Part 8
"Ha, I win!" Clarisse declared laying down her final card and clapping her hands together.
"Well done, making a come back."
"You bet." She smiled proudly, gathering up the cards and restacking them.
Joseph placed another mark on the scrap of paper.
"Six to four." He pointed out.
They had been playing cards for the past hour or so, dinner was long since over, their dishes abandoned in the kitchen. Joe had found cards earlier in the day and suggested they play to pass the time. He didn't realise it would actually turn out to be so much fun. It wasn't often he witnessed Clarisse's joyful expression or enrapturing laughter, and of late her warm fun side seemed to be getting further and further lost.
He caught her fingers as he quickly dealt the cards again, she smiled at him as he drew his hand back and apologised. At times he forgot who she was, what she was, his Queen, he was playing cards with the Queen. Other times he was keenly aware of her status, and his lack of it. There was no right for him to touch her unless directed to do so, yet he swore sometimes she would look at him like she longed for his touch, perhaps that was masculine pride taking over.
"Alright, final game." He said looking over his hand. "My eyes are getting heavy."
"Hmm, more likely you're scared I'm going to win."
"We'll see."
"Do you play much?"
He shrugged. "Occasionally, when we're travelling a bunch of us get together for a game. I used to play as a child."
"Really?" She gasped. "So did I, I would sneak into my father's private parties and join a table. And I was rather good for my age." She said proudly.
"Well I never gate crashed any private parties but I earnt plenty of pocket money that way." He said smiling.
"Hmm," She glanced up at him studying his cards. "Tell me about your childhood." She said gently.
"Not much to tell, an only child, spoilt by my grandparents."
"Your parents?"
"My father was in the navy, so hardly ever home, my mother a school teacher. You knew that." He looked over at her smiling face.
She nodded. "Yes I knew that, History right."
"Correct."
"I met her. She was lovely."
"She said the same of you, she was overwhelmed though." He leant back in his chair.
"She was very smart, very funny, if I recall correctly."
"You do." He said proudly.
"You still miss her." She stated gently. "I miss my mother too, especially at times like…" She stopped herself, looked at the table and caught her breath.
"Times like this?" He queried.
"Times like, times like the ones I've been going through, it's comforting to have that support, to have somebody who you can go to and tell anything and they will offer help, advice, love."
"I know what you mean."
"If I'm honest that's part of the reason I like being with you so much."
He glared at her. "You promised not to do this."
"But we are friends, and friends share things."
He threw his cards down. "You see the thing is Clarisse how can we be friends?" he held his hands up frustrated. "How can we when you're… who you are and I'm, your security."
"It doesn't make me some kind of leper."
"I'm not saying that. But it's not like I'm gonna take you to the bar on a Friday night for a beer."
"You don't like beer."
"That's not the point."
She laughed.
"Clarisse…"
"Alright, I'm sorry. Perhaps I had one too many glasses of wine."
"Enough for tonight." He said gathering the cards away.
"Alright, enough." She said softly.
He left the room whilst she changed and got comfortable on the couch. When she called him back in he extinguished most of the candles, leaving one burning on the dining table, the other on the mantelpiece.
"Goodnight." He whispered glancing at her.
"I'm not tired yet."
"Sure you are, you know I checked the bedroom, you could sleep up there."
"I'd rather not be alone." She shivered beneath the blankets.
"I understand."
He took his gun from his pocket, placed it on the coffee table. It unnerved her; it brought back the reality of their situation.
"Do you think they'll find us soon?"
"I hope so." He stated kneeling by the fire.
"Do you really?" She whispered.
"Of course." He turned to look at her face, shadowed in the firelight. "Don't you?"
She shrugged. "Of course, I'm sure everyone is frantic. But it's easy to forget when we're not there… It isn't often I'm allowed to just be me."
"I know."
"I know you know." She rested her hand beneath her cheek. "How many times have I cried on your shoulder?"
"Not that many." He glanced away again, embarrassed,
"Why are you turning away from me, why now, when we're alone, completely isolated alone."
"Ha, because this is far more dangerous than kissing in the palace."
"No reminders of duty."
"You are a constant reminder of duty."
"Oh thanks." She turned onto her back, looked up at the shapes cast on the ceiling. "I thought I escaped that role with you."
"At times you do, other times the reminder is a little too harsh." He lay down on the floor in front of the fire, a second or two of silence then a pillow hit him in the face. "Hey!"
"You'll need that." She said sleepily.
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome." She closed her eyes, was slipping into sleep.
He folded his hands beneath his head, stared up at the same shapes on the ceiling.
"Third day as 'missing' tomorrow." He stated.
She sighed. "Joseph…"
"Yes."
"When we return promise me you won't ignore me any longer."
"Hmm, I promise." He smiled, listened to her breathing slow as she drifted off to sleep.
Joseph was outside when he heard a scream; he slipped and slid across the snow as he tried to race inside. He trampled ice down the hall and into the lounge, his gun drawn ready to protect.
