Waiting outside the museum, Robbie was trying his hardest not to wear the pavement out with his pacing up and down, but the state of his nerves was making it extremely hard not to. He'd been so sure about inviting her to join him tonight but the last few days had been a bit of a rollercoaster where the two of them were concerned, mostly of his own making he had to concede, bumbling his way through as usual. He wanted to be excited, to revel in the moment and what it might mean for them, but that was all put aside now, racked with doubt as to whether she'd even turn up. He'd half expected a call or message from her cancelling on him. He wouldn't have blamed her, hell he'd nearly done that himself. But that wasn't her style, he was relying on that. The Laura he knew was loyal and trustworthy whatever the circumstance, whatever the personal cost to herself. He watched as yet another happy couple passed him on their way in, a vision of a possible future happiness dangling in front of him but as time passed it seemed as it was being pulled further and further away.
And then, suddenly, there she was, readying to cross the street to join him. He felt his worry lifting and his heart skip a little as she hurried to meet him, slowing as she got closer, coming to rest just in front of him.
"Sorry, miscalculated how much slower I walk in these," lifting a foot and waggling a heel-clad foot in his direction, her eyes dancing with a wry smile.
It was only a tiny white lie, the walk had certainly taken a lot longer than she'd thought it would, but that hadn't been helped by the agonising decision about what to wear. Exhibition openings could be an odd mix of the casual and overdressed at the best of times, but add the 'date/not a date' dilemma into the mix and it was the perfect storm. She'd never seriously contemplated not turning up but he'd not made it easy, the conflicting messages he'd seemingly been sending out. In the end she'd settled for a dress of grey silk, mid-length to show some ankle, and a jacket to cover her arms. She was relieved that she'd guessed right and he'd worn his midnight blue suit. It was one of her favourites, not that she'd ever tell him that.
"Well, you look lovely so it was worth the wait," he said lightly, noticing how her diamond-drop earrings sparked in the light coming from the museum entrance, and then enjoying her reaction to his compliment silently chastised himself for not going all out and saying what he really felt, that she looked truly beautiful. "Shall we?" he said, offering her his arm, pleased and not a little relieved when she accepted it.
The gallery was buzzing with people, a heady combination of the rich, who no doubt had contributed large sums to the exhibition itself, and Oxford-types who took art very seriously indeed. Waiters weaved in between the small groups that gathered in front of the various pieces of artwork, delivering their bubbly refreshments, the sound of clinking glasses echoing off the stone walls. Having no desire to mingle, Robbie and Laura wandered between paintings, commenting on those they liked and those that bordered on the bizarre. They began to relax into one another's company, sharing the odd joke about their fellow attendees, both aware of the ridiculousness that these events could elude from their fellow man. As Robbie poked a bit of lighthearted fun at the well-heeled elite of Oxford, Laura felt her worries from earlier in the week melt away. She couldn't deny that she'd hoped that perhaps tonight would be something more but it seemed it was just as she'd suspected, two friends together enjoying one another's company and, as disappointing as that was in one sense, in another it was simply easier.
She looked on with amusement as Robbie, having been seemingly ignored by the waiter nearest to them, set off, stalker-like, to track them both down a drink. She waited for him to return, considering one of the paintings, unsure of what response it was trying to invoke. She tilted her head, wondering if the drama that she supposed the artist was aiming for felt authentic or a little overdone. Just as she'd decided she didn't really understand what she was looking at, she felt Robbie come up behind her. He leaned in to pass her a glass of champagne which she accepted gratefully, but was surprised when he stayed where he was, standing so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, savouring the sudden intimacy between them, their bodies inches from one another. He never touched her, she realised, other than the odd polite, gentlemanly hand to help her up from examining a corpse. All their contact, their intimacy, was initiated by her, not that he ever seemed to mind, but that made this different. This was him. Opening her eyes, she turned towards him and felt her heart quicken at their proximity to one another, it suddenly seeming even more stark. If he'd travelled the final distance between them to kiss her she wouldn't have resisted. But he didn't move.
"What are we doing, Robbie?" she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Enjoying an exhibition of influential painters?" he countered softly, grinning at her over his glass as he leant back slightly to take a sip, but it faded as he saw that she wasn't laughing.
