Note: I have read in other stories that the housekeeper is named Mrs. Kowt, so I am using that name as well.
Joseph did not sleep with Kelly.
He had thought about it. He had even accepted her invitation to wait until the end of her shift, and left the building with her. He had walked to his car with her. He had felt her fingers running down his back and her chest brushing against his arm suggestively as he fumbled for his keys. He had reached out to her, grabbed her waist, and pushed her up against the car. He felt her respond to the force of his kisses with a ravenous hunger of her own. He tried not to imagine that she was someone else, and then didn't care. He felt her body mold to his and pretended it was Clarisse's body. He felt her hands grasping his neck and pulling him closer, and imagined that Clarisse wanted him this this badly, needed him this fiercely. He convinced himself that this was alright, that it was necessary, that his very sanity was at stake, and he gave himself over to the passion that was not actually for this woman.
Then she moaned. And called him Joey.
Clarisse would never call him Joey.
No one. EVER. Called him Joey.
A bucket of cold water dumped on his head couldn't have been more effective at bringing him back to his senses.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry we… I'm sorry I did this, that I led you on. I can't go any further." He moved around from the passenger side of the car to the driver's seat, his keys now firmly in hand. Once he was inside, he glanced over only to make sure she was a safe distance from the car, then took off without looking back.
(I keep trying to put some kind of page break here, but it's not working. So...here's a sentence or two to, you know, break up the page.)
Although Joseph ended up going home alone, he had not gone to the pub that way. He had joined several guys from the security team on their usual mid-week evening out. All of them saw him leave with Kelly.
So did two ladies tucked away unobtrusively in a smoke-filled corner.
Joseph mostly kept to himself during his off-hours. He did occasionally accompany colleagues to the pub for a few drinks, but in the evenings, he was usually content to retire to his own apartment in the palace. His quiet hobbies balanced out the activity of the day, and he was happy to immerse himself in any kind of a good book and a glass of good whiskey, or to strum his guitar in between sips from a glass of good whiskey. He liked quiet. And whiskey.
That night, quiet wasn't enough, and he was out of whiskey. He needed to get out, he needed a distraction.
Joseph wasn't much for gossip. He didn't share it and he didn't inspire it. As he walked through the palace the next morning, he knew he had finally generated some of his own. He knew from the knowing winks he got from the male employees; from the disappointed tsks and head shakes he got from the older female employees; and from the air of dejection in which the hopeful younger female employees (and one male employee) quickly turned their heads to avoid meeting his eyes. There was nothing to figure out once he got to the security hub. Lots of slaps on the backs and raunchy requests for details made it more than obvious that he had been the subject of many conversations.
Naturally, no one believed his "nothing happened" retort.
It wasn't until he entered the outer room of Clarisse's office and saw her personal aide Margaret involved in a hushed conversation with the housekeeper Mrs. Kowt, that a thought hit him like a ton of bricks. He froze to the spot and broke out into a cold sweat.
Clarisse. She would hear.
Suddenly, it didn't matter to him that she didn't love him. It didn't matter to him that she didn't know he loved her. He was her friend, her companion both during and around his shifts. He had turned down her invitation to spend the evening with her, and now she would think he had instead spent the evening -
He wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't the type to pursue a woman only for sex. He had never had a one night stand in his life. He had three sisters and a mother who had raised him better than that, and even though he had almost done what everyone was talking about this morning, he hadn't done it. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't like that.
He wasn't like Rupert. She would think he was like Rupert.
The conversation between Margaret and Mrs. Kowt ceased almost immediately upon Joseph's entrance. They stared at him, and he stared back. He saw blatant disapproval from Mrs. Kowt, and something he couldn't name from Margaret. Sadness? Disappointment? Could it be - no, not sympathy. That didn't make sense.
"Good morning, Joseph," Margaret said, her rich warm voice conveying nothing but the usual pleasantness. She and Clarisse were the only ones who called him by his full name.
"Margaret, Mrs. Kowt," he replied, nodding his head toward the women.
"Hello, Joe," said Mrs. Kowt, her chin lifting judgmentally.
Really, it wasn't anyone's business. But everyone knew that Mrs. Kowt made everything her business, especially if there was the slightest chance that professional performance would be affected and reflect negatively on the operation of the palace. If she were any other member of the staff, he would have been angered by her reaction to him. Instead, he felt like a scolded child.
"See you at lunch then, dear," said Mrs. Kowt to Margaret.
"Alright, save me a spot and some of those little chicken salad croissants."
"Will do." And she swept out of the office past Joe, generating a breeze fraught with ice.
Feeling even more chilled, and no more mobile, Joseph stayed where he was, unresponsive to Margaret's gaze. Finally, she broke the silence.
"I have your copy of Her Majesty's schedule for tomorrow. I was just about to take it in." She picked up a sheet of paper from her full, but tidy desk, and walked toward him. "In case you wanted to take a look." She smiled encouragingly at him. "She's in there. Aren't you here to see her?"
Joseph took the proffered sheet and tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you, Margaret." He started toward the door to the inner office, then stopped and turned back. "How is she this morning?"
Margaret arched her eyebrows curiously. "Fine, I suppose." She gave nothing away, neither in her words nor in her expression.
"So, she's alright then?"
"Of course, she's alright." Then she told him everything he needed to know. She gave a sad smile and added, "Isn't she always alright?"
Joseph's heart broke into a thousand pieces.
More to come…