“But what if someone comes to visit overnight?” she asked, a bit hesitant about taking up the accommodation.
“We’ll put them in the root cellar,” he had said, grinning and dismissing her concerns with a wave of his hand. “That guest room hasn’t been used in three years.”
His room was on the opposite end of the long hallway. With the valid excuse of making his bed, she entered, first giving a light knock on the door.
And why did you do that? she thought. What did you expect to find in an empty room, that you felt you needed to give advance warning?
“Too many years of hospital nursing,” she said out loud, with a laugh.
The fireplace was not quite as large as the massive stone structure in the living room, but it was just as inviting to the eye. Two large queen-sized beds stood side by side, close enough to the fire to enjoy its warmth, yet far enough away as not to be a threat to the sleepers. Only one of the beds had been slept in.
“Why two beds?” Sara whispered, as if the question was a bit too personal and intimate to be shared, but then remembered her own habit of sometimes reading or playing computer games late into the night. On those nights, she had remained on the living room sofa so as not to disturb Roger.
I wonder which one was the reader, or perhaps the restless sleeper, she thought. And why is she no longer here?
It was obvious that Alex lived alone in this home. There were no signs of a partner, neither in the closets or the adjoining bathroom - one toothbrush, one towel, and one glass on the sink.
But two beds. There had been another occupant at one time.
He returned at the dinner hour, whistling a tune under his breath. “Snow tonight, Sara. They’ve promised.” He removed his coat and drew in a long sniff, lifting his nose in the air. “Oh, that’s delightful! I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“It’s a chicken recipe. I haven’t been to the market because my boss forgot to give me directions, but I made do,” she said, teasing.
“Ah, more down-on-the-ranch home cooking?” he grinned, his turn now at bat.
“Yes, in fact, it is. I didn’t have any chicken so I went out to the park and shot a couple of pigeons. They are really quite plump in your country. And what luck for you, because now you have a new feather pillow on your bed.”
“What did I ever do without you?” he laughed and headed for the living room. “I’m going to start the fire now – in case the only edible thing in the house tonight is roasted chestnuts.”
Their third evening together passed much the same as the first two, laughter and good natured ribbing exchanged before the dinner, glasses of wine and easy conversation shared later on in front of the fire.
Sara stretched and stifled a yawn, which triggered his own.
“Well, I’ve kept you up long enough. Amazing how talkative I have suddenly become these past few days. You have a very nice way of listening and paying attention,” he said, his voice quite serious. “It’s an art form.”
“What did you say?” Her eyes sparkled with fun.
“Ah, just when I try to compliment the angel, the demon reappears,” he laughed. “Alright, we may as well call it a…”
Alex stopped talking and looked over to the hallway entrance.
“Something is wrong,” he said, turning his head toward the kitchen. “With our happy conversation, I hadn’t noticed that all of the lights are out.”
He got up and walked into the hallway. “Well, it appears that the power has gone out.”
Sara joined him at the doorway and shivered as a cold draft touched her arms at the sleeves of her robe. Glancing out the front window, they noticed that the entire neighborhood was without a single light. The snow that hadn’t come the previous evening was now swirling in a silent ballet, and speckling the window pane.
“Ah, blast it; it’s this beastly, frigid weather; people all over town turning up the heat. Kicks out the power every time,” he sighed.
“I didn’t notice it with the fireplace so cozy and warm,” she blinked. “I guess I’ll have to invest in some long underwear for these occasions,” she said, hugging herself for warmth.
“Yes, you may want to do that, but it’s a little late for that tonight. We’ll have to think of something else.” His brow furrowed in the light of the glowing fire.
“Something else?” Her expression showed her confusion.
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
He led her up the stairway with a flashlight he’d taken out of the foyer desktop drawer, and opened the door to her room. An icy blast of cold air hit them both, and she could see his breath through the flashlight beam as he entered.
“This is the northern most room and stays colder than the others, even with the heater working. And, of course, there is no fireplace.” He closed the door, took her by the elbow, and walked to his room. As he opened the door, a warm glow from his cozy bedroom fireplace lit up the surroundings. “Lucky for you I decided to start a fire in here earlier tonight.”
“How is that lucky for me?” she asked, raising a brow, confused.
“I’ll bunk on the chesterfield downstairs. You take my bed,” he said in a commanding voice, motioning at the same time to one of the queen-sized beds.
“But why on earth would you have to sleep on the couch… er, uh, chesterfield, as you call it. There are two beds. No one else is sleeping in the other one, is there?” She blinked at him in question, and then reddened at her boldness. She wasn’t on her island anymore, where friends sometimes crashed at each other’s homes when the hour and the wine discouraged the driving of vehicles, and more than once had found herself on a sofa with one or more sleeping bodies taking up other available nooks and crannies of the room. This was proper London and she wasn’t a guest at all.
“No, not anymore,” he answered with hesitation, folding his arms. “But, we could I suppose, if you aren’t one of those uptight ladies who might faint from embarrassment at the impropriety. It does seem a bit silly to be following Victorian rules under these circumstances, doesn’t it?”
Was he asking her to make the decision?
