The Cup Bearer

By Dee Jones

Rescued from a sex club on the south America island of Tamarigo, young Emilio Gomez is given a fresh start in life while he struggles with his own sexuality and his own faith. His mentor, Anthony Grafton, gives him the chance of a career as an entertainer before the man is murdered. Emilio vows to use the money he earns to rescue other kids in the same situation and bring to justice those who have harmed him and others.
He realizes the syndicate he is fighting is determined to silence him. Knowing he cannot fulfill his ambitions alone, he accepts help from Anthonys brothers and Don Clooney, the minder they have hired to keep him safea situation that is threatened by their growing closeness. Don resolves the situation by returning to the States, leaving Emilio unprotected from the attacks by both the syndicate and his stepfather.
With only his best friend, Sandy Roberts, to support him, he feels the pressure becoming unbearable, events fulfilling his own vivid dreams until someone precious from his past arrives on the scene. Together they rise above the heartache of personal loss and see the first of their enemies brought to trial. But there are many more to deal with before he can find peace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546281269

Book preview

PROLOGUE

February 1979, Spain

Aida moved out of her shack, and into the early morning sun, to check the stitches on the blouse she worked on. She spotted her youngest grandson strolling across the windswept gypsy campground and knew where he’d been. Young fool, hobnobbing with the tourists in the village instead of staying near the camp. His mother hadn’t long to live, God bless her.

Wherever they camped, sweet-faced Manuel and his two sisters acted as bait to attract the tourists. They sang and danced while his four older brothers played their guitars. Trinkets were sold and palms read, and when the tourists did not come to the camp, Manuel and his siblings sought them out at their hotels. Aida sniffed in disgust. The proprietors didn’t mind their presence when they provided free entertainment, did they? Mean penny pinchers! Thread and materials, to keep the colourful costumes clean and repaired, did not come cheap. She studied the blouse; a red one lovingly embroidered by her own hand and passed down from generation to generation. One of her many great granddaughters owned it now. How many more times would it stand repairing before it had to be replaced?

Her older grandsons usually ended up in the arms of bewitched female tourists and did not return to camp until the early hours. Now it looked like Manuel had begun to do the same. Aida sighed and fought the urge to give the boy a tongue-lashing; he was her favourite grandson after all.

When he spotted her watching him, his face lit up with a smile, his dark eyes twinkling beneath finely sculptured eyebrows and floppy curls. He always had a smile for her but this time there was a new gentleness about it, and a new spring in his step as he walked towards her. He stopped a few feet away and acknowledged her status as clan chief with a nod of respect. She expected no less from him.

Hello, Grandmamma, how are you today?

What do you care? Aida secured the repaired seam and snapped her thread with unnecessary force. Who is she?

Who is who?

The one who has your heart, you young fool. Isn’t Elaina good enough for you?

Manuel laughed. Now what would I do with Elaina? Her brothers are twice my size and her father has the temper of a stricken bull. If the tourists dream of seduction by a handsome gypsy, who am I to refuse them? In any case, this girl is one of our kind.

How do you know?

She told me. Her parents are Irish gypsies.

Aida’s nose wrinkled. Tinkers!

No, they’re real gypsies, like us. They call themselves the Shelta.

A shadow of unease made Aida want to question him further about the girl, but his father hurried round the corner of the shack with a pair of trousers over his arm. Aida watched him jerk to a halt as he caught sight of Manuel. His face darkened with annoyance and he lowered his head, and Aida thought he would charge the boy. Elaina’s father wasn’t the only one with a bullish temper. He stopped in front of Manuel, his eyebrows meeting above his nose. Don’t you listen to anything I say these days? I told you to stay near the camp.

Aida watched Manuel’s happy expression fade and his eyes filled with concern. They were so different, these two; the father thick set and easy to rile, the boy more like his mother, slightly built and gentle-natured. I’m sorry, Papa. How is my mother?

Juan placed a comforting hand on Manuel’s shoulder. It will not be long now. She’s asking for you.

Manuel stared at his father for a few seconds then ran towards a muddle of tents and corrugated panels, his blue-black hair bouncing wildly about his ears.

Poor boy, Aida thought. He’s just turned eighteen but still has a child’s emotions to cope with. He must learn to stand back and let the women show their emotions in public.

Relieved Juan hadn’t dealt harshly with him Aida spoke on the boy’s behalf. You’ll never tie that one down.

I know that. Juan stared after Manuel. He talks of going to Madrid to learn music. What does he need with lessons? He sings like a bird and dances like he has wings on his feet; and already he plays the guitar better than any of us. If we lose him to the city, we lose our best performer.

Aida recalled how a maestro from Madrid heard Manuel play in the big hotel below the camp. Impressed with Manuel’s abilities, he had offered him free tuition if he would go back with him. He is gifted, Juan. Don’t bury what talent The Lord has provided.

Spoiling him again, Mother? Juan thrust the trousers at her. Here, do what you’re best at and leave my sons to me.

Doing women’s errands now, are we? Aida snatched the trousers and flung them into the shack.

Juan’s face flushed with anger. The women are with my wife, where you should be.

Oh yes? You’d have your queen scrabble on the floor of a tent with the other women, would you? I’ve done all I can for your wife. My herbs are no cure for this wasting disease. You should have sent for the doctor from the village when I told you to. Now it’s too late. All I can do now is pray for her. If you want to honour your wife’s dying wish, let Manuel go to Madrid. She kicked the door of the shack. Better you do what you’re good at, too. We’ve been here for three weeks and you still haven’t fixed this door. As you’ve already taken my wagon apart to repair that, you’d better get this rabbit hutch seen to. The rain swollen, rotted wood made it catch on the floor.

Juan bent to examine the damage. I’m surprised at you taking his side. A gypsy living in the city, learning to play from bits of paper?

It can be no worse than drifting from place to place like we do.

