JUST A QUIET EVENING AT HOME
By Eva
When darkness came to the plateau each night, the surrounding trees filled with night birds singing their own singular repertoire. It always signaled the favorite time of day for the treehouse residents, that time when each could enjoy their own chosen diversions for the evening.
This particular night, Veronica was perched in an alcove off the main room dabbling with a self-portrait she'd begun months ago. Malone was, as usual, sitting nearby in the library editing his earlier journals, and Challenger was downstairs in his laboratory fervently scribbling notes, recording the conclusions on his latest invention.
After dinner, Roxton had quickly disappeared downstairs to the compound, and was just now stepping off the elevator carrying a small glass jar he'd absconded from Challenger's lab earlier. Placing his rifle in the rack, he set the jar carefully on a nearby table, covering it deftly with his hat.
Now, only one person was missing.
His well-trained hunter's eyes searched the main room before asking Malone, "Where's Marguerite? Is she in her room?"
Without looking up, Ned nodded toward the balcony. "I think I saw her go out there with some of your shirts, probably to do some mending."
Roxton smiled contentedly to himself at the thought of the fiercely independent Marguerite Krux spending her evening mending his clothes. If he lived to be 100, he'd never understand her quixotic nature. Intensely self-centered one minute, and the next so willing to stitch up one of his torn shirts.
Instead of heading for the balcony, he marched the opposite way to the kitchen where he pulled down a small tray from a shelf and began opening cabinet doors.
"What are you looking for, Roxton?" Veronica called out.
"Where are those fancy wine glasses we used when we celebrated Ned's birthday a few months ago?"
Veronica putting down her paintbrush and palette, walked into the kitchen. "Whose birthday is it this time?" She opened a cabinet below the work counter and produced two translucent wine goblets her mother had packed in London, so many years ago, to bring back to the plateau with her new husband.
"Actually it's no one's birthday. Just wanted to surprise Marguerite with a little evening repast. Sort of a way to say 'thank you' for all the sewing and mending she does for me…err…for us…for all of us," he quickly amended.
"Why Roxton, you old softie! " Turning to Ned, she said, "Now why can't you think of something romantic like that?"
Malone looked up sputtering, "Well I…uh…I-I…I'm romantic! I do romantic things for you."
Veronica stood there with arms akimbo across her chest, slightly tapping her foot. "Oh really? And, when was that? When was that exactly, Malone?"
"You see what you started, Roxton? You know you're spoiling it for the rest of us, don't you?"
Shaking his head at Malone's admonishment, John laughed softly as he placed the glasses and a bottle of blackberry cordial on the tray. From the humidor in the library, he took a cigar and a matchbox, placing them beside the wine decanter. The final item to be placed on the tray was the small glass jar he'd left in the foyer.
His bounty complete, he walked to the balcony finding Marguerite curled up cozily on a chaise in the far corner, with his red striped shirt (his favorite) on her lap closing the latest rip in the shoulder seam. The sight of her always had the same affect - wonder and astonishment. She was a vision, as she was every night, with her dark hair falling around her neck, cascading down the front of her snowy white blouse. Smiling to himself, he thought, 'And, the best part is that she belongs to me, and me to her.'
The moon, a new full moon, was showing through the tree branches that hung over the balcony, causing an ethereal glow to cloak her shoulders. He hesitated a moment before speaking, drinking in the beauty before him, willing himself to burn this image into his memory.
Finally, he spoke.
"Here you are! And, why aren't you doing something relaxing and enjoyable tonight like the others?"
"Who says I'm not? " she replied.
John beamed knowing she meant she was happy just to be mending his shirts. Setting the tray on the small table beside her chaise, he said, "Marguerite, you're going to ruin your eyes, and they're much too beautiful to let that happen."
"There's plenty of light from the moon. It just seemed too warm and close to stay inside tonight." Pausing from her chosen diversion of the evening, she sat up to get a closer look at the tray. "What's all this?"
"Well….a little wine for you, a cigar for me…." Uncovering the glass jar, "…and light for milady to sew by."
"John! Fireflies!!! Is this what you were doing outside tonight? And, I thought all this time you were checking the perimeter fence."
"I was. But I couldn't help noticing all these bright little bugs, almost begging to be caught," he chuckled.
"And, you brought them to me? John, how thoughtful." Twirling the jar around to see all angles, she said, "I don't think I've ever been given such an imaginative gift, although I do recognize this jar from Challenger's lab." In a conspiratorially voice, she whispered, "I promise to keep your secret."
Completing his mission, he poured the wine and handed the filled glass to her, then stretched out on the chaise next to hers, leaning back to light his cigar.
"There's probably not many of those left, John. You should be saving them for special occasions."
"Any night I get to spend quality private time with you, is always a special occasion for me."
Marguerite picked up the shirt and continued her mending while John puffed away at his cigar. It was curious. Back in London she'd always detested the smell of a lighted cigar. Mostly, she supposed because she resented those times when after a particularly charming dinner party the men would retire to the drawing room for cigars and brandy, leaving the women to pass the time together in another room. The highest form of discrimination, in her opinion.
But having lived - so to speak - with John Roxton for the past three years on the plateau, she'd begun to gradually change her mind about the smokers of the world. John never thought to isolate himself from her while smoking, or for that matter, from Veronica either. Actually (and she hated to admit it) watching him light up, and then draw in and release those puffy little circles never failed to give her the same warm secret thrill she was feeling at this moment. Truth be told, anything John did or said gave her that feeling, a thought she was careful not to share with anyone else in the treehouse. Laughing inwardly, she thought, 'It wouldn't do to reveal anything that might damage my reputation.'
