ii. Crime and Punishment
In which Eddie learns that the two go hand in hand...
Spring Term.
Week 6.
Rachel is easy.
No. Not like that, of course. She's low maintenance. Easy to navigate.
Like a Porsche. A rare find. Beautiful, elegant. Worth having. And do a little bit every day; top up your oil here, a quick polish there, and she runs like a dream.
You get to know your woman like you get to know your vehicle, he thinks, smugly. And he knows her. Oh yes. He has every working feature assigned to memory. He had her purring like a well maintained engine.
He hadn't missed, of course, the look she had given him this morning. Perhaps fussing over the pretty blonde's car was a carefully orchestrated step over the line. It didn't hurt to keep her on her toes a little, and if he pushed it too far, he always had his rugged charm to fall back on; a boyish shrug, a risky kiss to her bare skin when the office door is unlocked. A little present now and again was sure to keep her sweet. She was a sucker, he has discovered, for something shiny...and expensive. She had yet to take the diamond bracelet off, he hadn't failed to notice. Even in bed, which he couldn't deny, was a bit of a turn on.
And in truth, she could have whatever she wanted. At any price. Because as it turned out, she may be a sucker for diamonds, but he is wholeheartedly a sucker for her.
He is still feeling a little bit cocky from his jaunt in the fancy convertible, when she returns from the hospital. He is swinging around in her office chair and wondering if it was too excessive to take her to Tattu for a slap-up dinner, despite it being a school night.
He expects a kiss, or perhaps for her to perch on his knee. Instead she storms in, hollers for Philip, and heads back out to the car park without so much as looking in his direction.
He feels a far cry from this mornings test drive now, in Rachel's passenger seat with his knees practically at his ears. A glance in the mirror reveals a very sheepish and flushed looking Philip.
Said awkward boy promptly disappears to his room as soon as they reach the house and instead of walking into his open arms, his Lady's facade continues. She is acting in a way he hasn't seen in a while. Quiet. Frosty. It is even more noticeable now that they are alone and he is started to wonder whether this particular Porsche had missed a service.
"Have I done something?"
No response. Brilliant. They are in her bedroom, only not for the reasons he had been hoping for. He hadn't even really been invited. She has her handbag on the dresser and is frantically rifling through it, while he sits gingerly at the edge of the bed.
The next trick up his sleeve was abandonment of bravado. His shoulders are slouched and a sincere apology would follow. If that didn't work, nothing would. If only he knew what he was apologising for...
He decides, as is the safest option, to work his was through each of his misdemeanours of the day and apologise for each.
"Rach, if this is about Jem Allen, please tell me you know that I-"
Remarkably, he doesn't even get to the end of the first one. The end of his sentence dries out as she inconspicuously yanks some material out from her bag, from under the paperwork and stashes it hurriedly into the top drawer of her dresser. He grins as a deep crimson rises on her cheeks and he takes the opportunity to make her laugh.
"Was it 'take your pants to work day' today?"
She doesn't laugh. But her reply surprises him. Firstly because he had almost forgotten what her voice sounded like, and secondly, because it is the last thing he expects her to say.
"Yes. For Philip."
"What d'you mean?"
Finally, she looks at him. Her face is still thunderous, but it is a start. With a sigh, she crosses and gently closes the bedroom door.
"If I tell you, you must promise not to laugh. Or pull him up about it."
"Okay…"
"Philip gave a set of my underwear to Felicity Mellor as a gift."
"Sorry?"
"Not even a nice set, either."
"I'm sorry. You must be joking."
Arms folded, she stands over him as he giggles like a child. She still isn't laughing.
"No. Apparently because you told him if he gave women gifts, they'd be more likely to sleep with him."
And with that, neither is he.
When it hits him, it feels like his blood has frozen up. He can feel the cold sweat starting, and he wonders how long he's got until she hits him with something.
For once, he finds himself on the back foot. He scoffs and stutters in a way that would make even Paul Langley cringe.
"Oh. Oh god. No. Wait."
"And that it didn't matter what it was, or what it cost."
"Rachel. That is not what I said. That boy is a little shi-"
"He is impressionable. Inexperienced. Awkward. And you have just made things 100 times worse. And I don't appreciate you calling me loose-"
"I absolutely did not-"
"'Putty in your hands'? I believe you said?"
Red-faced and defeated, all he can do is shrug.
"Right. Yeah. Okay. I may have said that, yes. But it wasn't about you, it was about-"
"What?! Other women?!"
Jesus. Not only has this Porsche missed a service, it would appear he's buggered the metaphorical clutch too. Quit digging, Eddie...
"It...I...We...It was a man to man thing! It was supposed to be bonding!"
Just when he thinks he might actually disintegrate under her glare, she changes tack. Her lips twist like they do when she is hurt.
"Crime and Punishment."
His brow furrows.
"What?"
"Maybe you should have bought a copy of Crime and Punishment for Jem Allen. Might've got you another fondle of her leather interior…"
Christ, that was a long time ago. As it finally clicks he stands and gently catches her hands in his. No more tricks. Although his memories of it are hazy, his feelings are vivid. He remembers staggeringly how he had loved her for what she had done for him that Christmas. How he had loved spending all that time thinking about her, about what book she might like. How he had loved her, even then. When her hair was longer and her smile was that little bit lighter and god she lit up a room, certainly in a way no classic car ever could. She didn't deserve a book, she had deserved the bloody world. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"That was a special gift. For you. Just you."
For a moment, and it is just a moment, she blinks slowly and her eyes darken. Her lips part as if she wants to be kissed. See? He's still got it. Even when she's irked. Gotcha. He closes his eyes and feels for her hips as he leans forward...only to feel her hands around his wrists, pushing them back down to his sides, putting straying hands to a stop.
"Yes. And now we all know why, don't we?"
"Maybe I should've bought you Great Expectations instead? Then you might've got the message sooner..." he leans back on the bed with a smirk and finally her body sags, betraying herself in a smirk. She rolls her eyes at herself.
"Why are you so pissed off anyway? You know he can twist things?"
The protective aunt in her scowls and he winces.
"Okay. Misunderstand things, then."
"Because I don't appreciate my underwear being paraded around the school and thrust into the hands of the bloody head girl!"
"Lucky head girl if you ask me…"
And at this, they share their first genuine smile of the evening.
"What pair?"
"None that you've ever seen. And none that you're ever going to see now. Call that your punishment. No 'broom broom' noises either. "