She hadn't been bothered to move the settee back, negotiating round it with two tea cups in hand, and now the clock was ticking towards ten o'clock. Dressed and nursing one of those cups of tea she had brought back up from breakfast - one for her one for him - she only found her husband still fast asleep precisely where she had left him.
Ever so gently she placed her hand around the cup that she had left for him on the table on his side. It was still quite hot – just – but the last thing she wanted to do was wake him up unless she truly had to. Still she would have too soon enough as she didn't want him cursing her over a wasted cup of tea. She'd noticed that when she visited his parents for the first time, sitting down for supper with them all that time ago that he was funny about wasting food and drink.
"Its back to vose days, Camilla" his father had told her. "Stuck for days wivout eatin' an' drinkin' when 'e was fightin', vat he can't shake it. Arguments 'e an' 'is muvver used to 'ave over it". From that moment on though, even though at the time she knew very little about what had happened to him, she'd always make sure she would eat every scrap on her plate when she was in his company. Anything to make it easier.
Gently she placed her cup down to and sat up on the covers of the bed, lying down, stretching out and turning to him. He was on his stomach head turned towards her and very, very asleep.
Chummy frowned for a second. "What did I do?" she whispered to herself. "What did I do?"
She still didn't understand why he had chosen her as she reached out and ran a finger gently from his cheekbone to his chin, feeling the beginnings of stubble. Chummy bit her lip to stop a smile, remembering that second post (second) engagement date when she had slipped off with him, coming back to Nonnatus with what could only be described as a touch of beard burn. She remembered running off upstairs hoping she would not run into anyone having caught side of herself in the hall mirror. How ashamed she felt! How obvious it would have been, had anyone actually seen her, that she had been up to no good.
There was no need for that any more though, now nobody could question her actions or her thoughts towards him or that thing called desire that she was relatively sure she was capable of feeling. That thing she was told that she was not allowed to feel or indeed experience for that but somehow here she was.
Quiet time. Just have this quiet time with him, not worrying about anyone else and to just have these moments that would stay with her for the rest of her life. She would remember this honeymoon if only because it followed one of the most unexpected times in her life and for the first time she was not worrying about may be around the corner; only hope.
Gently she ran her finger from his cheek to his chin again, but there was not a flicker of a response from him though. Should she wake him up?
"Peter?" she asked, gently squeezing his bare arm. "Wake up".
She saw him shift slightly. "Peter, come on wake up. It's gone ten".
"You are tiring me out…." he said suddenly, although her creeping onto the bed in the first place had started to bring him out of unconsciousness.
"What?" she replied, suddenly panicked, withdrawing, convinced she had been doing something terribly wrong.
"Camilla, it was a joke" he emphasized seeing the anxiety in her eyes. "It was a joke. I am not complaining!" He leant up on his elbows, rubbing a hand across his face before he turned over onto his back. She felt her hand being taken up.
"You can wear me out all you like. I will never mind". He wasn't looking her in the eye now, a touch embarrassed he had made the comment in the first place at all. You just didn't talk about things like that to a girl. Or at least that is what his mother had told him. Mind you, she was his wife now and wasn't she meant to be his best friend too so maybe talk like that was allowed?
"Come back to bed" he mumbled, ideally wanting to just snuggle up with her and just not get up today.
"Pe-ter" she replied, a seesaw of syllables. "It's a lovely day outside. Come on".
"Not yet" he responded, seeing her go to slide off the bed, just about managing to grab hold of her ankle as she slithered away from him, successful in her mission to wake him up.
"Let go!" she stuttered almost pulling him along with her so he was lying diagonally across the bed as she staggered across the floor trying to find her balance. There was a knock on the door.
"Disturbing the neighbours then Mrs Noakes?" he joked.
"Shush!" she replied sharply, having retrieved her leg and brushing down her dress, making sure her hair was straight in the process. "Get back into bed properly" she whispered flicking her hand at him, fearful of the fact that at that particular moment, they looked far too far from respectable. "It might be her again".
