For the next few days, Stirling and Joe live a life of zero responsibility and complete relaxation. Every morning, they walk to "their" beach, play in the surf and the sand, enjoy the sun, explore the cove and some small cliff caves, eat delicious lunches prepared by Joe, laugh and talk about everything but the future, before lying together on the beach blanket to nap in the heat of the afternoon.
Sometimes they have company but most days it's just the two of them and the crying seabirds.
Every evening, they gather their belongings and climb the gully path before walking hand-in-hand back to Portwenn. One night they eat dinner together at The Crab and Lobster, trying their hardest to shut out the noise and talk of the other patrons, who watch them and smile knowingly. Another night, they have dinner at the surgery, later curling up together on Stirling's bed to read. And another night, they eat at the police station apartment with PC Garrett, Michael and Christopher and watch a film.
On Joe's final day before returning to duty, the pair laugh and play in the waves, which are a bit higher than usual. As Stirling runs through the surf, she feels Joe reach for her, his fingers grabbing the back of her swimsuit. And, with what sounds like a sigh of defeat, the shoulder straps of Stirling's ancient Speedo finally give way.
"Shit!" she screams before falling in the water, scrambling to find the ends of the broken straps.
"What happened?" asks a winded Joe, bent over, bracing his arms against his thighs.
"You've ruined my bathing suit!" Stirling says, laughing, her fingers finally grasping the strap ends and pulling them up to cover herself. She turns her back to him and makes sure everything is properly covered before she stands up, heading back to shore.
"I did what?" he asks incredulously, following after her.
"When you grabbed for me, the straps on my old bathing top gave way," she explains, digging in her rucksack for her shirt. It's then she notices the black string bikini buried in the bottom. She pulls out the two pieces and considers them.
Why not? she thinks. We're the only ones here; it covers what's necessary.
She turns to look triumphantly at Joe.
"I have a back-up plan. You stay here."
He watches with curiosity as Stirling walks to the far end of the beach and hides behind a large rock. She works quickly, stripping off the ruined swim top and tying on the bikini. She does the same with the bottoms. She checks herself over quickly, making sure everything is covered properly, before grabbing the remains of her Speedo and walking back down the beach toward Joe.
As he watches her approach, he feels something stirring deep in the pit of his stomach. Joe's felt it in Stirling's presence before but not really to the level he experiences it now. It can only be described as raw, visceral lust. He feels his body respond to the visual stimuli of her attired in the most scandalously brief string bikini he's ever seen. And he's more than a bit disconcerted by the emotions he is feeling.
Joe has always prided himself on having strong self control, an important quality in a police constable. Even when goaded and pushed, he never loses his temper; when teased and made fun of, he never loses his good nature; even when kissed and physically stimulated by his ex-wife after years apart, he maintained control, rebuffing her advances and doing the honourable thing. But watching Stirling walk toward him, barely dressed, Joe starts to doubt his self discipline.
"What do you think?" she asks with a smile once she reaches him.
She spins in a small circle in front of him, showing off every angle of the tiny outfit. She stops the rotation facing him, a curious look on her face.
"Are you okay?"
Joe feels like he is going to explode. He wants to grab Stirling, force her against his body, kiss her, feel her, and pull the end of the ridiculously insubstantial bow tied behind her neck plus the one at her back. The bottoms look like they would rip off easily if he pulled with any amount of pressure.
Stop thinking that, he mentally chastises himself, fighting to maintain eye contact with her.
Joe desperately wants to look at her body, take in the small black triangles that barely cover her breasts, the slightly larger black triangles that sort of cover her bum and fanny.
He clears his throat, fighting to find his voice.
"Uhmmm, errrr, aaahh," he stutters, dragging his hand through his hair, trying to find something intelligible to say. He gestures toward her with his left arm but can't find the words.
"Joe?" she asks, reaching out her hand to touch his bare arm, an action that results in his undoing.
His left arm snakes out and cups Stirling behind the neck, pulling her toward him. His lips are on her in seconds, his mouth open, pushing against hers, devouring her. His right arm goes around her, caressing her back, pulling her closer to him. God, he really wants to undo those silly bows. His arm trails down her back, lower and lower, until he is cupping her barely covered bum, pushing her against his groin.
