The Best of Both Worlds

By S. Faith, © 2015

Words: 38,227
Rating: M / R
Summary: Life goes on in a rather unconventional family.
Disclaimer: Isn't mine.
Notes: Follow-up to A Rock and a Hard Place. Picks up five days after the last chapter of that story.

The bonds of wedlock are so heavy that it takes two to carry them—sometimes three.

—Alexandre Dumas

Chapter 1: A Calm and Normal Life

Thurs, 28 Jan 2016

Roughly three months post-transplant, although it was too soon to declare total success in the form of remission, it was very clear that the procedure had done precisely what it was supposed to have done. Mabel was almost back to her boisterous self, and was actually looking forward to returning to school. Despite this evidence of success, Bridget still felt guilty about planning the minibreak with Mark.

"We're not going to Mars, darling," he said as she stood before her half-packed mini-suitcase. "If something arises, we can be back in a flash. But I doubt anything will happen." He came closer to her, wrapped his arms around her for a reassuring embrace; she fit against his chest like they were two pieces of a puzzle. She leaned back into him, closing her eyes.

"We've spent so long in fire-fighting mode," she murmured, "that I've almost forgotten how to live normally." She felt his warm breath on her cheek, then a little kiss near her ear.

"Get used to it," he said. "I have every intention of keeping life as calm and normal as possible."

"Calm and normal," she repeated. It sounded so dull on its face, but she welcomed it wholeheartedly.

"Hey, Mummy."

She opened her eyes to see Billy standing there. To her delight she saw Billy had a happy expression.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"When are you and Daddy leaving?"

She laughed lightly. On their way out of town, they were bringing Mabel to stay with Oleander; Mabel had declared she wanted 'girl time' while the boys did something together. She didn't know what that 'something' was, except that it was sport-related. "We'll be leaving by five," Bridget said, "if you want to plan the rest of your night."

Billy grinned. "Okay! We have time for some Xbox, then!" He then dashed out.

"So," said Mark quietly, "how much do you really need to pack for a long weekend… when it's doubtful we'll even leave the premises?"

She felt her cheeks turn pink, but said, "I think you mean the suite."

"How about I finish with your bag," Mark said, "and you go and pack up Mabel's things?"

She suspected that he would only pack dressing gowns and lacy pants, but she found she didn't much care. "Sounds like a deal."

She went to Mabel's room and found her in front of the mirror. Her wig was off, and she was inspecting her short hair carefully. Mabel didn't know that her mother was watching, and Bridget kept quiet. Mabel reached over and plucked a glittering barrette out of the bowl on her bureau, then used it to pin a bit of hair off to the side. She smiled proudly at her own reflection.

Bridget clapped her hand over her mouth, tears flooding her eyes; she was unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion. The reality of her daughter's recovery struck her all at once. A little sob escaped her throat, which got Mabel's attention.

"Mummy? Are you okay?"

Bridget nodded. "I was just thinking how happy I am to see you doing normal stuff," she said, sniffing, then lifting her chin with a smile. "Nice barrette."

"Thanks," she said.

"Going to wear that instead of the wig?"

Mabel hesitated, then nodded. "I love the wig," she said, "but now sometimes with the hair, my head gets a little hot. Plus it falls off sometimes when we—" She stopped; Bridget sensed she might be about to admit to something she shouldn't be doing. "—play rock star," she finished quietly.

"As long as you're not overexerting yourself," said Bridget, "it's okay. What's 'rock star'?"

"Jake has some old, dead instruments that we use and mime to music," she said. "It's a lot of fun. We let Finn be the backup singer."

Bridget laughed, then reached to take Mabel into her arms. "I love you, baby."

"I know, Mummy," she said, her voice muffled in Bridget's shirt as she hugged her mother tightly in return. "I love you, too. And Daddy, and Dah, and Billy, Matt, and Fred."

