Makepeace pulled up on the drive outside Dempsey's place. They didn't often come to his – hers was nearer the station – but they'd been out to a nick on the other side of town and were passing his flat on the way home, so he'd asked if she wanted to stop by for a takeaway and a beer. Of course she'd said yes.
Dempsey was out of the car and unlocking the front door before Harry had got her seatbelt off. Rolling her eyes at his back, she let herself out and locked the car, following him into the shared hallway of the converted house. He picked up his post before letting them into his flat.
Harry hadn't been to Dempsey's since Simone had been over, and those visits hadn't exactly been comfortable. She'd enjoyed meeting Simone and finding out more about Dempsey's life in the States, but had shied away from some of the more challenging thoughts that Simone's visit had raised. Blinking, Harry realised Dempsey was talking to her. "Sorry, what?"
"You want pizza? Chinese?"
"Pizza's fine." Dempsey had gone into the kitchen in search of a bottle of something. Harry wandered into the living room.
She flicked on a couple of lights and looked around the room. She liked this flat much more than places he'd lived in when he first came to London. This flat felt warmer, more lived-in. She liked the art on the walls and the signs of Dempsey's life outside work, the books on the shelves and the clothes left on the sofa. She walked over the mantlepiece and examined the handful of photos standing there.
"They're new," Dempsey said as he joined her in the living room. "Simone bought them with her when she came."
Harry pointed at a picture of a smiling older woman with tall hair and cat's eye glasses. "Your mother?"
"Yeah, that's her." Dempsey smiled down at the photo and trailed a finger along the edge of the frame. "Simone took it before she left for England, thought I'd like an up-to-date one."
Harry picked up a photo showing five young people standing in a row, grinning, their arms flung around one other's shoulders. Their clothes showed that the picture must have been at least a decade old.
"Who are these?"
Dempsey tried to snatch the frame out of Harry's hands. "Hey! Gimme that!"
Harry laughed and held tight to the frame. She peered at the photo. "Is that you in the middle?"
"Yeah, that's me and the kids. Two little brothers, two little sisters. Thought we ruled the world."
Harry said, "You look happy."
"We were." He took the photo from her and brushed a little dust from the frame, then settled it back carefully on the mantelpiece.
He said, "I got you that pizza with the spinach and the egg that you like, you know, the weird one."
"And I assume you went for pepperoni with extra chilli and cheese?"
"Bang on. Should be here in twenty." He took a seat on the sofa and she followed, relaxing easily into an armchair next to him. He handed her a bottle of beer and clinked it against his own. "Cheers."
She smiled at him and raised the bottle to her lips. He watched her mouth for a moment then said, "You want a glass for that?"
Harry swallowed and shook her head, smiling. "Your place, your rules."
Dempsey picked up an envelope that had been sitting on the table. He said, "You mind if I…?" Harry shrugged and Dempsey ripped the envelope open. A broad grin split his face.
"Good news?" said Harry.
Dempsey tapped the letter with his fingers. He said, "This tells me that I now completely own my apartment. Mortgage all paid off at last." He smiled across at her.
Harry blinked. "You own an apartment?"
"Sure I do. Back in New York. It's not much, couple of rooms, tiny kitchen, but it's got a great view of the city and now it's all mine." He was beaming.
"Congratulations," said Harry automatically. Her mind was reeling but she wasn't sure why. "How long have you had it?"
Dempsey thought for a moment. "Bout fifteen years, I guess. Got it not longer after I joined the force, when I came out of the army. My folks had always rented, always worried that the landlord would move them on. Soon as I got a regular wage I bought somewhere, so I could have a place I could call my own."
This didn't seem to fit with her image of him at all. She said, "Who lives in it? At the moment?"
"My cousin Al and fiancée. It's tight squeeze but I don't charge them much rent, just enough to cover the mortgage, so they're saving up for something bigger."
"Right." Harry was trying to picture this flat of Dempsey's, located in a neighbourhood she'd never visited, in which a young couple had now made their home. Dempsey was still smiling, re-reading his letter, and Harry found herself wrong-footed by the image of this home on the other side of the Atlantic.
