Standing in the doorway between her mother and the American visitor, Kate looked back and forth between them for some kind of explanation.
"Why don't you take your homework upstairs," Rose said stroking a protective hand over her daughter's hair. "I'll bring you a drink and some biscuits up in a bit," she added trying to sweeten the deal.
"OK," Kate finally agreed, scurrying from Rose's reassuring touch. After she had disappeared up the stairs, Ron dared to speak.
"Hi," Ron said again, and once more Rose found her stomach flip reflexively at the sound of his voice.
After gazing at him wordlessly for a few seconds, she remembered social norms. "Would you like to come in?"
"I'd love that," he told her genuinely, and Rose lead him through into the sitting room.
The room was smaller than the sitting room she'd had back in Moybeg, but still cozy and inviting. The walls were painted a muted mustard shade, making the pale jade green of the 3-piece-suite pop in contrast.
The fireplace mantel was lined with pictures, the largest being one of Rose and all three of her children, taken not long before Ron had met Rose in the autumn of 1943. Michael, Ron noted, was nowhere to be seen in the image.
"Would you like some tea?" Rose asked nervously, subconsciously bringing her hand to straighten her hair. "Still no coffee I'm afraid."
Looking at her, Ron noted that unlike Michael whose appearance had aged greater than the time in which he'd last seen him, Rose appeared younger and fresher. She looked more at ease with herself, less like someone who was always fighting an eternal inner turmoil, and more like someone who had found their place in the world.
"Tea will be fine, thank you," he told her as he took a seat on the settee. "So, how have you been?" he asked dumbly, making Rose pause on her way out of the room.
"I've been...fine," she said turning to him, placing the teatowel she realised she still held down on the table. "How did you find me?" she enquired perplexed as she took a seat in a chair next to the settee.
"I went to Moybeg to see you, Michael gave me your address," Ron said, to which Rose opened her mouth slightly in surprise as she nodded. "You live in a beautiful place," he noted, surprising himself when the words he'd spoken to Rose years earlier on the shore came out again.
"Yes, it's only been a few months but I'm happy here," she smiled easily. "I thought of moving back to Shoreham, but a clean slate seemed...easier. The position means I can see Vera regularly, but also take trips into London."
"So, you stayed in Moybeg until the end of the war?" Ron asked.
"I did," Rose nodded. "Just after you left, Michael...found out," she paused and looked at Ron from under her eyes, looking down again before continuing, "he found my letters to Vera and worked things out. He was so awfully understanding about the whole thing, much more than I deserved…" she sighed. "He could've easily ruined me, stopped me from seeing the children ever again," she shook her head regretfully at her past actions. "But he didn't, and I'm grateful for that every day."
"He's a good man," Ron nodded.
Rose nodded, taking a breath before she continued. "So yes, I stayed in Moybeg until the war was over, then I came here to try and start anew. Michael allowed me some of our savings, so I was able to get the house," she gestured to the space surrounding them. "I gave the children the decision as to who they wished to stay with. Emma was starting at university anyway, and Francis didn't want to leave his father and his friends...which I understand," she insisted, although Ron could see hurt in her eyes. "He's been to visit though," she added more upbeat. "And Kate goes back to see her father too."
"And Emma?" he ventured carefully.
"Things between Emma and myself have been strained," she said sadly. "She found it difficult to see her parents part. We weren't going to tell her about anything else, but she...realised," she said remorsefully before adding hopefully: "We're in touch again now though, writing to each other. I hope I might be able to persuade her to come and stay soon, not just for me, but Kate really misses her."
"Does anyone here know about...your past?" Ron enquired.
"Gosh no," Rose shock her head. "People assumed I was widowed in the war, and I never corrected their assumptions," she shrugged her shoulders. "It made everything so much simpler, even if I do feel guilty for it. I even lied and said Francis was living with his grandparents, hence the visits..."
"You shouldn't feel bad," Ron insisted. "People can be so judgemental, especially to a single woman."
Rose was quiet, enjoying the forgotten sense of reassurance and comfort he always gave to her. She was reminded of how he soothed her, bringing her a sense of calm no matter the worry.
"I was so fortunate to get a job working at the library," she broke the silence which was beginning to feel heavy. "I can mostly work around Kate's school hours, so I'm here when she needs me. If not, there is a friend of hers whose parents are so accommodating and will take her until I can collect her."
