Love is Blind Part 8
Title: Love is Blind
Rating: Mature, R
Disclaimer: Jeeves & Wooster belong to Wodehouse.
Warning: Mature themes, with mention of suicide
Summary: An illness sends the lives of Bertie and Jeeves into a tailspin. 43,000 words.
A/N: Once I sent Bertie and Jeeves down this path, I had to see them through to the end of it. My gratitude goes to chaoschick13 for excellent beta work, endless encouragement, and for assuring me the effort was worthwhile. All mistakes belong to me.
Jeeves knew he could have used another day’s rest, but now he had no choice in the matter. He must resume his duties as valet immediately and keep his proper distance from Bertie, or he would have to leave.
The possibility that he might leave was not a remote one. Jeeves knew Bertie didn’t love him, not the way Jeeves had dreamed of being loved. Bertie was grateful, certainly, but that wasn’t enough. And Jeeves would not sate himself on gratitude.
Bertie’s desire had been obvious and it surprised Jeeves not a little. He thought he knew his employer in that respect. While Bertie enjoyed the company of some young women, he had never expressed a true desire to marry and start a family. His closest friends were enamored of women; none of those friends had ever appeared to be a possible partner for Bertie. Jeeves had thought Bertie was destined to spend his life alone.
But perhaps Bertie’s need was a result of having been alone for so long. It had been some time since he’d been out with his friends until the small hours. What Bertie did during those hours was none of his valet’s business, but Jeeves had assumed that Bertie at least occasionally sought physical companionship. The idea of his employer sharing his body with another caused Jeeves no little pain and regret.
Jeeves sat on the edge of his bed and willed his weakened muscles to obey his commands. He must shower, shave and dress, then prepare Bertie’s morning darjeeling the way he always had done. He would then cook breakfast, draw Bertie’s bath and lay out his raiment for the day. He would do this with the efficiency that had become his trademark.
This resolved, he got to his feet, slipped on his dressing gown and, ignoring the slight buzzing in his ears, proceeded to the small shower room. It took a bit longer than usual to perform his ablutions, but by dint of resting between each chore, Jeeves managed to don his professional façade.
Bertie was already awake when Jeeves arrived with the tea tray.
“Good morning, sir. I have your tea,” Jeeves said as if it were a normal day.
“Thank you, Jeeves.” Bertie propped himself against the headboard but kept his face down.
Jeeves placed the tray on the bedside table. “I will go and prepare your breakfast now, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Jeeves turned to leave, but was arrested by Bertie’s voice.
“Jeeves?”
“Sir?”
“I don’t think I care for any breakfast.”
“Are you ill, sir?” Jeeves took in Bertie’s miserable face and found it difficult to keep his distance as he had just promised himself he would.
“No, not precisely.” Bertie laced his fingers together on his lap. “I just wanted you to know something, Jeeves.”
“What is that, sir?” Jeeves said, dreading the answer.
“I’ve...I’ve decided to go and live at Brinkley Court,” he said in a rush. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll have Aunt Dahlia write you a stellar reference, in fact, I’ll have her snoop round and find you just the right person. You can take your annual holidays now, go fishing or something, and when you get back you can go to him. It will take a bit to move me out of the flat, so you can leave your things here until you get back. I haven’t cleared any of this with the aged aunt yet, but I thought I would do that this morning. As soon as she gets up, I mean to say. It wouldn’t do to get the old girl out of bed too early, what?”
Bertie paused for breath, but before he could continue his convoluted speech, Jeeves interrupted him.
“That is what you truly wish to do, sir? You wish to live at Brinkley Court?”
“No,” Bertie said, his voice low. “But it’s the only thing I can do. I can’t expect you to carry on here as if nothing happened.”
He took a deep breath as if gathering his courage. “I’m sorry, Jeeves, for what I did to you. Twice. And you were ill. You still are probably, but for once my not being able to see is an advantage. I can’t see the disgust on your face. Not that you’d show it, what with your feudal spirit and all.”
