It's been weeks since I last posted a chapter and you've probably forgotten the plot (I use the term loosely) by now. Had total scribbler's block and you'll no doubt be able to tell by the state of this chapter. Really not good but it's all I could manage so if you have a blank expression on your face when you've finished reading, I completely understand :-(

Chapter 12

Robert Makepeace was many things but 'happy' wasn't one of them.

When his brother, Jonathan, his younger sibling by three years, had first disappeared off the radar, it had worried him immensely. As the concerned big brother, he had tried his best to track him down, talking to other family members, his friends and acquaintances, former employees and anyone else he could think of. Eventually, he went to the police and filed a missing persons report and of course, with his connections within the service, he was clearly the right man to handle the situation.

At least, this was the story he'd told those who had asked.

Jonnie's estranged wife, Sabrina, had been relatively easy to fob off. As weak as dishwater that one. Not bad in bed though.

He's probably just decided he needs to get away from it all... no, f course he wouldn't have done anything silly... I was as much to blame for what happened between us as you... don't worry now, you can leave it all to me, Sabrina.

Robert would handle everything.

Now back at the place he called home, a smart little flat in Chelsea where he currently lived alone, he sat at the big bay window and watched the comings and goings in the street below with unseeing eyes.

His dear little brother and his ex-wife?! Maybe it shouldn't be that much of a surprise, after all, they had been as thick as thieves throughout the entire marriage. During those three years, Robert had never really suspected anything had or would happen between them but nevertheless, their close friendship had given rise to a certain amount of jealousy on his part. And yes, he had warned Harriet off, informing her in no uncertain terms that she should be aware that to the outside world, her and Jonathan's relationship could easily be misconstrued. In his opinion, the familiarity they showed within their 'platonic' relationship was inappropriate.

"Maybe you married the wrong brother, Harriet" he had suggested with saccharine sarcasm on more than one occasion.

And now here was Jonathan, pulling himself up out of the gutter via the not inconsiderable charms of his ex and it made his blood boil. Those assurances of innocence from both parties now held no water. There had quite obviously been something there, bubbling away between the pair of them and Robert was damned if he would let it go unpunished.

He had deliberately kept out of his ex-wife's way these last few years and he suspected she had done the same. They both had done and said things they weren't proud of, things which neither of them wished to be made common knowledge and so when they had split, it had been to sever all ties. Funny really but their paths hadn't crossed once, not in all of the four and a half years they had been apart. Of course, Robert had heard the odd thing or two via mutual acquaintances, stories of events hosted by his ex-father-in-law at Winfield Hall for example. Old Freddy had never been a fan of his but at the start, it hadn't particularly been an issue because his wife had been head over heels in love and no longer in daddy's thrall. If Freddy's accusations of manipulation had been true, it was only to get Harry out of his suffocating clutches.

The old man doted on her to a ridiculous extent. He should have remarried after Harry's mother had died all those years ago instead of holding her to him like he was frightened she would die too.

Robert had always considered Freddy partly to blame for the breakdown of the marriage – he should have kept his interfering old beak out of it, always dripping his poison in her ear, making Robert out to be some sort of gold digger when all he was doing was protecting his family interests. His wife was the sole heir to a huge estate and therefore had a vested interest. Robert was a solicitor. What else did he expect?

He had loved her for a while, until she had started raising objections to every little thing that didn't suit. But when that had extended to the bedroom, who could blame him for looking elsewhere?

"There are limits, Robert!" she had told him, suddenly all prissy when he'd suggested inviting her best friend, Susanne into their bed. So he'd sampled Susanne's delights without her out of spite really. How was he to know Harry had been pregnant? He would have made allowances. But she, the vindictive little bitch, had aborted his child without a second thought simply to get back at him and for that, he would never forgive her.

He'd seen a photograph recently, taken at a dinner party given by Henry and Michaela Courtauld. Harriet had been there, without a plus one as far as he could tell. He had been completely taken by surprise upon seeing the image of her and by the rush of lust which hit his loins. Interesting how one could still possess the desire to fuck somebody one hated.

Robert got up and poured himself a small whiskey.

Maybe with a little lubrication, he could work out a way to give the pair of them their just deserts.

…...

Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon on bagel.

Brunch had actually moved to lunch, eaten at the coffee table in the lounge and washed down with orange juice.

