Saving Mr. Bell

Chapter Eighteen

Arlo

Three hours after taking the phone call from his manager and Rudolf was still upset. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he didn’t have to. It was in his monosyllabic replies to any question I asked, the hour he’d spent staring out of the window, the time after that he’d spent alone in the bedroom when we were usually together, and in the way he was playing with the food I’d put in front of him rather than eating it.

It felt like one conversation with his manager had undone all my good work in bringing him here and getting him to open up. I appreciated it wasn’t quite that simple, but it was hard to know what to say that wouldn’t make things worse. The alternative, though, was just letting him walk out of my life without saying anything. “So, what happens tomorrow?” I asked. “After Jade has someone pick you up, I mean?”

Rudolf moved a meatball from one side of his plate to the other. “They’re going to drive me to the airport.”

“What about your stuff at the hotel in Austria?”

He shrugged. “No idea. She never mentioned it. I guess she’ll get someone to pick it up if she hasn’t done so already. The room was only booked for a couple more nights after you—”

“Borrowed you.”

A hint of a smile, gone so quickly I wasn’t sure I hadn’t imagined it. “It’s all replaceable. Clothes mostly.” He dropped his gaze to his chest, where he wore one of my T-shirts as usual. “I haven’t worn my own clothes in over a week, so I’m not going to get my knickers in a twist over them. If they’re gone, they’re gone.” He plucked at the fabric, pulling it away from his chest. “Do you mind if I borrow this tomorrow? I don’t want to wear my club clothes to the airport, in case I get papped.”

“Take anything you need.” I cut a meatball in half and ate it. “And then what?”

“I’m supposed to fly to France.”

“And what, just pick up where you left off?” There was no keeping the disdain out of my voice. “Will your father be there?”

Another sidelined meatball joined the first as Rudolf shrugged again. “I doubt it. He’s probably back in Hertfordshire.”

Hertfordshire was where the family home was. It was the same place where the documentary crew and I had filmed, the mansion big enough to house all of us until Jeremiah had given us our marching orders and virtually had us escorted off the premises. “Won’t he want to see you? He’ll have been worried, surely?”

“I don’t know.” Rudolf gave up on any pretense of eating after only a few mouthfuls and pushed his plate away. “Sorry. I’m not hungry.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine because it had me concerned what would happen when Rudolf left here. Would he slide straight back into the hedonistic lifestyle that stopped him from having to think? “You don’t have to go tomorrow.” And there they were, the words I’d been doing my best not to say in case they sounded too desperate. “You can stay here. I’ve rented this place right through to the week after New Year. We can stay here. It’s been fun, right?”

A longer smile this time, genuine warmth in this one. “It has been fun. I won’t say I’ve enjoyed every minute because the first day was decidedly rocky. You know, what with my brush with hypothermia… But after that.”

“So… stay. When the car comes tomorrow, tell it to drive away. Tell them you’ll come back under your own steam, that you’re taking Christmas and New Year off.”

Rudolf reached up to massage his neck while he contemplated my words. He’d say yes and everything would be alright. We’d continue the way we’d been. Lost in our own little bubble of happiness. “I can’t,” he finally said. “Life doesn’t work like that.”

I leaned forward, any interest in my meal long gone. “Who says? We’re in charge of our own destiny.”

“It’s a lovely fantasy.”

“It’s not a fantasy. You can be anything you want to be, whether that’s Rudolf Bell, world-renowned concert pianist, or Rudolf Bell, gardener.”

“Gardener!” He raised an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

I shrugged. “You’re good with an axe. I guess I went from axe to spade. But, my point is that what you do doesn’t define you. It’s just one part of you. You’re so much more than that.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

He smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“But?”

“But nothing. I was just making an observation that Arlo Thomas, the man who asks the hard-hitting questions in his documentaries, is actually quite sweet.”

“Yeah well,” I grumbled. “What I do doesn’t define me either.”

“I have to go tomorrow. I’m just putting off the inevitable if I don’t.”

The annoying thing was he was right. Out of the two of us, he was the one being objective about the situation. “I could come with you.” I hadn’t known I was going to make the offer until the words were already out there. It made sense, though, the idea gaining substance in my mind. I could look out for him. Do what no one else in his life seemed willing to do. Put the man first rather than his career.

“No.” The immediate rebuttal might have been delivered softly, but it didn’t stop it from stinging like a bitch, and I had to work hard to keep my expression neutral. “I have to face up to things on my own. There’s going to be a lot of questions asked about where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.”

“Tell them to fuck off. Tell them it’s none of their business. Tell them you’ve had enough of dancing to their tune.”

Rudolf took my plate and his over to the sink and started filling it with water. “You telling me what to do is no better than them telling me what to do.”

Ouch! That shut me up. Because I was guilty of that. I hadn’t turned up at his hotel and asked him if he wanted to come away with me. I’d just taken it upon myself to decide for him. Therefore, no matter how difficult it was, I had to let him do what he thought was right. This wasn’t about me. It was about him.

We didn’t have sex that night, and I was glad. It would have felt like a melancholy act, a goodbye that I didn’t want to say. Instead, we lay wrapped in each other’s embrace, the darkness enshrouding us. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but doing that would put pressure on him.

“Are you still awake?” I finally asked when the silence had gone on for too long.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

I trailed my fingers down his arm, memorizing the way his skin felt. “About what?”

“Stuff.”

“Oh well, glad we cleared that up.”

“I’m coming back here, you know?”

A tiny kernel of hope exploded in my chest. “You are?”

“Unless you don’t want me to?”

“I want you to.” I need you to.

“Then, I will.” I wanted to believe him, but I was realistic about all the things in the big wide world that could change his mind. “And if I don’t, you could always kidnap me again.”

“Oh, we’re back to using the word kidnap, are we?” I didn’t have to see Rudolf’s smile to know it was occurring. “Yeah, well, you should probably know that I used up all my favors to get hold of the information about your whereabouts.”

Fingers carded through my hair, his touch feather-soft and oh so welcome. “I’d love to know who told you that.”

“I bet you would.”

“I could torture you.”

“You could try.”

“You need to remember that I’m good with an axe.”

“I can hardly forget when you keep reminding me every opportunity you get.”

“Shit! That reminds me. I need to chop some wood for you in the morning before I go.”

I pinched him, Rudolf squirming away with a laugh. “I can manage.”

“Just don’t chop anything off that I like.”

“I’m not going to chop my cock off.”

“I was talking about your hands.”

“Of course you were.”

I tried to stay awake and keep Rudolf talking for as long as I could, unwilling to give in to the inevitability of the next day arriving, but eventually I fell asleep with Rudolf snoring softly next to me.

Everything was painfully normal the next day—Rudolf even rediscovering enough of an appetite to eat breakfast—until the midnight blue Land Rover drew up outside just before midday. The driver didn’t come in, leaving the engine idling outside while he waited. There was no emotional goodbye. No kiss either. There was just Rudolf lifting a hand in one last wave as the vehicle drove off, with him in the back of it. He hadn’t repeated what he’d said last night in the bedroom's darkness about coming back, and I hadn’t asked, too scared he’d laugh it off and put it down to drowsiness talking. Would he be back? And if so, when? Tomorrow? The next day? I guess only time would tell. All I could do was wait. And be here for him if he returned.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at the number I’d inputted that morning.

Arlo: Safe trip X

An hour passed before I got a reply.

Rudolf: Thanks.

One word. No kiss. It didn’t bode well. At least I had his number, though. It was something.