Jeeves drew his brows together in confusion. “Twice, sir? I don’t understand your meaning.”
“The bathtub, Jeeves? You don’t remember that? I should have known. You were so ill and feverish.” He covered his face with his hands. “And then last night. You had to throw me off.”
“Sir, I...”
“Whatever might have been is ruined, Jeeves, completely ruined, and we’ll save ourselves the embarrassment of speaking about it any further. I dare say the redoubtable Miss Nelson will show up at any moment, so perhaps one of your last acts could be setting out my clothes. I can run my own bath.”
Jeeves felt his life slipping through his fingers. He wanted to remain with Bertie always, even under the shadow of unrequited love. He would go to Brinkley Court with Bertie, anywhere really, as long as he could remain at Bertie’s side. He wanted to plead his case, ready to drop every pretense of pride, but he didn’t get the chance. Someone was beating a brisk tattoo on the flat’s front door instead of using the buzzer.
“That will be Miss Nelson, Jeeves,” Bertie said. “Perhaps you can tell her we’re able to manage. After all, we’re leaving.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Jeeves’ mind raced even as he opened the door to admit the housekeeper.
“Why, Mr. Jeeves! What are you doing out of bed? You’re still ill.”
“I am well enough, Miss Nelson,” Jeeves said. “I do appreciate your taking your valuable time to assist Mr. Wooster during my bout of influenza.”
“It was no trouble, Mr. Jeeves, no trouble at all,” she said. “But as you seem to have everything under control, I’ll take myself back home.”
Jeeves inclined his head. “I am certain Mr. Wooster will be in touch, Miss Nelson.”
He ushered her from the flat and closed the door. He leaned against it, breathing hard in an attempt to regain his composure. He was being dismissed. The future stretched out before him, an endless road devoid of happiness and purpose. He wanted to laugh out loud. Thirty-two years old and his life was finished.
But after a stern few moments, Jeeves pushed himself away from the door. If Bertie truly wished to take up residence at Brinkley Court then it was Jeeves‘ duty to see him settled there. Duty. It was all he had left.
He returned to Bertie’s room to lay out his clothes only to find Bertie standing in front of the window with his forehead pressed to the glass.
“Hullo, Jeeves,” he said without turning to face his valet.
“I’ve come to outfit you for the day, sir,” Jeeves said. “Would you like me to run your bath?”
“What kind of day is it in the old metrop, Jeeves?” Bertie asked, his mind obviously on something other than bathing or dressing. “Beautiful, I expect.”
Jeeves studied him for a moment. “It is a fine, warm day, sir, by all appearances.”
Bertie turned away from the window. “I don’t suppose there’s a good reason to stand about moping. A decision’s been made and there is no sense dwelling on it. I would be grateful if you’d run my bath, Jeeves, if you’re up to it.” He smiled, but it was a failed effort.
“Sir,” Jeeves said, taking care with his words. “What do you wish to do?”
Bertie ran his fingers up and down the curtain. “I’m not sure that matters any longer, Jeeves. I can’t be on my own. Brinkley Court is the only option.” He crushed the curtain in his fist then released it. “I shall get quite fat on Anatole’s cooking. Match Tuppy pie for pie, what?”
“Perhaps, sir,” Jeeves said, “you could remain here. I am still willing to be your valet.” He pushed aside the thought of how pathetic he must seem to Bertie, how frantic this attempt to reweave the threads of his life must appear. Jeeves knew only that he could never leave this man. If Bertie never loved him in return, then so be it. He could still share Bertie’s life and be of use.
“Why, Jeeves? Why would you want to remain with the certifiable Bertram Wooster?”
Jeeves heard the hopeful tone in Bertie’s voice.
“I have no wish to seek other employment, sir. If given the choice, I would remain in your service.”
