Chapter 13 – Christmas Surprises
At around 5.30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Richard unlocked the door to his house. He had just returned from the Christmas Oratorio that had been performed in a nearby church. It had taken up most of his afternoon – they had started at around 3.30, and in order to get a fairly good seat, he had left his house at 2.30. There'd be another performance on Christmas Day, but since he didn't have to work today, he figured he'd rather go to the less crowded event. It had been excellent, and it had given him something to do…
Of course that meant he'd be all by himself over the entire holidays… no distraction on Christmas Day or on Boxing Day. He was used to being by himself, but still… this year, it seemed harder than during previous years. The oratorio had also left him a little subdued – the music was splendid, and there was something sublime and grand about it… but while he had enjoyed the event, he had also felt sad that he hadn't had anybody to share it with.
He turned around before going in and looked up to the sky for a moment – it was still fairly foggy. The damp air seemed to cover everything like a blanket, it was entirely quiet around him, and he felt very alone. For a moment he remembered the lines in Alan Sillitoe's book "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" – where the main character reflected about feeling either like the first or the last person on earth – and that (if given the choice) he'd prefer being the first.
He was thankful that his parents had departed the day before – the weather had been okay then – and he hoped that Camille had landed safely in Paris. Maybe she'd text him? In any case, she had promised to phone him upon her return in five days so they could make arrangements for New Year's Eve…
Five long days… He really didn't know what was the matter with him – was he getting mawkish and sentimental? Christmas wasn't so special after all, was it…
"Bah, humbug…" he muttered as he finally entered his house.
It was too early for dinner, so he decided to get out of his suit and change into something more comfortable before making himself some tea and getting settled on the sofa with the book on Roman history that Camille had given him for Christmas. He usually avoided watching TV over the holidays as he wasn't keen on seeing the 100th rerun of shows he had already seen as a child – they were getting a bit boring now – or equally old soppy tearjerkers.
When he sat down, put on his reading glasses and opened the book, Camille's card fell out… it was a very small note, and he had only found it after he had leafed through the book at home… A little bunny wearing a Santa hat was sitting in the snow, and the writing underneath said 'Hoppy Holidays' – now, that was just so typical of Camille…
Inside, she had written "Wishing you merry Christmas & a happy New Year, Richard – looking forward to sharing it with you! – All my love, Camille"
Love… they hadn't spoken about that yet. Although they had said they wanted to be together, love had never been mentioned. She had talked about her 'feelings' for him and that she wanted them to be together, and he had confirmed that he wanted the same… without really talking about his feelings, though. He had feelings, after all – although he sometimes tried to ignore them, and although some people might think otherwise, anyway. He hadn't said that he had missed her, but he figured she knew. They had shared these breathtaking moments when he had visited her for dinner, and they had kissed a few times since then…
Each time it had become harder for him to let go, each time he had felt more disappointed that there wasn't more, each time he had wanted to hold her longer and tighter, feel more of her… lose himself in her…
It had been hard to stick to the plan and practice restraint – she was such a temptation, and his willpower had dwindled over the weeks. His nights had become restless, and although he had managed to focus at work, he had had to be careful not to pass her meaningful glances or betray his feelings in any other way. On the outside, he had seemed perfectly cool – he knew that he had mastered the art of pretending – but what was happening on the inside was a completely different story.
When she had been here to cook pumpkin cream soup with him, he had been on the verge of forgetting his principles… Fortunately, he had remembered them just in time. It wouldn't have been right to give in, but he was only human, and eventually, there would come a point when he wouldn't manage to ignore his desire any longer. It was difficult enough already…
And it wasn't only that.
He loved her company, he enjoyed their chats, and he admired her general attitude towards life… and there was so much more about her that he found remarkable and irresistible.
It confused him to feel so out of control, and he worried that he might feel too much – or at least more than he should, more than he (and she?) could cope with.
Was that love? If it was… what would it be like to be together with her? Not so much on the physical level – more on the emotional level. Or was he brooding too much, seeing problems everywhere when things were perfectly easy? Well, nothing was ever easy for him…
They had promised each other to take it slowly, and they had certainly not rushed things so far. However, he was scared that it would all end up in disappointment, anyway… Maybe he was doomed to be alone for his entire life? He hadn't made stellar experiences with women in his life, and although he had learnt to be generally a bit more flexible over the past years, he still sometimes was worried that the sky would fall down on him if he wasn't careful enough. Not a very sexy character trait… Could she live with that at all, or would it drive her insane?
