chance. It’s time I had someone in my life.

  Matt forced himself to lean casually on the bar. He put down the glass. His hand shook. Fucking calm down. He might not come. He probably won’t. It was a bad idea to send a note. Who do I think I am, some movie character? Matt felt rather than saw his quarry approach. His mouth went dry. He suddenly wanted the beautiful Italian tiled floor to open up and let him fall into the hole where failed attempts at finding love littered the black chasm.

  “I got your note. Thank you … for sending it … I asked for my coffee to be sent in. Would you like a cup of coffee … or another drink?”

  Matt’s entire body reacted to the low, halting tones of the man’s voice. Relief and fear flooded him. He sent a silent request into the ether, which generally fed him premonitions. Don’t let me mess this up. He straightened and faced the man taking in every facet—pale green eyes, like the shallow water lapping at a tropical beach, the sort of handsome face that usually carried guys into a modeling career, and wavy dark hair that Matt itched to run his fingers through. His stomach clenched and a strange melting feeling gathered between his legs. Fucking hell, he’s amazing.

  Matt tried a smile hoping it didn’t manifest as a grimace.

  “Hi. Matt Loewe. Thanks for showing up.” What? Thanks for showing up, hell.

  “Angel Starc, pleased to meet you.” The gorgeous man held out his hand.

  Surprised by the Starc name, and how stupid he probably sounded, Matt hesitated to take the handshake, and then he grasped the cool strong hand. A moment of extreme connection made him widen his eyes at Angel. Matt’s ‘mysteriousness’ ignited and he felt as if he knew this man, or, ridiculous as it seemed to his common sense right then, that they belonged together.