At Last
A/N: This chapter is a bit of a monster at almost 3,000 words but it is the party at The Frolicking Fox. I hope that I have done it justice and that you all enjoy. Suggested music for this chapter: "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding and "At Last" by Etta James.
The Frolicking Fox is certainly living up to its name as the small crowd of friends and those Elsie considers family filter into the pub and settle in. A friend of Bill's, and William's music teacher, John Bates, has agreed to provide the music and sets in at the piano, plays a variety of classic that Beryl knows Elsie likes. Jazz standards mostly with some R&B thrown in for good measure. He's brought Anna Smith with him, a lovely petite blonde who occasionally sings at the Fox when he plays. Anna is a young actress on the West End, making a name for herself in the theatre. Beryl claims that she sees sparks between them but Bill tells her that she sees sparks between any man and woman who are around each other more than five minutes. However, she insists, insists that she sees the pianist's eyes crinkle into a smile every time he looks at the singer. A few people are playing darts and others are gathered at the billiards table. Bill makes sure that no one is parched for very long; he has pulled out the good stuff and the shy but efficient Joe Molesley is on duty tonight. Bill says that he'd never peg Molesley for a bartender, a man who's shy and reserved, a little haphazard in life but he's a real talent with a cocktail shaker and the customers like his affable nature. Moreover, Beryl is right when she said that Molesley has a soft spot for Elsie's assistant, Phyllis Baxter. Even Elsie believes that the two are well suited; both smart, dependable, and loyal to a fault.
Elsie sits at the bar, smartly dressed in a long sleeve cream sweater and jeans; perfect for a casual affair and she wants to be comfortable. She enjoys having her friends about and this party is so very different from the events that she is required to attend, from the parties that Cora Crawley hosts at Christmas when Robert invites all of his employees and those other affiliates to the Gratham House. Cora is always welcoming, her manners impeccable, but it all rings a bit superficial. The house is beautiful of course and the decorations expensive. The Christmas tree is taller than any Elsie has ever seen and the ornaments alone cost more than half a year's rental on her first flat. The presents piled underneath the tree for Mary, Edith, and Sybil are not terribly extravagant in number, but Elsie wonders what Father Christmas delivers to the girls when he comes. The food is posh, they are things that Elsie that actually likes (dishes that Beryl can cook if she takes a notion) but not the things that she prefers. No those things are the dishes they are having tonight; all of Elsie's favorites and standard pub fare to boot.
Elsie nurses her wine, a second glass, and is on her third cigarette and desperately trying not to think about whether Charles will be coming or whether Alice Neal will be on his arm. She tells herself that she does not know why she cares; that she doesn't really know this man, only had lunch with him because his girlfriend sent her off with him in her stead. Nevertheless, there is something about him. Something that makes her feel comfortable and uncomfortable too if she will admit it. Yet, she is not the woman to go after a man who is committed, not the type to break a household up and she will put aside her feelings it he does not return them no matter what Beryl says. She has spent the evening making small talk, thanking her friends for coming, accepting their congratulations on the success of the book, and watching Joe Molesley trying his best to impress Phyllis. She hopes that those two can manage another date soon.
Elsie feels Bill's hand come to rest gently on her arm and she looks up to see him nod, eyebrows raised, and he's looking over in the direction of the front door. She follows his gaze and bites down on her lip because he is standing there. Tall and broad shouldered, dressed in his jeans and white shirt, black overcoat with his collar turned up. He has a bouquet of cut flowers in his hand he stands there alone; that woman is not with him.
"Elsie, I'll keep Bee distracted. Go say hello," Bill encourages her, gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Elsie smiles, mouths a thank you, and pushes away from the bar. If Beryl is her best friend, Bill is a very close second; a kind and gentle soul, he is a romantic at heart and knows when to keep his wife at bay to allow a private moment. As Elsie approaches Charles she suddenly feels self-conscious a queasy feeling in her stomach. She brushes her hand through her hair nervously.
"Hello," her voice soft and inviting, a smile offered.
"Hello, I, um, I usually I bring a bottle of wine to a party but…."
"….but we're at a pub." They smile at one another, easy and the ice is broken. "They are very lovely. Thank you. Let's get these in some water," Elsie replies. "I'm afraid that we're nothing fancy here. Just some friends and family," she says, not sure why she seems to be offering an excuse for the casual atmosphere.
Out of the kitchens bustles Beryl with a vase, Bill following behind her, an apologetic look playing across his face. "Oh, hello, you must be Charles. I'm Beryl Mason, Elsie's oldest friend," she fires out, taking the bouquet from Elsie and placing the flowers in the vase. "Come right over here so that we can introduce ourselves properly.