It isn’t the life for one of our kind. He should stay here and work for the family like his brothers do and be content.

To do what; beg and live in a tent for the rest of his life? Aida stepped back into the shack, to give Juan room to lift the door off its peg hinges. The old ways of the Gitano are over, Juan. Many live in houses and flats in the towns now. Do you think I want to see my group break up? One by one the families have gone their way, two of your own brothers included. None of them have come back and pleaded poverty. Juan heaved the door a few feet away and set it on its side and Aida watched him take his working knife from his belt to shave the bottom edge. Let him go, Juan.

If he leaves he is no longer a Gitano.

Aida shrugged. If that’s the case, neither are your brothers and you haven’t turned them away when they’ve come to see me. Manuel will return when he’s ready.

Oh? And how do you know that?

I dreamed again last night. She spoke with discretion because Juan scorned the idea that God spoke to her. She wasn’t the first Gitano to embrace the Christian faith. Manuel, unlike his father, often listened when she read her Bible aloud, which made his slide away from its moral statutes all the more painful to her. Your wife will be gone soon and another life will take her place, conceived last night if I’m not mistaken. Aida inclined her head in the direction of Juan’s quarters.

Juan straightened up, his eyes wide with amusement. Manuel? You’re rambling. He’s just a puppy.

Is that so? You were younger than him when you found out what your tail was for.

Juan turned back to his work and Aida did not interrupt him again. She didn’t want him to walk off in a huff and leave her to spend another night exposed to the winter weather. But once the door hung back in its place and moving easily, he gave his whole attention to her. So, you had another dream.

Aida nodded. You know I see things, Juan. A life already flutters into being and I will live to see his face, just as I saw it in my dream, a beautiful face and the image of Manuel. He will have the gifts of his ancestors – that may be good or bad. I don’t know. I also saw the name ‘Ganymede’. Strange name! I’ve never heard it before. I also saw a lot of pain and sorrow for this baby.

Will you tell Manuel?

Your wife wants him to go to Madrid. He will go his own way with or without your consent.

If you tell him, he’ll waste his time looking for the woman.

If I don’t, and the kid shows up years later looking for his papa, what will we say to him?

Juan shook his head and offered his usual excuse. I’d better get back to my wife.

With a sad heart, Aida shuffled back into her shack, the blouse forgotten. She leaned on her bed and went down on her knees. She opened her hands, palms upwards, and closed her eyes in prayer; for the living as well as the dead.

Nine months later

Aida shuffled into her shack with a small velvet box clutched to her breast. She closed and barred the door then opened the box and lifted a newly minted gold medallion and chain from its satin pillow. All the gold she possessed, from her own wedding ring and her father’s watch to trinkets and jewellery bought or bargained for over the past months, went into the creation of this piece and the engraving of both faces. It glinted in the light of the oil lamp hanging over her table. She didn’t have to read the minute inscriptions; she knew them by heart. Even before her great grandson’s conception, God had given her a message but she had not understood it or known whom it was for. Now she did and it made sense. The message held a warning for the unborn babe, Manuel’s son, and now safely inscribed on the medallion.

With both hands, she cradled it to her breast, and lifted tear-filled eyes heavenward. Now she knew why God had blessed her with sons and grandsons. In her sleep last night, she saw the baby born and heard its first cry. Through her tears, she offered a prayer of thanks and moved to where an ancient rosewood cabinet stood between the table and her bed, given in payment for healing the young son of an antique dealer when others had failed. She opened the top drawer and placed the box inside then closed and locked it before wrapping her one good blanket round her. She settled down in her old rocking chair to begin her long vigil, and wondered where Manuel was now.

CHAPTER ONE

November 11th 1994.

Tamarigo, an independent island state, ten miles outside Brazilian territorial waters, due East of Rio de Janeiro,

Emilio Gomez looked round his sun-filled bedroom in his guardian’s mountain villa, unable to believe he’d had the same dream three nights in a row. Stupid! He got out of bed and slid open the patio door, crossed the patio at a run and jumped into the pool. Ten feet down, he touched bottom, then shot to the surface. Facing away from the brilliant sunlight bouncing off the villa walls with blinding intensity, he glided through the water, his long black hair tickling his shoulders. He tried to forget the dream but it refused to fade - the flash of sunlight reflecting off metal as he sat by the thirty-foot pool, the rifle and a face above it peeping out of the shrubbery, the loud crack and a bullet streaking towards him before everything turned red.

The purpose of this four-day break from his busy life in Nashville was to make sense of the screwed up memories of his past life, to celebrate his fifteenth birthday with the man he loved as a father, and to find his parents and tell them of Tony’s plans to adopt him. No stupid dream would spoil those plans if he could help it.

Reaching the far end, he hoisted himself onto the tiles and stepped onto the grass beyond, to begin his morning warm up routine; some general exercises, a little Tai Chi, a few dance movements. The pool at this end went down to a depth of eighteen feet; if he had time before his guardian came back from the village, he’d climb the rocky outcrop above the pool for some diving. He interwove his movements with handstands and cartwheels, making believe he danced on stage in Nashville. Muscles loosened, he prepared to dive back into the water when the hairs on his neck rose. Moving to the edge of the shrubbery, he pushed the foliage aside and stepped through to inspect the soil behind. Yesterday he had weeded the place and broken up the soil. Now it bore the marks of being brushed over.

Someone called to him and he stepped back through the shrubbery. His tall grey-haired guardian stood watching him from the patio. Emilio waved and dived back into the water. He swam along the bottom and delayed his rise to the surface till the last possible moment, rolling and twisting like an otter and expending all the air in his lungs. A talented vocalist, he found this a perfect way to increase lung capacity and breathing control.

He knew Tony Grafton, a successful journalist and biographer, loved to watch him, but he didn’t feel comfortable about that any more. Fifteen years old tomorrow, he had sultry Latin looks to be proud of, and that was the problem. They didn’t just attract the females.

