Indigo overheard and tried to smile, but James saw how wan her cheeks were. This meeting had been hard on her. So he said, "Sometime soon, perhaps."
As they turned to go, however, Richard stepped to James's side. "A word. If you don't mind."
Ben hesitated--apparently he did mind--but James quickly turned away with Richard. Any conversation between those two would swiftly become an argument, a disruption of protocol that neither he nor Ben could afford. Nicholas was wise enough to step in and chat with Ben almost immediately.
When they were slightly apart from the others, James said, "Yes, Uncle Richard?"
"I don't intend to challenge your right to rule after your announcement."
James paused. "Why do I get the feeling I shouldn't thank you for your support?"
"Because my support is not for the individual. My support is for the institution. As long as you're Prince Regent, you stand in the place of the monarch, and I have always given my loyalty to the monarchy." Richard smiled. "But your sister was right, James. The king's illness is minor. His recovery is assured. Your regency is temporary."
"I've never wished for anything else," James said, feeling as if he were being accused of hoping for his grandfather's death.
"Nor have I. But now I have even more reason. You see, this morning I spoke to the Archbishop of Canterbury. I told him that you would soon reveal information that made it clear how ill-fitted you are to be Supreme Governor of the Church--and therefore, to be king."
Damn it. Richard might not have been the brightest of the royal family, but he'd glimpsed James's greatest weakness immediately.
Richard continued, "I told the archbishop that the stability of the monarchy relied on your rule remaining unquestioned during the regency. Your public relationship with another man will make that more difficult to bear, particularly given that he isn't even a Christian. But you seem determined to go throwing this in everyone's face. Please do so. It will only make the necessary changes more obvious to the British people. When the king takes back his throne, as he soon will, then things will be very different."
He'd already colluded with the Archbishop of Canterbury. Surely the archbishop didn't yet know the full truth--if Richard had already leaked the secret, he would have taunted James about that too. However, when the news came out, the archbishop would already be predisposed to go against James.
But James revealed no sign of his worry. To Richard he said only, "We shall see." Then he turned his back on the man, wishing it could be forever.
As they went out the door toward the waiting car, Ben's hand rested on his arm. Ben said, "That wasn't as bad as you were expecting, was it?"
"No," James said. He knew he needed to tell Ben what had just happened, but he couldn't yet. Not now. If he thought too much about it, he wouldn't be able to keep going forward, and he had to keep going until this was done.
***
Although James seemed preoccupied after the meeting at the palace, Ben was slightly heartened. He'd felt intimidated when they first walked in--more so than he'd anticipated, because all the columns and oil portraits and servants seemed to have been crowding in at once. However, the conversation seemed to have gone well enough. That Uncle Richard James fretted over was really nothing but a prig. The queen . . . Ben couldn't quite pin her down yet, but she'd listened to reason. He worried more about the frightened, distrustful stare Indigo had given him.
Shy of strangers, of course. Afraid of new people, even. But James had already told her about Ben's role in his life, and still she'd been unable or unwilling to come up with a word.
Until now, Ben had wondered whether James was exaggerating his sister's difficulties--not consciously, but as part of his belief that every burden was his to bear alone. Instead it looked as though James might have downplayed the problem.
"Do we have a few minutes?" Ben said as they stepped out of the car and headed back into Clarence House, through twin lines of servants and security staffers all pretending this was business as usual. But it so, so wasn't. Ben knew that right now he and James badly needed some time to themselves, a chance to reconnect with the wild, boundless hope that had buoyed them last night.
But James shook his head. "You've got that meeting with Kimberley. And I know you'll want to be at your flat tonight, getting things ready. Unless you want me to send someone to pack for you?"
"I'll do it myself," Ben said hurriedly. The idea of strangers pawing through his things, deciding what to take and what to leave, horrified him.
