The sun beat down on the small Quirmian beach.
There was no sound but that of the waves, lapping the shore, the gentle clack-clack of heels on the wooden panels of the promenade and soft conversation. Two figures could be made out, working their way along the structure that jutted out to sea; one distinctly male, tall, slim, dressed in slick black trousers, a white shirt and an unbuttoned waistcoat; the other clearly female, small, dark, elegant in a long white flowing dress that was lightly buffeted by the wind, a very large floppy hat and a small red sunshade, which she carried over her shoulder.
She spun her parasol between her fingers as she walked, "Okay," she hummed, "What about Lipwig?"
"Six piles of paperwork on the desk. I made him sit in on seventeen appointments and I believe he took notes. I also have a direct clacks line to him in the office." He absently drummed his fingers on the back of her hand, which was tucked into the crook of his elbow.
She shook her head and regarded him over the top of her large round sunglasses, "Then why are you fretting?"
"And what evidence has led you to conclude that I am, as you say," he gestured with his free hand, "Fretting?"
"Your body language; you're not relaxed."
"You'll have to be more specific than that, I'm afraid."
She pulled her arm away and placed her hands on her hips, stopping their stroll down the promenade. "Fine. Your shoulders are tensed, you're distracted - it took you a whole three seconds extra to solve the crossword this morning. You thought I didn't notice? I noticed. You spent ten minutes, whilst I was getting dressed, just staring out of the window and frowning. You've been drumming your fingers on my hand for the last five minutes, and when you stand still," she pointed to his foot with the butt of her umbrella, "You tap. You're agitated and anxious."
He glanced out across the flashing ultramarine waves, before returning his gaze back to her, "It would be highly illogical for me to not be. Are you not?"
"I know that I have spent weeks setting everything up in Uberwald, anticipating every eventuality - winding up the clock, if you will, so that it will keep ticking on nicely and won't need another wind for at least another two months. And you have done the same, and we have spent the last thirteen minutes going through every single measure, countermeasure, and counter-countermeasure you have put in place to keep things stable." She took his arm again and squeezed it, "Everything will be fine."
"There is no way that you could possibly predict whether-"
"I give up!" She threw her hands up in the air and marched away, clutching the parasol over her shoulder as if it were an axe, or something equally threatening, "I knew you would be like this! You said that it would be an experiment, the next logical step, you were really positive about it!"
"Margolotta-"
"I should have known it was too good to be true, that you'd never relax or just enjoy yourself."
She reached the railing at the end of the promenade and balled her free fist on it, spinning the parasol furiously in her other hand. It took three of his long strides to catch up with her and had to dodge to avoid it, very nearly losing an eye for his troubles. He waited until the speed of the twirling sunshade had slowed and the tension had disappeared from her jaw before he placed his hand gently over her first.
"I enjoyed last night." he corrected her, quietly.
She fixed her eyes sternly on the horizon and did not speak.
"I'm sorry if I have been…distracted." he sighed, "Morporkia is relentless."
She stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, "Already? You've only been gone a fortnight."
"I think she's jealous." He speculated, absently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
"Its about time she has the opportunity to be." She murmured, pulling away her hand and turning to walk back, but he could hear the smile in her voice. He followed her and interlaced his fingers with hers, holding back a grin as she did not resist.
"So," he bounced lightly on his bare heels, "We have about an hour before Igor gets back with the afternoon's clacks; what would you like to do?"
"I have never been to the seaside before - the undead tend to avoid warm and sunny places. What is the correct protocol?"
He shrugged, "Last time I went, I was nine years old and it rained all week, so we never actually got onto the beach. I have been reliably informed, however, that it involves ice cream."
"That sounds promising." She smiled, "And what then?"
Their feet met hot, soft sand, which sunk with every footfall. She slipped off her shoes and looped the straps around the wrist of the hand that held the parasol, the other gripping his arm tightly as they staggered their way over the ground. It shortly gave way to a vast expanse of pebbles, which proved easier to navigate with both hands for balance.
"Well," he continued, making a careful path across the larger, more stable rocks, and offering her a hand to help her down off the last one, "Unless you have any particular desire to go and explore rock pools, paddle in the sea, or build a miniature of your home in sand, I suggest we set up the recliners and enjoy the weather."