“Oh heck, I’m a girl scout from way back.” She sat on the bed, giving it a bounce. “I’ve slept in tents and log cabins and in an open field. I suppose I could manage just fine on a large, grand bed with clean sheets, in front of a roaring fire, regardless of who else is in the room. And as far as I’m concerned, propriety goes out the window in emergency situations.”
“Well, then, it appears that this problem is solved. Thank you Sara for being so easy going. In all honesty, I hate to sleep on that chesterfield.” He leaned toward her and whispered in a stage aside, “I’m getting too old.”
She brushed her teeth while he tended to the downstairs fire, and sank luxuriously into the bed that had been assigned to her, leaving on her pink dressing gown, a bit out of modesty, but more due to sheer exhaustion. Moments later he entered the room, wearing a navy colored robe over a pair of blue plaid pajamas, and soon he was lying just feet away from her in the other bed.
Suddenly the reality of the situation hit Sara, along with the delayed fatigue, and she shivered under the covers. She was in his house, his presence… his bedroom. And he liked her. She was certain of that. They had been so comfortable together, and these days had been some of the most pleasant she had spent in a lifetime. Somewhere in her past, she figured, she must have gathered up some powerful karma for this to be happening to her. However, her good fortune was now causing a definite upheaval in her nerve endings.
“You’re shivering. Are you still cold?” He rolled to his side onto his elbow, facing her.
“N-n-no,” she answered, embarrassed at the way her teeth chattered at her response.
“Your teeth are clanging, madam, and yet you deny you are cold.” He glared at her, stating the obvious.
“Yes-s-s,” she tried once again.
He lifted his long legs out of bed, reached over and took her hand. It was icy. Wit
h a sudden swoop, he removed the down blanket from his own bed and threw it over her.
“Budge over,” he instructed, as he lay his warm body next to the massive bulk of blankets, and wrapped his arms around the entire neat bundle. “Now sleep,” he commanded.
She awoke to the sound of the shower from the nearby bathroom. Opening her eyes, for a moment she was disoriented to her surroundings, but very soon the events of the previous evening fell into place in her mind, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The sound of the running water must be Alex taking his morning shower.
What a crazy set of circumstances, she thought. Who would ever believe it? Stretching, she pulled on her slippers, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Moments later, bacon was sizzling in a pan, and the smell of fresh, brewed coffee filled the house.
“Morning.” He stood in the kitchen doorway, dressed in crisp blue jeans, and a cream colored, Irish knit sweater, a large smile on his face, the highlights of his hair blending in well with the soft white pullover. “I was going to apologize for waking you, but after smelling the bacon, it would be a lie.”
Sara’s heart leapt in her throat at the sight of him. Night-time Alex, stooping to tend their fire, was a man she had become comfortable and relaxed with. She hadn’t much experience with daytime Alex, as he was always out the door before she even awakened. Here without the benefit of the muted evening light, he was the tall and stunning film star. She felt as surreal as though someone had placed her in a Dali painting. Was she standing in his kitchen, cooking over his stove and talking to him as if she were truly there and in her right mind?
“Yes, wouldn’t it be nice if they could bottle this fragrance,” she answered, hoping the thudding pulse in her throat didn’t show, as she turned the meat in the pan. “Good morning to you.”
“First of all, Sara, I do owe you an apology for last night. What you must have thought of my boldness? But I was concerned about you. Coming from a tropical climate, you could easily catch a chill and take ill.” His expression was thoughtful as he sank into the kitchen chair, and took a hearty gulp out of the coffee mug she placed before him. “Still and all, it wasn’t very proper, was it? You won’t run off for my bad behavior, will you?”
“Bad behavior? No, I think your actions and concern were quite gallant, and I’m very grateful. I might have said so at the time, but I fell asleep within seconds.” She was relieved to hear her own voice sounding almost normal, and she felt her tensed muscles relax as she put slices of bread into the toaster. “I don’t think I moved all night.”
“Well don’t ask me,” he stated emphatically, waving his hand in the air, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “My intention was to make certain that you were no longer chilled, and then to move to my own bed, but moments later I was out like a light myself. I only awoke when the blasted lorry came by. Otherwise, chances are we’d both still be sleeping.”
He grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate she put before him, dropped it quickly, and then attempted it again with a bit more caution.
“Lorry. Would that be a truck?” She cracked three eggs into a small, ceramic bowl, as their conversation continued.
He made an exaggerated eye roll, heaving a dramatic sigh in the process. “Oh, I see now how this is going to go. But, I suppose, for the sake of good relations between our two countries, I will take on the responsibility of teaching you the proper King’s English.”
She pretended not to hear this remark, instead turning to him, a cheerful smile on her lips.“Scrambled alright?”
“Perfect. With some cheese. And two… no, make it three pieces of toast.” He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. Thanks for not making me go to the chesterfield.”
“Yeah, let’s make that two pieces of toast. You have to get into that tight Beekeeper’s tunic in six week’s time.” She grinned to herself, face turned from him, easily slipping back into the pattern of teasing patter that they had established days earlier. Even now, she could feel his look of mock indignation, aimed at the back of her head.
