His Royal Favorite (4 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

“Every man you’ve ever had sex with, however you would personally define sex—though for these purposes, that definition should be expansive rather than restrictive. Women, too, if there have been any.”

“Is this necessary?”

“I need a list of people who could conceivably sell something true to the tabloids. You’ll have any number of fakers coming out of the woodwork; there’s nothing I can do about them except make it clear they’re liars when the time comes. The real ones, we should be prepared for. Don’t worry—I’ll delete the recording once I no longer need it for reference, most likely within twenty-four hours.”

Ben took a deep breath. He reminded himself that this was for James. And he started to talk.

It wasn’t exactly a short list, but there weren’t
that
many for a gay man his age, especially one who used to enjoy the clubs. He’d usually gone clubbing with one of his many short-term boyfriends, indulging in only a handful of one-night stands. A couple of those he had to guess on the names for, which was embarrassing, but Ms. Tseng shrugged it off. “If you don’t remember them, hopefully they won’t remember you,” she said, which wasn’t as comforting as she seemed to think. Ben went in reverse order, saving Warner for last and giving no particular detail beyond the facts Ms. Tseng wanted—cities of residence, last known profession.

“All right,” she said. “Do any of these men have pictures or video of you naked or involved in sexual activity?”

“What?”

“Many couples create such images as a normal part of a sexual relationship,” she said, as if he’d just hatched from an egg this morning. “After breakups, however, these images can be misused, and in this case, they could be sold for a price tag I would conservatively estimate in the mid-six figures.”

That was daunting, but Ben was able to shake his head. “No. There’s nothing like that out there.”

“What about . . .” She hesitated then, and he saw the slightest flush of color in her cheeks. “Has there ever been any, ah, drag, or elaborate costuming, that sort of thing? Leather gear?”

At least some parts of this were hilarious. Ben stifled a smile. “When I was young and going to the clubs, I wore eyeliner. Tight clothes, et cetera. But nothing more embarrassing than the average person’s college pictures.”

“What is your HIV status?”

“I’m negative.” He’d always played it safe. Younger guys today took risks he found shocking. Ben had come of age in the 1990s, when every facet of the gay experience had been wrapped in latex; those were habits he’d never change.

Ms. Tseng nodded. “Can you verify that?”

“I had bloodwork done as part of a routine health screen when I transferred to London in late August. So, yes.”

“Nothing since then?”

“No bloodwork. And no, ah, no other possibilities for infection. James and I have been exclusive since Kenya.”

She didn’t pause in her typing, but Ben knew she’d caught his slip and was now aware they’d been lovers from the very start. Well, at this rate, she’d soon know everything else. Why not this too? “You should undergo a second test immediately,” she said. “So we can verify your negative status absolutely when the media asks.”

Would they ask that? Yes, they would. “Fine.”

He took Ms. Tseng through his studies, reviewing every scholarship he could remember, his work-study experience, even his GPA, which he had never expected to mention again. She wanted every single one of his addresses, which was impossible; Ben had moved so often that he couldn’t remember them all, not even the ones that hadn’t boiled down to “my tent, Thailand.” But he gave her all the ones he could remember. They went over his tax situation. He promised to give her a copy of his lease. Even his parents’ deaths had to be discussed, though at least Ms. Tseng didn’t force him to go into too much detail.

“No arrests?”

“I had a few speeding tickets back in Illinois, when I was in college. And once I threw a party that violated noise ordinances, and the police shut it down. But law enforcement should have nothing else with my name on it.”

“Good,” Ms. Tseng said, the first hint of approval she’d given through this process—which was now entering its third hour. “One more question, and this is critical, so think it through: Is there anyone in your past whom you believe would be likely to cause trouble after this news goes public? I’m not asking about
your
actions, here. I’m talking about
their
attitude. An embittered ex or disgruntled former coworker knows enough truth to make his lies very believable. So is there anyone who would try to attack you and the Prince Regent?”

Ben hadn’t even considered this before. Slowly he said, “One. Warner Clifton. The lover I told you about, from Germany and then Thailand. He’s—ah, he’s never stopped trying to manipulate me. E-mailed me for the last time just a few days ago, actually.”