Clarisse was on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, shaking, staring at nothing.
"What the hell is it?" he said stunned, looking around, scanning the room for the threat that had stunned her.
"Clarisse!" He demanded.
She swallowed and finally looked up at him. "Nothing… a dream, nothing."
"A dream?"
"Yes, I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I'm sorry."
"Clarisse." He whispered bending down to her.
"I need…" She covered her mouth. "Oh god I need the bathroom."
She raced upstairs, Joseph was close behind her but greeted with a slammed door in his face. He heard Clarisse throwing up inside, after a few seconds he went downstairs and poured a glass of water then returned and waited for her.
"Clarisse." He whispered, gently tapping on the door. "Are you alright, shall I come in?"
"I'm alright, I'll be a second." Her voice sounded meek.
He sat down and listened as she washed her face then finally she opened the door and came out. He hastily stood and handed her the glass of water.
"Thank you." She sipped it. "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be, what was it? Do you feel ill?" He placed a hand on her forehead.
"No, it was the dream I think…"
"About the attack."
"It was mixed… partly, Steven being shot and how it felt when he fell… I saw him frozen out there in the snow and it was just…" She gulped back tears, trying to remain strong.
"Hey, come on." Hesitantly he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't do that, don't think about it."
"I can't help it."
"I know, you have to try and block it out. Would you like me to get anything for you?"
"No, funnily enough I'm not hungry." She glanced at him nervously, partly ashamed.
"Are you sure its nothing more, you've not got a fever or anything."
"It was just shock Joseph, that's all, shock." She shrugged. "The reality of events sinking in… I suppose I was beginning to think I was on some kind of holiday. Yet people are dead. For me."
He sat down on the top step and she next to him. "It was the promise they made, the oath they took."
"To die for your Queen, I hardly call it an oath," she shook her head. "It's wrong, my life has no more value than theirs."
"In the eyes of the Lord no, but to the people of Genovia…"
"Would you do it, I mean honestly, don't tell me yes just because duty dictates you should. In your heart would you really consider dying for me?"
"Without a second thought yes."
She stared into his eyes, searching his emotions.
"Yes. And not for duty." Without thinking he rested his hand on her pale cheek, she was cold to the touch. "You should rest."
"Do you love me Joseph?" She blurted out.
He dropped his hand, looked away from her; their situation was hardly romantic, hardly appropriate.
"You know I do, you shouldn't have to ask."
"And I love you."
"I know that too."
"So why are we doing this, ignoring each other, pushing the other away when all I want is with you."
"You know aswell as I do that rules and hierarchy…"
"But not here, none of that here."
He suddenly felt angry with her. "Is that what you want, to screw around with me here and then forget it when we go home? Is that it?"
He stormed down the stairs but she followed him, spilling water as she went.
"I thought you wanted that too." She shouted as she followed him in to the kitchen.
He turned to her, eyes blazing but his voice was unsteady, unclear. "That is nothing like what I want."
He walked towards her, she backed away, hitting a wall and stopped.
"Do you really think sleeping with you, sex, is all I want? For gods sake Clarisse if it was that easy don't you think I'd have walked away years ago. You're the only woman I've ever really loved, my entire life... And you have no idea how that feels…"
"I…"
He held a hand up. "No, because if you knew you would never suggest we could forget everything while we're here and simply fuck."
"Joseph!"
"Is that what you want?" He stepped closer to her, staring at her shocked face.
"No, no that's not what I want."
He wanted to say more but didn't, instead he turned away and went through the house to the back door. He unbolted it, went out into the snow, no shoes, no jacket, the harsh elements whipped around him. He wanted to scream, she frustrated him so, she made him so fucking angry. How did she have that power over him? How could she do it so easily, how could she think love was something that could be settled with sex? He'd learnt in his twenties that love was much more than sex… she'd never had that. Guilt hit him as he realised she'd never had that; to her this was the learning curve.
He took a deep breath, felt his lungs expand as they took in the freezing air, a pain in his chest. Suddenly his body became aware of the cold and turned to go back in, she was standing by the door watching him.
He glanced at the floor before making his way towards her. Tears on her face.
"I'm sorry." She mouthed.
He placed his hands on her face. "No, I'm the one who's sorry."
"I don't know how to deal with this, I thought it was what you wanted… I wanted, I am willing…" She mumbled appearing to him like a child lost. "I've never known this."
"I know." He led her inside then closed the door behind them, bolting it again. "I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you." He murmured. "For the things I said."
"You have no need to apologise." She gripped his hand in hers forcing him to look at her. "I'm sorry I underestimated you…"
"Women tend to do that about men, I've gotten used to it over the years." He smiled weakly. "What I want from you isn't purely physical Clarisse. Hell that would be easier to deal with."
She nodded, "I understand." Her eyes closed and she shook her head. "I'm embarrassed now, I'm fifty years old and I'm struggling to deal with raging hormones."