"I know, baby," she said, combing her fingers over the short hair, almost seven centimetres by now, if she had to guess. The vitamins and other boosters really seemed to help, and the new hair seemed very healthy. She then kissed her on the head before she let her go, taking her little face between her hands, basking in the roundness that had returned to Mabel's cheeks, the sparkle that had returned to her eyes. "I know." She then let her go. "I'm here to help you put your things together for your sleepover, so why don't I help you?"

"I'm all packed up, Mummy," she said. "Dah helped."

Surprised, she said, "Oh. Wonderful." Bridget realised yet again how terrific it was to have three parents around. "I'll just… double check, make sure he didn't forget anything."

"He didn't," said Mabel confidently, and as it turned out, she was right.

"Well," said Bridget said. "I'd better go see if Daddy packed my bag."

"Maybe Dah can check yours, too."

Bridget felt heat flood her cheeks. "That's quite all right," said Bridget. "I trust Daddy to get it right." She glanced to the clock on the wall; still too soon to leave, but she wanted to make sure Scott was set for the weekend. "Going to go see how his progress is going, then see how Dah's doing."

"Okay," she said. "And kiss him goodbye?"

"Well, yes," she said. "I won't see him again until Sunday night."

"Mummy," said Mabel, a hint of tentativeness in her tone, "is Daddy your boyfriend, too?"

Bridget had no idea where this was coming from all of a sudden, but thought there was no time like the present. "It is a little complicated, isn't it?" she asked. "As you know, I was married to Daddy. I still am, and I love him as much as I ever have. But when I thought he was gone forever, I found Dah—or Mr Wallaker, as we called him then—" She winked to Mabel, who giggled. "—and I love him, too." She took in a breath, then exhaled. "The thought of sending one of them off broke my heart, but luckily, they both agreed it was a good idea to stay. Lots of people think you can only love and be true to one person at a time. Those people don't understand our situation here, so I don't tell them the whole story unless I think they'd understand. Do you know what I mean?"

Mabel looked a little uncertain. "I think so."

She clearly didn't. "I just mean that it's not something you should discuss with people that don't know us well."

"Like a secret?"

"Kind of," she said, "but not in a bad or shameful way. There are some people we trust not to hurt us by knowing, like Uncle Tom, Auntie Jude… even Granny Pam and Granny Elaine. Other people, though… they wouldn't understand, and so they don't need to know." She thought back to Finch's interview fiasco, which had thankfully not gained any traction, and had quickly died into obscurity. "So we just tell them Daddy lives here so we can all be close together."

Mabel looked thoughtful. "What about Oli and Finn?"

This was a trickier one to answer. "Of course we trust them," she said after a moment's thought, "but they might not totally understand because they're young."

"But I'm young, too," she said.

"But I think you understand," Bridget explained, "because you live here. You can tell that I love them both equally, right? And that we are all happy here together?"

Mabel nodded, then smiled. "Okay."

"Okay," she repeated. "I guess if Oli asks you, you could try to explain… if you think she would understand. But I would say otherwise to err on the side of caution."

"To what?"

"I mean just use caution. Be careful," she said, then bent and kissed her on the head again. "That sounds a bit paranoid, doesn't it? I'm sorry. I don't mean to be. I just want to protect what we have here, because I love having us all here together."

Mabel beamed a bright smile. "I love it too."

"Good. Glad that's sorted," she said. "Okay, let me go find Dah, and I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Sound all right?"

Mabel nodded. "I want to put in another barrette."

"You can put in ten more if you like," she said with a wink, then went to find Scott straight away.

Scott turned out to be in the garage, bent down over the open bonnet of Mark's car. She stifled a chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the fluid levels," he said, then stood up straight. "Just want to make sure you have a safe drive."

"The verdict?"

"Looks good."

She embraced him. "Thank you," she said, then kissed him. As she thought about how much she'd miss him, she deepened the kiss, raking her nails through his hair; he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close.

"Bridget," he said in a low tone as he broke away, "this is a terrible thing to do to me before you're about to leave for four days."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she said, backing away from him, patting his face tenderly. "I'll just miss you, that's all."

