2. Noah's Ark
Catherine Bordey waved as soon as she spotted DS Florence Cassel and Detective Inspector Mooney, tucked into one of the crowded wooden pews closest to the vestry. She started towards them but was suddenly ushered fussily away. Catherine meekly trailed behind the wizened man who was leading her to the reserved area near the front of the chapel. She had known Mr. Mason the church's long time warden for the over three decades since she'd first followed her heart, leaving her home in France to come to St. Marie.
When things had not worked out with her baby daughter Camille's father, and she found herself alone, she'd decided to stay and make the island home, working hard to provide for Camille and raising her to become a very smart and capable young woman. Now Catherine Bordey, something of a St. Marie institution in her own right; was a successful business woman with keen instincts and a compassionate ear. The tall, graceful French woman was instantly recognizable around town in her colorful headwraps and locally crafted jewelry. Catherine tried to hide her amusement at the air of formality and occasion Mr. Mason exuded as he proudly escorted the Mayor of St. Marie to her seat.
Today was a special Sunday, being the baptismal service for Officer JP Hooper and his wife Rosie's twins. 'Good morning, Madame Mayor' Selwyn Patterson, Commissioner of the St. Marie Police drawled in his hushed baritone, turning slightly in his seat which was next to Catherine's and offering her a warm handshake. Catherine and the Commissioner exchanged pleasantries, catching up on a little shop talk until the trill of the pipe organ signaled the start of the service.
The little church on a hill was full to capacity on this morning and just to look around, most worshipers could recognize almost everyone present. JP and Rosie sat in the front center pew, each cradling a bouncing baby boy, and looking every bit the happy and proud parents they were. Their respective families, some that lived on the island and others that had made the trip to share in the special occasion, filled most of the seats in the front rows.
Also present were friends, neighbours, and of course Dwayne Meyers, Florence Cassel and Jack Mooney; JP's colleagues from St. Marie's Honore Police Force. Even JP's temporary reliever for the few weeks until he was back at work; Winston Lively, an experienced officer from headquarters in Guadeloupe, had made it a point to honor the invitation. The new man's overly serious demeanor and apparent absence of humor (Dwayne was quick to point out to the Inspector and Florence) were nothing like his name might suggest; much to his new partner's exasperation.
The low murmur amongst the congregation quietened to a reverent silence as the small group of clergy processed to the front of the church. Reverend Matthew Dawson ascended the pulpit to offer words of welcome. 'The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you…' he began. 'And also with you' the congregants responded. 'Let us pray...' As all heads were bowed in reflection, the Reverend offered prayers for the people gathered, and for the wider community and prefecture. Reverend Dawson then prayed for the young family standing before him, giving thanks for their bountiful blessing - the reason all were gathered to celebrate.
As the opening hymn was announced and the organ began to play, DI Mooney held out his hymn sheet to DS Cassel for them to share. Florence initially did not appear to notice the Inspector's gesture; he turned his attention to the direction of her gaze and recognized the likely reason for the shadow that had crossed her face.
The blare of the organ broke Florence's reverie and she glanced briefly back at Jack before taking hold of the corner of the little booklet he held between them, joining in the refrain 'Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, let the people rejoice…'
Thy left the baptismal service before the closing benediction due to an urgent message Florence received on her cellphone. The message read that expected forensics results on evidence collected from Noah's Ark had just been emailed to the station. The pair had whispered a quick update to Officers Meyers and Lively, before quietly slipping out of the crowded sanctuary to attend to police business.
Noah's Ark was the name of a fifty foot yacht that was the scene of an apparent double murder the Honore Police were currently investigating. Although it was a Sunday, Dr. Hilliard, chief pathologist at the Basse Terre morgue in Guadeloupe had hastily dispatched the lab results given the urgency of the matter and also because of concerns that Lucille an approaching category three tropical storm could hit the area possibly within twenty-four hours.
