Free The Thousand Smiles of Nicholas Goring by Julie Bozza

press a grateful kiss to Dave's temple before going to sit opposite Robin – and then they were all quiet for a long moment.
    Finally Robin said, "Uncle Nicholas –"
    "Yes?" Nicholas prompted with the slightest of smiles, which seemed to be all he could muster.
    "You know what we talked about … about me, I mean."
    "Yes." Nicholas sat up, and leaned forward. Dropped his face into his hands and rubbed hard, as if trying to wake himself up. When he looked at Robin again, he said, "I'm sorry. Events kind of overtook us, didn't they?"
    Robin took a breath. "I just want to know that we're … all right."
    Nicholas put a bit more effort into his smile. "Of course we're all right, Robin. I love you no matter what. We both do. Always will."
    "You don't understand, though, do you?"
    "Does that matter?" Nicholas sat back again, turning a tad disgruntled despite himself. "Isn't unconditional love good enough any more?"
    Robin's cheeks coloured in chagrin, and he picked up his phone again though he didn't look at it.
    Dave had finished chopping the shallots and bacon, so he put them on to sauté – at a low heat, just in case the meal needed to be delayed.
    Eventually Nicholas burst out, "I just think you're missing out on something – something marvellous. Maybe even –" He glanced at Dave, and seemed to grow in conviction. "Yes. One of the best bits of life."
    "I'm perfectly happy being a virgin," Robin steadily replied, "and I probably always will be. It's not going to be, like … something I regret."
    "But how do you know if you haven't tried?"
    "How do you know you don't want to go to bed with a girl?"
    "That's really not the same thing. I wish you'd stop trying to compare my situation to yours."
    When Robin didn't reply, Dave put down the cheese he was grating, and tried, "Nicholas, perhaps you can just be happy that Robin is happy."
    "How can he be happy at the lack of something?" Nicholas demanded.
    "Well, I don't know. But it seems like he is. Doesn't it?"
    Nicholas considered Dave. Considered Robin. Finally sighed, and gave in with a nod. "All right, yes. Fine. Robin, I'm happy if you're happy."
    "I'm happy," Robin said, though in a very small voice.
    "That's good, then," Nicholas concluded. "That's great." He got up and went to lean over Robin to give him a hug.
    "Thank you, Uncle Nicholas."
    "No worries," said Nicholas – which made Dave smile, as it was such an Aussie expression. But then Nicholas stood, and headed towards the hallway. "I'm going to bed," he announced, with an apologetic smile for Dave. "I'm sorry, that smells delicious, but I'm really not hungry."
    "No worries," Dave said in turn, smiling fondly at his husband as he and Robin wished each other goodnight. "See you in a bit." Then Nicholas was gone, and Dave turned to Robin. "You're still hungry, I hope?"
    "Too right, I am!"
    "That's grand." And Dave poured the beaten eggs into the pan, where they sizzled in a most satisfying manner.
     
     
    "I have an idea," Nicholas announced the next morning over breakfast.
    Dave and Robin looked at him expectantly.
    "It might not only be the butterflies that are unique. When I took a sample of the wattle to one of my colleagues in Flora, she couldn't identify it for certain. She said it was very close to two different species, but couldn't decide between them. So that's how I wrote it up, and I never really pursued it further. But maybe it's time."
    Dave nodded, but asked, "Time for what?"
    "Well … maybe to bring back some proper samples for Lisa to analyse – if she has the resources. Though I'm sure she'd find a way to make it happen, wouldn't she? If it might be a new species of Acacia , I mean."
    "She didn't pursue it before, though?"
    Nicholas tilted his head in a quibble. "I may have over-emphasised the secret side of it being a sacred site. But it's been isolated for so long – the wattle, I mean – and in a symbiotic relationship of sorts with the butterflies. Whatever it used to be may well have