So he was already slightly unnerved as he walked into Kimberley Tseng's office and took a seat. With only a few careful touches of decoration--a vase of fine Chinese porcelain, fresh flowers on a tabletop--Ms. Tseng had managed to make this small space feel both feminine and individual. Yet the relatively spare furnishings and the direct light made it clear that she did not see femininity and fierceness as mutually exclusive.
Ms. Tseng smiled politely, shut the door behind him, locked it, and said, "I need you to answer this first question truthfully, and in confidence. Your answer will remain between us."
"All right," Ben said, not sure where this was going.
Ms. Tseng sat in the chair next to him, her dark eyes meeting his unsparingly. "Do you love the Prince Regent?"
"Of course." Was she about to give him some absurd relationship pep talk?
Instead she said, "If you do, then I want your word that you'll abide by my recommendation at the end of the vetting process."
Vetting? "I'm not sure I understand."
"His Royal Highness is about to spend virtually every ounce of political capital he has to retain his place in the succession. He won't have any left over to defend you. Do you understand?" From her designer tote, Ms. Tseng withdrew a laptop and an audio recorder, but the laptop remained shut and the recorder remained off. "We are about to review your entire background. It is absolutely critical that you be completely honest with me. I'm not about to go tattling any of it to the Prince Regent, the press, or anyone else, so you should feel free to be candid. If we reach the end of this process, and I believe that there are elements in your past that would create extreme and unnecessary controversy, any hints of a scandal that could threaten the Prince Regent's position, then I shall say that I think you should walk away from this, immediately, for his own good. And if you love him, you'll do it."
So now he had to get a seal of approval first. "Is this the normal sort of thing you do?"
"If you mean, am I overreaching my role? I am. If you tell the Prince Regent I've said any of this, he'll probably give me the sack. But the next consultant he gets will say the same, unless they're incompetent, and he can't afford incompetence right now. Or scandal. In other words, Mr. Dahan, neither of us can fuck up."
Simultaneously Ben felt insulted and as though, in slightly different circumstances, he would greatly like Kimberley Tseng. "I won't make any promises. But I'll listen to what you say."
She sighed. "Very well." She turned on the audio recorder and took up her laptop. "We need to put together a list of every man you've ever slept with."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Every man you've ever had sex with, however you would personally define sex--though for these purposes, that definition should be expansive rather than restrictive. Women, too, if there have been any."
"Is this necessary?"
"I need a list of people who could conceivably sell something true to the tabloids. You'll have any number of fakers coming out of the woodwork; there's nothing I can do about them except make it clear they're liars when the time comes. The real ones, we should be prepared for. Don't worry--I'll delete the recording once I no longer need it for reference, most likely within twenty-four hours."
Ben took a deep breath. He reminded himself that this was for James. And he started to talk.
It wasn't exactly a short list, but there weren't that many for a gay man his age, especially one who used to enjoy the clubs. He'd usually gone clubbing with one
of his many short-term boyfriends, indulging in only a handful of one-night stands. A couple of those he had to guess on the names for, which was embarrassing, but Ms. Tseng shrugged it off. "If you don't remember them, hopefully they won't remember you," she said, which wasn't as comforting as she seemed to think. Ben went in reverse order, saving Warner for last and giving no particular detail beyond the facts Ms. Tseng wanted--cities of residence, last known profession.
"All right," she said. "Do any of these men have pictures or video of you naked or involved in sexual activity?"
"What?"
"Many couples create such images as a normal part of a sexual relationship," she said, as if he'd just hatched from an egg this morning. "After breakups, however, these images can be misused, and in this case, they could be sold for a price tag I would conservatively estimate in the mid-six figures."
That was daunting, but Ben was able to shake his head. "No. There's nothing like that out there."
"What about . . ." She hesitated then, and he saw the slightest flush of color in her cheeks. "Has there ever been any, ah, drag, or elaborate costuming, that sort of thing? Leather gear?"
At least some parts of this were hilarious. Ben stifled a smile. "When I was young and going to the clubs, I wore eyeliner. Tight clothes, et cetera. But nothing more embarrassing than the average person's college pictures."