"You're going for the weekend, not a year," he said; his mouth was quirked in a slight smile. "Thank goodness."

"I know," she said. "I've just gotten so used to this… having you both near." She thought of her conversation with Mabel, and sighed. Her shoulders slumped.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She explained the conversation she'd just had with Mabel. "I'm not sure how we managed to not explain to the children," she said. "Do you think that you could, maybe, cover the bases with the boys while we're away?"

"Oh," he said. Bridget saw his skin tint pink.

She said, "Mabel asked me if Mark was my boyfriend, too. I wonder if Billy has similar thoughts and has just been too shy to ask."

Scott smiled, then chuckled. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk with Matt and Fred, though I suspect they already know. Well. I suspect Matt does, anyway. He's not stupid, and is a teenage boy, to boot."

She chuckled too, then sighed again. "I just don't want them to feel like we're doing something wrong," she said fretfully. "What we have is right for us." She sniffed again.

"I know," he said, offering another reassuring smile. "So. Are you ready to go? What about Mabel?"

"She is putting barrettes in her hair," she said. "Thank you for helping her with her bag. Perfect."

"Of course." He raised his hand, stroking his thumb on her face. "Hope you have a lovely weekend."

"I'm sure we will."

He leaned then gave her a brief kiss. "I'll look forward to having you back."

She smiled. "Have fun with the boys, with… whatever it is you have planned."

"Boy secrets," he said with a wink.

They left the garage together to go back into the house. Mabel was in the foyer and had at least five barrettes in her hair now, and a bright grin on her face. "I'm all ready!" she said. "Daddy's coming down in a minute. He's got your bags, Mummy."

"Terrific," said Bridget, just as Mark appeared descending the stairs, a bag in each hand.

"Billy!" called Mark. "Fred! Matt! We're leaving!"

A scrambling sound came from the media room, then the boys came out one at a time. Billy ran over to Bridget to give her a hug.

"Behave yourself," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Love you."

"Of course, Mummy," Billy said, tightening his arms briefly. "Love you too." Then he ran to Mark to give him a hug, too.

Matt hugged her next, then Fred. "Have a good weekend," she said, "with whatever your super-secret boy stuff is."

Fred chuckled. "It's just—"

"Shh, said Matt with a wink. "It's super-secret."

"Bye, Mabes," said Matt, bending to give her a hug. "Have a good time with Oli."

"Bye," she said. "And we will."

"Mark," Scott said. "Have a good weekend."

Mark nodded. "I'll take good care of her."

"I know you will."

After Scott took Mabel into his arms for a brief hug, she, Bridget and Mark loaded into the car, and then they were off.

"Daddy?" asked Mabel, about halfway to Chalk Farm Road.

"Yes, darling?" said Mark.

"Are you and Mummy going to have a shag marathon?"

"Mabel," Bridget said with exasperation.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" Mark asked tersely.

"Auntie Shazzer said that to Mummy," she said.

Bridget covered her mouth with her hand; she had not realised that Mabel was in earshot for that conversation with her long-time friend over FaceTime.

Bridget watched Mark's jaw tense then relax; whether from irritation or amusement, she didn't know. "That's not really a polite thing to ask someone."

"What is a 'shag marathon', anyway?"

She saw Mark's skin flush crimson; his answer was typically evasive. "Maybe you should be more cautious asking about… something… when you're not sure what it is," he said.

"Daddy's all red," she observed.

"Mabel," said Bridget, "it's something that adults, er, enjoy in private, but it can be embarrassing for them to talk about."

"But what is it?"

"When you're a little older," Mark said, "we'll explain it to you."

"Oh!" said Mabel, as if inspired. "Is it a girlfriend-boyfriend thing?"

"Yes," said Bridget, a rush of relief. "And like I said, it's private."

"Like sex?"

For a moment, Bridget thought Mark might actually run the car directly off the road.