He broke surface and gasped for air. When he reached the tiles below Tony’s feet, he squeezed the water from his nose, flipped his hair back and gazed up at Tony. Did you find my parents?

No.

Why? What happened?

Tony reached down to haul him out of the water. According to the people in the village, you don’t exist.

That’s ridiculous. Emilio accepted the towel Tony held out and wrapped it round his hips. Under it he stripped off his shorts then proceeded to dry himself.

Tony handed him another towel to dry his hair with. For some reason, the people in your village deny knowing you. The village priest hinted that everyone is under a vow of silence.

Emilio moved away from his English benefactor and leaned against the waist high parapet bordering the patio and supporting an ornate, wrought iron safety rail. On the other side of the wall, the ground dropped in a steep, foliage-covered gradient to the tree line a hundred feet below. Smoke drifted up from the village where Emilio had been born and he wished the smoke would reveal things he could not remember, and hide those he didn’t want to but came to him at night in dreadful nightmares.

I suppose this means the adoption won’t go ahead; some birthday!

Not necessarily. We don’t really need your parents’ permission; I just thought it would be polite to tell them of our plans. In any case, I didn’t pull you away from your dancing and skating lessons in Nashville just to give up at the first sign of trouble. There is a man in the village, a guitar maker, whose name is Julio Gomez. Is he a relative?

My father’s younger brother. With the memory came tension, making Emilio’s accent lapse into mixture of American and Hispanic, a stark contrast to Tony’s English upper-class accent. What about him?

Tony pointed to the patio table already laid for breakfast. Come and sit down, we can talk while we eat.

Depressed and not very hungry, Emilio stared at the smoke once more as the smell of burning wood drifted up on the breeze. If this adoption doesn’t go through, I can’t stay with you. It wouldn’t be right.

I’m your guardian, where else would you live? By the way, what were you doing in the bushes just now?

I had that dream again. I went to check where the rifle was fired from. Someone’s been here.

I thought so, too. I think it’s Peter. Remember we found very little food left in the kitchen when we arrived? My bed smelled of an aftershave he uses; can’t stand it myself, that’s why I noticed. As my son, he’s the only one, apart from you, me and George, with access to the place. I’ve barred Peter from using it.

Why?

I cut him out of my will two weeks ago. You’re my sole beneficiary.

But he’s your natural son.

Not anymore.

Have you told him?

Yes, but we’ll talk about him some other time. First I want to know why you think you can no longer live with me if I can’t adopt you.

Emilio felt his cheeks grow hot. Tony provided a secure home, an education from private tutors most boys could only dream about, and encouraged him to become an entertainer. He didn’t want to hurt him but he had no choice. He threw down the damp towel and combed his hair back with his fingers. I’m not a kid any more. We’re too close.

I should hope so; I’ve worked at our friendship hard enough.

I know you’re gay.

Tony’s eyes widened with astonishment then he burst out laughing. He came to stand beside Emilio and placed an arm round his shoulders. And there’s me thinking I fooled everyone. Seriously, I’m only joking. You’re quite mistaken, you know. Being impotent and being gay are two very different things. Thankfully my problem is the former. I’ve spent a lot of time and money on therapy and it’s finally paying off. My family were beginning to think like you and I even went through two horrendous marriages just to keep my family happy. Now an urchin from the back of beyond sees through my camouflage in no time at all. How did you guess I’m not the lady’s man I pretend to be?

Emilio cast him a scornful glance. I’m not stupid and I don’t wear blinkers.

Blinkers?

Yeah, you said horses in England wear them sometimes.

And what, may I ask, have blinkers got to do with my love life?

You have a great time with your lady friends when I’m around, and I’ve heard about them leaving in tears when I’m not.

Oh, I see. You think I use you as a form of aphrodisiac, do you?

It looks that way to me.

Well you’re quite mistaken. As I said, the therapy seems to be working. If you must know, I had a job getting rid of my latest conquest to come down here.

Gillian?

Yes.

I don’t like her.

Why?

Bad vibes.

You’re lucky she’s such a considerate lady. George believes you are ready to enter the second stage of your own therapy and you need more of a family environment. It’s essential to your mental growth for you to remember what happened to you in the past, and deal with your demons one by one. So, Gillian has agreed to become the stable mother figure in your life.

Emilio screwed his face up in disgust. How is our illustrious head fink, anyhow?

Young man, at times I despair of you. I spend three years grooming a homeless waif to fit into society and you fall flat on your face with that kind of street talk; shame on you.

You’re not the one having his brains picked every week.

George Sherbourne is one of the best psychiatric consultants in the US, and just as responsible for your recovery as I am. But we’re digressing here. Do you want me to adopt you or not?

Emilio considered his position – an urchin from a tiny backward country, rescued from a life of physical and sexual abuse and handed a life of comparative luxury for as long as he wished; he’d be dumb not to grab it with both hands. But this man offered something money couldn’t buy - a father’s love. Yes, he said at last. I do.

Tony’s face lit up. Well, there we are. I’ve already prepared the paperwork. All we need is your birth certificate or whatever they call it here. I looked for a Tamarigan entry of birth but there isn’t one. I think we should go down to the village again, and see this uncle of yours.

Emilio stared down at the smoke and the trees that hid the village, suddenly afraid of the unknown. He was about to take a journey into his past, some of it painful. Tony and George told him what they knew. Now it was up to him to retrace his steps and remember it for himself, without outside prompting. That scared him the most. He glanced at Tony and saw in his eyes how much this handsome, rugged man wanted this, but Emilio still hesitated as Tony moved away and sat at the table. If Tony only knew how much I see of my past in my nightmares, and draw in my sketchpad when I’m alone. At last he joined Tony at the table and picked up his juice. Okay, let’s do it today, before I change my mind.