“Even after everything that’s happened?” Bertie’s face pinkened. “Why? The feudal animus can’t be that strong.”
“You are in the soup, as you call it, sir. It has been my privilege to extract you from it for some time now. I would prefer, if you were willing, to continue that course.”
"Are you sure, Jeeves? I mean to say, there's got to be someone better for you than me."
"I am certain, sir."
Bertie nodded. “All right, Jeeves, if that’s your idea of living large.” He reached out his hand toward Jeeves who hurried forward to grasp it in one of his own.
“A bargain, then,” Bertie said. “You’ll stay and I stop these Woosterian shenanigans. Agreed?”
“Agreed, sir.”
Jeeves tried to pull his hand away, but Bertie held onto it in his gentle grip.
“I’d like to say I don’t know what came over me last night, Jeeves, but that would be a lie, a bit like Tuppy declaring he’ll never make another midnight larder raid.”
“Sir,” Jeeves said, no longer attempting to withdraw his hand. “We had agreed not to speak of the matter.”
“I know, Jeeves.” Bertie rubbed his thumb across the skin between Jeeves‘ own thumb and forefinger. “But I told you once that I would miss seeing you more than just about anything. Touching you is a bit like seeing you.”
Jeeves‘ brows lifted a fraction, but he said nothing.
Bertie smiled a little, then let go of Jeeves' hand. “I can hear your eyebrows again, Jeeves. And I know what you’re thinking in that great brain of yours.”
“Do you, sir?”
“Of course I do. You’re thinking that last night was a far sight more than a pat on the cheek, aren’t you?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
“Yes, you could, Jeeves, but you simply won’t. For now let us just say I was...overcome,” Bertie said.
Jeeves waited for Bertie to explain, but no such words were forthcoming.
“Very well, sir.”
Bertie rubbed his hands together. “Right then, Jeeves. Bathe and dress, that’s first. Then, if you’re able, I think we’d better do that thing you suggested.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“Take a crack at the old ivories, Jeeves. You said you’d show me how to play again.”
“Very good, sir.” Relief flooded Jeeves‘ frame. Perhaps now, at least, they could return to the status quo. “I shall draw your bath now.”
He turned to leave, but Bertie put out his hand to stop him and his fingers landed on Jeeves‘ arm.
“There is one thing yet, Jeeves.”
“And what is that, sir?”
Bertie pursed his lips, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I can’t see, Jeeves, but I can still feel. And last night I could feel that you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”
And with that, he strode off to the bathroom.
Jeeves reviewed the day as he prepared for bed that evening. Exhaustion sapped his frame, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. The headache had returned, but the nausea had not, a blessing if it could be called such.
He and Bertie had acted as if nothing untoward had happened between them. Jeeves had to admit doing so had made the situation easier to bear. Bertie had briefly entertained the Reston-Canfields, then Mr. Little and Mr. Glossop had come for tea. Bertie had been charming and amusing, sending his friends away with a favorable impression concerning Bertie’s adjustment to his new life.
Jeeves pulled on his pyjamas and sat down on his familiar bed. While Bertie had tried to keep Jeeves‘ duties to a minimum, Jeeves still didn’t feel as well as he should have. Bertie had told him to retire early and Jeeves had gratefully accepted the offer.
But the day had had its rewards and the best part had been the hour after dinner. Between his guests and his procrastinating nature, Bertie hadn’t had a chance to approach his piano. But Jeeves had finally persuaded him to sit on the bench, and, with Jeeves‘ fingers over his, Bertie found his place on the keyboard.
Jeeves recalled the way Bertie’s fingers had trembled as he played simple scales under his manservant’s guidance. As he played, his confidence grew, and when Jeeves lifted his own hands, Bertie continued by himself. His efforts weren’t flawless, but that did not matter in the least. Jeeves cherished the expression on Bertie’s face the moment his employer realized he could still play and could still enjoy a part of who he was before he lost his sight. He was a musician and always would be one.