He admitted to himself that he wanted much, much more than just moments of pleasure and the fleeting feeling of 'belonging' – not only in regard to the physical side (that was something that still worried him a little, but he was more confident now that he'd manage somehow… she had been patient and understanding and given him personal space, so there was hope that things would fall into place once they'd come to that point…), but also in other respects. He had often wished for a life companion, but it had just seemed so unrealistic that he had never really believed it could come true. Now, however, it seemed almost within reach… but was he perhaps expecting too much of her? Or of himself?
What was it all about?
He sighed. He wished he knew more about all these things – he basically had always been only a spectator in that field… If the chance came up – would he be able to talk about his emotions at all? He wasn't used to discussing his feelings, and she had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he was worrying for nothing – yet his worries were there, they were real for him, they had to be taken into consideration…
Or was he mistaken here? Was he over-interpreting everything? Was he making a mountain out of a molehill? Other people had relationships, too – how did they do it? Catherine had said there was romance in everybody's heart, even in his, and yes, she had a point. But no matter how romantic he might be deep down – would that be enough? He knew only too well that he clammed up quickly and that he'd never be gregarious and lively… Wouldn't Camille get fed up with him? Wouldn't she feel that he was too serious? Wouldn't she think that she had 'idolised' him after his departure from Saint Marie – absence makes the heart grow fonder, and memories are golden, and all this… - and run off again when she found out that he was indeed very set in his ways and maybe hard to live with? Wasn't it mainly the fact that he was a familiar face in a world of strangers for her that kept her interested?
He wanted to believe in this budding relationship, he wanted to believe in love. But it was so hard to be optimistic when you felt lonely and worried…
If only she were here with him now…
He sniffled a little and despised himself for being such a wimp. Really, he should be happy for having her in his life at all instead of whining and wallowing in self-pity because she wasn't here with him at the moment. She'd be back for New Year's Eve, after all, and then they could finally spend more quality time together.
And with a little bit of luck, the foil-wrapped devices sitting in a little cardboard box in his nightstand's drawer would be put to a good use.
He had purchased them in a rash of optimism and determination over the weekend – he had been grocery shopping with his parents, and while they had tried to decide if they wanted to try another – cheaper – toothpaste, he had idled away the time in the flanking aisles… and his gaze had fallen onto this particular range of products. He had been dead embarrassed when a young shop assistant had passed him, giving him a curious sideways glance, but heroically, he had taken one of the boxes and hid it in his hand. After having approached his mother – who was still discussing the toothpaste with his father - with an ostensibly casual "Mind, Mother, I'll wait outside", he had scurried away to the check-out… and much to his relief the cashier had just shoved the item over the scanner with a phlegmatic gesture and announced the amount due in a decidedly indifferent manner. He had paid and slipped the box into the pocket of his coat, trying to appear cool and unruffled.
Would he ever muster up the courage to put his purchase into action? What if it never happened? What if she decided she had made a mistake and didn't want him any more? She had said they'd get there eventually, but what if they didn't? And how would he know when the right moment had come?
He was still looking at her handwriting when he heard the doorbell ring. Now, that was weird – who would come to visit him at this time? Should he ignore the bell altogether? But then again, that would be rude…
Maybe the neighbour wanted to bring cookies? He sometimes fed her cat – although he wasn't too keen on King George (he wondered why she had given him that name… however, he had called 'his' lizard Harry, and that had surely seemed rather pointless to others as well) or took out the bins for her when she was on holidays – so maybe she felt that bringing him Christmas cookies were a good way to pay back his kindness? She made good cookies, so perhaps he should get up and answer the door. And at least he'd exchange a few words with someone and wouldn't go to bed without having spoken to anyone today.
He took off his glasses, got up and padded to the vestibule – he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and sighed… a morose looking, tired, middle aged man, with thinning hair, wearing grey socks, jeans and a dark grey sweatshirt… how exciting!
Oh well. Why would Ms Fletcher from next door care? She had seen him in his running gear already, and that surely wasn't too flattering, either…
The bell rang again, insistently now, and he muttered "Hold on, I'm coming…"
He opened the door with a yank – and turned into a pillar of salt.
It was Camille… standing there with her head tilted to one side, a smile on her face, and saying "Ho-ho-ho – and merry Christmas, Richard – do you have a little space in your house for a lost elf?"
Camille almost wanted to laugh out loud at the expression on his face. If she had ever seen someone being totally, completely and utterly speechless and gobsmacked, then it was Richard now, in this moment.