“Can you send me that correspondence?”

“No. There’s no ‘correspondence’—he sent me a couple of e-mails over the past few months. I didn’t reply to either of them, deleted them both.”

“How likely do you think it is that Mr. Clifton would try to cause trouble?”

Ben knew the answer instantly. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized this long ago, from the first moment he’d decided to remain at James’s side. “One hundred percent. Warner will try something. He won’t be able to stand it.”

“Then I need to know more about Mr. Clifton,” Ms. Tseng said. “Expand on your history with him a bit. What sort of man is he?”

Fucking hell.
“Are we allowed to drink during this process?”

“No. After we’re done, you should certainly feel free to indulge. I myself am thinking longingly of the mojitos at the pub nearest my flat. For now, however, focus is key.”

It occurred to Ben that Kimberley Tseng was just about the only person he could have gone through this with. Rather than say so, however, he did the courtesy of focusing like she’d asked. Not that this made it easy to talk about Warner.

But slowly, haltingly, the words came. “Warner was my first lover. He’s eighteen years older than I am; I was barely sixteen when we met. You do the math. Anyway. He was charming, and attractive, and so self-assured. He—he made me understand that being gay was normal, and that’s the one good thing I can fairly credit him with. Warner had no doubts about who he was, and maybe I needed someone like that in my life back then, when I was first coming to terms with my sexuality.”

He sounded as though he were blubbing his feelings out on a therapist’s couch. How disgustingly sentimental. Yet Ben had gone so long without trying to explain Warner to anyone besides himself. He didn’t have a script, or well-rehearsed stock phrases to fall back on. The raw truth kept flowing out like blood from a reopened wound.

“He wasn’t a pedophile—or, no, what’s the right word for someone who fixates on adolescents? Hebephile? Something like that. Anyway, that isn’t Warner’s thing. He’s more interested in a mind he can shape than in a young body. That’s why we wound up together again in Thailand, his mind games—he made me feel like he was my destiny, my fate. That he was the only person I could ever have that kind of connection with. Which he was! And thank God, because it’s a terrible connection. Manipulative and exploitative. I mean, shit, I didn’t even know his real name until after he’d taken me to bed for the first time.” After a moment, Ben hastily added, “Of course I have a connection with James as well. But a different one. A much better one.”

Ms. Tseng spoke for the first time in a while. “What do you mean, you didn’t know his real name?”

“Warner was living under the name ‘Werner Reinhardt’ while he was in Germany. He’s had a few other aliases. Not that he’s a criminal—at least, not technically. But he cooks up business deals that aren’t entirely aboveboard. Or boasts of investment opportunities that are really just chances for foolish investors to dump their cash in his pockets. He’s done well at that. Like I said, he’s a masterful manipulator. Not a subtle one: Usually you know what he’s doing the whole time. But it still works. It still fucking works.” Ben breathed out heavily. He wondered if he could ask Ms. Tseng about that bar, the one with the mojitos.

“List all his aliases you can recall.”

Ben did so. He sometimes looked for them online out of a perverse desire to see the damage Warner was doing, to track the slime trail he was leaving upon the earth. But it had been a while since he’d last searched. “Probably he has a whole new list by now.”

She looked up from her keyboard. “Given your knowledge of Mr. Clifton, do you think he’ll be more likely to go directly to the press, or will he contact you first?”

“He’ll contact me,” Ben said. “He’ll want me to plead with him to stay silent. To be afraid. That would be the whole pleasure of it, for Warner.”

“Excellent,” Ms. Tseng said, which was unexpected. “When he contacts you, end the conversation as swiftly as possible, but get his contact information and promise to be in touch soon. Then turn that contact information over to me.”

“And then what?”

“Then nothing, as far as you’re concerned. It may well be the last time you deal with him directly.”

“Warner doesn’t give up that easily.”

“It won’t be easy for him,” she said. “Trust me on that.”

“What do you mean?”

