The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (45 page)

But I devoted all my spare time to fucking with Xavier
, Fletcher thought, looking away. He schooled his features into something approaching neutrality. “The case generated a lot of work I didn’t expect,” Fletch said. “I  basically had to recreate their financial records because I wanted to check whether Lachance had paid someone to set the fire.”

“But you didn’t find any evidence?”

“No. That’s not to say there’s not some doubt but I don’t think he was behind it.”

Albert nodded, accepting this. No doubt he thought Fletcher’s assessment was objective rather than subjective. Fletcher hoped it was, too.

He lingered a moment longer, dissatisfied and uneasy. It had been nine years since he first met Albert. There had always been, at least until the last few miserable months, a connection between them of some sort, a mutual respect and interest, though Fletcher had had to do all the work in creating a friendship, making them lovers. And now, just as Fletch was about to risk severing that connection entirely, Albert seemed to be making an effort, no matter how negligible, to maintain it. Strange.

Still, there was rarely any way of resolving this familiar feeling of dissatisfaction without holding the man in his arms and establishing at least a physical connection. And Fletcher’s conscience had deemed such approaches to be completely out of the question. “Goodnight,” Fletcher murmured instead, pleased when he received a nod of acknowledgment.

Passing the room service trolley that they had left in the corridor with the debris of dinner, Fletch thought of Albert’s barely discernible expression of displeasure when he first tasted the food. Once, during those whirlwind days in New England, Fletcher had caught that very expression and asked about the food. Albert had immediately given a succinct and detailed description of all its faults and shortcomings. But the man never complained otherwise. That might surprise most people, that such a fastidious man would not voice a complaint. He seemed to accept that, especially as a vegetarian, he was unlikely to find a great deal of food in hotels and restaurants that was up to the standards he set with his own cooking. And given the amount of time Albert spent traveling around the country on cases, he must have encountered a high number of unacceptable meals.

Well, there was no point in worrying over Albert. Tomorrow’s trouble would come soon enough. Fletch undressed and slid between the cold sheets. Odd not to be in Xavier’s king size bed, in Xavier’s overwhelming embrace. Wondering vaguely whether Xavier missed him, too, Fletcher slipped into sleep.

The bedside clock read 11:07, which must be wrong because it was light outside and surely he’d only gone to bed half an hour ago. Fletcher rubbed at his eyes, then tried again. It was light, it was morning and when he reached for his watch, discarded on the floor by the bed with his shirt, it confirmed that it was indeed almost lunchtime. That meant he’d slept for over twelve hours. “Oh damn it to hell,” he whispered hoarsely.

He had enough presence of mind to order coffee from room service before taking a quick shower, so could gulp down two cups of it while dressing. Then he headed for Albert’s room.

The man was sitting there at the table, reading a medical journal.

“I’m sorry,” Fletcher said. “I didn’t mean to sleep in late.”

“You said you were tired,” Albert pointed out, “so it wasn’t unexpected.”

“But I meant us to  -”

“What?” Albert prompted with a small show of interest when the silence stretched. He turned a page and scanned it.

“Talk. Spend time together. See the mountains.”

“You obviously needed to sleep instead, and that allowed me to catch up on some work.”

“Damn it,” Fletch started, then subsided again immediately. No point in getting angry at the mess this weekend would be. He just had to get through it, that’s all. “Are you hungry? Could we grab an early lunch, or a late breakfast or whatever the hell it is, then go out for a drive?”

“That would be fine,” Albert replied mildly. He stood, put the journal neatly away in his briefcase, then pulled on his suit jacket. “In fact, I  took a walk this morning, for exercise. The surroundings are attractive, and the air is fresh.”

Fletch frowned in consternation. There was something very wrong with this scenario but he was in no condition to figure it out right now. “Let’s go,” he suggested, and led the way out of the room.

South Park stretched before them, an enormous flat valley high up in the mountains, the surrounding peaks creating a jagged horizon, a pale blue sky arching infinite above them. Fletch stared at the view, trying to appreciate it, attempting to put off the necessary conversation a few minutes more.

He’d parked the car to one side of the look-out, hoping the few tourists would stay out of hearing distance. Albert sat beside him in the passenger seat, silent, and apparently also contemplating the scenery, though Fletcher presumed the man’s thoughts were elsewhere. How to start this horrible thing?

“This is more dramatic than attractive,” Albert said. “The massive scale of the mountains impresses all the more because of the distance.”

“What?” Fletch had said that aloud, astounded at this commentary from a man who never voluntarily went sightseeing, whose pleasure in nature seemed to extend no further than his carefully tended garden boundaries. “I  mean, I’m glad you like it.”

“Perhaps
appreciate
is more accurate than
like
. This view provides an interesting perspective on the size of the mountain range.”

“Yes.” What else to say? He wasn’t used to having this sort of conversation with the man. Odd and amusing, how formal Albert’s language was, as if he were writing an autopsy report.

Of course, Fletcher reminded himself, Albert wasn’t used to having this sort of conversation with anyone. That meant that Albert was making an effort at communication right now, maybe at not only maintaining but enhancing that connection between them. That meant that maybe Fletcher had had some sort of positive influence on the man, that Albert was now considering the things that Fletcher liked, and was trying them on for size. Perhaps he was even beginning to enjoy nature in general or the Rockies in particular. Incredible.

And incredibly bad timing.

“I have to tell you something,” Fletcher blurted out before any further progress could be made.

