Hearing his entrance, Sara hurried down the stairs and met him at the kitchen doorway.
Her face flushed at the sight of him and she stopped herself before the insane instinct to rush into his arms overtook her better judgment.
“Hi stranger,” she said instead. “Did you save the planet from spinning off its axis?”
“Indeed,” he smiled, his face showing fatigue. “I could use a cuddle, though, if I’m not being too forward.”
She walked into his outstretched arms and buried her face in his shirt, wrapping her own arms around his back.
“Mm. Why is it that you always smell of fresh apples?” he asked, brushing his face next to her hair. “It’s the nicest fragrance, not cloying like a perfume.”
“Maybe you’re just hungry,” she said against his chest. “I baked an apple pie today knowing you’d be home tonight. That might be what you smell.”
“I’m starving, in fact,” he broke off the embrace, stepping back a foot or two.
Sara’s ears turned red. He’s aroused, she thought to herself, and I don’t think it’s because of the scent of apples. She fumbled around in her mind for something to say that would make him think that she hadn’t noticed.
“I’ll start the tea and set the table. You go and wash up and meet me in ten.” She turned her head toward the tea kettle, avoiding his eyes.
“Alright. Sara, I’m really glad to be home. I missed…” his voice trailed off
“My exquisite cooking,” she chimed in, now rattling plates and cups in the cupboard. “Of course you did. I knew you’d come around sooner or later.”
“I missed you,” he finally stated, then turned and left the kitchen.
“I missed you too,” she mumbled, a grin on her lips.
“So, enough about my adventures,” he sighed, pushing the empty pie plate away, at last satiated with her dessert, and wiped the pie crumbs from his chin with a folded napkin. “What did you do to keep yourself busy?”
“Truth be told, I was very busy, and amused as well. Stuart treated me to a ride on the Thames River and an excursion through the Tower of London. And I swear I saw your face when the Tower guard, in his bright red Beefeater garb, was explaining the head chopping incidents.” She laughed at the memory. “Not that it was a bit funny to those who had to put their heads on that stone block,” she said with a shiver.
His eyebrow arose in a comical angle, and Sara wasn’t certain whether it was out of amusement or confusion.
“Stuart? He took you on a boat ride?”
“Yes, one of those ferry tours, up the river, or would it be considered down the river? I’m never sure how they determine river directions. Anyway, starting at Big Ben, all the way to the Tower of London. He said he felt like a proper tourist, since he hadn’t done anything like that himself in all the years he’s lived in London.”
She was expecting some jovial crack about Stuart being a proper tourist, but instead he sat quite still and didn’t say a word.
“Would you like more tea?” she asked, the silence booming around her.
“No, thank you.”
More silence.
“Alex, did I say something wrong? Should I not have accepted his invitation? I mean, I know that he was just being polite with his offer, because of your friendship, but you know Stuart. Once an idea pops in his head, he gets so excited and it is hard to dissuade him.” she explained, after a moment’s hesitation.
“No, of course you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m happy that you didn’t spend the weekend shut up in the house, working away on more cleaning drudgery. And don’t mistake Stuart’s motives, either. He seldom does anything merely out of the sake of politeness.” His eyebrows were knit together, accenting the deep furrow over his generous nose. “It’s just that I was planning to surprise you with a river ride after our Sunday pic… Oh damn!” he suddenly exploded. “Today. Today was supposed to be our picnic. Bloody nincompoops with their never ending whimpering and whining have managed to spoil that too, haven’t they?” He slapped his hand on the table in front of him, his face flushed with anger, his teacup jingling in its saucer.
“Well, I haven’t left the country,” she chided him, anxious to get him into a better mood. “We’ll do something special before we both have to go.”
“You’re very understanding,” he said, picking up her hand and giving it a kiss. “I wish I could have a bit more of that attitude you live with, high up there on Sugar Mountain.”
She grinned at his description of her fairy tale residence, having accused her of being an overzealous optimist many times in the past.
