Sorry this took a few days to post - for some reason it turned into quite a hard chapter to write!
Chapter 26
Italy – Day 12
For a couple of days after opening up Elsie was quieter, not unhappy, simply more reserved. It felt decidedly odd to have shared this story, her story, with another human being.
For as long as she could remember it had been in her head, she doubted even Joe saw it the way she did – sometimes she wondered if he ever looked back on his behaviour with regret, or even disgust. A part of her hoped so, she'd hate to think of any human being living their life simply enjoying hurting another and never regretting their actions.
And then there was this wonderful man, who was so soft and so gentle and so patient. The opposite to men she'd known. And it had taken her a lifetime to find him. She wasn't about to let him go.
Twisting onto her side she was surprised to find him already awake and watching her.
"Morning," he said, stretching his hand out on her stomach, on top of the sheets.
"Hi," she smiled. "You're awake early."
"The birds woke me."
She closed her eyes again, listening, seeking out the sounds from outdoors – the breeze rustling the tree that stood beside their window, the gentle patter of raindrops.
"It's raining," she said, opening her eyes. "What about our day trip?"
"Don't worry, it'll be gone by the time we get up, just early morning drizzle."
"I hope you're right, I'm really looking forward to this."
"Me too. Especially the boat trip."
"And the church… all these years I've been alive and I've never made it Venice. That's pretty sad right?"
"Well, no, because now you get to go with me." He said happily.
She sighed. "There are so many places I want to go."
"Let's make a list, we can spend the next fifty years working our way through them."
"Fifty years! That's wishful thinking."
"We'll see…"
"Okay," she flopped onto her back again, resting her hand on top of his. "Do these have to be completely new places or can we revisit?"
"Let's start with new, then we can do revisits later."
"Right, so first… ooh I know… I once saw in the newspaper an advert for an around the world cruise. It lasted for months and you went everywhere," she lifted her hands up, palms turned upward to emphasise. "I mean can you imagine, months on holiday seeing the whole world." She turned her head to him, "Now you can't have done that?"
"You're right, I haven't."
"Of course it costs a fortune but imagine doing that when you've retired."
"You think we'll survive months on a boat, just the two of us?"
She smirked, "I'd hope so, if we're pledging to live together forever. Besides, it'll be a huge ship – there'll be plenty of people to talk to."
He nodded, "I guess so. I'm not known for making friends easily."
She turned to face him again, tucking one hand beneath her cheek. "I'll make them for us…"
"…And I'll sneak in after." He chuckled. "Alright, so the cruise is the first thing we'll do when you retire?"
"Why when only I retire?"
"Because I'm planning to slowly settle down over the next few years, not long until I'll be sixty, it's only a couple of weeks until I'm 58. I want some time for myself, get somebody in to run the shop and see how it goes. If it's too much, I'll sell."
"You've thought this through."
"I'm starting to."
She lifted her hand across to rest on his side. "When you're sixty we can have a party at our house."
"That would be lovely, outdoors with all those wonderful views. We'll get those heat lamps."
She smiled, "Yes, we can. Though it is August, I hope it will be warm."
"When do you plan to retire?"
She shrugged, "I hadn't thought, money wise – I mean when I realised I'd be supporting myself - I figured all the way through until 65."
He frowned, "Oh no, before then." He squeezed her hip. "I'll be 71, they probably won't even let me on a cruise ship then, worried I might lose my sense of direction and wander off the end."
Chuckling she said, "Alright, I'll aim for sixty and save extra hard sir."
"You do that. The sale of the shop will see us through retirement anyhow."
"Charles…" she warned.
"I know, I know…" But in his head that was how it worked out. She'd retire at sixty; he'd support them with the sale of the shop until she got her full pension. In his head they'd be married by then and half of it would be hers anyhow – he'd already planned to see his solicitor regarding his will when they got home. If they were buying this house together then everything needed to be in proper order.
"Your turn." She said gently, snuggling closer to him on the bed.
"Alright. I think I'd like to do some European train travel, don't laugh at that."
"I'm not."