He stared at her as if she was a phantasmagoria, a mirage… Finally, he cleared his throat and uttered feebly "You're not in Paris?"
"I'm not – unless this is a science fiction story and we're in parallel universes or something like that," she responded, amusement in her voice.
"But…" He just didn't seem to be able to say anything coherent, and Camille arched her eyebrows and asked amicably "Will you let me in, Richard, or do you want me to get cold feet and freeze off my bum?"
He stepped to the side and let her pass, incredulously looking at her and her little suitcase and then gently closing the door behind her. As she stood there in the dim light of his vestibule, slowly getting rid of her coat, he suddenly seemed to wake up again from his daze, moving to take the garment from her and put it on a hanger, along with the cashmere shawl she had been wearing with the coat. He watched her as she also removed her shoes and placed them neatly next to his. Then, she ran a hand through her hair to smooth it a little and turned around to face him, a smile curving her lips.
It was then when he finally realised she was really, truly here, she was not a figment of his imagination, a fata morgana that had appeared as a result of his wishful thinking. She had come to rescue him from his loneliness… and he wouldn't let her go any more. And he knew that she wouldn't have come if she hadn't wanted to be with him, too.
He took her hands and pulled her close, whispering "How – I mean, what… I had thought… I had thought you'd left earlier today?"
She shook her head and said "Obviously not…" Before she could clarify, though, he had put his arms around her, enfolding her in a warm embrace and holding her tight… and in the next second, she felt his lips on hers, gentle and almost shy at first… but he got bolder quickly, and a few more moments later, she felt his tongue teasing her lips open, exploring and caressing the inside of her mouth…
Suddenly, she felt him pushing her against the bare wall next to the coat rack, and she inhaled sharply. He obviously needed no further encouragement, instructions or assistance tonight… She felt that he was very determined not to let her go again, and since she was determined to stay with him, they were clearly on the same page…
If she had perhaps thought initially that his way of greeting her had left a bit to be desired, she couldn't complain about a lack of enthusiasm any more now.
His hands came under her pullover, then she felt them on her skin, with a quick and unexpectedly deft movement, he unclasped her bra, and one of his hands cupped a breast, impatiently he began kneading it, feeling her nipple hardening under his touch. Instantly, she responded and pressed herself firmly against him, her hands slipped under his sweatshirt, pulled out his T-shirt, roamed over his back, slowly moving downwards.
Her fingers moved beneath the waistline of his jeans, trying to get in so she could feel more of his bare skin. Her body ached for him, a familiar heat started to pool in her nether regions, and she felt that he was aroused, too. He didn't pull away this time… His free hand moved to her bottom, and she felt him pressing her fiercely against his body. She was melting into his embrace, and she planted her splayed hands determinedly on the small of his back, pulling him even closer so she could feel him better. His body reacted instinctively to her presence – and she noticed with delight just how much he wanted her.
Richard had never felt before so urgently that he wanted – needed - to be close to someone – he wanted to feel her smooth skin under his hands, he wanted to hear her breathing his name, he wanted to know what it was like to be one with her… and the way she pressed herself against him and responded to his actions indicated that she wanted him, too, so… maybe… maybe…
Yes. It was clear as crystal, and there was no doubt about it.
Less than half an hour ago he had wondered how he would know when the right moment had come.
He didn't have to wonder any more: He knew it was now.
Their breathing was ragged when they broke apart for air, and when Camille looked into his shining eyes, she seemed to fall into a bottomless green lake – before she could say something, though, his lips were on her face again, tenderly moving to her cheekbone, and then he whispered something into her ear… What was that?
"Come upstairs with me… to my bedroom… please… we can… let me…"
His voice was shaky, husky and a little anxious, and he spoke incoherently, but he sounded sincere and very determined at the same time…
Oh wow… this was progressing nicely… and at a much faster pace than she had ever dared to hope for. She heard herself gasping under the touch of his hands, and with a voice she hardly recognised as her own, she responded "Yes, Richard, yes… oh yes…"
There wasn't time for thinking or wondering how it would go. For a while, it had been a question of 'if', then a question of 'when' – now there were no questions left any more. She wanted it to happen now… She had wanted him for so long, and the kisses and occasional more or less 'chaste' caresses that they had shared over the past weeks since he had come to her flat for their housewarming dinner had only fuelled her desire and made her more eager to finally 'get to the point'. It felt good to know that he wanted her, too… that he – who always appeared to be so cool and composed - couldn't hold back any more, either…
Without letting go of one another, they moved further into the hallway, and while their hands kept exploring and caressing, they reached the bottom of the staircase - with some pushing, shoving and shuffling. Richard tried to tear himself away from her lips, but her hand cupped the back of his head, and actually, he didn't want to stop kissing her…
But how would they ever get to his bedroom?
