Mixed Signals

Part7 by Posh and Stoneygem

The silence seemed to stretch on for a lifetime, he held her gaze, so cold and empty. Tension forming in the room, the fire crackled offering a glimpse into reality.

"Excuse me." He finally said.

"Or are you planning on staying and simply having affairs right beneath my nose."

"Clarisse, I'm completely confused."

"I heard you with Charlotte, so you don't have to pretend anymore Joseph." She shrugged, somewhat resigned to the inevitably of events. "Extra marital affairs are all but expected in royal circles. I just never expected it from you."

"That's because I never would." He stood up facing her. "Do you really think after all these years, all the heartache and waiting, that finally I'm with you and I would simply throw it all away?"

She looked away, saying gently. "Perhaps I was a disappointment." She swallowed. "Perhaps the reality didn't quite live up to the dream."

He knelt in front of her taking her hands. "Clarisse stop this, please, I love you, you're my wife, you're in my heart – my soul."

She gasped. "Why are you doing this to me? Humiliating…"

"No, no! I would never, I adore you – you know that." He kissed her hands. "This is the happiest I've ever been. You must realise that."

"Happy? You snub me Joseph, you've turned away from me."

He stopped, his hands freezing on hers. "I don't mean to…"

"I suppose I half expected it, I've never considered desirability as one of my traits."

"But you are, you're the most beautiful…"

She pulled her hands from his. "Please, I don't need you to say that."

"It isn't lies, I think you're the most attractive woman I've ever met desirable doesn't even come close. You're incredibly sexy Clarisse – no need for silk and lace." He allowed himself a little smile. "Though I appreciate it."

"What does sex matter anyhow, the bottom line is you don't want me anymore full stop."

"Ohh more than I can say."

"Then why won't you touch me, why won't you even look at me?"

He dipped his head, his forehead resting on her knees. "Oh Clarisse…"

He looked so lost, so broken. Swallowing her anger as a wave of pure affection flowed through her she tentatively reached out and touched his head. When her fingers stroked his neck he lifted his face to hers, eyes closed he sought her mouth and she gratefully accepted his kiss. Such a sweet and honest caress. She parted her knees and he sank towards her, his arms resting on her waist, her hands gripping his shoulders. The kiss was instantly heated, Clarisse's hurt and longing driving her on, Joseph's guilt and want driving him.

She moaned into his mouth, meeting his tongue with hers. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she pressed her body against his. She felt him respond. Felt his hands lovingly stroking her sides.

"Oh god Clarisse…" He groaned pulling away, breathing deeply, stilling against her. "Oh god, oh god…" He tore himself away from her, standing up and moving to the fire.

"Joseph, please don't stop this now…" She stood up moving behind him. "Don't pull away from me, not again."

"I can't do this."

"Why not? Talk to me, explain this to me. If not an affair then what were you discussing so secretly with Charlotte? If you love me, desire me, then why won't you touch me, hold me Joseph…" She rested her hand on his back, feeling his warmth through the shirt. "Hold me."

He twisted away from her, trying to hide his face but she saw the tears as they tumbled down his face. He wiped at them, angrily.

"Joseph…"

"No, leave me."

"Please, talk to me, share it with me."

"No!" he shouted. "No, stop this, don't push me." He stormed towards the door.

"Joseph, if you leave now don't even think about coming back to our bed tonight."

His hand stilled on the doorknob and for a moment she thought she'd stopped him. She stepped towards him, waiting for him to turn and reach for her.

Only he didn't.

"I'm sorry." He said without turning back.

She watched as he closed the door, stamped her foot like a child and cursed in frustration, something she never did.

"Damn it Joseph… damn men, damn you."

She swung back and marched towards the fire catching his abandoned book and knocking it to the floor.

As she leant against the marble hearth she stared at the wedding photo standing so proudly there. It wasn't part of the official photographs; somebody trained and accurate didn't take it. It was Andrew playing about with that silly camera, and he caught them quite by chance. Standing out in the garden, the afternoon sunlight catching in her hair bringing out elements of gold dust, she almost looked as if she were sparkling. But it was the look on both of their faces, beneath a tree, laughing – laughing together, eyes locked, hands held. It wasn't technically accurate, but it was so perfect.

