“No,” said Spencer. “They’re kind of fake specs. Well,designerfake specs.”
Blake had left the frames behind after his last visit, and Spencer had never gotten around to returning them. Typical of Blake, he didn’t need glasses, the lenses being made of clear glass, but he thought the look made him appear more sophisticated in business meetings. Even at the time Spencer had found the oddity more pretentious than professional but had not voiced his opinion. Worst of all, Blake’s nose from bridge to tip was so thin the glasses always slipped down, and he was forever pushing them back up with his forefinger like a latter-day Clark Kent. Marshall, by comparison, rocked the look.
“Now put on your face mask and ski hat.”
Spencer enjoyed making Marshall do his bidding and with the hat, the glasses and the black mask, Marshall was pretty much unrecognisable.
“Go and look in the mirror.”
Marshall did as asked and chuckled at his reflection.
“The shades you wore yesterday were a bit much, by the way,” said Spencer. “Rather than make you look invisible, you came across as sinister, as though you were about to rob a bank or murder someone. But these make you look normal, and as the mask is mandatory right now, you’re not only being socially responsible, you’re also incognito and pretty hot.”
“Okay,” said Marshall, removing his mask and smiling at the last comment, but turning quizzically to Spencer. “What’s happening right now? Are you throwing me out?”
“Of course not. But at the end of the arcade of shops downstairs,” said Spencer, “there’s a locally run artisan coffee shop which also serves food. It’s doubtful anyone would recognise you in the twenty yards from here to there, but let’s not take any chances. They open at six-thirty, but I’m told the morning rush doesn’t start until around seven-thirty to eight. I’m usually gone by then. Dressed like this, both of us in glasses, we look like a couple of nerdy friends, or at a push you could bemy older brother. I suggest we go down, get some decent coffee and a muffin or bagel while you check your phone and let Darcy know where you are. And I can phone in sick.”
Marshall turned quickly at that comment.
“You’re not going to work today?”
“You know what, Marshall? I have never taken a sickie in the two years I’ve worked for Blackmores. I think I’m due a bit of latitude to spend the day taking care of a special friend in need. I think they can do without me for just one day, don’t you?”
Marshall’s generous smile lit up his face, and Spencer felt his stomach turn to jelly.
“I do. And can I say how nice it feels to have you looking after me. Are we ready to go, best geek friend?”
As soon as he pushed open the door to the Morden Bean Sanctuary, pungent aromas enveloped them both. Spencer visited the place very occasionally, on Saturday or Sunday mornings to check his phone, and recognised neither of the young servers behind the counter. Monday morning and only two tables out of around twenty were occupied, probably by other insomniacs.
Spencer took Marshall’s order then pointed to the empty table at the far end of the shop, a private corner where two armchairs of battered brown leather sat around a low circular coffee table. As Marshall, quite rightly, took the seat with his back to the room, Spencer noticed him fish in his jacket pocket for his phone and make a call. Some minutes later he joined Marshall with a tray of drinks—an Americano and a caffè mocha for Marshall, and an extra-shot caffè latte for himself—together with a plate of assorted muffins. He’d also bought a couple of croissants, and slices of quiche and pies to take away, for lunch, and had packed those into his bag.
“Have you checked in?” asked Spencer, lowering the tray onto the table. Marshall had removed his mask but kept the hat andglasses on. Although Spencer would have still recognised him by his handsome smile, nobody from the road or the door could see his face.
“Just spoke with Darcy. Things are much as we expected. She’s been flooded with calls from the press and she’s handling them with her usual hard-nosed professionalism. But we’re going to need to talk later today. At least she knows where I am now, and she’s going to pick me up around seven this evening. Fortunately I’m not needed in the studio this week, but Darcy is adamant that I don’t stay off the radar for too long, doesn’t want me to appear as though I’ve got anything to hide. Look, Spence, if you need to go in to work today—”
“Marshall. I’m staying home with you,” said Spencer, ripping away his mask. “In fact, I’m going to call our HR team right now—they won’t be in the office yet, but I’ll leave a message—and then I’ll text Bev and my boss. Neither will be up yet, but for a changetheycan both cover forme.”
Without a moment of hesitation, Spencer made the calls. As anticipated the one to HR went straight to the department voicemail, so he left a message saying he’d woken with a fever—which wasn’t far from the truth—and thought he should be a good corporate citizen and stay home. After that he texted both Clarissa and Bev, saying he was unwell, knowing both of them checked their respective phones for messages first thing. In a final act of defiance and with a self-satisfied sigh, he thumbed the power off button on his device.
“Done. Now I’m all yours for the day, without fear of getting any disturbances.”
“I’m honoured. Thank you, Spence.”
Spencer had begun to enjoy Marshall using his shortened name.
“Have you checked any of the online tabloids yet?”
“Yes,” said Marshall, turning his phone around and showing Spencer the same photo on the homepage of a morning tabloid internet site. “The article has obviously spilled onto the dailies. The cheap rags are having a field day at my expense.”
Spencer’s stomach curdled when he read the headline, not so much at Marshall being gay, but at the insinuation about him being involved in underaged sex. Once again Spencer decided to digress to save Marshall’s feelings.
“I have to say that resort looks amazing. Private, I’m guessing?”
“It was—or should have been. Don’t know if you read the whole article, but that photograph was taken in St Cezaire sur Siagne on the French Riviera. I hired a villa with a tennis court and swimming pool for the two of us. About five years ago. It had been a busy year. Joey had a few weeks off from shooting the soap, and he’d bought this new camera drone he liked playing around with. Which is how he managed to get photos of him starkers with his backside on full view and the one with me leaning over to kiss him. Thank goodness I chose to maintain my modesty.”
“Have to say, you rock those Speedos.”
“Thank you. Maybe I can model them for you one day.”