"Actually," said Bridget cautiously, "yes. This is something we should talk about more when we get back—and it's not something you should be telling anyone about."

"'Cos it's private."

"Yes," Mark said.

They arrived to Rebecca and Jake's house, greeted at the door by Oleander and Rebecca. "I love your barrettes!" was the first thing out of Oleander's mouth. Mabel looked very pleased with herself. Bridget was just glad her hair was no longer an issue.

"All right, you behave yourself," said Bridget, hugging her tightly. "We'll see you on Sunday."

"Okay, Mummy, I will." She smacked a loud kiss on Bridget's cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

"Love you, Daddy," said Mabel; Mark swooped her up into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for a tight hug. It was clear by the blissful expression on his face that whatever annoyance he'd felt over the 'shag marathon' conversation had dissipated in an instant. His hand held her close, practically spanning her back.

"Love you too, darling," she heard Mark murmur, raising his hand to cradle the back of her head, before kissing her cheek then setting her down.

"You two have a nice weekend," said Rebecca, smiling fondly not only at Bridget, but at Mark too. She had definitely seemed to warm to Mark. "We'll have a great time, just us girls."

"Yay!" said Mabel and Oleander in unison. "Girl time! Girl time!"

"Come on," said Oleander. "Let's go play with the keyboard!"

Oleander took Mabel's bag then the two of them dashed upstairs. Once they were gone, Rebecca spoke again. "I think I owe you an apology," she said, looking directly at Mark. "I'm not too proud to say that. But you are all obviously very happy in your situation, and for that, I'm glad."

"I appreciate it," said Mark, who looked surprised, but pleasantly so.

"And I…" Rebecca laughed. "I'm afraid that I am starting to become a little too conventional, with only one husband…."

"This from a woman who puts fairy lights in her hair," Bridget said with a chuckle.

Rebecca reached out to hug her friend, then gave Mark a hug, too. She winked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Bridget burst out with a laugh, but felt her skin flush with embarrassment. "Bye, Rebecca."

With that they were off again, heading northeast for the almost two hour drive to the hotel where they had begun their relationship a little over twenty years earlier. She reached over and placed her hand over where his rested on the gear shift.

He didn't look to her, but she saw the smile play on his lips.

The drive seemed to be interminable for the anticipation in their arrival. They had managed to arrange the very same suite as they'd had the first time they were there, though it had undergone a few upgrades in the intervening years.

"Oh my," said Bridget. "A spa tub. With jets."

Mark chuckled. "And a giant flat screen television," he said, "which I can't see myself wanting to use for a single second."

"Oh, I don't know," said Bridget. "We could find an episode of Blind Date to watch together in front of the fire, for old times' sake."

"It is a post-modern masterpiece, after all," he said, pulling her into his arms. "To twenty more years together, at least," he said, "God willing."

She couldn't find the words for the emotion that closed her throat suddenly. Her only reply was to rise up on her toes and kiss him firmly on the mouth.

After a few moments, though, she drew away, and said shakily, brushing her fingers over his brow, then cheek, "I wish I could say the fluttering in my stomach and the lightheaded-ness were from being overwhelmed by passion… but alas, it's because lunch was a very long time ago."

At this he began to chuckle, pecked a kiss on her lips, then said, "Let's get some dinner, then."

They perused the menu then called down for dinner—hearty steak then champagne and strawberries for later—before Mark started unpacking their bags into the bureau's drawers. She simply smiled; she knew better than to ask him why he was unpacking for only a weekend. He turned and gave her a long, amused look. "I can leave yours in the bag, if you like."

"No, no; carry on."

She watched as he finished up, then dug his hand into the bag one last time. "Oh," he said. "What could this be?"

With some amusement, she thought, and not for the first time, that he would have made a terrible actor. She said nothing, just waited for him to draw whatever he had up and out. It turned out to be a gold box with a bow on top.

"Ooh," she said. "Chocolates?"

He raised a brow. "Yes, Bridget," he said, clearly humouring her. "Chocolates." He handed it to her.

