She'd always had her favourite spots. In her former husband, it was on his chest, right where the sternum bone ended, that little hollow area where the skin was so soft and delicate to the touch. In Violet, it was right behind the collarbone – clavicula, claviculAE, Ms. Evans, as her former Latin teacher, the much hated Mr. Travis, would say, giving her a chastising look for always forgetting her plurals. The "little key" bone, she loved that in Violet. Although it had to be said, the current fashion wasn't working in her favour.
She lifted herself on one elbow and touched, through the sheer lace panel of the evening dress, the little hollow behind Violet's collarbone, with an unsure index finger. So graceful. Violet stirred and turned her head, looking at her through sleepy eyelashes.
'I must have drifted off for a moment there', she said with a smile. 'I should get up and change into my night clothes.'
Isobel rested her head on her palm and looked at Violet with an inscrutable look.
'I do hope you won't call O'Connell to do that.'
'For once, you remembered her name. Not if you are willing to help me with these rows and rows of buttons. I honestly fail to understand why they have to make these garments so complicated.'
Isobel got up and sat on the bed, motioning towards Violet to turn around.
'Come here, I'll unbutton them in the back.'
Violet sat up and let Isobel deal with the long row of buttons. The black evening dress rustled as it got looser. Violet turned around and sat on the bed, starting to undo the buttons of her sleeve.
'Slower, love… please', said Isobel.
Violet looked up from the silk-covered buttons, with a knowing, rather mischievous smile in her blue eyes. Isobel watched her as she circled with her index finger, with deliberate, slow movements, the second button near the cuff and lifted it briefly, pushing it through the small loop. Without losing contact with the shiny fabric, she undid the following buttons, her long fingers playing with them with fluid motions, uncovering more skin with each one. Isobel felt Violet's glance on her, but didn't look up, watching closely as she proceeded to the other sleeve, undoing button after button, with languidly slow motions, her graceful hands bending at the wrist, her elegant fingers advancing with feather-light touches on the black fabric.
She acknowledged, unwillingly, this power that Violet had over her - to put her in some kind of dreamy state with just a flick of her wrist, a twitch of her mouth, a light caress of fingers over the most innocuous of surfaces. It wasn't purely aesthetical, her fascination, nor was it purely physical, carnal, for lack of a better word. It was some hazy, indefinable middle ground, where she felt all her resistance dissipate, where words and thoughts melted away and stopped making sense, where all that mattered was sensation, feeling - sight, and hearing, and touch, and smell, and taste. A flash-like memory passed through her mind, bringing the last hour to the forefront – hot breath on her neck, a graceful hand pinning her own hands to the mattress, Violet's breathy voice whispering wanton words in her ear –never too much, never too little - , Violet's other hand feverishly undoing buttons, and her confusion at the little changes that occurred from one such meeting to the next. It was never the same. The moment she thought they'd slip into some familiar routine, Violet would do something unsettling, would say something that sent a shiver up her spine, or would simply look at her in that half-amused, half-dangerous way of hers that kept her guessing as to her next move. And then there were the other sides of their relationship - the witty conversations, the biting, sarcastic remarks about common acquaintances, the good-natured, mellow camaraderie that had replaced their initial – rather antagonistic – association.
Her train of thought was interrupted by Violet getting up. She followed her with her eyes as she slipped out of her evening dress, which she then placed on the backrest of an armchair, and looked around for her dressing gown. Isobel got up, took the velvet dressing gown from the ottoman by the dressing table and helped her put it on, over her floor-length cream coloured chemise.
'You really should wear this shade more', she said, slowly buttoning up the wine-red dressing gown.
'You do know you just buttoned it up for nothing… I had O'Connell run a bath, and I intend to take it in a moment', said Violet, raising a hand to undo her hair.
'No, let me', whispered Isobel, following her hand with her eyes.
She motioned Violet towards the dressing table and gently pushed on her shoulders, making her sit down on the ottoman. She then started searching for the first pin, the one that, when taken out, would enable her to remove the others while causing the least amount of pain and hair pulling. She found it and gently took it out, freeing a thick strand of wavy hair that bounced back as it fell on Violet's back. Slowly, gently, she pulled out all the pins, handing them over to Violet's outstretched hand. At the end she removed the ornate ivory hair comb that held Violet's hair up. She paused for a second and bent over, taking in the scent of her hair. It was faint, but it was there – lemon verbena. It reminded her of summer days and laughter and picnics, clean linen and holidays spent with her cousins, whose faces she couldn't even remember - memories that had a strange solar quality to them, but also a faint melancholy air she couldn't quite grasp. She looked in the mirror and saw Violet looking at her and smiling briefly. She smiled back and took Violet's hair in her hands, as if weighing it, lifting it up to catch the light and admiring its sheen. She then started to untangle it with her fingers, bringing Violet's head back a bit. Supporting her head on her body, she put both her hands on Violet's head, fingers extended, and started massaging her scalp with slow upward motions, starting from each ear and moving towards the top of her head, careful not to pull her hair. She then supported Violet's head with her left hand and used her right to do the same thing coming from the front, advancing with slow movements. Violet sighed and closed her eyes, leaning a bit further into her hand and relaxing into the touch.
'I would have you know that, should you ever get tired of administering the military hospital that Downton has turned into, I would hire you as my maid without a moment's hesitation, just for this special treatment', said Violet in a mock-serious tone.
Isobel chuckled and lifted her head up. With her fingers, she started to fan her hair out, strand by strand.
'I doubt you could afford me. I AM mother to the heir presumptive of Downton, after all. That comes at a very steep price.'
'I am prepared to pay whatever you ask, on one condition… well, two.'
'Let's hear them', said Isobel, trying to keep a straight face.
'Primo, I get to call you Crawley, and with no objection from you. And secondo, you will remain at my disposal whenever I require your assistance.'
'Well, the first one sounds a tad twisted, even for you, but I am aware of the fact that age has curious effects on people', replied Isobel, with a glint in her eyes, waiting for Violet's reaction.
'Fair enough', conceded Violet, not pushing the matter further.
'As for the second… I thought that was a given, anyway', said Isobel in a quiet voice, fiddling with a silvery strand of hair.
She looked at Violet in the mirror. With her hair fanned out like that on the burgundy backdrop of the velvet dressing gown, with those large, silvery curls framing her face, with her head held up high and those blue, piercing eyes, there was something regal about Violet, an air of pride, of distinction, a beauty that transcended physical appearance, that was both ethereal and earthly at the same time. She couldn't help but reach in front of her and trace Violet's delicate collarbones with her index fingers, and continued the motion by lifting her curls with her hands and letting them fall back. She looked in the mirror and saw Violet's eyes studying her, a fleeting expression of tenderness on her face. Violet's elegant hand covered her own and squeezed it briefly.
'I changed my mind. I don't think I'll have that bath now after all.'
A knowing smile danced in Isobel's eyes.