Chapter 23
The Shelter Of Your Arms
In this cold world no matter where I go
The crowds are all the same
To them I'm just a pebble in the sand
A face without a name
Nobody gives a hang for what I say or do
But you
And in the shelter of your arms
I find peace and comfort and care
For I am wanted there
In this cold world you struggle to survive
And sometimes you can fall
You'd think someone would lend a helping hand
They'd sooner see you crawl
But just when life itself seems more than I can bear
You're there
And in the shelter of your arms
I find strength and safety and then
I rise and start again
Just give me one good reason
To go on living
To keep on trying
For what, I ask you for what
If not for you and all your love
To see me through
But just when life itself seems more than I can bear
You're there
And in the shelter of your arms
I find strength and safety and then
I rise and start again
Written by Jerry Samuels 1963
"Right then, here we are," she said, pulling up on the forecourt of her home in Camberwell Grove.
"Yep, here we are," he repeated.
The brisk efficiency in her voice made him wonder if she was already regretting offering to take him in.
They got out of the car and Dempsey retrieved his two bags from the back seat; the large nylon holdall Harry had brought from his flat and the carrier bag from the hospital filled with toiletries, magazines and the Walkman Chas had lent him.
He followed her up the steps to the front door and she let them in.
"Do you want to take your stuff straight up and I'll put the kettle on. Tea alright?"
"Yeah, sure."
"I've emptied out the second drawer of the chest of drawers by the door and I've made some space in the wardrobe."
She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Dempsey alone at the foot of the stairs. He suddenly felt like just a friend she was helping out but then, realistically he supposed, he was a work colleague and a friend at best. He wasn't expecting domestic bliss, just a little more togetherness maybe.
He liked her bedroom. It was classy. Kind of reminded him of the bedroom he'd used at Winfield Hall that time only with a more modern twist.
He dumped his bags on the bed and looked about him, noting all her personal possessions that were dotted around the room. Bottles of perfume on the dresser, a fancy box of tissues and a couple of china figurines that he made a mental note to steer well clear of – probably worth a bomb! In one corner sat an old stuffed teddy bear – cute. Both bedside tables bore fringed cherub lamps and the shelves beneath held an array of paperback books.
He bent down to take a look at a few of the titles.
The Great Gatsby – Fitzgerald, Short Stories of O. Henry , Fear of Flying – Erica Jong… wow, now that was a surprise. And a copy of The Stud by Jackie Collins! He smiled. So did Harry have a weakness for big fat trashy novels? Nice.
He turned his attention to the bed then. Big antique oak bedstead, the linen, cream cotton overlaid with lace, fresh and crisp without a crease. Lying across the foot was a huge brown mohair blanket. What with that and the electric blanket, there was no way Harry was gonna let him be cold tonight. Only thing she wasn't supplying was a warm body.
Dempsey unzipped the holdall and inspected the contents. A sweatshirt, a jumper, a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and a t-shirt. Interesting. What had made her choose these clothes in particular? Did she like them? Did she like to see him wearing them? At the bottom of the bag was his navy bathrobe and tucked discreetly away at one end, his shorts and socks.
The thought of Makepeace with her hands in his underwear was one to treasure.
He went and hung the clothing up in the wardrobe in the space she had made beside the skirts, trousers and blouses he recognised from work.
Next, he opened the second drawer of the chest of drawers standing at the side of the door and put away the underwear and the items he'd brought back from the hospital.
The other drawers suddenly looked very inviting and he felt himself tempted to take a little look. Employing a certain degree of stealth, he slid open the top drawer on the left hand side to reveal, as he had expected, an array of Harry's own underwear. Nothing too fancy, he noted with a touch of disappointment; mostly cotton and mainly white although the odd flash of colour was visible.
The drawer on the right, however, was a different story, quite a fairy tale in fact.
Layers of silk and lace. Cream, peach, pink…and oh boy, a big pile of black that made his lips pucker into a low whistle.
He unconsciously lifted an eyebrow when he spied a shiny printed surface lying just beneath a black lace brassiere and with an air of nonchalance (although for whose benefit he wasn't sure) he pushed it gently aside with a forefinger.
Oh yeah! Dempsey rejoiced silently as a stack of packages containing sheer black stockings was revealed to him.
With a grin on his face, he carefully pushed the drawer shut, trying not to think about the kind of sexy lingerie she might be wearing those stockings with. Being blessed with such a vivid imagination was hard sometimes.
Donning the jumper to replace the coat he'd hung up on the back of the door, he made his way back downstairs to find Harry in the kitchen poaching eggs.
