by K. J. Frost
She rests her head on my shoulder as we walk very slowly across the hall towards the half open sitting room door.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“What for?” I turn to look at her.
“Being so insecure about your past.”
I smile down at her. “I think we’ve been through this already, haven’t we? I explained to you, if things were the other way around, I’m fairly sure I’d want to know about your engagement too.” I cup her face in my hand. “I really don’t mind, Amelie. And I meant what I just said. I’ll never love anyone but you. Ever.”
She leans into me. “I’m so lucky.”
I chuckle. “I think you’ll find I’m the lucky one.”
She shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs and looks up into my eyes. “And do I love you, Rufus. Very much.” I lean down and kiss her just gently on the lips. “I think that’s why I was so scared,” she murmurs, leaning back and looking at me again.
“When?”
“When Dotty telephoned me and told me you’d been in a car accident…” She sighs and blinks back her tears. “As I said at the hospital, I thought I’d lost you before I’d even had the chance to tell you what you mean to me.”
I pull her into a hug with my right arm and hold her against me. “You’ll never lose me,” I tell her and we stand like that for a few minutes, just breathing together.
“That doesn’t stop me from being scared,” she says as I push open the door and let her walk into the sitting room ahead of me.
“Being scared is part of being a policeman’s wife, I’m afraid.” My mother’s voice comes from the other side of the room and, as I enter, I glare at her, despite her grin and the mischievous glint in her eyes. For a moment, I wonder how much of our conversation they’ve overheard, but then I realise I don’t really care. I’ve got Amelie back and that’s all that matters. Even so…
“We’re not actually married, Mother,” I point out.
She waves her hand in our general direction. “Only because you’re too slow to catch a cold,” she says.
Amelie giggles and we walk over and take our seats on the sofa opposite Mother and Aunt Dotty, who are sitting together, drinking coffee. Aunt Dotty pours Amelie and I a cup, handing them over, although I put mine down again straight away, being as it’s impossible to hold the saucer and Amelie’s hand at the same time, and I know which I’d rather do.
“I remember when Rufus’ father was in the police force,” my mother continues, “I had many a sleepless night.” She doesn’t often talk about my father, and the fact that she’s sharing her reminiscences with Amelie shows a very definite acceptance of her role in my life, as if Mother’s not too subtle hints weren’t enough. “He’d often come home and tell me about something that had happened that day, and then I’d find out much later that he’d been involved in something much more dangerous than he’d ever told me.” She smiles fondly. “And as for what he did in that fire…”
“The one where he was awarded the medal?” Amelie asks.
“Yes.” Mother nods her head. “The first I knew of it was when Rufus and Frank Lane knocked on the door.”
“Frank Lane?” Amelie queries.
“He’s the Chief Constable now,” I explain. “You met him at the hospital yesterday. At the time though, he was still a Chief Superintendent.”
Amelie nods, and my mother carries on with her story. “They came into the house and told me that Alan had been injured… and how it had happened. And then they took me to the hospital,” she says, her eyes glazing over slightly as she relives that moment in their lives. “I couldn’t decide whether to shout at Alan for being so stupid, or hold onto him and never let him go again.” She smiles again and looks at Amelie. “In reality, I think did both.”
“You did,” I confirm.
She sits forward a little, clasping her hands together and fixing Amelie with a stare. “I’m sure you’ll have many such experiences in your life with Rufus,” she says. “But you need to remember to talk to him. That’s the secret.”
“Mother,” I say, a little wearily, “can I point out, yet again, that we’re not actually married?”
“Yet,” she replies.
“Well, do you mind if I do this my way?”
“Of course not, dear,” she says, smiling. “Just as long as you get a move on and do it.”
Despite everyone’s protests, most especially Amelie’s, I insist on seeing her home. I manage to put my coat around my shoulders and, once she’s put on her own coat and gloves, and she’s thanked Aunt Dotty and my mother for dinner, we go out through the front door, which Amelie pulls closed behind us.
“I apologise profusely for my relatives,” I say, once we’ve negotiated the garden gate and are on the footpath.
“I don’t mind,” she replies. “I’d rather they teased us than that they didn’t accept me.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t they accept you?” I take her hand in mine and we cross the road together.
“Well, they might think I’m too young for you, or that you could do better…” Her voice fades into sadness.
I stop just as we step up onto the pavement. “Where has all of that come from?”
She shrugs, but I hold her gaze and eventually she sighs and whispers, “I still feel guilty.”
“What for?”
“For what happened between us. It was Uncle Gordon I was angry with, but I said such horrible things to you. I was so hateful and immature. You probably could do better,” she adds. “A lot better.”
I keep hold of her hand and lead her along the pathway and into the driveway of her own house, stopping halfway up and pulling her close to me. “I don’t ever want to hear you saying things like that about yourself again, do you hear me?” I murmur, our lips almost touching. “You were not being a hateful or immature, and neither were you horrible. You’d had a shock, and you were reacting to that.”
“But I broke up with you,” she whimpers, barely controlling her emotions.
