Page 12 of Companion Required

Chapter Six

Kieran

Kieran skipped his lectures on the Friday of their flight to Singapore, his whole body buzzing with a combination of excitement and trepidation. He had arranged to shower at Cole’s place after finishing packing away the last of his own personal things in the large case—wash bag, beach towel, swimwear, sunblock, a huge bottle of aftersun and a couple of different factor suntan lotions. Except that, while packing, something unfamiliar inside the case caught his eye.

“What the hell’s this?” he asked, holding up a small zipped-up pouch.

“A holiday gift. From me to you. Emergency first aid, of sorts,” said Cole, leaning against the doorjamb and grinning mischievously.

Despite Cole’s earlier warning, Kieran’s gay-for-pay temp job had been an endless source of amusement, and he had become Kieran’s co-conspirator and confidant. On Cole’s advice, he had told Jules the absolute minimum, told her he would be an assistant to a CEO, travelling abroad, nothing more. Even storing the huge new suitcase full of holiday items at Cole’s place had been his friend’s brainwave. Had he brought the colossal thing back to his sister’s apartment, she would probably have sneaked a peek inside when he wasn’t around.

Kieran unzipped Cole’s gift and pulled out two packs of condoms and a tube of lubricant. Tilting his head to one side, he raised both eyebrows at Cole.

“Seriously? I hope you kept the receipt. You’re more likely to use these than me,” said Kieran, zipping the bag closed. “In fact, why don’t you keep them?”

“Do your Uncle Cole a favour and take them. You never know, you might get lucky.”

Once he had dried his curly locks and dressed in the new black tracksuit and trainers Kennedy had provided—something casual for the long-haul flight—he collected his luggage from Cole’s bedroom. In his life, he had flown less than a handful of times, and only within Europe, but he remembered how cramped the seats could be, especially with his long legs, his knees usually getting wedged against the seat in front.

Apart from the tracksuit, the other clothes he and Kennedy had shopped for two weeks ago already sat packed inside the case. Far too many, really, but Kennedy had insisted, telling him they would be away for twenty-eight nights and he didn’t want to rely on the cruise ship laundry service. Kieran had washed and ironed the items at Cole’s, and packed them away immediately despite Cole urging him to give a couple of the CK tees or Armani shirts a test run. The only item of clothing he had baulked at was the black dress suit ensemble, which included a wing-tip shirt, bow tie, burgundy cummerbund and shiny patent leather shoes. Still unsure about wearing anything so formal, he had tried none of those items on in the hope that he wouldn’t actually need to showcase them. But Kennedy had insisted on the last-minute purchase. Every cruise offered a formal evening at the captain’s pleasure, he had told him, and no companion of his would look out of place. He had even thrown in the huge new designer suitcase on wheels to pack everything in.

After getting a text message from Kennedy, he gave Cole a hug and peck on the cheek before heading out to the road. On the pavement outside the tenement block opposite Wandsworth Common, he stood waiting, more than a little anxious, wondering if he had done the right thing.

But the Saturday they had spent together had been surprisingly pleasant. At one point, laden down with shopping bags, Kennedy had asked him if he was enjoying hisPretty Womanexperience. When Kieran had looked blank, Kennedy had rolled his eyes and told him he really needed to brush up on gay trivia if he hoped to survive a gay cruise. That had prompted a diversion—a trip to the movie section of one of the few surviving HMV stores and the purchase of a dozen or so DVDs which Kennedy had labelled ‘homework’.

Kieran half suspected that Kennedy had road-tested the day to see if they would be able to get along, whether they could spend time together without getting on each other’s nerves. He had booked their medical tests at a private clinic on Carnaby Street first thing so they could shop throughout the morning, then have lunch in a humble Italian restaurant at the back of Piccadilly before finishing off shopping and heading back for their test results. Both of them had a clean bill of health, and Kennedy had dropped him off by taxi on his way home later that afternoon. Since then they had barely been in contact.

Ten minutes later than their agreed meeting time, he began to get concerned, wondering if he had misunderstood any of the instructions. That was until Kennedy sent him a message saying he was on his way. Twenty minutes later, distracted by other messages on his phone, he barely noticed as a black Bentley pulled up at the sidewalk and a driver, complete with black uniform and chauffeur’s cap, stepped out.

“Mr West? Let me take your bags for you, sir,” said the tall man, opening the back door and gesturing inside. “Mr Grey’s waiting for you.”

Unsure how to respond, and looking around quickly to check whether anyone had seen the spectacle, Kieran slipped into the back seat. Kennedy sat there in his business suit, phone clamped to his ear. Almost dismissively, he turned and nodded to Kieran while continuing to talk to someone. As they drove off, Kieran listened in on some of the conversation.

“If you could be in Okinawa on the twenty-first? We dock there overnight in Naha. Perfect. Let me know where? I’d suggest one of those small bars tucked away down the back streets. Anonymous and quiet enough to chat. Bring along whatever you have ready. Also, find out everything you can about Giorgio Milletto of Cold Steel Security, doesn’t matter how personal or insignificant. Send everything to my private account, yes? And what’s the name of that talented techie guy who works for you? Hiro, yes. Bring him with you to Okinawa. Take business class, if you have to, and bill me privately. Okay, Tim. See you soon.”

Once he had ended the call and slipped the device away, he turned to Kieran.

“We’re running late. Been trying to clear up a few issues before the flight.”

“Is this an Uber?”

“Hardly,” snorted Kennedy.

Without clarifying more, Kennedy pressed a button on the centre console and a disconnected voice sounded.

“Yes, Mr Grey?”

“Just a guesstimate will do, but how long to Heathrow?”

“I’m checking the traffic cams and RouteMaster. Rough estimate, an hour and ten.”

“Thanks.”

Without another word, Kennedy thumbed through his phone and dialled a number.

“Gina? Hello, this is Kennedy Grey from Grey—yes, the same. Look, I wonder if you might be able to help. We’re on our way to the airport, flying to Singapore tonight at eight-fifty, but we’re running late and the traffic is, well, you know what Friday night traffic is like. According to the driver, we’ll probably be at the terminal around eight. Anyway, I wondered if there was anything you could do to help get us through? Sorry, say that again. Yes, we both have luggage, but I’ve already checked us in online. It’s really just bag drop and security. Two persons. Yes, of course. I see. Excellent. That would be perfect, thank you so much for your help.”

Once again, Kennedy pressed the comms button on the console.

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