She pulled the top off and gasped to find a beautiful bracelet, three delicate chains—white gold, antiqued yellow gold, and a coppery rose gold, according to the card in the box—that were all braided together. From this entwined strand, four delicate charms dangled.

"It might seem a bit premature," Mark murmured, "but we thought it was fitting."

"We?"

"I consulted with Scott," Mark said.

As she examined it, she realised exactly what the strands and the charms represented, and she covered her mouth with a hand as the tears rolled down her cheeks: the chains represented the adults and the charms represented the children, each one their birth month's stone. "It's beautiful," she said breathily. "Is this from him, too? You should have given this to me together—"

"He insisted I should give it to you this weekend," Mark interrupted. "As a new start… again." He cleared his throat. "When I returned, my main goal was helping Mabel… but I had faint hopes a miracle might occur."

"Oh, we had at least two miracles," said Bridget. "Your return; Mabel…"

"Three," he said. "Because you and I are different people than we were, and circumstances have changed in a way I couldn't have predicted; yet here we are, making things work. It would surprise fifty-year-old me to say this, but I couldn't be happier."

She felt her eyes well with tears all over again.

"It really doesn't hurt," he said, "that Scott's a good bloke. But, you know, I've known that all along, anyway."

She sniffed, then smiled. "Put it on," she said, holding her hand out. "The bracelet. Put it on me."

He did as asked, and it was so light and beautiful she barely noticed it there. She took him into her arms and hugged him tight, but the sharp rap at the door brought them back to the present. "Dinner," he murmured.

After they brought it in and sat down at the window-side table to eat, Mark poured the wine and spoke again. "So with all of this excitement," he asked, "I never got to ask about what that was all about. Interrogation by our eight-year-old daughter. And…."

He trailed off, but she knew what he was thinking. "She must have heard about it from the television, or a pop song or something," Bridget said. "Not the most elegant way to have learnt it." Then she explained about her earlier question, about whether Mark was her 'boyfriend' too.

"I guess it's too late for the slightly more elegant 'birds and bees' story," he said, looking a little ashen.

"Never too late for that talk, as awkward as it might be," Bridget said. "But she probably just knows the word, not what it is. Kids are learning earlier these days but I think even eight's a bit much." She reached over the table and patted his hand. "I'll talk to her and see how much she really knows."

"She's your daughter," said Mark drolly. "It's probably not too soon for the talk; after all, you were stripping for me at the age of three." He raised his eyes to meet hers, a crooked grin on his face. "I'll leave it to you, then."

"All right," she said. "Then Billy's all yours. And don't forget to update the story."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that sometimes two bees prefer the same flower."

At this, Mark fixed her with a stern look, but could not keep a smile from his lips. "Your milkshake apparently brings all the boys to the yard," he quipped, which shocked her. "What can I say?" he added. "That song was everywhere for a time."

She had a hard time stopping laughing.

Within short order dinner was duly dispatched, and Mark popped open the champagne. "Why don't you…" he began, then smiled, then began to chuckle. "Saying 'slip into something more comfortable' sounds so cliché, doesn't it?"

"Maybe a bit," she said, "though it is a delightful suggestion."

She had purchased, with Talitha's input, a brand new lingerie set—nightie, pants and a dressing gown—just for this weekend, dark peacock blue silk with delicate black lace trim. Another set in ruby red and cream awaited Scott at home. She brushed her hair out, daubed some powder onto her nose and cheeks, and applied some gloss to her lips. Perhaps a little silly or vain to do so, she thought, but she wanted to look her nicest and feel her best.

She emerged to find Mark had the champagne waiting, and had also slipped into something more comfortable: his silk dressing gown, which he had loosely knotted at the waist. He glanced up to her and down again, and then, once his brain actually registered what it was she wore, he looked up once more. "Oh, that's lovely," he said quietly, then added, "I mean—not that you don't normally…"

She chuckled. "I knew what you meant."

"And you're comfortable?" he said, handing her a champagne flute. "I mean, comfort is key here."