“Yes, I know,” Albert said. When Fletcher turned to stare at him in surprise, he continued dryly, “I  did realize that something is troubling you.”

Fletcher suddenly felt like crying. Albert was about to be hurt as deeply as he’d ever been, at least in his adult life, and Fletcher hadn’t even properly considered the consequences before now. Sure, he’d thought about it on an intellectual level, but not on a gut-wrenchingly emotional one - Fletcher was swamped by how he imagined Albert was about to feel. Hurt, betrayed, jealous, in epic proportions. He’d doggedly remain friends, or so Fletcher hoped, but their relationship might never really recover from this. And if it didn’t, Fletch thought, that would be suitable punishment for his own selfish if necessary desertion.

“I didn’t mean to keep this secret,” Fletcher finally said, talking more in the direction of the dashboard than to Albert. “But I thought I should tell you in person, which is why I haven’t been phoning you as much. Well, that was one of the reasons, anyway.” He sighed, searching for words, not having planned this in any detail. “This is hard to say. And you probably won’t credit
how
damned hard, which makes it worse. I  really don’t want to hurt you.”

A silence grew. No further encouragement was offered.

He would just have to say it straight out. Like that doctor when his mother was ill, walking up to the huddle of Ash males in the corridor and saying, “I’m sorry, she’s died.” No preliminaries, no preparation. But Fletcher, for one, had preferred it, rather than waiting through the social niceties all the while knowing the worst and screaming inside,
Just damned well tell us!

“All right. I’m having an affair. With a man. He’s  … part of the arson case. Which makes it stupid, as well as unfair on you. Damn it  -” Fletcher broke off, considering. There was no possible point in hiding anything. “You know his name, at least. Xavier Lachance. You’ve even heard his voice, on the radio last night.”

“I see,” was the distant comment.

“He’s black.” Fletcher laughed humorlessly. “I’m a real equal opportunity fuck. Any race, any color, any religion, any gender  -”
Shut up, Fletcher, he already knows you’re a slut.

Silence.

“Say something, Albert. Anything. Lacerate me with that damned tongue of yours. It’s years since you last insulted me.”

And the man said very calmly, “There is no need for histrionics.” Then, with a slight tightening of the voice, “I  didn’t exact or expect any vows of fidelity from you.”

“Didn’t you?” Fletcher risked a glance, surprise more urgent than the guilt. His lover was stony-faced and remote, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. “The vows are implicit, aren’t they, in a relationship like ours? Even if they’re not spoken?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

Silence.

All right, obviously Fletcher had made a false assumption or two along the way, but that didn’t mean Albert wasn’t hurt by this. “Look,” Fletch continued, “I  want to be your friend still, but I want to continue with him. He’s - worthwhile. More than worthwhile. I  know this is selfish of me but that’s as honest as I can be.”

Albert was indeed hurt. He had retreated behind his dark glasses. He remained silent.

“Would you
please
say something?”

“Why are you telling me this?” was the distant question.

“Damn it, why do you
think
I’m telling you this? I’m being unfaithful to you. Partners usually confess such things to each other, don’t they?”

“You’ve never confessed such things to me before now.”

“Well, it only began on Monday,” Fletch said, frustrated and annoyed. “I  haven’t had the chance.” It was as if they were taking part in two disparate conversations. And then Albert’s meaning dawned on him. “Do you mean  - Oh
damn
it all, Albert! You think I’ve done this before? Who the hell with?”

“I’d assumed  -” Albert’s jaw visibly set. He forced out, “With women. Tyler Reece. Whomever.”

“No.” All this time, Albert had lived with the assumption  … “How could you even
think
that?” Fletch demanded. “I  couldn’t have done that to you.”

The man turned to stare at him, expression sardonic and bitter.
Obviously you can be and are unfaithful.

Angry at being caught in an apparent contradiction, and unable to immediately explain himself, Fletch bit back. “Where’s your logic, Albert? You never left me the time or energy to see anyone else, especially when I was in Washington. I’ve hardly even spoken to Ty for months.” And he cried out, “Damn you for thinking that of me!”

“But my assumption was justified, even if the details were incorrect.”

“No. This, with Xavier, it’s important to me, don’t you see? It’s not some meaningless fling.”

A pause. Then, surprisingly light, as if it really didn’t matter, “Are you telling me that you love him?”

Fletcher didn’t answer.

“Are you?”

“No,” Fletch said at last, “I couldn’t tell you that.” The man was waiting, as if he wanted to hear all the details.
Then he shall damned well have them.
“It’s more lust than love, it’s more a crush than being in love, it’s more convenience than anything. But it’s important.”

The curtest of nods. Albert was facing forward, arms crossed, expression masked.

“Is that it?” Fletcher asked, feeling betrayed.

“Unless you have anything more to confess,” Albert replied coolly.

“Nothing more.”

“Then, once you’re feeling recovered enough to drive, I  suggest we return to the hotel.”

Fletcher stared at his companion, wondering what the hell was going through Albert’s mind, wondering how he ever could have thought he knew the man. He should have realized Albert wouldn’t react in predictable ways, he should have anticipated this ghastly confusion. Everything felt so damned wrong. “All right,” he said. After a few moments of trying to gather his thoughts, Fletcher turned the ignition and headed back to the road.

Casting a last glance at the view, Fletcher figured he’d never visit South Park again without reliving this sour, sickening, guilty frustration.