This is akachankami's belated birthday fic. I actually did start it around a week before her birthday! It took me that long, with real life stuff and the fact that the fic became a crazy word count.
I was supposed to write for the following prompts: something with a happy ending, rumors / if you promise not to say anything we might tell you about it, kids these days, what would a gentleman do?, modern day AU in which they run a restaurant or a theatre/acting company, goodnight wishes and Charles not feeling well.
I think I squeezed most of them in!
Charles was keeping distracted by tidying up his already immaculate hotel room when he heard the exterior door to room 303B open and shut.
He was in room 303A. The two rooms had a connecting door, and could become a suite. When they'd checked in, the idea of Elsie being so close had been comforting and a convenience, but it soon also became a surprising temptation.
He rested his ear against the wooden panel of the connecting door. Yes, he could definitely hear her moving around now. She'd been gone for around an hour. It was none of his business where she'd been, he reminded himself.
He opened up his travel bag and ran through its contents before patting his pockets to reassure himself that he had his wallet and mobile phone.
Still restless, he checked the bathroom to make sure he'd picked up all his toiletries. In the main room, he went over to the bed and slid open the bedside drawers, just in case.
He shouldn't have made that last move, he realised. It made him once again aware of the bed. King size, as per the request from a Mrs Hughes when she'd changed the booking, so the receptionist had told him.
He wondered how much room Elsie would want in that large bed. It really was too big. She could get too far away from him in it. If he was sharing a bed with her, he'd want her much closer. A single bed would be a valid excuse to have her draped across him, sweet and warm, with the steady rhythm of her heart vibrating against his skin.
He moved to struggle with the window. His breaths had become short gasps due to the room being so terribly closed in and stuffy.
Never mix business and pleasure should remain his motto. Once, he'd broken that golden rule, and it resulted in heartache. He couldn't face having to leave the restaurant and Elsie, as he'd had to leave the theatre and Alice.
Elsie was the perfect business partner. He acknowledged the business would be a complete failure without her patience and people skills. A week ago he was content with that constant.
But, he had to admit, a week later, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
A week ago he'd turned up to the restaurant at 11am on the dot, as he did every day. Beryl and Elsie were planning a new menu. He would have joined in with the discussion but for his involvement with a lorry driver and a crate of wine. As such, he only caught the end of their debate upon entering the dining room.
"Deconstructed?" Beryl Patmore's nasally tone did not soothe his senses. "Why does one deconstruct an apple tart?"
He watched as Elsie's whole body slouched with resignation. "You're still cooking it with the same lovely flavours," she placated. "We're just presenting it a little differently."
"Well, it's not a tart anymore then, is it? It's just a plate of ingredients." The restaurant's head chef certainly knew how to construct a tart tone to her voice, that was for sure.
It was time to come to Elsie's aid. "It's what the customers want, and that's all there is to it," he announced in his most authoritative manner.
Behind Beryl's back, Elsie gave Charles a knowing look. He had actually wanted to add two deconstructed dishes to the menu. It was only Elsie's insistence that they needed to take a soft approach to introducing the most chic dessert style to their old friend which had changed his mind.
Anna, thankfully, jumped in at that moment and changed the subject: "This is an Australian wine?" the petite blonde asked innocently.
Amazingly, this diversion seemed to work and the table, which had grown to include most of the staff, turned its attention to the attributes of the Barossa Valley cabernet sauvignon. John Bates, as always abstaining, made notes of everyone's comments for later reference. Then, almost coinciding with their second sip of alcoholic beverage, Gwen served the table Daisy's new Asian-inspired beef dish. And much to his relief, it caused such a sensation around the table that Beryl's pride due to her protege's success stifled any of her earlier distress.
One battle won... He took the opportunity to seek everyone's attention by clearing his throat.
"Now that the week's menu has been sorted, the next point of order is staffing."
Jimmy and Ivy, he noticed with interest, wriggled uncomfortably in their seats at the announcement.
"This year's annual Restaurant Conference is being held this coming Thursday in London. I've arranged for myself and Elsie to attend. In our absence, John and Anna will act as managers."
Neither John nor Anna made any comment, but some of the younger staff looked shocked, as if having a day off was an unheard of concept. Surely it hadn't been that long since they'd left the restaurant in the Bates' capable hands.
"You're both going to be away at the same time?" Jimmy even asked in a dull tone.
"Yes," Charles drawled, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child, which perhaps Jimmy was at times, he thought. "This is why John and Anna will be in charge, and not Elsie or I."
Charles turned to Elsie then. Her expression, should he describe it, was wary. Despite his momentary concern, he ploughed on with his proposed itinerary: "We will catch the early train on Thursday morning. I've checked the timetables, and it will be necessary to stay there overnight. The restaurant will foot the bill for our accommodation, of course. We can return on Friday morning, leaving us plenty of time to be back on board for Friday's dinner."