Stirling is taken by surprise, something that rarely happens to her. Joe looks so queer when she approaches, almost wild. And then he becomes incoherent, unable to put a sentence together. She thought it was some kind of fit, a seizure, reaching out to touch him. And then he grabs her, pulls her body to him, kissing her in such an assertive and demanding way, like he wants to eat her alive. She doesn't know what to do at first, feeling a wave of longing and desire wash over her. She puts her arms around his body, her right hand at the nape of his neck, her left on his bare back, caressing and pulling. She feels his hand move down her back and cradle her bum, pulling her tighter against his body. She can feel how much he wants her and she gasps against his mouth.
"Oh my god!" she moans between kisses.
She hears him groan and his left hand scrambles at the bow tying her bikini behind her neck. And she stiffens.
Is this what you want? she asks herself as he tries to undo her swim top, caress her body and kiss her, all at the same time.
He had told her she would know when it was time, when it was right, and, while this feels bloody fantastic, it doesn't feel appropriate, proper.
She pulls back from his lips, away from his body. He pulls her back, demanding more.
"Joe, no," she says, turning her head from his lips, trying to twist from his grasp. He holds on tighter.
She's never experienced Joe this excited, this uncontrolled. But she is not frightened. And she doesn't want to hurt him. Kneeing him in the groin would just be cruel and mean. So, she tries a different technique. She raises her right and left arms quickly above her head and drops, gravity and her weight dragging her down and out of Joe's arms. On her knees in front of him, she rolls quickly to the side before he can react, and jumps to her feet.
He turns toward her, his eyes glazed with wanting, and she shoves him hard in the chest.
"I said no!" she yells forcefully.
He stops, confused.
"What the hell?" he asks. "You walk up to me wearing that skimpy outfit, ask me what I think, drive me completely to distraction. I kiss you, you kiss me back; I hold you, you hold me; I caress you, you do the same; and suddenly, you pull away and shut me down."
He's upset and perturbed.
"Are you just messing with me, with my head?" he asks her. "I love you. I want to be with you. I mean physically be with you - have sex with you, shag with you, boff with you, sleep with you, whatever you want to call it. Don't you want the same?"
And there it is, all laid out in the open. No more wondering, no more hinting, no more guessing, no more skirting around the subject. He's asked the question. And Stirling doesn't know how to answer.
She bends over and pulls her T-shirt out of her rucksack, pulling it over her head and covering the skimpy bikini top. She's stalling for time. She needs to think.
"I remember this beautiful, sexy woman asking me to sleep with her, hold her through the night," says Joe, sadly. "I remember her confidence as she tried to have her way with me in a Land Rover on the side of a roadway in broad daylight; falling off the bonnet and trying to undo my trousers in a field in the middle of the night; pulling me into her home so she can take me upstairs to bed."
Stirling looks up at Joe.
"That was before," she whispers.
"Before what?" he asks, already knowing the answer.
"Before Spencer!" she yells.
"And this!" she adds, showing him her inner arms.
"And this!" she says forcefully, pulling up her T-shirt to show both of her sides.
"And this!" she says, pulling down the front of her bikini bottoms to show her stomach scar.
"And I've told you a hundred times I don't see them," he yells back. "They don't matter to me. They only make you more beautiful and desirable in my eyes."
He's silent for a moment.
"Or maybe it's my scars that you don't want to see or touch," he says quietly.
"No!" Stirling gasps, hurt clearly visible in her eyes and the tone of her voice. "That's not true. Never!"
Joe feels ashamed.
"Then why?" he asks desperately. "I love you. I want you. I've wanted you since the first day we met and I honestly thought you felt the same way. Sometimes, you act like you want to go further, you give all the signs and the hints, but then you go only so far and pull away. Why don't you want me anymore?"
Stirling struggles, unable to explain something so complicated and confusing that even she doesn't understand. She does want him, she does. There are so many times she wants to tell him, hint at it. But something is there, holding her back, some invisible barrier, some invisible fear.
"You told me once we would know when the time was right," she says. "When we would be ready. I haven't felt that yet."