“Nonsense, Alex. What do I have to be understanding about? You have treated me so well - I have no room for complaints. I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me for any other employment. You don’t owe me a picnic or a boat ride, for that matter. Just having our dinner and wine together every evening is a treat.”
“The dinner that you prepare and then clean up afterward.”
“But that is my job,” she laughed.
“No, Sara, you do much more than your job and I want to do something special for you - a proper farewell celebration. Just leave the details up to me,” he stated with deliberation, nodding his head in punctuation.
“Alright, so be it,” she laughed. “After all, you’ve just saved the planet, so I have faith in you.”
A week before her scheduled date of departure, Stuart dropped by for tea time.
“So, Fleming, you must be excited about tomorrow’s SIM awards.” He sipped away, biting into the buttery, pecan cookie that Sara had baked to accompany the tea ritual. “You are the predicted winner and I’ve got several quid riding on you.” He grinned and munched away.
“You’d better play them on the horses then, lad, because these awards are never a sure thing. You know that as well as I do.” Alex poured a cup for Sara motioning for her to come and join them. “Lucky you though, getting out of it this year. But with your new film coming in next month, you’ll be the one in the hot seat next year.”
“Fingers crossed,” Stuart said and made the gesture with his hand. “I don’t mind putting on a monkey suit if I can pick up another SIM. It pretty much guarantees a higher gross for the film.”
Sara had no idea what the SIM awards were and didn’t want to parade her ignorance, so she sat down at the table and added sugar and lemon to her tea, content to listen to their conversation.
“Speaking of the SIM awards, I’m glad you brought it up,” Alex said, turning his face to Sara’s. “No sense preparing a meal as I’ll be away for most of the entire day and night, what with prepress and post press, and the ceremony and late dinner following.” He shook his head as if this wasn’t a task he was looking forward to.
“And the after parties,” Stuart reminded him. “I’ve never gotten home before daybreak, despite my best intentions.”
“Are you going to Elton’s party this year?” Alex poured himself another cup. “I can’t imagine what he could conjure up to beat last year’s - perhaps elephants from India.” They both laughed at his remark.
“Nope. As it happens, it falls on my birthday this year and I’m planning to go to Matisse with my brother for a quiet birthday dinner.” Stuart took another cookie. “Delicious biscuits, Sara. I want the recipe for Bridget, if you don’t mind.”
She nodded and smiled, reminding herself that her cookies in England were always referred to as biscuits. The first time she had told Alex that she was making biscuits and gravy for breakfast, he had raised his eyebrow and scratched his head, until he entered the kitchen and declared, “Oh, scones!” She tucked this memory away as well in a corner of her mind.
“Matisse?” Alex said, interrupting her thoughts. “I haven’t been there yet but I hear from the reviews that it’s an outstanding restaurant. But I doubt you’ll be having a quiet dinner. I’ve also heard that it’s quite the place to go for a dance. Pretty good band, they tell me,” he observed.
“The restaurant is very qui
et and posh. The dancing is on another floor. I’ve only been once - dinner and drinks and dancing after. Although I doubt I’ll be dancing since spraining my ankle at the gym last week,” he chuckled, “unless of course the whiskey is good and strong and Irish.”
“Oh yes, the gym sprain.” Alex threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Are you certain that didn’t occur as you were coming out of the pub? I’ve never seen you break a sweat at any gymnasium. I believe you once told me that the only reason you attend is to watch the ladies that work out on the yoga mats.”
“Well, it did start out that way, Fleming,” Stuart parlayed back, his eyes twinkling. “But lately I’ve been worried that I might become as weak and flabby as you, and so I’ve been quite diligent with my workouts.”
Sara grinned at their jokes, rising to fill the teapot. Once in the kitchen, her smile wilted. She knew nothing of the SIM awards or of Elton or of Matisse, and felt a little lost in this conversation. She wondered what role Alex was up for, and dutifully reminded herself to check with him later as to what he would be wearing so that she could make certain everything was clean and pressed and ready to go. This was a side of his life that she, up until now, had not seen much of.
