Thanks to everyone who's still reading, especially those who have taken the time to leave a review. I does spur me on to keep writing, especially as this fic is already much longer than was originally intended!
With that in mind, I've decided to split the final chapter into two – at least that way I can post an update while working on the conclusion. I apologise in advance for Alex's smutty mind. Obviously, it has nowt to do with me. Ahem … ;)
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Chapter 7 – London, 1982
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It was "Christmas Eve Eve", as Molly had cheerfully christened the twenty-third of December. Awaiting Gene's arrival, Alex was seated at their usual table in Luigi's. She smiled sadly at the bittersweet memory and raised a glass in a toast to her daughter.
"Merry Christmas, Mols. Hope you're having fun, wherever you are."
The pain never went away, but it had dulled somewhat over time. Sighing, she took a sip from the glass of wine that was really only there as a prop: she had no intention of drinking much that evening and endangering her carefully laid plans.
After her illuminating encounter with Lily, Alex had done a lot of soul-searching. She could no longer deny her attraction to Gene but deciding whether to act on it had given her several sleepless nights. What if she decided to take things further and it didn't work out? Would they still be able to maintain a working relationship? The Guv was her rock, the one constant in this strange new reality she found herself in, and she couldn't risk losing that.
Then events had taken an unexpected turn, and the decision had virtually made itself. Gene had emerged from his office the previous afternoon to rally the troops in his usual inimitable style: head held high, eyes flashing, chest out, his feet firmly planted on the floor, he was quite a sight to behold. His piercing blue-eyed gaze captured hers and her skin prickled with awareness as a shiver of desire trickled slowly down her spine. In that brief moment, everything became crystal clear. He wants me and I couldn't bear to think of him with anyone else. Lily's right, we can find a way to make this work. Once resolved on this course of action, she felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Now all she had to do was persuade Gene that she was in earnest.
She glanced at her watch: almost seven. He'd no doubt be on his way back from visiting Lily by now. Her stomach clenched, a potent mix of nerves and anticipation, but she resisted picking up her glass and taking a good swig. Any sign that she wasn't entirely in control could wreck her carefully thought-out strategy. Smoothing down her little black dress, she crossed her legs, happy to note the flash of stocking-top revealed by the action. That and the generous amount of cleavage she was flaunting should be more than enough to arouse his interest: she could only hope that events unfolded the way she planned and he got to enjoy the full effect of the sexy lingerie she'd purchased especially for the occasion.
To distract herself, she glanced around the trattoria, allowing herself a certain sense of satisfaction. Several weeks previously, Luigi had emerged from behind the bar one evening with the dreaded cardboard box of Christmas decorations and a beaming smile. A collective shudder ran around her CID colleagues and Alex decided that someone needed to do something for the sake of all their sanities. Employing a mix of tact and feminine charm, she'd tentatively explained to the little Italian that a traditional English Christmas owed much to the colours of nature: the subtle greens of fir and ivy and mistletoe, the bright red of holly berries and a robin's breast, interspersed with touches of white to represent a crisp blanket of snow.
The following lunchtime, they'd gone through the box together and Luigi had reluctantly agreed to give up the bubblegum pink tinsel and lime green streamers she remembered all too vividly from the previous December. He did, however, put up a spirited argument in defence of anything in canary yellow.
"But signorina, it is cheerful, it is natural: the colour of sunshine!"
Alex's immediate response was to steer him outside and motion towards the leaden grey sky and general gloom of a late November afternoon.
"This is Britain not Brindisi, Luigi. There is no sun in the winter."
The little Italian had sighed heavily, reluctantly admitting defeat, and discussions had continued apace. Alex mooted a more subtle colour scheme than previously: predominantly dark green and crimson intermingled with plain white fairy lights, plus some touches of silver to give the room a hint of festive sparkle. Luigi furrowed his brows.
"But silver, she is not a colour from nature, surely?"
Alex smiled indulgently and explained that the spirit of the season did allow for some poetic licence.
"Just picture a Dickensian Christmas card - children skating on a frozen lake, snow-covered fields glittering in the sunlight …"
The little man crossed his arms and gave her a sly sideways look.
"But signorina – there is no sun in winter, is there?"
Alex opened her mouth to reply and then shut it again, and Luigi returned to polishing glasses, whistling quietly, his expression suitably smug.