"Start in France and do the whole thing, top to bottom, by train." He tapped his fingers against her hip, feeling her warmth through the silk of her nightgown. "You stop and stay in various hotels but some of it is night travel – don't you think there's something quite romantic about spending the night in a sleeper carriage?"
"I suppose," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "Until we find the bunks are too small to share let alone make love in."
He pouted, "Don't ruin it for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry. The cabins will be luxurious honey and you can love me all night long in the Queen sized beds."
"Bloody tease." He tickled her waist.
"Alright, alright. So I'd like to do something equally as luxurious for New Year."
"Go on."
"Let's go to Vegas." Her voice took on an excitable, child-like tone. "Stay in the MGM, gamble, drink, watch the fireworks on the strip."
"It's the city of sin isn't it?"
"I believe so, and what better time of year to indulge our inner sinner."
He snorted, "I guess there's logic in that."
She smiled, leaning her head forward until her nose nudged his and their mouths tentatively touched. When she opened her mouth to his he moaned, intoxicated by her. They hadn't made love since the night she'd revealed what had happened to her during her marriage and he wanted her so badly, doing his best to focus on it just being a kiss, to not touch her, to not let his body get carried away.
Elsie felt her heart jump at not only the contact but the understanding that he was being especially patient for her. Her heart, though, wasn't the only thing that was brought to life by his touch; she felt the familiar heat and tingle between her thighs, the jolt to her stomach when she thought of him being inside her.
He pulled back from the kiss, breathing deeply, rubbing his palm along her hip. "Shall I go make breakfast?" He whispered, licking his bottom lip.
Smiling she pushed herself up, lifted her nightgown up over her head and threw it to the bottom of the bed before lying down beside him again. "No, not just yet."
He was chuckling as she kissed him again, filling his arms with her, "Oh, thank god." He moaned.
Within seconds he'd managed to push his pyjama bottoms down and off the end of his feet, kicking them out of the bed, and his hands were gripping her bottom as he pressed her against him.
She rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her, eager to have him between her legs. He was already so hard and the delicious anticipation of being enveloped by her slick heat was swimming through his stomach.
She lifted her hips up to him, hooking one leg over his, her heel in the back of his shin.
"Oh god I love you," he groaned as their bodies joined, his voice raw, "I love you…" His mouth was on her forehead as he breathed the words and she tilted her face up until she found his mouth with hers.
"I love you too," she whispered in return, feeling his hips jerk against her as she said it. She gripped his shoulders, holding onto him as he moved and she lifted her body up to his, groaning simultaneously.
His eyes were squeezed shut as he thanked whatever had brought her into his life; whatever had made her walk into his shop or seen something in him that made her take the time to talk to him, to smile at him, to accept his offer of dinner – because surely it couldn't feel this good without them being made to fit together.
He stroked his tongue along her neck, suckled on her soft skin, as she ground out his name, gasping her pleasure, urging him on. He slowed his movements, drawing their pleasure out, until she'd wrapped her legs around him and was bucking against him and he couldn't control himself.
Endless kissing; deep and passionate, his body still pressed on top of hers, still inside her, the glorious afterglow of shared orgasm. Then slowing; a flicker of lips against the other, a soft touch, her hand stroking his neck, curling into his hair.
She smiled peacefully as his lips left hers, his breath upon her forehead. His body leaning to the left, his head resting on the pillow beside hers, yet still on top of her, reluctant to move.
"Elspeth," he said, dreams of proposing in this perfect moment filling his mind, and she opened her eyes, his face inches from hers.
"You said that very seriously – you're not going to tell me something sad are you?"
"Something sad?" He said, stroking his hand down her bare arm, tracing the line of freckles there.
"Yes. Like 'Elspeth, I'm sorry but it's not working out.'" She said imitating his voice.
"Bite your tongue!" he tickled her arm and she grabbed his hand.
"We have to pack tomorrow, that makes me feel sad."
"Mmm."
"And I want to wash this bedding today, I know you said a cleaner comes in before the new tenants but I don't want her washing our sex-sheets."
