The Lost Prince - a shiny new excerpt

Now, I know not everyone's a fan of excerpts, so if that's you, kindly avert your gaze from this post. :-D But if you're thinking of buying the book, or even if you're not, I thought you might enjoy this extra little snippet that hasn't appeared anywhere else on the web so far.



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Laurie stepped into a patch of golden light. He was half-hidden behind the enormous trellis of jasmine he was carrying. Setting it down carefully, he looked around him, dazzled from the brilliance outside. “Sasha?”

He was dressed in his pale grey suit, the one that looked as if the tailor had died of love for him during its creation. Beneath it was a white linen shirt. His tie was crumpled in his pocket, because only Sasha knew how to knot it for full-dress occasions. He'd tucked a yellow rose into his buttonhole, and its petals cast reflected saffron lights into his face. For a long moment, Sasha couldn't speak at all. Then he managed, dryly, hands clenched in his pockets, “I've heard it's bad form to outshine the bride.”

“That's just what I was going to say to you. Your new suit fits okay, then?”

“Yes.” Sasha had woken alone, filled with grief that Laurie had slipped away in silence once again. Then he had seen the beautiful jacket and trousers, the colour of old ivory, laid out on the end of the bed. “I didn't know what to wear this morning, but some fairy had left these.”

“Some fairy? All those Pride marches and demos for gay rights, and I get called some fairy?”
Sasha chuckled, and it turned into a sob. “Oh, Laurie. If this Hollywood thing means so much to you, I'll come with you. Okay? I'll come.”

“Oh, thank God.” Laurie took a step towards him, fell over the trellis and shoved it unseeing off to one side. He held out his arms. “Thank God.”
Sasha met him with passionate force. He laid his brow on Laurie's shoulder, let go the cry that had been waiting, briefly allowed himself to burst into tears. He hauled in one breath. “These last few days—feeling so far from you when you were right there... I couldn't bear that, let alone having you five thousand miles away for months.”

“But your job.”

“I'll go on sick leave.” Maybe he needed to. He felt like scalding water in Laurie's embrace, ready to evaporate. “Don't worry. I'll get round it.”
Laurie buried his face in Sasha's hair, gratefully breathing its fresh familiar scent. He'd spent part of his morning tearing about between florists, but he'd also attended a nerve-racking meeting in Ealing between Douglas Brett and a financial representative from Ivory Gate. So far he'd had to walk out twice in order to gain his objectives. Both times he'd been run after with satisfactory speed. In return, and to keep Brett sweet, he'd offered an extra scene for Devlin, one that glued several of the others into making sense. He'd set everything up exactly as if Sasha had been coming too. Not for one second had he believed it would happen. “Thank God,” he said again, voice cracking.
Sasha felt the heat of his tears. He wanted to look up but his ears were buzzing, grey rags fluttering across his field of vision. “Why's it so important to you, love?” he asked, muffled against Laurie's shoulder. “That I be there?”

“Why do you think? That I want you as some kind of trophy for my arm? I can't act without you. I can't be without you.”

But you'd still have gone. Sasha let the thought go—let everything go, dissolving and falling at last. He was in Laurie's arms. Nothing else mattered. “Is it hot in here?”

“No. But you're white as a sheet. Come with me.”

They stumbled out together into the churchyard, where a dancing breeze and honeysuckle were combining to make the graves look festive. Laurie led Sasha to a marble tomb amid the long grass and eased him down, careful to find him a patch free of moss. “There. What's wrong? Are you ill?”
Sasha gave it thought. Everything cold and clenched inside him was expanding in relief. “No,” he said, hanging on to Laurie's lapel, absently caressing the yellow rose. “I'm just hungry.”

“Missed-breakfast hungry, or...”

“No. The other type.”

Laurie nodded in comprehension. Sasha had almost died of starvation on the streets. Now he ate healthily, but there were times when old desperations and damage caught up with him. Straightening up, Laurie scanned the green where the marquee staff were struggling with flapping white canvas. Beyond it was a little park, a handful of stallholders setting up for the summer's-day trade. “I know just what you need. Hang on.”
He took the short cut out of the churchyard. He was a sight, Sasha thought—a vision to take to the grave with you, vaulting the wall in his immaculate dove-grey suit. Sasha watched him out of sight, clutching at the tomb's marble edge.

He returned more conventionally through the lych-gate. He was cradling a paper-wrapped package in one hand, a cup in the other. “Here,” he said, setting both down on the marble. “Sausage. Bun. Coke.”

Street food, immediate and hot. Sugar and caffeine to wash it all down. Glancing at him apologetically, Sasha unwrapped the package. Laurie had brought paper napkins to protect the beautiful ivory-coloured trousers, and between them they placed these strategically. “It's all right,” Laurie told him. “It's safe. You can eat.”

It was a dead-serious business. Sasha, who had never abandoned his manners even in his darkest days of homelessness, tried to make it a tidy one, but he knew that for a minute or two he was nothing but a ravenous animal, with every mouthful staving off death. By the time he'd consumed two thirds of the hot dog he was calming down, and sheepishly nodded to his lover, who'd watched the process indulgently. “Thanks. Sorry. Want a bit?”

“A bit of what? The wrapper?” Nevertheless Laurie accepted the last piece of sausage, popped it into his mouth with an absurd vaudeville wink. “Better?”

“Mm. God, yeah.”

“What a wolf-cub.” Laurie reached out and smilingly wiped ketchup from the corner of Sasha's mouth. “Now, the question is—do you want a bit?”
Sasha's brain was clearing, but still slow. It took him a moment. He looked around the churchyard, eyes wide. “We couldn't. Could we?”

“Well, it's still early. And I know it's holy ground, but...”

“Everything you do to me is holy.”