She tilted her head. "Eminently comfortable. Well-fed on an excellent meal, and about to knock back some champagne and strawberries." After a pause, she added, "And wearing pants so comfortable and soft it's like I'm wearing nothing at all."

After a moment of silence, he said, "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

She laughed. "Are we going to do a toast, or what?" she said.

Mark looked thoughtful, then spoke decisively. "Here's to a future," he said, "with decidedly fewer traumatic events."

"Hear, hear," said Bridget as she raised to touch her flute to his. In her thoughts only, she added, And here's to no need of the little blue pill any time soon.

They then raised the flutes in unison to sip; it was an exceptional vintage, perfectly chilled and not too dry, and was so good that the sip became an extended draw, and they each drained their glass. Mark then reached aside and plucked a berry from the bowl then, holding it by the leafy stem, held it up for her to take a bite from it. It was not exactly strawberry season, but they were plump and red and quite juicy. She relished the taste, her eyes closing with the pleasure of it.

"I'm beginning to think," Mark said, his voice husky, "that we might not make it through our dessert."

She smirked, opening her eyes again, fixing him with her gaze. "They'll keep."

Indeed, they did keep quite well, though they had the presence of mind to bring the champagne and berry bowl along with them to the main room, where the fireplace was roaring with amber flame. The better to keep warm, she thought, as Mark divested her of the silk, and she helped him out of his own dressing gown. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply as they sank to the sofa; with that, she was lost in sensation, in the feel of his hands on her body, his kiss on her lips and throat. Before long she had her legs around his hips, her nails raking across his shoulders, as they worked towards mutual culmination.

Afterwards, gasping to regain their respective breath, Mark stretched to pour more champagne, and to offer her another berry. She only placed it tantalisingly between her teeth, offering it back to him in return.

"Tempting," he said. "So very, very tempting."

He was, of course, unable to resist temptation.

Fri, 29 Jan

As morning broke, Bridget found herself shielding the sun from her eyes, and she rolled over closer to Mark again. Instinctively he brought his arm up and around her, and drew her up against him. She sighed and put one arm around his waist, tucking the other up to rest her cheek upon.

He made a soft sound, then spoke. "We should have drawn the drapes."

"The foolish things we do in the throes of passion," she said. "Shall I?"

Gallantly, he said, "I'll do it." Yet he made no move.

"No hurry," she said sarcastically. "I have no need to sleep. None at all."

"Oh. Well. If you say so."

After another extended romp they drifted back to sleep; soon, it was approaching lunchtime. The sky had clouded over, but it was not the sun that awoke them this time.

"I could murder a basket of chocolate croissants," she murmured before she even opened her eyes.

"And coffee," she heard Mark add, before he sighed. "It's too bad one cannot order room service by thought alone." And then he pushed back the duvet as he disentangled himself from her to reach for the phone to ring for food. She listened to him speak; he was ordering a veritable feast, not just pastry and a carafe of coffee, but orange juice, eggs, bacon… practically a full English fry-up.

She supposed it wasn't quite lunch yet.

To their credit—and as proof of their exertion—they polished off everything they'd ordered before falling back into bed again. Not to shag, but to cuddle, to doze, to lounge in one another's arms, next to one another. And then Bridget remembered—

"The bath!"

"What?" he asked fuzzily.

"The spa bath!" she said, sitting up. "Let's run the spa bath!"

"That's got to be good for aching muscles," he said, amusement thick in his voice. Again he pushed back the duvet, pushed to the edge of the bed and made his way to the en suite; she enjoyed watching his journey, as always, even approaching the age of sixty. Suppose I'm just grateful, she thought, that his backside isn't drooping to his knees… or that my chest isn't to mine, either.

She heard the water come on, so reluctantly she rose from the bed; after all, the bath would not come to her. She watched him studiously pour a few capfuls of the bubble bath—scented lightly with vanilla, she noted immediately—before he climbed in, then turned to look at her. He offered a smile. "Water's nice and hot," he said. "Come and join me."