"So you didn't bring Miss Neal with you?"
"Beryl!" Elsie cries in horror.
Charles laughs graciously. He's accustomed to making excuses for Alice. "No, I am afraid Alice had a prior commitment." I'll bet Beryl thinks.
"Well, make yourself to home Mr. Carson," Bill says, pulling Beryl behind the bar and back into the kitchens for a chat.
Elsie introduces Charles to a few of her friends, to Molesley who gushes about Charles' playing career. Reminds Charles of his greatest accomplishments, begins to recall statistics and recount his own days playing on his village's team. He begins to demonstrate his own bowling technique, looking like a gangly chimp before Phyllis kindly intervenes. Molesley drafts Charles a pint and then he and Elsie search out a table, greeting more of her friends along the way.
Charles and Elsie sit and talk for the whole half an hour before Beryl escapes Bill's grasp in the kitchen. He has made her promise not to embarrass Elsie with too many questions or innuendo. To leave them be and allow them a proper chinwag. For a while, she watches from a respectable distance. Observes Elsie laughing, brushing her hand along the back of her neck, dipping her head down and to the side. Beryl knows that move; she's seen it often enough when she and Bill double dated with Elsie and whomever she happened to be seeing at the moment. It was a sure sign that she was anxious and interested. She observes as they leave the table and make their way to the dartboard. Beryl pulls Bill to her side. "Watch this," she tells him as Charles pulls three darts from the board and comes to Elsie's side. He hands a dart to her and she throws it missing the mark wildly. Beryl shakes her head. "I cannot believe this," she confides to her husband. They watch as Elsie takes the second dart, aims, throws, and again, misses very wide of the mark. "Can you believe your eyes?" she asks Bill. "I've seen Elsie Hughes win money off men who were damn good. I have a good mind to…."
"You'll stay right here," Bill tells her firmly. "You'll let him show her how to hit the bullseye."
"You have to hold it just so, like this," Charles says as he moves behind Elsie, stands behind her so close that she can felt the heat radiating from him. "See, like this," he says as he wraps his fingers around hers. "Hold it gently, but firmly, balancing its weight." She knows that he doesn't intend it, but the timbre of his voice in her ear, the closeness of his body next to hers is overpowering her. She can barely concentrate on his words and really, they are of no consequence to her, she could care less about whether or not the dart that she holds between her fingers at this moment hits the bullseye or even makes it to the board. This man is stirring things in her that she hasn't felt in such a long time. "Now," he says as he draws her hand back, "it's all in the wrist," and he allows her hand to flick forward.
"Just like that," she says breathlessly as the dart releases and flies forward and with a thud sticks in the board, hits the bullseye. She turns to thank him and he hasn't moved, he's standing so close to her that she bumps into his chest and it startles her. She shakes her head, closes her eyes, and sighs. "I'm sorry Charles."
"Nothing to be sorry for, Elsie," he rumbles, his eyes smiling, she notices that he pats a hand at his waist.
"Come on, why don't I buy you a drink? In payment for my lesson," Elsie offers with a smile, a soft hand placed on his arm.
xxxxxx
"Oh, come on Elsie Hughes, get yourself up here," Beryl cajoles her. Beryl is more than slightly sloshed having enjoyed one too many of Joe Molesley's cocktails. Anna has taken a break, an intermission, and Beryl has taken to the microphone and the music selection has taken on a decidedly Motown theme. Beryl has run the gamut from "Can't Hurry Love" to "Sittin' on The Dock of the Bay" to "These Arms of Mine." Though Elsie is loath to admit it, when she and Beryl were flat mates, they often spent many a night cooking and enjoying one too many glasses of wine and singing and dancing the night away in the kitchen. Truth told they both miss those days, when a bottle of cheap wine and a kitchen sing-along could cure what ailed them.
Despite her protests, their friends' encouragement pushes a tipsy Elsie toward the microphone and Beryl slings a heavy arm around her shoulders and whispers something to Elsie, unfit for anyone else's ear, which gets the reaction Beryl wants (a throaty laugh, dirty around the edges and a blush). Beryl asks the audience for a request and the murmuring begins, Bill starts to speak up, wants to hear "Son of a Preacher Man" because he is one, but a nasally voice with a little giggle in it is heard above the others. "How about Stop in the Name of Love?" calls Joe Molesley. It is a favorite of his because when they sing it, Phyllis Baxter joins in making the duet a threesome. Phyllis waves the suggestion off, ducks her head down. Still a shy woman in front of a crowd.
