Author's note: The usual disclaimers re BBC and Elizabeth George apply.
This bit of nonsense was written as a series of 'in jokes' for a friend (they know who they are) who 'tumbled' me onto some 'inspiration'. It started as a one chapter piece I never intended to post but has grown into three and I thought 'why not?'. In deference to Tess 45's style of teasing, I will release it chapter by chapter.
Sergeant Havers was sitting impatiently in Tommy's lounge room while she waited for him to shower and pack. The two detectives had just returned from York and were heading to Eastbourne on the trail of a notorious conman suspected of murdering a rich widow. As usual her boss had lectured Barbara about something or other during the drive. She had been tired and had just grunted and thrown in enough vague objections to let the Inspector think she was paying attention. In fact she just liked to sit back and listen to the cadence of his Eton-educated baritone as he ran through his complex reasoning about the case, the force or the parlous state of the world. If she did not listen to Lynley's words and just concentrated on the ebb and flow of the rich sounds it was a form of music that she found sensual and soothing.
For a man he took a lot longer in the bathroom than should be necessary. Barbara looked at her watch then began to pace around the room, partly to stop daydreaming about his voice. They were friends, close friends, and even though Barbara often wished it to be more she was aware of the limits of their relationship. But there is no harm in fantasising occasionally. She knew it was unrequited but underneath her admiration for him as a detective, her concern for him as a friend and her loyalty to him as his colleague there was an undeniable physical attraction that she tried hard to conceal. Exhaustion from long days and nights together on a case tended to lower Barbara's resistance and make her more sentimental and prone to irrational but pleasurable reveries about her boss caressing her or kissing her. Now was one of those times. Focus, woman! A good night's sleep and I'll be fine.
The room was decorated with exquisite, and no doubt expensive, artworks some of which she knew he had borrowed from the estate at Howenstowe. Lord Asherton, as he was rightfully known in all the right circles, was a man of good taste to match his impeccable bloodlines. The leather bound books, the rich timbers and luxurious upholstery seemed in keeping with his taste and yet at odds with his life as a copper. The room felt impersonal and if it were not for the large flat screen television on the side wall opposite the window and the tell-tale hollow on one seat of his couch Barbara would assume it was set aside just for entertaining. The only intimate touches were four framed photographs neatly arranged underneath a large Turkish lamp on the table by the window. She wandered over to look at them more closely.
There was of course a photo of Helen in an ornate silver frame, the same one that for months after her death had been on his office desk. One day it had simply disappeared and Tommy had seemed to relax more, so Barbara had not asked any questions. The largest frame contained a photo of his family outside Howenstowe's front entrance. His mother looked much more carefree than Barbara remembered her and she was carrying a baby in her arms, presumably Tommy's brother Peter. A strong, serious and stockier version of Tommy stood next to her, one arm around her waist and the other on the shoulder of a young boy about ten or eleven. So that's what you looked like as a boy! Tommy was gangly but stood very upright and had a broad grin that made Barbara smile. He looked so innocent and untroubled. Judith was kneeling in front of her father but clearly distracted by a black labrador that was licking her hand. It was a lovely memento and she understood why he displayed it but it was also sad to look at it now and know the tragedy and pain that each of them had suffered later in their lives.
The smallest photo was in a simple gold frame and all Barbara could do was stare disbelievingly at it. She did not even remember it being taken. It was at Howenstowe on the night of his hideous engagement party. She and Tommy were standing together talking by the stairs. It was rare for her to wear a dress and that night she had been uncomfortable not only because of the company and the situation but also because she was wearing something almost alien to her. It was probably the only photograph they had ever been in together and Barbara was puzzled why Tommy displayed it. They looked just as she imagined they would, earnest and reliant on each other. Something about it made her feel sentimental. She would like a copy but if she asked he would know she had seen it. Besides wanting to display a photo of them together might give him the wrong impression about his importance to her. Well it would be the right impression but he did not need to know that.
Reluctantly she tore her eyes from that photograph to look at the last. It was one of a young Tommy standing shirtless by a tent with a large jug of beer in his hand. Barbara gasped at the sight of him. His face was unlined and his skin had the lustre of youthful energy and passion. He looked genuinely happy and Barbara picked up the timber frame to examine it more closely. The photograph made him look so familiar, which was a silly thing to think but something nagged at the back of her mind. He reminded her of someone else. Tommy's physique was not that of an athlete but he had strong looking shoulders and arms. His flawless skin stretched tightly over a sculptured chest and washboard stomach and she traced the outline of his torso with her fingernail down to where just a glimpse of his trousers clung to his hips. He was laughing and that unruly lock of hair that he had was hanging low over his left eye. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and promise and his head was slightly tilted in a way that told her he was very fond of the photographer. Perhaps Deborah had taken it and that was why it was special to him.
He was still attractive in a middle-aged way but if the photograph was accurate in his youth he had been gorgeous, if you can use that word for a man. He reminded her of a Greek god and she smiled thinking about him as Apollo, doomed to endless torment and destructive love. Tommy had the usual hallmarks to make him classically handsome. He was tall and dark with symmetrical features. She thought back to Billy Verger and his divine proportion. She had decided at the time Lynley would probably fit that fibber-whatever number. That case had not ended well but the way Tommy had held and comforted her at the pub was a memory that had sustained her through many lonely nights as she recalled the warmth of his body pressed to hers, the strength of his arms pulling her closer and that glorious feeling that he would never let her go.