He snorted, "Sex sheets!"
"That's what they are, we have had a fair amount of sex in them, on them, not sure which fits best."
"How about 'making love sheets?"
She wrinkled her nose, "That sounds sissy."
He gripped her waist, his voice serious again, "Elspeth. Now that we've had all this sex, I've got to tell you, I'm afraid it's not working out."
"Oh you!" He fell onto his back as she hit him with her pillow, until he pulled her top of him and she flopped onto her back, her head on his stomach.
She groaned as she stretched out and he gazed at her body appreciatively; how could anyone ever want to hurt her?
"I hope the house moves along quickly," she said, pulling the sheets up over her. "I've got another four weeks off, I'd like to do something useful with them."
"You can work in my shop for free."
"You can bugger off."
"Hey!"
"I meant getting into the house, ripping up carpets, tearing off wallpaper."
"I hate wallpaper."
"So do I, I'm glad we're agreed on that."
"I like smooth walls, clean lines."
"Yes. And large artwork."
He smiled down at her, "For brief seconds I forget how perfect you are. Then it all comes flooding back."
She smiled pompously and shook out her hair, "Thank you darling."
He traced his fingertip down her neck, "That's the first time you've ever called me darling."
"I'm sorry, that's not my word. Thank you honey."
"Call me what the hell you like, as long as it's filled with affection not annoyance I don't care."
She felt his hand brush the sheet aside as his fingers moved over her breasts and she closed her eyes. He dipped further, shifting the bedclothes so his palm could trace over the curve of her hip. "Your skin's like silk."
"Mmm," she hummed, content beneath his touch. "We don't have time for this, not if we're going to have breakfast before we leave, and I need to shower."
"I'll help you shower…"
She cracked an eye open at him, "Like that's going to speed us up." Rolling over she rested her hands on his chest and her chin upon them. "Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day if you like, especially as we're going to have to make the most of it."
His brow furrowed, confused.
"With Anna staying, my apartment's gone now remember. And from the limited amount of texts I've received she hasn't found anywhere to rent. So, looks like we have a flat mate…"
"And no sex?!"
She giggled, leaning up to kiss him, "Making love, darling."
It was another coach journey and then they were on a boat travelling across to Venice, they sat on the top floor, open to the spectacular view so Charles could take photographs. It was breezy despite the sunshine and Elsie pulled her shawl around her as she watched him, her hair blowing in the breeze. He looked very handsome as he leant against the side of the boat, his skin tanned and healthy, and he'd lost weight since Dubai – happiness agreed with him.
She thought of what they were doing only a few hours earlier and felt her stomach contract; she crossed her legs at the sensation. Around her were young couples, cuddled up together, heading towards one of the romantic destinations on earth, and yet here she was – middle aged and completely enraptured.
"Hey," he said as he returned to sit by her, popping the lens back on his camera. "What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing, just feeling happy." She hooked her arm around his and he kissed her head.
"Good."
She rested her head against his arm, staring out at the view, at the approaching city. Charles had told her that when they were in Dubai, the night watching the waterfall display, he'd never felt so content or realised with such certainty, that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. She wondered if how he'd felt then was how she felt now – because she'd never been certain about many things in her life (Anna, teaching, leaving Scotland), but she was certain of him.
"You're quiet," he whispered, kissing her head again.
"Just thinking." She sat up, her hair whipping him in the face as the breeze caught it and they both laughed as she tucked it behind her ears. "Sorry. Can we get coffee first, then do St Mark's Basilica? I'm so looking forward to exploring it."
"We can." He thought he'd grant her anything if she looked at him like that again, with the same excitement in her eyes.
"I've been reading about it," she said, taking a guidebook from her bag. I'm intrigued by these horses, I know the ones outside are replicas now but their whole history is fascinating, moved about so much – who would have thought in the thirteenth century they had the means to transport them so. And we can see the real ones in the museum." She smiled, biting down on her bottom lip, "If I bore you with all this history stuff feel free to wander off and leave me to it."
"You know I'm as fascinated by it as you are."