Beside Jimmy, Ivy giggled.
"Is there something amusing about our travel arrangements, Ivy?" Charles demanded.
The girl lowered her eyes. "I just… You're staying overnight… And…"
"And?"
Jimmy snorted, drawing Charles's glare away from the young server to the equally immature steward.
"Is there something you wish to add, Jimmy?"
Jimmy and Ivy both flushed deeply but quickly shook their heads.
"Well, stop your sniggering. Both of you."
Their giggles did continue, however, for the rest of the day and evening. Charles did his best to ignore them, but at one stage he was sure he caught his and Elsie's name uttered at the same time as the phrase 'friends with benefits'. He did his best to strain to hear any other inappropriate comments above the chatter of customers, with no luck.
Elsie seemed immune to it all, thankfully. From his observations, she was going about her business just as efficiently as any other time.
Every time she approached the bar with an order she showed no hint of irritation towards him or the younger staff. In fact, overall, she was acting her usual cool and collected self.
In direct contrast, as the night went on he became flustered and flushed. Something he hoped the diners or the staff never picked up on. He thought at one stage Elsie at least noticed. He saw her staring at him with an odd look on her face as he tried to relieve his discomfort by rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.
He continued to get many orders incorrect that night. More than once his attention was diverted by Elsie as she moved around the restaurant. He'd never noticed how her hips swayed in such an alluring manner.
He wondered if she was wearing new shoes. She wasn't the type to be so blatantly seductive. She was more of a practical woman. Even this elicited a sensual reaction from him. He wanted to be the one to make her just let go and lose control.
He suddenly had an illicit image of her lying dishevelled beside him on a bed, panting and sated.
Later, he would blame Jimmy and Ivy for putting ideas in his head. He tried desperately to think only of wine and lager and cider.
But, he had to admit, a week ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Six days ago it was Thomas who had no qualms in coming right out and revealing the snide details of the circulating rumours which featured Charles and Elsie as lovers. The snobbish but stylish sommelier was only too eager to silkily explain how the gossip had started due to the hours they spent at the restaurant after it was officially closed.
"You see, Mr Carson, you're both still lingering here at two or three in the morning, when most of us are desperate to be home."
"You never go straight home after we close, Mr Barrow," he pointed out, using the young man's surname just as he was using his; both of them doing so to be offensive.
"True, but you don't drop into any pubs or clubs now, do you? Instead, you leave with Mrs Hughes."
The use of Elsie's surname by Thomas was even more deliberate this time. Charles ignored the innuendo.
"I escort her home. I could hardly let a lady walk home alone at such a time. I have to have some sort of duty of care to my fellow employees."
"I'm sure you have Mrs Hughes's welfare at heart, Mr Carson, but your regard for her has led to quite a bit of talk."
"From whom?" he demanded, his anger escalating.
"Well… Sarah O'Brien was known to say that you never offered to drive her home."
"That is because Sarah O'Brien always disappeared as soon as the last customer had left!" He only realised much later how much he'd raised his voice. "Helping clean up was not her strong point!"
"I'm just saying…"
"Stop saying!".
Suddenly the subject of his defensive tirade was standing before them.
"Why are you shouting? I was about to open the doors, but I certainly don't wish for the public to hear such carry on," she berated.
"Oh, you never know, Mrs Hughes, sex sells, they say."
"Mr Barrow!" Charles roared.
"You and Thomas are discussing sex?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"In a manner of speaking, Mrs Hughes," Thomas said smoothly.
"I wouldn't have thought you and Mr Carson would have found much common ground in that area," she commented, automatically joining in their ridiculous game of not using first names.
"There are many things I'd accuse Mr Carson of, but I will admit homophobia is not one of them, Mrs Hughes. But you're right, the conversation started as what we like to do after closing time, and somehow went from there."
"After closing time you like to do... Sex?" she spluttered.
"In a manner of speaking," Thomas repeated before turning and threading his way through the tables, checking the settings as he made his way towards the front door.
Charles fumed as the slick lad unlocked and clipped back the door, announcing to the world at large they were ready for business.
"You don't look ready for business, that's for sure," Elsie said, eerily reading his thoughts.
Charles merely grunted. Thomas was correct. He didn't hold being openly gay against the young man. It was Thomas's caustic tongue and bullying ways that irked him.
"What were you really talking about? And don't tell me it was sex."
He tugged at his collar of his shirt, which had become annoyingly tight. He wondered if the restaurant would be cooler now that the front doors were open.
Now and then, since they went into business together, he had dropped his guard with Elsie and confessed to her some tiny personal tidbit from his troubled past. She had a knack of wrangling the truth from everyone. However, his sex life, or lack thereof in recent years, was not something that he'd expect to come up in polite conversation.
