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Silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling music of the gramophone. Jim continued shading his drawing of Joey, listening as John McCormack yearned for his lover's sea-blue eyes. In the periphery of his vision he saw Charlie glancing over towards Jamie, who still stared out the far window, glass in hand, looking lost in his own thoughts. Jim half-expected that Charlie might try to liven them up a bit, crack a joke, pour himself a drink and settle in for a while. However, talk of the Germans had clearly dampened his mood, and he only cleared his throat uncertainly and stood up again, ruefully clutching the fine new cap of which only a minute ago he'd been so proud.
"Well, I suppose I'd… better go find a shabbier replacement for this thing, then, hadn't I?"
"We're moving out at 4am tomorrow," Jim said, conveying Jamie's instructions down the line. "Time to lay off the polishing, let everything go dull. Let the men know, would you?"
"Yes, Captain," Charlie said, the familiarity of first names abruptly disappearing under the direct order. "Major," he added, in deference to Jamie, who acknowledged him without turning his head. Charlie nodded once more at Jim before leaving the hut.
Only when he was well gone did Jamie turn back from the window, returning to stand in front of the desk. The smell of Charlie's dead cigarette still lingered in the air. By then Jim was engrossed in shading Joey's mane, filling in shadows thrown by an invisible sun.
"That's not half bad," Jamie said suddenly, making him jump. "Fortunate lad, having someone care enough to send him a picture of his beloved." Although his face remained stern, Jim knew him well enough to detect the wry humour in his tone, and knew he was being teased.
"I promised to take good care of Joey, after all," Jim said, continuing to work. "That poor boy - he was in tears, having to let him go. Desperate to enlist just to be with him."
"The more fool him, I'd say, given where he's going. Where we're all going."
Jamie lifted his head and looked past Jim for a moment, his hands clasped tightly around his empty glass, and Jim knew he was brooding yet again on the new threat of machine guns and artillery they might have to face in France, and what it could mean for all of them. The terrible fate of the Light Brigade at Balaclava against the Russian guns had not been lost on either of them, but there was no point in demoralising the troops by rehashing the report in detail, and the upper brass simply would not listen. They had mulled it over endlessly in private, between the two of them, before finally giving it up as a bad job. They were officers in Her Majesty's Army; they would serve as they were ordered, even if it meant laying down their lives to little or no purpose. From time immemorial, that had been the way of war.
"Perhaps the Germans will be easier to handle," Jim said, more to draw Jamie back to the present than out of any real conviction.
Jamie only grunted and moved to place his empty glass back next to the decanter, which reminded Jim of his own untouched sherry. He took a sip of it, carefully holding the glass out slightly to the side of his drawing, and let the sweetness trickle down his throat. Then he added a few last touches to Joey's nostrils, and a further suggestion of movement about his ears.
"There," he said, with some satisfaction. "It's done, I think."
He was acutely aware of Jamie moving to peer closely over his shoulder, the solid warmth of his presence as he studied Jim's creation.
"Fine creature, but ridiculous to show that much devotion to a horse," Jamie said. "To want to follow it blindly into battle."
"He loves that horse dearly," Jim said. "As for calling it foolishness, well, the danger remains the same, whatever one's reasoning. You might almost say the same about following a man."
He glanced sideways up at Jamie, to ensure that the meaning of his words was not lost. In a way Jim felt he understood young Albert better than he would have liked. Jim had known Jamie mere months, but already it seemed like a lifetime - they had hit it off immediately upon introduction, the sympathy of their minds swift and complete. Despite the myriad uncertainties of the future, Jim knew that he would always strive to follow where Jamie led. Not because Jamie was his superior officer; it was so much more than that, a respect and longing Jim hardly dared voice, even to himself. He wasn't sure how much Jamie knew of what he felt, or what he might suspect. If he did, he had been gracious enough never to let on.
However, today was different. Perhaps it was the thought that they were off to France on the morrow, but Jamie's face looked tired and solemn as one of his hands came to rest on Jim's shoulder. It squeezed tightly, once, and there was something in the way his eyes gleamed, the way his mouth worked uncertainly beneath its bristles, that betrayed him. It occurred to Jim then that Jamie knew exactly how he felt, all right, only he was no more sure of what to do about it than Jim himself.
The thought gave him courage. He took a quick, deep breath and set the drawing back on the table before bringing his right hand up to cover Jamie's, carefully not looking at him. Jamie's hand was warm under his own, and Jim slowly caressed it, as though committing the shape of the long fingers to memory. Only then did he dare to glance up again at Jamie, at the shadows flickering in his eyes. Then Jim drew Jamie's hand towards him gently, turning it over, and twisted his head just far enough to drop a soft kiss into its palm. They were alone in the room, and there was no one passing by near enough to see it happen, but he still felt completely exposed and vulnerable. It was only the smallest of gestures, but one still compromising enough to bring down suspicion upon them both If observed.
"Jim…" Jamie said at last, low and rough.
Jim drew his hand quickly away, and the spell was broken. He dared one more glance before taking up his glass of sherry and swallowing the rest down in one gulp. Then he stood, forcing Jamie to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes. A hint of alarm crossed Jamie's face, but he held his ground resolutely and did not flinch. They were so close that Jim could have kissed him, if only he dared. Yet at this height they were far too visible through the windows, and he did not dare.
"If you would…" he said, but his voice failed him, and he had to swallow and begin again. "If you could spare the time, I would very much like to make a sketch of you, from life. It would take only an hour or so, perhaps less. I could fill in the finer detail later." If it would give him an hour's quiet, unquestioned contemplation of Jamie's face and form, well, that was at least something, and he could ask no more.
Jamie stared at him, perhaps quelling his own forbidden impulses, and then shook his head with a bemused expression. "What the devil would you want to do that for?"
"To have it, of course." Jim glanced down at his drawing, brushing it with his fingertips, and then back up at Jamie, willing him to understand. "To keep. So that… so I might be as fortunate as young Albert."
He saw Jamie's right hand - the one he had kissed - reach out in a tiny gesture towards him, before it was forced back down by his side, fist clenched. "Damn it all, Jim, I wish…"
"Not half so much as I do, Jamie. As I always have done."
Jamie swept a flustered hand over his forehead and turned away, putting a safe distance between them. By now the record had reached its end, and the gramophone was emitting only an intermittent crackling as the needle bumped repeatedly against the edge of the label. Jamie set it to rights with an impatient air, silencing it at last, and then swung around to face him again. Jim saw him pulling himself together, stiffening his spine, displaying all the courage Jim had always known he possessed.
"I would be honoured if you wanted to… draw me," Jamie said finally. His tone was firm, although his mouth was still soft, regretful.
Jim was transfixed by the half-hidden curve of his lips, and for a long moment he could not help but imagine them pressed sweet and trembling against his own, his hands reaching for the lapels of Jamie's jacket, the nerves of his entire body catching fire as they clung to each other without fear or restraint. But it was no good. It wasn't just the solid wood of the desk but the war and the whole world that was set between them.
"That would be wonderful," Jim said, although in truth now it felt but meagre compensation. "Since I seem to have everything to hand, if you'd like to…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chair Charlie had occupied earlier. The drawing of Joey was put carefully to one side, and Jim picked up a fresh sheet of paper, laying it squarely in the middle of the desk before sitting himself back down again.
"Yes, of course, a splendid idea, why not?" Jamie said. "We still have some time yet before dinner." He settled himself calmly in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, and smiled over at Jim before leaning back more comfortably. His eyes, however, remained dark and troubled, like a gathering storm. "All the time in the world."