Joe visibly flinches and Stirling's heart aches with the pain she's caused him.
"It would appear the great Michael Aubrey, Esquire, was wrong," he says bitterly.
"What do you mean?"
"He swore up and down you were in love with me, that I made you happy!"
Joe gives a sour-sounding laugh.
"He gave me grief for not sleeping with you; doing the deed, sealing the deal, he called it. 'It's amazing what a few long nights of shagging will help you forget,' he told me. That spending your nights in the arms of someone you love, someone who loves you back, will help the nightmares go away. Guess we'll never know."
Stirling lets out a sob as Joe pulls his T-shirt from his rucksack and puts it on. He grabs the straps and puts the bag over his shoulders.
"I'm heading home," he says, turning from her, unable to meet her tear-filled eyes. "I have lots to do before I start back to work tomorrow."
He musters some courage and looks back at her.
"I'll probably be really busy for the first few weeks so I don't know when I'll see you again," he says. "You can always stop by the station and say hello if you want to."
He starts walking toward the path, leaving an emotionally distraught Stirling behind.
He stops just before he leaves the beach.
"I'll wait for you, Stirling," he calls back to her. "But not forever. You need to decide what you want; what you really, really want. It can't continue this way."
He disappears between the rocks.
Stirling falls to the sand, curling into a fetal position on the beach blanket, hugging her knees to her chest, crying as her heart breaks.
She must fall asleep because when Stirling next opens her eyes, the sun is low on the horizon. The tide has come in and is on its way back out.
She sits up and stretches her sore muscles before leaning back against the boulder behind her. She hugs her knees to her chest and watches the waves as the seabirds swoop down toward the water, catching fish in their beaks or their claws.
She's emotionally lost, uncertain what to do.
It's all so bloody confusing, she thinks, cursing the corpse of Spencer Graham. I wish I never met that asshole all those years ago.
Of course, if she follows that wish to its conclusion, she never would have met Sam and, ultimately, Joe; never heard of Portwenn or met the Chief. And what a loss that would have been, especially for her. Because even though her emotions are confused when it comes to Joe, she knows she really does love him and this beautiful place and the Chief and Louisa and Morwenna and all of the other people who are part of her life here. And, because of Spencer, she is no longer that woman who originally met the young, gifted medical student; she's a better person, a stronger person, a kinder person.
Perhaps meeting Spencer Graham and experiencing his twisted, insane wrath was actually a blessing, she considers. It was painful, as all instances of personal growth usually are, but it helped forge her into a person capable of loving and caring and feeling, qualities missing in the cold heart of the career driven genius she once was.
Would the old Stirling Mason Aylesworth the Third consider spending even one minute of her life crying over the possibility of losing the love of a village police constable from Cornwall? she wonders. Never!
And, because of that, Stirling is secretly glad that shallow, wounded version of herself died in that isolation room at St. Thomas' those many months ago. If only it hadn't taken such a catastrophe for it to happen.
If only she could figure out what to do now.
She is staring out into the fading sun sinking slowly into the Celtic Sea when she thinks she hears her name. She looks around but sees nothing. Then she hears it again. She stands up and looks up the gully, unable to spot anything through the foliage.
"Hello," she shouts, cupping her hands to direct her voice up the hill.
She hears her name again.
"Hello!"
A few minutes later, she hears her name much clearer.
"Hello!" she repeats.
A few minutes more and Michael stumbles onto the beach, looking as out of place as a clown at a funeral. As usual, he wears a three-piece black suit, crisp white dress shirt, Old Etonian tie, and highly buffed dress shoes with black socks - not your typical beach wear.
"There you are!" he shouts jovially, staggering toward her as the sand fills his shoes. "Joe suggested I might find you here."
He waddles up and squats down, dropping with a sigh of relief onto his bum beside her on the beach blanket. He immediately removes his shoes, pouring out small mountains of sand.
"Nice spot you have here. I should have brought my swimming trunks."
Stirling says nothing, deciding instead to look out at the darkening sky over the sea.
They sit in silence for several minutes.
"Why are you here, Michael?" she finally asks.
"Well, firstly, I wanted to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" asks Stirling, puzzled.