He ripped off a piece of paper towel from behind the bar and mopped at his clammy skin, buying time as to how to respond.
He was saved, literally, by the bell. The telephone began to ring and she gave one final hum, which he interpreted as 'I will deal with you later', before turning away.
His eyes fixed upon her enticing curves as she made her way to the telephone. He wanted to walk up behind her, press his hard body against hers, just to see if she fit as perfectly as he supposed she would. She was so tiny compared to his lofty stature, barely coming up to his shoulder. Although, he knew, that underestimating Elsie due to her diminutive size would be a mistake.
It was so odd. He had always been attracted to tall women, ones who could almost look him in the eye should they wear heels.
He watched as Elsie removed the pencil she'd had tucked behind her ear to note a reservation in their book. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun tonight, all except for one stray wisp which was being fickle and hanging insolently against the nape of her neck. His fingers twitched to slowly curl that lone brazen lock around his finger. Then, he would lean down and gently kiss where it had been resting.
He shook his head. Elsie's hair was red, and she had a temper to match. He had only ever dated blondes. They were his 'type', he'd thought.
Alice had been tall, and a blonde.
He tore his eyes away with a solid effort. It didn't matter that he had only dated blondes up until now, because he and Elsie weren't dating.
He tugged at his tie and poured himself a glass of cold water. He had to clean and polish glasses; finish off his preparations for the evening.
But, he had to admit, six days ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Five days ago the rumours Thomas had informed him of were still on his mind. He was unconcerned what people thought of him or his personal life, but he was outraged that they should spread vicious tales about Elsie. The slur on her reputation occupied his thoughts so much that he was unprepared for a surprise visitor.
His ex-partner, Charlie Grigg, turned up at the restaurant.
They'd run a theatre in Soho together, doing everything from acting to directing to working the ticket booth. It had been a successful, if hectic, time in Charles's life. Until the HMRC paid them a visit.
Grigg, unlike Charles, was a short man with greying fair hair and a thick out-of-style moustache hiding his bad teeth. He was a good actor because, despite his less than stellar looks, he was able to convey an enormous amount of charisma, which he delivered with relish to every female he met.
All smiles and charm, Grigg casually loafed about the restaurant, spinning yarns of their grand days in the theatre whilst scrounging free food and drink.
The staff spent most of the time awestruck by his steady string of celebrity names Grigg brought up in conversation. Just how many knighted actors he and Grigg had met came as a shock to Charles, that was for certain.
Obviously Grigg's unexpected arrival did nothing to improve Charles's already addled mood when it came to Elsie Hughes.
Charles continued to work behind the bar, seething, as his ex-partner flattered Elsie with compliments, blatantly attempting to flirt.
At one stage, Grigg even attempted to coax her into an impromptu waltz across the small area the restaurant used as a dance floor when they were holding functions such as weddings. Luckily, Elsie was far too sensible for such nonsense. She swiftly side-stepped Grigg, begging off the spectacle by having to attend to new customers coming through the front door.
Later Grigg sidled up to the bar and leered at Elsie's behind in a way Charles did not appreciate.
"Fine woman you've got there, Charlie," Grigg commented, using the shortened version of his name to deliberately provoke his temper.
It was, of course, a difficult time to express a suitable retort; there was a row of customers within hearing range.
"You have got her, haven't you, Charlie?" Grigg pressed.
Charles glanced over at Elsie again before he cleared his throat and removed his jacket. It could be no hotter in the kitchen, he imagined.
"Because, Charlie," Grigg went on, ignored Charles's obvious reluctance to discuss Elsie in such a manner, "if she's on the open market, I think I wouldn't mind a crack at her myself, if you know what I mean."
"I know exactly what you mean, Grigg, and no, she isn't on the open market," Charles growled quietly.
"Ah, so the Mrs part is true? I thought that young Thomas was just pulling me leg."
"Yes, it's true," Charles confirmed, lying unashamedly through his teeth. He had no desire to go into the details of Elsie's marital status with Grigg. Nor did he want to encourage him in any way. Grigg had a history of stealing his girlfriends and-
He blinked. Elsie was not his girlfriend. She was free to see anyone she wished.
"Sing! He had the best voice you ever did hear, me lad." Grigg was droning on when Charles came out of his daze. He didn't want to make a scene, so he had no choice but to allow Grigg to include his unsuspecting fellow drinkers as he carried on with his appalling trip down memory lane.
Ignoring him, Charles's gaze shifted to settle on Elsie once more. She was smiling and chatting amiably with a couple in the far corner. His thoughts wandered to just how soft her skin would feel as he feathered his fingers across it. Would she be ticklish and squirm as he touched her?
She was so pale. She probably bruised easily. It would not take much to leave his mark upon her. It would probably be best if he chose somewhere private to claim her as his property. Her inner thigh, perhaps.
