The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [86]
"Ricky," said the man, and tried to kiss him again.
Nick giggled as he pulled back his head. "I just wondered if you wanted to come home with me and my friend? You know, have a bit of fun . . ."
" Well . . . " Ricky clearly thought it was a lot of bother when he had him here already. "How far is it?"
"Only . . . Kensington!"
"Kensington? Fuck—I don't know, mate." And he pressed against Nick with another impatient nod at the waiting lockup. Nick hugged him clumsily, and grunted at how much he would like to have him right here; but it would be a scandal with Wani waiting round the corner. He said,
"We've got a fantastic car."
"Yeah?" said Ricky. "Which is he, anyway, your friend? Sort of dark curly hair?" He gently pinched and twisted Nick's nipple, and Nick gasped as he said,
"You saw him . . ."
Ricky pondered and nodded and let Nick free himself. They took a moment to make themselves decent. "He's a bit stuck-up, is he, that one? Butter wouldn't melt in his arse?"
"I wouldn't say that . . . He's a bit shy," said Nick.
"We'll see about that, then," said Pdcky.
As they went out Nick said, "Can you do us a favour?"
"I bloody well hope so."
Nick winced. "Can you pretend you're married—or at least you've got a girlfriend . . ."
Ricky shrugged and shook his head. "I have got a girlfriend."
"Have you?" Nick stopped for a second with his chin tucked in, while Ricky stared at him and then winked.
"Quick on the uptake, aren't I?"
Nick tutted and blushed. "I must say you're fucking quick," he said, almost in Ricky's voice.
Outside on the path Wani hurried ahead with the preoccupied look of a famous person, while Nick and Ricky followed behind. Ricky clearly never hurried, he was his own lazy happening. He kept his eyes on the pretty back view of Wani, which made Nick proud and also apprehensive. He wondered just what they were going to do, and couldn't distinguish the nerves that are a part of excitement from a kind of resentment. Wani's nerves showed in his cool dissociating manner. They went along beside the wide grass bank, and one of the sunbathing men called out something to Ricky, who gave him a nod and a dirty smile back—Nick smiled too, as if he knew what was going on.
In the lane above, Wani, who was playing with the car keys, flipping the leather fob about, said, "You can drive, Nick," and threw them over to him. It was typical of Wani to dress up a command as a treat. Nick had often been the passenger in WHO 6, but he had only driven it once before, by himself, a short hop from the river back to Kensington that became a whole glittering evening of darting about, the Brompton Road, Queen's Gate, along by the Park, round and round, and with the curious feeling (with the roof down and the coldish air blustering in) of passing for Wani, of being WHO, that glamorous enigma. All of which rather withered as he slid back into the driving seat. The car was parked in close to the rustic fence, under the lime trees, and their sticky exudations had already stippled the windscreen. He held down the button to retract the roof and watched in the mirror as it lifted and folded away behind him and sunlight through the leaves fell in glancingly on the dials and knobs and amber walnut. The other two stood waiting for him to pull out, but not talking. Then Wani gestured Ricky into the back, where he sat with his knees wide apart, since there was very little legroom. "You all right there?" said Nick, looking over at the squashed contour of his packet and feeling oddly apologetic about both the splendour and the inconvenience of the car.
"I'm all right," said Ricky, as if he was driven about like this every day.
They started on the steep hill towards Highgate and Nick was amazed all over again by the power leaping up under the ball of his foot. They seemed to wolf up the lane, in four thoughtless growls.