Folies d’Amour

 

By DRL

 

 

Part 2

 

From the moment his father and he left the Opera House, the beautiful stranger was constantly in Quatre’s thoughts and that night he dreamed of him, as was perhaps to be expected since the young man had made so formidable an impression on him.  He woke the next morning feeling refreshed and full of hope for what the day might bring.  He breakfasted in his bed – café au lait and two croissants still hot from the baker’s oven, with butter and apricot preserve.  After a leisurely bath, he dressed and then proceeded to haunt the elegant rooms and passageways of his father’s palatial town residence with his tense and restless presence until the afternoon.  Then he ordered the carriage to be prepared and brought to the mews, donned his best hat and his second-best coat (his best was in the process of having a stain removed from its sleeve by his valet), took up his stick and left the house.

 

He drove to the most beautiful square in town, climbed down and dismissed the carriage, telling the liveried coachman that he was not required to wait and that he would walk home.  He watched as the gleaming black carriage clattered away along the cobbled street, then he removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket.  Five minutes to three – he had timed it perfectly.  On a fine spring afternoon the square was the perfect place for a rendezvous, but would he come?  Would he keep the assignation that Quatre had scribbled on the card?

 

Quatre entered the pretty little garden in the centre of the square and stood near the fountain to admire the elegant old mansions of red brick and pale stone that surrounded the square.  The sun was shining brightly, the spring flowers were in full bloom and the trees that the fringed the garden were just showing their pink and white blossom.  The scene could not have been improved upon, but would he come?  As the minutes ticked by Quatre forced himself to stroll slowly about the little garden in an attempt to contain his slowly rising agitation.

 

At ten minutes past three exactly Quatre caught sight of him entering the garden through the same gate he had fifteen minutes earlier.  Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he strode quickly towards him, barely able to contain his excitement and delight.  The young man, whom Quatre had only previously seen in his evening clothes, was still the very picture of elegance in a charcoal-grey frock coat that fitted closely to the waist, then flared gently into a fuller skirt to his knees.  It was trimmed with a collar of black velvet, matched by cuffs of the same fabric.  His grey silk hat was beautifully brushed and gleamed in the sunlight, and in one gloved hand he held a silver-topped cane.  Quatre’s heart pounded in time with his steps as he hurried toward him, a welcoming smile on his lips, although the young man’s own expression remained impassive.

 

They met close to the fountain.  Quatre removed his hat and, on impulse, caught up one of the young man’s gloved hands and pressed it fervently to his lips, the supple, silver-grey kid feeling wonderfully warm to the touch, just as his thigh had that night...  He stared with affection into the young man’s face, remembering each feature with pleasure.  He was so beautiful, and his slight air of disdain enhanced his beauty enormously, in Quatre’s opinion.

 

“I cannot tell you how enchanted I am to see you again.”  Quatre said effusively, imbuing the hackneyed words with a wealth of meaning by his sheer intensity.

 

“Your invitation was so... unusual that it was difficult for me to refuse.”  The young man replied, and Quatre was at once smitten by his voice, quiet and mellow, but at the same time masterful and compelling.  “Shall we walk together a little?”

 

His words and manner were cool, Quatre noted, but the very fact that he had kept the assignation gave him hope.  He offered the young man his arm and he slid it through Quatres without hesitation. 

 

Arm in arm, they strolled at a leisurely pace around the square.  Quatre was oblivious to the passers-by, the courting couples taking a turn about the square and the children playing beneath the stone arcades.  He had his wish – he was alone with the marvellous young man of his dreams, but how ought he to proceed?  At the ballet he had been allowed certain intimacies, perhaps under the influence of the music and the dance, but here and now – in the light of day?  It might be that the young man regretted the generosity of his response to Quatre’s advances the evening before and would repel him with indignation if he made reference to what had passed between them.  Yet on the other hand, he had undoubtedly accepted the invitation, and had he not himself just alluded to what had occurred the night before, albeit obliquely?  Quatre decided that frankness was the least dangerous approach to the delicate situation.

 

“My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, as you already know.”  He began.  “I am unmarried, and of independent means.  I live at the address you have seen on my card, with my widowed father, whom you saw last evening at the ballet.”  The young man said nothing for a while, and just as  the lengthy pause was becoming uncomfortable, he spoke.

 

“You have told me nothing that I did not already know or could not guess.”  He said.

 

He stopped walking and turned to look at Quatre.  He was a whole half-head taller than was Quatre, and the forelock of hair that had fallen across his face the previous evening had been brushed back and was held in abeyance by his hat, so both of his green eyes fixed Quatre with their uncompromising gaze.  As Quatre stared into their emerald depths he felt as though he would surely swoon.

 

“What I would like to know, Quatre Raberba Winner, is whether you are a man of spirit.”  At Quatre’s confused frown he continued.  “The truth is that my life is dull, has always been dull and promises to always remain dull.  I wish it to become adventurous and unpredictable.  Last night at the theatre, after your... advances, I decided that you might be the person to make that happen.  Was I mistaken?”  He arched an elegant eyebrow by way of enquiry, and Quatre almost did swoon, but he recovered himself before he lost this enchanting creature for ever by such a display of weakness.

 

“Not in the least.”  He replied quickly.

