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Audrey was, if not three billowing sheets to the wind, then at least one and a half, thanks to Elijah's surprisingly drinkable home brew. So it was with caution she made her way back to Skeldale as the beacon burned low. They were all together, still, a happy family tumbling down the hill: Tris and Charlotte, James and Jimmy, and Siegfried. Always Siegfried. He was at her left elbow now, catching it as she stumbled slightly over an unseen obstacle in the dark.
"Steady," murmured Siegfried against her ear, ruffling her calm thoughts into flurries again, like a fox got among the chickens.
"I'm not a horse needs soothing," she tried, but it lacked the usual snap. More of a shortbread comment than a ginger biscuit. Fair dos, mind, she'd always take a shortbread if given the choice.
"Perish the thought!" Siegfried let go and she nearly stumbled again, cross with herself. Since when had she relied on anyone as a steadying presence? She was Audrey Hall, wasn't she? The one that fixed, not the one as needed fixing. Only... She dared to steal a glance sideways. He was so close she could feel how cold her right side was compared to her left. Time were--be honest, Aud, just this morning were time were--she would have linked arms easily, falling into step beside him, chit-chatting about the day as they helped each other home.
But today.
The answer is always you.
I'll always need you, Mrs Hall.
How was she supposed to carry on normal-like after that? The first she'd not had time to think on until she'd left Siegfried to care for Tris in the church and then had spent her time in the porch alternately worrying about Tris and wringing her hands for not worrying because her thoughts had been overtaken by Siegfried's words. She was the answer to every question? Who said things like that when they weren't on a sound stage in Elstree? It were enough to turn a lass's head if it wanted to be turned. No. Audrey was too sensible for that. It were an emotional day, war ending and all. Siegfried--Mr. Farnon, come on, girl, get your head on right--were just grateful they'd all made it through.
The second. It hadn't escaped Audrey's notice, his uncommon use of "I". She'd heard him say, "We," often enough, even on the train platform as he came to lay out the case that she should come back to Skeldale. Come back home. She'd seen him do that to others too, as if by using "We," he could keep himself at a distance from his own feelings, from the possibility of pain. And now, on this beautiful, auspicious, wonderful day, where hope and potential bloomed like the dog roses that threaded the hedgerows, he'd shown not only that he could shoulder his brother's pain, but he could claim his own emotions too. Audrey didn't know what to do with that. At least, not with her head spinning like a merry-go-round.
They reached Skeldale without exchanging more than a few unimportant words. Audrey shooed everyone through the door and put the kettle on while Charlotte called home for a car. Tristan wandered into the kitchen as she was finding space on the table to put out the cups.
"Blimey," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be a day." He sounded almost himself again. Audrey sent up a quick prayer of thanks.
"Hangovers and cleaning up? You're right about that." She surveyed the mounds of tins and crockery that took up most of the table. Everything would need to be returned to its rightful place or owner. She'd let the bunting stay for a few days, though. A bit of colour fluttering about was what were needed, for everyone's sake. "Tris, love. Will you let the dogs out for a minute? They've been cooped up in 'ere the whole evening."
"I'll do you one better than that, Mrs Hall. Charlotte and I will take them for a short walk. It'll be a while until anyone comes down for her. Jess, Dash, come here." The dogs were immediately on their feet, claws clacking on the tiles as they scampered to Tristan's side.
"That's very kind. Thank you."
"Oh, don't mention it." Tris turned to leave, and then paused. He looked back over his shoulder. "I'm so very glad you came home to us, Mrs Hall. Siegfried..." He cleared his throat. "I needed him today and I think he could...do what he did...because he had your example to follow. He's a far better man when you're around, there's no denying that."
Audrey felt herself flush and raised a hand to bat the words away. "Oh, pish! I'm a housekeeper, not a bloomin' oracle."
"If you say so, Mrs Hall," called Tristan as he and the dogs wandered away. "But if one were to survey the occupants of this house, I wonder what the results would say?"
He's a far better man when you're around.
The words joined the others floating in her head, and the flush came full force now, her heart picking up speed like an unsteady foal's first run. She sat down on a chair, hard, and the kettle began to boil. Minutes later, Audrey hardly knew how she lifted the tea tray, let alone carried it steady and sure through to the parlour where Jimmy slept against James's side and Siegfried sat in his chair, unlit pipe in his mouth.
"Tea," she declared, as if she were declaring victory in the war all over again.
"Mrs Hall, you're a life saver," said James. "I'm parched."
"I don't see what's wrong with a nightcap," said Siegfried, pulling out his pipe and waving it towards the whisky decanter.
"If you've had so much home brew that you can't remember that pipes need lighting, you're definitely better off with a cuppa." Audrey was pleased with how normal that sounded, considering. Maybe she'd take up amateur dramatics next.
