“Why? You have my mobile number. What are you going to do?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then unlock your damn phone.”
Rudy did as asked then handed the phone back.
Trevor found what he wanted, pushed his thumb on the app then raised the phone to his mouth, all the while smiling Rudy in the eyes.
“I love you, Rudy Mortimer. I love you more than life itself. If you’re ever feeling down, listen to this and remember that I’m out there somewhere, thinking of you, thinking of your arm around me as we look out onto a snow-filled landscape. And somehow, I’m going to find my way back to you. That much I promise. Because I love you, Rudy, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
With that, Trevor thumbed off the device and hit the play button.
“I love you, Rudy Mortimer…”
When he held out the phone and looked up into Rudy’s eyes, a tear spilt down one of his new boyfriend’s cheeks. The sight undid him, and he strode forward, folding Rudy into his arms.
“Rudy, I really mean those words,” said Trevor, feeling the embrace returned. “We’ll figure something out. But I need you to be strong. Can you do that?”
Instead of replying, Rudy nodded his damp face in Trevor’s shoulder.
As Trevor went to move away, Rudy pulled him firmly back.
“I love you too, Trev. And I’m sorry I’ve been moody this morning, but I never appreciated how hard the reality of losing someone as special as you would hit me. But I also promise to work at us being together again.”
Chapter Twenty
Close To You
Sunday in late January, Trevor sat in the booth of a closed restaurant on Edgware Road. On his day off, he had been doing the owner—his client—a favour, using his laptop and a portable scanner to finalise the restaurant chain accounts and getting everything ready to go off to the official accountant. But Trevor had an ulterior motive. During the week, he had received a message from Rudy to say he would be in Central London for the day—connecting from a business meeting in the south—and could they meet for a drink somewhere. Rudy had suggested a wine bar in Central London. What had gotten his attention was Rudy telling him the meeting was important. What did that mean?
Since the New Year, Rudy had been rushed off his feet, helping his father with the business while his brother and sister-in-law took a skiing holiday in Europe. Somewhat cryptically, Rudy had mentioned having something he needed to say, something that needed to be said in person.
After Trevor returned home, they had been texting and calling each other daily. Trevor warmed inside every time he saw Rudy’s name pop up on his screen, the feeling intensifying whenever he heard Rudy’s voice. Hesitant as always, Trevor wondered if, given time, Rudy would eventually cool off. But every communication since New Year had been upbeat and sincere.
Once again he read the text suggesting they meet in a wine bar not far from the restaurant. Trevor could hop on a bus and arrive well before one. A little after midday, and not only was his stomach churning but his heart felt just about ready to jump out of his chest.
A sound grabbed his attention, of someone unlocking the front door and stepping inside. To his surprise, the restaurant owner appeared. Marcus Vine and his chain of restaurants called Old Country had become a big name on the London restaurant scene, and despite his celebrity status, Marcus came across to everyone who met him as an everyman—genuine and down to earth. Trevor had even brought Frank and Johnny to the Shepherd’s Bush chain once, where they had been treated like royalty.
After Marcus’ hard work, the restaurant had finally won a Michelin Star award. The man knew how to put together incredible dishes. He also looked after his members of staff, and Trevor, as the man’s bookkeeper-stroke-accountant—albeit a consultant—was treated as such.
“I thought you were supposed to be in Cairns,” said Trevor, checking the date on his computer screen.
“Despite the wonderful weather—it’s midsummer down under—plus the amazing seafood, wines and excellent diving, we flew back last week. On the eighteenth,” said Marcus, parking himself in the other side of the booth Trevor had commandeered. “Tom missed the girls too much. So did I, if truth be told. Ah, here’s the man himself.”
Marcus’ husband did not have Rudy’s breeding, but there was something about his stature and his natural masculine attractiveness that turned people’s heads. Togged out on this cold January lunchtime in simple jeans and a navy turtleneck sweater beneath a long grey trench coat, he moved with such ease and confidence. And Trevor couldn’t help but notice the adoring looks from Marcus as Tom slid into the booth next to his husband and pecked him on the cheek.
“You’ve still managed to get great tans, both of you. I must look like a vampire by comparison. Now you’re here, I might as well tell you what I told Michelle. Your books are updated for all four restaurants and in excellent shape. You’ve had record takings this holiday season, so well done. I’ve emailed everything to you in short form, and I’ve made a few recommendations of where you might want to offset some of your costs against tax when the time comes, but you’ll have to let your official accountants decide whether that’s feasible or not. Most important thing is that your accounts are up to date. Now it’s just a case of keeping them that way until it’s time to submit.”
“See what I mean?” said Marcus, turning to Tom. “He’s priceless. Do you want me to ask him, or will you?”
“Ask me what?”
“One of the reasons I’m here today, and not at home,” said Tom, drawing Trevor’s attention, “is because—and you can always say no—I need someone to look over my accounts. Marcus has been singing your praises about how much time and money you save him. At the moment, I’ve got a part-time bookkeeper, but I still spend almost a fortnight each year sorting through papers and invoices, and half the time I’m sure I’m missing things.”
“You own a restaurant too?” asked Trevor.
