The Friends We Keep(81)
Topher swallowed the lump in his throat. Benedict was so good to him, but he couldn’t let him down, couldn’t leave him when Benedict relied on him so much.
“Dickie, I adore you, and you know me well enough to know that I don’t break my promises. I have promised to look after you, and I won’t abandon you. We will find another apartment in New York, and I will not go to England. My friends will be fine without me, and my mother will carry on visiting New York just as she has always done.”
Topher was saying all the words he knew he had to say. He was loyal, and he loved Benedict. He would do the right thing by him, even though there was a sense of real loss at the prospect of not living in that glorious house with his old friends. Topher had always been a committed Anglophile, and the very idea of living in Somerset made his heart sing with joy, not least because it would have been with people he truly adored.
All those movies he watched when he was young, the Evelyn Waugh books he read, Nancy Mitford, Cecil Beaton, the days he spent salivating over Chatsworth and Debo, the Duchess of Devonshire. Ah well. In another lifetime he would perhaps be lord of the manor. Not this one. He wouldn’t leave Benedict. He couldn’t leave Benedict, even though his mother seemed to need him, even though he had promised her he would be seeing her all the time. The only good thing about her failing memory, he thought ironically, was that hopefully she would forget that he was ever planning to move.
He would have to stop dreaming of the manor house, the garden that could be so beautiful again with some love and care. He had spent a good few hours browsing gardening books in Barnes & Noble, lingering over pictures of topiary yew, clipped box hedges with clouds of cranesbill and alchemilla tumbling behind. This city boy’s brain started bursting with ideas as soon as he saw the faded grandeur of Maggie’s overgrown garden.
He had pictured all of them going for long walks through the fields. Maybe they would get a dog. The manor house would feel more like a home with a big shaggy dog running around. They would stride through those gorgeous English fields, climbing stiles, Topher in a tweed flat cap, carrying a silver-topped cane. Perhaps the cane was pushing it a little too far.
Sitting here, looking at Benedict, the realization that he would not be fulfilling a lifelong dream of living in England, not as a student in a grotty student house, but in splendor as a fully formed adult, was almost enough to make him want to cry. But he would not let Dickie see how he felt.
“I love you,” said Benedict. “You have been my family, but I don’t want you to stay here. Over there is where you are supposed to be. The manor house is exquisite, as are your friends. I love the idea of it, but I’m too old to change my life in this way. New York is my home, and it’s where I need to stay. Where I want to stay. But not you, darling boy, and who knows, maybe you will find a new love when you are there. You’ve come so far in therapy and I don’t want to hold you back any longer. I know you have dalliances now and again, but you deserve something more. It is selfish of me to expect you to devote your life to me. You are too young. You deserve to have a life filled with happiness. You deserve this, and you deserve to find love.”
He put a hand up to silence Topher, who was about to speak. “Not lovers. I know you have those. But as long as you are looking after me, you will not be able to have an intimate relationship. Maybe you don’t want one, but you deserve to be able to have one. I won’t take no for an answer. I have Cookie, and she and I have discussed this many times. The penthouse apartment in her building is, privately, available. We are going to purchase it together. We will each be able to have our own living space, and there is plenty of room. It is time for us to move on, and it is time for me to let you go.”
Topher stared at him, a storm of emotions inside him. Loss, sadness, gratitude, and relief. As much as he didn’t want to leave Benedict, he recognized the resolute look in Dickie’s eye and knew that Dickie had made up his mind. That Dickie wouldn’t be on his own, that he and Cookie had decided to buy something together, didn’t feel like a betrayal; it felt like Topher had been set free, and his whole body seemed to exhale with relief.
“I don’t know what to say.” Topher’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Don’t say anything. Just get the check and let’s go home. We’ve all got some packing to do.”
As they walked out, Topher felt people staring at him, the odd whispering. It wasn’t unusual for him to be recognized, and he had learned to stare into the middle distance with a friendly smile on his face, always gracious should someone tap him on the arm and ask for an autograph.
He turned as he felt a hand on his back, to see Alan, an actor he had worked with years ago on a commercial.
“Alan!” He gave him a hug, about to introduce him to Dickie before realizing Dickie had already walked to the front of the restaurant. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time! What are you up to these days?”
“The usual.” Alan smiled, but seemed awkward. “Auditions and summer stock in the Berkshires. I just . . . I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what’s happening. I hope you’re okay.”
Topher stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“The book drama. You don’t deserve this and it stinks. I hate that fucking website. I hope you know it will all blow over quickly and everyone will have forgotten about this bullshit soon.”