The morning had been consumed by work of one kind or another which, given it was a Saturday, Robbie considered to be pretty rubbish. The revelation at breakfast, that somehow Laura was caught up in this Johnson business, hadn't gotten things off to the most audacious start although since then he'd had at least succeeded in convincing her that there must have been an error somewhere. But it hasn't been easy.
"It's an administrative thing, got to be," he'd argued, "It's a pain, but it's not as if you've done anything wrong."
She'd eyed him cynically as he'd continued in that vein but eventually conceded that the explanation had to be that simple although he could tell that it was going to rankle for some time to come. He didn't blame her. Far from it. He would have felt the same if the situation had been reversed. But it clouded the atmosphere between them and eventually he'd left her to it, tucked up in the armchair nearest the fireplace pouring over the case notes for the tenth or eleventh time. A notepad had been balanced precariously on the arm so she could scribble down any inconsistencies. But when he returned an hour later, the upstairs duly dusted and vacuumed, it remained blank save for a single sentence and one that merely reiterated her initial reaction. She was adamant that she hadn't been the lead pathologist or even assisted. She had a vague memory that she'd been asked for her opinion; that there'd been a question over how the strangulation could have happened when the bruising around the neck had been so light and without any sign of a ligature having been used. But she thought that had been later, when the case had finally come to court, not that she'd been involved then either.
Leaning against the door frame he watched her, bent over with her brow furrowed in concentration, strands of golden hair crying out to be pushed back out of the way. He thought about asking about it all again, to see if she'd had any further thoughts, but instead opted for a different tact.
"Cuppa?" he asked cheerily, shifting from his position and entering the room properly.
"Mmm," came the distracted response, another page flicked over, the crease in her brow deepening.
"Wine? Beer? Cocktail?" he offered and then added with a flourish akin to that of a barman displaying his wares with a voice to match, "We carry a wide selection of beverages for our discerning customers."
This at least elicited a response, albeit an upward glance and a roll of the eyes before they were focused back on her task. He sank to knees at the side of the chair and reached over to gently tug her hands from where they rested against the papers and into his own.
"You could read it a thousand times more, love. It won't change anything." She didn't reply but neither did she pull away. Emboldened, he continued. "What did you tell me when I was stewing over Graham Lawrie, or Jack Cornish, even Miranda Thornton?"
Laura looked up. Her gaze had been taken up with how their fingers intertwined quite naturally, and for a moment she was distracted by the normalcy of it given the many years when it would have been anything. But she'd heard him and a small smirk played at the corners of her mouth.
"Something pithy and bang on the money."
"Quite!" Robbie replied with a grin, "So, put this away, eh?" gesturing to indicate what he meant, "And I'll treat you to a slap up meal. I'll even wear that new shirt you got for me."
"What?" she exclaimed in mild surprise, "After all the fuss you made? I thought you didn't need me to choose your clothes for you?"
"And I don't," he confirmed, "But I can pretend I look good in green if it means we can forget things, just for an afternoon."
Laura sighed and rested her head back against the high back of the chair, her eyes closing. He was right, she needed a break. She knew she was letting the implications of all this get the better of her and she was doing what she'd resolved not to, disappearing in on herself. And that wasn't fair, especially not after New Zealand, not after everything he'd said.
After several breaths, she reluctantly opened one eye to see what she already knew, Robbie waiting expectantly. The other eye quickly followed as neither of them moved, their wordless communication at play once again.
"So," she said at last, "Where are you taking me?"
He'd had to do some quick thinking, the suggestion of going out for lunch had run ahead of an actual thought of where they might go. But looking around now, Robbie felt pretty chuffed with himself.
It was pure chance that he'd read about this place, a sidebar to an article about the latest showing at the Ashmolean, the main galleries of which lay several floors beneath their feet. He'd reckoned it was an exhibition Laura might enjoy and one that was small enough that he might survive it. He had thought they could pop in, that he could surprise her with the idea instead of the usual pint and G&T. She always said she didn't mind what they did, and it wasn't as if he minded a bit of culture every now and then, but truthfully they usually ended up doing what he suggested and he was a man of simple needs. But of course, inevitably, he hadn't gotten around to it, but now, instead of being annoyed at himself for another missed opportunity, he was glad.
The irregular clink of polished steel against china blended seamlessly with the chatter of their fellow diners. Waiters moved effortlessly between the tables delivering trays of drinks and carefully prepared morsels, all of which was topped off by the sun streaming in through the wall of glass that overlooked the city. The warmth that would otherwise have bothered them was tempered the open doors to the terrace bringing a welcome breeze from across the rooftops
"To your great idea," Laura offered, her glass raised in a toast.
