There seemed to be some appetite for what might come next, so here we go, into the unknown. Ready? That's good coz I'm flying without a chute here :-)
The high-pitched calls of the seagulls were like a gramophone record that was stuck on repeat. Less melodious perhaps, but endless nonetheless. Elsie watched from the window as they soared on the breeze, their wings seemingly still as they swooped across the rooftops before diving down towards the beach. Sometimes they would get lucky and find a chip on the sand dropped from its newspaper wrapper, or the end of a wafer cone sliding slowly down a melting scoop of ice cream. But mostly they circulated back on themselves, to start the whole process again of squawking and gliding again and, she thought as she wrapped her arms more tightly around her body, there was something both pointless and soothing about that.
The room behind her was pleasant enough. A well-made bed flanked by dark oak side tables was centred along the wall, a matching wardrobe off to one side and an armchair sat at an angle on the other. A narrow door led to a small bathroom that on seeing it had told Elsie all she needed to know; that her new husband had spent a good deal more money than he was ever likely to admit to. She could only hope that he knew how much she appreciated his efforts, and just how loved it made her feel.
There'd been a few awkward moments as they'd figured out what they should do next, both secretly anxious to unpack to prevent their clothes from becoming too creased but neither sure if that felt too mundane. As it was, the telephone had rung before they could get around to anything at all. Charles had answered it briskly, listened and then hung up, muttering something about inefficiency as he headed towards the door and pulled it open.
"I won't be long," he'd said apologetically before disappearing, the door swinging back on its hinges, the lock closing with a loud click.
Contemplating the room she'd found herself alone in, Elsie set to work and within fifteen minutes had her suitcase emptied and stowed neatly under the bed. She'd contemplated doing his as well but decided he wouldn't thank her for quite that level of intimacy. So, she waited and after ten minutes of just the seagulls and the waves for entertainment she started to wish she'd brought a book.
The sound of the door knob turning had her spinning on her heel, a red-faced Charles filling her view.
"Honest to God, Elsie," he admonished, crossing to the chair and sitting down heavily, "If we ran the Abbey like the staff do here we'd have been out on our ears long ago."
"Oh?" she replied, crossing to perch on the edge of the bed, "What have they done? Or not done?"
He seemed to consider replying but instead gave a small shake of the head. "It doesn't matter."
It was tempting to indulge her curiosity and push for a more informative response but didn't want to risk a disagreement. She decided on a different tack and set about explaining what space she'd taken for her things and that she thought she'd left enough for him.
"And I thought I'd take this side of the bed," she said tentatively, gesturing to where she sat, "But only if you don't mind. Becky and I shared a bed growing up and this side was always mine, you see. Even in a single bed I've tended towards hugging the left hand side."
The recollection brought a smile to her face and also to his.
"Well in that case," he offered gallantly, "Yours it shall be. But," he paused, thought for a moment, and added in a far lower tone, "I reserve the right to find you there sometimes, should I need you."
Her cheeks flamed and she shifted uncomfortably. He'd started doing this, she realised, acting completely normally and then throwing in some delicious comment that caught her by surprise. It was as if his confession on the train had released him from his own high standard of behaviour. She knew him capable of wanting and loving her, but the act of saying so was only hours old. It was going to be an adjustment.
"Well in that case, Mr Carson, you'd best be prepared that I may be happy to meet that need."
It was about as shocking a retort as she could manage but, twinned with her suddenly standing, striding to the wardrobe and pulling out her best dress, she thought the score on that front was even. For now.
"Why don't you unpack whilst I change," she suggested, heading towards the bathroom. "Our dinner reservation was for half past six, wasn't it?"
And with that she disappeared, leaving her flustered husband alone to his thoughts.
The dining room was tastefully furnished, the tall windows that overlooked the seafront framed with great swathes of sage green velvet offset the bright white of linen tablecloths, the wall lights providing a warmth that saved the large from feeling too impersonal. With their table situated close to the centre of the room they had ample opportunity to observe their fellow guests and speculate as to how and why they came to be in Scarborough in early May.
First there was the party of three older ladies of a certain class sitting in one of the large bay windows. At a glance, they appeared to be on intimate terms with one another, but over the last half hour it was clear to both Charles and Elsie that their interest in one another was likely feigned and so surely they had a shared childhood connection, finishing school, but nothing more. Next to them was a young man of no more than 25 eating alone.
"Highly suspect," Charles remarked, a comment that had Elsie raising a pointed eyebrow in response before moving them on.
"It wouldn't surprise me if the two gentlemen sitting to your right...no, don't look!...were travelling salesmen of some kind," Elsie muttered conspiratorially under her breath. "The older one looks decidedly shifty."
Charles waited a moment before slowly casting his eyes sideways. "Mmm, you could be right. Definitely that air about him. No briefcase though."
"Well, he wouldn't bring it to dinner. It's probably stashed in his room."
He acknowledged this likelihood and focused back on dealing with the remainder of his fish. The evening was going as he'd imagined. Their earlier nervousness with one another had melted away once they'd dealt with the practicalities of the sleeping arrangements. He imagined they'd both been more worried about that than they'd let on to the other. For all their talk on the matter of marital relations, there was something quite intimate about watching someone put their nightwear under their pillow, particularly when that pillow was next to yours. But over the soup course they'd found a rhythm, the ease of chatter pushing away thoughts of anything else than simply enjoying their meal.
"I wonder what everyone makes of us?" she asked suddenly.
He looked up. "An old married couple treating themselves, I would imagine."
"Not so far from the truth then," she said wryly, "We're old, married and having a treat."
"Except our love is not exactly old," he countered.
"No, but nor is it exactly young," she smiled, "I've loved you a long time, Mr Carson."
"And I you, Mrs Carson."
They gazed at one another, the hustle and bustle around them slipping away to dull hum, the clink of glasses and silver cutlery on china melting together with the tinkle of the piano being played in the corner. And in that moment Charles fancied he could both live forever in the glorious knowledge of her affection and die a happy man.
"Penny for them," she said at last, lips curled upwards in what he could only describe as a knowing look.
He felt his cheeks warm and he gave a small shake of the head. It wouldn't do to share exactly what was in his mind right now. She asked again but he kept his tongue, but on the third try her almost pleading tone was too much.
"If you must know," he replied tersely, perhaps more so than he'd meant, "I was wondering how long it's going to take to clear out plates and bring out the main course."
"Oh," she replied in surprise, frowning a little. "Well, yes. They are taking a bit longer to get to us, I suppose."
He leaned forward and reached for her hand where it rested in her lap. It was an awkward move given the length of the tablecloth, but once he found it he squeezed it tightly.
"Because the quicker it comes," he murmured, his eyes flicking left and right to check he couldn't be overheard before settling very firmly on her, "The sooner we can retire.