The boat was registered to the victims, Alexander and Peggy Miller, a visiting American couple known to locals, and who owned property on the island. The couple had been discovered on their yacht two weeks prior, when a passing fisherman noticed the vessel listing a few miles off the coast and raised the alarm. Upon initial assessment of the scene, it had appeared to the detectives that an intruder had boarded the vessel during the early hours of the morning while the couple slept. Signs of a struggle, evidence of missing cash and jewelry and the bodies of the husband and wife, each fatally shot, had given the appearance of a random attack with robbery as the primary motive.
Since the beginning however, Jack had sensed something not quite right about the crime scene. Every relevant piece of evidence appeared to point to murder, including the absence of the murder weapon; yet as DI Mooney had observed to Sergeant Cassel in his characteristic manner (hopping from point to point, recreating events as he imagined they could have occurred, role playing and talking to himself out loud) something just seemed odd about it all.
Due to the sensitive nature of this particular case, the Commissioner had conveyed a heightened sense of urgency to the team, stressing his expectation for a speedy apprehension of the murderer and a conclusion to the matter. The suspicious death of Peggy Miller a public figure and former high level government official, and her husband, had attracted a great deal of attention on the island and back in the couple's home country.
Although the foreign office was assuring US authorities that the situation was under control and in the competent hands of the Honore Police, the clock was ticking. Of course, the idea that the investigation might be taken over by an outside agency was anathema to Commissioner Patterson, a fact which he reminded Mooney and Cassel of constantly.
The detectives arriving at the station that morning, and having read the details of the lengthy report, were able to conclude that what they'd begun to suspect was indeed correct. Expert analysis of the trajectory of the bullet that killed Mrs. Miller together with the pathologist's findings now appeared to confirm without a shadow of doubt that Alex Miller had fired the shot that killed his wife before turning the gun on himself.
The facts of the case combined: the final lab results, evidence found at the scene, the information Florence had dug up on persons personally and professionally associated with the couple back at home, the results from Dwayne and Winston's poring over the couple's banking records from several offshore accounts, and interviews the Inspector had conducted with people acquainted with the victims including their adult daughter and son who'd arrived on the island immediately upon receiving the terrible news, all painted an unexpected picture. What on the surface had appeared to be a random tragic event, was in fact revealed to be a story of corruption, blackmail and ultimately of desperation.
It was clear now that for a number of years in her position on government committees responsible for the approval of key oil and gas projects many of which had met with intense opposition from environmentalists, Peggy Miller had received healthy sums of money in bribes for the price of her deciding vote granting the necessary permission for those projects to go ahead. By all indications Alex Miller was complicit and often directly involved in his wife's illegal actions. Someone, now identified as Martin Thomson, a junior government staffer, had stumbled upon incriminating evidence of the Millers' dealings, and had confronted them with the threat of exposure.
The blackmail had started after that, and the Millers were soon caught in a tightening web of secrets and lies. In constant fear of public humiliation and criminal prosecution, and close to losing everything to Thomson's increasing demands, the desperate couple did their best to set their affairs in order, ensuring that their two children would benefit from a significant life insurance policy they'd taken out.
Some details of the Miller's final communication to their lawyer and talk of documents in a Houston safety deposit box that contained explosive allegations of the involvement of others in government were still vague. However what Mooney and Cassel did know was that the couple had made one last trip to St. Marie presumably knowing it would be their last, and had proceeded to execute their plan: a suicide pact staged to look like a robbery gone wrong.
DS Cassel had immediately gotten on the phone to Washington and made plans for the transfer of relevant information and evidence related to the case, which were now part of a much larger federal investigation.
The party was in full swing by the time Sergeant Cassel and Inspector Mooney pulled up in front of the Hooper's home. There was still no sign of the impending bad weather; there was balminess to the air around the hilly hamlet with its scattering of spacious split level homes. The sounds of a popular calypso tune, merry laughter and the clink of toasting glasses greeted them as they walked around the side of the house towards the backyard. Since the two had left the church early, they'd missed the happy exchange of greetings and photographs with JP, Rosie and the boys.
The sight of Officer Lively on the dance floor in the middle of performing a complicated contortion that looked like break dancing, amidst the encouraging cheers of those gathered around him, caused Florence and Jack to exchange bemused expressions; they'd clearly missed a lot.