Several minutes passed, each quietly listening to the concert of the night sounds, enjoying the comfort and ease of each other's company before turning to speak at the same time.
"You know, John…." "Marguerite, I …
Being the consummate gentleman, John smiled graciously and said, "You first."
"I was just going to say, that if you keep ripping the seams out of your shirts like this, we may have to rethink your daily attire."
"What!!! Why Marguerite, are you suggesting I go shirtless? Or, do you mean to put me in a loincloth?", he asked, pretending to be shocked.
Letting her eyes travel slowly over the robustly formed body of the man lying so close by, she grinned impishly, "Mmmmm….that idea has definite possibilities."
"Hah! Only if I can get you in one as well, my dear."
Observing the smarmy look on his devishly handsome face, she said, "You'd like that too much. And, for that matter, I'm sure Malone would too. No. No thank you. I'll leave the skimpy outfits to Veronica. They suit her better."
"Well, while we're on the subject of outfits - just for the record - I much prefer my women with an air of mystery. There's a lot to be said for leaving some things to the imagination."
Putting her sewing down again, she turned to face him. "Why, John. That's the first time you've ever spoken about what you prefer in women. Any other pearls of wisdom you'd like to reveal?"
"I could, but then there wouldn't be any mystery left about me."
"Oh…I don't know about that. I have this feeling there's a wealth of secrets about the great Lord John Roxton waiting….begging…to be discovered. You see, I also like my men to have an air of mystery," she teased.
"Ah…then perhaps I should take care not to reveal too much of my past." He paused, hesitating to introduce the next topic on his mind. Braving the moment he said, "Of course, there's no secret about how I feel about you….and me."
Marguerite turned back to her mending, averting his eyes, not wanting John to see her near-blushing cheeks.
Leaning back and drawing on his cigar, he sighed. "You know, Marguerite, this is exactly how I've always pictured us after we're back in London. It's late evening, we're sitting on the back veranda at Avebury, under a full moon much like the one tonight, listening to the night sounds. Just the two of us, spending a quiet evening at home."
Turning to face him, she tilted her head teasingly and said, "John, that sounds very much like a proposal. Although, not a very conventional one."
He set his cigar down in the ashtray on the table before moving over to sit on the edge of her chaise. "There are many forms a proposal can take, Marguerite. I could go down on one knee and tell you how very much I need you in my life." Taking her hand in his, "Or, I could tell you that I believe with all my heart you and I are meant to be together. I know it, you know it, and the only obstacle is convincing you it's the truth."
Shrinking inwardly from the serious tone their conversation had taken, she pulled away slowly, stood up and walked to the balcony. Leaning against the railing, she said somberly, "We've had this conversation before, John."
"Yes….and you've never given me an answer."
"Oh…you've been given an answer. You've just not heard the one you want to hear."
Joining her at the railing, he said softly, "Not yet. I was hoping…maybe tonight, with the full moon and….."
"….and my gift of fireflies lighting up the balcony, that perhaps I'd give you the answer you want to hear. Right?"
He shrugged and skillfully arched his thick, dark eyebrows.
Marguerite took the jar of fireflies and removing the top, released the happily relieved, glowing insects back into the jungle night.
"You didn't like your present?"
"I loved my present." Reaching up to kiss him softly on the cheek, she whispered, "But I've never liked to see any living thing trapped."
Shaking his head, he said, "Is that what you think marriage means? Being trapped? Marguerite, you know I would never……"
She placed her hand gently on his lips. "I know, John…..I know. But for now, let's not make any plans for the future till we get back home to London." A saddened look passed over her love's face, and her heart sank knowing her last words had hurt and disappointed him.
Marguerite moved closer to him and slid her hands around his neck to look him squarely in the eyes.
"I will tell you this though, John Roxton. I do love you, and there's no one I hold above you. You're the most important part of my life and I promise I'll never do anything to break your heart."
Wrapping both arms around her waist, John lifted her gently onto her tiptoes., then leaned down to kiss her soft on the lips with all the love and tenderness he felt in his heart at that moment.
Setting her back down, he held her face with his hand and sighed in frustration. "Well, not quite the answer I'd hoped for, but certainly one I'll hold and cherish - until we're back in London. Then I'll be asking….."
He was interrupted by the sound of Veronica's voice at the other end of the balcony. "Ned, you wrote me a poem?"
"Well, it's not Keats, but…"
John frowned at the sound of this unwelcome interruption. "Uh…oh…looks like we have company."
"What were you saying, John, about 'just the two of us and a quiet evening at home'?"
"Remind me to have a serious talk with Malone about his timing." Rolling his eyes upward, "Might I suggest we move to a quieter part of the treehouse…say….mmmmm…your room."
"John Roxton!!! You're becoming very bold with your suggestions lately." After a moment of reflection, "But…now that you mention it, my room would be more private."
Before turning to walk back inside, John said, "Oh wait! You left your mending."
"No. Leave it. I think tonight would be the perfect time to design a new look for you. Didn't you say something before about 'going shirtless'?"
"Now who's being bold?"
Strolling back into the treehouse, Marguerite slid her arm around John's waist and hugged him closer to her. The idea of a 'shirtless' Roxton was sounding better and better with each step that took them closer to her room, and that much needed privacy.
The End