"Smells good." He sniffed the air appreciatively.
"It's only egg on toast," she dismissed, "but I thought you'd probably be hungry."
"Whatever it is, it's gotta beat the garbage they serve up in the hospital."
"I wouldn't pass judgement until after I'd tasted it if I were you."
She took a swift gulp from the china mug at the side of her on the work top and then set about buttering the toast as it popped up from the toaster..
"Tea's on the table." She nodded towards the kitchen table which had been laid for the two of them. "Do you want to sit down? It'll only be a second."
"Thanks."
It felt kind of surreal, Makepeace taking care of him this way. The worrying thing was he could get used to it.
He took a long draught of the hot, somehow comforting tea and pulled out a chair just as she came to the table bearing their two plates.
Dempsey picked up the padded manilla bag from the chair seat.
"Oh!" Harry set the plates down and took it from his hand.
"I'd forgotten about this," she exclaimed, turning it over to the addressed side. "It must've fallen off the table."
Dempsey smiled.
She looked down at the package anxiously. "It arrived for me at SI-10 last week…same day that Toni and Levant arrived."
She looked at him questioningly. "Do you think it's related?"
Taking his seat, he grabbed the peppermill and ground out a little pepper over his eggs.
"It ain't related," he said easily.
"How can you be…" She trailed off then as light dawned.
Eyeing Dempsey suspiciously, she tore open the flap and peered inside.
It was a polythene bag, garishly printed and filled with, "Marshmallows!"
"Good," Dempsey enthused through a mouthful of food, pointing at the plate with his fork.
"Marshmallows?" she asked curiously.
He grinned. "Yeah, they go with hot chocolate."
For some totally inexplicable reason, Harry felt herself blush. Maybe it was because it brought back such delicious memories of the Sunday before last, when the evening could have ended so differently, for better or for worse.
"Toasting marshmallows on a campfire." She recalled him telling her how he hadn't had toasted marshmallows since he was a kid.
"You gonna sit down and eat now?" he chided and she caught a distinct whiff of bashfulness that both amazed and confused her.
She sat, the package by the side of her plate.
"I didn't recognise the writing."
"Got the girl on reception to write it for me –figured my writing would be too distinctive to have you guessin'."
Harry laughed. "You and your Studley Caps!"
"Ya know, I really missed a trick there. If I'd of known back in school that there was a name for the way I write, I could of had myself one helluva cool handle."
"I'm shocked," said Harry, sounding decidedly unshocked. "Bizarre writing style or not I'd have thought you'd have earned that particular nickname anyway - for far more obvious reasons."
She cut through her first poached egg and a thick river of bright yellow yolk washed over the brown toast.
"What can I say, I was a late bloomer," Dempsey grinned.
"Course you were, Dempsey and I was turning tricks at fourteen," she replied sarcastically.
He shrugged. "That don't surprise me. Had to pay for the extra piano lessons at that boarding school deal of yours somehow, huh? Only it was the piano teacher gettin' the practice with his long, sensitive fingers," he leered.
"Really, Dempsey," she huffed, "Mr Perkins was eighty if he was a day and we all adored him."
He smiled disarmingly. "Sounds like I missed my vocation. What I wouldn't give to have you tinkling my ivories."
The words didn't match the wistfulness in his voice. Was it really her imagination or was there a sad sort of longing there?
"Well if you're really good, I might treat you to a recital tonight."
God, what was the matter with her? You couldn't go saying a thing like that to Dempsey and expect to get away with it. But maybe she didn't want to get away with it.
Dempsey couldn't take his eyes of her. He knew he was staring but he couldn't help it. She was teasing him but there was a seductive softness there, a tantilizing gentleness that choked him up and enflamed him at one and the same time.
He looked down at his food, afraid to answer for a few moments and when he did, it came out gravelly and low.
"So what are your plans this afternoon?"
"Plans?" she asked dazedly.
"Yeah, you know, things to see, people to do?"
She was surprised by the question. "Why would I be going anywhere? The arrangement was that I'd be keeping my eye on you, remember?" Her eyes widened as she emphasized humorously.
"Hey, I appreciated the lip service but that was for the doc's benefit. I ain't expectin' you to hang around here all weekend," he told her lightly. "You go, go do your social butterfly thing."
Makepeace stopped chewing. "Oh!" She chewed again rapidly and swallowed. "If you want some time to yourself, that's fine. I can make myself scarce. It's just that the hospital wouldn't send you home on your own for a reason. You really do need to be careful you know."
