Wishing everyone a peaceful NY. I didn't think I'd return to FF a year ago, but writing has been distracting from the awful times we're going through right now. I'm pleased to say I'm writing a few more things and hope that it's helping you through life. The reviews are lovely, I really do appreciate them and that people take the time to read my words at all. Stay safe, stay well and I wish you all the best for 2021.
All errors are mine.
Harry looks irritably at the coffee machine as it belches. The sound serves to remind her that she is still at her desk, attempting to work. She sighs heavily, wishing she could find the answers to the case within the vast pile of paperwork.
"Aren't you going to the New Year bash?" Spikings emerges from his office with his coat over his arm. He looks around the empty office. "Where's Prince Charming?"
"You sent him under-cover." Harry mutters and hunches back down over her paperwork. The 'bash' is an attempt at a charity ball for selected staff and a clean up of the appalling reputation of the annual piss-up which made it into the media with much public outcry. Somehow she and her partner had got last minute invites despite having avoided the piss-up, in favour of a takeaway curry and Dempsey's sofa in past years. Harry assumes it's because someone couldn't find the obligatory black-tie clothing or a ball gown.
"Oh yes. Well, last I heard he was going to be there." Spikings comments lightly.
Harry looks suspiciously at her boss who gives a rare smile. "It won't be the same without you and I doubt you'll find whatever you're looking for in that lot."
Chas had seemed very convinced that Dempsey had his eye on a woman earlier in the week but had not said who and Harry didn't want to know. She assumes it's the new trainee in forensics who seems to be taken by him, though she's not seen him return the interest. The unconfirmed rumours have led to her working late to avoid capitulating and seeing her partner go home with someone else.
Her boss still lingers, his hand hovering over the light switch and she sighs, gathers up her bag and coat.
"See you soon," Spikings comments as they stand in the frosty car park. He says this in a tone which means he expects to see her. "Upstairs have recognised your arrest rate. I dare say I can confirm the permanent job that Dempsey keeps asking me about when we're back in the office."
"He does?" Harry looks curiously as he goes off, presumably to collect his wife. The holiday spirit really has got to him. He's acting like her fairy godmother, upending her plans for a quiet night in. She wasn't aware that Dempsey had decided to stay for the long term, but then she was too scared to ask, and not sure how say that she didn't want him to leave her.
Harry stands in front of her wardrobe looking for a party dress, appropriate for the upmarket hotel. She recalls that it is black tie for men, and thinks of Dempsey again. He always looks sexy in a suit. Then she's annoyed, he's probably already there with his hands on some woman's arse. She wonders why she's going at all. Her musings are interrupted by the phone ringing.
"What are you up to this evening?" Freddy asks after they've exchanged pleasantries. The line is crackling like he's sat next to a bowl of Rice Krispies and she wonders how it's possible to speak to Dempsey's family in New York with more clarity than the line from Winfield Hall.
"Deciding not to go to the New Year police ball." Harry grouses as she spies a dress that's covered in a cloth bag. Puzzled, she tugs it out.
"Why ever not?" Freddy queries, as Harry moves the receiver to unzip the cover. "You love a do."
"I've outgrown it." The excuse sounds lame as her partner might say. She can hear his voice in her head.
"I'm sure James will be pleased to see you." Freddy comments, "We had a chat earlier."
"He called you?" Harry is stunned, how did her partner and father suddenly become friends. But then again how did she, his mother, and Thelma who really is his aunt, become buddies? She feels a pang of jealously, she wishes Dempsey had rung her. "He's probably kissing someone and won't care a jot about me."
"He was very helpful about baseball. It's terribly exciting, the village committee wants me to set up a match for the spring fete. We also talked about our favourite subject."
"Which was?" Harry prays for Dempsey's sake that it wasn't the leaking roofs of Winfield Hall, her father's current preoccupation.
"You, of course." Freddy says, as if it were obvious, "I've invited him over this weekend."
"You did what?" Harry tries not to protest too loudly at her father.
"I like his company," Freddy replies, his voice laced with amusement.
"He's my friend." She replies petulantly, feeling like she's regressed to a teenager. The thought of Dempsey being there and sitting with him in front of a fire feels enticing. When did she start to see those lips as kissable?
"James said he'd ask you this evening, he didn't want to offend. You know, he's such a top fellow. So much better than that weasel you married." Freddy says. "So you have to go, you see, to talk about this weekend."
"Dempsey is a rogue," Harry mutters.
"And how do you know that? Does he speak about his love life with you?" Freddy quizzes. He has a point. "Darling, lots of men play the field, so to speak, I wasn't faultless and then I met your mother, I knew she was the one and that was it."
"What have you and mum got to do with us?" Harry misses the slip of her tongue. Her father is sharper.
"If there is an 'us', why are you sitting at home alone?" Freddy asks. "Go, if he is kissing another woman, at least you know, but I'll lay money he isn't. Live a little. Oh, and Harriet..."
"Yes?" Harry steels herself for more unwanted encouragement.