Beads of sweat formed on Charles's upper lip. Elsie Hughes would never allow such a thing. Nor would she stand for being any man's property.
"You should get Charlie here to tell you about the time we-"
He tried to block out Grigg. His cockney accent buzzed in his head, rang in his ears. He really should correct some of his more outrageous claims. Or he should divert the conversation back to the menu, or an accompanying wine. He should care much more about the customers.
But, he had to admit, five days ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Four days ago he had plenty of time to think, given he was forced to have another day off from working in the restaurant. Elsie, again, was in the forefront of his mind, as he wondered how ridiculous he must seem to her.
An ambulance had had to be called to the restaurant the night before. Thomas had told the 999 operator he'd been having a heart attack. After being prodded and poked by an array of doctors and nurses, it turned out to be nothing so dramatic.
He was still mortified at this reality when Elsie arrived to visit him.
"Anxiety attack," she wondered as she fussed around with a vase of flowers.
"That's what the doctors claim," he mumbled. If it wasn't embarrassing enough to be placed on a gurney and wheeled out of your own restaurant, it became much worse when it was all for nought. Somehow he would have preferred it if the doctors had told him he needed a triple bypass.
"The London trip is perfect timing then. I want you to take a couple of extra days off."
"What? The restaurant-"
"The restaurant can cope without you for a few days."
"I can't see much point. I'll only be bored if I'm not working."
"Why don't you go wild by going up to London early? Or stay on there after the conference. Or better yet, go down to Cornwall or somewhere. The English Riviera is beautiful this time of the year. Or Brighton, perhaps?"
"I'm fine," he insisted.
His heart hurt so much he assumed that at any moment he would have a real heart attack. She was encouraging him to go away for a holiday, alone.
"Oh, I almost forgot." She reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope. "It's a card; from Charlie."
"Charlie?" he repeated his most-hated nickname. Then he realised she meant Grigg. How he hated that he shared anything with that con artist ham.
"He had to leave to return to London early this morning, and he gave me that to pass on."
This morning? She had seen Grigg this morning?
It was highly unlikely that Grigg could have found the time to purchase a get-well card, what he assumed to be sealed in the envelope, the night before. Which meant he had taken the opportunity this morning to drop in and see Elsie some time before her visit here.
"What's the time?" he asked harshly, reaching for his watch on the bedside drawer.
"Just gone eleven. But don't you think you're coming into the restaurant today. When the doctors give you the all clear, you're to go straight home."
It would be a 45 minute walk from her house to the hospital. He had memorised her bus route and timetable, for work purposes, and she would have needed to catch the ten o'clock if that's how she'd travelled. Grigg had visited her, a woman who needed to sleep in to at least nine every day given their occupation, prior to that time? This was most distressing.
Then he had an even more distressing thought. What if Grigg had spent the night with her? What if he'd purchased the card after they'd left her house in the morning? What if on his way to the station, Grigg had detoured to pass by the hospital with her, Grigg had kissed her goodbye passionately right there on the pavement outside before hailing a taxi?
Her bottom lip especially was made to be kissed passionately. She had a habit of biting down on it. One would like to lick and suckle on it, to ensure it was not split or raw from her unhealthy quirk.
"Are you alright, Charles? Should I call for a nurse?"
He felt the flush infusing across his cheeks. "I'm fine."
She leaned over, placing her hand on his forehead. "Here, have a drink of water?"
He waved away the water, although given as to how stifling hot they kept these hospitals, it was probably not his best move.
"Do you want me to open the envelope? And read out Charlie's message?"
"No!"
Her chin lowered to her chest.
"Just put the thing in the rubbish, for goodness sake," he grouched.
"You wouldn't want me to do that if you were thinking straight." She walked over and carefully placed the envelope in the side pocket of the small bag of clothes which John had delivered to the hospital for him this morning.
"You should be at the restaurant," he reminded her.
She clutched her hands together. "I thought I'd stay, and perhaps help you get home when you are released."
He would have heard, wouldn't he, if Grigg had escorted her into the hospital, kissed her passionately right outside his ward? She would make tiny noises as she was kissed. Her lips would have taken on a ruby red hue and been swollen.
"Charles?" she prompted.
"That won't be necessary," he grunted.
"I see," she said, her Scottish accent markedly stronger.
When she left, he picked up the book she had brought him but the words danced confusingly across the page
If he kissed her, he would ensure he was gentle at first, coaxing her lips apart slowly, and tasting every part of her mouth. They could just kiss for a long time before they moved on to other things.
He took a sip of that water she'd offered previously. The hospital wasn't the place to think about kissing, or anything else.
But, he had to admit, four days ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Three days ago Charles answered his doorbell to find Elsie on his doorstep.
"It was two tickets to his new production," she announced, twirling around the envelope she'd delivered from Grigg. The one he'd never opened.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded, talking her lead and dispensing with greetings.
