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discovered through Squeezy’s observations of the Russian’s comings and goings that Gregory was driven every day into Chelsea, same time, one driver. Ben’s bike was still in pieces in a burnt-out kitchen; he needed new wheels.
     
    He therefore did something very uncharacteristic; he fired up Nikolas’s laptop. He put in a search, and then, without warning, utterly defenceless, he fell in love. It hit him like a punch to his solar plexus; it took his breath away. Nikolas was in the kitchen on the phone, talking in Russian, yet again. He could hear traffic noises faintly from below. Radulf was chewing on something. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment to see if it was still real. It was. He sensed Nikolas come into the room but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, even for him.
     
    Nikolas came and stood behind him, hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”
     
    Ben just nodded.
     
    “Why are you on my computer?”
     
    “Because I don’t have one.”
     
    “Huh. What’s that?”
     
    “It’s a Ducati.”
     
    “Uh.”
     
    Ben turned, his eyes wide. “Just uh? Look at it!”
     
    Nikolas frowned but dutifully did as Ben asked. Ben stood, went to the window, came back, sat down. “It’s called…the Monster Diesel.”
     
    “I’ve been able to read English for many years. So?”
     
    “That’s me, Nik. That was my name—my nickname in the Regiment. And see…it’s described as military urban chic. It’s my bike. It’s me .” He added in an awed voice, “It’s fate .”
     
    Nikolas laughed. “You’re military urban chic now, hmm?” He kissed the top of Ben’s head. “Buy it. It’s your birthday next week. I remembered.”
     
    Ben turned. “Seriously. Just like that?”
     
    Nikolas seemed very slightly shifty. “It might cheer you up. When I tell you what I need to tell you. Come.” He sat down on the sofa and patted the space next to him.
     
    “I’m okay here. Just tell me, yeah?”
     
    Nikolas sighed and stretched out his legs. Ben noticed a slight wince but decided it was a play for sympathy so he ignored it. “Gregory has cancer.” Nikolas glanced up to see how this was received and added quickly, “I believe him. I’ve seen the doctor’s reports—The Royal Marsden in Chelsea. It’s why he’s in London in the first place. Lung cancer, which has now―I’ve no idea how you say this in English, but it means spread? Anyway, it’s done that thing. It’s now in his―I don’t know English for this either. I’m sorry.” He put a hand to the side of his neck. “Here, but not the throat?”
     
    “Lymph nodes?”
     
    “Thank you. It’s in his liver, too. He’s smoked since he was a boy, and Russian cigarettes were very dangerous then. Toxic. So…” He glanced up again. “Please, come here, sit down beside me?”
     
    Ben did as he was asked. So far, he hadn’t heard any actual bad news, but he loved Nikolas enough not to let this thought show. “So, he has, he says, only a few months.” He tipped his head to one side, regarding Ben. It was a heart-breaking gesture, and Ben suddenly felt some sympathy for Gregory who’d lost this and would never have it again. On that sense of his own good fortune, he cupped Nikolas behind the neck and pulled him closer, their foreheads resting together.
     
    “I’m sorry.”
     
    Nikolas nodded then pulled back slightly. “He’s very bitter, I think. Not resigned at all to his fate.” He shrugged. “It didn’t help, therefore, when he saw my picture in the paper and realised I’d decided my own fate. And then to see me again at the restaurant with…everything I have now. Very bitter.”
     
    “This is the part I’m not going to like, isn’t it?”
     
    Nikolas pouted a little. “He wants to return to Russia and die with dignity there at a time he chooses.”
     
    “And?”
     
    “He doesn’t want to die friendless and alone.”
     
    “He wants you to go to Russia with him?”
     
    “Yes.