She was the subject of a plot and a wicked one at that it seemed.
Chummy was eyeing up her husband suspiciously as he undid the buckles on one of the holdalls they had brought out with them. It was laid out on the crisp cream sheets of their bed and to its side stood a neat pile of his clothes and equally, hers too.
Lurking by the bedroom door of their temporary Sierra Leonian home, she had been told – as it was by chance they had two days off work together – that he had plans for them. When she had asked what they might be he had simply refused to tell, except to say that they would not be spending such precious time cooped up here and could she find some light clothing for herself and just leave it on the bed?
Having tried to persuade him to tell all by use of fair means, foul means and acts of a more intimate kind, all her known tricks had failed miserably and she hadn't quite plucked up the courage to try the rest. She had in fact, run clean out of ideas to break this iron will he had suddenly adopted. Food, alcohol and his weak spot still hadn't made him crack. Desperate times had called for equally desperate measures, but all he had done was smile at her, or kiss her, and yes, changed the subject.
Gently she leant against the door frame having been dismissed from trying to help, arms folded and frowning. She was itching to know, feeling lost and a tiny bit useless as he wandered around the bedroom, occasionally throwing a smile or a wink in her direction.
"No, Camilla" he had said just a few minutes ago. "Go and sit down, make a cup of tea, have a rest. I'm capable of packing a bag for us".
Instead however she hovered by the door, inspecting his every move, watching what was being put in the holdall in the hope it might give her a clue. Unfortunately it didn't and she was still adrift. She felt the baby gently rock from side to side, waking up for the day. Over six months now she was hungry; baby was hungry and both were impatient. "Peter?" Chummy began, only to see him swing round to face her.
"No, Camilla", he repeated, intonation calm. "I said I have plans and it's a surprise. Can I not surprise you once in a while?".
"Peter..." she pleaded, her forehead still creased.
He walked across intent on making sure she did not ask another question. He was only trying to do something nice for her; for them. She worked enough as it is and being here on her supposed days off only risked her being called into the Mission and indeed him into the Station. If they were not here, then, well what could anyone do? Peter put his palms splayed out on either side of her obvious belly and pressed slightly, feeling a response. "You both have something to eat before we go while I finish up. I should be ten minutes, maybe fifteen, at the most". Chummy nodded, still not intent on wholly admitting defeat quite yet. "We've a journey on our hands so you could have a nap if you want to on the way..." He traced his fingertips just over her temple.
"Oh, no Mister" she warned, shaking her head and he withdrew his hand. "If I am being almost abducted by you to wild and foreign shores unknown, one intends to track every bally mile of the route just in case one has to bop you over the head with something substantial and make a break for it...!" He knew she was joking but still. Wild and foreign shores? Well she was partly right but he was giving nothing away.
"Go" he said, bodily turning her around into the sun lit hall way as he heard a noise of persistent protest. She felt a gentle push to her hips to send her on her way. "Go!"
Chummy was about to attempt another plea when she heard the door click shut behind her. She sighed. Time had passed and she was more used to surprises now, getting more accustomed to the feeling of not knowing but not even a squeak out of him! It was frustrating now in his stubbornness not to tell. It would be something nice, she knew that, something thought out and lovely, but it was the not knowing! She had tried so hard to extinguish the fear of sudden disclosure or revelation these last few months. This step to come here was vast and yes, she felt stronger for it, but something still skulked around that she should be on her guard for all and sundry. She sighed again. Not Peter, no. There was no need to be hesitant of him or his good natured schemes, even if his obstinate nature over certain matters frustrated her to London and back.
She felt the baby give her a sharp kick, drawing her from her mood and it made her jump. "I know, little one" she replied, smoothing her palm over the spot. "Daddy is being dastardly and beastly to us both with his secrets. I did try, honestly, I did!" she pleaded to a pair of ears that she hoped was starting to recognise her voice. She looked back. "Still" she whispered, straightening her shoulders. "Mumma knows where there is some pineapple and coconut loaf cake that your Daddy hasn't got his rotten cloven hooves on yet. It's only fair we share between us it in his absence, yes?" With that she was off. It didn't matter that it was only quarter past nine in the morning.
On the other side of the door, Peter smiled, hearing her conversation and the thud of her shoes on the wooden floor. These chats she would have with their child almost made his heart burst from his chest in joy. How he was looking forward to seeing him or her when they made their way into the world. He was sure the little one knew who he was too with those pushes and kicks at the sound of his voice. Peter smiled again and shook his head. Life was suddenly looking so positive again!
He went back to the hold all, confident he had all they needed and buckled it up, quickly tapping his trouser pocket as soon as it was done. He just needed to check for the most important aspect of it all. The keys were there safe and secure. His plans had been meticulous and yes, he knew she would be anxious at not knowing, but hopefully when they got there, it would make up for it all. The van was full of petrol, the box of provisions he had picked up in the market yesterday was in the back and the map he had procured was tucked into the glove-box. He had not been convinced by the Reverend Applebee-Thornton's hand-drawn directions, but the man had been here longer that he had so he had to give him some credit for local knowledge. It was him he had to thank for this opportunity, after all.
It wasn't to the end of the world and back, and there were no real foreign lands involved for now, but it would hopefully be enough for two days of utmost peace and, if the Reverend was right, pure and unadultered solitude.
He would give her a few minutes in peace and calm with the pleasurable company of the cake and they would be on their way.