Ms. Tseng turned off the audio recorder, set aside her computer, and folded her hands in her lap. “Warner Clifton is a career criminal who sexually victimized you when you were hardly more than a child and continued to manipulate you for years thereafter, until you courageously found the strength to shut him out of your life. His illegal activities across the globe can and will be catalogued for presentation to the media, as well as to the local authorities in each jurisdiction. Your ability to rise above childhood abuse would then stand as an inspiration to us all.”

“Nice spin. But we both know it’s not reality.”

“Isn’t it? I can prove it faster than Mr. Clifton could prove anything else.”

“The age of consent in Germany is fourteen. He was taking advantage, but it wasn’t rape.”

“I won’t even have to say the word
rape
. Revulsion toward people who prey upon the young is strong enough that a mere suggestion should be enough to inflame the press. You were taken advantage of, weren’t you? Because of your age? For sex?”

“No. I mean, yes, but—you’re not just talking about stopping Warner. You’re going beyond that. He’s a son of a bitch, and I don’t want him to fuck things up for James, but—I’m not comfortable ruining Warner Clifton’s life.” Ben wasn’t exactly sure why not, but there it was.

She smiled. “You won’t ruin his life. You’ll simply get his contact information and turn the rest over to me. If Mr. Clifton is a reasonable man, he’ll see that his best course of action is to remain silent and go on his way. If he is not a reasonable man, then
I’ll
ruin his life. You’ll have nothing to do with it, or him.”

Although Ben still didn’t like this, he knew there was no room to argue. Maybe, when Warner reached out to him, Ben could talk him down somehow . . .

Then he realized Ms. Tseng was putting away her things. At his surprised glance, she said, “We’re done. By this time tomorrow, the audio recording will no longer exist. No one besides me will ever hear it.”

“I trust you. So, did I pass?”

“You’ll do,” she replied crisply. “You’re not the ideal, but we can work with you.”

“The ideal?”

“An upper-crust professional almost exactly James’s age, who met the Prince Regent as part of a shared interest in charitable works and who had only one previous boyfriend, with whom he had parted on excellent terms. Roughly the Prince Regent’s height as well, rather than a good five inches taller. And he’d be an Englishman, of course, English to the core, with just a dash of Plantagenet descent for the genealogists to dig up later.” She sighed. “A girl can dream.”

Well, that was fair. “As long as we’re all right.”

Ben was even now standing, muscles slightly stiff from spending all that time glued to his chair. But Ms. Tseng frowned. “I had thought you might have some questions.”

“What, do I get to quiz you about your sex life to make myself feel better? We can skip it.”

“You’re about to undergo intense media scrutiny on a scale few people ever endure. We could go over what you can expect.”

“I’m in the media myself, remember? I know what to expect.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Do you? This will be on another scale altogether.”

“I can take it,” Ben said.

“I think perhaps you can.” Ms. Tseng took a deep breath, then smiled. “I sincerely wish you good luck, Mr. Dahan. You’ll need it.”

***

By the time Ms. Tseng had finished with him, Ben found that James had already gone into a meeting. This made him feel vaguely slighted—but no, that was stupid of him. Surely James had been as surprised by the length of Ben’s meeting with Kimberley Tseng as Ben had been himself. Probably he’d been here, waiting and waiting.

Still, Ben thought James might have cleared the afternoon so they could get a moment together.

“I thought James had canceled all his meetings. He hadn’t?” Ben asked Glover, the butler, who seemed as unbothered by Ben’s new status in the house as he was about everything else.

“His Royal Highness was of course obliged to keep his weekly meeting with the prime minister.”

The
prime minister
was downstairs? Ben wondered whether this day would ever stop becoming more surreal.

Not anytime soon, it appeared. No sooner had Ben changed back into his turtleneck and jeans than one of the royal physicians arrived to take a vial of Ben’s blood. Although HIV tests normally took a while to come back, Ben felt pretty sure that in this case, they’d get the negative confirmation by the morning. Then a sleek black car arrived to take him back to his flat.

Probably, if he had asked, the car would have waited a while so that he could see James, but Ben would have felt like an ass, asking some driver to sit there for God knew how long. Besides, he needed fresh air.
Other
air. Not this.