Chummy saw him disappear again before opening the door and from underneath the covers Peter heard a conversation, a limited exchange of words, and the door closing. "Well?" he asked, peeking out seeing the coast was clear from interference. She had a cream envelope in her hand.
"A telegram" Chummy replied, opening up the missive.
"From?" he asked.
"I have no idea". Chummy began to read. "Hope you are having a wonderful time. Stop. Wedding was beautiful. Stop. Love Mum and Dad"
"Well that has to be your parents not mine!" Chummy noted interrupting herself, not completely joking. "PS. Go and see Ernie. Stop".
"Ernie?" Chummy asked sitting back down on the end of the bed.
"Oh I know who that is" Peter replied, knowing exactly what his parents meant, well what his mother meant as it certainly would not have been his Dad putting that in the telegram, and wondering whether it was really a good idea to take her there. Still there was no harm in a little teasing to go with it whilst he made up his mind about the prospect.
"And?" Chummy replied, one eyebrow raised, folding the telegram back into his envelope seeing Peter crumple his nose, shake his head and launch himself back onto the pillow.
"Tell me" she asked, best persuasive voice on, wondering if she spoke to him like that it might just work.
"Maybe later" he replied, turning his head away so he was now lying facing towards the wall his back to her. Chummy rolled her eyes not entirely in mock frustration.
"Peter" she started. He felt the bed dip behind him as she moved up towards him. "Who's Ernie?" she was more intrigued now. There was nothing but silence though as she tucked the telegram onto the bedside table waiting for a response.
She looked at him and huffed, hoping he wouldn't think she was being serious. "Fine then" she said. "Your tea is going cold and I think I might just go for a walk on my own then!"
Peter let her get up, watching her with one eye put on her shoes, collect her coat from the wardrobe and pick up her handbag.
"Camilla..." he said quietly. "Take them off and come here". She had every mind just to go on her walk but the tone of his voice stopped her. It was the 'come here' that did it; never one to take to being commanded but something just stopped her from answering back, being cheeky or continuing to walk. She did what he asked though and slipped into bed beside him again.
"Ernie is a friend, well more of an acquaintance of Mum and Aunty May when they were kids. She's actually called Ernesta but was always called Ernie". Peter paused, because this was going to sound ridiculous. "She's a psychic or so Mum believes. Crystal ball, cards, all of that type of rubbish".
"Oh" Chummy replied. She had never been to seen a psychic before and there was a part of her that, now he had explained, actually interested her.
"When we were up here, Mum used to insist on going to see her and dragged Philip and me in with her. None of her 'predictions'" Peter emphasised, "ever came to fruition but Mum still thinks she's the bees knees".
"Oh" she repeated.
"Mum obviously thinks that she's going to be able to tell us how our life will map out!" he smiled. "It's all bunkum", Peter concluded, wrapping his hand around hers, still in two minds as to whether he wanted to get up or not. He looked up at her and he could tell she was dying to ask. "But if you want to go and meet her then we will go".
Chummy smiled. "I don't believe in it either" she said. "I believe in tangible things I can see and hear and experience, but...I want to be part of your family. Your Mum obviously thinks what she comes out with is true. I'd like to be able to tell your Mum we went and tell her what she said". She swallowed. It was acceptance, that was all.
"You don't have to make Mum like you. She does already" Peter replied. "She's told me enough times!"
"Really?"
"Yes really" Peter assured her. The amount of dropping hints to invite her to tea, or when she might see grandchildren were enough to make him realise that he had been right to ask her to marry him, even only knowing her such a short time. "Mum wants you to be her daughter, not just my wife". He frowned. "Camilla, I know you didn't have the best of times growing up and neither did I for that, but at least I had my mother being a mother to me, even if she does believe in psychics!"
She matched his frown. It was only to stop herself from crying.
"We will go and see her; have lunch and see what trouble I can cause you today, hey?" Peter said, trying to cheer her up. He was about to say what trouble she could cause but decided against it.
Chummy smiled quickly and nodded her head. "Yes", she smiled again. "I'd like that".