Bertie had moved from the simple scales to several popular pieces he could play from memory, and when Jeeves had urged him to sing, he hadn’t hesitated but belted out the lyrics to “47 Ginger-Headed Sailors.”
After Bertie had finished, he’d turned his face toward Jeeves and smiled gently. He hadn’t uttered a word of thanks and for that Jeeves had been happy. Jeeves had only led Bertie to the piano. Bertie had been the one to play.
Jeeves climbed under the covers and closed his eyes, but as always, the night brought unbidden thoughts to his tired mind. He had resolved not to think about Bertie’s words, the ones that exposed their desire for each other. It had been a simple resolution to keep during the day. Jeeves had been too busy or too tired to ponder anything. But Bertie’s simple declaration, coupled with the memory of Bertie’s body hard against his own, were now impossible to ignore. They did want each other but for vastly different reasons. Jeeves feared the gulf was too wide to breech.
“The celebration is set for Saturday, Jeeves, if you think we can manage it,” Bertie said after speaking to his aunt on the telephone.
“Saturday will be very convenient, sir,” Jeeves said as he set the table for Bertie’s lunch. “It is just Thursday; that will allow me ample time to prepare.”
“Shall we need to shop, Jeeves? And are you well enough?”
Bertie had been solicitous to a fault since Jeeves‘ illness, but Jeeves felt that he had made a passable recovery from his bout of influenza. At Bertie’s behest, Jeeves had retired earlier than usual each night and the extra rest had proved invaluable. He had felt well enough to do the shopping, an activity that lent itself to a sense of normalcy. He and Bertie had strolled for short distances in the early mornings, and the exercise had done them both good. They had resumed their friendly state for the most part, but Jeeves now and then could sense an underlying tension. Part of it was related to the upcoming gathering, but Jeeves knew most of it stemmed from the incident in Bertie’s room, an interlude he had told himself to forget.
♥ Part 7 ♥ Part 9 ♥
Rating: Mature, R
Disclaimer: Jeeves & Wooster belong to Wodehouse.
Warning: Mature themes, with mention of suicide
Summary: An illness sends the lives of Bertie and Jeeves into a tailspin. 43,000 words.
A/N: Once I sent Bertie and Jeeves down this path, I had to see them through to the end of it. My gratitude goes to chaoschick13 for excellent beta work, endless encouragement, and for assuring me the effort was worthwhile. All mistakes belong to me.
Jeeves knew he could have used another day’s rest, but now he had no choice in the matter. He must resume his duties as valet immediately and keep his proper distance from Bertie, or he would have to leave.
The possibility that he might leave was not a remote one. Jeeves knew Bertie didn’t love him, not the way Jeeves had dreamed of being loved. Bertie was grateful, certainly, but that wasn’t enough. And Jeeves would not sate himself on gratitude.
Bertie’s desire had been obvious and it surprised Jeeves not a little. He thought he knew his employer in that respect. While Bertie enjoyed the company of some young women, he had never expressed a true desire to marry and start a family. His closest friends were enamored of women; none of those friends had ever appeared to be a possible partner for Bertie. Jeeves had thought Bertie was destined to spend his life alone.
But perhaps Bertie’s need was a result of having been alone for so long. It had been some time since he’d been out with his friends until the small hours. What Bertie did during those hours was none of his valet’s business, but Jeeves had assumed that Bertie at least occasionally sought physical companionship. The idea of his employer sharing his body with another caused Jeeves no little pain and regret.
Jeeves sat on the edge of his bed and willed his weakened muscles to obey his commands. He must shower, shave and dress, then prepare Bertie’s morning darjeeling the way he always had done. He would then cook breakfast, draw Bertie’s bath and lay out his raiment for the day. He would do this with the efficiency that had become his trademark.