Harry had often been frustrated by how little she knew of Dempsey's life before he moved to London. Simone had given her a window but there were still huge gaps. It wasn't that she wasn't interested – that wasn't it at all – but whenever she'd tried to prise some details out of him he'd clammed up and changed the subject, so she'd eventually given up asking. Perhaps now was a good time to try again. She said, "Do you miss it? New York?"
Dempsey caught her eye and held it for a moment. One of those melting gazes that sparked warmth all through her. She looked away.
Dempsey shrugged. He said, "It's not my home now. I got a life over here."
"But your family…" Harry trailed off.
"I got a big family, they hardly notice I'm not there." Dempsey sent her a wry smile.
"I doubt that."
"Do you?"
There it was again, that look. Like she was the only thing he could see. She swallowed, and said, "Well, of course. I mean, I would miss you. If you left."
Now his gaze was molten. She could almost feel where his eyes were trailing across her face, over her lips. "You would miss me?"
Harry opened her mouth and closed it again. What could she say? She shook her head and smiled. "I'm surprised you would care."
"Don't be surprised, Princess." Dempsey's voice was low and he was leaning towards her. Her heartbeat was racing. "It would matter to me if you missed me."
"I, er –" Harry paused as the doorbell rang. The pizza. "I'll get that," she said, and jumped up from the chair. As she went to the front door she saw Dempsey's shoulders drop a little, his thumb pulling at the corner of his mouth.
oOo
Harry got home about ten that evening. After the pizza had arrived she'd made a conscious effort to change the atmosphere, positioning herself a little further away, keeping the conversation flowing by talking about their work and their colleagues. If he was disappointed he didn't show it. It was only as she was leaving, as he was helping her into her jacket, when he'd said her name, that she'd wondered. But she'd just smiled and told him she'd see him tomorrow and escaped through the front door.
She was pulling her robe over her pyjamas when her eyes were drawn to her chest of drawers. She took a moment, then walked across and pulled open the bottom drawer. Underneath a pile of old clothes, the ones she kept for decorating and gardening, there was a flattish cardboard box with a lid. She pulled it from the drawer and took it over to the bed.
Sitting down next to the box, she closed her eyes and lifted the lid. When she opened them she looked at the contents of the box and sighed. Got to start somewhere. She took out a large, fat envelope and lifted the flap. Inside was a thick pile of papers, all relating to a house she used to live in near Kennington. Some old bills, some mortgage statements, and the deed of transfer from when she's sold her interest in the house to her husband after she'd moved out. She shook her head, couldn't really understand why she still had most of the it. She put the deed of transfer to one side, to send to her solicitor to keep with her other financial paperwork, and the rest she put in a pile to go into the bin.
Next she took out a small box, with the name of an expensive jeweller embossed on the top. She opened the box and stared at the two rings nestled within, one bearing a ruby flanked by diamonds, the other a simple gold band. She slipped them onto the third finger of her left hand and looked at them for a moment, angling her hand to and fro, the jewels shining in the lamplight. She hadn't worn the rings since she'd moved out of the old house, didn't intend to wear them again. She put them to the side, would take them to the bank to store in the safety deposit box with her other valuables.
There was also a photo in the box, in an elegant silver frame. She and Giles on their wedding day. She was gazing up at him, radiating happiness and optimism, and he was looking straight into the camera lens, a thin smile on his face.
She slipped the photo out of the frame and put it with bills to go in the bin. There was a photo of her mother in an album downstairs that would look lovely in the frame.
There was one final item in the box. It was a black silk nightdress, trimmed with lace and cut with a high slit at each hip. She'd bought it for her honeymoon but worn it only once as Giles had frowned and made some comment about her dressing like a call girl. She debated for a moment about sending it to the charity shop, then decided no. She shrugged out of her robe and pyjamas and slipped the nightdress over her head. The fabric felt silky and smooth against her skin, sliding over her body as she moved. It felt as though she was being caressed and she found herself picturing a pair of strong hands smoothing across her skin. She blushed as she admitted who the hands in her imagination belonged to; it wasn't an image she found easy to deal with. Putting the empty box back in the drawer she slid into bed, the silk nightdress wrapping around her as she slept.
