Past

Critical Moments (at the end of 4/3)

Barbara had never seen her boss so devastated. These murders seemed to challenge everything he believed about what she called "his lot" - titles, important jobs in the House of Lords, an integrity that he deemed inherent. She could see that he felt betrayed, and she ached for him, longing to reach out to brush his hair back, to put her arms around him, to try to comfort him. She knew what it meant when he asked her to go for a drink – that he was desperate for companionship, that he needed not to be alone. Inwardly, she cursed the appointment she had with the latest man the dating service had proffered, one she couldn't help hoping would be an improvement over the others. She'd much rather accept Inspector Lynley's offer of a drink. But when he used his dripping-with-sarcasm voice to challenge her – "you can't keep your latest beau waiting", she thought "prat!" choosing to answer him bluntly, "No", and turned away. That sort of interchange had grown less frequent since their friendship had deepened, and it reminded her of the ponce she'd once thought him to be. She was annoyed with him and with herself for wanting to be with him. She was sure that, for him, she was just a substitute for his absent wife. For herself, she had to be careful. For years, she had devoted a great deal of energy pushing away her feelings. She had known since their first case together that she was in love with him - and totally unsuitable. She had encouraged him to go after Helen, and tried to be pleased when they married, but nothing had succeeded in lessening what she felt. Not even at times like this, when she couldn't help disliking him. She was sure he didn't suspect, though there were moments when she thought that Helen did. Helen. She knew that Helen thought Lynley had let her down, but Barbara couldn't understand why she had left him, how she could have left him. He needed her, especially now.

Once at home, Barbara changed into a black top she thought looked good on her, and practiced greeting her date, trying different smiles, different voices. "No good," she thought sadly, "none of those other guys were Him and this one wouldn't be either." She watched the clock get to the time they'd agreed to meet, and past it. Then she resolutely dialed a familiar number, and when he answered gruffly, "What?" she answered "Is that drink still on offer?"

"Havers?" he asked.

"Yeah. Do you want to meet me somewhere?"

"No, come here," he said. "Please."

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Hours later, after they had talked the case to death, sharing their pain and regrets, the second-guessing, and after they had given up on drink, they both realized that they were hungry.

"My God, we haven't eaten all day, have we?" Lynley said, prodding her down to the immaculate kitchen. "Barbara, how could I do this to you? Look here," opening the large refrigerator, "Denton made a good, thick soup and a loaf of bread, will that do?"

"Yeah!" she said with enthusiasm, bustling about to find bowls and spoons, setting them on the tray he indicated, as he warmed the meal. He sliced the bread, ladled soup into the bowls, and led the way back upstairs to the sitting room and the fire. They ate ravenously, silently, and when they finished, they both leaned back into the sofa, replete, exhausted.

When Tommy roused himself, he saw that his partner was asleep, looking rather uncomfortable, her head in an awkward position. He shook her gently. "Barbara, it's late, let's go upstairs. You can stay in the guest room." She yawned widely, and still half-asleep, let him guide her up the stairs. He turned down the covers and gave her the top of one of his pajamas. When he left the room, she took off her clothes, pulled on the pajama top, thinking as she fell back to sleep that this was the most comfortable bed she'd ever slept in.

Tommy looked in on her during the night, reassured that she was sleeping soundly. He stood in the doorway, watching her, and found himself thinking, not for the first time, how lovely his partner was. Whenever this happened, he would mentally scold himself. He was a married man, and Barbara was his friend and colleague. But seeing her asleep in his pajamas with her tousled red hair made him smile, contrasting her with Helen, who always wore chic, satin nightgowns, her elegantly cut hairdo staying the same through the night. His marriage was one thing, failing as it seemed to be; his relationship with Barbara quite another. She had gotten him through any number of bad times, and yesterday was one of them. He realized how much better he had felt about Simon Featherstonehaugh by the end of the night, convinced that some day he'd get his comeuppance. Barbara had a way of putting things into perspective for him.

In the morning, he waited until he'd showered and shaved to wake her. He called her name softly, approaching the bed and watching her stretch and yawn before she realized that he was there. "Oh,!" she said, looking at the clock, "It's time to get moving!"

"There are towels in the bathroom, Barbara, and a new toothbrush." He gestured toward the large chest across the room, "My sister leaves some things there. Take whatever looks comfortable, and I'll see you downstairs."

She waited till he was gone to get to the loo and into the large walk-in shower. Luxury, lots of hot water, lovely-smelling soap and shampoo. "Mmmm," she thought, "I could get used to this." As she was wrapping herself in a thick towel, she heard him at the door. "Hey!" she called, "Don't come in here!"

"I won't," he said. She could hear the grin in his voice. "But Denton wants to know if you want tea or coffee, and how you like your eggs."

"Scrambled, and what kind of tea do you have? If it's that herbal straw stuff you like, I'll have coffee, and one of these days, I'll get you some real tea. Now scram, so I can get dressed." In a drawer in the chest, she found some undergarments and a white shirt that looked good under the black one she'd worn the night before, and soon, fully dressed, hair still damp, she went down to find her boss finishing his breakfast. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt, having slept in his house, showered, made herself at home. She was sure she could never have done it if Helen had been here. But Helen was not here – and she was.

"Good morning, Miss Havers." Denton filled her cup and brought a plate of bacon and eggs to the table for her. "Good morning, Mr. Denton, " she replied, tucking in to the steaming food and giving Tommy a meaningful glance. He had heard, more than once, her opinions on his having a servant and worse, calling him by his last name, which she thought disrespectful. She never chastised him, though, for calling her "Havers"; though nowadays he seemed most often to call her Barbara. She stayed with "Sir"; only in her heart of hearts did she think of him as Tommy.

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