He briefly considered another attempt at something similar but gave it up as her face became even more serious. Finally stepping back away from her he looked around and, spying an empty gallery adjacent to the one they were in, gestured with his head for her to follow him. In it they found a bench and he almost chuckled, the words 'same story, different bench' were on the tip of his tongue but he refrained from verbalising them, sensing this was not the time for pathetic humour. Sitting side by side, he stared at his glass not quite knowing where to start, Laura's gaze on a painting on the opposite wall.
"I'm confused, Robbie. You're confusing me," she said, speaking before he could, and then repeating her earlier question, "What are we doing here?"
He sighed quietly to himself. Confused was a good word for it and he wasn't surprised that this was her reaction. He wanted to be straight with her but he found it hard to change how he was around her, how they were around one another, the feeling that a friendship he valued above all things was constantly on the line.
He thought carefully before calmly responding, "I think this evening is a set up."
Her head turned sharply in surprise, her eyes narrowing, "What do you mean?"
He kept his eyes down as he tried to explain.
"I mean Hathaway and Innocent in cahoots to bring us together. Had any out-of-the-blue conversations about the two of us recently, with either of them? I certainly have." He paused and scratched his head, buying himself a moment of time before continuing, "But in the end I decided I wasn't too bothered because, well..." he turned to look directly at her, suddenly finding a boldness inside, "I like you, Laura Hobson. I like you rather a lot."
He heard her sharp intake of breath but saw no sign on her face to give him a clue as to whether that was a good or bad sign.
"Perhaps you think I've taken a while to get here, you know, the idea of us," causing an almost imperceptible smile to cross her lips, "And maybe I have," he conceded. "But this case, the widow left behind, the would-be stalker, well I suppose it's made me think about things in a way I haven't for a while, about what's important at the end of the day."
He paused to drain his glass and sort of frowned at it as he continued, "And that's you, Laura. You're what's important to me."
She let out the breath that she'd been holding for fear even a sound from her would cause him to halt this rare and, surprisingly frank, admission from him. She'd say she was in shock if it hadn't been for the myriad of words swirling around in her head, all of them stubbornly refusing to form a coherent response. They'd brushed up against this for so long that it was almost overwhelming that he'd finally said it. He liked her. Such simple words and yet that was all she needed to hear. All she'd wanted to hear. She could see him waiting for her response, sensing him trying not to let the panic rise up inside him as her silence extended. It took everything she had not just to answer him by reaching over and drawing him to her and kissing him, desperate to know how that would feel, her lips on his. But he'd taken a huge step, gamble even, in confessing all this to her. She had no desire to torture him but was certain that anything too much would scare him away.
"Well, I rather like you too, Robbie," she said eventually, her voice soft and low, causing him to look directly at her, his eyes boring into hers, his heart racing at her words. "But," she added gently, "You're not there yet, are you? Not entirely free to make a commitment, I mean."
He looked away, she was bang on the money as always. Her tone was without blame or recrimination, and not for the first time he wondered how she seemed just to know, almost before he did, and seemingly accepted it for what it was.
"I want to be, so much," he said, turning back to capture her gaze once more, hoping to convey some of his inner turmoil.
She felt her stomach lurch as his piercing eyes stayed on her and she almost couldn't stand it. A feeling of pure joy tempered by his need for yet more time, but now at least she knew it was just about time, nothing else. And she'd already given so much of that.
"I can wait," her face creasing into a small smile before adding quietly, "But not forever."
He nodded in understanding, wanting to jump up with relief and the sheer delight of her hushed recipriation of his feelings but also for her compassion. But that was for later, when he could be alone and remember this moment.
"Thank you," he said simply, this understatement of how he was feeling all he could manage.
He shifted his hand so it lightly grazed hers for a moment before moving it away again, too apprehensive to take the final step. She could feel her eyes beginning to give her away, the agony of what they both wanted still just out of reach.
They sat quietly before, at length, he enquired, "More champagne?" the furrow of his brow lifting as he broke out into a wide grin at her laugh in response, the intensity of it all finally breaking.
She leaned into him, letting him feel the weight of her against him briefly before replying, "I thought you'd never ask."
Author's note: "Oh Robbie, come on, man!"
Anyone up for part two? How about if I promise more Robson fluff? ;-)
