A/N Hello again! Another chapter done… The painting is a real one – it's beautiful, so do have a look on Google if you're interested. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews – every one of them is appreciated. Hope you like this instalment. More up mid-week. Promise. /tc/
Several hours passed, and they began to grow hungry. After Joseph's stomach rumbled loudly for the third time in as many minutes, Clarisse couldn't help but laugh, and declared they should take a lunch break. He groaned, and caught up with her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and started kissing the back of her neck, "But then I'll have to stop doing this…"
His stomach growled, louder this time, and she burst out laughing again, shaking against him as she giggled.
"Hey, you're not meant to do that, I'll start to get insecurity issues!"
She turned in his arms now, and clasping her hands around the back of his neck, pulled back a little to playfully scrutinise him. "Hmm…a security guard with insecurity issues…no, we definitely can't have that now, can we?" And with that she leant in to kiss him properly.
"Seriously though, we should eat something…"
"I know." He sighed, and straightened the scarf round her neck. "What would you like? I could arrange to have them prepare lunch for you…and I can quickly grab a bite in the kitchen in the meantime…wouldn't take a second", he said, reaching into his pocket and slipping out his cell phone.
"No, no…I'm really not that hungry, I just want a snack too." And with a shy smile, "And I'd really prefer to stay with you." She took the phone from his hand, and for a moment toyed with it, clearly weighing things up.
"How do I call the kitchens?" Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact. He eyed her cautiously, wondering where she might be going with this.
"03, and then 445…why?"
She turned round and took a few paces away from him, flipping open the phone, dialling the number, and resting the handset against her ear.
"Hello. Marcus? This is the Queen…no, no, there is no problem. I'm currently in the middle of looking around the art collections in the palace vaults, and was wondering if it might be possible for you to put together something to eat to save me from coming up? No, just sandwiches…nothing complicated, please. That will do perfectly. No, don't concern yourself, I shall send Joseph up. Has he not?" she chuckled as Marcus recounted how Joseph hardly ever managed to remember his own lunch, and so hoped she'd get it safely. "Maybe I could persuade him too?" Again, she laughed, and Joseph began to feel a little awkward. "No that would be fine…what a nice idea, I'll ask him…" she paused for a moment, looking coyly over her shoulder at Joseph's confused face, "yes, he would. That is perfect. Thank you."
She snapped the phone shut, with a smile, and felt a strong hand on her shoulder.
"Was that really wise?" She leant back a little, resting against his chest, feeling his other arm wrap around her. She sighed, not wanting to think about it, for a moment wanting to be free of implications, insinuations and the like. She sighed audibly.
"Probably not. But something tells me this isn't going to be the last time I take a risk for you…" He smiled, turning her round, embracing her tightly as she snuggled into his chest.
"Really…what am I going to do with you?" He hadn't meant it as anything more than a throwaway line, but she lifted her head to look at his face, replying seriously, whispering softly,
"I really don't know, Joseph. I don't know at all." She paused, idly stroking his chest, clearly looking for the right words. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and seeing the warmth that issued from them, continued. "For the first time in my life I'm entirely adrift, I don't know what I should do, or who I should be, and…I don't know where I am."
He held her tightly against him, gently lowering her head back to his chest, as he stroked her hair, and whispered, "You are here, that is enough for now", dropping a kiss on the top of her head as if to emphasise his point.
"But that's just it, I don't know any more where 'here' is…or where we are." She sighed, confused at how she could feel so completely secure in his arms, and yet so unstable.
"Is 'here' really so very bad?" She smiled at his words, remembering their first meeting out on the balcony, "No – 'here' is perfect, adrift is perfect…"
"You're just suffering from a little seasickness?" She couldn't help but smile at this, once again touched by how well he could raise her mood instantly.
"Yes, I suppose I am."
"If it makes you feel better, believe me, I'm struggling a little myself."
"You are?"
"Mmm…I'm so scared that I'll open my eyes and you'll be gone again" He held her tighter.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." She paused for a moment, and then, playing him at his own game, pushed him back a little, fixing him squarely in the eyes, "You, on the other hand mister, are going up to the kitchens…I want my lunch."
He laughed, and releasing her from his arms, did his best to straighten out his jacket and adopt a formal pose, replying in his most wooden "Yes, your Majesty"
He moved towards the door, but then turned back, and with some concern in his voice asked "Will you be ok down here on your own?" She smiled and nodded,
"I'll just have a wander round these last few stacks, I shan't go far."
"OK, I'll be five minutes…don't steal anything!"