After the two of them had been spirited away by Rosie's mother who enthusiastically insisted that they sample every one of the offerings at the buffet, the team eventually regrouped at a picnic table under an orange tree at the bottom of the garden. 'Officer Lively, I must say I did not know you had it in you' commented Jack. 'Intramural dance champion sir' Lively replied matter of fact, 'two years in a row'. Jack raised his bottle of water in a partial salute 'Impressive!' he stated before taking a sip. 'And I play the bugle' Lively said, then went back to sipping from the can of cola in his hand.
Jack's eyes wandered over to the dance floor, to Dwayne and Florence. In the waning light of the day Jack thought Florence looked radiant, her head was thrown back in cheerful laughter at something Dwayne said, then her eyes took him on in a playful challenging glare as she moved her shoulders in alternate formation to his, both of them dueling to a familiar oldie. Jack mused that she was perhaps the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.
When the song ended, the two of them made their way over; 'I see you bobbing your head there Chief, aren't you going to hit the dancefloor?' Dwayne asked jovially. Before Jack could respond, Dwayne continued 'did you all see our man Winston?' slapping the other man's shoulder lightly, Winston's face cracked a small smile, he was beginning to warm up to his new partner. 'Did you know he was two time Intramural dance champion' Dwayne boasted, holding up two fingers for emphasis 'and that's not all you know, he…' '…Plays the bugle!' Florence and Jack chorused, interrupting Dwayne.'We heard, Dwayne' Florence said in mock exasperation.
'Heard what?' JP asked. He and Rosie had walked over to join them. 'Never mind' responded Florence, 'Oh look at their little cheeks, so adorable' she cooed, happily picking up one of the twins being proffered to her by Rosie. 'He likes you...' Rosie observed, smiling contentedly. This was apparently correct because the baby was staring at Florence with doe eyes, then he started on a mission to stuff the gold locket on the chain around her neck into his mouth, which she gently extracted from his clutch and swung over her back for safety. They all chuckled.
JP spoke in a gentle voice to his other son, nestled on his shoulder 'Have you met the Chief yet little one?' the baby stared at his dad wide eyed, and then buried his head in JP's shoulder shyly. Jack leaned over JP 'Very nice to meet you' he said in a soft voice. The baby perked up and after a brief moment of contemplation, raised his arms towards Jack.
'Ohhh!, there it is' exclaimed Dwayne jealously, 'the voice of experience!', which made them all laugh. 'Picture!' cried Rosie; and she beckoned enthusiastically, catching the attention of a young man talking to some people a few yards away. She introduced him as her cousin and designated camera man for the day. They all posed for group photos, then one more with just Florence and Jack holding the twins.
After the photographs, they mingled with other guests some more, joining in the dancing until the evening began to wind down and people began to leave. Florence thanked their hosts and wished them well once again. The Detective Inspector lived west of JPs, at the official residence of the Honore Police aka the old shack on the beach, and although she would be going the opposite way to her parents' home further inland, Florence walked over to him, 'Are you ready to leave sir?; I could drop you off..' she half inquired.
He replied with genuine warmth 'Thank you Florence', knowing it was out of her way; Jack thought it was sweet that she'd offered. 'I'll catch a ride with Dwayne,… it's all arranged'. 'On the moped sir?' she asked, eyebrows raised a little quizzically at the idea of the two bounding down the hills in the low light of the evening – catch being the operative word in his last statement, she thought. 'Yes, yes, it'll be fine…a bit of an adventure!' he replied cheerily. 'Ok, sir' Florence responded doubtfully. 'Let me walk you to the car', Jack offered, gesturing for her to lead the way.
As they walked side by side Jack thought for a moment then said 'I noticed your concern earlier…'; 'Oh?', she glanced over urging him to continue as they came to a stop next to the driver's door of the brown Land Rover. 'I took the liberty of inquiring with the Guadeloupe magistrate's office. Judith Dawson will quite possibly be released very soon'; she waited expectantly for him to continue. 'She's doing…alright by the way, under the circumstances' his voice carried a hint of strain.