This resolved, he got to his feet, slipped on his dressing gown and, ignoring the slight buzzing in his ears, proceeded to the small shower room. It took a bit longer than usual to perform his ablutions, but by dint of resting between each chore, Jeeves managed to don his professional façade.
Bertie was already awake when Jeeves arrived with the tea tray.
“Good morning, sir. I have your tea,” Jeeves said as if it were a normal day.
“Thank you, Jeeves.” Bertie propped himself against the headboard but kept his face down.
Jeeves placed the tray on the bedside table. “I will go and prepare your breakfast now, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Jeeves turned to leave, but was arrested by Bertie’s voice.
“Jeeves?”
“Sir?”
“I don’t think I care for any breakfast.”
“Are you ill, sir?” Jeeves took in Bertie’s miserable face and found it difficult to keep his distance as he had just promised himself he would.
“No, not precisely.” Bertie laced his fingers together on his lap. “I just wanted you to know something, Jeeves.”
“What is that, sir?” Jeeves said, dreading the answer.
“I’ve...I’ve decided to go and live at Brinkley Court,” he said in a rush. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll have Aunt Dahlia write you a stellar reference, in fact, I’ll have her snoop round and find you just the right person. You can take your annual holidays now, go fishing or something, and when you get back you can go to him. It will take a bit to move me out of the flat, so you can leave your things here until you get back. I haven’t cleared any of this with the aged aunt yet, but I thought I would do that this morning. As soon as she gets up, I mean to say. It wouldn’t do to get the old girl out of bed too early, what?”
Bertie paused for breath, but before he could continue his convoluted speech, Jeeves interrupted him.
“That is what you truly wish to do, sir? You wish to live at Brinkley Court?”
“No,” Bertie said, his voice low. “But it’s the only thing I can do. I can’t expect you to carry on here as if nothing happened.”
He took a deep breath as if gathering his courage. “I’m sorry, Jeeves, for what I did to you. Twice. And you were ill. You still are probably, but for once my not being able to see is an advantage. I can’t see the disgust on your face. Not that you’d show it, what with your feudal spirit and all.”
Jeeves drew his brows together in confusion. “Twice, sir? I don’t understand your meaning.”
“The bathtub, Jeeves? You don’t remember that? I should have known. You were so ill and feverish.” He covered his face with his hands. “And then last night. You had to throw me off.”
“Sir, I...”
“Whatever might have been is ruined, Jeeves, completely ruined, and we’ll save ourselves the embarrassment of speaking about it any further. I dare say the redoubtable Miss Nelson will show up at any moment, so perhaps one of your last acts could be setting out my clothes. I can run my own bath.”
Jeeves felt his life slipping through his fingers. He wanted to remain with Bertie always, even under the shadow of unrequited love. He would go to Brinkley Court with Bertie, anywhere really, as long as he could remain at Bertie’s side. He wanted to plead his case, ready to drop every pretense of pride, but he didn’t get the chance. Someone was beating a brisk tattoo on the flat’s front door instead of using the buzzer.
“That will be Miss Nelson, Jeeves,” Bertie said. “Perhaps you can tell her we’re able to manage. After all, we’re leaving.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Jeeves’ mind raced even as he opened the door to admit the housekeeper.
“Why, Mr. Jeeves! What are you doing out of bed? You’re still ill.”
“I am well enough, Miss Nelson,” Jeeves said. “I do appreciate your taking your valuable time to assist Mr. Wooster during my bout of influenza.”
“It was no trouble, Mr. Jeeves, no trouble at all,” she said. “But as you seem to have everything under control, I’ll take myself back home.”
Jeeves inclined his head. “I am certain Mr. Wooster will be in touch, Miss Nelson.”
He ushered her from the flat and closed the door. He leaned against it, breathing hard in an attempt to regain his composure. He was being dismissed. The future stretched out before him, an endless road devoid of happiness and purpose. He wanted to laugh out loud. Thirty-two years old and his life was finished.
