Germany Surrenders

A glass of red wine sits in front of Dakin. He doesn't really want it -- he prefers beer or, in certain moods, whisky -- but Irwin is drinking wine.

"Why did you ring me?" Irwin's eyes are sharper than Dakin remembers, his skin tighter over his cheekbones. A few silver hairs glint at his temples above the earpiece of his wire-rimmed spectacles.

It's the obvious question, but the answers that Dakin has rehearsed in his mind don't fall glibly from his lips. Instead he says, "I don't know." His gaze falls to Irwin's wheelchair: a cage or a throne or perhaps both at once. Eighteen years ago it frightened him.

Irwin notices Dakin's glance. "I can walk," he says as if it were a mere nothing. "I've only had this for a few years, since I had a second accident."

"Oh," says Dakin blankly. And then again, "Oh," as Irwin explains that he'd had physical therapy after the motorbike crash and had walked again quite soon.

"The chair is... useful," Irwin finishes. "Sometimes."

"Henry VIII," Dakin says abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You talked about Henry VIII on your television programme. You talked about him to us, too. That's why I rang."

"I see."

"Why did you ring back?"

"I suppose I wondered if, against all historical precedent, Poland might invade Germany."

Everything clicks into place then. Dakin has always fancied women, on the whole, but one of his Oxford tutors pushed him the way that Irwin had pushed him, and when Dakin made the same offer he had once made Irwin, somehow instead of his cock in the other man's mouth he had ended up being breached. He'd never dared to let it happen again.

Irwin waits, his eyes steady. Dakin summons up his schoolboy smile, the one that makes his clients happy to pay the enormous fees he charges, and says, "Is that a euphemism, sir?"

"You might say that." Irwin sips the last of his wine. "My flat is just around the corner."

Dakin wishes for a moment that he still smoked. The ritual of lighting the cigarette, taking that first drag, would soothe him far more than this unwanted wine. But this is what he is here for. Not for the drink, no, that was never the idea. He nods.

"Germany surrenders."