When had she forgotten how colossal this man was in the world of theater and films? In her own small life he had become her friend, her housemate. Stuart and Alex’s conversation had brought the real world back vividly to her eyes. It was probably best that she was leaving in a week.
How simple things had been when she had been back in her home and only adoring him from afar. He had been hers alone whenever she had desired to think about him, to dream about being in his arms. Now that he had become a part of her actual life, all sorts of other emotions swirled around her day and night. She found herself on an emotional roller coaster ride, deliriously high one minute, then plunging into the low valley of insecurity and lack of confidence the next. So much for Sugar Mountain, Mr. Fleming, she thought, scratching her arm in nervousness.
And to add to her misery, the ghost that now had a name.
Little green monsters danced up and down her spinal cord as she pictured Ellen sitting with Alex at the SIM Awards, dining with him at Matisse, laughing on his arm as they attended Elton’s magnificent and decadent soiree.
Sara sighed. She knew that Ellen was married, perhaps did not even live in London anymore, but this knowledge didn’t make the green monsters go away.
She filled the teapot and left the kitchen to join the men. “Fuck a duck,” she mumbled under her breath, and plastered on her most convincing smile.
He stood at the kitchen doorway as she finished the dinner cleanup. “Telephone call for you, Sara. It’s Stuart.” His face held a question.
“Stuart? Oh, the pecan cookie recipe. I’d forgotten…” She took the card from her recipe file on the counter and reached for the mobile phone he held out to her.
“Sorry, Stuart, I meant to give you the recipe, but, anyway, here it is. If you put Bridget on I’ll read it off to…” she stopped.
“Dinner? When? Tomorrow? But Stuart, you were going to have dinner with your brother to celebrate. Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Will he be alright?” Sara concentrated on Stuart’s words, barely noticing from the corner of her eye the intense look Alex was giving her.
“Six weeks wait to get reservations? Yes, of course you don’t want to give them up. But surely, Stuart, you have close friends with whom you would rather…” She looked up at Alex’s face and caught a passing glance that she didn’t recognize.
“Well, that is very kind of you to consider me. Do you mind if I check with Alex first to see if he won’t need me here? … Oh, yes, you’re right. He’ll be attending the awards ceremony.” She looked over at him again, but he had turned his back and was busy with something at the kitchen counter.
“Ok then, if you’re certain. But if you find another friend to accompany you in the mean time, please feel free… yes, alright. Eight o’clock it is.” She smiled into the receiver and handed the phone back to Alex. “Don’t know how to switch it off,” she said apologetically.
“What, the phone or the charm?” He reached for the mobile, dropping the comment as he took it.
“I’m sorry?” She reddened and her mouth dropped open.
“Sara, Stuart hasn’t been to my home to visit me more than three times this year, until you came here to work. Suddenly he’s about to move in with us. I don’t think that I am the attraction.” He smiled a small, tense smile.
“Stuart? Are you daft? You’re not suggesting…” She shook out the dishtowel and swallowed hard at his words.
“Why not? You are pretty as a picture and Stuart is recently single,” he said with a shrug.
Sara’s coloring reddened even deeper at both the compliment and the statement. “Alex, he is just being kind. His brother canceled due to a raging fever from an influenza virus, and he didn’t want to lose the reservation. He said he wanted to pay me back for the box of cookies I sent over by Bridget last week when he sprained his ankle at the gym. The cookies that you suggested I send, by the way.”
At her words, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Of course you should go. I’m just being a tease. Your surly old boss hasn’t taken you anywhere in London to show you a little night life, but he has expected your presence with him every evening.”
“Which I’ve enjoyed more than any restaurant or nightclub,” she whispered, and boldly wrapped her arms around his waist. “If I can be honest with you, I’ll miss those evenings more than you know, once you’re back on set in Switzerland and I’m working heaven’s knows where and with whom.”