But after a stern few moments, Jeeves pushed himself away from the door. If Bertie truly wished to take up residence at Brinkley Court then it was Jeeves‘ duty to see him settled there. Duty. It was all he had left.
He returned to Bertie’s room to lay out his clothes only to find Bertie standing in front of the window with his forehead pressed to the glass.
“Hullo, Jeeves,” he said without turning to face his valet.
“I’ve come to outfit you for the day, sir,” Jeeves said. “Would you like me to run your bath?”
“What kind of day is it in the old metrop, Jeeves?” Bertie asked, his mind obviously on something other than bathing or dressing. “Beautiful, I expect.”
Jeeves studied him for a moment. “It is a fine, warm day, sir, by all appearances.”
Bertie turned away from the window. “I don’t suppose there’s a good reason to stand about moping. A decision’s been made and there is no sense dwelling on it. I would be grateful if you’d run my bath, Jeeves, if you’re up to it.” He smiled, but it was a failed effort.
“Sir,” Jeeves said, taking care with his words. “What do you wish to do?”
Bertie ran his fingers up and down the curtain. “I’m not sure that matters any longer, Jeeves. I can’t be on my own. Brinkley Court is the only option.” He crushed the curtain in his fist then released it. “I shall get quite fat on Anatole’s cooking. Match Tuppy pie for pie, what?”
“Perhaps, sir,” Jeeves said, “you could remain here. I am still willing to be your valet.” He pushed aside the thought of how pathetic he must seem to Bertie, how frantic this attempt to reweave the threads of his life must appear. Jeeves knew only that he could never leave this man. If Bertie never loved him in return, then so be it. He could still share Bertie’s life and be of use.
“Why, Jeeves? Why would you want to remain with the certifiable Bertram Wooster?”
Jeeves heard the hopeful tone in Bertie’s voice.
“I have no wish to seek other employment, sir. If given the choice, I would remain in your service.”
“Even after everything that’s happened?” Bertie’s face pinkened. “Why? The feudal animus can’t be that strong.”
“You are in the soup, as you call it, sir. It has been my privilege to extract you from it for some time now. I would prefer, if you were willing, to continue that course.”
"Are you sure, Jeeves? I mean to say, there's got to be someone better for you than me."
"I am certain, sir."
Bertie nodded. “All right, Jeeves, if that’s your idea of living large.” He reached out his hand toward Jeeves who hurried forward to grasp it in one of his own.
“A bargain, then,” Bertie said. “You’ll stay and I stop these Woosterian shenanigans. Agreed?”
“Agreed, sir.”
Jeeves tried to pull his hand away, but Bertie held onto it in his gentle grip.
“I’d like to say I don’t know what came over me last night, Jeeves, but that would be a lie, a bit like Tuppy declaring he’ll never make another midnight larder raid.”
“Sir,” Jeeves said, no longer attempting to withdraw his hand. “We had agreed not to speak of the matter.”
“I know, Jeeves.” Bertie rubbed his thumb across the skin between Jeeves‘ own thumb and forefinger. “But I told you once that I would miss seeing you more than just about anything. Touching you is a bit like seeing you.”
Jeeves‘ brows lifted a fraction, but he said nothing.
Bertie smiled a little, then let go of Jeeves' hand. “I can hear your eyebrows again, Jeeves. And I know what you’re thinking in that great brain of yours.”
“Do you, sir?”
“Of course I do. You’re thinking that last night was a far sight more than a pat on the cheek, aren’t you?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
“Yes, you could, Jeeves, but you simply won’t. For now let us just say I was...overcome,” Bertie said.
Jeeves waited for Bertie to explain, but no such words were forthcoming.
“Very well, sir.”
Bertie rubbed his hands together. “Right then, Jeeves. Bathe and dress, that’s first. Then, if you’re able, I think we’d better do that thing you suggested.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“Take a crack at the old ivories, Jeeves. You said you’d show me how to play again.”
