I did a part 2, because I'm a soppy sod.
The look on his face as when she had straightened up was enough both to unnerve her deeply and to assure her that she had done exactly the right thing. He was too taken aback for words, quite literally. It was a long few seconds, and then the whole thing risked becoming slightly comical. She allowed a smile to steal across her face.
"I might go inside and see how your dad is getting on," she told him softly.
"No!" he objected suddenly.
"No?" she asked, curiously, surprised by his vehemence.
"I mean, go, if you want to," he told her quickly, "If you don't want to stay out here with me. But I want you to stay. Here. With me," he clarified unnecessarily.
Her smile widened.
"I haven't made you uncomfortable?" she asked carefully.
"No," he replied firmly, "I liked it," he assured her.
She could not hold back a little bit of a laugh at that.
"Good," she replied, "I'm glad," she left it half a second before adding, not a little shyly, "I liked it too."
She was still holding the rose, touching the end of the stem tenderly between her fingers.
…
They gardened in companionable silence for a while. The weather grew noticeably warmer towards midday, and she felt herself pausing to roll up her sleeves. The skin beneath them looked even whiter in the sunlight and she felt herself cringing a little at her pastiness, giving away that she was unused to this.
A few feet away from her, Joseph was digging out the weeds from the flowerbeds, his sleeves rolled up too, his collar unbuttoned and his shirt untucked. Woe be tied him if Mr. Carson even saw him that way, but Phyllis liked it. He was digging away quite oblivious of her. She could see how the muscles in his forearms tightened as he worked the spade.
Suddenly he stopped, straightening up, his face screwed up in pain, breaking her illicit reverie very abruptly.
"Jesus Christ!"
Quickly she put down her clippers, moving over to him to him.
"What's the matter?" she asked him.
His hand was in the small of his back.
"Muscle-…" he murmured, his voice short with pain.
She stood beside him, her hands extended towards where he indicated the pain was, wanting to do something, not knowing what to do. He took a few long deep breaths and seemed to relax a little.
"That's better," he told her a moment later, his hand leaving the place hesitantly, "It was much worse at first."
"Was it a sharp pain?" she asked him.
"Yes," he replied, "But it didn't last. I keep forgetting I'm not as young as I was."
"You're only 51," she murmured, wondering if he remembered that time.
The breathy laugh he gave told her yes.
She reached out her hand towards him, trying to find the place he'd been holding.
"Here?" she asked.
She felt him tense just a touch under her hand, but then relax a little.
"Just a little further round," he told her, "Yes, there."
She pressed the tips of her her fingers firmly against the spot he'd told her, trying to move in a gentle circle. He let out a quiet breath.
"How does that feel?" she asked him.
"Good," he told her, his voice soft and low, "Very good."
She worked instinctively, just trying what she thought would work, continuing to soothe her fingers over the spot.
"Oh, that feels good," he murmured, "That feels very good Phyllis."
She watch him with his eyes closed, smiling as her Christian name slipped past his lips without him even noticing. A few moments later she removed her fingers, resting her palm gently against the place. She could feel his muscles between his shirt and took a steadying breath herself. He straightened up a little, seeming to come back to himself a little.
He turned around to look at her, and she saw his cheeks were flushed a little.
"Maybe you should take a little while to recover," she suggested tentatively, "You don't want to hurt yourself by going back to it too quickly."
"You're probably right," he told her, "I'd best recover."
…..
"Well, we're a right house of invalids today," Mr. Molesley remarked, looking at his son, lying flat out on his back on the settee, "I ask the the young-un for help and find he's in worse shape that me!"
"It was just a twinge," Joseph insisted, "Phyllis is just being cautious."
"By the sound of it Miss Baxter is being very kind," Mr. Molelsey replied, stressing her name to make his son realise that he was saying it differently, just as Phyllis came in with a new pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, "Look, she's even brought us some more tea. Well, at least one of us is in good working order. Bless you, my dear," he told her, smiling as she brought him a cup over.
"No, don't bother," Joe told her before she could bring one to him too, "I'd better get up and get it myself or I'll be here for the rest of my life."
"Well, that would be a crying shame," she said softly to him, once he'd got up and crossed the room to her.
She only realised when he took his tea out of her hands that she'd held it closer to her body than she normally would.
"Did you make any progress, lad?" Mr. Molesley asked, "Before you collapsed?"
"He didn't collapse, Mr. Molesley," Phyllis told him, "It was just a twinge."
"He knows," Joe told her with a roll of his eyes, "He's only winding me up. I got two of the beds done. And Phyllis did a marvellous job with the roses."
She flushed a little.
"Oh, is that so?" Mr. Molesley asked, sounding impressed, "Do you know much about roses?"
"Nothing at all, I'm afraid," she told him in reply.
"Neither does our Joe," he told her, "But not let that put you off him," he added in a low, conspiratorial voice, giving her knowing look that made Joseph nearly choke on his tea.
…
"I'm really sorry about my dad," he told her as they walked slowly up the path back to the Abbey, "He thinks he's the world's best comic."
It had turned out to be a lovely evening, the sky was still light and the air was warm. They were alone on the path, and the quiet around them was very comfortable, as soft as a feather bed.
She smiled gently.
"He can be quite funny," she told him fairly, "And he was very kind to me."
In her hand she was carrying a little net bag holding a tin of Mrs. Molesley's old sewing things he'd given to her, as well as a little book on caring for roses and, of course, her rose itself.
"I think he may have an ulterior motive for that," Joseph told her ruefully.
"Oh really?" she asked him curiously.
"He's always seen it as his business to be a bit-… flirtatious, shall we say, on my behalf. To disastrous effect most of the time."
She laughed quietly.
"Yes, I can imagine," she replied, "I'd much rather it was you who did your flirting."
She let that remark hang in the air for a moment before she looked at him. Again, he looked terribly startled, even more so when she raised her eyebrows at him a little. His pace faltered and he came to a halt. She stopped walking too.
"I want to know that we're on the same page," he told her after a moment, "I want to know I'm not reading all of this the wrong way."
"You want to know if I'm on the same page as you giving me the nicest rose I've ever seen, and letting me kiss your hand and then asking me to stay with you?" she asked.
He nodded mutely, his eyes a little alarmed at her frankness.
"Yes," she said simply, "I am."
The comprehension dawned so beautifully onto his face she was sure it kept the light in the darkening evening for a clear ten seconds. She smiled back at him. She was incredibly glad they were alone on the path. She put her bag on the floor beside her feet.
"Come here," she told him, holding out her arms for him.
He was there in an instant, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips tenderly to hers. She met his kiss, resting her hands on his shoulders and pulling herself up so enthusiastically that her hat fell off. Neither of them noticed.
end.
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