"Right as usual, Mrs Hall," agreed Siegfried with more amiability than she'd been expecting. This was a very strange day, indeed.
Audrey passed out the tea, sitting in the empty chair next to Siegfried. They sat in companiable silence, the day had had so many words in it that it weren't at all surprising they'd run out. Eventually, Tris came back with the dogs, having said goodbye to Charlotte. His lips were somewhat redder than they had been before he went out and his uniform was mildly askew, but no one said anything. Instead, Audrey poured him his tea and he squeezed himself into the spare corner of the sofa, taking Jimmy's feet on his lap. Jess and Dash pattered off to the kitchen, ready for bed.
As the merry-go-round in her head slowed thanks to the judicious application of strong tea, Audrey took stock. For all Edward were safe in Sunderland, she'd lived with an undercurrent of fear and anxiety for so long because of the war, because of Tris, that she hardly knew what to do without it. What to feel. She looked around the room at her family. There was James reaching out to Tris, hand on his shoulder, kind eyes, kind heart. And Tris nodding, smiling, corners of his eyes creasing, real this time, hand gentling Jimmy's feet. Jimmy's sweet face, so serious in sleep, just like his mother. And, by her side, Siegfried, eyes half-lidded, fighting sleep because there was nothing else left to fight, tea cup tilting dangerously in one hand.
She reached for it before the contents spilled and the hullabaloo woke the sleeping child. Siegfried blinked into life, slow and languid, his whole face softening, butter on a warm day. "Thank you, Mrs Hall. What would I do without you?"
Their fingertips brushed as she rescued the cup and it was all she could do to keep her breathing steady. "Fall apart, I suppose," she said, turning to put the cup back on the tray.
Happy. That's what it was. She felt happy.
"Right," she said, smoothing her skirt with firm hands. "I'm off to bed. Lots to do in the morning. Never mind clearing the tea things away. It's a special occasion, after all."
There was a chorus of goodnights and then she found herself in her room, back pressed against the closed door.
"Oh, Aud," she whispered. "This is a fine mess and no mistake."
It was less than an hour since she'd been in the kitchen making tea. Which meant it had been less than an hour ago that she'd realised that Siegfried loved her. It wasn't as if she hadn't known she was important to him, she'd known that for years. Known it when she'd planned to leave Skeldale for the Lakes, known it when she'd gone away to Sunderland and stayed. But she hadn't understood how deep it ran, not until today when Siegfried had shown his heart to her, not until Tristan had turned the key in the lock.
He loved her and...
Audrey's knees buckled and her eyes began to sting. She let herself slide to the floor. It was as undignified as anything, but she didn't care. She'd been keeping herself upright for so long, pinny and broom her armour against misplaced emotion, and she was tired of it all. She leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes. She let the memories unspool, the ones she had folded away carefully, shutting them up in a cupboard, storing them against future rainy days when she might want to smell lavender and sunshine, when she wasn't living with it any more.
Siegfried storming at her, laughing with her, cajoling, commiserating, caring. His strong, capable hands turning soft and gentle as his voice with a sick cat, a sick dog, a sick cow. His eyes twinkling, glaring, questioning. The way he wore his glasses, his waistcoats, his sleeve garters. The way he submitted to her fixing his tie, his collar, his buttonhole, his life. His broad shoulders and strong legs. The way he turned on a sixpence when he realised he was wrong, his stubborn refusal to see what was in front of his face more than half the time, his unexpected sweetness and quirky humour, his fierce love for his family, the rag tag band he'd found like a reluctant Pied Piper. All of these things and more. Audrey had been determined to care for him only as much as was seemly, and she'd had herself most of the way to convinced that she'd achieved her goal. That she were on the side of righteousness.
Only it turned out that once she'd been assured of his feelings for her, all bets--like them at Hensfield racetrack--were off. He were a silly, ridiculous man, and she loved him with everything she had in her.
"Oh," she hiccuped, and pressed a hand over her mouth. Tears were falling and that made her cross. What good did tears ever do in this kind of situation? There was nothing to be sad about. She loved and she was loved. Weren't that the heart's desire of most people? Audrey Hall, she told herself, you're one of the lucky ones, make no mistake.
"Right as usual," she replied, and grinned as she heard Siegfried's voice echoing her own.
She sat where she was for a while, thinking. The way she reckoned it was that Siegfried was a gentleman. A gentleman who would never use his position of power over an employee to gain an advantage. He would be horrified to think that Audrey would come to him any less than whole-heartedly, and how could he know that if he declared himself first? Perhaps a part of him would always wonder if she were with him for fear of unemployment, and that fear could become destructive over time. It could ruin him, ruin them. No. He'd done his best, bless him. He'd told her today in his own terms, and trusted her to know him well enough to decipher his meaning. He'd brought his heart to her and dropped it at her feet. A dog doesn't tell you to throw the ball it brings, does it? And yet we stoop and pick it up and throw.