“Very good, sir.” Relief flooded Jeeves‘ frame. Perhaps now, at least, they could return to the status quo. “I shall draw your bath now.”
He turned to leave, but Bertie put out his hand to stop him and his fingers landed on Jeeves‘ arm.
“There is one thing yet, Jeeves.”
“And what is that, sir?”
Bertie pursed his lips, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I can’t see, Jeeves, but I can still feel. And last night I could feel that you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”
And with that, he strode off to the bathroom.
Jeeves reviewed the day as he prepared for bed that evening. Exhaustion sapped his frame, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. The headache had returned, but the nausea had not, a blessing if it could be called such.
He and Bertie had acted as if nothing untoward had happened between them. Jeeves had to admit doing so had made the situation easier to bear. Bertie had briefly entertained the Reston-Canfields, then Mr. Little and Mr. Glossop had come for tea. Bertie had been charming and amusing, sending his friends away with a favorable impression concerning Bertie’s adjustment to his new life.
Jeeves pulled on his pyjamas and sat down on his familiar bed. While Bertie had tried to keep Jeeves‘ duties to a minimum, Jeeves still didn’t feel as well as he should have. Bertie had told him to retire early and Jeeves had gratefully accepted the offer.
But the day had had its rewards and the best part had been the hour after dinner. Between his guests and his procrastinating nature, Bertie hadn’t had a chance to approach his piano. But Jeeves had finally persuaded him to sit on the bench, and, with Jeeves‘ fingers over his, Bertie found his place on the keyboard.
Jeeves recalled the way Bertie’s fingers had trembled as he played simple scales under his manservant’s guidance. As he played, his confidence grew, and when Jeeves lifted his own hands, Bertie continued by himself. His efforts weren’t flawless, but that did not matter in the least. Jeeves cherished the expression on Bertie’s face the moment his employer realized he could still play and could still enjoy a part of who he was before he lost his sight. He was a musician and always would be one.
Bertie had moved from the simple scales to several popular pieces he could play from memory, and when Jeeves had urged him to sing, he hadn’t hesitated but belted out the lyrics to “47 Ginger-Headed Sailors.”
After Bertie had finished, he’d turned his face toward Jeeves and smiled gently. He hadn’t uttered a word of thanks and for that Jeeves had been happy. Jeeves had only led Bertie to the piano. Bertie had been the one to play.
Jeeves climbed under the covers and closed his eyes, but as always, the night brought unbidden thoughts to his tired mind. He had resolved not to think about Bertie’s words, the ones that exposed their desire for each other. It had been a simple resolution to keep during the day. Jeeves had been too busy or too tired to ponder anything. But Bertie’s simple declaration, coupled with the memory of Bertie’s body hard against his own, were now impossible to ignore. They did want each other but for vastly different reasons. Jeeves feared the gulf was too wide to breech.
“The celebration is set for Saturday, Jeeves, if you think we can manage it,” Bertie said after speaking to his aunt on the telephone.
“Saturday will be very convenient, sir,” Jeeves said as he set the table for Bertie’s lunch. “It is just Thursday; that will allow me ample time to prepare.”
“Shall we need to shop, Jeeves? And are you well enough?”
Bertie had been solicitous to a fault since Jeeves‘ illness, but Jeeves felt that he had made a passable recovery from his bout of influenza. At Bertie’s behest, Jeeves had retired earlier than usual each night and the extra rest had proved invaluable. He had felt well enough to do the shopping, an activity that lent itself to a sense of normalcy. He and Bertie had strolled for short distances in the early mornings, and the exercise had done them both good. They had resumed their friendly state for the most part, but Jeeves now and then could sense an underlying tension. Part of it was related to the upcoming gathering, but Jeeves knew most of it stemmed from the incident in Bertie’s room, an interlude he had told himself to forget.
♥ Part 7 ♥ Part 9 ♥