Tomorrow would be better. Tony tapped the laptop beside his plate. I still have to keep to deadlines, even on trips like this; hence my visit to your village at the crack of dawn. And you have some flute practice to do as well as some homework your tutors set you I believe. I must have this work completed and emailed to my secretary by tonight, which means you will have my undivided attention tomorrow; that is if there are no interruptions.

Emilio knew nothing would change Tony’s mind once he decided on the day’s schedule. Still, Emilio didn’t mind working in this mountain home. He ate his breakfast then dressed in T-shirt and shorts and took his schoolwork folio out into the sunshine. Cara, the housemaid had placed a fresh pitcher of iced lemonade and lime on the table; Emilio poured himself a glass, added lumps of ice, and made himself comfortable on a lounger.

In the folio he found a note from his English tutor. ‘Your essay on the works of Dickens reads like a first grade doodle. Please read the passages in Great Expectations again and rewrite your essay with a little more enthusiasm, outlining the goals Pip set himself and how he expected to achieve them.’ How boring.

Both he and Tony worked through the day on their projects, with Cara supplying food and drinks as needed. Tony sat at the patio table in an old pair of swimming shorts. Emilio made do with the briefest of briefs, and a towel to spare Cara’s staunch Catholic blushes, their work interspersed with dips in the pool to cool off and relieve the tension of concentration.

Neither of them of them noticed the time passing, till a female voice suddenly called out. Cooo-eee!

Emilio choked on a mouthful of his drink and came off the lounger, coughing and spluttering. Tony looked round in the direction of the voice. Gillian? How on Earth did she get here?

Emilio clutched his towel closed. I don’t know, and I’m not waiting to find out.

Coward!

She’s your problem, not mine. You’d better get rid of her before tomorrow. I don’t want her gate crashing any party of mine.

Emilio made it to his bedroom as Gillian stepped out of the villa. Her perfect features lit up as she spotted him, her eyes dropping to the towel, but Emilio glared at her and dived into his room.

Tony rose to greet Gillian with a hug and a peck on the cheek. Hello, Darling. How did you get here?

I paid a friend of yours an extortionate amount to bring me from the airport. Gillian smiled and hugged him back. Lovely place you have here. Nice and secluded for a twosome.

You know you shouldn’t have come, don’t you?

Well, you’re such a dear man; I just couldn’t stay away from you.

Tony smiled. Thanks for the flattery but this is supposed to be a private holiday for Emilio and me to celebrate his birthday and sort out the adoption, which isn’t going very well at the moment.

Oh. Now I understand the black look he gave me just now. Never mind, Darling, I’ll make myself useful and help prepare the food.

To Tony’s dismay, Gillian made herself comfortable at the table and placed her handbag on the patio by her chair. Even in the heat, she looked cool in cream silk, her white low cut blouse moulded to a perfect bosom, her blonde hair piled high in neat waves. At fifty, the results of a successful divorce kept her looking as smooth and vibrant as a woman twenty years younger.

Be a dear and pour me a glass of that delicious looking drink. I’m dry as a bone.

It won’t be the kind of party you’re used to. Tony sat down and poured drinks for them both. Gillian’s idea of a party was to cater for lots of guests and show off her culinary talents. It will be just a quiet, relaxing day, for the two of us.

And George?

No, just Emilio and me. Really, I think it would be best if you went home. We may be down here for some time.

Gillian rewarded Tony with one of her famous ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily’ looks. That’s all right, I’ve nothing planned for weeks, and you owe me an explanation.

About what?

Emilio; if you want me to step into the role of a stepmother, I need to know all about him. I offered you a proposal and I hope this boy is not going to spoil everything. What’s so special about him, anyway?

Tony had first met her at a star-studded country music party where her talents as a hired high-class caterer and hostess ensured a successful event. During the first weeks of their relationship, this English lady of independent means displayed all the attributes a boy like Emilio needed in a mother; sensitive enough to be concerned and shrewd enough to wait till the boy invited her into his life. Now he doubted his own feelings towards her. Over the following weeks he had observed cracks appearing in her façade and a harder kernel showed through, her gentle questioning being replaced by too many probing questions and off-hand remarks about the boy.

Tony’s cheeks grew hot. I’m sorry, Gillian. I love you but not enough to accept after just a few short months. I need more time to think about your offer. Emilio is my prime concern at the moment. Forgive me?

For an instant, Gillian’s eyes flashed and her features warned of the wrath of a spurned woman, then a disarming smile lit up her face. Buy me a nice ring, with a large rock attached to it, and put it on my finger in Paris, and I’ll forgive you.

Tony glanced at his watch and closed his laptop. Why don’t we make a start on dinner? We can talk about this later. Cara went home just before you arrived and Emilio and I usually make our own evening meal.

He escorted her into the villa and on the way to the kitchen they passed Tony’s gymnasium. The sound of someone straining under physical exertion prompted a look through the porthole windows of the door.

Between the exercise and martial arts areas of the small but well equipped room, a punch bag in the shape of a six- foot human hung from the ceiling with its legs anchored to the floor. Emilio, dressed in black shorts and sleeveless T-shirt, attacked it with open hands, fists and bare feet, and it shook violently under the savagery of each strike; the gentler points of Karate forgotten in a noisy tirade of grunts and snarls.

I’ve never seen him so angry. What is he doing? Gillian asked

Whatever comes natural to a scorpion.

I beg your pardon? Gillian stared up at Tony. I’m not sure I understand.

Don’t you know anything about Astrology? Scorpio has three sides to his nature. The first is the eagle, soaring high in triumph and champion of the underdog. The second is the lizard, the psychiatrist’s nightmare, wrapped up in his own misery and hiding under a stone. The third and most dangerous is the scorpion himself, giving vent to his temper and stinging his enemies till they are no more, even to the point of stinging himself. A Scorpio can be a loyal friend, your sworn enemy, or he can cast you to one side like an empty chewing gum wrapper. There is no in between. At the moment he’s expending his anger in the safest way possible.