"From where you put it. The rubbish bin at the hospital."
Despite the fact he was barefoot and wearing only an open necked casual shirt and cotton pants, his skin began to sting with heat.
"It was a card thanking you for your hospitality with two tickets to the play he's starring in at the moment."
"Starring in?" he asked, doubtful.
"Well, he's appearing in it, if you're going to be pedantic as usual."
He was feeling too raw not to take offence. "I didn't think being pedantic was a crime! In fact, I thought it was rather an advantage in our line of work."
She rolled her eyes at his blustering. Then she turned to wave in the direction of a car idling on the other side of the street. He could see from the streetlight Anna was the driver. The younger woman waved back before accelerating away.
"Are you going to invite me in, or are we going to continue to debate the pros and cons of your personality right here on the doorstep?"
He stepped back. "As your ride just pulled away from the kerb, I hardly have a choice."
She made a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, she filled and turned on the kettle. Next, she open and shut cupboards until she found a canister full of teabags and two teacups.
"Make yourself at home," he drawled.
She only laughed before flicking her gaze around his small one-bedroom unit. He looked around, trying to see it as she was, for the first time.
It was basically one entire room, with only the toilet and bathroom separated by a door at one end. His bedroom was hidden from view by an old-fashioned bureau he'd inherited from the previous owners, an elderly couple who had been forced to move into an old people's home.
With a resigned sigh, he joined her in the kitchen area. He retrieved a bottle of port from the highest shelf. She'd never reach them without a step ladder, he mused.
"You don't own a television?" she asked when her head was in the refrigerator, sniffing the milk experimentally.
"There isn't much point," he replied. "With our hours."
"I don't know many men who don't watch sport."
"I listen to the cricket." He pointed towards his small battery operated wireless sitting upon the kitchen bench. "There's something satisfying about listening to the commentary and imagining the action."
She hummed and spun around again. Her gaze flicked over his book collection. He waited for her to mention his many titles when he knew she rathered her ereader, but she never had a chance as there was a loud crash and a scream from above.
"Your neighbours?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, that's Mary, whose wedding you attended last year?"
"Yes," he replied, close-lipped. Mary and her family had dined in the restaurant once. She and Elsie had not gotten along very well, and he was still a little baffled as to why.
"That was the last day you had off," she reminded him gently as they both sat down at his dining room table side by side. "Another couple now won't hurt."
He made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat before deciding to direct the conversation away from his perceived weakness and back to her meddling: "You took a letter out of the rubbish, and opened it? A letter not addressed to you?"
"You might think this shocking, but as your business partner, I care about you. You did end up in hospital just as your ex-business partner arrived on the scene. I was hoping there might have been something in the envelope that gave you some sort of closure with Charlie."
"There will never be closure with Grigg. He'll turn up like the proverbial bad smell every few years, mark my words."
"Nevertheless, he was a big part of your life for a long time, and you-"
"I worked with him," he interrupted. "That is all. He was not part of my real life."
She squinted across at him. "Is that how you would describe your current business partner?"
He was able to avoid replying. They were once again distracted when, above them, a stereo began to play and the deep pounding of the bass vibrated throughout his unit.
She flicked her wrist to read her watch. He automatically tilted his head to check the time in tandem. It was almost 11 pm.
"Perhaps I should go and speak to them about keeping the noise down. You need your rest."
"I'm fine," he repeated for what felt like the millionth time in the last 24 hours. "If I need my rest, what are you doing here?" he added, feeling he needed to defend the Crawleys.
"I assumed you wouldn't be able to get out of the late night habit this quickly. I came to tell you that you would need to pack for our trip tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Pack tonight. We're leaving in the morning instead of Thursday."
"We can't-"
"We can and we are. I've already changed the booking for our accommodation. We'll arrive in London with plenty of time to attend Charlie's show."
"But the restaurant-"
"I own half the restaurant, Charles, and I'm ordering you to go to London early, catch a show, and take your companion out to dinner whilst you're there. If it makes you feel better, you can call that part research."
He had only been released from hospital that morning. Her arrangements were making his head spin. "My companion?" he repeated faintly.
"Well, me, but by that look on your face, I'm now wondering if I was jumping to conclusions."
"No. Yes. No."
She laughed and stood suddenly, rinsing her cup and glass in the sink.
Her head tilted, gesturing towards his bedroom area. "Do you need any help to pack?"
Elsie fussing around with his underwear? In his bedroom? The port must have affected him more than he imagined it would; sweat was dripping down his back.
"I can do it."
"I'll say goodbye then."
She was leaving? He checked the time again. Although it was earlier than they usually left the restaurant, she still couldn't walk home at this time of the night.
Just then a car's horn tooted outside. "There's my taxi. I've ordered one for nine o'clock in the morning too."
She stepped closer and felt his brow. "I can make the taxi wait. If you want help," she murmured.