"How about… 'At Last?" a deep voice rumbles from the back of the room. Elsie's head snaps up and suddenly Beryl seems to sober. Elsie worries her bottom lip and looks pleadingly at Beryl. Beryl winks mischievously, presses the microphone into Elsie's hand, and slips off to the side. Elsie reaches for the tumbler of scotch that sits on the piano, swallows down the entire contents (she needs a bit of Dutch courage for this one), and is thankful that Bill buys the good stuff. She takes a deep breath and nods to John to begin playing.
At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
The crowd quiets, listens to the smoothness of her voice. Bill takes Beryl by the hand, twirls her around into his embrace, and begins to dance with her. The gesture is not lost on Joe Molesley who nods to Phyllis Baxter, she smiles, meets him half way. Gradually, couples fill the floor, swaying in place as Elsie serenades them.
My lonely days are over and life is like a song,
At last the skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you
And suddenly, before her, he sits there, eyes all grey smoke and amber, and he is looking only at her. She knows that she will regret it but she is just drunk enough, just numbed enough to not care just now. Beryl is right, he is not married, and that woman that he is with is not good enough for him by half. Elsie moves closer to him, stands face to face with Charles, and feels herself about to reach out. About to reach out and touch his cheek, but she stops herself, pulls up short. Elsie Hughes is not that drunk, never has been so drunk as to make a complete fool of herself. Then, he smiles at her, takes the microphone away, lays it aside, though she continues to sing.
You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
for you are mine...
At last.
Charles extends his hand and she takes it, the air surrounding them is palpable with electricity. Elsie thinks that it is because she is tipsy, the warmth she feels is due to the single malt she has drunk, but she looks at him, he is stone cold sober, and she knows that what she is feeling is real.
"That was very lovely. Thank you for my serenade," Charles rumbles earnestly, his hand tightening around her waist.
"I'm afraid that I've embarrassed us both," Elsie sighs.
"Get away with you," he whispers. "I enjoyed it very much. But," he pauses, "I'm afraid, that I must be going. It's late and we've test cricket tomorrow and it is a very long day," Charles admits sadly. He cannot remember when he has had such a good time, when he has not had to think about how he might embarrass someone or say the wrong the thing. The last time that he could be just himself.
"I'm so pleased that you came," Elsie replies, a smile tugging at her lips. "Let me walk you out."
Elsie walks Charles to the door, doubts that anyone notices that they have gone missing from the party, the music still fills the air and the beer and liquor still flows.
He shrugs into his overcoat, pops the collar up. "Perhaps next time I'll do the serenading," he says with a wink.
"I'll hold you to it," Elsie replies. She watches as he leaves, brings a hand to the back of her neck, and smiles. This time, she believes that there may indeed be a next time.
xxxxx
During the cab ride, Charles has thought about Alice, about their relationship; whether they are still suited to one another, whether he is indeed a collector of broken things and whether he wants to continue to try with her. His mind continues to wander to Elsie, to her warmth, to her smile, to the way her voice warmed him and the easy way they have with one another. She is all woman, confident and successful, soft and feminine. She is stirring things in him that he truly hasn't felt with Alice in so very long. He wonders if he isn't staying with Alice out of some sense of duty, of some distorted sense of obligation.
It is late and tomorrow will be long, but he cannot rest easy without talking with Alice one last time. It is a niggling feeling. He doesn't like being at odds with anyone and he doesn't like leaving things to chance, he likes to have plans nailed down. He finds the key to her flat on his key ring and places it in the lock, turns it and lets himself in. The lights are off but she's home, her purse is on the table in the hall. He makes his way to her bedroom, can hear her voice, she must be on the telephone with someone. It is not unusual for her to be talking with someone late at night, conducting a telephone interview across time zones.
"Alice," he calls. He hears her voice quiet and a bit of rustling. "Alice it's Charlie. I'd like to talk."
Charles enters her bedroom, switches on the light and his heart stops. Alice quickly covers herself with the duvet and the man she is with quickly searches out his pants and shimmies into them.
"Charlie, I didn't mean…"
"No, I suppose you didn't mean for me to find out," Charles states, more calmly that he thought he would. "You've made my decision so much clearer," he laughs. "But I never thought you'd resort to slumming with him."
"Wait just a minute," Charlie Grigg shouts indignantly as he makes to get up.
"You two deserve each other," Charles replies, disgust dripping from his voice as he worked the key loose from his key ring. "Here, you need this more than I do," tossing the key at Grigg.
TBC… Thank you all for your reblogs, reviews, and for reading. I would like to thank the guest reviewers to whom I cannot respond personally. Reviews are coveted and appreciated. x