Anger? What has he to be angry about?

You.

Me?

Come into the kitchen and I’ll tell you all about my young friend, and maybe then you’ll understand why he resents you being here.

While Gillian put on one of Cara’s aprons and took charge of the cooking with the confidence of a seasoned chef, selecting various ingredients from the fridge and seeking out suitable pans and dishes, Tony talked. Emilio used to live in the village down the mountain. When I heard Emilio had disappeared, I made enquiries and I found him working as a photographer’s tout among the tourists in Porto Dominique on the southern coast. He started toying with a bowl of fresh fruit salad Gillian had made. She took the spoon from him and slapped his hand. Anyway, about that time, I asked George to treat me for my impotence and he arranged sessions with one of his therapists. You know I prefer these to take place away from clinical confines and, on one occasion, we met at an up-market Los Angeles motel. Our room hadn’t been fully checked and my friend found a gay magazine stuffed down the side of a chair. We skimmed through it for a laugh and found a photo of Emilio in the centrefold. The photo had a caption welcoming interested parties to the delights of the Dominique beaches.

I need three avocado dishes, Gillian interrupted him, have you got any?

Tony went to a cupboard and lifted the dishes down. There are street boys all over the world and I suppose Tamarigo has its share, but I just couldn’t believe Emilio could live like that. The photographer probably used him as a free advert and never bothered to tell him. I know how much that kind of photo sells for, and if Emilio wants me to, I’ll find the bastard and sue him. Incidentally, I managed to please my therapist that night, a breakthrough in itself. Gillian raised an eyebrow at him. He placed the dishes in front of her. When I got back to the island, I tried to find Emilio but he’d vanished again. The police were less than helpful. They said street kids disappear off the streets too often for them to investigate each case. The Commandant of the Tamarigan Police Force is a friend of mine. He was just a captain then. He said he’d let me know if they found anything. They put Emilio’s name on file and I heard nothing more. I went back to work on my biographies and my physical problem returned. Months later I heard from my friend that the police had investigated rumours of a club in the mountains further north from here.

What sort of club?

Feeling uncomfortable, Tony turned away to pace the kitchen. A place where you can act out any fantasy you can imagine in complete privacy if you are a homosexual paedophile and can afford the fees. I had a hunch Emilio would be there and I insisted on being on hand when the police raided the place. Unfortunately, someone tipped off the owners and the place was empty except for a number of security guards who opened up with guns. In the middle of the fight, an African American carried Emilio out of the villa. Someone shot him in the back as he reached us." Tony picked up a wine glass and placed it on a shelf with some others.

How did you know he was an American?

I already knew him. He lived in Emilio’s village and used to do occasional heavy work for me here. For the life of me, I’ll never understand how he ended up at the club. His name was Caroga, a jolly fellow, always singing jazz. He carved my pool out of solid rock and paved the patio. Before he collapsed, the man said one word, ‘Heroin’. He died two days later in San Margarita hospital. Those bastards had given Emilio a massive dose of it."

Oh, no! Gillian gasped. Who would do such a thing?

Anyone desperate to shut him up. The police found the bodies of six other boys between the ages of six and thirteen in the villa; the remains of several others were found in an incinerator. The boys died the same way Emilio would have but we got him to the hospital in San Margarita just in time. I insisted on bringing in specialist doctors from Brazil but for several days we thought he would never make it. I hardly left his side, I felt so guilty.

What on earth for?

I feel I’m responsible for him running away from home in the first place. My houseboy, Benito, said a friend of his needed work to feed his family. He brought Emilio to me a half starved ten-year old. My son, Peter, and his friends attended school in England and used this place in the summer vacations. Peter and Benito got on well enough and they asked me to take Emilio on. Peter and his friend always made quite a mess when they were here so I thought an extra pair of hands would help keep it reasonably tidy. I went abroad a lot and didn’t know what really went on till I dropped in unexpectedly. I caught Peter and his friends using Benito and Emilio as sex slaves. Benito seemed enthusiastic, but little Emilio showed nothing but raw hostility. I gave Peter a thrashing and sent his friends home with a warning that I’d be writing to their parents. I didn’t do that because they were gay; I have several good friends who are. I did it because I hate people forcing kids to do things they don’t want to. I dismissed Benito and sent Emilio home, right into the arms of Guido Gomez.

His father? Why was that a problem?

"I suspected Guido of beating him but I couldn’t prove it.

Gillian put down the knife she used to split the avocados and turned him to face her. He looked down at her and saw the understanding in her eyes. Tony, you mustn’t blame yourself. After all, you did try to find him and make amends. You nursed him back to health. You’ve done all you can for him.

Have I? Emilio’s fight to lead a normal life is only just beginning.

You’ve done far more for this boy than many men would. You’ve given him a new life, a home, and offered him a permanent place in your family. That boy’s got a lot of talent and you’ve encouraged him every step of the way. How you’ve managed to handle him all this time I don’t know.

It’s quite simple really. From dawn to bedtime, George and I never gave him time to brood. I paid for double, sometimes triple lessons and he’s learnt in three years what another child would take six years or more to learn.

Has it been worth it?

Oh, yes.

Then you have your answer. You’ve done all you can.

Then why is it that I still feel I’ve let him down?

Don’t be silly, you’ve done more for that boy than he deserves, As soon as Gillian uttered the words, she turned from him and went back to preparing the avocados.

Tony sensed she wanted to retract her statement. What do you mean, Gillian?

Nothing, forget it.

Annoyed, Tony took the knife from her, laid it down on the worktop. Why do you think he doesn’t deserve all I’ve given him?