A broad smile overtook her face. She didn't need to be beckoned twice.

She slipped in beside him, then immediately turned to slip her arms around his neck, basking in the hot water, reclining with him, skin against skin. She let out a long sigh; he brought his arm up to slide his fingertips in an arc across her back.

"A year ago," he said, "this would have only been an impossible fantasy."

She did not need to ask him what he meant.

He continued. "When I learnt that the faction behind the attack had been neutralised, and that I was safe to shed the false identity and return to life in England, it was the best possible news I could have gotten… and the worst."

She sensed that he had more to say, so she was content to remain silent; she was correct.

"I'm sure Jeremy thought he was doing me a favour," Mark said, closing his eyes, "keeping me updated on you, telling me how happy you were now, how much Scott loved the children as if they were his own… but you know Jeremy can be insensitive at times. I'll never forget that day he told me you were moving into a new house with Scott—it was precisely a day after I learnt I was safe to go home to England again."

"Oh, Mark," she said. "That was almost a year and a half ago."

"I know," he said quietly. "I could come back at any time, but you were happy, secure, and settled, all of you… and I should confess that I wasted no time finding out as much as I could about him. Scott. And I don't mean with Google." Before she could ask, he went on: "I am not proud of the fact that I called in favours from the intelligence community, Bridget, but I had to know. Dating's one thing, but a house… that's a commitment." He turned his warm brown eyes to her, and she nodded slightly; she understood. "Squeaky clean, upstanding citizen from a prominent, well-known, wealthy family, served Queen and Country in Afghanistan… it was a relief to know you were in good hands, but it was a double-edged sword. If he'd been a rotter I wouldn't have hesitated a moment to return, but since he wasn't, I couldn't help feeling that my coming back could do more harm than good. It tore at me until…." He trailed off, then when he spoke again, his voice was a bit stronger. "In a way, I'm almost glad my hand was forced. Not, of course, that I would have wished Mabel's ordeal on her or on any of us."

Bridget didn't know quite what to say, but decided that there was no point in reproaching him at this stage. She decided that a light tease was the way to go—easier to do now that things were settled. "If we weren't canoodling in a spa tub," she said, "I would tweak your bottom for ever considering not coming back."

"You may still do so," said Mark; his expression was stern, and his tone, serious. "If you dare."

She returned that serious look, then pulled herself close to him again. "Oh," she said. "I dare." Her hand moved down over his hip, but he shifted and quickly grabbed her wrist, keeping it away from him. With a cry of "Ha!", she reached with her free hand to try to get the other side, but he evaded her by shifting quickly away, splashing a crest of water over the edge of the tub as he did. Fortunately, she prevented him from grasping that wrist, too.

"You win," she said. "I think I'll tweak this, instead. It's a lot more fun." He seemed too confused to react to her hand slipping down his chest, past his navel, as she kissed him.

When he broke away, he said, "It is… acceptable."

Given his exhale of breath, it was more than that.

After they finished their bath, they decided it would be good to get out of the room for a while—"If for no other reason, to give housekeeping a chance to sweep out the place," said Mark—so they went to the restaurant to see about a late lunch. The restaurant staff were, of course, very accommodating. As they waited for their meal—just something light, given the large breakfast they'd had not that long ago—Bridget checked the messages on her phone, and found that the house hadn't in fact burnt down.

"Just a hello from home," she said. "Everything's going well." She giggled as she viewed the picture that had arrived via the messaging app. "Mabel's discovered the concept of the 'selfie'."

She turned the phone around to show Mark the extreme close-up of Mabel's smiling face. She watched carefully how Mark's face softened, how his eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiled, as his gaze flicked over her image as if attempting to memorise every detail.

"I'll forward a copy to you," she said, switching off the phone's screen, then setting the mobile down.

"Please," he said. "She is one in a million, that child."

"Indeed she is," said Bridget, as she reached to take his hand across the table.