He smiled. "Most people go through that in their younger years."
"I suppose they do." She glanced away from him. "I'm cold, is the fire burning?"
"It should be." She rubbed her arms and walked away from him heading into the lounge, he thought of the young fragile Clarisse entering the palace for the first time, surrendering her innocent body to her new husband. That wasn't love, she didn't know love.
He went to the kitchen and made coffee then took it in to the lounge, seated himself on the floor next to her in front of the fire.
"Thank you. You really have been wonderful Joseph I'm not sure I could have done this alone, in fact I know I couldn't."
"You don't give yourself enough credit, you're stronger than most people think."
"The cooking? I hate to cook, I'd have starved if it weren't for you."
"I'll grant you on that." He smiled, leant back against the couch sipping his coffee.
"What do we do, when we return? How can we deal with this?" She whispered, almost afraid of what his response might be.
"I'm afraid the ball is in your court there my dear, as they say."
She turned to look at him over her shoulder.
"I'll do whatever you wish." He shrugged, "If its better for me to leave then I will."
"No, no never that, I need you. If these past five years have taught me anything it's that I need you now more than ever. Each day seems to leave me more drained than the last, I need your support. You're the only person I can talk to… really talk to."
His breath was shaky as he reached a hand out to her; she grasped it and squeezed it forcefully. "Stay with me."
"Whatever happens." He smiled.
She sat beside him, pulled the blanket from the couch and covered their legs.
"Are you hungry yet?"
"A little." She replied. "What do we have?"
"I'm not sure, you know right now what I really fancy?"
"Tell me?" She smiled, enjoying the light heartedness of their conversation.
"Cheese and biscuits and fresh fruit."
"And wine too I guess." She smiled.
"That would help, though it's a little early."
"I suppose, what type of cheese do you like?"
"Blue, any type of strong blue."
"Soft French blue." She added relaxing back into the cushions. "Red or white wine?"
"Red, you?"
"Champagne." She smiled.
"Of course, the lady likes Champagne, of course."
She laughed. "Music?"
"Anything, from classical and opera right down to good old rock 'n' roll."
"Art?"
"Not that bothered, if it looks nice then I'll say so, beyond that…" He shrugged. "Am I uncultured?"
"No, its refreshing to meet somebody who just doesn't give a damn." She smiled. "First kiss?"
"Ah now we're getting to it, 15 years old on a hot summers day, eating ice-cream in the garden with her."
"Her?"
"Louisa, my best friend since I was ten. Married an architect, had three children."
"How lovely. You never wanted that, children?"
"I never really had time to stop and think about it. You anyway, your first kiss."
"Rupert." She said honestly. "18. Very boring I'm afraid."
"You could never be boring."
"Some might disagree."
"Hmm…" he breathed deeply. "So what would you like to eat?"
"Right now if I could have anything?"
He nodded.
"Erm, Tea, of course."
"Oh of course." He smiled.
"An English Tea, with scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam."
"Very nice, if not a little sickly."
She reached across and folded her fingers with his, without a word, without even looking at him, as simple and natural as breathing in and out.
He looked down at their entwined hands, at the tone of her skin, the finely manicured polished nails chipped from their exertions of three nights ago. The lines, the silvery veins at her wrist, how delicate and small her hand looked against his, how beautiful. Then the diamond on her finger, huge and to him grotesque, swallowing up her delicateness.
"When we get home," she stated. "We must share Tea one afternoon."
"Perhaps we should wait until the summer, when the strawberries are fresh and sweet."
She turned her head to regard him, a lopsided grin on her face. "You continue to surprise me, summer it is, a date so to speak." She took in his sad expression. "Or perhaps not."
"Perhaps not."
"Friends having Tea." She squeezed his hand questioning.
He nodded; he didn't have the heart to say that he never believed it would happen, that it would never leave this room. That this forging of a relationship was on a road to nowhere.
"I've never felt like this." She whispered, suddenly afraid of her words. "I've never known this."
He didn't speak; hardly dare breathe for fear of upsetting her looseness of tongue.
"I've told you before, I feel so alone at times, so isolated. And the strange thing is I've never dared admit that to myself before, let alone anybody else. I feel I could tell you anything, I feel you are more part of me now… and each day it grows and becomes more. And I'm sorry I don't know how to express it very well."
"Clarisse, you express it beautifully."
"I can't let go of your hand, I'm afraid of what will happen if I do, I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't."
"You know I love you, and I always have…"
She closed her eyes, felt hot tears sting in the corner then trickle down her face, stopping on her chin and dripping to her neck. Joseph watched them fall, didn't attempt to stop them, perhaps it was good to cry every now and then, to cry over something important. As he watched her he realised now there was now turning back, not after all that had been said and passed between them here. He had the feeling of being lost… her hand still clung to his, warm and comforting, offering a lifeline.