She snuggled against him again, watching the dome of St. Mark's come into view.
They walked for hours – she must have a spent couple of hours alone working her way around the Basilica. He followed her for a while, took pictures, listened in on talks and when she was ready they headed outside again into the busy square.
There were shops along the outskirts of the piazza and they meandered around them, content to browse and stay in the shade during the hottest part of the day. She purchased a couple of trinkets for Anna and earrings for Beryl and then she spotted a painting of Venice that she thought perfect for Charles' birthday. Of course she'd already got him something (tucked away in the back of the wardrobe at home) but this was too nice to ignore. She waited until he'd wandered off to take more photographs, pretending she was intrigued by the scarves in there, and quizzed the vendor on the possibility of having it shipped to England. It would cost but could be done, so she'd hastily filled in the appropriate documents and paid before re-joining him outside.
They shared pizza at a restaurant overlooking the water, watching boats come and go, Piazza San Marco behind them.
"I've had such a wonderful time here," she said as they finished their wine. "Thank you for bringing me," she reached to hold his hand, folding her fingers with his on top of the table. "Thank you for my lovely birthday present."
"You're very welcome." He lifted her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it before she turned her attention back to the view.
"Elspeth…" he said seriously, the thoughts returning again, that this was the time, this was the place.
"Hmm…"
But his mother's ring was at home in his safe. Freshly polished and waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right place.
"Shall we go on a gondola next?"
"Ooh I'd love that!" she gasped. "Can we have ice-cream in one, like in the old Cornetto advert?"
He chuckled, "I'd forgotten that, I'll buy you ice-cream after, before we have to re-board that bloody coach.
"Alright. Though I want to get those chocolates before we go, you think they'll survive the journey home?"
"To the villa or England?"
"The villa," she said, shaking her head. "We can enjoy them tomorrow as we pack."
"I think they'll survive."
"Good," she quickly got to her feet, hooking her shoulder bag across her and dangling her shopping in her left hand. "Ready?" She said placing money on to the table.
He picked half of it back up, replaced it with his own and handed her it back.
"Charles…"
"Save it for the chocolates."
"Alright," she kissed him quickly.
"That was nice. Can I have more?"
"You don't agree with kissing in public," but she leant in closer this time, rested her hand on his shoulder and kissed him sweetly. "There. Better?"
"Better." And he felt proud that all around him had witnessed it.
Italy – Day 13
They woke late the following day, having being delayed on the journey back and getting in too late for anything other than a cup of tea and bed.
Charles woke first – the sunlight bothering him. He was lying on his side facing the patio windows, he could feel Elsie's warmth behind him, her arm draped over his side and he felt terrible to have to slide out from her hold and out of the bed.
In the bathroom he washed his face and rubbed his chin, he needed to shave but they didn't have plans for the day besides packing and swimming, possibly some walking, so perhaps he'd leave it, live on the wild side, he'd shave tonight before they went out for dinner, before he put his plan into action.
On the coach the previous night he'd tried to read, but reading aboard moving vehicles always made him feel sick so instead he'd planned. Tonight, he'd take her to a family-run restaurant in the town, then afterward he'd suggest a final walk down to the lake. The place where she'd told him she loved him – it seemed an eternity ago now – and once there, content and alone, he'd propose. Damn the ring, he'd just have to do it again when they got home, but this place seemed to have become unbelievably special to them over the past thirteen days and he rather liked the idea that on the official anniversary of their first ever date he would be proposing marriage.
When he came back into the bedroom she was on her back staring at the ceiling.
"Morning," he smiled, bending to kiss her. "You want some tea?"
"That would be lovely."
"And eggs?"
"Can I have a boiled egg actually?" she said starting to get up.
"You stay there, I can do it. Soldiers too?"
She smiled, "You make me sound like a child but yes I will." When he'd gone she sat up, finding her iPad and logging in to check her emails. They'd had replies from the solicitor, all was progressing fine, surveys were due to start in the next day or two. An email from Anna with a picture of the shop attached, 'To prove I haven't burnt it down.' And an invitation from Beryl to go for tea on Tuesday night.