'Her sentence will likely be commuted on account that although she acted as an accomplice, ultimately she was not the one that came up with the plan and she was not the one who wielded the weapon than killed Mr. Pearce' Jack continued.
Florence inquired, 'Do you really think so?' sounding hopeful. Jack nodded 'Enough evidence may have been presented by her solicitor to suggest that Edwina Bousquet placed undue pressure on the younger woman, manipulating her into aiding Edwina in her decades long desire for revenge'. Florence looked relieved. Murder was indefensible; however she did feel an affinity for the young woman and sympathized with her predicament.
Judith Dawson was the wife of Reverend Matthew Dawson. Seeing how strained the Reverend had looked that morning reminded Florence that; what for the police was often the end of a chapter, was for victims' families and in most cases perpetrators families also, just the beginning. She hoped for the sake of the baby that Judith now carried, that the Dawsons might have a chance at redemption.
As a teenager living on St. Marie, Judith's mother Edwina was rejected by a young Victor Pearce with whom she had been having a romantic relationship, after she revealed to him that she was carrying his child. Judith was given up as a baby and was raised in an orphanage; growing up just miles away from where each of her parents lived. Years later Judith and her husband Reverend Matthew Dawson would take up the running of the orphanage, but a desperate desire for children of their own would not be fulfilled.
Around the time that Jack first arrived on St. Marie, the Dawson's had been making plans to adopt three children, two boys and a girl who'd been in their care since infancy and whom they loved as their own. But Victor Pearce, a shrewd and ruthless businessman, threatened to take everything away from the couple when he revealed plans to develop the land where the orphanage stood.
Victor Pearce never did find out the true identity of Judith, and up until his death had been unwilling to meet with her despite her repeated requests for a chance to appeal his development plans. It was in this context that Edwina Bousquet, a woman who'd lived all those years in apparently feigned piety, never marrying, dedicating so much of her time to the church; approached Judith with the truth of her parentage and with a plot to repay Pearce for his wrongs. The plot ended with Judith providing cover in the form of an alibi for Edwina, who at the time, entered the polling booth where Pearce was casting his vote as a candidate in a hotly contested mayoral election, and stabbed him in the back.
Those events had put a strain on everyone. There was outrage of course over the brazen vengeful killing, there were disputes over the declaration of Catherine Bordey (one of the other candidates) as de facto Mayor due to the death of Pearce and withdrawal from the race of her other rival. During what had followed, the arrests, the arraignment, the trial; Matthew Dawson continued on at the church although his physical stature appeared to diminish as if the weight of it all would crush him.
Judith had sleep-walked through most of it, the enormity of everything that had happened appearing to overwhelm her. It was a difficult time for the close-knit community and especially for the family of the victim. It took a while, but ultimately a whisper of empathy and forgiveness towards Judith grew to a ground swell, that even saw the Pearce family reach across the courtroom during the trial to accept a letter from Matthew, written by Judith, where she expressed great remorse and sorrow for what she had done.
In a cruel twist of irony, having lost the orphanage and any chance of adoption, and faced with a serious jail sentence; a few days before the beginning of the trial, Judith Dawson discovered that she was pregnant. Now currently serving out her sentence in the Guadeloupe Central prison, unless things worked out as Jack had optimistically expressed, there was a chance the baby might not get to know her mother's touch, not for a while anyway.
'Let's hope for the best…' Jack's tone was reflective as he opened the car door for his colleague, '…under the circumstances…' she finished with a wry smile, climbing into the driver's seat. Had he become so predictable?, he mused a little self-consciously. 'I'll see you tomorrow Detective Sergeant' Jack said. 'Tomorrow?' Florence looked puzzled, before saying 'It's a public holiday tomorrow sir'.
'Ah yes of course, I completely forgot' Jack tapped his forehead, 'Well in that case, I hope I don't see you tomorrow!' He cringed, starting again 'What I meant to say …'; Florence waved it off, laughing lightly. It was common practice that although the station was closed on Sundays and public holidays they could all pick up calls on the emergency number. 'I understand what you meant to say' she said, smiling mischievously as she drove away, 'I hope I don't see you tomorrow as well sir - goodnight' she called.