"Yes, we're pushing off tonight. We've stayed away from London long enough. And Joe is no longer in need of my professional assistance."
"You're not going to stay for the ceremony?"
"No, I've seen enough pomp and circumstance to last me a lifetime. And if anything else comes up, you both know where to reach me."
Stirling feels tears begin to well up. Not only has Joe walked away from her, now Michael, Christopher and Leyland are leaving too.
"What's with the tears, Ling-Ling?" he asks, hugging her to him.
"Everyone is leaving me," she sobs into his beautiful suit.
"Not everyone," Michael says quietly, rubbing her back. "Your Chief is still here, holding down the fort at the surgery. And your Sergeant Penhale is at the Portwenn police station, waiting for you."
"He's not my Sergeant Penhale," she hiccups. "He walked away from me today, left me here, told me he didn't know when he could see me again, that things couldn't continue the way they are."
She sobs harder.
"Bollocks and poppycock!" says Michael. "He will always be your Sergeant Penhale, no matter what cobblers he tells you. He's hurting. You rejected him today and you wounded his heart and his pride. Did you expect him to be happy about it? Don't be daft!"
Stirling looks up from his soaked suit lapel, sniffling.
"He told you what happened?"
"It took me a while to weasel it out of him. I knew something was up when he came into the station before lunch looking po-faced and gloomy. He normally doesn't come whistling through the door until well after dinner. And usually in a much better frame of mind than today. I think he made poor PC Garrett cry."
Michael puts his arm around Stirling's shoulder and hugs her close to him.
"My darling Ling-Ling, you need to figure out what you want and what you plan to do with your life and soon. You used to have such direction, such drive, but Spencer knocked you right off track. I'm not saying that's a bad thing but you can wander aimlessly for only so long. I was so proud of you when you found this position in Portwenn. Sure, Spencer has knocked you off course again but you can get back on it. Only, you have to be sure, really sure this is what you want. Other people are involved here – your Chief, Joe. Very soon you will be 34 – a grown-up age with grown-up responsibilities and, ultimately, grown-up decisions. You have to decide whether you're ready to be that grown-up."
"Myself, I never grew up and look at me," says Michael, leaning back against the boulder. "I need my old valet to look after me. And Christopher to help him. And sometimes even you to lend a helping hand. It may look like fun but having to rely on all these people just so I can make it through a day is humiliating. Being a grown-up has its advantages."
"And this particular situation is a prime example," he adds, standing up. "It's now pitch dark out and I have no clue how the hell to get off this bloody beach."
Stirling can't help but laugh.
"Watch and learn, young grasshopper," she teases, pulling her khaki shorts out of the rucksack before stuffing the beach blanket in it. She pulls on her walking shorts, her socks and her boots before shrugging into the rucksack straps.
"Follow me," she says, walking toward the path leading off the beach and up the gully.
It takes a bit longer in the dark but Stirling and Michael finally climb to the top and the familiar cliff path. But rather than head toward Portwenn, Michael leads her in the opposite direction and then down a short path to a small car park off the main road to Polzeath, where the Bentley sits waiting.
"We were beginning to worry, Mr. Michael," says Leyland, climbing out of the drivers' side to open the back door. "Good to see you again, Miss Stirling."
She climbs in the back with Michael. Christopher is already there, waiting.
On the trip back to Portwenn, she hugs and kisses her friends and thanks them for all the help they provided both Joe and herself.
"And you're always welcome back, anytime," she says. "My door is always open for you."
"We love you, Stirling," Christopher says. "And you are always welcome to visit us in London as well."
"That sounds like a good idea," she says wistfully.
"Figure out what you want first," Michael growls.
She smiles and kisses his cheek.
"I know, I know; be a grown-up."
Leyland stops the Bentley in front of the surgery and helps Stirling out. She gives him a hug and a kiss goodbye.
"Take good care of them," she says.
"Always, Miss," the old man says with a smile, shutting the passenger door. He is about to climb back into the car when he pauses and turns to her.
"And if you meet someone who is able to turn pain into poetry, don't let them go," he says softly.
Stirling is still crying quietly as the Bentley disappears up the high street heading out of the village.
