Alec

by William di Canzio

Their fun spoiled, the dallying maids went back to their duties, but not Alec. Although his chores likewise needed doing (before he was free to tend to his own pressing business of preparing to leave England), he could make himself do nothing. What had just happened? In some ways, the silent exchange had been familiar. How many (uncountable) times he had noticed a fellow, undressed him with his eyes in a flash, then, in another flash, forgotten him. Nearly as often the game was a contest, the two players dawdling and dithering between steamy stares and feigned indifference to see who would back down first. These fantasies always came to nothing. Was that what had just happened? If so, then why was he dumbfounded? What had he seen in the stranger? The motorcar, the angle of the man’s chin, and what could be seen of his clothes expressed privilege. Was that what had attracted Alec? Wealth and what comes with it? Could he be so small-minded? He had reason to hope not, because (to give himself credit) Risley’s money and trappings had held no allure for him, nor, for that matter, did Clive Durham’s. Could it have been the man’s appearance, then, that beguilingly handsome face? Alec’s head would have turned to look after him had he passed by anywhere, no denying that. Yet it was the rare face and form that could surpass Van’s or excite a more urgent desire. For certain the pleasure they’d shared back home was ravishing, but it went no further than that for Alec: an unforgettable...