"I'm not a complete invalid," he snapped out.
"Why must you always be so stubborn?"
"I am not stubborn," he instantly denied.
She laughed again. "Do you want me to wake you?"
Perhaps he needed another port. His mouth was so dry.
"Charles?" she prompted. "Do you want me to call you in the morning? To wake you? So you'll be ready for the taxi."
He shook his head, trying to clear some of his myriad of ideas he was having as to how she could wake him.
"Good night then."
With that, she was gone. He immediately stepped through to his bedroom to pack his bag. Jumping to her bidding, he recognised without a care.
After he was done, he fell into bed. He lay there for a moment before he remembered to set the alarm to ensure he woke up in plenty of time in the morning.
He was pretty sure, whatever method Elsie used to wake him, it would be preferable to the buzzing of his alarm clock. She could tumble over and kiss along his chest. He would plunge his fingers into her hair as her mouth lowered. Or better still, he could lower her bodily onto him. She might bite that bottom lip again as she rocked slowly on top of him.
He threw the covers off. He didn't know what he was thinking with all these blankets. The heat was probably what was keeping him awake.
The music overhead had ceased. It was midnight. He'd never usually be home from the restaurant before now. He should tell Elsie tomorrow that Mary was more considerate than she'd reckoned.
He punched his pillow into shape. He was sure he could smell the lavender Elsie used as a perfume lingering on it, but that was just ridiculous. He really had to try and get some sleep to ensure he was ready by nine o'clock.
But, he had to admit, three days ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Two days ago they'd dropped their luggage off at their accommodation before heading straight to the theatre.
The play had been one of those edgy out-of-the-box things that either became a huge surprise hit or a complete and utter flop.
None of the plot made any sense to Charles. There was an alien posing as a secretary and claiming to be a lesbian. He presumed she was perhaps bisexual because she later had sex with the young male office intern. Meanwhile, the office manager was pining away for his sister-in-law, who was already having an affair with her father-in-law. This character was Charlie. A man who committed adultery. Typecast, he believed.
Not only was every character confused sexually, they all felt the need to express themselves in a crude manner via the dialogue.
Charles almost suggested they leave half way through the performance, but he was enjoying the seating arrangements. The theatre's chairs were not designed for a man of his size and he constantly had to balance at an angle, very close to Elsie.
The drawback to the venue was the air conditioning. It was obviously not working very well. He hoped he wasn't emitting an offensive odour. Elsie, however, smelt lovely. She wasn't wearing her usual lavender, but another floral scent which was making him yearn to lean down and place his lips upon the spots she had applied the perfume.
Afterwards, he and Elsie walked side by side until they found a restaurant offering modern English cuisine so as to compare with their own menu and ambience.
"You didn't like it," Elsie announced after they'd ordered their first course.
"I haven't eaten it yet."
"Not our meal. The play. I imagine you hated it."
"It seemed ridiculous. A lot to do about nothing really. Just sex and swearing."
She tilted her head and studied him. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you swear."
"I don't think it's a very gentlemanly thing to do in front of a lady."
"I'm not a lady."
He chuckled. "You are a lady," he insisted. He was afraid, given her grace and intelligence, he had difficulty in categorising her as anything but a lady.
"I'm a farm girl from Scotland," she countered, as if that made all the difference to natural class. Then, her eyes twinkled wickedly. "I think it's safe to say I might have heard one or two swear words in my life."
"Swearing shows a lack of imagination. Unless you're Scottish," he added with his own eye twinkle. "Swearing with a Scottish accent is universally considered cute."
She only stopped laughing when they had to lean back as their first course was served. Their conversation then turned to their food and ideas for dishes at the restaurant.
Once the table was cleared of their first course's plates, however, she surprised him by returning to their earlier topic.
"I'm not sure I should try out your theory of the Scottish swearer with the customers. Do you even swear in private when no one is listening? Or in your thoughts?"
"No," he answered quickly. Too quickly, as several vulgar words rushed into his mind. All of them swear words to substitute for one thing - a sexual act. And he wanted to do them all with Elsie. Some of them he wanted to do with her right here on this table.
"Are you okay, Charles? Is the chilli flavour too strong?"
He blinked across at her. So much for being a gentleman. "I apologise," he murmured without thinking of the consequences of his inelegant apology.
She never missed anything, of course. "For what?"
He could hardly say, 'sorry I included you in my thoughts of lewd sexual acts'. She didn't deserve to be degraded in such a way, even if he didn't do it out loud. He couldn't tell her the truth, so he adjusted his explanation. "I regret I'm such a bore who doesn't even swear in his thoughts."
"I don't think you're boring," she whispered. "And I'm sure I have many more regrets than you."
He found no humour in her statement. She was feeling vulnerable about something. He waited for her to continue, but when she didn't he still felt the need to reassure her. "You have a successful career, and-"
"And that's all. I live alone. I have no children."