“Yes, because you were confused. It hurt at the time. It hurt a lot. I’m not going to say it didn’t, but I also don’t want to spend any more time dwelling on it. It’s in the past, Amelie, and the only thing that matters is that we’re together now, and that we love each other. And I do love you, so very much. There’s no-one else I want to be with; there’s no-one better for me than you.”
“God, I love you, Rufus,” she whispers with feeling, and leans into me, raising her lips to mine.
It’s a good few minutes before we part again, and I look down at her. “We’re going to have to stop doing that,” I say quietly, brushing her cheek with the backs of my fingers.
“We are?” She looks confused once more, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Hmm.” I nod my head slowly.
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, there’s a very strong possibility that I’ll forget to be a gentleman.”
She takes a deep breath and bites her bottom lip, which doesn’t really help the situation as far as I’m concerned. “Well, I suppose we’d better refrain then,” she says, clearly in a teasing mood.
“I think it’s for the best,” I reply as seriously as I can, and her mouth drops open.
“You actually mean it?” she murmurs, looking down at the space between us. “You actually want to stop kissing me?”
“Like hell I do.” I crush my lips against hers, stifling her giggle as she brings her arms around my neck again.
After another ten minutes or so, I take her hand in mine and reluctantly lead her up the steps to the front door.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” she asks, turning to face me.
“Of course you can, if you want to?” I smile down at her. “I think Mother will be working in the garden and trying to stop Aunt Dotty from doing too much. It was always planned that we’d do some digging out there this weekend, and Mother seems to have every intention of seeing that through, even if I’m not much use to anyone at the mome
nt.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Amelie gazes into my eyes.
“Well, I’m not much use with a spade.”
“In which case, I’d love help,” she offers.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to. It’ll repay your aunt for all the dinners she keeps feeding me.”
“You don’t have to repay her. She likes having you around. Although I should warn you, my mother’s hints aren’t going to get any more subtle.”
She leans into me. “I don’t mind,” she says, then looks up at the house, and I detect a sudden air of sadness about her.
“What’s wrong?” I pull back, releasing her hand, and raising her face to mine. She shrugs her shoulders and tries to look away, but I don’t let her. “Tell me, Amelie.”
“It’s just that… well, I’m finding it very difficult to be around Uncle Gordon at the moment,” she replies.
“Because of what’s happened with Miss Foster, and the letter?” I ask, grateful that she’s at least raised the subject, rather than shutting me out like she did earlier, and she nods her head. “Is that why you want to come and see me tomorrow? To get out of the house?”
She moves closer and places her hand on my chest. “No,” she replies quickly. “I want to see you because I love you. It’s just that you talking about your aunt and your mother reminded me of how awful the atmosphere is here at the moment. I feel that he can’t wait to leave, so he can get away from us and be with her, but please don’t think I’m using that as an excuse to—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. “It’s okay.” I take a breath. “Why don’t you come over at about eleven in the morning? Hopefully I’ll have managed to get dressed by then.”
She smiles softly, her mood changed completely. “I’d offer to help, but…” Even though it’s dark, I know she’s blushing.
“I’d accept, but…” I don’t finish my sentence and we both smile at each other. “And will you do something for me?” She nods her head. “Give your uncle some time. I’m not saying you have to like the way he chooses to live his life, and nor do you have to approve of it, but you can try and accept it, because it’s his life, Amelie.” She pauses for a moment, and then slowly nods her head. “And as for the letter… well, I know it’s a shock, but all I can say is that, things were very different during the last war. It wasn’t something we can hope to understand – thank God. I don’t think he’s proud of what he did. I think he’s ashamed of it, but we don’t really have the right to judge him, because we weren’t there.”
She moves closer and rests her head against my chest. “You’re very understanding,” she murmurs softly. “And I will try. It’s just taking me some time to adjust to the fact that he’s not the man I thought he was.”
“But he is,” I reply and she leans back and looks up at me. “He is, Amelie. All the time he’s known you, he’s been the same man, trying to do the right thing by you. You can’t fault him for that.”
Chapter Thirteen
I spent most of Saturday sitting in my flat, trying to work out what I could do about Inspector Stone, and kicking myself for not thinking about doing something to him before now.
It finally came to me during the night that I could go to the hospital. He’s bound to be weakened by his accident… and all I’d have to do is hold a pillow over his face for a few minutes. It wouldn’t be that difficult.
So this morning, I got dressed and caught a bus into Kingston, getting off as close as I could to the hospital. It was raining a damp drizzle and I’d forgotten to put my hat on, but I didn’t care. For the first time in ages, I had a reason for existing.
The hospital is quiet, much quieter than I expected, but I know I can’t walk around the corridors of the building trying to find the inspector. When I first arrive though, there’s no-one on the main reception desk and I have to wait. There’s a portly woman standing there too, and she turns to look at me.
“Typical, isn’t it?” she says, tutting and rolling her eyes. I smile, but don’t reply. “I mean, I know it’s Sunday, but people still get sick on Sundays, don’t they?”
