a/n OK, well this episode has turned out so much longer than I'd planned, so I've decided to post half now and will get the rest up towards the end of the week! Bit annoyed about that, since I think the best bits will be in the later one, but never mind. Figured you'd all like this now ;o) Thanks again for all the lovely reviews – they've made such a difference to the whole thing! And, just a note, things aren't always going to be so sugary between our fave couple, I promise! I just thought setting them off with a nice start would be more realistic…Enjoy! /tc/
As she tidied up the papers on her desk, Clarisse was surprised to find her hands were shaking. Three months, two weeks and a day since they had both admitted the truth, and yet she was still as nervous as a teenager. Well worse, she thought ruefully, she didn't even have the excuse of being sixteen. Would it really always be like this? With such intensity, such anticipation? Would her heart always leap a little when he walked into a room? She scolded herself as her mind began to wander, thinking dangerous thoughts, her and Joseph, older, together, sitting by the fire, holding hands… She closed her eyes, willing the image away, and yet longing for it to remain, but she could not, must not allow that thought, not now. But never?
Opening her eyes, obsessively straightening out another pile of papers, her gaze fell to her hands. The ring on her left hand. Her mind was cast back to what Joseph had said, those weeks ago in the car, the words that he repeated with such sincerity. He had taken her hand in his and, gently stroking the ring on her finger, nearly broken her heart with his simple gesture. 'Your marriage to Rupert is what it is. You are deceiving no one, Clarisse, it is what it is. I will never compromise you, I promise I will try never to hurt you. And, unless you ask me, I will never leave you. It is what it is.'
And he had been right, he was right. This was not some sordid adulterous affair, a cheap thrill, a moment of instant gratification, just as her marriage had never been the foundation for the love of neither her life, nor Rupert's. Neither relationship could be expressed that simply, nor could they cancel each other out. They were what they were.
Taking off her glasses, she sat back in her chair. She sipped her tea, now lukewarm, and replaced the cup with a shaky clink of china meeting china. Taking a deep breath she tried to relax.
The knock at the door was so soft that she would not have heard it had she not been waiting for him.
"Yes?" Her voice was steadier now at least, "Come in"
But he didn't. Instead, he just pushed the door open with a flourish and waited for her in the corridor. "So, are you coming?" She smiled in spite of herself. He knew she was nervous. And now, with his flippancy he was trying to put her at ease. She got up and walked towards him, "Lead the way…"
They wandered down the long corridors and staircases in silence, neither wanting particularly to draw attention to themselves. As they neared the main security control point, Joseph asked her to wait a moment, adding, in a low voice, "There's just something I have to deal with."
He was only a minute, and then they continued downwards. From the ground floor of the castle, they took the elevator down to the vaults. As the grill closed shut, and he turned the key, she felt the faintest pressure of his hand on the small of her back, almost not there, and yet unmistakable. She leant into him slightly, looking up at him, meeting his smile with hers.
As the car came to a halt, he removed the key, placing it in his pocket, and opened the cage. They both stepped out into the darkness. Turning on the emergency lights, the corridor was bathed in a strange blue glow.
"It's ok, there are proper lights in each of the individual vaults", he whispered, sensing her momentary concern as she turned back to look at the elevator.
"Shouldn't we close the doors on that thing…I mean, no one will be able to call it back up if we leave them open?" Now she was whispering too. His hand was still gently stroking her back.
"Hmm…" he began, absent-mindedly, with mock innocence, "now there's a thought. I mean, I am getting terribly poor at remembering small details like well, um, …what did you say your name was again, my dear?" He brought his arm up around her shoulders now, and turned to kiss her forehead.
"Honestly, Joseph…what are you like?" she chuckled, bringing a hand to rest on his chest. Almost instantly, though, she checked herself. Reluctantly she pulled away, hating herself for it, "Joseph", she began, her tone serious, stepping slightly away from him, taking control of the situation, "we must be careful, my dear, the cameras – I am well aware of the fact that my every footstep is tracked."
He caught her elbow as she retreated, countering her formality with his own intimate gesture. He pulled her up close to his face and, leaning in towards her ear whispered "Not down here they're not." His breath was warm and their closeness intoxicating, and for a moment she lost herself. In a small voice, she replied, not quite believing,
"They're not?"
"No. And, um…" he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear distractedly, as he gazed in her puzzled eyes, "I hope it will not displease your Majesty too greatly, but I've also taken the liberty of disconnecting the single camera that covers the entrance to the lift."
"But Joseph, there must be millions of pounds worth of art down here, are you telling me that nothing is monitored?" He smiled, trust her to argue… He took her hand in his and, reassuringly stroking her fingers, began to lead her down the gloomy corridor.
"Well, my dear, unlike people, works of art generally don't move by themselves. And, to be honest, until they do move, there's not much point filming them. The whole vault system is locked down with two security programs, one infra-red, which covers movement; and the other senses body heat. When I'm in here, it's rather assumed that I'm not running off with the Rembrandts and so the system is taken down. I'll put it back on when we leave. In any case, no cameras."
"You did all that?"
Her innocent surprise clearly amused him, but then he stopped for a moment, perhaps wondering if he'd startled her, taken too much control and rushed her maybe?
"Too much?" he asked softly, a hint of anxiety visible on his features in the blue-tinted light.