"A fantastic idea. We ought to get some drinks," As they crossed the small sea of sand dunes and wild grass back towards the chalets, she scoured the beach from end to end, "I can't see Mina anywhere, they were just here when we left…"
"Drumknott informed me that he and Miss Healstether were hoping to create a report on the plant and bacterial life present at low tide. I would imagine that they are currently out making their records."
"Well…I am sure they will have a fantastic time." She raised her eyes to the sky to indicate her train of thought was entirely innocent, "They are certainly getting along very well…"
"Very well indeed." Vetinari smiled, and nothing more needed to be said.
In front of the chalet, where the edge of the sand dunes met the rather sizable and well-kept lawn, were two striped deck chairs set up, with a large umbrella propped strategically so that it covered all of one and most of the other. The positioning also meant that the occupiers could rest their belongings on the grass, their feet on the warm sand, and look out at the endless blue of the slowly returning tide.
If Margolotta had not been a vampire, she would have flopped into her chair. However, as she was, her movements were more like a catlike pounce and stretch. She leant back, arms behind her head and eyes closed, a small, contented smile curling the corners of her lips. "I should have gone on holiday years ago." she breathed, "I thought the peace would bore me, but it is nothing short of idyllic."
"I must admit, it is a pleasant change from the broiling waters of politics." he conceded.
She opened one eye, "Igor?"
The patchwork butler was at once at her elbow, "Yeth, Mithreth?"
"Could you be a dear and fetch us some drinks? I saw some rather nice Claret in the cabinet." she glanced over her shoulder at her companion, who was resting his elbows on the top of her chair, "Wine, Havelock? Oh, Igor has been learning to make cocktails, I'm sure he could fetch you something exciting, if you wanted?"
He laughed at the feline grin and shook his head, "Wine will do me perfectly, thank you."
"Out of curiosity, Igor, what cocktails have you learnt to make?"
"My repertoire includeth but ith not limited to; Woo-Hoo, Klatchian Thandal, The Purple One and Thex on the Beach." Igor listed.
"Oh," Margolotta kept a well-practised pokerface, "Well, we'll have to try at least one before the holiday is out, won't we, Havelock?"
"I wouldn't dream of letting such expertise go to waste." He answered smoothly.
Igor did a bobbing sort of bow in response and sidled off.
"That ability of his is rather unnerving," Vetinari eyed the bushes suspiciously, "How does he manage to stay permanently in earshot?"
"I find it best not to speculate. Apparently, its hereditary."
In the comfortable pause that followed, he watched; he watched the sea, watched the waves breaking on the shore, followed the path of a small Quirmian boy as he chased a dog along faraway dunes, and watched Margolotta settle in her chair and relax.
He waited for a moment, before making his silent way around in front of her. He concluded that she was about three minutes away from a light nap, which meant that he had two options - either he could leave her to snooze most of the afternoon away and catch up on her natural sleeping pattern, or he could take the perfect opportunity to make her jump and enjoy her very pleasant, if consequently grumpy, company for the next few hours instead.
How often did he get the chance to indulge his trivially selfish side? Mind made up, he leant forward, placing one hand on either side of the chair, ready to take her by surprise with a kiss-
And he would have done, had the chair not, in the way typical of deck chairs, collapsed with no prior warning.
She let out a shriek, and the wind was knocked out of both of them as he landed on top of her. They lay, sprawled, for a few moments, completely startled at suddenly finding themselves on the ground. He lifted his head to see - far from the irritation he had expected - amusement writ all over her face.
"You broke the chair. I cannot believe you have managed to break the chair already."
"Deck chairs are notoriously unstable. There must have been a screw loose somewhere." He began to sit up, before his brain pointed out that this was a ridiculous thing to do because he currently had a rather warm pneumatic pillow, and that was not a situation to take for granted. The thought distracted him for long enough for Margolotta to notice his reluctance with a smirk.
"Either get up and help me up, dear, or find something more productive to do." She purred.
And so productivity increased.
Until Igor got back, that is.