"Wear your mother's pearls, they will look splendid with the green dress." Freddy tells her, "I'd better go, it's not cheap rate calls yet." Harry refrains from calling her father tight, but he's hung up anyway. He's not too tight to make a bet on Dempsey, she notices.
What green dress? She peers into the unzipped bag, and looks at a mysterious, but beautiful ball gown which she's never seen before. It's a silk fabric that is both green and copper in the reflection of the light, the neck cut low between her breasts, clinging to her waist and the skirt flows out. She feels like a film star by the time she's got the right underwear on and tried to dismiss the pleasing thought of Dempsey taking it off. When she's curled her hair, found her mother's pearls, and slipped her feet into a pair of gold heels, she's persuaded herself to go. She just hopes Dempsey won't break her heart, she's not sure it could take the pain.
As the taxi speeds through the streets, Harry thinks about her father's words. She has wanted to throw caution to the wind for a long time. She would be lying if she hadn't sought an excuse to make a move on Dempsey. God knows he had tried with her and she's seen the longing in his eyes, the disappointment when she rejected him. It wasn't clear who was being punished the most.
"Blimey!" The taxi driver looks up at the hotel, "Bit posh innit?"
Harry agrees. She's well versed in 'bit posh'.
"Midnight was it?" The driver checks, "It'll be me mate, Bunny. You can't miss his cab, it's orange. Have a good night..."
Harry gives him a little wave and stands outside feeling a little lost. She gives herself a shake and a ticking off. Time to be brave. The ballroom is enchanting, it's the best word she can think of. Above her head is a canopy of ethereal lights, small tables, covered in white cloth, are occupied by colleagues, and the band is playing songs she recognises from her mother's music collection. The memory makes her smile.
As she crosses the floor to find familiar faces, she sees her partner. He's sat in a chair looking moodily at the scene around him. Brooding is another word she would use, sexy would work too. Contrary to what she thought he'd be doing, his hands are occupied by a wine glass, and the other rests on his thigh, his knuckles pale under the twinkling lights.
"Hasn't danced, turned down any woman who'll go near him and barely had a drink," Chas has caught her. "Miserable bugger. You look lovely by the way."
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asks, "You look very smart yourself."
"You not being here of course. Spikings' said he'd had a word, but you know how Dempsey is when you're not around." Chas gives her a gentle nudge. "Me and the missus were about to come and get you."
She has no idea what Dempsey would be like without her. Well, she does have some clues from speaking to colleagues about her absence and she wasn't much better behaved. She's left standing alone as Chas's wife claims him. It occurs to her then that Dempsey clearly didn't bring a date. He appears to be genuinely waiting for her.
When he does see her, a smile illuminates his face and softens his body language into the man she knows. She thinks back to how he was when they first met and how he's changed. She feels her heart thump as he walks towards her. His expression reminds her of when they sat together in the pub waiting for Daish and she felt like the most important person in his life. It's a look she has seen a lot lately.
"I've been waiting for you." There's no malice in his words, just warmth. He whistles low as her body seems to spin like a marionette for him. He kisses the back of her hand.
"Thank you." She lets her eyes linger, and she thinks she spies a hint of shyness in his manner. "You always look good in a suit."
"You look like a movie star." He gazes at her. "I'm pleased to see you."
"It's the oddest thing, I don't remember this dress at all..." Harry pauses almost certain he's biting back a smile. He knows something and she can't yet connect the dots between his words and Freddy's phone call. "Do you know about it?"
"It's perfect on you is what I know. And the pearls." His eyes linger.
She puts her bag on the table in front of Fry and Dave, "Dance with me?"
Her traitorous body moulds into his arms. She giggles when he turns her and pulls her back, holding her close. "Thought you'd given up on me, princess."
"I heard you had your eye on someone." Harry murmurs, aware they aren't even paper-width apart and doing nothing about it.
"Whoever said that needs a word." Dempsey grouses. "I should've called you. Picked you up. Lost my nerve."
He looks honest and she loves him a little more for it. Loves him. Oh, that's new.
"Next year," Harry promises, and he grins, turning her around the floor.
As the dance ends, Dempsey lightly bows and she wonders if his latest operation involved a finishing school. "Get you a drink?"
She walks over to the bar with him, her arm looping through his elbow, feeling his strength through the cloth. She had quietly admired his muscles at the prizefight and later when she'd taken him home and bathed his wounds, let him rest in her bed beside her. It's this proximity that's unnerved her, made her seek space at the museum. Yet he's proved her wrong again and become her greatest advocate since she came back, forgiven her without question or doubt, as if no apology was needed.
"Can I get you a drink?" There's a woman with her hand on Dempsey's other arm. The cheek of her.
Harry tries to recall her name. Karen? Katy? She's eyeing Dempsey like he's up for grabs as she wriggles, drawing attention to her cleavage.
Harry doesn't blame her for trying, but she's feeling possessive. She supposes he is a free agent. Neither have said dating but she's no idea when he'd have time to see anyone else. He could go home with whoever this woman is. Harry feels a bit queasy at the thought.
"I'm buying a drink for my partner and me, we'll catch you later." Dempsey steers Harry away after his polite rejection, ordering a decent bottle of champagne. "I have no idea what her name is."