Gillian faced him and stared hard into his eyes. He’s a poor Latino from an island country hardly anyone knows exists. He has no claims on you or your wealth. You can’t carry on doting on him. Did you know people are beginning to talk? A homeless urchin kept by an unattached man of the world? You’ve been so wrapped up in the boy, you’ve failed to notice how other people view the situation. You’re building a reputation as a biographer and music critic, and magazines are queuing up to have you write for them. That won’t be for long if stories of child abuse reach your publishers.

Child abuse? That’s nonsense and you know it.

Is it? Emilio will soon fly away and forget you once he’s stepped onto the entertainment ladder, then where will that leave you? A sad old man with his journalistic career in ruins.

Tony returned her gaze with one of surprise. I thought you wanted to be a mother to him; now I not so sure.

Darling, I’ll admit I’m not the motherly kind but I love you too much to see you make a big mistake. I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep the illusion of happy family life if that’s what you want; just don’t ask me to act the doting mommy. In any case, he’s the one who’s jealous. Like all children coping with a possible step parent, it’s natural for him to feel threatened.

Tony laughed and hugged her. If that’s all it is, he’ll just have to get used to having you around.

I hope so, too. Gillian pushed away from him. Now, go and have your shower and dress for dinner. Let’s make this a special night for him then I’ll make myself scarce first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER TWO

Drenched with sweat, and feeling the first pangs of weakness, Emilio leaned on the wall outside the kitchen and watched Tony walk across the hall to his bedroom. He’d heard most of the conversation, which confirmed his dislike for the woman and for Peter. He had tried to be friendly, for Tony’s sake, but all he felt from her so far were bad vibes. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her, but if he didn’t get some sugar down him soon, he would be in trouble. He would have to see a doctor soon to confirm his suspicions. He stepped into the kitchen and steeled himself for a confrontation.

Gillian ignored him as he walked past her and opened the fridge, took out a bottle of orange juice and opened it. He raised it to his lips and waited for the inevitable remark.

Right on cue, Gillian said, I wish you wouldn’t do that.

What?

Drinking from the bottle. You should use a glass.

This is my home; I’ll do as I please.

It’s not hygienic.

Emilio walked up to Gillian and showed her a label on the bottle. It boasted his name in red ink. See this? It says mind your own business.

Gillian glared at him. You can be quite rude at times.

Only when you’re around; I don’t know what you’re playing at, lady, but there’s something not quite right about you and I’ll do anything to protect Tony from you.

Young man, you can’t do anything.

Oh can’t I? Emilio gave her a chilly smile. You think you’ll still have wild nights when I’m not around?

Don’t be so crude. Gillian popped the avocado halves into their dishes and reached for the bowl of savoury filling. He’s had the best therapy and he’s almost cured. I can vouch for that.

I don’t care what he’s had; it won’t change him. He is what he is. George has told him that till he sounds like a cracked record but Tony would rather waste his money on impossible dreams instead of opening the nut and looking at the kernel. One of the avocados proved to be diseased and yet the outside of the fruit showed no sign of blemish. He placed the withered kernel in front of Gillian to demonstrate what he said. At least I know what Tony needs. You think he’s good in bed? That’s because he comes to my room before he comes to you, to make sure I’m okay; he always has done every night, because I have this fear of going to sleep. But it’s all right; he’s never touched me. He doesn’t have to. Why don’t I come into your room tonight? He’ll make love to you like you’ve never dreamed of.

Gillian’s right hand came up in a vicious backhander. Emilio rocked from the blow and his right cheek burned.

Gillian! Tony stared wide-eyed at them from the kitchen door. Emilio fought the stinging pain and marvelled how a lady could pack such a hefty wallop. Gillian caught her breath and turned away. Tony walked up to him, grabbed the bottle of still cold juice and held it to Emilio’s cheek. At that moment, he began to experience the first wave of dizziness. The room tilted and his knees buckled. Tony grabbed a kitchen stool and made him sit on it. Gillian watched in cold detachment as Tony took another juice bottle from the fridge, filled a glass and mixed a spoonful of sugar into it. He held it out to Emilio. Get that down you. This isn’t the first time this has happened and I don’t like it. When we get home I’ll have a doctor check you over.

What’s the matter with him? Gillian asked.

Tony pressed the first bottle to Emilio’s cheek again. Low blood sugar; he hasn’t eaten much since lunch and he’s used up too much energy. If you want to help, I’d appreciate you getting the dinner on the table as soon as you can.

Gillian bristled. I beg your pardon! I’m a guest not a servant.

You’re no guest, Emilio snapped at her, you weren’t invited.

That’s enough, Emilio. Tony checked Emilio’s cheek for bruising. Go and wait in the lounge, Gillian, I’ll see to the meal myself. Gillian tore the apron off and flounced out of the kitchen, and Emilio couldn’t help enjoying the woman’s outrage; round one to me.

Before retiring for the night, Tony knocked on the door of the spare bedroom and Gillian told him to enter. She sat at the dressing table, already in her negligee, brushing her hair. Out of its pins, her hair hung halfway down her back. He wanted to take her in his arms and bury his face in that pale molten gold, but he had made his decision and he would stick to it. Gillian, I feel I owe you an explanation. Gillian glanced at him through the mirror, her eyes unwelcoming. He sat down on the bed and said, Although Emilio can cope with daily life now, he still has periods when the slightest upset will turn him upside down. He has to be treated with gentleness and understanding. Gillian turned round with a retort on her lips but Tony held up a hand for silence. Today was one of those times and what you did to him showed me a side of your character I never knew existed; a side of you I don’t much like. You two will never get on, so, under the circumstances, I think it best if we had a rethink about our marriage plans.

Gillian shot to her feet, her eyes narrowed to slits. So I’m to be dumped in favour of a grubby little rent boy, am I?

Whatever gave you the idea Emilio is a rent boy? He’s the victim of horrific circumstances and needs help.