"Cheers!" Robbie returned, his eyes not leaving hers as they simultaneously took a sip and shared a look of contentment, although he could see she wanted to say something. He thought about letting her stew, just for a minute, but that wouldn't have been fair.
"Go on then," he said encouragingly, "Ask."
"Ask what?" she said innocently.
"Just ask."
"Ok," she acquiesced with a small shrug. "You're sure you didn't plan this?"
"Nope," he replied, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair as he pretended to study the menu in detail.
"Not even a little bit? Asked Hathaway for a recommendation? Called ahead, just to check they had a table?"
"You know me, love. I'm easy. Relaxed. Spontaneous. I just let the mood take me."
He could see her eyes twinkling with mirth as she considered her response, and he just about managed to prevent grinning at her in glee that somehow he'd surprised her by concentrating all his efforts on the choice between the goat cheese tart or scallops for a starter.
"Easy you may be," she said at last, a comment which caused him to look up and to see her lips curled up into a smile, "But spontaneous..."
"I can be," he replied, his eyes narrowing at the suggestion.
"Robbie..." she said, bemused.
"What? I can!"
Laura didn't reply. He was right in some ways. He was more than capable of surprising her, even pulling off the grand gesture when the mood took him, but mostly their history together was altogether more subtle. A string of small decisions to choose one another, each one pushing them closer together.
Making her food choice, she reached for her wine and took a slow sip, savouring its tanginess as she felt the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders lessen. She'd found she could handle almost everything with the utmost poise and calm over the years, but her professionalism being called into question was the great exception. It was either luck or by her own good judgement that it happened so rarely but when it did she struggled. In the past she'd battled it alone, but not this time, and she was grateful.
"After this, do you want to look downstairs?" Robbie asked, interrupting her thoughts. "There's some new pictures on display somewhere."
Laura fought the strong temptation to tease him over his choice of words but opted for a smile of ready agreement instead. She reached over the table to his hand, enjoyed the squeeze he gave it as she ran her thumb lightly over his knuckles, delighting in the spark that was so easily ignited by his touch.
"And while I'm looking at the pictures?" she asked, giving him an out.
"I'll be looking at them too," he shrugged, and then correcting himself as she cocked an eyebrow at him, "Well, looking at you looking at them. But," he added, his face brightening, "It still counts."
They left the museum via the grand entrance with its white pillars flanking their exit and descended the stone stairs hand-in-hand. As they reached the bottom Laura stopped and with Robbie one step down as he turned to face her their eyes were level.
"Thanks Robbie," she said, her free hand fingering the soft newness of his collar, "I needed that."
"Rembrandt?" he joked.
"Not the art," she replied, her voice low and sincere.
Robbie smiled and releasing her hand slipped both arms around her waist to bring her close.
"We both needed a break."
They stood with bodies touching but not quite together in the way that they'd like, the exposed front of the Ashmolean a little too public for that. But the world around them did seem to fade a little as Laura leant in to press her lips to his and he responded in kind. As she tightened her grip on his shirt Robbie did the same, heightening the connection between them. Her hum of delight spurred him on to deepen their kiss, drawing it out for as long as he dared before self-consciousness caused him to draw back.
But he didn't relinquish her but instead took a moment to enjoy the woman in his arms. Luck wasn't something he put a lot of faith in but he couldn't help but think that he must have cashed in a heap of it when Laura Hobson entered his life. She'd made grim crime scenes oddly palatable, offered friendship even before he knew he needed it, and patience when he'd scarce deserved it. Even now she looked back at him in a way that couldn't help but make him grin like a cat that got the cream.
"Does that mean I can take you home now, doctor?" he ventured, in a way that he hoped made his intentions clear.
She seemed to think for a minute, her eyes alive as she toyed with a thought before she slipped her hands down from his chest and behind her to release herself from his hold. She stepped down to meet him and then continued on, grabbing his hand as she passed and pulling him along with her.
Passing through the black iron gates, they carefully side stepped a large group of tourists who were straining to hear their tour guide over the noise of the traffic, and fell in step with one another as soon as there was enough space.
"I take it that's a yes then?" he asked after a while, his grin broadening to that of a Cheshire Cat at the idea.
Laura felt herself smile as she felt the squeeze of his hand, her eyes flicking up briefly to meet his before they were back on the pavement in front.
"Let's take each other home," she said coyly, "It'll be more fun that way."