 

“Really?”  The young man did not trouble to conceal his scepticism.  “You were bold enough under cover of a darkened theatre, but how bold are you in the cold light of day?”

 

Quatre surprised even himself with his response to this challenge.  Taking the young man decisively by the hand, he led him the short distance across the lawn to a nearby tree.  He tossed his hat and stick onto the turf at his feet, and did likewise with those of his companion.  As Quatre pulled off the young man’s hat the stray forelock of hair fell forward, once more concealing one eye.  Quatre decided that he liked it better this way, but this was no more than a passing though.  Quatre pushed the young man roughly up against the tree, took his hands and brought them together above his head, effectively pinioning him in place, and proceeded to kiss him with every ounce of the pent up passion and burning desire he had been keeping in check since the previous evening.  He crushed their lips and bodies together, grinding his hardening member against the other’s and feeling an answering stiffness, caressing the young man’s tongue with his.  Quatre felt him relax beneath the press of his body, abandoning himself to the moment, kissing him back with a delicious intensity, as if he had been waiting for this moment all his young life. 

 

The kiss seemed to last forever, and when their lips finally parted (although their bodies remained pressed together), Quatre noticed that the young man was breathing as heavily as he was, and his eyes were closed in an expression of ecstasy, as they had been the previous night at the ballet.  He finally opened them, and looked over Quatre’s shoulder.

 

“You appear to have created quite a spectacle Mr Winner.”  He said with a tight smile. 

 

Quatre reluctantly separated his body from the young man’s, lowered his hands and turned around.  A small crowd had gathered and were watching them, open mouthed and incredulous.  One woman had her hand to her mouth and her eyes were stricken with horror.  Another was ushered briskly away by the man who accompanied her, as though from a sight he deemed unfit for a lady’s eyes.  So roughly was one small child pulled away from the scene by her governess that she began a keening wail that rapidly diminished as she was led away.  Displaying a sang froid that he hardly knew he possessed, Quatre bent, retrieved their hats and sticks, gave his arm to his companion, rejoined the path and continued to stroll along, as if nothing amiss had occurred.

 

As calm as he outwardly appeared, Quatre’s heart pounded against his ribcage.  This was indeed a bold move, and quite possibly a rash one.  Gentlemen strolling together arm in arm, as they were doing now, was a common enough sight, but this was universally acknowledged as a purely platonic gesture.  They definitely did not kiss and fondle each other in a public park!  Perhaps the lower classes did such things in the back alleys of the slums, but gentlefolk – never!  Polite society preferred to pretend that such things did not happen, so it offended their delicate and disingenuous sensibilities to be forced to witness such a spectacle.  It occurred to him to wonder whether anyone he knew had seen them, but the thought gained no purchase in his whirling mind.

 

“Was that bold enough for you?”  He asked as they approached the entrance gate to the square.  He was well aware that he had acquitted himself admirably.

 

“Oh yes,” The young man murmured in reply, “You are more marvellous than I could have imagined.”

 

Quatre’s heart soared.

 

They left the square, and proceeded along the street, picking their way carefully between the chairs and tables outside the cafes and the stalls of the street vendors selling flowers, newspapers and various other wares.  On a sudden whim, Quatre stopped at a flower stand, gave a coin in exchange for a single, small bloom and, turning to his companion, fastened it to the lapel of his coat.

 

“Thank-you.”  The young man said, and smiled a bright, affectionate smile that lit up every beautiful feature of his countenance.  It was the first real warmth that Quatre had received from his mysterious companion since they had met and if he had keeled over and breathed his last at that very moment, Quatre would have died the happiest of men.

 

 As they walked Quatre taxed his brain as he sought in vain for delights he could introduce his companion to.  He could scarce believe the very little he had found out about the young man so far.  His appearance was so refined, his manner so well-bred, and yet his words implied a secret desire for incredible sensations, which Quatre was delighted to see that he had already begun to provide.  He thought furiously.  Merely to take him to a hotel and make love to him was unconscionable.  This was not Quatre’s conception of an adventure, but if he was honest with himself, this is exactly what he had in mind when he had scribbled the invitation.

 

“Well?”  The young man suddenly demanded, breaking into Quatre’s thoughts, “Are we to walk the streets all afternoon, or are you going to astonish me?”

 

“Certainly I am,” Quatre replied with more confidence than he felt, “But first give me your name.”  This he had asked as means of purchasing some much-needed time to come up with somewhere to take his pleasure-seeking companion, but it was a point that good manners ought to have led him to have raised well before this.

 

“My name is Trowa.  That is all you need to know.”

 

“No family name, no address, nothing, just Trowa?”  Quatre was somewhat taken aback by this reticence.

 

“I will tell you the rest when you have earned it, not one moment before.”

 

“Very well, Trowa is enough for me.” 

 

Quatre developed a sudden spring in his step and, hailing a passing street urchin, he whispered in the child’s ear and handed him a coin. Smiling, he watched as the boy turned and scampered away, dodging expertly between the horse-drawn carriages that thronged the streets.  He had just had an idea, and he was feeling particularly pleased with himself.

 

“When do you have to be home to dress for dinner?”  Quatre asked of his companion.

 

“Six thirty,” Came the reply, “We have guests coming.”

 

“Capital, we have sufficient time.  Prepare for the experience of your life.”

 

tbc