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He’d done well so far, but his nerve was failing.
    Orlando nudged him, opening his arms and beckoning his friend to lounge on him. Jonty didn’t need
    to be asked twice.
    “Now we need a plan. To enable us to solve this crime in a short time and at such a distance.” Jonty
    could open his heart no further and, truth to tell, there was little more to come out, sparing the gruesome details. He was already taking refuge in practicalities, as he’d so often taken it in the process of tea making.
    “Where do we start? How can we get an idea of what was going on with Jardine?”
    Jonty patted his lover’s chest. “I’ll ring my brother Clarence, he’s a member of the same club as
    milord and he might have an idea. In any case, we’ll go down to London for the weekend and get sniffing like a pair of bloodhounds. It’ll have to be a hotel as Mama’s away—she wouldn’t trust us not to lead Papa astray.”
    “Seems as good a start as any.” Orlando rubbed his chin on Jonty’s head, a gesture they always found
    stupidly endearing. “And the rest of today?”
    “That’s easy. Evensong—I heard you snort, but you’ll have to grin and bear it—cheese on toast, and
    then an early night in bed.”
    “Early night or early night ?”
    “Depends on how sensible you are in chapel.”
    “I’ll complete the responses like an angel.”
    “I’ll believe that when I hear it…”

    

    Once they’d consumed the last piece of toasted cheese, Jonty had to admit that he did believe it.
    Orlando had been a saint during evensong, not once frowning or rolling his eyes, even during the sermon, which had in all fairness been one of Lumley’s most interesting ones, perhaps because the subject matter—
    the location and nature of the real Sodom and Gomorrah—had been rather near the knuckle.

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    25
    Charlie Cochrane
    They climbed the stairs, in no great hurry, found the fire stoked up in their bedroom, changed into
    nightshirts against the cold, cleaned their teeth, then slipped into bed, just like a middle-aged married couple.
    It was funny, Orlando reflected, how his attitude towards sleeping together had changed so much in a
    matter of weeks. When they’d first shared a double bed, it had seemed daring in the extreme and the sheer delight of being next to his lover in a state of undress had been enough to make him overexcited. Now that they shared every night, there was no longer the sense of audacity or novelty, although the outcome of any of their romantic encounters remained dazzling.
    In fact, Orlando was prepared to swear that side of things only got better and better.
    This night they lay and read their novels, lighthearted Grossmith for the lover of Shakespeare’s
    sonnets, Doyle with his clinical logic for the mathematically inclined. At a time they seemed to agree on without speaking, they turned out the lights and snuggled into the covers.
    Frost was predicted and already the fire was fighting a losing battle against the cold that seeped in through the window. Orlando wound his arms around his lover’s body, placing his hand over Jonty’s heart, enjoying the feel of its strong and steady beat. His fingers slowly wormed themselves into the gaps between the buttons and twiddled with the scant hairs gracing his lover’s muscular chest.
    Jonty sighed, wriggling his back into Orlando’s stomach. “Sweetheart, would you mind if we didn’t
    go the whole hog tonight? If we just—sort of—played a bit, kissed and cuddled, and the like. As we used to when we were first in love?”
    Orlando could only guess at why this unprecedented request had been made, and none of his guesses
    made him comfortable. When time and opportunity presented, Jonty had never been one to spurn the
    chance of adventure. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Your wish, my command and all that.”
    Jonty giggled. “You do make me feel like I’m a character in some adventure of old. You know the
    sort of thing, days