She sighed at the memory and wished she had known him in his prime. All the girls would have swooned she was sure. At the Met she knew he had turned quite a few young policewomen's heads, and many of their bed sheets, and Barbara had to admit that when she first worked with him she had sometimes struggled to focus on the case. For her it was not the boyish face and the resonant voice; it was those deep, smouldering chestnut eyes that lit up when he smiled. It was fortunate that he had been such an arrogant, opinionated and argumentative partner so she could dislike him enough to work with him. Not that she ever would have fallen for his charms of course, he was not her type, not really. He was too perfect for her; too privileged and too good looking. Still, even though she had come to know him better and appreciated him for his mind and his personality, right now she was enjoying the way the sight of his young, hard body made her feel. It was almost torture looking at him. He's so hot! She shook the word and the thought from her head. She was being inappropriate and she definitely needed more sleep.
Tommy had been amused watching her pace the room. He had been just about to speak when she had stopped to look at the photographs. He wondered what she would think. He expected her to take a quick glance then move on but she had studied them thoughtfully and he was intrigued by her responses. She had barely noticed Helen, or had chosen not to notice her. He had expected her to focus on that and feel sad for him but he was glad in a way that Havers had also moved on from her death. He could see she was fascinated by him as a boy but struck by the poignancy of the family in happier times. He knew her so well he could almost read her thoughts.
He leant against the doorframe to observe her; waiting to see how should would react to the photo of them together. Tommy could tell from her shock that she did not know it existed. Peter had thrown it at him as he left, demanding to know how long he had been in love with her and what Helen thought about it. At the time Lynley had written it off as the typical bitterness of Peter but he had kept the photo safely tucked away in his drawer. He did not understand why until one day after the Thompson torture case he had retrieved it and framed it. Originally he had planned to give it to Barbara, to boost her confidence by showing her proof of how much he valued her judgement. Peter's camera had captured something in his eyes and the way he was looking at her so openly and trustingly that he thought would reassure her. Then he had noticed what Peter had seen and could not give it to her in case she saw it too. As he watched her he saw confusion. Tommy smiled at her innocence; she had no idea why the picture was there or how much he loved her.
Her reaction to the last picture sent an unexpected shiver of excitement through him. As she traced her finger down the photo he could almost feel her hand on his body stoking him the same way. It was erotic and he felt his heart begin to race. He had not known that Barbara had hidden from him the same desires he had kept secret from her. It shocked him and thrilled him in equal measure. He wanted to cross the room and sweep her into his arms in some classical romantic gesture but he was afraid he had read too much into the look on her face. "It was taken by Deborah at Oxford after we won the Regatta."
Barbara jumped then hastily put the frame back in position. "Sorry...I...you…it caught my eye." Great, what a stupid thing to say! She could feel her face blush and she moved away from the table. "You looked familiar so I took a closer look."
Tommy raised his eyebrow quizzically and grinned at her. She could tell he knew what she had been doing with her finger and she blushed even more. She could literally feel the colour fill her cheeks. "I should hope I look 'familiar'! It is not that long ago since it was taken and I still have all my own hair and teeth."
Her eyes ran over him quickly. He stood leaning against the doorframe, his left leg crossed over his right with the point of his shoe carving a small circle in the parquetry. He was dressed impeccably in his dark jeans and a crisply pressed blue shirt with a black belt and matching shoes. His jacket was draped casually over his arm. The shirt was tighter and unfastened one button more than normal and his hair was still damp with the lines from his comb clearly visible. She could see that gravity would triumph and that lock of hair would tumble into his face. She liked to watch him run his hand through his hair to re-tame it but was always a losing battle and she wished he would just leave it where it fell. Watching him stand there Barbara thought he would be more appropriate as a fashion model than a detective. The lens would love his sultry eyes and that broad grin that he was giving her. Oh yes, you are still hot!
"Yes, of course Sir, you're still very handsome," she replied without thinking. Handsome? Did I actually tell him that? At least I didn't say hot, he'd hate that term. She had been embarrassed at having been caught looking at his personal things but now she was mortified by what she had just said. Barbara wanted desperately to leave and start talking about the case as they drove; anything to take her mind off the unexpected, racy images that had formed in her mind. She was ashamed that she was demeaning their friendship with her wantonness.
The guilty pleasure in her eyes and her clumsy attempts to find a logical explanation only intensified his desire. She was running her eyes over him in a way he had never seen her do before. If she was looking for that toned body he once had she would be disappointed but in the brief glimpse he had into her heart he knew she had seen exactly what she had hoped to see. It was his turn to blush.
"Thank you Havers. From you that it quite a compliment." Tommy sounded surprised but amused and Barbara heard an edge to his voice that troubled her. Surely not? She felt a new surge of blood flush to her face.
"Are you ready? I swear you take longer to bathe than Cleopatra!" She tried to sound as if she was taking him to task to avert any awkwardness but it came out as more of a jocular comment.
It was clear that she wanted to break the tension and he knew that was a very good idea or they might never make it to the south coast. He needed time to think about what had happened here. "Unlike someone I know, just because I did not run in here and up-end my dirty washing on the floor, shove three sets of anything from my drawers into my bag and then be in the bathroom only long enough to change and give my armpits a quick squirt of deodorant, it does not make me Cleopatra luxuriating in my bath!"
"I showered. I just don't waste water," she snapped, "and no one has time for a bath these days. Besides some of us can't afford the water bill"
Tommy shook his head and laughed. "Or the milk bill! Some things never change do they Havers?" He picked up his bag and still smiling ushered her to the door. "Come on then, Eastbourne awaits."