Thank you for the feedback on the first vague idea, it's a small update as I relocate to the warmth of a new house, my finger have enough circulation to type but my broadband is hopeless. Here's chapter 2 set around The Burning 1 and 2.
The ink on the marriage certificate was barely dry when Spikings released the news of his Lieutenant's passing through the criminal channels. She was left with nothing else to do but return to the office and try not be offended by Fry's presence in Dempsey's seat.
It was a quick, private and unconsummated ceremony. Dempsey had admired her dress, his eyes like saucers, and he had kissed her at the right moment with gentle chastity for him. She was expecting tongues and isn't sure if that's disappointing or a relief.
It is a ceremony that's a mere formality to protect his assets and she knows enough bent solicitors to get it cleared from their records. She can't imagine that Dempsey is serious about it for one second.
But it's her husband's chair.
She drinks coffee from his mug. As the days pass, she sighs at Spikings joviality and wisecracks at what Dempsey might be up to. She hopes none of them are true. Weeks pass before she sees Dempsey again to find out.
In her handbag she carries around his bank statements and she's paid his rent from the funds. He continues to surprise. His music collection is extensive; then there's the eclectic range of literature and the amount of money in his account. And always the secrecy over his departure from New York.
She's uncertain of Coltrane. Spikings is evasive when she asks about the connection to Dempsey, and Chas seems to know as little as she does. There's no mention of the man this side of the ocean. All her boss will say is that Dempsey will tell her when he's ready. She can't think when that will be.
The club isn't as awful as some of the places she's been to. It occurs to her as Dempsey holds her close, that they've not really been sober and in such tight proximity since Stringfellows. She wonder if his boldness is because of that piece of paper. He steers them to a dark corner of the bar after they collide with Butch. Two idiots slide up to her with a low whistle, they look like boys compared to her 'husband'. One hundred percent American catapulted to London for reasons unknown.
"Watch your mouth, that's my woman." Dempsey threatens in a low tone. His arm slides around her waist in a possessive way. She's perversely pleased and horrified at how much she likes it. As the boys grumble and leave, she sees his gun. She's unfeasibly cross about it or how she's feeling; it's hard to tell.
"How have you managed to keep that?" She hisses,"I ought to take it with me."
"You're my wife, guess it figures that you're crazy." He hisses back at her whilst taking out his frustration on a partially smoke cigarette, stabbing it into an ash tray. As he slides the glass of cheap white wine over, he disarms her; "I miss you nagging me like a pro."
"There's more where that came from." She pokes his top lip with interest. "Did you kill a rat or is that real?"
He shrugs and speaks in low tones."So Mrs D, what else is new?"
"Makepeace." She corrects quietly.
"You prefer your ex-husband's surname?" He grouses, eyeing up the other drinkers and checking on Butch's whereabouts. "At least I don't cheat on you."
That's answered the question indirectly posed by their boss and it's thrown her. "I'm Makepeace at work, so let's keep it that way."
She sips the wine. It's dry. She notes that he's got it right, unlike her ex-husband who never remembered if she liked red or white.
DMDDM
He is turning into a recalcitrant husband, Dempsey thinks as he sinks back into the chair in her bedroom. She's suggested that he had a shower, it would help him to feel better. He wasn't entirely convinced but if it made her happy, he'd oblige. She's right, he is more human for it. Nevertheless, he ought to be downstairs, with his shoes on and heading back into the night. Instead she has returned and presented a mug of tea and biscuits.
"You're staying." It's more or less a statement as she pulls down the duvet. "I'm not having you prowl through London at this hour, I shan't sleep after all that."
"Though you'd throw me out." He hesitates, feeling uncertain.
"Well it's not much of a honeymoon." She teases. He tries not to react in his pre-confessional way; she's granted him absolution in her words and actions.
He lies still as if in a coffin, uncertain if he's meant to take her in his arms. They're married but she signed her name next to James Dempsey not Lupino's and even then, what does it mean? He's never been hitched before and this is business. Isn't it?
Her hand finds his in the dark. "You're not the sort of husband I thought you were."
He's not sure what to say to that so he says the first thing that come to mind; "You wanna consummate this thing?"
"Isn't it illegal until we do?" She justifies, fairly sure she read it in Cosmo at the doctors once. She's turning out to be a different wife.
"We'll have to stay illegal, cos I'm dead. You married a corpse." He backs off."Not like this; with Lupino."
She looks at him in disbelief. "Anyone would think you want to do this properly."
Dempsey loops his fingers into hers, in a moment of potentially healthy realisation; "Maybe I do."
DMDM
He can't fathom why Harry is loitering. He unlocks the door and lets her back into the bedsit. "You're fucking insane."
"Thank you," She leans against the wall and drops her handbag on the floor. "Mr Lupino isn't it?"
"You know dammed well…" He tries to lift his eyes from the zip on her top, and the visible lack of underwear. He's alcohol-hazed and knackered. She's too tempting. He wants to bury his head in her cleavage and never leave.
"Mr Lupino, we haven't got all night." Harry saunters to the single bed and sits down expectantly and taps her watch.
He plays along, his brain unable to argue any common sense. He's not caught up with the concept of her marrying him to protect him, if that's why she did it. He thinks he's picking up vibes but he won't lose another partner."What's your name?"
"Thelma," Harry challenges. He sighs with frustration, maybe he was wrong about the sex vibe thing and it's just his starved libido acting up. "Angie, maybe Mara."
She picks up Lupino's Razzle magazine and looks at the blonde centre fold, with her bobbed hair and pouting lips. Some of her confidence diminishes as she spots the clear resemblance.
"You sure about any of those names?" He takes a swig from the whiskey bottle and hands it to her, watching as she does the same. He gets a secret thrill in his groin as she smacks her lips from the burn. He can't imagine her doing that in front of any of her posh friends.
"You can call me anything you want." She puts her arms backwards on the bed and her chest rises. He takes a breath, reminds himself that he's Johnny Lupino. Whoever he is, if he takes her to bed, he won't leave her.
It's terrifying.
"Princess," He drops down beside her and takes Harry's chin in his hands so she has to look at him. He forces himself to feel the flicker of hurt that remains in her eyes after his angry rant on love affairs barely ten minutes earlier. "I'm not the sorta husband who cheats."
"Oh." She's jolted back into reality, maybe aware this isn't a game anymore.
Dempsey walks her down to her car, having done all he can to reassure Harry that he's not going insane. Yet, he knows it's not enough.