Capri, 1934

Helen walked briskly out of the bathroom as James entered and he paused for a moment to appreciate the view as she stood in front of the wardrobe clad only in stockings and knickers, her long red hair trailing down her back between her shoulder blades. It was starting to curl at the ends despite her best efforts to straighten it with the tongs she had bought in New York the year before.

She didn't seem aware of his presence so he coughed lightly and she turned to peer at him over her shoulder with a look of surprise on her face.

"Oh for heaven's sake, James close the door!" she scolded crossing her arms across her chest and hiding behind the open front of the cupboard.

"Really Helen, that scrap you wear on the beach and now you want to be bashful," James uttered in a playful tone, shutting the door behind him. Helen glared at him for a second and plucked a hangar out of the wardrobe before walking over to him, the long blue gown trailing across the carpet beside her.

"Look at my face James," she told him and he raised his chin to find her smirking at him.

"Sorry darling," he drawled, reaching out and running the palms of his hands down her arms. Helen leant closer and rubbed her nose against his gently and James squeezed her as she kissed him softly on the mouth. He hummed and parted his lips but Helen pulled back and shoved her dress into his chest, chuckling.

"Hold this," she commanded and James complied as she pulled back and eased the dress off the hangar. She stepped into it, balancing a hand on his shoulder.

"Honestly Helen, no bra?" he asked scandalised and she flicked her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly.

"It would rather spoil the effect," she uttered, turning around as she slipped her arms into the dress to reveal the low cut that exposed her spine, secretly pleased at the unusual hint of jealousy in his voice. James gaped as Helen glided across the floor to pluck her shoes from the chair, flimsy, strappy things studded with sequins. When she stooped down and shifted her foot into one of the shoes and James was somewhat relieved to see the neckline was modestly high revealing only the barest hint of her collarbone. James gazed at her in silence, the colour of her dress making her eyes seem impossibly blue. A slow smile crept across her face and she stepped closer.

"Helen, you look..." he murmured and she wrapped her arms about his shoulders.

"You know...I could be late," she began in low tones, a strand of hair falling across her eyes as she tilted her head to one side. James raised his hand and stroked it away, tucking it behind her ear and she leant in and pressed a kiss to his lips. He wrapped his arms around her, his palms brushing the bare skin of her back and she sighed.

"A very tempting proposal but I don't think we have the time," he told her, extricating himself from her arms. "I can't say as I'm particularly thrilled at all this."

"I don't much relish the prospect myself but if you can think of a better way to expedite our little visa problem I'm open to suggestions," Helen replied, a sour expression on her face. "It'll be alright darling, you'll see."

"If you say so, Helen," he told her, stepping towards the bathroom and loosening his tie. Helen raised her eyes to glance at the coving around the ceiling.

"If I get into trouble I shall just ask old Monty to expound on utopian symbolism in the new Moscow Subway. That's enough to dampen even the most torrid of passions," she said with a sigh as the light in the bathroom came on with a click. James harrumpfed.

"Just try not to come home with any more of Audrey's art won't you, Helen," he replied as the water began to run loudly. Helen ran her tongue over her teeth and stood in front of the vanity table and adjusted her earrings as he continued. "They're so insufferably loud and abstract, it makes me dizzy to look at them."

"Of course, darling," Helen said opening a drawer and rifling through for a minute before pulling out a suitable pair of gloves. "You'd rather the walls were covered with dreary watercolours of cows and men with hunting dogs."

"There is nothing wrong with the English school," he said defensively from the doorway but Helen avoided his gaze where it was reflected in the mirror, focussing intently on pulling on her gloves.

"It's not the nineteenth century James," Helen retorted as she tugged the silk down towards her elbows. "Art needn't be a mere representation of reality."

"Esoteric claptrap," he groused and Helen snapped her head around to glare at him.

"Charming!" She turned away from the dresser and pulled her shawl from where it hung over the wardrobe door. "If you want to keep the car tonight you'll have to drive me and I'm expected so if you could hurry up please." James huffed a sigh and his shoulders slouched.