Jack headed back inside to find Dwayne, mentally kicking himself for the blunder and worse for not inquiring if Florence had any plans for the day off. He thought of how Siobhan often sagely implored him to think of himself for a change, 'bain sult as an saol' she'd say gently. He could have started by asking the Detective Sergeant over for dinner. He would love to cook for her, plus he made a mean moules mariniere.
It was about 4 o'clock the next afternoon; the sun waning in the sky as Florence drove home from running some errands in town. She'd been humming softly to a zouk tune playing on the car's radio, when a static interruption and then a series of alarm signals caused her to turn up the volume. An announcer came on air with an urgent weather update.
According to the report, although the meteorological service had downgraded the approaching storm to a category two, the authorities were urging everyone to take the appropriate precautions. A high alert would remain in place as the storm looked likely to make landfall within a few hours.
Florence was thankful that the island's Fire and Disaster Emergency Response Unit was adequately equipped to handle these situations, and there was rarely any need for police involvement, although they had on occasion availed themselves of the help offered by the folks of the Honore Police. The Emergency Response Unit generally made sure people and their property were secured, and that everyone had access to emergency supplies. Sometimes a situation would call for evacuations, which they also coordinated.
Florence checked her official cell phone - there were no messages so she figured it was alright for her to head home. If the storm did hit, she was looking forward to being curled up in her favorite chair, reading a good novel - by the light of an oil lamp (the rain and wind would probably knock out the power). She smiled nostalgically remembering her days as a little girl doing the exact thing during the storms that frequently hit the island; a pile of her favorite detective books on the floor beside her, her mother chiding that Florence would ruin her eyesight by reading in such poor light (which everyone now knew was a myth!). Florence swung the car off the coastal highway and unto a beaten path. There was something she needed to do first. Her mind drifted to a certain Irish man with the deepest, kindest blue eyes and both the goofiest and sexiest smiles.
Pulling the car up beside the path leading to the beach house; residence of the Honore Detective Inspector; Florence hopped out, grabbing a medium sized cardboard box from the back seat before heading up the short flight of wooden steps onto the front porch.
'Hello...' she called, there was no response. She walked around the balcony, depositing the box on the floor beside the café table then poked her head inside through the double doors which were swung wide open. 'Sir?...'. Still no response. Florence scanned the length of the beach as far as she could see, perhaps the inspector had gone for a walk. A faint thudding noise was coming from outside; Florence followed the sound around the side of the house passing the small banana grove and vegetable garden that the Jack had revived since he moved in.
'Florence, what a pleasant surprise!' he exclaimed, looking genuinely please to see her. Jack put down the ceramic encased unit and wrench he was holding, dusting his hands on the seat of his pants and walking towards her. 'I just stopped by to bring you some supplies sir… I…tried calling ahead but…' she gestured curiously towards the ceramic box which now lay on the ground beside a toolbox which contained an assortment of tools, and some lengths of plumbing pipe. It looked like he was in the middle of installing something on the side wall of the house. 'I'm sorry…I didn't mean to interrupt you' she finished, feeling a bit awkward. What had she been thinking, he was a grown man, not someone that needed fussing over. She should have tried calling a few more times instead of dropping in unannounced like this.
'A welcome interruption I assure you, Florence' he said pleasantly. 'You said you brought supplies…?' he sounded curious. 'Have you been listening to the weather alerts, sir?' she said; 'No…' he confessed frowning slightly ' ..I've been out here most of the day', realization dawned on him as to reason for her visit; so this was not a social call. He tried to hide his disappointment. 'I'll just pack these up quickly and we can go inside', he said starting to dump the tools into the box, then snapped it shut, picking it up with one hand and reaching for the heavy ceramic unit with the other. Florence hurriedly moved to help, grabbing the pieces of pipe and handing them to Jack as he stored the items in the shed.
Once they went back around to the front of the house, Florence waited on the balcony while Jack went inside to wash up. A few minutes later as he was walking out to join her, he marveled at how oblivious of her beauty she seemed to be.
