by K. J. Frost
“Because I fended for myself for years,” I reply, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “Now, why don’t you turn the sausages?”
I hand her a fork and she nudges the sausages around the pan a little. “Like that?” she asks.
“Perfect.”
She looks up at me as I put my arm around her. “Do you regret marrying me?” she says, taking me by surprise. She’s not teasing now. In fact, there’s a disarming candour to her question which makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Never. I love you with all my heart, and marrying you is the best decision I’ve ever made,” I reply with equal honesty and she gazes up at me, unblinking.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She nods, letting out a sigh. “Then would you mind if I just watched you cook for tonight. I’m suddenly really tired. I don’t know what’s…”
“You’re not feeling unwell are you?” I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face me, looking down into her eyes.
“No. I’m just exhausted, that’s all.”
“I probably should have let you get more sleep during our week away,” I point out, and she reaches up, touching my cheek with her fingertips.
“I liked our week away,” she whispers.
“I noticed. And I meant what I said when we got back here this morning.” She looks up, her brow furrowing in confusion. “As far as I’m concerned, our honeymoon will never be over.”
She smiles and I kiss her, only stopping when I smell the sausages starting to burn.
“Tell me about your day?” I say, flipping them over and turning the potatoes at the same time.
She leans back against the cupboard beside the stove, folding her arms and looking up at me. “Well, the first thing I did was to walk down to Walton Road before the shops closed, and I went to the butcher’s for the sausages, the greengrocer’s for the carrots…”
“And potatoes?”
“Yes,” she says. “Although it wasn’t until later on that I realised we wouldn’t need them if we were having toad in the hole… except we did, evidently. Because I can’t cook.”
“You’ll learn. And look on the bright side, at least you thought to buy potatoes, which means we’re definitely not going to starve tonight.”
She manages a smile, then continues, “And after that, I came back here and made myself some cheese on toast for lunch, and then I went to see Mary.” She’s referring to the cook who’s employed by her uncle and aunt, who promised to teach Amelie some culinary basics before we were married. Unfortunately, because the house needed so much work, she didn’t have time to take Mary up on her offer, but she’s clearly been there today for some advice, I presume. “I asked her how to make the toad in the hole,” she says, lowering her eyes, “but to be honest, I couldn’t quite follow it, which I suppose is obvious now.”
I move over and stand in front of her. “It doesn’t matter, darling… honestly.” I cup her face with one hand, kissing her gently.
“Mary had to let me have some flour,” she adds, “because I’d forgotten to buy any, but I got confused about the timings and the oven temperature… at least I think that must have been the problem, anyway. I probably should have written down the recipe, but Mary was quite busy, being as Uncle Gordon is at home and has someone going round for dinner this evening, so there wasn’t really time, and she said it was such an easy thing to cook… unless you’re me, of course.”
“Personally, I’d say it’s not the easiest thing for a novice cook to start off with. Yorkshire pudding batter can be very tricky.”
“But it’s your favourite, and I so wanted to make it for you.”
I smile down at her. “And it means a great deal to me that you tried.”
I kiss her forehead, as she lets out a long yawn.
“Goodness me, you are tired.” I say, returning to the frying pan to turn the potatoes again. “I think perhaps I should let you get an early night…”
She grabs my arm, spinning me around, and steps in front of me, putting her arms around my waist. “That’s the very last thing I want, Rufus,” she says softly, looking up at me very temptingly through her eyelashes. “I need you.”
“Hmm… I need you too.” She stands up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips.
“Then can you stop all this silly talk about leaving me alone, and letting me rest… because after dinner, I fully expect you to take me to bed… where I’d like you to spend a great deal of time reminding me that we’re still officially on our honeymoon.”
“With pleasure, Mrs Stone… with pleasure.”
I pull her closer, holding her against me, and despite my words, I resolve to myself that I need to keep an eye on Amelie. And I need to make less demands of her, not that I’ve ‘demanded’ anything, but I need to allow her to sleep, or to rest, at least for some of the time, when we get to bed, and I need to help out more around the house too… which means this case couldn’t have come at a worse time. “Shall I dish up the dinner?” I suggest. “And we’ll do our best to forget this afternoon, and enjoy a lovely evening together?”
“I think I’d like that,” she whispers.
Over dinner, Amelie asks about my day, and I tell her about the discovery of Mildred Ryder’s body, about our visit to the vicarage, and to Mr and Mrs Wharton. She immediately picks up on a change in me and stops eating, putting down her knife and fork and looking up at me.
“You suspect someone already, don’t you?” she asks.
“Yes. But how did you know?”
“Because of the way you’re talking,” she remarks. “I’ve heard you speak like that before, but only at the end of a case, once you’ve worked out who’s guilty.”
“Well, maybe a week away has done me some good.” I reach over, taking her hand in mine. “Because my brain is obviously working a lot more quickly than usual.”
“Assuming you’re right,” she replies, pursing her lips and trying not to smile.
I squeeze her hand. “You mean you doubt it?”
