Author's usual notes and disclaimer: I don't own any of the original characters nor the original Inspector Lynley Mysteries – they belong to Elizabeth George and the BBC. I have borrowed the characters from the TV-Show and solely own the ideas of my stories and the developments I've let them go through.
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Author's note and summary: There are far too many ideas in my silly brain... here's another one.
She gets a note and a dry twig of mistletoe in a stuffed envelope. Who is Barbara's secret admirer? She only will discover it on the Met's annual Christmas ball.
Enjoy...
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A Secret Admirer
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Sergeant Barbara Havers came into the office quite early this morning. Yesterday DI Lynley, her boss, had almost bitten off her head because she was five minutes late into the meeting. She thought he really could show more understanding. First of all they only reopened old files from old cases so there was no need to hurry at all. And second, she had taken over half of the work from one of their colleagues who was at the hospital. Four colleagues in total had called in sick and everybody was doing more than usual, even if on a case. She simply had slept in because she had worked until eleven in the evening before.
She had not gone home very much earlier yeatserday so she was completely knackered when she arrived today. Fortunately nobody was there to annoy her with their cheery mood so she could have a coffee before she read her e-mails and the notes and files that piled on her desk. She switched on her computer and scuffled to the tea kitchen. When she came back Winston was there, already flirting again with the new young PC that joined their team since the end of November.
"Morning, Winnie. Atkins." Barbara nodded on the way to her desk.
"Hiya, Barb! You're early!" DC Winston Nkata and PC Nora Atkins started to snicker.
"Not enough work to do?" Barbara shot them one of her death glares before she opened the stuffed envelope on the top of the paper mountain. There was no sender written on it. In it was a note and a dry twig with a white berry. A mistletoe? Barbara frowned. How she hated that.
It was late in December, everything around her wore silly jumpers or ridiculous hats and for her liking there was definitely too much tinsel and decoration hanging around. Being single and with her Mom now buried for several months she did not like Christmas very much in general and the quickly approaching annual Christmas ball of the Met in particular. She had stopped boozing with the boys years ago, she was not very much in that loose behaviour some of her colleagues showed on parties like that and she had of course no partner to bring so she always came late only had a few beers for the minimum of time she had to be present for the ACC's sake and then went home early to tuck herself away from the rest of the world with a blanket, cheesy fluffy films on TV and a glass of whisky she in fact only bought for Lynley's rare visits. Last year she could have joined Lynley at the ball if he had not decided to bring his 'cousin'. Usually he was at home in Cornwall for the festive days but she had forgotten what crude story he had told her about that woman and why he had stayed in London this time. Not once had he asked her to dance with him. Barbara knew she probably would have refused anyway but she was his closest working partner and she thought he was her friend too so he really could have asked her at least.
"Is that a mistletoe you're staring at?" Winston asked directly behind her. "Woohoo, you have a secret admirer! What's in the card?"
"Get lost, Winston." Angry that he had caught her staring Barbara threw the twig onto her 'finished' rack and tightened the grip around the note so Winston would not be able to take it. "Find yourself something to do before Lynley's here."
When Winston had taken his seat at his own desk Barbara finally opened the note. The text was printed and there was no signature or name under it so she still did not know where it came from. She started to read:
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My dear Barbara,
this is a twig from a huge mistletoe. On last year's Christmas ball it had hung above your head almost the entire time.
You sat at the bar, carefully avoiding to drink too fast. I was watching you. You were bored to death and so was I. I had wanted to come over and ask you for a dance or two but unfortunately I was preoccupied. At least that was what I've told myself all evening. I've danced one or the other dance but it was not really enjoyable and instead of politely talking with my colleagues when I've given up dancing I just stood there, sipping my drink, watching you from the distance, admiring you in that beautiful dress you wore.
Then I recognised the mistletoe above your head. You obviously weren't able to see it. It was behind the beam with the funny reindeer garland.
Although a few colleagues dropped by at your place no one had kissed or even tried to kiss you. I hope they simply haven't seen the mistletoe. Maybe they were afraid of your reaction. I guess you would have given them some rude reply but I know for the fun of it you would have played along with most of your colleagues.