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Alex shook her head ruefully at the memory. Looking around her, though, she had to admit it had been worth all her efforts in the end. The bar was festooned with garlands of holly and ivy and strung with pure white fairy lights. Admittedly, the greenery was artificial, but the effect was still pleasing. There were a few discreet streamers adorning the rafters and the small artificial tree in the corner was decked out in silver and red. Silver candles in glass holders flickered in the centre of every table and there was a generous bunch of mistletoe – the real thing, this time – hanging just inside the door. Alex had made sure to discreetly appropriate a sprig or two for reasons she was keeping to herself.
Her one major concession to Luigi had been allowing him to display the nativity scene which he was so enamoured of. It sat in pride of place at one end of the bar, looking rather charming, at least from a distance. Closer inspection, however, revealed a different story: Alex was convinced that the Virgin Mary was in fact sporting a beard, and one of the Wise Men bore more than a passing resemblance to Obi Wan Kenobi. She couldn't walk past the thing now without the voice of Alec Guinness echoing in her head. I bear the gift of myrrh – and may the Force be with you …
Still, it was a small price to pay for the overall effect. Sitting back, she took a discreet sip of water. No point drawing attention to her abstemiousness, or questions would be asked.
At that very moment, Gene appeared at the foot of the stairs, expertly dodging the mistletoe as he had been since she'd first hung it weeks ago. He'd complained at first, but Alex had only shrugged and told him it was hardly her fault he was so tall and he'd just have to learn to duck. As expected, he'd delighted in reiterating the claim that he was bigger in all departments. It occurred to her that she may be about to finally discover the truth. As he approached, usual pout firmly in place, the nerves kicked up again.
"Its bloody brass monkeys out there. Wouldn't be surprised if it snows later."
Gene removed his coat, signalled to Luigi for something to drink, and looked Alex up and down.
"Nice ter see yer've made an effort tonight, Bolly-Kecks. You got plans for later, or somethin'?"
If only you knew. He slid in next to her, his nearness combined with a distinct lack of sustenance making her slightly giddy. Needing a distraction, she picked up her glass and took a delicate sip.
"Nothing special. Just felt like a change – and it is almost Christmas, after all." She took a deep breath and tried to look suitably nonchalant. "Dunno about you, Guv, but I could do with something to eat. Shall we order?"
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"By the way, Gene – I've got a present for you."
Alex leant in close, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the commotion. It was heading for ten o'clock, most of CID were well into their cups and the volume of noise had increased steadily over the course of the evening, Chris had just burnt his finger yet again on a flaming Sambuca, and Luigi was eyeing the debauchery with his usual expression of pained resignation. Alex had drunk very little but she hadn't managed to eat much either, and the whole situation had taken on a slightly surreal aspect.
"Is it a bottle of single malt?"
Gene turned to face her, his eyes gleaming molten silver in the candlelight, and the breath caught in her throat.
"Ah, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
"Yer could've warned me. I 'aven't got anythin' for you."
Alex's mind went straight to the gutter.
"Oh, I think you might have …"
She mumbled it under her breath, and Gene furrowed his brows.
"Yer wot?"
" I said it doesn't matter, Guv. Anyway, you'll need to come upstairs if you want it."
"Bloody 'ell. How big is it?"
"Not sure yet, but I'm looking forward to finding out."
A giggle rose in her throat and she attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to turn it into a cough. Gene looked at her as though she'd finally lost the plot.
"Wot's got into yer tonight, woman?"
"Nothing yet, but I have high hopes."
Smirking, she reached for her glass and Gene crossed his arms, eyeing her with suspicion.
"You goin' down with somethin', Madam Fruitcake?"
"More like someone …"
Gene leaned in and cupped his ear.
"Will you stop bloody mumblin' and spit it out, woman!"
Alex snorted out a laugh and bit her lip, attempting to compose herself.
"I'm sorry, Guv. I promise I'll explain later."
Ray chose that moment to head towards the exit with a busty blonde on his arm, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously to indicate he was on a promise, and Alex decided that now was as good a time as any.
"Fancy escorting me upstairs, Gene? Just pretend I'm drunk and that'll give us a good excuse to leave together."
Gene cocked his head to one side and crossed his arms.
"Shouldn't be too hard, given yer recent form."
"The harder, the better, as far as I'm concerned …"
She smirked at him, and he shook his head in bemusement, getting swiftly to his feet.
"You comin, then?"
She feigned a drunken stagger, leaning gratefully into his solid bulk and whispering under her breath.
"God, I really hope so."
Luigi, who was well aware that Alex had drunk very little, wished them a cheery Buona Notte, humming 'That's Amore' under his breath, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
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I think we all know where this is heading. Or do we? Maybe the Guv won't like his present, after all …
If you want more, do let me know. Us writers thrive on feedback – that way, we know we're mostly getting it right!
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