She'd cancelled on Simon and Patrice. She was supposed to have been going with them to an antiques fayre in Oxford, making a day of it but she'd 'phoned last night with her apology. Not that she would have gone anyway with Dempsey not being released from the hospital until almost eleven o'clock. She'd also cancelled the run out into the countryside with Angela and Mike for Sunday lunch tomorrow. She wouldn't be reinstating that little jaunt though no matter what – Mike had invited along a work colleague with the clear intention of setting Harry up.
"Don't worry 'bout me. I can be careful. Just don't want you ruinin' your weekend on my account, that's all."
Harry's heart lifted a little. "Hardly. You're my houseguest – you are my weekend."
His dark eyes twinkled. "Yeah?" he asked with a broad smile.
She smiled back before quickly lowering her head to give her lunch her full attention.
"So I got you to take care of me the whole time?" he pursued.
"Within reason."
Suddenly, Dempsey felt an awful lot better.
After lunch, they played a game of Scrabble.
Harry thrashed him, if only for the fact that Dempsey had to forfeit several turns for using illegal words.
'Dick', said Harry, was a name and therefore he couldn't use it. Dempsey assured her he wasn't using it in that context so Harry had to point out that the use of slang was also forbidden. He caught her out after his third forfeit when he got a triple word score with 'babe'.
"More slang!" she accused.
"No it ain't!"
She realised her mistake. "Bet you meant it as slang though," she threw back, unwilling to admit defeat.
That made him laugh, a proper belly laugh which in turn gave Harry a fit of the giggles until they both were laughing uncontrollably.
It felt so good for both of them; to be together like this and so far away from the pressures and stresses of work that all they needed to concentrate on was each other.
The game over and Dempsey defeated, they adjourned to the sitting room.
Whilst Harry made a pot of tea and put it on a tray alongside a plate of almond shortcake biscuits, Dempsey laid a fire in the open fireplace and had it lit by the time Harry had poured out the first cup.
The Saturday afternoon film was Key Largo, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall and they settled down together on the sofa to watch.
For the first forty minutes or so they provided each other with a humorous commentary, making fun of the dated dialogue, the overblown acting style and the amorous clinches shared by Bogie and Bacall. When Dempsey lapsed into silence, Harry suspected he had finally been overtaken by tiredness. She was proved right when his head lolled to one side, resting briefly on her left shoulder before he snapped awake again. But within moments, his head was back on her shoulder and this time his breathing was deep and steady. She couldn't let him stay like that though. He'd have a terrible neck ache when he woke up but she was reluctant to move him; she liked the feeling of him leaning up against her, warm and firm and solid.
"James," she whispered softly, her face close to his, "why don't you go to bed for a bit?"
He sat up, blinking blearily. "I'm okay. We're watchin' the movie, right?"
She smiled. "Yeah, right," she said with a touch of irony.
His eyes were fluttering closed again already and she couldn't help but laugh.
"Go to bed!"
Jeez, he was so tired.
He was drawn towards her, his senses unconsciously seeking her out, gravitating towards her warmth, her smell, her voice and the comfort of her body.
And then at the same time as she moved away from him, he felt her arms encircle him, encouraging him to follow her.
"Come here," she instructed, wriggling backwards into the corner of the sofa. "Bring your legs up."
He did as he was told and then suddenly all was still. He was comfortable now, surrounded by Harry, her softness and her scent.
He didn't know which way was up; he was just drifting pleasantly, floating someplace good.
"'s nice," he murmured, aware of her hand smoothing over his hair.
His fingers fastened around some part of her; hip, thigh, arm, calf, he didn't know, he didn't need to, so long as he was anchored to her, everything was okay. His rock, his reason.
Harry hardly dared to breathe for fear of waking him. She really couldn't imagine where the courage had come from to take Dempsey in her arms, just as she had done when he had been lying so close to death.
He was leaning back against her chest, his slumbering weight really too much to be comfortable. She wriggled again to try to adjust her position and he grunted in his sleep, turning his head and snuggling against her so that his cheek was upon her right breast.
Something welled up within her and threatened to spill over
How she wanted this to be real. They were a facsimile, an effigy of lovers entwined, belonging to each other but only while he slept.
And what would happen later, when he came to his senses? Would he make some lecherous joke of it or simply ignore their situation like it wasn't even worth mentioning?
Her eyes drifted back to the television screen and for a while she continued to watch the two dimensional black and white characters flit and flash inside their neatly boxed stage.
Then she turned her head and watched Dempsey instead.