Selfishly, he was relieved she had no children. The less ties she had to that little red faced man, the better.
"You have Daisy. And William. And even Thomas to some extent."
She smiled at last. "Everyone needs a black sheep in the family."
"We have a lot to be grateful for, compared to so many."
"Yes. And I have a clean-mouthed business partner." She reached over and placed her hand upon his. Without thinking, he turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.
He reluctantly released her hand when a server arrived with their next course and again their discussion become one of making comparisons of the food they were eating to what was dished up at their own restaurant.
He wished he could say that that was how the rest of the night progressed.
He wished he could say that he never stared at her mouth as she ate.
He wished he could say he spent that first night of their business trip to London by talking business and only thinking about business.
But, he had to admit, two days ago, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Yesterday Charles had only been awake for a short while when Elsie knocked on the connecting door.
She wore a loose fitting white nightgown. It reminded him a little of the dress she had worn the night before. That too had been loose, with the skirt part of the dress swirling around her thighs and flashing prettily with vibrant colours. Both were completely unlike the smart plain black skirts and crisp white blouses she wore in the restaurant.
He could so easily press her against the door, fall to his knees before her, lift the fluttering material of her nightgown, and indulge by tasting the secret delights she usually hid away. She could either hook a leg around him, or onto the back of a chair so that he could delve deeply. His attention would continue until her knees gave out and she melted to the floor beside him.
"I thought I might wake you… You're okay? You're not having another attack, are you?"
"No, no." He wiped at his brow. He was sweating?
She peered at him, before nodding to the tray she was holding. "They delivered both our breakfasts to my room."
Guiltily, as he hadn't thought to relieve her of the tray's burden until this moment, he quickly took the tray from her and placed it onto the room's small table at which you were supposed to dine. There were two chairs and it seemed churlish to not invite her to join him.
"You're not tired of my company?" she asked. "We did spend all day and night together yesterday."
He wanted to point out that they never spent all night together.
After dinner they'd walked back to their hotel. Their goodnights at the door had been strained and inexplicably awkward.
He hadn't been entirely certain on the protocol he was supposed to follow. It hadn't been a real date as such and therefore, a kiss wouldn't have been at all an appropriate way to end the night.
However, Elsie too had appeared as though she wanted to say or do something more. Like him, she had seemed hesitant. He had thought for a moment her lips had parted invitingly, but he dismissed this as fanciful on his part. He wanted her so badly, any desire he'd perceived was simply him being delusional.
Eventually, he had grumbled something inane about the city's noise and smog. She'd agreed, and had added something about the river and the London Eye. It had been a very strange exchange, and their actual parting felt anticlimactic.
Before falling asleep, he had laid in his huge king size bed wondering what she would have done if he had kissed her. Would she have responded by participating in the kiss? Or would he have ended up with a stinging cheek for his trouble.
"Charles?" she prompted now.
He glanced at the breakfast tray again. Eating by himself did not appeal. "I have the programme for the conference," he announced, doing his best to keep his expression professional. "We could read it over and highlight the times of each display we don't want to miss."
She raised her eyebrows and turned back to her own room. He stood in the centre of his own, unsure. He was still standing there when she returned, balancing her own breakfast tray. She had donned a dressing gown, but at least she still wanted to join him for another meal.
"You're cold?" he asked, trying desperately to keep the grumpy tone out of his voice. He had been planning on studying the outline the white nightgown showed off.
"A little," she replied quietly.
She was rarely so meek and he fretted that she might be coming down with some illness. "I was about to open the room's windows wide. I thought it was a rather warm morning."
"No," she disagreed, her tone soft again, making him even more anxious about her health.
He switched on the kettle and fussed around with the makings of tea. Next, he removed the plastic wrap from the selection of danishes and pushed the plate invitingly towards her.
"Once you eat, you'll be warmer," he said, confident.
"Do you ever wonder that we should serve breakfast at the restaurant?"
"It would mean serving lunch as well," he reminded her.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Which would lead to people wanting high tea in the afternoon. Or brunch in the morning. Eventually the hours we'd have to work would mean we'd have no life outside the restaurant at all."
She gave a dramatic sigh. "Do you think we have a life outside the restaurant now? But you're right, I guess, we're getting far too old to be taking more on." She plucked the programme up and began to read the headings, which thankfully lightened the subject of conversation away from depressing things like his age and lack of interests outside the restaurant.
In the end, attending the restaurant conference went smoothly. They'd both amicably agreed on what displays they wanted to see, and the rest of the day went by in a flash. They ate their lunch and dinner at the conference, trying out some of the many sample menus available. It was almost 10 o'clock when they arrived back at the motel, lugging an armful of pamphlets and business cards each.