"What is your HIV status?"
"I'm negative." He'd always played it safe. Younger guys today took risks he found shocking. Ben had come of age in the 1990s, when every facet of the gay experience had been wrapped in latex; those were habits he'd never change.
Ms. Tseng nodded. "Can you verify that?"
"I had bloodwork done as part of a routine health screen when I transferred to London in late August. So, yes."
"Nothing since then?"
"No bloodwork. And no, ah, no other possibilities for infection. James and I have been exclusive since Kenya."
She didn't pause in her typing, but Ben knew she'd caught his slip and was now aware they'd been lovers from the very start. Well, at this rate, she'd soon know everything else. Why not this too? "You should undergo a second test immediately," she said. "So we can verify your negative status absolutely when the media asks."
Would they ask that? Yes, they would. "Fine."
He took Ms. Tseng through his studies, reviewing every scholarship he could remember, his work-study experience, even his GPA, which he had never expected to mention again. She wanted every single one of his addresses, which was impossible; Ben had moved so often that he couldn't remember them all, not even the ones that hadn't boiled down to "my tent, Thailand." But he gave her all the ones he could remember. They went over his tax situation. He promised to give her a copy of his lease. Even his parents' deaths had to be discussed, though at least Ms. Tseng didn't force him to go into too much detail.
"No arrests?"
"I had a few speeding tickets back in Illinois, when I was in college. And once I threw a party that violated noise ordinances, and the police shut it down. But law enforcement should have nothing else with my name on it."
"Good," Ms. Tseng said, the first hint of approval she'd given through this process--which was now entering its third hour. "One more question, and this is critical, so think it through: Is there anyone in your past whom you believe would be likely to cause trouble after this news goes public? I'm not asking about your actions, here. I'm talking about their attitude. An embittered ex or disgruntled former coworker knows enough truth to make his lies very believable. So is there anyone who would try to attack you and the Prince Regent?"
Ben hadn't even considered this before. Slowly he said, "One. Warner Clifton. The lover I told you about, from Germany and then Thailand. He's--ah, he's never stopped trying to manipulate me. E-mailed me for the last time just a few days ago, actually."
"Can you send me that correspondence?"
"No. There's no 'correspondence'--he sent me a couple of e-mails over the past few months. I didn't reply to either of them, deleted them both."
"How likely do you think it is that Mr. Clifton would try to cause trouble?"
Ben knew the answer instantly. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized this long ago, from the first moment he'd decided to remain at James's side. "One hundred percent. Warner will try something. He won't be able to stand it."
"Then I need to know more about Mr. Clifton," Ms. Tseng said. "Expand on your history with him a bit. What sort of man is he?"
Fucking hell. "Are we allowed to drink during this process?"
"No. After we're done, you should certainly feel free to indulge. I myself am thinking longingly of the mojitos at the pub nearest my flat. For now, however, focus is key."
It occurred to Ben that Kimberley Tseng was just about the only person he could have gone through this with. Rather than say so, however, he did the courtesy of focusing like she'd asked. Not that this made it easy to talk about Warner.
But slowly, haltingly, the words came. "Warner was my first lover. He's eighteen years older than I am; I was barely sixteen when we met. You do the math. Anyway. He was charming, and attractive, and so self-assured. He--he made me understand that being gay was normal, and that's the one good thing I can fairly credit him with. Warner had no doubts about who he was, and maybe I needed someone like that in my life back then, when I was first coming to terms with my sexuality."
He sounded as though he were blubbing his feelings out on a therapist's couch. How disgustingly sentimental. Yet Ben had gone so long without trying to explain Warner to anyone besides himself. He didn't have a script, or well-rehearsed stock phrases to fall back on. The raw truth kept flowing out like blood from a reopened wound.