"Charles," she shouted, "do you mind if we go for dinner to Beryl's on Tuesday?"
"Not at all. Can't think I have anything on." He said, coming back with her tea.
She hastily typed her reply, already looking forward to seeing her friend. "We'll have to pick Bill some whisky up from the duty free or something. I thought I'd just see Beryl when I gave her the gifts."
"Fine. I might get Richard some too, maybe some perfume for Izzy."
"Perfume? That's quite a personal gift."
He shrugged, "I know what she likes. Best go check the toast."
She finished her email to Beryl, 'See you Tuesday – make your steak pie! I'll bring brownies. xx E. P.S. I have used (and meant) the L word many times now! :-)
"Its raining again," she says as he brings in their breakfast.
"I know, probably just another early morning thing."
"It's almost ten o'clock."
He sits at the bottom of the bed, placing the tray between them - she curls her legs beneath her to eat and his are stretched along the opposite side. "It'll be gone soon." He says confidently.
He watches her eat, dipping her toast into her egg – "Just runny enough," she'd proclaimed as she'd taken the top off – and he thinks how wonderful it is to be domestic.
She digs her toes into his outer thigh, wiggling them, "What are you thinking about?"
"I was just thinking…" he says, gripping and squeezing her toes, "Happy Anniversary."
She turns her face up to his, questioningly.
"A year ago today we had our first date, in an Italian restaurant, would you believe."
Her smile is dazzling, "So we did." She puts her tray aside, strokes her thumb down the arch of his foot. "How wonderful of you to remember the date."
"I have lots of dates stored up here," he tapped the side of his head, "The first time we kissed…"
"On the couch in your flat whilst I was fixing your website."
He nods, happily, "The first time we danced."
"In that pub, a Friday night after work."
"And the first time we… well, you know."
"Shared our bodies?"
"Elsie!" he growls, mock-scandalised.
"How would you rather I phrase it?"
He chuckled, lying back on the bed. "You can carry on rubbing my leg there Els."
"Oh can I indeed." She pinched the skin on his ankle before stroking his leg again, rolling his pyjama bottoms up out of the way as she tickled him.
"Did you know," he said closing his eyes and listening to the rain. "That England gets less than three inches of rain in August."
"I did not. I don't tend to measure it. Did you know that English people consume more tea per capita than anybody else in the world."
"Really? Ooh I like that one. Okay, so, did you know that dolphins like to get high off puffer fish toxins?"
"I did know that actually. I saw a documentary on it."
"Me too."
She sat up, "My turn to be tickled I think."
He rolled his eyes, "Alright."
She rolled onto her stomach, resting her hands beneath her chin as he moved to lie beside her.
"Where am I tickling?"
"My back please."
He began to stroke his fingers leisurely up her spine; he remembered the first time she'd asked for this and he'd clumsy stroked his entire hand up and down her back far too quickly, and she'd gently taken his hand in hers and shown him exactly what she wanted. Now, he was expert at it, and she was humming lowly at his touch.
"Your turn," he prompted.
"Erm… I'm sleepy, you tell me more."
"Did you know," he started, "that Cambridge University Press is the world's oldest printing and publishing house, and the second largest university press in the world."
She chuckled, "I bet you know lots of book facts."
He smiled, "Hay-on-Wye has the world's largest second-hand book market."
"Have you been?"
"Yes."
She wiggled a little, hinting for him to move to her shoulders.
"Where is it?"
"On the border with Wales."
"Can we go?"
"I'll take you," he bent to kiss her head. "Thought we'd go for a walk later, have dinner in town, then to the lake for our last night."
"Mmm, that sounds nice," she yawned, rolling over onto her back. "I suppose I ought to get up and pack."
"Will you do mine too?"
She smiled up at him, "Will you tickle my back again later?"
"I'd do that for free," he kissed her until he pushed him onto his back and slid off the bed.
"Tease." He said, watching her undress. Folding his arms beneath his head he settled back against the pillows. "Are you going to pack naked?"