She was still laughing as she heard the cage of the elevator slam shut. With a few moments to herself now, without distractions, however pleasant they might be, Clarisse decided to get on with choosing a picture. As wonderful as this morning had been so far, she really hadn't suggested it as a pretence, and given her busy schedule, she couldn't be sure when she'd next have the chance to come down here.
She wandered along the stacks with more purpose now, stopping to survey now and again the odd picture that took her fancy. Nothing really seemed appropriate for her room. Turning a corner, she found some portraits, some of which she quite liked, but nothing really…well…special. She wanted something more than an attractive splodge on the wall.
And then she saw it. A reasonably large canvas, depicting a dark-haired woman in a beautiful cream and red dress, looking sadly down to her right. It was detailed, a domestic interior, maybe a bedroom, draped in exquisite fabrics, detailed objects scattered on a table. But it was the woman that captured her gaze. She was young, although definitely not a girl, and her expression was almost too complex to be real. She seemed to have fallen out of time almost. It was sadness, but not despair…contemplation perhaps, resignation? No, there was hope too, and an overwhelming feeling of presence. This woman was not grieving, she was thinking – maybe about what she had done, maybe about what she would do, but there was no sense of indecision. And Clarisse couldn't take her eyes away from her face.
She had no idea how long she had stood there, but it must have been some time, for soon she could hear Joseph's familiar footsteps approaching. He arrived at the doorway and, with an exaggerated flourish of his hand that looked entirely out of place with his leather jacket, announced that lunch was served.
They sat on a battered old chaise longue, long-forgotten in a corner of one of the warmer vaults, to eat their lunch. Clarisse finished first, and sat back to watch Joseph finish off the sandwiches.
"I'm pleased you're eating…Marcus said you don't usually eat. You should, you know…" He smiled, finishing his mouthful, "That's not exactly true…I do eat, just not when Marcus is around."
She looked at him suspiciously, wondering where this was going. "But you can't tell me you have a problem with his food – it's exquisite. That man's a Michelin starred chef, I picked him myself."
He had finished his sandwich now and scooted over to loop his arms round her. She leant against him a little, and then, to his surprise, tucked her feet up onto the couch and relaxed fully against him.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Of course I do, why…is it something terribly shocking?"
"I suppose that would depend upon your perspective."
She turned to look up at him, and rather ungracefully fell into his lap. Stifling an urge to laugh, he merely brushed her hair gently away from her forehead, and continued.
"You see, my dear, Marcus always prepares the staff meals to coincide with the end of your own….when you get coffee…"
"Or tea", she added with a smile.
"Or tea…we get fed. And you see, well, that moment after dinner, when you take a walk in the garden, it's the only moment…"
"…when we are ever alone." She finished for him, realising, perhaps for the first time, the depth of what this man would do for her. What he would do for them. Such a simple thing, and yet, it was so much more. She reached up to stroke his face, running her thumb over his lips, gazing into his eyes. She knew then that she could lie like this forever…in both its senses.
"I found the picture I want – it's in the last vault I was looking at, do you want to come and see her?"
"Her?" She nodded, and started to raise herself up off his lap, only to be softly held down by his strong arm. "Describe her to me…I don't think I ever want to get up from here"
She chuckled, settling back again. "I think it's nineteenth century, maybe Rossetti…an interior setting, it's very detailed." She paused for a moment, trying to fix the image in her mind. She looked up at Joseph and noticed his eyes were closed. "There is a woman dominating the scene…she's tall and elegant, I can't tell her age, she has dark hair, and a flowing dress, in red and cream brocade, I think. She is difficult to describe…I saw lots of things in her face, and yet not one adjective fitted perfectly."
"Tell me what you saw in her face." He said it softly, his eyes still closed in contemplation.
"Sadness, mixed with determination and hope. She's intelligent, and yet unhappy, though not regretful. I think she knows something. Maybe something she shouldn't have seen. I don't know. She confuses me, and yet it is compelling…Do you know the painting I'm describing, Joseph?" She looked up again, to find his eyes filled with the same intensity she'd seen earlier.
"Yes, I know the painting."
"And…?" She was confused by his reaction…surely he couldn't have two favourite paintings? That would just be getting silly. "What is it, darling, why are you looking at me like that?" She laughed, a little nervously, raising her hand, about to touch him, when he grasped it in his, and pressed it to his lips.
"I'm sorry…it's just…" He looked at her again, wondering if she was ready to hear this. "The painting is by Millais, one of the pre-Raphaelites. It's sometimes known as 'La Belle Iseult', the beautiful Isolda."