Fortunately, it wasn't a particularly long staircase – somehow they moved upstairs, stumbling, tumbling… and fumbling. Camille's pullover got discarded along with his sweatshirt when they reached the small landing, and before they had come to the end of the stairs, his T-shirt, her camisole and the lacy bra had followed, and Camille came closer and let her hands roam over his bare chest and his stomach before pressing herself against him once more. Richard gasped when he felt her breasts rubbing over his torso and then her fingers fiddling at the clasp of his belt – she didn't get far there, though, as he grabbed her hand to stop her and urged her to move and hurry up so they'd have a chance to finally make it to the bedroom.
Camille was a step ahead of him, but then she turned around to touch him again, and Richard found himself facing her beautiful firm breasts – small, but perfect. They were there, right in front of his eyes… waiting for him to touch them. That was too much for him - without thinking, he buried his face between them, touching and caressing her, placing hungry open mouthed kisses on the soft skin of her cleavage. Suddenly he felt her hands in his hair, steering his mouth towards one of her swelling nipples, and instinctively, he let his tongue flick over it, hearing her moan and draw in a hissing breath as he licked and sucked, wanting to taste more of her. One of his hands fondled her other breast while the free hand now moved over her taut abdomen… to her belt, trying to open it, but to no avail…
He - just – could – not - focus…
There – the clasp gave way… feverishly, he flipped the top button of her trousers open, the zipper gave in, and his fingers slipped inside, moved down boldly and found their way to her slick centre… Ah… this felt good…
Obviously, Camille felt the same way… She was still for a moment, then slightly altered her stance and rolled her hips against his hand with a loud moan, and Richard felt he might die here and now… He wanted her so much… he couldn't wait any more… and it was clear that she felt the same way and was very ready for him… but not here… not on the staircase!
So, he pulled his hand away, scooped her up impatiently, and carried her into his bedroom. In the twilight – the shutters were closed, but there was light from downstairs coming up – they fell on the bed, kissing each other passionately, then breaking for air, gasping, panting, whispering incoherent words…
It all went fairly quickly – and that was a good thing as Richard didn't have any chance to overthink or worry. Their clothes flew left and right, Camille deftly opened his jeans and resolutely tugged at the waistband of his boxers, helping him out of both of them, and without hesitation, Richard grabbed Camille's knickers, pulled them down and discarded them, so he could finally, finally make love to her…
Then it struck him, though – and much to Camille's dismay, he suddenly stopped his actions and desperately gasped out "Wait, wait – we must… protection…"
Camille didn't let him finish his incoherent plea, though – she panted "I've taken care… of that… don't you dare… and stop now…" and fiercely pulled him towards her, literally wrapping herself around him. He hesitated for a second, opened his mouth to say something in response… but it was forgotten the moment he felt Camille's greedy lips on his, her tongue entering his mouth, her hard nipples rubbing on his chest and her long, long legs winding around his hips…
With all the bottled up emotions, the passionate build-up and the long-suppressed fervour, there wasn't much time for preliminaries, finesse or subtlety. But neither of them felt 'run over', neglected or betrayed – they both wanted and needed release, the sooner the better - and when Camille felt Richard coming to her and then moving faster and faster, with more and more vigour, she adapted to his rhythm instinctively and did her utmost to reach her finish together with him.
It didn't take long to get there - she felt the welcome waves of release approaching… they were splashing over her, she bucked and moaned – before finally falling limp with an ecstatic long sigh - and from what seemed to be miles away, she heard several gasps and what sounded like a suppressed outcry – and then he lay still in her arms, burying his head in her neck, breathing heavily.
Gently, she stroked his neck, his shoulders, his back… and slowly, his breathing normalised again and he lifted his head, raising his eyes to hers. She saw the question in his gaze, and with a tender smile, she pulled him closer, bringing his forehead to hers and whispering softly "That was well worth the wait… wasn't it?"