“Well, listen to you! You’re pretty cheeky for the hired help!” He began to spread a slice of toast with a large dollop of butter, and then thinking better of it, removed half. “But you’re right,” he mumbled. “That tunic gets bloody damn tight and uncomfortable with each new film.”
After breakfast and cleanup, Sara took her shower, and coming down the stairs was surprised to see him standing in the foyer, coat on, holding an empty linen shopping bag.
“Ready to go to the market?” he asked, wrapping his scarf around his neck.
Sara stopped short in her tracks. She had seen him wearing this very same scarf, a patchwork of different colors, in many magazine photos. The mere presence of it reminded her that this was the man who had been her idol for so many months, the one who had brought her back to life.
“What?” he looked at her.
“Nothing. Just, I’m…I, uh, um… nothing.” Sara was dumbstruck. She had almost forgotten, so relaxed had she become in his presence. The scarf had brought it all back, and now her nervousness was back as well.
“Ah. You must be speaking American. Don’t understand a word of it, I’m afraid.” He took her coat out of the closet and held it open for her.
Walking down the residential streets of London, Sara was surprised at how little notice most people took of them, although certainly they would never have paid attention to her. “I don’t think they recognize you,” she murmured in surprise, her head to his, her hands buried in her pockets for warmth, although she noticed that there was little trace left of last night’s snow.
“What?” He glanced around. “Oh! Them? They don’t care. Actors are a dime a dozen in a big city, and the locals who live in London aren’t a bit phased to see my mug,” he chortled, grabbing her by the arm and leading her across the busy street. “It’s the damn photographers and journalists. You’ll see them gathering if they smell a scandal, or better yet, hope to create one. Why do you think we exited the side door into the alley? There is always the chance of one of them lurking about.”
“And are you ridden with scandal, then?” she elbowed him in jest.
“I might be up for one, every now and then,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “We would have made the headlines had they pointed their cameras into the bedroom window last evening.”
Her stomach flip flopped at the memory. How on earth had she managed to fall asleep when he had been there, lying by her side, enfolding her in his arms? Sara kicked herself mentally for this insanity. That opportunity was now gone, and would never come again.
They wandered through the small neighborhood farmer’s market, stopping to look at a table heaped with melons, a barrel of overripe apples that appeared to only be good now for compote, rows of carrots and cabbage heads. He purchased a bag of grapes and popped one in her mouth when she begged for a taste, then two more, then a cluster, until she squealed in protest.
“What?” he asked in mock innocence, wrapping his arms around her and giving Sara an unexpected squeeze.
She felt his arms around her body, his warm breath in her hair, and she willed herself not to move a muscle for fear of spooking him away. She breathed in the smell of his coat, a sweet woolen scent, and felt the fiber, rough on her soft cheek. Her heart galloped in her chest.
As if only realizing his impromptu action, he stepped back a bit and pursed his lips. “Well, have you gotten everything you need?”
The momentary spell was broken, and she nodded. “Unless there is something else here you might want me to prepare with dinner tonight.”
“Oh, you mustn’t worry about me for dinner this evening. I have to meet with the producers of a play I will be directing in the coming year, and I’m sure they will provide a sumptuous meal for me.” He ducked his head as a cold wind blew in his face.
“Oh, how wonderful, and perhaps better than what I had planned,” she said, clutching her bag full of grocery item
s.
“Sara.” He put his face down to hers until their noses touched. “Can you say COLD PIZZA?”
She laughed at this and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. “Oh, well, so you won’t be missing anything. I was only planning a plain old prime rib and some garlic roasted potatoes.”
“OOH,” he groaned and pushed her away from him. “You really know how to hurt a guy. Next to steak and kidney pie, that is my favorite meal.”
“Kidney? My cat won’t even eat kidneys,” she said, wrinkling up her face in disgust, “and I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for Myrtle to return to get that again. It’s not in my southern cooking recipe book.”
“Well, I’m certain that I’ll learn to enjoy your hog jowl and chitlin’ dishes,” he said, scrunching up his own face in reply, and ducked the jab she aimed at his shoulder. “Or die trying.”
As they walked back to his street, he pointed out homes of neighbors and friends, telling delicious little anecdotes about each. Sara pinched herself twice to make certain that she was not dreaming, but to her surprise, he seemed to be enjoying her company just as much.
When they reached his house, he escorted her to the main gate.
“Alex, do you think that’s wise, given what you told me earlier about the paparazzi?”
“Sometimes I just like to make them crazy,” he said with a grin and a wink. “And what better way to do it than with a beautiful woman on my arm, going through my front door.”
“Mm, well, I don’t think you have anything to fear,” she murmured, glancing about for anyone who might be lurking in a nearby bush. “I will never be Marilyn Monroe.”
He stopped just short of the entrance and looked down at her face. “Sara, I don’t think that you have a clue as to how attractive you are, both inside and out.”
As her mouth dropped open, he reached over and touched her nose. “What a shame that you can’t make a good steak and kidney pie. Otherwise you’d be damn near perfect.”
Don't Tell the Moon Page 4