The honey colour of her skin took on a warm glow in the late afternoon sun. A light breeze playfully teased at the hem of her strappy floral summer dress, and gently mussed her hair, both of which she was struggling to set straight as she turned around. Their eyes met in a sudden intense exchange, an unspoken question…probing… would he…?…would she...?...
Florence felt suddenly self-conscious. She smiled shyly, averting her gaze and turning around to fix her eyes on the distant whirlwind funneling up from the sea and reaching towards the sky. It reminded her of the earthen pots that local artisans formed on a potter's wheel, the supple clay rising up then appearing to fall down again in an undulating rhythm.
'So that's Lucille…' Jack's voice was thick with awe. The two of them stood side by side for a few moments admiring the terrifying beauty of nature on display. A sudden gust of wind picked up a loose shingle on the roof of the shack; the loud clatter jolting them both back to reality. They looked at each other and said simultaneously, 'Supplies!'
An hour later the weather had changed dramatically, the approaching storm had pushed in thick dark clouds which were now hanging ominously overhead. The previous bright serenity of the beach had disappeared under the darkened sky; loose palm fronds were tossed about, trees swayed and leaned to nearly touch the ground, and whorls of sand were picked up and thrust violently in the air.
Everything around them quivered as big droplets quickly turned into giant pelting sheets of rain. Jack and Florence hastily worked together and finished boarding up the last window before rushing inside the shack to safety, locking and bolting the doors behind them.
Inside, they collapsed side by side onto the sofa, and taking one look at each other burst out laughing. 'You said you were up for an adventure sir' Florence joked as they struggled to catch their breath. 'I must look like a drowned rat' Jack said humorously, getting up to find them some towels. 'That would be me I think...' Florence joked back.
Serious all of a sudden, Jack said as he handed her a dry towel 'You look beautiful' and he meant it. Daring to look into his eyes, Florence's stomach felt weightless; a delicious electricity running through her body. She noticed Jack's eyes were drawn to her erect nipples as they pushed against the wet fabric of her dress; she felt them throb with an aching desire to be caressed by him. Averting his eyes, Jack went to light the stove, calling over his shoulder 'Once again, you've been a life saver Florence, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come when you did.' 'The wind would surely have ripped through the windows in no time' he said.
Standing in the living area of the bedsit, Florence wrapped the towel around herself trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. When she'd regained her composure she vigorously rubbed her head with the towel to dry her hair, her natural curls accentuated with the action 'It was really nothing sir, I was in town this afternoon and thought that this being your first big storm on St. Marie, I could perhaps lend a hand'. The loose shingle on the roof flapped loudly as the wind continued to whip the outside walls of the shack.
Florence chatted optimistically looking around the space 'This structure is sturdier than it looks actually. The maintenance man Monsieur Garcin has done a good job over the years I gather' she continued, 'We should give him a call in a few days, once this is over, to come and inspect for any damage…' she trailed .
Jack walked to where she was standing in the center of the room with two mugs in hand 'Coffee?' he offered. She accepted the warm mug hugging it close as she quelled a shiver. 'I'm sorry, but we have to get out of these wet clothes or...' the power suddenly went out plunging them in darkness, and Jack stopped mid-sentence. '…Right …e-m-m' he said. 'Torches?' suggested Florence. 'Right' he replied, feeling his way in the dark to the area near the front doors where he thought the supplies box had last been.
Florence sneezed; 'Bless you' Jack called out. He'd found the torches and was now lighting a couple of oil lamps and placing them around the room, their dull yellow flames licking the air above the lamps' glass bulbs, and casting flickering shadows about them. 'Alright…' Jack said after he was done, 'as I was saying we need to get out of these wet clothes so as not to catch our death',
She nodded in agreement, looking a little confused '…catch our death …sir?'. 'It's an expression' he chuckled, and did his best to explain the presumed origins of the term as he rummaged through his closet looking for his warmest shirt with long sleeves. Once he'd found it, he handed it to Florence 'Here, why don't you put this on'.
