Tommy spread the cream over his trembling hands then took her foot and gently began to rub it in. He leisurely stretched his palms over the top and bottom in long, slow strokes before he used his thumbs to massage her sole. He watched her face for clues of pain or discomfort but she looked tranquil sitting with her eyes closed and just the hint of a smile. He gently circled her heels allowing his hands to extend up to her mid-calves. Her skin was much smoother than he had imagined, like fine silk. He imagined peeling off her dress and discovering the textures and contours of her body. He explored her toes with his fingers. She giggled in ticklish delight as he slid his index finger between them. With the lotion well absorbed he repeated the treatment on the other foot.
While his patient looked peaceful he was decidedly agitated. With any other woman he would slowly climb up the couch and kiss her and they would probably end up in his bed. With Barbara he had to know first that she wanted him to act. Maybe he was mistaking the relaxed comfort of friendship for a deeper intimacy. For years they had been close friends and to change that in a day seemed to be rushing everything. He needed to slow down and let things take a natural course. "I'll just wash my hands."
Barbara had no experience of foot rubs but it had seemed far more sensual than simply applying cream to sore feet. His gentle hands had sent magical shivers through her as they caressed her ankles. He had tickled when he played with her toes but both sensations had the same effect, she wanted more. She wanted to feel his hands on her body. She wanted to have his lips dance across her skin. She wanted to feel his skin against hers as they made love. With her eyes still closed against reality she sighed contentedly.
The few minutes away from her let his mind, and his body, calm. After scrubbing his hands to almost surgical standard he took five deep breaths and returned to the room. "So, it's only early," he said lightly, "the news will be on in five minutes, or we can watch something else or listen to music. What would you like?"
Barbara glanced up at the books. "Would you read to me?"
"Read to you?" It was the last thing Tommy had expected. He chuckled. "What bedtime story would you like?"
"Poetry perhaps. Something you like."
The request seemed simple but Tommy faced a dilemma. His choice of poem would send a signal and he needed to send the right one; something that spoke of love without gushing. "Hmm," he said walking over to his bookcase, "I have varied tastes."
"Pick one I'd like. Something you can read to me, slowly."
Tommy swallowed hard. Barbara had said that seductively. He doubted she had intended to sound so alluring but it had affected him deeply. He glanced back and smiled. She had moved onto the floor and was watching him expectantly. He tried to focus. As his eyes roved his shelves they fell on Pushkin. Did he dare? He selected the volume and found the poem. He walked back to the sofa and slid down to sit beside Barbara. "This is one by Alexander Pushkin. Do you know much about him?" Barbara shook her head. "He was a Russian writer of novels, plays and poems. I believe they are more beautiful in Russian but I've always liked this one."
"What's it called?"
"The Wondrous Moment of Our Meeting*. It was written in 1825 and I think you'll like it."
Tommy began to read. "The wondrous moment of our meeting, I still remember you appear, Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear."
Barbara closed her eyes and listened to the rich timbre of his voice. She remembered seeing him at Deborah's wedding, sitting on the step talking so earnestly to Helen about his feelings at being best man as his friend married he woman he loved. She thought about the way he looked. He had been handsome in his morning suit but with such endearingly vulnerable and mournful eyes. She had tried to hate him and everything he stood for but how could she ever dislike the man who was now sitting reading to her?
Tommy too was thinking about their first case but his thoughts were of their argument in the barn, the moment he had seen that her fierceness was a ruse and that she had a pure, angelic heart. Something had touched him then. Something that had bonded them together. He had not fallen in love with her but he had certainly begun to love her as a friend, a kindred soul. "In hopeless ennui surrounding, The worldly bustle, to my ear, For long your tender voice kept sounding, For long in dreams came features dear."
That was exactly her experience. Despite all the maelstrom of work, her mother and the world in general he had been her rock. She could depend on him to help her and in her lonely nights the memory of his voice, his smile, the stupid lock of hair that tumbled over his eyes, sustained her. She wimpered softly.
Tommy heard her moan and stretched his arm around her shoulders. They had shared so much and in his despair it was always her he turned to for reassurance and rescue. He quickly kissed the top of her head. "Time passed. Unruly storms confounded, Old dreams, and I from year to year, Forgot how tender you had sounded, Your heavenly features once so dear."
"Mmm, that's beautiful Tommy. So sad that he forgot his love." His tender voice, her dreams about him. She knew lost love; unrequited love. Barbara wondered if this poem reminded Tommy of Helen. That spectre was always between them. Barbara did not expect Tommy to ever forget Helen but she had hoped maybe she would fade enough for him to love again. He deserved to feel love and have someone who could love him with an intensity she had always doubted Helen shared.
Tommy's mind was back in her flat, that night when he confessed his fears and doubts about his estranged wife. He never knew why he took Helen back. In one fleeting moment in that flat he and Barbara had confessed their souls. He remembered her eyes. They loved each other beyond words. Now he let out a little strangled cry. He had wasted years searching for a love that was with him all the time. He wanted to kiss Barbara desparately but he had to finish the poem. Pushkin could say it far more eloquently than he ever could.
With a quivering voice he continued. "My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet, Dull fence around, dark vault above, Devoid of God and uninspired, Devoid of tears, of fire, of love." This summed up Tommy's life. He had been devoid of love. Deborah and Helen had been his friends and he had mistaken it for the love he craved. He shifted uncomfortably and hoped he was not about to make the same mistake. This did not feel like a mistake. The thought of being loved by Barbara filled him with a strange ecstasy. It felt spiritual, as if his whole life was focussed on this moment.
Barbara shifted her weight and lay down next to him. He frowned but kept his hand on her shoulder. "Sleep from my soul began retreating," he said hesitantly, "And here you once again appear, Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear."
She lifted her head onto his lap with a contented sigh but did not look up at him. He needed to know she wanted this, wanted him. He had selected this poem for her. She was certain of that. She did not believe for him it was true love, whatever that was, but she was tired of loving him from afar. Maybe it was just something they needed to get out of their systems but if he had chosen the poem to tell her his feelings extended beyond friendship then he needed to know she understood. She remembered his eyes that night in her flat. It was the closest anyone had ever come to saying they loved her. She feared opening her eyes and not seeing that look. She clamped them shut and prayed they looked at her that way now.
Tommy's heart thumped in his chest. She had surprised him by laying her head on his lap and the last of his doubts dissolved. His whole body sang with happiness and desire. He wanted to love her in every possible way but more than anything to feel that total merging of mind and spirit that he had never quite found. He was trying to tell her that he truly loved her. "In ecstasy the heart is beating, Old joys for it anew revive; Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting, The fire, and tears, and love alive." Tommy bent down and kissed her.
The touch of his lips was at first soft and tender but the electricity between them made her hair stand on end. She pushed into him and the crush of his mouth became urgent and needy. "Oh Tommy!"
"Barbara!" He kissed her again, wholeheartedly and impatiently then stopped and pulled away.
Barbara sat up beside him. "What?"
"I need you to know that I love you Barbara; with all my heart and soul. I have for a long time and should have told you years ago when I had the chance."
She smiled and lovingly pushed his hair back from his face. "I know and you did once. I love you too Tommy...always have I suppose...more than life itself."
He grinned and wrapped his arms around her. "I was hoping you'd say something like that." The time for discussion was over, now he would let his body worship her as she deserved.
* The Wondrous Moment of Our Meeting by Alexander Pushkin, written in 1825.