She turned to face him again, narrowing the gap between them, her hand still caressing his. Closing her eyes, she brushed her lips gently against his, hardly touching. Teasing, and yet deadly serious. He brought his arm around her, drawing her impossibly closer, and she deepened the kiss, savouring the moment, feeling him smile against her lips.
"So that's a no, then?" he murmured, kissing her nose,
"Glad we're all clear on that."
He released her hand and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Curling her arms around his waist, she laid her head on his shoulder.
"I've missed you Clarisse." He said it simply, the honesty in his words not requiring any hyperbole.
She sighed, stroking his back, wondering how to phrase it, "You know, last night I almost came to find you…"
"You did?"
"Hmm…I couldn't sleep, I hadn't seen you all day. I spent nearly an hour trying to figure out a pretext on which I might come and see you." She shook her head a little, obviously remembering something, and the movement prompted him to step back a little and take her face in his hands.
"And…? What happened? Did you find a better offer?", he teased, his curiosity genuinely piqued, as she looked bashfully down at the floor,
"No. Worse… I'm afraid I fell asleep…"
He couldn't help but laugh at that, and, once she saw the funny side, they were both giggling like schoolchildren. As he regained his composure, he stroked a hand down her cheek, thoughtfully.
"You look so beautiful when you laugh, you know?" She too grew serious now, and turning her face to kiss his hand, replied, her voice a little unsteady,
"Thank you for giving me something to laugh about."
He met her gaze and smiled. There was nothing more to be said. Placing an arm around her shoulders he started to lead them down towards the end of the corridor. He decided to change the subject.
"Now, about these paintings, do you have any particular preferences? I spent most of last winter reorganising the storage broadly into genres and periods, so if you already have an idea…"
She smiled to herself. Joseph the art critic, who would have thought it? But then again, what was there to be surprised at? He was without doubt one of the most intelligent men she had ever met, and she was sure that dark waters ran very deep in his case. Coming back to herself she realised that she had been staring at him, and blushed. "Oh, well, not really…something with detail, nothing too early, definitely easy on the gold"
He laughed at her description and shook his head a little.
"Right, well, why don't we go and have a look at some of the smaller canvases in this vault, down here on the left. Everything is post-Baroque, so I promise, not too much gold!"
They stopped outside the heavy metal door as he took out a series of swipe cards. Finding the right one, he opened the computer panel and fed it in, waited for a moment as the chip was read, and then removed it. The internal bolts clunked, making Clarisse jump a little, and the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room, with what looked like old-fashioned book stacks mounted in the centre.
"After you, my dear" he offered, motioning for her to lead the way. Instead, she took his hand, and gingerly stepped in with him. It really wasn't very dusty at all, and the hum of what she imagined to be a humidifier in the corner of the room was the only sound she could hear apart from their breathing.
"It's so quiet down here", she whispered, shivering a little "and cold. And, Joseph, where are the paintings?"
Dropping her hand, he moved towards the large cases and turned one of the metal handles. Bit by bit, the stacks separated, until there was space between each one to walk comfortably.
"I'm afraid there's little I can do about the temperature, darling, but the paintings are in here. Come…" he held out his hand and, pulling her gently towards him, led her into the newly created miniature corridor. He let her walk in front of him, and took the opportunity to rub his hands up and down her arms, bringing her a little warmth.
Her eyes had adjusted now to the gloomy light, and suddenly the paintings began to leap out at her. He smiled as she looked from one to the next, like a child in a sweet shop, not knowing where to stop. Up one corridor, down the next. They were mainly landscapes in this section, from various sources, some French, some Italian, a few Dutch.
"Joseph", she spun round, waiting for him to catch up, "Look at this one…aren't the colours incredible? So intense, and yet almost desperately controlled, it's beautiful."
He looked up, following her pointing finger, knowing already the image he would see, and smiled. "Trust you to pick that one out…"
She turned back to the painting, assessing it again. "Why, don't you like it? It reminds me of something…maybe somewhere…I don't know…but I'm sure I've never seen it before. It's so powerful though, more of a feeling than a place." She turned round to find him right behind her, also looking up at the painting, a smile playing on his lips. "Joseph?"
"Well, it is rather a conundrum this one, no one really knows who painted it, or, more to the point, how it ended up here in the collection." He continued to gaze at the painting, absent-mindedly continuing, "The style is very much like some of Monet's London paintings. As I said, no one really knows…it might be a fake, perhaps an imitation, or, well…who knows."
She looked a little puzzled. "Hmm…so you found it funny that I managed to pick out the mysterious impostor, the lowliest amongst a collection of priceless art?" She was teasing, not a little amused by the irony herself.
"Hardly, my dear." He drew his eyes away from the painting and looked at her now. There was an intensity there that she had not previously noticed. He smiled again, and it softened. "What really amuses me is that you managed to pick out, from all this priceless art, the painting that I love the most."
"Really?" It was her turn to smile now.
"Really. And you described it just as I see it. There's something mysterious about it, something hidden. There's a depth in that work which doesn't offer itself to be seen."
They were both looking at it now, side by side, captured for a moment. She took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his own, leaning a little into his shoulder.
"Is that the one you want?" he asked softly.
"No. I couldn't." He looked at her questioningly. "This one stays here…where I can see it with you…like this." He stroked her thumb with his and nodded.
"So…more paintings?"
"If you don't mind? Could we look at something a bit different? Maybe something with figures in, something mythical?"
He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Your wish is my command…"