"Nooo," she drawled, searching in a drawer. "I'm going to put a dress on and then pack."
"I'd prefer it naked."
"I'm sure you would." She threw a t-shirt at him, "Go make some more tea would you. I'm thirsty again."
"Trying to make sure we meet our quota are you?"
"Oh absolutely."
It rained all day.
And Charles sulked.
They didn't get the chance to swim again or visit the town square for their evening meal or walk the short distance to the shops for any last minute purchases. They played Scrabble in the lounge and Charles made Bruschetta for lunch.
But none of that really mattered, because what Charles was really upset about was that his proposal has been thwarted by the weather.
There seemed little chance of it clearing by the evening and besides that the ground would be soaked and slippery and the sky had remained overcast all day so no chance of a moonlit proposal by the lake.
As they made dinner together he thinks maybe it's for the best. Maybe he's rushing it. She's only just said she loves him. They're only just buying a house. They've only been dating a year.
He's draining the pan of pasta as he thinks on this – it's heavy and slips and he shouts out as the water makes contact with his skin.
She's behind him in an instant, rolling his sleeve out of the way and holding his arm under lukewarm water. Charles reached to turn on the cold tap.
"No, just cool, not cold." She said, his skin was already looking red and supple. "Wait there." She went to fetch the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over his shoulders.
"I'm not an invalid." He said, biting his lip against the sting.
"No, but I want to make sure your temperature doesn't drop."
"It's not that bad really," he twisted his arm beneath the water.
"Maybe not but I'm not risking it."
"I lost half the pasta."
"I'll put more on." She emptied the pan and refilled it with water from the kettle. "Don't take your arm out yet."
"Stupid old fool, I was thinking of something else. In a daydream."
She stroked his back, "What were you thinking of?"
"Nothing. Something that can wait."
Kissing his cheek she reached to his fingers, moving his arm so she could see how large the scald was. "Shouldn't be too bad, you feel alright?"
"Yes. Silly. Clumsy. As a child my mum used to say I was the clumsiest boy she'd ever encountered."
"How positively glowing of her." She added pasta to the pan of water. He watched her as she turned off the sauce she'd made, laid out their dishes and took Parmesan from the fridge. He liked these moments, the domestic moments, having somebody to cook with, to eat with, to share the evening with.
"What were you like when you were pregnant?" He suddenly asked, picturing her nesting.
She chortled, "Fat!"
"I bet not."
"No not really. My ankles swelled and I had chubby fingers but my bump was fairly small, Anna was a small baby. As you can see she's still tiny now. She sent a picture by the way, the shop looks the same as when we left."
"Good. Remember how it used to look, mis-matched bookcases…"
"Piles and piles of books on the floor – always waiting to be tidied."
"Yes, yes, but you kept coming back."
"I was in desperate need of books. Besides, I rather liked the owner." She ran her hand over his bottom as she stood behind him, "And I like him even more now." She gave it a pinch.
"Hey, nobody said you could handle the merchandise."
"No," she suckled on his ear, "Make me stop."
"Bothering an injured man." He twisted his head to kiss her mouth.
"How's it feeling?"
"Numb."
"Alright, come on then," she held out a towel and he draped his arm in it, watching as she gently patted the water away. "Am I hurting you?"
"No, it feels fine. I'll put some cream on it."
"No don't, it's best just to leave it, we'll see how it looks later. Go sit down and I'll serve up."
Charles dosed after dinner, sat at one end of the sofa with his head lolling against the back of it. She sat at the opposite end, stretching out her legs and resting her feet in his lap, and opening up her book.
When he woke an hour later he groaned at the ache in his neck and the tightness of his arm.
"You alright?" She mumbled, hardly looking up from her book.
"Nothing alcohol won't cure."
She smiled, "I'll finish this page then go get dessert."
He squeezed her ankle, "What are you reading?"
"In Search of Shakespeare, it's good, slow in places but good. You want to read it after?"
"I've read it."
She was shaking her head as she marked her place with a bookmark, "Show off."