"I've checked the timetables, and the best train to take us back will be the quarter past 11. Checkout is 10, so we have to be out by then anyway. If we head to the tube straight after checkout, we should get to the station in time. So, we should probably meet in the reception at 10."
Her lips drooped down at the edges and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "We're going back then, are we?"
He frowned, confused. "We've already been away quite a long time."
She laughed without humour. "Two days. Yes." She turned and placed her card key in her door. "Good night, Mr Carson," she murmured before the door closed with a resounding thump in his face.
He stood there for a full five minutes before entering his own room. She was upset and angry, that was obvious. To the point that she was so formally using his last name.
She had mentioned him going away to the beach after the conference. It had sounded like a nice idea, but he didn't particularly want to waste his time by going alone. He was quite well. His anxiety attack had probably come on from the stress of Grigg hanging around.
His anxiety might have been aided by some virus, given the way his body temperature kept rising while everyone else was telling him it was quite cool.
He hoped he hadn't given any sort of viral infection to Elsie and that was what was causing her temper. He'd certainly felt feverish once or twice when she was in close proximity.
He should knock on the door, ask if she needed him to run to the pharmacy for her. He should do that, but he couldn't, because he was petrified of how he would react should she answer the door wearing only that see-through white nightgown again.
He shouldn't be so selfish. Her health was much more important than his pride or frustration.
But, he had to admit, yesterday, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
Now, it had been a week since he'd first had these confusing thoughts of sex with Elsie.
He believed that once they returned to the routine of the restaurant, she would stop eliciting such erotic imaginings in him.
He would stop wondering-
Someone knocked on the connecting door. Well, perhaps he should call it more of a thump on the connecting door. He opened it cautiously, even though it could only be one person.
She stepped into his room, carrying what looked to be a couple of magazines, which she dropped onto the room's small table with an echoing thud.
"We have exactly a half an hour for you to plan our route."
"Our what?" he asked, flabbergasted.
"I have tourist magazines and maps. I arranged for a hire car to be delivered this morning. We still have a 10 o'clock check out, so you have a half an hour to plan where we're going."
He looked from her to the table and back again. "We're not going to the train station?"
"No. We're splurging on the car. If we see something along the way that catches our eye, we can stop and explore."
"The restaurant," he started, his voice faint.
"I've called Anna and everyone is getting along perfectly fine without us. Probably not what either of us want to hear exactly, but there it is."
He picked up one of the tourist guides and flicked through its glossy pages. There was a geographically listed accommodation section.
She stepped closer and looked over his shoulder. "Prices are cheaper if we stay in double rooms."
Besides the heat that instantly suffused his cheeks, a wave of nausea washed across him, and he collapsed into a chair.
"Charles!"
Next minute, she had returned from the bathroom with a moist flannel and was dabbing it gently across his forehead.
"Charles?" she whispered, her Scottish brogue suddenly very pronounced.
He cleared his throat and stood, making her jump backwards. She chewed at her bottom lip, waiting for his next reaction.
"Never mix business and pleasure," he announced pompously. "This was a business trip for the restaurant. We'll be claiming expenses for tax purposes."
He watched, fascinated, as a lone tear dripped silently down one of her cheeks. He reached up and caught it with the tip of his finger. "You never let me finish," he murmured.
"But…"
"From 10 o'clock onwards, I think we should agree we are officially on vacation." He sat back down at the table and unfolded one of the maps. He stared at the coloured lines weaving across the page blankly for a moment before folding it back up. "I'm assuming there's a GPS in the car," he said, standing back up and moving to hook his bag over his shoulder.
She was still standing in the middle of the room, the wet flannel dripping onto the floor.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked.
"So that's it then? You're not going to plan when we should eat? When we should stop for fuel? Or when we should stop for the night?"
"No. I'm going wild. As I was advised to do by a very wise woman a few days ago."
Her smile was infectious and he grinned just as stupidly at her for the longest time until he could no longer resist. He bent down and brushed a gentle kiss across her soft lips.
"It's not 10 o'clock yet," she whispered.
He immediately let her go and moved to hook his bag over his shoulder. Then, he strode into her room and found her bag, which he hooked over his other shoulder.
"Have you got everything?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes, I do think I have," she said so meaningfully he thought his heart would burst.
"I don't think any such thing." She raised her eyebrows only the tiniest amount before he finished his bold confession. "I know I have."
She stepped closer, until their bodies were just touching. Holding his gaze, her head tilted back and her lips parted lusciously. He let the bags drop to the floor and cradled her face in his large hands. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again, for a lot longer.
"We need to either go," he murmured when they finally broke for air, "and check out. Or stay here another night."
"I'm happy either way," she replied.
He knew he should think sensibly, think about the price of accommodation in London and paying for a hire car that would sit in a carpark idle.
But, he had to admit, right now, all he could think about was Elsie Hughes and sex.
~The End~