He looked down at her face and cupped her chin in his hand. “Working elsewhere? I can’t bare the thought, Sara.” He drew in a breath as he looked into her eyes.
“I sure hope you’re going to kiss me right now, because otherwise I’ll be leaving without my perfect ending,” she whispered.
He did. First softly, barely touching his lips to hers, and then pulling her in to him, he parted his mouth and covered hers, a soft moan coming from his throat.
A knock at the side door startled them both and Alex coughed as he turned to the back hallway, brushed down his sweater and started in that direction. She couldn’t see his face, but knew that hers was alight with various shades of color.
How had she dared? She had all but seduced him into the kiss. The poor man had had no choice. Oh, Sara, what have you done? What must he think? Her eyes teared up from the thoughts in her head and the heat in her face.
“Sara, it’s Stuart. Returning the biscuit tin,” he said in a hoarse tone as he walked into the kitchen, Stuart behind him.
“Here you are, Sara. Thank you so very much. I know the gift was meant from Alex, but I know better than to think that he did the baking,” he winked at her. “But the main reason I stopped by was to tell you that the time has changed for our dinner tomorrow. I believe I said eight, but was reminded by Bridget that the reservation was for seven o’clock. Will that cause you an inconvenience?”
“No” She gave him a wobbly smile, the dinner reservation being the very last thing on her mind. “Seven is fine.”
“Sara,” Alex spoke from his corner of the kitchen. “I’m just wondering. Matisse is a very fancy dinner club. You may want to take some time in the morning to go shopping for a dress. I’m assuming that you didn’t bring any fancy clothing in that one big suitcase that I’m still wearing a hernia brace for.”
“Oh yes, I have a couple of dresses that I unpacked and put away in the closet. A bit of jewelry and high heels should do the trick,” she chuckled. “I am from the south, but I’m not always barefoot,” she added, looking down now at her bare toes under her jeans, with an embarrassed shrug.
“Well, I can’t imagine you looking anything but exquisite, Sara,” Stuart said with wink, clapped his gloved hands, then waved and exited the kitchen.
Alex followed him, and as he shut the side door behind Stuart,
Sara heard his voice.
“Well, I can’t imagine you looking anything but exquisite, Sara,” he said, mocking Stuart’s words in Stuart’s exact tone. This was followed by a loud “Hmph!”
Sara grinned to herself. Perhaps their kiss hadn’t been entirely her idea.
With Stuart gone, Sara thought of the kiss that still burned on her lips. How could she look at Alex after her bold behavior just moments earlier? She had asked for the kiss on impulse, his words inspiring her actions, but now that moment was part of history, despite the lingering taste of his mouth on hers.
“Is there any dry cleaning or pressing that I should attend to for the awards night?” she asked, forcing herself to speak.
“No, my suit is cleaned from the last time. Perhaps you can help me to pick out a tie, though.” He continued standing in the doorway, leaning up against the doorjamb, hands in pockets. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the event sooner. To be honest, I’d forgotten. I go to so damn many of them.”
His face was composed and she couldn’t read his mood. Was he remembering the kiss as well? Damned actor, she thought to herself, wishing that she could so tidily hide her emotions.
“You are up for a major award then?” she asked in a conversational tone, as she busied herself at the kitchen counter and put away the cookie tin.
“Bell Tower - Supporting. Fifty-fifty odds, I think. Ian Donnelly is up for the same award in another one of those pretentious period films that he keeps flogging. I wouldn’t mind taking it from him just for the joke. Otherwise he’ll lord it over me, which, by the way, I would never do to him.” He rubbed his chin, a twinkle in his eye. “Quite comical though, the way I always seem to end up in a duel with Ian Donnelly. Perhaps we were opponents in another lifetime, and we’re meant to face each other throughout eternity.”
Well, at least he didn’t seem angry with her.
His talk of the award ceremony sank into her brain. What different worlds they occupied. How thrilling it would be to someday share her experience with someone. But who? His privacy mattered above all else. It would have to remain her deepest secret.
Don't Tell the Moon Page 7