She fetched the box of chocolates from Venice from the kitchen, made a pot of tea and brought in the bottle of port too.
"Don't have too much," she said, watching him swallowing a mouthful. "We've got an early start."
"We should be back in England by lunch," he said, resting his head back again.
She placed the box of chocolates on the sofa between them, shifted the coffee table closer so she could reach her tea and settled herself back in her previous position, smiling as Charles automatically lifted his hands to allow her to place her feet in his lap.
"What do we have here then?" He said, his hand hovering over the box.
"Don't eat all the nutty ones before I get a chance."
"Well look, it's a mirrored box, so two of everything, that half for me, that half for you. Deal?"
"Deal." They both reached for the hazelnut whirl at the same time.
"This is nice isn't it," he said as he ate; chocolate, a glass of port in his hand, Elsie lying with him, warm and peaceful and secluded.
"Very nice." She watched as he took another chocolate, a dark one, a rich centre, how he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he enjoyed it. "We can have evenings in our new house like this." She said suddenly, surprising them both.
"I was thinking the same thing," he said sheepishly.
"What other things have you thought of?" She asked gently.
"Winter. Frosty nights, a large fire burning in the library, curled up in my leather chair, preferably with you in my lap." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Snow on the fields. We can go walking in it. Christmas – a family dinner with Anna. You think she'll come?"
"You're joking! She's still like a child when it comes to presents and Santa."
"Wonderful."
"It will be." She said softly, because she could see it too, and the thought did something to her insides.
Putting her tea aside she manoeuvred onto her knees, leaning forward to kiss him – he tasted of chocolate and liquor, and she took her time tangling her tongue with his.
"What are you doing Ms Hughes?" He asked bashfully.
"I was thinking of making love to you," she was already loosening the buttons on his shirt. "Unless you'd rather I left you alone…"
"Just watch the chocolates."
They both giggled as they fell into another kiss.
She'd soon stripped him of his shirt, leaving it draped over the arm of the sofa, and was slipping from his lap, taking her time to unbuckle his belt. He lifted himself up, assisting her as she took down his trousers and underwear in one go.
"My, my Mr Carson…" she teased, tracing a fingertip along his length before getting to her feet and deliberately stripping in front of him.
"The things you do to me," he said shaking his head.
"The things I'm going to do to you…" she said playfully, taking her time folding her dress until he was practically begging for her, reaching forward to catch hold of her hip and bring her to him.
"Now be careful with that arm, it will be sore." She climbed into his lap, parting her legs either side of his, hovering over him, nudging his nose with hers.
"Love you." He said, nipping her lips.
"Love you too."
She pressed against him, her breasts against his chest, away from his touch, which drove him crazy – and she kissed him until he was dizzy, her tongue circling his, tasting him, showing him just how much she loved him. Perhaps if she did that, brought them both this overwhelming pleasure, the words that had dogged her for days now would ease, the nagging question…
"God Els," he gasped, fingernails digging into her. "I need you."
She lowered herself down onto him, heard his moan of pleasure, the way he breathed her name out. And she leant back, stretching, it pushed her chest up and she felt his hands cup her breasts, fingers on her nipples before his mouth replaced them.
"You feel so good," he ground out, enveloped in the most wondrous place he'd known; Elsie's warm, welcoming body.
His hands slid beneath her shoulder blades, pushing her body back up to his until he could kiss her again, then palms down to her hips, rolling with her as she moved – back, forth, and he was panting, desperately trying to hold onto his release.
She kissed his forehead, changed the rhythm and felt him pulsing inside her. "Charles!" She gasped, closing her eyes, feeling the muscles in her stomach clench in sweet anticipation.
"Don't leave me," he gasped, holding her tight to him, "don't ever, ever leave me."
She held his face in her hands, kissed him soundly, "Never."
"No kissing in public places," he warns as she leans across him on the plane, reaching for a magazine from their bag and kissing him as she goes to sit up again.