The next morning, Stirling awakens early, intent on seeing the Chief for a quick check-up of her hands. She easily beats the first patient of the day and he makes time for her, spreading her fingers and hands on his desk top. He carefully examines each digit, studying its range of motion and dexterity. He has her make a fist and lift each finger from the fist one at a time, repeating with the other hand.
"Come with me," he says, getting up from his desk and leaving the consulting room. He notices his first patient has arrived.
"I'll just be a few more minutes, Miss Alton," he tells the young lady chatting with Morwenna.
Stirling follows the Chief through the low hallway into the kitchen and ultimately to the piano room. He lifts the key cover and has her sit down.
"I want you to play some scales and then a few simple songs. Nothing too complicated or taxing on your fingers. Let's see how much they remember."
Stirling sets her fingers lightly on the keys and moves through several scales. At first she's a bit rusty - she hasn't been practicing daily like she should be - and strikes a few wrong notes. But she soon is flying through the scales flawlessly. She switches to a simple tune, Sonata Pathetique by Beethoven.
"I was thinking of something simpler, like Twinkle, Twinkle, or Mary had a Little Lamb," the Chief says.
"This is simple," Stirling says, playing through the song flawlessly.
He pauses for a moment.
"Try something a bit harder."
Stirling has just the song - Piano Sonata No. 11 in A Major by Mozart.
Her digits fly over the keys and the Doc watches her fingers as closely as he can at that speed. He's surprised when he looks up to find Morwenna and Miss Alton watching from the piano room doorway, mesmerized by the song. Stirling's eyes are closed; as usual she travels somewhere else mentally as she plays.
As the final note dies away, she is surprised by the applause from the Chief plus Morwenna and Miss Alton.
"Beautiful," says the Doc, looking at her and nodding his head. "Your fingers have healed better than I ever expected. I think it's time you returned to work."
Stirling gasps and smiles with excitement.
"When?"
"Well, today is Thursday," he says. "I'll finish out the week and you can start with house calls on Monday and Tuesday. I know that's opposite of the usual pattern but we'll try that for the first week and go from there."
Stirling jumps up from the piano bench and hugs the Chief, kissing him softly on the cheek.
"Thank you!" she says.
He looks embarrassed and clears his throat.
"No, thank you. The Truro hospital has been pressuring me to return to surgeries for the past few weeks. This will help free up some time and begin the process of establishing a regular schedule again."
He moves to return to the consulting room but stops, turning around.
"I'm looking forward to having you back, Dr. Aylesworth," he says. "Everyone in the village is."
Stirling is ecstatic with the news and instantly thinks about walking down to the police station to tell Joe. But she stops, remembering how it all ended yesterday. She's not certain where she stands with him. And he had mentioned how busy he is likely to be for the next few weeks.
Stirling instead decides to do something she's been meaning to do for a few weeks - some retail therapy. First thing on the list - a new swimsuit.
The Triumph has been sitting for the past week gathering road dust in the side parking lot. In honour of Joe's motorcycle lessons, the side car was removed and Stirling decides to keep it off for now. With Bucephalus gone, there really is no need for the bulky item and the Triumph actually performs better without the added weight on the side. The sidecar has been placed up on boards to protect it from the damp and covered with a tarp, tied and weighted down.
She slips on her light weight leather jacket, helmet and goggles, excited to finally be riding the bike again. It easily roars to life on the first kick and she backs it slowly off the stand. With her boots up and her gloves gripping the handles, she roars out of the village, looking forward to the open roads of the moor and the wind in her face.
Stirling's about 10 minutes out of Portwenn when she first catches a glimpse of something in her side mirror. It looks like a flashing light but she can't be sure as she winds through several turns and up and down a few hills, hiding whatever is behind her from sight. She decides to click the cycle into a higher gear and give it a bit more gas. She easily surges ahead and she feels the giddy emotion resulting from increased speed. She laughs with joy.
She's a further five minutes ahead when she hears the siren. She glances in her side mirror and there's no mistaking the flashing lights coming up quickly behind her. It's a police vehicle. She gears down the bike and pulls over to the left, shutting down the machine. She pulls up her goggles and unbuckles her helmet, pulling it off and setting it in front of her. She hears the police vehicle stop behind her and shut off, followed by the drivers' side door opening and closing. The gravel along the roadside crunches as the footsteps approach her.
"Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" a familiar voice asks her.
Stirling turns to find Joe standing beside her, dressed in his typical warm weather uniform - a brilliant white short-sleeved collared shirt with black tie and black epaulettes, black razor edge creased wool uniform pants, and incredibly shiny black dress shoes. Around his waist is clipped his ever present duty belt, fully stocked with notebooks, mobile phone, police radio, pepper spray, telescoping baton and speedcuffs. He's gripping a notebook and pencil in his hands, his eyes serious.
"I have no idea, Constable," she says.
"Actually, it's Sergeant," he says.
"My apologies," she says. "I have no idea, Sergeant."
"I measured you travelling 80 miles per hour in a 60 mile per hour zone," he says.
Stirling looks at him sharply, outraged.
"Bollocks!" she says angrily. "I want to see the reading."
"Are you suggesting I'm lying?" he asks calmly.
"No, I'm suggesting your laser speed gun has been calibrated incorrectly," she says. "I was not going 80 in a 60 zone. If you told me I was going 70 in a 60, I'd be more inclined to believe you. But no way was I going 80 in a 60."
"I need to see your licence and motorcycle registration," Joe says calmly.
Stirling is seething inside as she digs out her wallet and removes the necessary documentation from their sleeves. She hands them to Joe, who touches her fingertips briefly with his own when he takes the paper slips from her. She feels a tingle of excitement from the unexpected touch. Joe remains expressionless as he reads the documents.
"Stir-ling," he says. "That's a very interesting name."
She looks at him with a frown.
What the hell is he playing at? she wonders.
"I'm named after my dad," she answers, following his lead. "I was supposed to be a boy."
Joe looks up at her, his expression unreadable.
"Well, you certainly don't look like a boy."
He bends his head back down to the documents.
"It says here you live in Portwenn. Where exactly?"
"The doctor's surgery on Roscarrock Hill," she answers.
"Are you a doctor?" he asks, glancing up.
"Yes."
"Interesting. Are you married?"
"No."
"Have children?"
"No."
"Are you currently seeing anyone?"
"Well, I was seeing this guy from Portwenn, a real cutie. But he left me high and dry yesterday. I was being a bit of a prat and hurt his pride and his feelings so he told me adios. He's going to be too busy with his job the next few weeks to spend much time with me anyway, so I guess it's for the best. It is too bad, though. I wanted to tell him I was sorry and that I was giving what he said a lot of thought."
Joe is quiet for a few moments, looking down at her documents.
"If you don't mind me saying, he sounds like a bit of a wanker," he says. "He should probably be apologizing to you for being so selfish and demanding. From my limited experience, ultimatums and pressure don't really work well in these kinds of situations. He should of tried a little patience and tenderness."
"You know, he really is a patient and tender guy," Stirling answers. "I think he finally grew tired of waiting for me to make up my mind. I can't really fault him for that. I'm having some trouble deciding what I really want in life. A good friend of mine told me it's time I gave some serious thought to my future and did some growing up. So, that's what I'm doing."
"Do you have any answers yet?" Joe asks, looking up at her hopefully.
Stirling feels such deep shock of emotion for him at that moment, she wants to reach out and kiss him. But she holds back.
"Not yet. I'm working on it. I'm sure he'll be the first to know what I decide."
"Sounds fair," he says.
He hands her back her documents.
"I was wondering if you might be interested in going out to dinner with me," he says. "I know this place in Bodmin that serves great Mediterranean food and has dancing later in the evening."
"When were you thinking?"
"Friday night. I could pick you up around 6:30."
"Sounds like a plan," Stirling says. "You know where I live, right?"
"I'll never forget," Joe says softly.
"See you tomorrow night," she says, smiling.
"Tomorrow," he says, turning and walking back to the Land Rover.
Stirling watches as he starts the vehicle and pulls it around in a large U-turn, heading back to Portwenn.
Well, that was weird, she thinks, kicking the Triumph to life. And I love it!