He doesn’t need help. Gillian’s voice could have soured fresh cream. He knows more about you than you do yourself. Can’t you see he’s manipulating you? He even told me he would do anything to keep me away from you. If you don’t get rid of him, all the therapy in the world won’t help you. At least he got that right. You should have listened to George and saved yourself a load of money. Now, please leave the room. Because of that brat, I have a two hour drive to the airport in the morning, and I need my sleep.

Tony rose to his feet, ready to give her a parting blast, when a thought struggled for domination and made him smile. He looked Gillian up and down, taking in her curves under the gossamer gown, and her beautiful hair. Her face devoid of makeup was still beautiful even in her anger; but he felt not a trace of desire for her. He suddenly noticed lines round her eyes and mouth, as well as the white roots beginning to show where the hair had grown since her last dollar eating trip to her favourite beauty salon. He saw a woman trying too hard to stay young and attractive; and failing. Not that it mattered to him, it was the character inside that counted.

Tony walked to the door and opened it. He got two things right, not one. You have fooled me for three months but he saw right through you from the start. He knew you weren’t right for me. The hairbrush flew towards him. He stepped aside and let it sail out into the hall. The door slammed behind him as he bent to pick it up. Feeling happier than he had for a long time, he went to check on Emilio, switching off all but the hall nightlights on the way. He stepped into Emilio’s room, found it empty and felt a stab of panic. Emilio’s sketchpad lay open on the rumpled bed. The boy had shown his artistic talent as a result of lessons in stage and scenery design, and George had told Emilio to write about or sketch whatever he felt he could not openly talk about. Tony had not yet looked at it but George had warned him that some of the drawings were be pretty graphic. He flipped through it and his stomach churned.

The last sketch showed a scene from Greek mythology with Zeus on his throne and other familiar gods paying homage. At Zeus’s side stood an almost naked boy holding up a large wine cup, He was drawn with long black curls, and the way he leaned against his master’s knees, with the man’s arm round his waist, it was easy for Tony to name him; Ganymede, cupbearer to the gods.

The drapes fluttered in the open French window and Tony hurried out onto the patio where a full moon painted everything in black and silver. A double recliner had been dragged away from the pool and placed under a vintage Victorian street lamp; a relic Tony had imported from England in one of his quirky attempts to remember his roots. Under the light of the lamp, Emilio sat cross-legged on the recliner, wrapped in a snow-white djellebah with the hood pulled up against the cool breeze. A book lay open between his thighs

Tony sat down beside him, put his feet up and settled back against the cushions. Do you want to talk?

Emilio nodded. I want you to forget about adopting me.

I’m not concerned about what you were, only about your future and your safety.

So am I. In six years I’ll be twenty-one. Till then I won’t go back to Nashville. I’ll stay here. That way, no one will need to know. Down here, the age of consent is thirteen so there’ll be no gossip.

How did you know that?

I checked.

Tony felt his heart begin to pound. He took a deep breath. Are you offering yourself to me?

Yes.

Why?

I owe you, and I love you.

Tony gave a deep sigh of frustration. And I love you too but not in the way you mean. What about your career and your schooling?

They’re not important. You are.

You heard Gillian and I talking?

Yes.

Emilio, look at me. Tony waited until Emilio shifted round to face him then placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Gillian’s got it all wrong and so have you. There’s nothing to pay back. I’ve done things for you because I wanted to.

And I’m doing this because I want to.

Tony sighed once more. How could he make Emilio understand? Emilio, I can’t accept your offer.

Why not?

I’m not gay. And your own thoughts about being gay are only based on what you were forced to do.

Emilio shook his head vigorously. There you go again, denying the facts.

Do you want to be gay?

Emilio looked away, a frown on his face. I don’t know.

Then the problem you are trying to sort out isn’t mine, it’s your own. I’ve seen the drawings in your sketch pad.

Emilio glared at him. They’re private.

I looked at them because I love you and want to care for you. I could never touch you in that way. I can’t understand how you would want me to after all you’ve been through at that sex club.

Emilio looked away. It wasn’t all bad.

Tony knew he had to voice his suspicions about the contents of the sketchpad. The boy had to know that he only wanted to help him. The drawing of Zeus and Ganymede – that was you, wasn’t it? Emilio nodded. And Zeus?

Marcus Munante, he ran the place but I don’t think he was the boss. He was a nice guy.

Nice? How can anyone connected with a place like that be described as nice?

He acted the part of a cruel master but inside he was a softy. He made sure we were well looked after. We were fed well and had the best of medical attention. Emilio looked away. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

What about Munante, did he touch you?

The boy looked at Tony, his eyes hard with defiance. I had to survive, okay? He said he loved me so I did a deal with him.

What deal was that?

We made a trade.

What did you ask for?

The impossible or so I thought. You remember Caroga?

Yes.

He came from Houston, on the run from some kind of mafia set-up. He lived in the village, in a shack below ours. He had an old wind up record player and a load of jazz records. I peeped in his window one day and saw him dancing. I was about five. I asked him to teach me and he did.

So that’s why you’re such a good dancer. I did wonder, but how did Caroga affect your position with Munante?

Emilio shrugged. I agreed to be his Ganymede if he brought Caroga in to look after me and carry on the dancing lessons. I never thought Munante would do it but the next thing I knew, Caroga arrived. Man, he was one mad bull at being snatched, but Munante threatened to kill me in front of him if he didn’t comply. Munante built a practice room for us. What could I do? We were both trapped.

Did you like what he did to you?

The boy’s head dropped lower. I tried hard not to.

Did you do anything to him?

No, I refused.

Then you’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You made the best of a bad situation.

Emilio sat up straight, his face tense with confusion. But I …

Tony smiled. Emmie, it’s hard not to enjoy an orgasm, forced or otherwise. You did nothing wrong. You survived long enough for Caroga to carry you to safety during the raid.