"So it's based on an Arthurian mythic figure?"
"Well, yes…yes and no. It is. But it also has another name. Clarisse…the painting most generally accepted to be of Guinevere, Arthur's wife, lover of Lancelot."
He looked at her cautiously, not sure how she would take this. She had already shown today how difficult she was finding this 'situation'. He didn't want to scare her, to corner her more than she already felt. For a moment she looked at him, and then her eyes closed. He recognised this trait of hers, this fleeting space of privacy that she created occasionally. He was sure that numerous diplomats and party guests had never noticed her momentary shutting down, her regaining of composure, but he had, and knew better than to push her. He just stroked her arm reassuringly.
After a few seconds, her eyes flickered open, and he felt his throat tighten as he saw the tears in them. She moved to sit up, and this time he didn't stop her, instead supporting her as she twisted round to sit opposite him. He moved to pull away from her slightly, not sure how to play this one, but she clasped his hands in her own. Looking up again to her face, though, he was surprised to find her smiling. She took a shaky breath, "Bloody paintings…"
He laughed then, and cautiously asked if she was alright.
"Yes." She smiled, wiping away the stray tears with her hand, and with more confidence, "Yes." He moved in closer then, and began to drop little kisses over her eyelids and her cheeks. He felt her hands loop around the back of his head and he moved a little lower, teasing her jaw and around her lips. She moaned slightly and he pressed his lips against hers, gently at first, and then with more intensity. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate. The world seemed to evaporate around her, and Clarisse's mind was filled with Joseph, only Joseph. The feel of his hand stroking through her hair, his cologne, his arms, strong and wrapped around her, his taste in her mouth. Her whole body responded to him, wanting him impossibly closer, pulling him down with her onto the couch, wanting to feel his weight upon her.
He broke the kiss only to begin another, feeling her hands caressing his back, moving underneath his shirt… He pulled back a little, looking deep into her blue eyes, seeing his own desire mirrored there. He kissed her nose, and whispered softly, almost inaudibly, "Not here. Not like this"
She closed her eyes and nodded, once again touched by his foresight and control. She let out a deep breath, and opened her eyes, as he slowly began to sit back up. His hand was still cupping her cheek, and she turned to kiss it, which elicited a shaky sigh from him. She was so beautiful lying there, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.
"Not like this." She echoed his words, but in her mouth they acquired a new resonance. He had sounded ragged, almost desperate, and yet now, on her lips, it was seductive, full of unspoken promise.
They smiled, their breathing returned to normal, the urgency passed.
She sat up, smoothing out her skirt a little, and turned to face him,
"When will I see you again, Joseph, it's getting late now…" It sounded more like a question to herself than to him.
"Like this…I don't know, my dear. As soon as I can think of something. You should start taking more walks around the extensive gardens…"
She smiled, demurely, "Good for my health?"
"Hmm…something like that."
They collected her painting from the vault and began to make their way to the lift. With the painting under one arm, Joseph looped his other around her shoulders. Their steps were painfully slow, neither wanting the moment to end.
As they stepped into the cage, he set the painting down carefully and took her in his arms one last time. She swallowed, keeping back the tears that threatened to fall. "This is not goodbye, Clarisse." She nodded, and, closing her eyes, kissed him gently on the lips. She broke away slightly, centimetres from his face, "I love you, Joseph". It was only the faintest whisper, but to Joseph it resonated round the room. He stroked her nose with his own, dropping a kiss on her cheek, "I love you too."
They stood for a moment, content to stay in each others arms, until Clarisse slipped her hand into Joseph's pocket and handed him the key to the elevator mechanism.
"Back to reality?" He rubbed her back gently, soothing.
"No…back to fiction, my love"
As she stretched out on the large bed, yawning, Clarisse realised that she was alone. She cast a glance over to the clock on her bedside table, six-thirty. Great. She looked over to the other side of the bed and noted it hadn't been slept in, by the looks of it. She frowned, wondering where he had got to. She smiled to herself, remembering the wonderful dream she'd had, so fresh like it was only yesterday. And yet she remembered all of their meetings in such detail, for so long they had been all she had had to comfort her. Sighing a little, her mind wandered to the present circumstances, and their still secret assignations. Of course, things were very different now, but they were most definitely not perfect. At home she would have to think seriously about this…
In the meantime, she was more concerned about what had become of her Head of Security, and, stretching her arms above her head, and slipping out of bed, she went off in search of him.