"Nobody is watching," she says, glancing around. People are still getting on board and as with all human activities most are solely focussed on their own task. "Besides, at least I'm not suggesting we meet in the toilets or leaning over you to carry out unspeakable acts of passion."
"Elsie!" he hisses, glancing around.
She shakes her head, "Nobody is listening, they probably think two old folks like us are discussing the weather or politics or radio 4."
"I like radio 4."
"I know."
She leans in and kisses him, drawing it out deliberately. "And presently I can't seem to want to stop kissing you."
"You're wicked."
"I know. Taking your mind off the flight."
"If I get nervous later will you do it again?"
"Just ask," she flips open her magazine. "I'll have tea when they bring the drinks and a bottle of water."
"Fine," he's gazing about the cabin, watching the fuss and bother as people search for their seats. She's already halfway through an article on a new drama series starting on Sunday nights.
"How anyone can carry out any acts of passion in those wretched little toilets is beyond me," he suddenly says full of pomp, and she's still laughing as they prepare for take-off.
He's in a playful mood as they land, the gratitude of another safe flight, and as they make their way to passport control he's trying to steal her passport and take a look at the picture.
"Let me see yours first," she giggles, hiding hers behind her back as they walk, following the crowds through the grey corridors.
He confidently flips his open, "See how dark my hair is."
"Oh yes, you look much younger. I'd forgotten you used to look like that." She teased.
"Hey!" He snapped his closed, "Now yours then."
She slowly handed it over and he laughed when he saw it.
"That's not nice." She shut it again.
"I'm joking, I'm joking."
"I hate having those pictures taken."
"Don't we all, you look fine, just not as gorgeous as in the flesh." He leant in to kiss her.
"Hmm, not sure you're allowed a kiss now, after laughing at me. Not sure we should even share a car home."
He chuckled, hugging her for a moment before they moved forward in the queue.
"Ah well, looks like you're stuck with me now Elspeth Hughes – I've seen your passport picture." He said.
She was silent for the rest of the time they queued, listening to him chatter on about the rules and regulations of what you could and couldn't bring into the country, watching families struggle with unruly and exhausted children, babies sleeping in father's arms, young couples either clamped together after a fortnight of loving or standing apart after a fortnight proved they were incompatible.
She wondered how she and Charles were viewed by others.
There were couples their age, talking or checking phones or staring into the distance hoping to shorten the queue by power-of-the-mind alone. She felt Charles' hand touch her back, resting lightly at the base of her spine as they moved forward and there was such warmth in the action, and she really couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd felt safer, more cared for, more secure.
When they reached the front of the queue she noticed couples going to the desks together, as did families. "Two of you?" The security guard asked her as she waited for her turn to go forward.
"We're not married." She said softly, Charles was distracted, talking to an elderly gentleman behind them about his trip to Australia.
The guard sent her forward alone and as she handed her passport across and waited for it to be scanned she looked back at Charles still stood in the queue waiting to move forward. She'd have to wait for him to catch up.
By time they reached luggage retrieval words were tumbling around in her head, people were pushing and shoving to get closest to the carousel and Charles was standing slightly in front of her looking out for their cases.
"You'll have to prod me when you see yours," he said over his shoulder, "so many look the same."
She bit her lip, staring at his back, reaching to touch his arm.
"What? Is it here?" He glanced around at her, "Els?"
"I do want to be stuck with you."
Confusion seems to pass over his face as he tries to hear her clearly. "What?"
"I do want to be stuck with you."
He turns fully to face her, the noise of the airport disappearing into a dull buzzing around them.
"What does that mean?"
She stepped closer to him, terrified, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, throat so tight she can barely breathe let alone speak, "Marry me." She says lowly, almost afraid of giving the words life.
His eyes are wide, mouth gaping, he's trembling as he tries to comprehend what she's asking – here, right here in the airport with hundreds of strangers and noise and she's…
"You mean it?"
"More than anything."
Her hand is on his chest and she's starting to smile. "Don't make me get on one knee."
"Oh god," he suddenly grips her fiercely to him, dropping the bag he's holding, pulling her body flush against his and burying his face in her neck as he holds her.
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