His breath tickles her ear and she sways closer, reassured. The evening is easier after this. She dances with Spikings' which was thankfully brief. Dempsey politely steered his wife. As the last notes died, he rescued her from the awkwardness of what to say to one's boss, by claiming her for the next dance.
In the powder room, she catches her breath in the privacy of a cubicle.
"I've heard he's hung like a horse."
"Anna!" There's a spritzing of hairspray and cheap Impulse body spray. "Mmmm, me too. Knows what to do with it apparently. What I would do to wake up next to him tomorrow morning."
"You'd have to beat off Harriet Makepeace. Did you see her dress, it's gorgeous, I want to know where it came from." More spritzing. "Kate, are you even listening?"
Harry pauses, mid-dabbing her nose with her compact. Kate, now she remembers. The last crime scene they had attended she'd been given a ticking off. At the time Harry felt sorry for her, knowing the injustice and difficulty of being a woman in this man's world. Her empathy is wearing thin this evening. How did they get an invite?
"We'll be up for the sack if you make a scene, we're not meant to be here." Anna hisses. "He's never been known to muck about with a police officer unless it's Sergeant Makepeace. She'll shoot you."
Oh. Harry grins. Yeah, she could do that alright.
"She was trying to stake a claim at the bar. I still think Dempsey is worth a try, there's always a first time. He's gorgeous." Kate comments.
"Haven't you seen them together? He's not even looking at anyone else."
"Dempsey can't refuse, one dance that's all." There's a challenge in the words that makes Harry uneasy. Usually, she'd dismiss this egotistical bullshit, as Dempsey might describe it.
She debates for one brief second, before she unlocks the cubicle door. Calmly she washes her hands, fluffs her hair, and reapplies her lipstick, meeting the gaze of both girls first. Kate breaks the contact first.
"Nice colour." Anna admires, her face as red as the shade on Harry's lips.
"All the better for kissing." Harry smiles, smoothing down her dress and adjusting her bra so her cleavage is just 'so'. "Have a nice evening."
Dempsey is at the buffet when Harry returns, his eyes trained to seek her out. The band are playing something she doesn't recognise. She sips champagne, warily looking out for Kate and her friend.
"I got enough to share." Dempsey returns to her side, balancing a plate and handing her quiche. She takes a bite and he eats the rest. She thinks about how intimate sharing food is and how utterly unaware she was of this fact until now. He continues to offer her food and she simply goes with it, watching his face with a challenge that he's accepting judging by the dark look in his eyes.
Kate appears at his side, inevitably. Her laughter is as fake as the tree that occupies their office. She looks at Harry. "You've got something..."
Harry suspects her words are said more for embarrassment than comradeship.
"Hang on." She feels Dempsey's thumb on her cheek, wiping carefully, and then licks his finger slowly, his eyes on her. "Got it."
"Oh, my favourite song," Kate chimes, oblivious to the loaded feeling that Harry can't shake, as a slow song begins. It's Harry's favourite too, it's slow and romantic, oozing seductiveness. A song that should clear the dance floor of anyone who didn't want others to assume they were with their dance partner.
"You wanna dance?" Dempsey asks and Harry's heart sinks. It means nothing she thinks, but would certainly cause gossip and she can imagine Kate climbing his body like a tree.
Dempsey puts the plate on the table and takes Harry's hand. Beside them, Watson appears as if magically moved to save Kate's blushes by escorting the hopeful trainee to the bar.
"You were humming this in the car last week." Dempsey observes, then he leads down to confess, "She's not my type."
"Who is your type?" She bites her lip.
"Oh this blonde I know, makes me want to call London my home." He hums along to the tune, his voice low. She remembers her heart somersaulting when she found him in the squat, hiding from Simmons, conducting a choir. "People will talk."
"Everyone else dancing is married... or involved," Harry observes. "People already think we are."
Dempsey's hand moves down her back, splayed out wide, lower than probably acceptable, as he speaks into her hair, "Harry, we're as good as hitched."
"Are you proposing?" She asks his shoulder and then dares to look at his face, expecting to see him teasing her but finding him deadly serious.
"If I was?" He counters.
"I'd take it seriously." Harry doesn't break her gaze.
She hears the band announce the midnight countdown and she thinks of her taxi. Of how she feels about him. "I don't want to kiss you here."
He looks at her in surprise and then grins. "Run?"
"With you, always." As they pass the table, he snatches up her wrap and bag, swerving to avoid Kate and her friend.
Outside she gently pushes him against the wall and pulls his head close, grazing her lips against his, hesitant for a moment until he murmurs her name, his hands holding her steady. It's all she expected and more, like coming home. The butterflies of nerves leave her and are replaced with a thrill of electricity that sparks into something powerful. "Happy New Year, James..."
"Happy New Year, Harry." Dempsey says softly.
"Your place is closer." Harry tugs his hand towards the bright orange taxi, leaving him in no doubt that he's her Prince Charming. At the door, he pulls her close and kisses her again.
"We've got all year."