He was a healthier colour now than he had been in hospital and he appeared to be quite relaxed. His hand, which was resting on her knee, slid off and lay at a slightly awkward angle. She frowned, wondering if she should move it or not. She didn't want to disturb him, he looked too content and she was far too captivated.
She realised that her neck was aching from holding her head up at an angle.
Slowly, she let her head drop back against the corner of the sofa but that was an even more unnatural angle and so very carefully, she turned her whole body just a fraction to give herself some space to lie a little flatter. Dempsey turned with her, moulding himself quite intimately to her body and the fallen hand lifted to rest firmly upon her hip.
Harry held her breath but when he settled again, she let her arms fall back naturally around his upper body.
They had never been this close before, this physically intimate and it scared her to realise that it was what she had been desperately craving. Holding him like this filled her with a peculiar strength, a powerful 'rapture' that invaded her entire being. She just…needed him, all of him, so much.
Involuntarily, she wriggled against the pressure of his body on hers.
All of him…
When Dempsey awoke, it was dark save for the flickering firelight and the now colour pictures on the television.
He didn't move. He was warm and snug and seeing as lying in Makepeace's arms seemed like a pretty great place to be, he wasn't about to do anything that might change that.
Maybe he should go knocking at death's door more often if this was the result. Jesus, he was lying between her legs with her boob in his face. If he didn't know better, he'd think he really had died and this was where he'd wound up.
She was fast asleep, he could tell by the way her chest was steadily rising and falling.
How had they got so up close and personal? He remembered her inviting him to rest up against her but then he'd kind of faded out and missed the part where they'd gotten into this whoopee-making repose.
Why did it feel so different, lying here with Harry to how it did with other women? Wasn't even like it was 'post-coital' bliss-out 'cause they hadn't done nothin'. But that was the thing, it didn't matter, just being in each others' arms was the best feeling and that was just plain weird.
His attention suddenly shifted to his left foot and the fact that unlike him, it was still asleep.
He tried to concentrate on Harry's breathing but it was no use, the dull ache was taking over and he knew he was going to have to move.
He managed another two minutes of 'bliss-out' before conceding.
Taking his hand from her hip, he awkwardly raised himself up, trying not to force any weight down on her. Her eyes fluttered open almost instantly.
"Hey, partner, think I'm crushin' you here."
They pulled part, struggling to sit up and Harry sucked in her breath, wincing as she rolled her hip backwards and forwards in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort. Likewise, Dempsey was trying to massage some life back into his sock clad foot. Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing.
"Don't blame me!" Harry exclaimed. "I told you to go to bed."
Like he was gonna go to bed when he had the opportunity to use Makepeace as a pillow!
"What the hell time is it anyways? It's black as pitch out there," he said, glancing across at the darkened window.
Harry held her watch up close to her face and scrutinised the dial.
"My God, nearly seven thirty!"
He laughed. "No way! Almost three hours we've been snoozin'."
"Well you're recuperating . I don't know what my excuse is."
"Believe me, Princess, you don't need one. The doc shoulda had 'snuggling' written down on my prescription sheet. Feelin' almost as good as new."
'Snuggling'. Was that what they'd been doing? She rather liked the sound of that. Snuggling sounded very… affectionate and not a term she would normally have associated with Dempsey.
"Really?" she smirked. "I hadn't realised I was such an adroit snuggler."
"Lemme tell ya," he quipped, "you're the best. You could hire yourself out as a professional snuggler."
"I'll give it some serious consideration."
He pointed a finger at her. "Do it!" he grinned.
Harry stretched and yawned. "Right, I suppose I should get started on dinner."
"You don't need to do that. We'll order take-out. My treat."
She didn't need any persuading. "Right. You're on. You order while I pop up for a quick bath. I shan't be long."
She stood up to go.
"Chinese food sound good?"
"Perfect."
"Anything with prawns, right?" Dempsey asked.
"Mm, lovely."
He knew they would end up sharing anyway.
"Any objections to garlic?"
"Not unless you have."
"None at all. Just thought I should check." He sat back, giving her a cocky grin. "With the snuggling thing, ya know… if that should happen again."
Harry smirked, even as her heart flipped over.
"Probably won't really be necessary though. You said you felt as good as new now."
"Uh uh. I think you'll find I said I felt almost as good as new. Big difference."
"As in – you might suffer a relapse at any given moment?"
Dempsey gazed up at her suggestively. "Yep, an' I might need you to fill my snugglin' scrip for me."
"Don't push it, James."
He chuckled happily as Harry sashayed out into the hallway.
James
The evening stretched out before him, warm and cosy and suddenly life felt just a little bit different.