For a long time I thought about just going over to you and take advantage of the opportune situation. I would have been legally in the socially acceptable position to steal a kiss from your lips.
Only I dared not.
This year, and that's a promise, I will dare.
After you've gone home last year I've picked parts from the mistletoe, pretended to try to steal a kiss from the nice old barmaid (Maggie was her name and she had not believed any of the sweet lie I've told her) and then I went home too. I still have the twin piece of the twig I've sent you. I will bring it to the ball this year and hold it above your head so I would be allowed to give you the kiss I already should have given you last year. You may punch my nose but it will be worth it. And maybe you will enjoy the kiss - who knows. I can only hope.
Anyway I look forward to the ball. Only four days to go.
Sincerely, your colleague.
...
Barbara felt she was blushing. Who had been at the ball and watched her? And where had been the mistletoe? She could not remember and she had not felt watched at all. The stuffed envelope had no sign of a postal delivery, not even her name was on it, so it obviously had been put here personally. Carefully she glanced around. Was it one from their team?
Maybe one of the women? No. Good gracious, hopefully no. Anyway the mentioning of the barmaid suggested it came from a male colleague. How unusual by the way to mention kissing another woman in a letter like this. The writer must be very sure of himself. But who could it be?
Winston? No. He was constantly flirting with Nora Atkins and he seemed genuinely having a crush for the young joyful woman. But he had mentioned the secret admirer, like it was written in the text. Ah, well, still no.
Jonah Perkins? Barbara inwardly shook her head. No. He's gay. Or so she thought at least. You'll never know just from the outsides but he wouldn't have stayed behind and definitely would have made a show of a kiss.
DC Alan Norridge? Barbara flinched. Hopefully not. He's too old. And too greasy. Urgh. Yes, he would be the one she would love to give a punch in the nose or elsewhere if he would try to wave that mistletoe above her head.
Marc could be a candidate for this. DC Marc Ellerby, the cute young Constable, still wet behind the ears. He always watched her with his young puppy eyes as if he was secretly in love with her. Barbara would not punch his nose but she probably would explain to him that he should forget his advances and go and put his energy into hunting for a woman of his own age.
Maybe it was an officer from another team?
DI Thistledome perhaps? He was well known for his affairs. And he did not look too bad. But no, he was a bit all brawn, no brains. He never would have been able to write so well. But on the other hand, there were not too many colleagues who would write such sweet and eloquent lines.
Barbara's heart missed a beat. She knew who could write eloquent letters. DI Tommy Lynley.
He would be able to write even poems, of that Barbara was sure. But, no, not Lynley! Not for her. But he would not write her such a lovely letter, would he. It could even be called a love letter. Well, yes he definitely was able to write something like that, but there was no way he would write one for her. She was his good friend, his very good friend and they had shared a few wonderful private times throughout the recent year but then again she only was his Sergeant. He was her boss. He would not actually try to kiss her. And if he had wanted to he would not have shied away from this task. And if he would have kissed her it would have been of course a friendly kiss and nothing more. Of course not. Unfortunately. Because, if she was honest to herself, Barbara would not at all have punched his nose. She would have answered his kiss, stored away the memory and gone home with an even more broken heart than before. She was his secret admirer, but he most definitely not hers. She was not playing in his noble league. After all he also still had not mentioned that he would attend this year's ball. He probably would leave London one day before it, when his two weeks spare time would start. Plus he was purely business recently. So, Lynley: no.
In the exact moment when Barbara had decided that it could not be the DI said handsome man entered the office.
"Barbara? We have a meeting with the Chief Super in ten minutes. Grab your stuff, I hope you've read it." There you are - all business.
He went to his office without any more interest into what she was reading or why there was a twig of mistletoe on her 'finished' rack. He had not even spent a closer look at her. No, the note definitely was not from Lynley.
Barbara put away the twig and the letter in her lockable drawer and then hurried to at least have skimmed the files on her desk. For the rest of the day she was busy with their work but she knew she would not stop wondering the next few days.
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