“No,” she says. “I never doubt you.” I appreciate her confidence in me and lean over, raising her hand to my lips to kiss her fingers. “I’m not going to ask who you think it might be, because I’m going to assume you’re not supposed to tell me.”
I shake my head. “It’s probably best if I don’t. Not just yet.”
“In case you’re wrong?”
“Well, I suppose it’s always possible. But in reality, I really ought to gather some evidence first.”
She chuckles, and the sound warms my heart, before I release her hand and we continue eating.
“I assume you’ll have to work tomorrow?” she asks, after a short pause.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to be sorry, Rufus.”
“It won’t be like this all the time. I promise.”
She attempts a smile and almost gets there. “I know,” she says, and I seriously wish we could have come home to a modicum of peace and quiet. I never expected to walk straight into a murder case, and although Amelie’s aware of how busy they can keep me, she’s never had to live it full-time, like she’s going to have to now… it’s a baptism of fire for her. One she could probably have done without.
We finish our meal, then clear away and I wash up, while Amelie dries – because she refuses to sit down, even though I’ve asked her to – and between us, we put everything away, before I send Amelie into the living room, with very firm instructions to switch on the wireless and put her feet up, while I make us a cup of tea.
Joining her, she tells me that we’re listening to something called Saturday At Nine-thirty, which evidently features songs and music from current and forthcoming films. She tells me this with a smile on her face, and as I sit down, our cups of tea placed on the side tables at either end of the sofa, I ask her if she’ll be humming these tunes in the bath anytime soon.
“I expect so,” she replies, shifting along the
sofa and nestling in my arms.
“Comfy?” I ask, and she nods her head, as we settle down, the fire warming us nicely, and listen to the music, to which Amelie either taps her foot, or drums her fingers, in perfect time. We drink our tea, and I steal the occasional kiss, in between musical numbers, while Hugh Morton, the compère for the evening, announces each piece.
The programme finishes at ten-fifteen and I take our cups out to the kitchen, where Amelie joins me, taking me by surprise.
“I just need the bathroom before we go to bed,” she says, looking far more shy than she did during the week of our honeymoon.
“Okay. I’ll switch everything off and lock up… and I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s all right. You go on up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I won’t be long.”
I decide against insisting, and bend down, kissing her cheek instead, before going back into the living room, extinguishing the lights, and checking that the front door is locked. After that, I go upstairs and into our bedroom, where I make sure the blackout is in place before turning on the bedside lamps.
Since my departure at lunchtime, Amelie has obviously been at work up here. There’s no sign of our cases, although I assume she’ll have put them in the spare room for now. But she has laid out a clean pair of pyjama bottoms on the bed, which makes me smile, as I pick them up and deposit them on the wicker chair in the corner of the room, and then start undressing. I wonder to myself what Amelie’s pyjamas will look like, being as I’ve never seen them before, but I don’t have long to wait, and I’ve just climbed into bed and pulled up the covers, when I hear her footsteps running up the stairs.
She comes in through the door and I can’t help the grin that forms on my lips, being as she’s not wearing her own nightclothes at all, but is wearing the pyjama top that matches the bottoms she’d laid out on the bed for me to wear. She glances at me and I notice a slight blush creep up her cheeks before my eyes settle on the armful of clothes she’s carrying.
“I—I’ll just put these away,” she murmurs and starts moving around the room, opening drawers.
“Leave them,” I tell her and she turns to face me, pausing for a moment, before she goes over to the chair and stops, about to put the rest of her clothes down, right as she notices my pyjama bottoms lying there. She doesn’t say a word, but puts her own clothes on the seat of the chair, picking up my pyjama bottoms and turning back around again, holding them up, her head tilted to one side, and a look of mild confusion etched on her face. “Come to bed,” I whisper, pulling back the covers, and she takes a moment, her eyes widening slightly, before she drops the garment she’s holding to the floor, and walks slowly across the bedroom.
“Are you all right?” I ask Amelie as she finishes her cup of tea.
I got up about half an hour ago and went down to the bathroom, after which I made a cup of tea for my wife and brought it up to bed. Then I opened the curtains, removing the blackout at the same time, and I’ll admit, I was sorely tempted to let her sleep on. She looked so beautiful. But I know how much she appreciates that first cup of tea, so I woke her with a kiss, which she returned, smiling up at me, and we lay together for a while.
We didn’t talk much, because Amelie isn’t a great one for conversation before she’s finished her cup of tea, and I was feeling guilty for what I’d done to her last night. I’d resolved to take more care of her, to be more attentive, less demanding, and I’d failed at the first hurdle; too easily distracted by her. Again.
“Yes, thank you.” She smiles up at me, puts her cup down on the bedside table and turns towards me again, a satisfied look on her face.
I lean down and kiss her gently. “I’ve just realised how inconsiderate I was last night.”
“You were?” Her brow furrows, like she’s struggling to reconcile my words with her recollections. “I don’t remember you being inconsiderate. If anything you were the exact opposite.” She reaches up, caressing my cheek with her fingertips. “But then you’re always considerate.”