'Thank you', she said, accepting the shirt and looking around; the room did not afford much privacy. 'The area over by the bed is screened…behind the dresser.' He added 'But if you feel uncomfortable I could go outside...' she appreciated his earnestness; he was not being presumptive. 'No, no, it's okay' she responded quickly. She had no problem with Jack being there, she was just adjusting to this new intimate setting. They'd flirted occasionally of course, but the idea that the two of them would strip down to bare skin only feet apart, was something she did not know how to react to. Florence told herself she was being silly, and tried to dispel the heady feeling that was coming over her. She prayed she would not make a fool of herself… after all they were just two adults making the best of an unexpected situation; that was all.
Though Florence sensed her colleague might be attracted to her, and hoped he realized it was definitely mutual, so far neither had made a move. She didn't really expect that Jack would; he'd been nothing but courteous and professional towards her since they met. What Florence loved most about the Detective Inspector was the fact he didn't take himself too seriously, and he had a wicked sense of humor. She greatly admired his professional skills; having mastered the ability to keenly study people while maintaining an atmosphere of casual curiosity, Jack's methods were quite effective and she enjoyed working with him immensely. Even though his experience on the field far exceeded hers, he would always seek out her input; never failing to convey the value of her insight in the cases they investigated. They worked well as a team.
While Florence had been in the 'bedroom', lost in thought as she discarded her wet clothes, Jack changed into a plain black t-shirt and a pair of black jeans that hugged his lean thighs. He'd rustled up a small feast that he was laying out on the small café table they'd brought in from the balcony, before the storm hit. Florence cautiously emerged from behind the dresser, the hem of Jack's too big pale blue shirt grazing her thighs just above the knees. She noticed how his hair curled at the nape of his neck and at his temples. Florence imagined running her fingers through the still damp locks. 'I hope you're hungry…' Jack said, trying not to stare as he pulled out her chair. 'Starving' she said truthfully. 'Mm…me too' he said 'It's not much but it should tide us over'.
'It's perfect' she replied, and it really was. She loved her favorite chair in the living room of her parent's home, and she loved her collection of thriller novels; but in that moment there was nowhere else Florence would rather be. Wrapped in Jack's shirt, she reveled in the feel of the fabric against her bare skin and the faint scent of his aftershave mixed with the scent of him. Florence did not know exactly when she had fallen in love with Jack Mooney, but in that moment she knew she would give up everything to be able to stretch this moment into a lifetime.
Little did Florence know Jack's thoughts mirrored hers; because he thought of the two of them sitting at the little café table in a tiny shack, on a lonely beach, on an island in the middle of the Caribbean sea, and he considered himself to be the luckiest man alive. Florence was so warm, so passionate, so committed to what she believed in. She cared about people; he'd seen so much evidence of that in his time with her. She cared about him and his daughter. Florence did not realize but Jack was quite aware of the lengths she would go to make sure he and Siobhan were alright; making the adjustment to their new home far less challenging than it otherwise would have been. Professionally, he admired her instincts and her grit, and was grateful that he had her as his 'partner'.
As a woman he found her to be simply beautiful; and right now the sight of her wearing his shirt, knowing that she was naked underneath, was distracting to say the least. Her thick eyelashes fanned high cheekbones as she glanced at him under shaded dark brown eyes; causing hot arousal to stir below his waist. Jack badly wanted to kiss her - instead, they ate their simple meal in contented silence.
Suddenly remembering an earlier question she'd had before the storm interrupted, Florence asked 'By the way, what were you doing outside when I arrived?' Jack laughed 'That was me in the middle of a little DIY disaster'.
He explained that Siobhan preferred the more private smaller bedroom that Jack had created from a converted storage space at the side of the shack, so he'd been working to set up the room before her next trip back. He'd been pleasantly surprised to see that the necessary plumbing connections were there, at the back of the room; that would make it possible to put in a separate shower stall. Jack explained that he had been spending most of his weekends getting the things he needed from the local hardware store, and working on installing the unit. Some of the plumbing fittings though were proving to be a challenge.