I nod my head this time, wondering why she finds it necessary to talk to me. I don’t know her, and I don’t want to. Why would I? Stupid old bat…
Luckily, at that moment, a door behind the reception desk opens and a dark-haired woman comes out, apologising for her absence. The plump woman steps forward and starts to complain about having to wait, rather than just getting on with asking her question, which seems like a waste of time to me.
Eventually, they finish and the woman bustles off in the direction of the main wards, and I take her place.
“Can I help?” the receptionist asks, giving me a patient smile. She’s probably in her mid-thirties and has kindly pale green eyes and full lips. If I wasn’t so intent on my mission here, I might take the time to show an interest in her. As it is, I’ve got other things on my mind.
“Yes, I hope so,” I reply. “I’m looking for Detective Inspector Stone?”
She nods her head and refers to a book in front of her. “Inspector Stone,” she repeats to herself, and flips over a page. “Ah yes, here we are… He was discharged yesterday evening.” She looks up again.
“Discharged?”
“Yes.” She nods her head in confirmation. “Are you a family member?”
I take a step back. “No,” I reply quickly and turn away, heading for the doors.
Once outside, I look up at the cloudy sky, the rain falling harder now, droplets of water hitting my upturned cheeks, not that I care about that.
I only care about the fact that I had a chance, and now I’ve lost it.
I trudge along the road to the bus stop, feeling despondent, as well as wet and cold… and lonely.
It’s only when I’m sitting on the bus on the way home that I realise I do at least have something that I didn’t have before. I have a purpose.
I’m going to kill Detective Inspector Stone, even if it’s the last thing I do.
*****
I’m actually up and dressed by nine, after having suffered the humiliation of being bathed and dressed by my mother. I suppose I knew it was coming. After all, I’d ended up sleeping naked, because, while getting undressed was easy enough, doing up my pyjama bottoms was impossible. However, this morning, I quickly worked out that I wouldn’t be able to bathe by myself, and I’d already experienced the problems of trying to dress myself at the hospital, so I knew how tough that was going to be. What I hadn’t expected was that my mother would have also fathomed all of this out as well, and would come bustling into my room first thing, not only issuing me with instructions, and deciding what I should wear, but taking far too much pleasure in treating me like a child again. I must have reminded her at least half a dozen times, that I’m thirty-two years old – that I’ll be thirty-three in the New Year – and that having her count the buttons on my shirt while she does them up isn’t necessary any longer. It may have proved a useful tool for teaching me when I was an infant, but I can count all by myself now. She merely rolled her eyes at me and continued with what she was doing, regardless.
More than once during the ordeal, I found myself wishing that it could have been Amelie who was helping me, and not just because it would have been significantly more pleasurable, and much less embarrassing. It would have been more sane too.
I decide to spend the two hours until Amelie’s arrival practising doing up and un-doing my buttons, if for no better reason than that I’m not sure how often I can face a repeat performance of this morning’s experience. At least if I can do the getting dressed part on my own, it might not be so bad… hopefully.
Amelie arrives at eleven on the dot, and I let her in, standing in the hallway with her while she takes off her coat. As she turns to face me, my breath catches in my throat – not for the first time. She’s wearing dark brown wide-legged trousers and an oversized chunky cream jumper. She’s obviously come prepared to work in the garden and I kno
w it might seem strange that I find this outfit so appealing, but I do.
“You look adorable,” I tell her, unable to hold back in expressing my thoughts.
She giggles and looks down at herself. “In this?”
I nod my head “Yes.” I can’t wipe the smile from my face and reach out with my right arm, placing it around her waist and pulling her close.
“Put that young lady down.” My mother’s voice rings out as she appears from the back of the house, in her stockinged feet. She must have taken off her boots at the back door. She’s wearing a skirt, with a thick jumper, and a long cardigan on top of that. As usual, she has a scarf around her neck, and another tying back her hair.
“Don’t worry. It’s only Mother,” I tell Amelie, keeping a firm grip on her, even though she’s pulled away slightly and is facing my mother now.
“Yes,” Mother replies, coming over and kissing Amelie on the cheek, looking up at me, with the best sort of stern expression she can muster, which barely even passes as serious. “And being as you’re not married to Amelie, or even engaged yet – as you’re always so keen to point out – you should put her down.” She removes my hand from Amelie’s waist and links arms with her. “We’re going to be working on the flower beds,” she says, leading Amelie towards the back of the house. “Come and see.”
Amelie glances over her shoulder at me and smirks. I really wish she didn’t enjoy things like this quite so much, but I suppose the best thing I can do in the circumstances is to go outside and join them. I certainly can’t seem to beat them.
I have to say, it’s just as well that Amelie’s here, and that she looks as delightful as she does, because it’s helped to take my mind off how useless I feel. I’d expected to be able to help with the digging of the garden and instead, I’m relegated to watching her and my mother work, and pouring cups of tea. Aunt Dotty is just as frustrated as I am, but Mother won’t allow her to lift a finger either. Every so often, Amelie permits me to help her with moving a large shrub to the area behind the potting shed. I’ve got no idea why we’re doing that, but at least it allows me to feel more useful than I would otherwise.