The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [52]
"Hello, Nick!" said Sophie, coming round and kissing him on both cheeks with beaming goodwill, which he put down to her being such an up-and-coming actress. He wanted to introduce Leo, but he thought something wrong might be said, based on his excited gabble at Hawkeswood, when he was stoned. It was one of those inevitable but still surprising moments when mere wishful thinking was held to account by the truth. He said,
"You're going to be late for lunch," and thought he sounded rather rude.
"I know," said Toby. "Gran wants one of her sessions with Sophie. So we're keeping it as short as possible."
"Well, I love your grandmother," Sophie said, with mock petulance.
"No, she's a marvellous old girl," said Toby; and it reminded Nick of second-hand things he used to say at Oxford, sagacious remarks about his parents' famous friends. He smiled vaguely at Leo. If Sophie hadn't been there, Nick thought, then he could have shown Toby off to Leo as a glamorous accessory to his own past, perhaps something more . . . But like this Toby was hopelessly claimed and placed.
Nick said, "Sophie Tipper, Toby Fedden: Leo Charles," and Leo said "Leo" both times as he shook hands.
"Right," said Toby, "fantastic . . . We know all about you," and he gave an encouraging grin.
"Oh, do you," said Leo, drily doubtful at the return of his own phrase.
"Leo's Nick's new boyfriend," Toby said to Sophie. "Yah, it's really great."
Nick only took a quick agonized peep at Leo, whose expression was scarily blank, as if to dramatize his unrelinquished power of choice. The welling confidence of a few minutes before looked a foolish thing. Nick said, "Well, we don't want to jump the gun."
"But that's wonderful," said Sophie, as though Nick's welfare, his unhappy heart, had long been her concern. He saw her reaching wide to bless the double triumph of boyfriend and black.
"He's been keeping you very much to himself," said Toby. "But now we've caught you at it. So to speak!" And he blushed.
"We're just going for a little toddle," said Leo.
"That's marvellous." Toby seemed as thrilled as Sophie by what they imagined was happening, and Nick had a sad clear sighting of his deeper, perhaps even unconscious reason: that an obscure pressure, a sense of unvoiced expectations, might be lifted from him by the transference of Nick's adoration to another man. As Gerald might have said of something quite different, it was hugely to be encouraged. And maybe Sophie sensed that too. They'd probably even talked about it, before sleep, as a vague problem—just for a moment, before it shrank into irrelevance like shoes kicked off at the end of the bed. . ."So you're not joining us for lunch?" Toby went on.
"Not invited," said Leo, but with a cheerful shake of the head. Nick raced away from the mere idea of it, as a nexus of every snobbery and worry, scene of tortured intercessions between different departments of his own life: Leo—Gerald—Toby—Sophie—Lady Partridge . . .
"Well, another time," said Toby. "We must be going, Pips. But let's all meet up soon?"
"I knew we wouldn't find my ring," said Sophie, with the crossness that hides a sweetness that hides a toughness.
"We'll come back after lunch. The girl's got to have a ring," Toby explained, which Nick didn't like the sound of.
Leo had kept up an attitude of steady ironic contemplation of the young couple, but then he said, "I know I've seen you," and looked faintly embarrassed by his own gambit. Sophie's face was a lesson in hesitant delight.
"Oh . . ."
"I may be completely wrong," said Leo. "Weren't you in English Rose?"
Disappointed, she seemed to struggle to remember. "Oh, no . . . Clever you, but no, I wasn't in that one."
"That was Betsy Tilden," said Nick.
"Right, oh yeah, Betsy . . . No, I know I've seen you . . ."
Nick wanted to say that she'd only been