'Perhaps our Monsieur Garcin would be kind enough to take a look?' he finished hopefully. 'I'm sure he would sir' Florence replied. 'I didn't know you were so handy' she said 'Any other tricks I should know about?' she said with a hint of flirtation. 'Not at all' he demurred pleasantly 'No tricks…' he said.
'So!...up for a game of cards?' Jack asked when they had finished eating. 'Sure' Florence replied, picking up their plates and taking them over to the kitchen sink. 'Don't worry about those…' Jack called out as he rummaged around looking for the card deck; but Florence was already dipping the dishes into the bowl of sudsy water using a blue wash sponge to clean them. Feeling a little bold, Florence dried her hands on a checkered hand towel hanging beside the sink, and went over to the sleeping area. Jack looked faintly surprised when she climbed up the two or three steps beside the wide four-poster bed and climbed onto it, sitting with her back against the headboard. With an expression of exaggerated coyness, she patted the space beside her, gesturing that Jack should join her. Jack felt his blood pumping hotly, the sweet ache of a growing erection pushing against his jeans. He hesitated for a fraction of second before joining Florence on the bed; unsure how long his resolve would survive if they continued to fuel the desire that now openly burned between them.
It was almost 9 o'clock; howling winds and rain continued to pound the little shack on the beach. Indoors meanwhile, Jack and Florence were momentarily oblivious to the roiling storm. They sat opposite one another on the king size bed; Florence was teaching Jack how to play Piquet. At one point, after unsuccessfully attempting to explain "carte blanche", Florence scooted over and sat cross-legged beside him, leaning in to peer at the cards in his hand. Their shoulders touched; Jack's sharp intake of breath causing Florence to look up. Their eyes locked; lips inches apart. Then slowly, naturally, they moved towards each other easily closing the gap between them.
Jack put down the cards he was holding. Shifting his weight, he placed his hands down on the mattress on either side of Florence's hips seeking purchase as their kiss deepened. Her lips parted softly inviting him inside. She slid her hands slowly up his arms and across his shoulders, running her fingers loosely through his hair and finally linking them together around his neck, drawing him closer. Jack's lips began a slow sensual exploration, gently tracing her lips, then the line of her neck, then travelling across her delicate collar bone. As an urgent electricity grew between them, Jack's fingers quickly did away with buttons of her shirt, pushing aside the rough fabric to reveal the soft curves of her breasts.
Exhaling, Florence lay back against the cool cotton sheets as Jack continued to trace kisses across her skin, caressing her breasts as he gently grazed the dark twin buds that signaled her arousal. Florence arched her back as his kisses continued slowly down along her midriff; his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin around her belly button. Jack chuckled when Florence tugged impatiently at his t-shirt. Moving back briefly he shed his clothing quickly, an intense passion burning through him as he drank in her beauty.
His arousal was at fever pitch, and as they touched, her moans of pleasure were all the prompting Jack needed to explore further. Grasping her buttocks firmly, he began to tease the delicate flesh between her thighs, his mouth moving expertly in a gentle slow concentric motion. By the time Jack moved over Florence, supporting his weight on his forearms as he positioned himself between her legs, he looked into her eyes and any lingering doubt he may have had about whether she could ever desire him melted completely away.
They were both fully naked; her breasts gently crushed against his chest as their bodies tangled in a heated embrace. Florence ached with impatient desire, parting her legs to receive him, and moaning with pleasure as he entered her. It felt like coming home.
After the urgency of their first climax they began to explore one another with unhurried sensuality, in a steady rhythm that continued long into the night. Finally, lying back on the bed spent from their love making; Florence listened to Jack's heartbeat, her head resting on his chest; Jack absently traced his fingers lightly along her arm.
Sometime in the hours before, the storm had ended and the night had grown quiet. The hurricane lamps had long run out of oil and the room was dark. Jack got up to open a window. A ribbon of moonlight streamed into the small room, bathing them in pale silver light. He returned to Florence, taking her in his arms. They talked quietly as they lay there drifting off to sleep. They both agreed that the question of where to go from here could wait for tomorrow. They had found their way to each other and for now that was enough.