She remembered the way he looked that day, the way his smile didn't disappear for one second, the way he shook with fear as they walked down the aisle. The way he stumbled over his words and fumbled as he slid on the ring, the way he hardly dare move and she had to lean across and kiss him at the Archbishop's bidding. What had gone so wrong that they seemed to have lost that? What was going on inside his mind? It confused her so, he claimed to love her unconditionally and yet he pushed her away, he kissed her like that with such passion and fervour and yet walked away when she asked for his touch.

Something wasn't right, something was missing, that kind intimate gentle man she loved so was slipping away from her. And she had no idea how to get him back.

Running a hand through her hair she sighed feeling the exhaustion set back in, perhaps it was best to forget the Tea and simply go to bed. As she moved she noticed the slip of paper abandoned on the floor and bent to pick it up. She unfolded it recognising his handwriting immediately, her husband's.

Roseman's Square, Flat Number 4. 10:30 a.m. Thursday.

That address, it was hers. The other woman's.

When he had left, she had been numb at first; almost dropping to the floor in pure exhaustion, but this slip of paper with his handwriting on it had not let her mind rest. Finally in a bout of mindless activity, she had picked up the paper and went into her wardrobe, dressed herself in plain clothes, ordered a car and driven to this address.

In retrospect, the whole action seemed so ridiculous. She, a queen, dressed in simple jeans, sweater and the baseball cap Mia had given her, driving into town to visit the place, where she suspected her husband met his lover. Yet, that was what she had done. The visit had given her what she wanted, but she couldn't see it as a successful excursion. The name on the doorbell said Anna De Marcos, Clarisse had taken a position in the shadow and waited. Her patience had been rewarded mere twenty minutes later, when the doorman had greeted a young woman with Ms. De Marcos.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Clarisse desperately tried to get rid of the image of her rival. Compared to her, she must be losing the battle. Tall, slim yet curvaceous, shining black hair, beautiful, obviously a warm and lively person - and barely 30. How could an aging, pale and cold woman compare to that?

Once again, Clarisse squeezed her eyes shut, now trying to keep the tears from spilling. After seeing the younger woman passing by she had retreated through the backdoor and driven back to the palace. Here she had gone directly to her suite, locked all doors and started the shower. She had stepped under the stream and allowed herself to scream, when she felt her heart breaking for good.

It was over. All the happiness, all the love, all the… everything. He said, their marriage was all he ever wanted; yet he had turned away from her. He said, he was happy with her, yet he had not trusted her enough to admit that he was missing something. He said he loved her, yet he had taken another - younger - woman to fulfil the wants she could apparently not meet. It was over.

And she had lost.

She could not fight and win against this woman. And she didn't even have the energy for it anymore. She would need all her strength to face the public after the fact became known, because she would stand alone facing the gloating, the laughter. He would not be there when she would be ridiculed for her stupidity. He wouldn't be there…

Biting her lip, Clarisse finally turned away from the window. She had been standing there for hours it seemed. And she still had to prepare to face the people today. Of course, they would suspect something, she wasn't that naive, but she had to try at least to cover up the sleepless night and the tears. Two hours later, she had finally managed to cover the most obvious traces. With a sordid smile she realized that it was yet another sign of age, two hours to prepare her face. What man could be interested in that?

Stepping into her closet, she carefully assessed her wardrobe. No black today, she still had Charlotte's comment in her ear. If she wore black again, she could just as well announce to the whole staff that she was a loser in terms of marriage. 34 years of a loveless marriage that had seen more than one bad day - due to her inability to be a passionate lover and general lack of personal cooperativeness as Rupert had often complained when he…

And now she managed to lose her second husband after only nine months - again due to her inabilities as a woman. She snorted slightly. It didn't matter. They would never know of it. From now on, she would once again play her part. She was the Dowager Queen now, advisor and guidance to her successor. Loved and admired by her people. This had been her life before; it would be her life again.

Strengthening her resolve and squaring her shoulders, Clarisse left her suite. Time to face the music.