The Sunday afternoon film on BBC1 was Notorious, the black and white Hitchcock thriller which they had both seen before but as there was little else on of any interest, Harry was happy to watch again and Dempsey was content to sleep through.

She lay warm and snug in his arms, watching the infamous two and a half minute long kiss between Grant and Bergman with slightly aroused interest.

She had heard somewhere that the scene had only got past the production ban on screen kisses being longer than three seconds by having the actors part fleetingly to nuzzle and whisper seductively before recommencing. Although censorship had been stringent in 1946, there was no doubting the chaste eroticism of that kiss within the context of the period.

"They knew how to smooch back then, huh?"

Harry turned her head a fraction. "I thought you were asleep," she said.

"I was."

"Feeling any better?"

He was lying right behind her along the length of the sofa, her head against his chest and his arms wrapped around her body.

"Yeah. Much better." Dempsey lazily stroked his way from her waist to her hip and on to the top of her thigh.

"Did you take any Codeine yesterday?" she asked after a moment's hesitation. He could be a bit touchy on the subject of pain relief she had come to realise. Maybe he saw the fact he was still using the pills as a weakness on his part. And really, shouldn't his shoulder have healed enough not to need those things at all by now?

"Couple," he admitted off-handedly.

She tutted, smiling up at him as she turned herself onto her back and brought her arms up to cradle his head.

"Well there you go. No wonder you felt so awful. I didn't think you'd had any more to drink last night than me or Jonathan."

"Dumb, huh?"

"Very. Don't do it again!" she warned and strained up to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Okay, boss." Dempsey leaned down and tenderly kissed her mouth. "I like when you're concerned for me."

"I don't like having to be."

"I hear ya."

His hand strayed under the soft, fluffy blue jumper she wore to caress her bare stomach and Harry was immediately aroused.

Feeling her muscles contract, Dempsey continued the action, gliding the pads of his fingertips over the sensitised skin with infinite delicacy, watching her lips part in anticipation of more.

Again, he bent his head to kiss her, this time drawing a tiny whimper of pleasure in the process. He chuckled and to Harry's disappointment, settled back down again behind her.

But his hand remained where it was, still idly stroking only now she couldn't help but notice the little circles he was drawing with his middle finger.

"Gary Grant plays a U.S. Government agent in this movie, right?" Dempsey asked. "And Ingrid Bergman is a Nazi spy?"

It took a moment for Harry to drag her mind back to the plot.

"No, her father was a Nazi spy. She went off the rails a bit until Gary Grant enlisted her to join him in spying on her father's Nazi friends."

He had dipped below the waistband of her chocolate brown corduroy jeans.

"Ah, okay, I remember now, she marries her old flame who's a Nazi sympathiser."

"But she only does it for Uncle Sam because she's actually in love with Cary Grant."

The hollow of her abdomen was now receiving Dempsey's attention.

"Natch," he drawled.

"Rather above and beyond the call of duty, I'd say."

Two fingers slid over her right hip bone.

"You wouldn't marry some ex in defence of the realm? For queen and country? Frankly, Makepeace, I'm shocked," he ribbed.

"I can't think of anything worse than marrying an ex, after all, they become exes for a reason, don't they?"

"That's true."

His palm was wonderfully warm against her skin, his fingers now tunnelling under the elastic of her underwear. "An' I can't think of anything worse than bein' your ex."

"You say that now." Her voice was husky, not quite her own.

He was taking his time, progress painfully slow in order to cause her maximum frustration.

"I've known you long enough to know what I'm getting' into."

She could feel his breath against her ear and his innuendo was apparent as he continued to provoke her desire with his slow, sensual teasing.

"An' I've already met your old man," he continued. "He can stomach me in small doses, right?"

Harry tutted, flexing her hips as she did so. "Yes, alright, Dempsey. Talk about garnering praise! You know full well my father, for reasons best known to himself, has quite a soft spot for you."

"I'm thinkin' you got one for me too. Am I on the right track?"

She squirmed deliciously, "You're definitely heading in the..." her words faltered as she caught her breath, "right direction."

Dempsey gave a low, sultry laugh – the kind of laugh that Harry found extremely sexy.

As she gave herself up to his slow, questing fingers, she marvelled at how overnight, the love she felt for him had metamorphosed into something so tangible, so multifaceted that he now felt a part of her very existence.

Notorious played out to itself and became a monochrome blur as he single-handedly steered Harry into her own personal paradise.