Chummy laid two holdalls out on the bed, thinking they might perhaps carry more and be less formal than a suitcase for a campsite.
Casual shirts, t shirts and shorts for him, culottes and light blouses for her, two summer dresses and did she really need stockings? They were hardly going to be sleeping on duck down or even a mattress if she was truthful so they went back in the drawer. Sandals for both of them, plimsolls for him and she knew he hated wearing socks in the hot weather but she put a few pairs in just in case.
She folded up clean pyjamas for them both and would put a cardigan each in too, just in case as well. Undershorts for him and knickers for her and she thought she was done. Soap, towels, shampoo, a brush and comb had been retrieved from the bathroom cupboards and were laid out on the bed. Was that it? It was not as though they were going to a fancy hotel but past experience told her that she always forgot something she would end up needing.
Chummy hoped his parents had sleeping bags and ground sheets as she heard his feet bounce up the stairs and Peter appear inside the bedroom door.
He looked at the wardrobe spread out on the bed, noticing there was one important item missing.
"Swimming costume?" he suggested, standing on the other side of her. The campsite he was thinking of had a river and lake, well more a very large pond, nearby that he had swum around in as a kid and he was quite looking forward to a dip if the weather kept going the way it was.
"You know you have never seen me in a swimming costume, Peter. I don't even own one". Whilst she might have come to terms with her height years ago, bathing costumes were still a certified 'no' and she genuinely had not possessed one since she had been forced into one that never fitted properly for sports lessons at school.
"Shame" Peter muttered, sitting sideways on the bed, picking up one of his plimsolls and fiddling with the laces. Twisted. He'd have to re-lace them as soon as they got there as that would never do.
"Do you think that's all we'll need?" she asked him, having wracked her brain to think of anything else. Food she would take from the cupboards first thing in the morning.
"I think so" he smiled, eyes wandering over the bed again, watching her as she carefully packed the holdalls, neatly and all in order as he liked it. Some of his neatness, it seemed, was rubbing off on his wife.
Peter knew his parents would have everything else they required and as his father was that organised too he would be able to put his finger on the camping equipment in seconds. "It's not the Ritz after all" he said, passing her his last plimsoll to go in. Chummy smiled.
"I think we should take my camera too" he offered, reaching into his bedside table and pulling out the black case.
"Do you mean to take photographs of more than just the yard or random parts of the house?" she asked, teasing him as he had become rather excited by his new toy.
"I was testing it" he protested, handing it over so it could be put into one of the bags. "No. To take photographs of you. There's still plenty on the reel". He also had a spare film in the case if needs be. The countryside around there was spectacular too.
Chummy laughed but did not respond. She'd never been comfortable with photographs; sitting rigid at school every year and standing at the back if she could. She had dodged him far too many time already when he had crept up on her to take her picture.
Once the bed was free of clothing, Peter put his legs up stretching his back, closing his eyes and placing his arms behind his head. He sighed. Loudly.
"Was today really that bad?" Chummy asked; her voice sympathetic as she zipped the bags up. She had done the same thing some days herself, needing to stretch out every muscle and sinew she possessed to force a rather stressful day away.
He crumpled his nose. "I think that sometimes people just like being difficult". Peter heard her put the holdalls against the wall so they could pick them up tomorrow on the way out.
She smiled at the comment and sat down, crossways across the bed, turning down the hem of his shirt that had ridden up when he lay down. Chummy rested a hand on his belly.
"I think" she started, "they don't realise all you are doing is your job. You'd rather be sitting in the yard with a beer in your hand than tramping around Poplar having to deal with them too".
He smiled, still with his eyes closed. He knew she would know how he felt. "I shouldn't take it out on you though".
Chummy was confused, lining up the buttons on his shirt, not entirely sure what he was driving it. "You didn't. Haven't even" she replied. He'd not raised his voice let alone laid a finger on her in anger, even though day to day with any other man she might have run that risk for slapping his hands away.
"No I mean jumping on you like I did", Peter said. "All I was thinking of was getting in the house and just…having you and…." He drifted off, feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself thinking she might have felt compromised.
Peter however had been perfectly within his rights to do exactly that and, well, it was all wholly legal if he wanted to and she could do nothing about it and he certainly did not need her consent. Countless times he had seen it, women aggressively violated by their husbands, but every time even when one had been brave enough to come to the Police, all he ever could do was shrug his shoulders and tell them if they were married, force was legal and that was that. Above it all, he didn't want to see the same look on his wife's face as he saw on those women and that's what made him stop.