“Am I?” I query. “I’m not sure how considerate it was of me to forget my promise to be more responsible. I’ve made a fairly shocking job of that, so far.”
She smiles. “Hmm… I’d noticed. But I’m still not complaining.”
“I know. But aside from that, I’m not sure I should have made love to you for quite so long, not when you’d already explained how tired you’re feeling at the moment.”
“Of course you should have made love to me,” she says firmly. “It was exactly what I needed.”
“Sure?” I ask, still feeling a little uncertain.
“Absolutely positive.” She pushes me onto my back and lies on top of me, her soft naked body along the length of mine. “Please don’t worry. I’m sure the tiredness will go, once I get used to this new way of life… And please don’t stop all those magical things you do to me. I couldn’t bear it if you did. I need you so much… it’s like a basic instinct, deep inside me.”
I put my arms around her, holding her close. “I’m here, my darling… and I’m yours.” She smiles again, and lets her head rest on my chest. “I’m also intrigued,” I add.
“What about?” She looks up.
“About why you didn’t change up here last night. I’ve seen you naked. I know every inch of your body. Intimately. You don’t need to feel shy, or embarrassed around me. And if you do…”
She blushes. “I don’t. I—I just wanted to surprise you. That’s all.”
“Surprise me?”
“Yes. When I was laying out our night clothes earlier in the evening, before you came home, I decided I… well, I’d rather wear your pyjamas than my own. You know… like I did when we were away.”
I smile. “And why would that be?”
“Because I like your pyjamas,” she says softly and I pull her up my body slightly, so her face is right above mine, that slight blush evident on her cheeks again, and I know that, in spite of her words, she was a little shy last night, and she still is now… and that’s one of the most intoxicating things about her, as I already established during our week away, because even lying on top of me, naked, and warm and very, very alluring, she’s still kind of innocent.
“So do I…” I run my hands down her back and she shudders, rather proving my point. “At least I do when you’re wearing them. Although I’m not sure I want to wear them ever again.”
“Well, I don’t have a problem with that,” she whispers, our lips almost touching. “I’m not sure I like you being covered up anyway.” I’m about to roll her onto her back when she starts to squirm downwards, kissing my neck first, and then my chest. “I like being able to see all of you. That’s been one of the best things about our week away together… spending time discovering which parts of you I like best…”
“And?” I tease, even as my breath hitches in my throat.
“And I’ve established that I especially like this,” she says, looking back up at me, her fingers trailing through the hair on my chest, before she moves further down. “And this.” She kisses my stomach, then looks up at me, our eyes locking and holding firm, as she slides lower still, coming to rest between my parted legs. “Although,” she adds, her voice dropping a note or two, “I have to say, this is my favourite.”
We make breakfast together, because it gives us a chance to spend some more time alone, in a confined space, and I don’t think either of us is going to decline such an opportunity, not after the manner of our waking, which was deeply intimate, utterly exhilarating, and after Amelie had finished showing me how much she liked her favourite part of my body, mutually fulfilling. I made sure of that. It was also absolute proof, as if I needed it, of my bride’s ability to be all things at all times. It was a reminder of why I find her so distracting, so tantalising… and so completely impossible to resist.
We’re just sitting down in the dining room, unable to stop touching, or to take our eyes
from each other, when the telephone rings, breaking the spell.
“Will it always be like this?” Amelie asks, sounding despondent.
“No,” I reply, getting to my feet and walking around to her, kissing her lips just briefly before I go through to the living room, beginning to regret having the telephone installed at all. I recall the many conversations that were required in order to have it laid in before the wedding, with me having to explain repeatedly, that my job means that I need access to a phone at all times, which may not be a war priority, but is a necessity nonetheless. At one stage, it even looked like I might have to involve the Chief Constable, to get him to pull some strings, but it was finally arranged that the phone would be laid in while Amelie and I were away, and Mother agreed to be on hand to make sure things ran smoothly.
“Stone,” I say into the receiver, sounding perhaps a little gruffer than I might otherwise have done, thanks to the interruption to an otherwise perfect morning.
“Good morning, dear.” It’s my mother and I immediately regret my tone of voice – mainly because I have no doubt she’ll ask what’s wrong. “Is everything all right?” She doesn’t disappoint.
“Yes. Everything’s fine. It’s just that I’m having to work today.”
“You are?” I can tell she’s surprised. “I thought you weren’t due back at work until tomorrow.”
“I’m not… not officially, anyway. But there’s been a murder at Thames Ditton, and the chief super’s got flu, so I’ve been drafted back in.”
“Oh dear,” she replies. “I won’t keep you. I was only calling to see if you and Amelie would like to come for lunch today, but as you’re working, I’m assuming your answer will be ‘no’.”
“Mine will be, but Amelie might like to come for a visit,” I suggest, it occurring to me that she’d probably enjoy the company.
“Well, she’ll be more than welcome,” Mother says. “And we can always have a light lunch, and then have something more substantial this evening, when you get back. You’ll be home in time for dinner won’t you?”