"He wasn't a pedophile--or, no, what's the right word for someone who fixates on adolescents? Hebephile? Something like that. Anyway, that isn't Warner's thing. He's more interested in a mind he can shape than in a young body. That's why we wound up together again in Thailand, his mind games--he made me feel like he was my destiny, my fate. That he was the only person I could ever have that kind of connection with. Which he was! And thank God, because it's a terrible connection. Manipulative and exploitative. I mean, shit, I didn't even know his real name until after he'd taken me to bed for the first time." After a moment, Ben hastily added, "Of course I have a connection with James as well. But a different one. A much better one."
Ms. Tseng spoke for the first time in a while. "What do you mean, you didn't know his real name?"
"Warner was living under the name 'Werner Reinhardt' while he was in Germany. He's had a few other aliases. Not that he's a criminal--at least, not technically. But he cooks up business deals that aren't entirely aboveboard. Or boasts of investment opportunities that are really just chances for foolish investors to dump their cash in his pockets. He's done well at that. Like I said, he's a masterful manipulator. Not a subtle one: Usually you know what he's doing the whole time. But it still works. It still fucking works." Ben breathed out heavily. He wondered if he could ask Ms. Tseng about that bar, the one with the mojitos.
"List all his aliases you can recall."
Ben did so. He sometimes looked for them online out of a perverse desire to see the damage Warner was doing, to track the slime trail he was leaving upon the earth. But it had been a while since he'd last searched. "Probably he has a whole new list by now."
She looked up from her keyboard. "Given your knowledge of Mr. Clifton, do you think he'll be more likely to go directly to the press, or will he contact you first?"
"He'll contact me," Ben said. "He'll want me to plead with him to stay silent. To be afraid. That would be the whole pleasure of it, for Warner."
"Excellent," Ms. Tseng said, which was unexpected. "When he contacts you, end the conversation as swiftly as possible, but get his contact information and promise to be in touch soon. Then turn that contact information over to me."
"And then what?"
"Then nothing, as far as you're concerned. It may well b
e the last time you deal with him directly."
"Warner doesn't give up that easily."
"It won't be easy for him," she said. "Trust me on that."
"What do you mean?"
Ms. Tseng turned off the audio recorder, set aside her computer, and folded her hands in her lap. "Warner Clifton is a career criminal who sexually victimized you when you were hardly more than a child and continued to manipulate you for years thereafter, until you courageously found the strength to shut him out of your life. His illegal activities across the globe can and will be catalogued for presentation to the media, as well as to the local authorities in each jurisdiction. Your ability to rise above childhood abuse would then stand as an inspiration to us all."
"Nice spin. But we both know it's not reality."
"Isn't it? I can prove it faster than Mr. Clifton could prove anything else."
"The age of consent in Germany is fourteen. He was taking advantage, but it wasn't rape."
"I won't even have to say the word rape. Revulsion toward people who prey upon the young is strong enough that a mere suggestion should be enough to inflame the press. You were taken advantage of, weren't you? Because of your age? For sex?"
"No. I mean, yes, but--you're not just talking about stopping Warner. You're going beyond that. He's a son of a bitch, and I don't want him to fuck things up for James, but--I'm not comfortable ruining Warner Clifton's life." Ben wasn't exactly sure why not, but there it was.
She smiled. "You won't ruin his life. You'll simply get his contact information and turn the rest over to me. If Mr. Clifton is a reasonable man, he'll see that his best course of action is to remain silent and go on his way. If he is not a reasonable man, then I'll ruin his life. You'll have nothing to do with it, or him."
Although Ben still didn't like this, he knew there was no room to argue. Maybe, when Warner reached out to him, Ben could talk him down somehow . . .
Then he realized Ms. Tseng was putting away her things. At his surprised glance, she said, "We're done. By this time tomorrow, the audio recording will no longer exist. No one besides me will ever hear it."
"I trust you. So, did I pass?"
"You'll do," she replied crisply. "You're not the ideal, but we can work with you."
"The ideal?"