"I'd rather you tried to accost me that way than wallop me because you'd had a bad day". She was quite firm about that, thank you very much. He wasn't a violent man and he understood her, fundamentally 'got' what went on her mind so she knew she would never have to worry of she said 'no' once every so often. She'd noticed thought these last few months as they had grown closer, learned about each other, that he always had a habit of apologising for his thoughts and feelings; like it wasn't allowed to tell her these things that ran through his mind.
He sighed again. "Peter, don't worry about it. I understand, besides I promised you third times a charm and I mean it".
Peter laughed, belly bumping up and down under her hand. She leant down and kissed him firmly. "You know you can always come home to me. I won't go anywhere" she said. He felt the top button on his shorts go and unravelled his arms to reach for her.
"No", Chummy said, pushing his closest arm back. "Just stay there".
Not frightened any more of what his or her body could do, she had no hesitation now in just touching him or perhaps feeling that she could and was getting it right as she popped the rest of the buttons. This was, and had always been, just for them. None of the girls knew what they had been up to before they married as that was a secret she intended to keep; it was nobody's business what went on between them behind closed doors, finally finding someone with whom they could explore their thoughts and feelings after years of being alone. Neither would laugh at each other, just with.
It had been strange; neither of them were the life and soul of the party, quiet, subdued pair that they were, but this, whatever this was, had always been beyond words. She didn't have to be miserable if she didn't want to be, pleasing him being her only goal. Not that she didn't want to do that, but as a woman she existed too.
She pushed aside the blue boxer shorts he was wearing and took him in her hands.
"Peter?" she asked quietly.
"Hmm…?"
"Were you really thinking of me all day?" It had been 9 months since they married and she had thought the day might come that the shine went off.
"You're home to me Camilla", he began, not wanting to open his eyes or even to be truthful converse with anyone at all, as all he could think about was her hands, soft, silky skin. "As long as you are here, or wherever we go, if you're there then I don't care where I am".
Chummy smiled and swallowed back tears that immediately threatened, glad he was lying there with his eyes closed. If not, if he was looking at her she would cry and ruin it all. He did really love her.
Ever so gently she let him grow in her hands, smoothing her palms up and down, hearing him breathing steadily as he relaxed into the sensations she seemed to be creating. Nothing needed to be said as she just listened to his breathing as it would pick up and drop as she changed rhythm and back again, trying to ignore the want that was creeping into her mind.
She'd never been brave enough to use her mouth on him. She knew people might do that but it never got mentioned beyond behind hands and inferred comments and to be honest it was all a bit unorthodox she felt. He might think it peculiar or immoral of her that she had even wondered what that might be like.
Attitudes around her made her think they, as a couple, seemed to be different as she actually quite enjoyed this whole business; pleased she had taken her chances before they were married and happy she had decided to take that step and found a loving man in the process. Her husband actually seemed to care about her, not just love her she felt. Camilla Browne never conformed to what people expected of her in her daily life so why should her marriage be the same way?
Chummy made herself more comfortable and felt his right hand creep up her thigh underneath her dress. His fingertips rested on the tempting skin at the top of her suspenders, wanting to touch her, but too engulfed in what she was doing elsewhere to concentrate. She'd allow him that modicum of contact for now.
Peter had his eyes closed still, head pressed back into the pillow and she could feel his grip on her thigh getting tighter and tighter as each stroke passed. She blew warm breathe over him, wondering for a moment, after she had done it if it was wrong. The fact that it induced a rather sharp intake of breath in him told her it must have been alright so she did it again and he let out a strangled laugh.
"You're a wicked woman". How she had noticed in time that his voice seemed to drop an octave or two in moments like this.
"Like me to stop?" she teased, flirted even.
Peter opened his eyes as much as the hands would let him. "Don't be silly".
Chummy laughed too even though the grip on her leg was getting tenser and she knew she might bruise, delicate peach that she could be when she felt like it.
She'd always had soft hands. Even back in those days when bravery just about let him hold onto her fingers in the darkness of the cinema, he'd noticed that. Hands that had professionally been in places that he really didn't want to think about were as smooth as the finest materials he might ever touch. Her back; that time he had trailed kisses down her spine, let the pads of his fingers wander around her breasts. Just thinking of her did awful things.
It was when he said her name. That's what did it, every single damn time, he said her name rumbling up from the deepest part of his being. She pushed a smile away as he came in her hands, soothing him through the aftershocks that she had, quite deliberately induced as she swiped her hands up and down him again.
She left him there, sliding off the bed and ignoring the fact she knew he wouldn't let her get away with walking off on him. He was slightly stunned and fighting for breath but knew he'd married her for a reason.
Camping with her would be fun.