He nodded and then said with a slightly hoarse voice "I'm sorry I didn't… I mean, it went way too fast… it was – smashing… for me… I hadn't wanted… but…"
"Sshhh," she made and shifted a little so she could kiss the corners of his lips. "No worries… You may not have noticed, but it was smashing for me, too. I wanted you, and I couldn't wait any longer… so, it's all good. Stop worrying! You know there's a million ways to do it, and we can take it more slowly next time… if we want to…"
Reassuringly, she raked her fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face and leaning over to kiss him again. Then she asked softly "Aren't you getting cold?" – and they slipped under the duvet together, holding on to each other. After a few minutes, Camille felt Richard relaxing, his grip was loosening, and his steady and calm breath indicated that he had fallen asleep. She snuggled up to him, revelling in the feeling of his warm body against hers and the knowledge that she had done the right thing by not going to France, but coming here instead…
A couple of hours later, Richard woke up with a start. Confused, he realised that he was in bed – a glance at his alarm clock showed him that it was nearly nine o'clock. Why on earth was he in bed at this time? And stark naked on top of this? Good grief, it was winter, wasn't it! Why wasn't he wearing his pyjamas?
Then he heard light steps coming up the staircase, and a familiar female voice was humming a song that Richard identified as 'La vie en rose'…
Camille!
The door opened, and she came in, wearing the robe that he usually kept in the bathroom. Her curly hair looked slightly ruffled, but her eyes were shining, and she wore the most irresistible smile. She switched on the little lamp on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, holding out a small plate to him and bending over to kiss him on the cheek.
"Here, I brought you some gingerbread," she said. "It's almost Christmas, after all…"
He sat up, feeling a little sheepish, and tried – in vain - to smooth his hair. "So… so it wasn't some wild fantasy?" he asked shyly. Camille shook her head, a twinkle in her eyes, and replied "It was wild, but it wasn't a fantasy…" She laughed softly at his obvious embarrassment and moved to swing her long legs on the bed and under the duvet.
Richard moved to lie down, too, propped up on his elbow and asked "What are you doing here? I mean, weren't you going to Paris?"
She took a gingerbread heart, began to nibble on it and said "Yes, I was. But my flight was cancelled – due to the fog. Originally, it was only postponed, but then I called the airline, and they said it would most likely be cancelled. I could have got it rescheduled for tomorrow – or back out and get a voucher for a flight to Paris within the next six months. So, I didn't get my money back, but I can go to Paris in the spring, over Easter."
"But your friends? You were so much looking forward to seeing them…"
"I told you about Alain's father being in hospital, didn't I… well, he was released two days ago, so obviously he's on the mend. Although they had said they wanted me to spend the holidays with them, and I know that they meant it, I realised that they also wanted to spend time with Alain's parents and siblings - together as a family - and I felt I shouldn't intrude. So, I called them, told them about the issues with the flight and said I'd stay here and spend the holidays with a friend… I hope it doesn't sound vain, but I had a hunch that you wouldn't mind spending Christmas with me, and I honestly want to spend it with you – much more than with anyone else… Alain and Isabelle seemed relieved although they claimed to be inconsolable – and we agreed on getting together in the spring instead."
He had listened intently, and his hand had wandered over to grab hers and hold it. She smiled at him and explained "And then, after I had worked up the courage to do so, I called a taxi, left my flat and came here… hoping that you won't chuck me out first thing tomorrow morning…"
Seeing the look in his eyes, she took the plate with gingerbread away and put it on the nightstand. Then she slipped under the duvet, shuffled closer to him and let her hand slide over his arm and his side, to his hip. From there, her fingers roamed lightly over the soft skin of his stomach, and excitedly, she noticed his reaction. He moved closer and whispered "If you keep doing what you're doing at the moment, there's a fairly good chance I won't ever want to chuck you out…"
He leant over her, and while his lips moved to her neck and her earlobe, she felt him tugging on the sash until the robe opened, letting his hand slip under the material and caressing her. His fingers moved over her breasts… to her stomach… and further down, and with a languorous sigh, she shifted a little so he could caress the silken skin of her inner thigh and move upwards from there.
Richard was fascinated by her open, uninhibited delight and abandon – it was entirely clear that she enjoyed his touch, and the way she writhed, the little sounds she made, the lustful sighs, the moans, the words she muttered (in French… he didn't understand all of them, but they sounded a little dirty and very hot)… all that increased his own desire, and before too long, he couldn't hold back any more and moved to make love to her again.
He felt her arms around him, her lips and her hands on his face and his body, her long legs looped around his hips – and this time, they took it slowly – and their second time together was everything he had ever dreamed of – and more…