A/N Thanks for sticking with this – all will become clear, I promise, as it develops. Basically, I'm tying in the first proposal to painful events in the past, surrounding the two deaths which, once we get there, will explain why J&C were so cautious and, at least in my opinion, mysterious about their relationship in the two films. Anyway, that's just some idea of where we're going…on with the story!
Joe swirled the remaining whisky round in his glass, staring pensively across the kitchen table. It was getting late, probably after ten, he guessed, from the fact it had been dark outside for a good while. He yawned, suddenly exhausted from the day's exertions. It had been a long one and not having slept on the plane hadn't helped matters. He probably shouldn't have had the whisky, but never mind, it wasn't as if he made a habit of it.
Setting his glass down, he ran a hand over his head, coming to rest on the back of his neck, massaging it gently. He wondered whether Clarisse was still awake. He had already decided not to push things, to let her control events, even if that meant spending his evenings like this, in the kitchen with the finest single malt. Yes, she needed to feel comfortable with this.
The kitchen was quiet, the servants all long gone and Joe was left to wait for her call. Indeed, if his head hadn't been so heavy, his eyes so tired, perhaps he would have realised this wasn't the first time he had waited anxiously in this darkened kitchen…?
Rupert had been gone two days before either of them had dared make the first move. Of course, they had seen more of each other, with the inevitable casual stroke of the hand, the glance over the shoulder, but neither had wanted to press the issue. In the end, it was Clarisse who sent the note, inviting him to her rooms. He had no idea how she had placed it on his desk, but she had managed it all the same. It was sealed in a plain envelope, not the royal stationary, he noted. He smiled at her beautiful, sophisticated script, restrained, but nonetheless regal. Her words were simple and to the point:
'Please come tonight. Make a security check in Rupert's suite and lock the door behind you. The connecting door to mine will be open.'
It had required no reply, and he burnt the letter immediately.
That night he had intended to join her as soon as he could after dinner, but, as the evening drew on, he had found himself stalling. By nine, he was sitting in the kitchen, alone, staring at his hands, wondering why they were shaking. Ever since the conversation by the lake, he had been turning the situation over and over in his head, trying to find the best solution. He hadn't been able to ask the King when it was he had found out, but he guessed that he must have seen it all along. The man who had spoken to him had been resigned, accepting, almost. Not at all like a man who had recently discovered his wife was being unfaithful. He had seemed detached, and Joe was unnerved by it.
For the first time in his life, he felt true guilt. It settled on his shoulders, crushing him with its leaden weight, making his breath shallow and his chest tense. He slumped in the chair, head in his hands, desperately fighting his conscience. This was not as simple as regret, for, in truth, he regretted nothing, would do it all again. This was simply the knowledge he would have to live with. And it was a heavy burden. He must do this, though, he knew that, however much it took, he must…it had happened, and if she knew…God, if she knew, it threatened to destroy them. He must shoulder this for them both. For the sake of them both.
He had sat there for a long while, searching himself for the answer that wouldn't come. Looking at his watch, he noticed it was quarter to ten. He took a deep breath, and looking at his hands one final time, balled his fists and stood.
As he entered the King's room, he felt his throat tighten, the smell of stale cigar smoke inescapably reminding him of the man whose room it was. Closing the door behind him, and sliding the bolt across he quickly made his way to the connecting door in the bedroom. Without pausing to look, or think…he pushed it open, and stepped quietly into her suite.
Immediately the atmosphere changed. The room smelt of her perfume and lights were dimmed, warming the room with their soft glow. He glanced round, not seeing her and, for a moment wondered if he'd waited too long… Then her voice, low and slightly husky wafted across from the large armchair, its back to him, on the other side of the suite.
"I was beginning to think you might not come…"
He swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn't seem too strained. When he spoke, it didn't sound to him like his own,
"I'm sorry…I…there were things I needed to attend to."
He stepped closer now, moving towards the chair. She could hear him approaching, and stood up herself, turning slowly to face him.
"For a moment, you know, I almost wondered if it was better if you didn't…" She spoke seriously, tilting her head slightly, looking at him intently.
"For a moment, my love…" his voice faltered, and she stepped forward closer, delicately placing her hand at the nape of his neck, and leaned in to brush her lips against his.
"It wouldn't have changed a thing" she whispered, kissing round his mouth, slowly and deliberately, "I would still have wanted you to come" He sighed, and she pulled back a little, placing both hands on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak,
"I…I…have to tell you something…" She smiled, her lips curling, never taking her eyes from his.
He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. As he opened them, she was still smiling. He felt her arms wrap around his back, and, as she pulled him closer, the guilt slipping away. Her eyes were so pure and, in the soft glow of the table lamps they seemed to sparkle. He knew now that he was lost, as lost as he had been the first time they had kissed. He stroked her lips with his index finger.
"I love you, my darling, more than anything else in the world."
The sudden buzzing of his cell phone startled Joe, rousing him from the little sleep he'd been enjoying on the kitchen table. It stopped. Clarisse. He smiled, and, with a yawn, stood up. Giving the glass a quick rinse and setting it on the sideboard, he started in the direction of her rooms. Arriving at the corridor, he suddenly realised that, unlike in San Francisco, there were cameras scanning the main door. Cameras, he thought with a wry smile, that he himself had installed. He shook his head, amused at the irony, and stepped back in the direction he'd come.
Clarisse, on the other hand, was stretched out on top of her bed, trying not to doze off before Joseph got there. She yawned for the third time in as many minutes, and rubbed her eyes in irritation. She was trying to read, but the words kept blurring…she decided to give up. It had probably been a mistake to have tried to work after dinner, but, as always, the papers wouldn't sign themselves, and now at least, she could sleep in a little in the morning. Tomorrow would be a long day, and Amelia would need all the support she could get…
She was mid-yawn when the balcony door creaked open. Startled, she sat up quickly and reached for her book…only to smile when she realised who it was. He smiled back and, taking off his jacket and placing it over the chair, raised an eyebrow at her weapon of choice,
"Hmm…darling, I think maybe we should consider getting you some self-defence coaching…that's hardly the most effective…um…"
She glared, and then, catching the twinkle in his eye, giggled nervously. He loosened his tie, and slipping that off too, placed it next to the jacket. She looked away, and, dropping the book on her bedside table and, switching off the main lights, slipped under the covers. She stretched out, relishing the luxurious feeling of her own bed again, rubbing her face in the pillow and tugging the blanket around her. By now, Joe had divested himself of his suit and, when she opened her eyes, was watching her roll around in the huge bed. She grinned…
"It's so nice to be home…" she yawned sleepily. Taking her outstretched hand he slid in next to her, dropping a kiss to her forehead. Immediately she curled over and wrapped herself around him, her face nuzzling his chest. He stroked her back soothingly, holding her close.
For a long time neither spoke, exhaustion and contentment washing over them in equal measure. Then, unsure whether he was still awake or not, Clarisse whispered gently against his chest,
"Promise me you'll never leave, promise me we can stay like this. I…I don't know what…"
He shifted a little, pulling her up to lie face to face with him, caressing her lips sleepily with his own,
"Hey…" he smiled, stroking her face, touched by how her words had echoed his thoughts, "I'll never leave…not unless you ask me to."
She smiled, bring her head down to rest on his shoulder,
"Then, my love, I promise I never will…"