Emilio’s eyed widened. Caroga got out? Where did he go, is he okay?

Tony tried to be as gentle as possible. I’m sorry, lad. Someone shot him as he reached the police lines.

What did the police do that for?

Not the police. One of the guards shot him. He died in hospital two days later.

Oh no! I killed him. Emilio’s face crumpled.

Tony loosened his grip on the boy’s shoulders and waited for him to get over the shock in his own way then turned his grip into a comforting embrace, fingers gently massaging his back. You didn’t kill him.

Emilio stared at him, moist eyed. Yes I did. If I hadn’t insisted on Munante bringing him in he’d be alive now. After a few moments of strained silence, he added, Did he say anything before he died?

Yes, his last words were, ‘Tell the kid to keep on dancing and watch out for wolves’. Is that what you’re trying to do now, to keep me from a certain she wolf? There is no need, I’ve told Gillian to leave in the morning. Now, why don’t we talk about this adoption?

Emilio shook his head. It wouldn’t work.

Why not?

Because I no longer wish for a father; I’d rather wait a few years for the jackpot.

Tony smiled at the hidden compliment. Well, in that case why don’t we fill the waiting time by continuing our father and son relationship; that will give both of us time to discover what we really want. Come here, Son. Tony took Emilio into his embrace and gave him a loving hug. Could it be the boy was right? Since Emilio had come into his life, his sex drive had been intermittent and, as he thought about it, he realised the highs were always good when Emilio was in the vicinity, and the lows were when the boy was away on a sleep over at a friend’s house, or when Tony was away from home. That magazine hadn’t been just a normal one; the centre spread had carried photographs of Emilio in a supposedly naked pose, and a caption offering him as a guide to the delights of Tamarigo. Now Tony was sure that the picture had been the cause of his erection that night. A surge of joy passed through him and tears welled up into his eyes as the reality of his sexual awakening hit him. He just had to be strong for the next thirty-six months; for both of them.

***

Gillian watched from her bedroom window as Tony carried Emilio across the patio and into the boy’s bedroom. She smiled to herself and planned her next move. An hour later, she crept into the boy’s bedroom to make sure they were asleep. Tony and the boy lay spooned together, the boy under the sheets and Tony on top of them, still fully clothed. Satisfied she would not be disturbed she hurried to the lounge, searched for Tony’s laptop and plugged it into the telephone socket. Once connected to the internet she wrote an email.

Ganymede is alive.

11. 00 AM. GMT 12th November 1994. England.

"M’Lord and M’Lady walked into the underground boardroom of the family mansion and acknowledged the greetings of the eleven directors assembled round the oval table. Beside theirs, one other chair remained vacant.

Three tense years had gone by, waiting for pursuit to diminish till nothing remained but a police file with an ‘unsolved’ stamp on it. It was time to re-activate their society. Their employees had disappeared to safe houses throughout the world where they could be contacted at a moment’s notice, the result of a plan which had already been successful and ready for activation the moment they were required. Safe from prying eyes and ears, M’Lady addressed the meeting with the confidence of a General used to having his every command obeyed. She gazed round at the relatives and friends seated before her, mentally recalling each code name. Even with the best security installed, she ruled that real names were never to be used.

Welcome everyone; I suppose you are wondering why we have called this meeting after such a long time. It’s quite simple, really. We can no longer support our company without a major input of capital. The time has come to reactivate Paradise and The Farm.

Is it safe enough to do that? Colossus, a tall, well-built individual, asked from the far end of the table.

Our spies have reported very little activity by hostile groups in the past year. M’Lady said. Our only problem will be gathering our workforce together again.

All eyes glanced towards the one empty chair. I hear Zeus is a busy man these days, now that he’s head of his family’s firm. a feminine voice piped up. Persuading him to turn his back on a multibillion pound shipping business will be impossible.

Not so, M’Lady replied. We just need the right carrot to dangle in front of his nose, and I think we have that. She opened her handbag and took out a piece of paper, holding it up for all to see. This email arrived this morning. According to the source, Ganymede is alive.

Once the gathering had recovered from the news, someone asked, I thought all leaks had been dealt with?

Apparently not, M’Lord said. Perhaps Jailer can tell us why.

A man sitting on Colossus’s right stiffened in his chair, colour draining from his face.

A quiet voice said, Zeus will be pleased.

Someone else sniggered.

Tamarigo 10.30 am EST. Saturday November 12th 1994

Emilio dived back into the pool and swam towards Tony the moment he saw him. Tony had a towel ready and Emilio allowed himself to be hauled out of the water.

He rewarded his guardian with a teasing smile and a kiss. Gillian left hours ago. Where were you?

Tony draped the towel round Emilio’s shoulders and began to dry his back. I overslept.

Liar! Emilio reached for another towel to dry his hair with. You just wanted to avoid saying goodbye to a she-wolf. I had the honour of seeing her off myself.

And?

She apologised for the upset and offered her help if I need it. She also said to tell you she would get in touch soon, whatever that means. He draped the damp towels over a chair back, slipped on his new silk bathrobe and sat down at the table with Tony. A pile of carefully wrapped presents lay on a nearby lounger. Very nice, but they could wait while he give his new lover his undivided attention. There were more important things on the agenda than birthday presents.

Once the coffee was poured, Tony handed him a pile of birthday cards, which he opened. The last one was from Tony; an artwork of gold and silver scroll with a poem written by him. Emilio read the poem and kissed the card. Thanks. I’ll keep it always. Tony also handed him a white A4 envelope. Happy Birthday.

Emilio took it and examined it, feeling something small and hard besides the obvious paper. Thanks, what is it?

Open it and find out.

Using a knife from the table setting, Emilio slit the envelope open and peered inside before drawing out a set of documents and tipping the envelope upside down. A set of keys fell