"That's great," Ron offered awkwardly, the tension of unspoken words hanging between them.
Silence set in again and Rose decided it was time for her to ask the obvious question, the one she'd be avoiding since he arrived.
"After you left Moybeg...where did you do?" she said with curious trepidation, an irrational fear of hearing of his wife creeping its way into her consciousness.
"I went home for a short time after I left Moybeg," Ron told her. "I did what I should've had the courage to do long before: I divorced my wife," he told her plainly.
"Oh," was the only word that came from Rose's mouth as her heart beat faster.
"After that, I was stationed in Berlin for the rest of the war. Then I left the Air Force and decided I needed a fresh start, London seemed as good a place as any. I have a job working for the American Embassy now," he told her with some pride.
Watching him speak, Rose couldn't quite believe he was here, in her home. She had dreamed of him so many nights since they parted, only to wake with a heavy heart certain she would never see him again. She was sure she'd have to carry the regret of how they'd left things, and pain of never knowing if he still loved her too, to her grave.
His appearance had changed little, although she observed he wore his hair a little longer than he had during the time in which she'd known him. He was less clean shaven too, a smattering of dark blonde hair could be seen forming a faint 5 o'clock shadow along his jaw. Both of these things, she thought absently, were likely because he was now freed from the constraints of the Air Force. Seeing him out of his uniform still surprised her too, although he looked smart and well put together in an outfit reminiscent of what she'd seen him wear during their short stay in Scotland.
"I suppose I shan't call you Captain Dreyfuss anymore then," Rose said with an anxious smile, glancing nervously downwards to avoid his gaze after realising she'd been lost staring at him for longer than she should.
"You can still call me Captain Dreyfuss if you'd like," Ron said as Rose glanced up to see the spark of flirtation in his eyes. "You can call me anything," he added, his steely gaze loaded with meaning.
His recall of their conversation the night of the party in the Air Force hangar years earlier flawed Rose. While it was one of the moments she found herself replay often, she'd convinced herself it was likely just another forgotten and insignificant exchange to him. She looked at him wordlessly for a moment, slightly open mouthed, before collecting herself.
"I really should get that tea," she bustled as she spoke getting up from her seat.
Reaching out his hand to touch her arm, Ron stilled her. "Rose, I didn't come here for tea."
Swallowing, she sat slowly down. His stare remained carefully fixed on her face. As they looked at each other intently, he placed his hands on top of hers.
"I came to find you because I couldn't carry on without knowing if just maybe you still loved me too," he confessed, feeling a long held weight lift from his shoulders.
"Of course I still love you," Rose said quite matter-of-factly, "but it's not that simple..."
"Isn't it?" Ron countered. "Why can't it be? We're both single now, the war is over." Rose simply looked at him as her brow creased in hesitation. "I'm not proposing we get married, although heaven knows I'd love that," he chuckled slightly. "I just want us to try, to see where we might go with no more lies and no more hiding."
"I..." Rose started before words failed her.
"Please, if we could spend time together, like a normal couple. Just to do simple things, like go to the movies or to dinner," he smiled hopefully clutching her hands in his own. "What he have is rare, you've got to believe it's worth a chance"
"OK," Rose finally conceded hesitantly.
"OK?" Ron asked squeezing her hands and looking into her eyes.
"OK," she replied more confidently, a smile breaking out on her face.
Surprising herself with her lack of restraint, Rose leant forward and pressed her lips firmly to his. It took less than a second for Ron to respond, his hands going to her shoulders pressing her closer to him as they kissed passionately.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she told him tearfully when they parted.
"Rose, I'm so sorry," he apologised as he took her face into his hands. "I thought you hated me, and I told myself you'd be better off without me..." Ron shock his head. "But I never stopped loving you, never."
"Me too, I wanted to be able to hate you, but I just couldn't," she gave a melancholy smile. "Promise me, swear to me, you'll never leave me like that again?"
Ron nodded fiercely. "I swear," he said surprised to find himself fighting back tears, "may God strike me down, I swear."
They kissed again tenderly. When they broke apart, they looked into each other's eyes and for the first time, let themselves see tangible a future together.
If she were the Lady of Shallot, Rose thought, she no longer felt half sick of shadows, for she had broken free. She could now look up and see the world around her without fear. She had more than longing. More than hope. More than shadows.