Page 42 of The Last Kiss

Harry shook his head. “Never taken a holiday anywhere.”

“No.” Ash bit his lip, looking away. “I suppose not. But I’d like to take you there one day, Harry. It’s so beautiful — so peaceful. And there are wild ponies on Exmoor. I think you’d love it.”

“I’m sure I would.”

Their eyes met and held, full of impossible dreams. “We’ve got today,” Harry said softly.We’ve got tonight.

With a decisive nod, Ash pushed to his feet. “And I’ve got an appointment to keep. Knowing Pollock, probably a luncheon to endure as well.” He cocked his head. “Will you visit your sister today?”

“If that’s alright.”

“You don’t need my permission, Harry. You’re not my — ” He bit that off, but it didn’t change the fact that Harrywashis servant. More quietly Ash said, “I’d like to be introduced, but…”

“But that would raise too many questions.” Harry stood up, too. “Kitty’s a canny woman, Ash. No one pulls the wool over her eyes.” And the sons of baronets didn’t pay social calls on their stableman’s family. He looked at the clock on the wall by the door. “I’ll be back by three. Shall we meet on the corner here?”

“At three.” Ash straightened his shoulders and put on a brave face; it didn’t fool Harry. “Wish me luck.”

“Always.” Only he wasn’t certain what manner of luck Ash wanted — to be given his old position back, or not. But what other choice was there for a man like Ashleigh Dalton? Fantastical dreams aside, they were both trapped in a world they didn’t fit and would have to snatch joy where they found it — however fleeting it might be.

***

What a strange experience it was, walking back into the offices of London Joint City and Midland after four years away. Everything was at once the same, yet different. Same desks, same scent of wood polish, same sound of scratching pens. But many new faces among the clerks, including several women. Before the war, Pollock would never have sanctioned such a radical step. Desperate times, Ash concluded.

Which made him think of Olive and the way she was battering at the door of a male world. He hoped she’d succeed although, ironically, her class — specifically her father — might hold her further back than these young working girls. One of whom glanced up with a curious tilt of her eyebrows making Ash look hurriedly away, afraid of giving offence. He’d never worked alongside women in the office and wasn’t entirely certain how to behave.

Luckily, at that moment, Pollock’s door swung open and out came the man himself. The privations of war, such as they’d been for the likes of Mr Albert Pollock, hadn’t diminished his round belly or subdued the rosy flush of his nose. “Dalton!” he exclaimed, mutton chops quivering atop his jiggling jowls. “Here you are at last. Began to think you’d never make it.”

Ash offered his hand to shake. “Mr Pollock. Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” Pollock gripped his hand hard. “Told your father we’d hold your position. Least we could do” — his gaze flitted to the cane in Ash’s hand — “under the circumstances.”

“I hope I earned that kindness on my own merit, sir. I don’t expect any special treatment.” Or pity, he might have added. “There’s plenty of good men in London looking for work.”

“Well, well,” Pollock blustered. “Come into my office and we’ll talk, Dalton. Lots of changes at London Joint City and Midland since you were here. Not least the name, eh?”

For the next hour, Pollock droned on about the recent absorption of the London Joint Stock Bank while Ash nodded and made the occasional comment. But his mind was elsewhere. The air in the office was stultifying, its stuffy, dusty scent so familiar he was instantly transported back to those years before the war. But far from making him nostalgic, it made him realise what a half-life he’d been living in those days. He’d been trapped behind a wall, bricked off from the world. A dead, unfeeling life. For all the hardships of the front, he’d never known such comradeship anywhere else — not at school, not at Cambridge, and certainly not at work. Never had he felt such love for other men, a pure platonic love for those frightened, brave, raucous, fragile men of all rank he’d lived with in the worst of times. And the best of times, too; everything had been heightened. To come back to this desiccated, colourless world of bank mergers made him feel like a great fist were closing around his lungs and squeezing out his breath. Like a snake returning to its shed skin, it would be impossible slip back into this old life.

Yet he had to work somewhere. Unlike his brother, he had no fortune to inherit and God knew he wasn’t fit for any other kind of work. Not like Harry. All Ash knew was money and business and —

He was struck by a sudden picture of himself standing in a stable yard with Harry, their hands clasped and the warm summer sun shining down on them. Thoroughbreds. Ash knew nothing about them, but Harry would know. Harry would know everything. And that…that would be a life. That would be a life to make his soul sing.

“…what do you say, Dalton? We can discuss the details over lunch at my club, eh? Toast your return.”

“My return.” That was why he’d come here, wasn’t it? There was no realistic prospect of refusing, of telling his father that he didn’t want his old position. That he was going to run away with Harry West instead and breed horses in the depths of the countryside, somewhere they could live and love far away from the censorious gaze of the world. “Of course,” he said mechanically. “I’d be delighted.”

Pollock’s club was filled with old men and Ash garnered a few nods of respect or approval as he limped after him between the dining tables, as if his maimed leg was a badge of honour among these old armchair warriors. Ignoring them, he sat down opposite Pollock and downed the brandy he was offered in one go. Anything to numb the creeping sense of claustrophobic horror.

They agreed — that is Pollock suggested it and Ash nodded mutely — to him starting work on the first of July, and Pollock named a generous salary. “Enough to settle down on, eh?”

Ash made a non-committal noise around his mouthful of food.

“Got a lady in mind, Dalton?”

“No.” He spoke before he remembered Pollock was a friend of his father and may well be aware of Olive. “That is, I’ve not been in a position to make any plans, sir.”

Pollock gave a braying laugh that set Ash’s teeth on edge. “Plenty of pretty misses in France, I dare say. But you can’t beat a good solid English girl for a wife, Dalton.”

Ash didn’t answer. He loathed these conversations, had always done his best to escape them whenever the port was passed around after dinner. Until now he’d had nothing to contribute, neither love nor desire to confess. But today his heart rebelled. Today he wanted to say,Yes. Yes, there is someone I love. Yes, there is someone I want to share my life with.

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