The problem was she was who she was. She could no more walk up to him and declare her love than she could make mock banana bread with parsnips taste pleasant. Times were changing, no doubt about that, but there were limits. That rather put them at stalemate, didn't it? But chess had never been their game and she weren't about to learn the rules now. Audrey needed a plan.
It took a long time to go to sleep, mulling over potential options that ranged from somehow getting trapped together in a small space--perhaps the pantry, she had thought, but realised that Siegfried would be too easily distracted by sardines and cheese--to elaborate tea leaf calligraphy, to roping Mrs Pumphrey and Tricki into some kind of scheme, but in the end simple was best.
It was after midday when she found herself alone in the house with Siegfried. James had taken Jimmy up to see the new calves at Heston and Tris was off somewhere with Charlotte. He'd taken the Rover to not a single word of complaint from Siegfried. "Wars should finish more often," Tristan had said.
"Never a truer word," Siegfried had replied, wandering away towards his study.
And that's where she found him sometime later, after she'd taken off her pinny and smoothed her hair, checking for stray strands in the mirror. He was reading at his desk, humming a tune she recognised. She paused in the doorway, heart racing hard like it wanted to already be in his hands. She licked her bottom lip. Now or never, Aud, she thought. You deserve to be happy. Both of you. If we learned one thing from this blasted war is that time is no one's gift, it's a privilege. Stop wasting it.
Before she could retort and talk herself out if it, Audrey forced herself to move. And then she was at Siegfried's shoulder. She placed her hand lightly on it, allowing her thumb to brush against the top of his shirt collar. She took a big breath. Everything hung on this next word.
"Siegfried?"
Siegfried's hand came up and covered hers. He patted it. "Yes, dear hear- Oh. Mrs Hall, I apologise, I-" He pulled his hand away and placed it palm down on the desk. He didn't look up.
She squeezed his shoulder. "Siegfried," she said again, trusting him to listen, trusting him to hear.
He did look up then. Not into the air above her shoulder the way he usually looked when he couldn't quite bring himself to be sincere face-to-face, but straight into her eyes, his own wide and slightly scared. He blinked rapidly and she held steady, letting him read what he needed to, letting her eyes say the things she'd never let them openly say before.
"Au-Au-Au-Audrey?" Her name, stuttered and unsure, had never sounded so beautiful.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Audrey," he said again, more sure this time. Audrey began to smile.
"Oh, Audrey!" And now he was on his feet, beaming like a child on Christmas morning, and she was in his arms for the second time in two days. This time she let herself breathe him in, feel the way his hands gripped her, the way his face tucked into her neck, soft beard scratching against her skin, the overlapping scents of cologne and chemicals, a strange and perfect combination.
Siegfried's head turned and she felt the press of his lips against her ear, and then something wet against her cheek. She pushed at his shoulders far enough to get a good look at him.
"Are you crying?"
Siegfried nodded, lips tight, face long. "I'm afraid so. You must think I'm a very poor excuse for a man."
Audrey's chest swelled with so much emotion she wanted to shout. Instead she shook her head and said, "Come 'ere, you daft beggar," grabbed his lapels and hauled him in for a kiss.
The last time Audrey had kissed anyone, it had been Gerald. Well past the first flush of youth it had been pleasant enough, but nothing to write sonnets about, not even a limerick if she were honest. She'd thought that were part and parcel of growing older, that everything would be placid and calm and kind and loving and nice. Passion wasn't in the cards for people like her and him, top of the hill and staring down the other side.
But--oh god--the first touch of Siegfried's lips on hers and her assumptions scattered like autumn leaves on a windy day. It was a bolt of lightning through the very core of her, and she clutched at him, suddenly unsteady on her feet. He made a small, pained sound against her mouth, one hand moving up to cradle her head, fingers threading through her hair, and he opened up to her. There was a part of Audrey that stared, shocked at this inappropriate display, horrified at the impropriety, but there was more of her that told her to seize the day, follow his lead, follow her heart. She parted her lips and let him in.
Siegfried groaned again and this time tugged her forwards, moving backwards until he tumbled them both onto his wingbacked chair, arranging her in his lap. Audrey giggled against Siegfried's mouth and then stopped, surprised at herself.
Siegfried caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. He murmured, "No, don't stop. Your happiness makes me happy."
Audrey tugged at his earlobe. "You can't say that sort of thing and not expect me to-"
When she didn't continue, Siegfried said, "Not expect you to what?"
With great care, Audrey removed Siegfried's glasses and leaned over to place them on the piano lid. She straightened back up and leaned in, peppering his whole, dear face with kisses before finding his mouth once more, running the tip of her tongue over his lower lip. He opened up again, pressing her so close to him that she couldn't tell the rise and fall of his chest from her own. All sorts of lascivious thoughts ran through her head unbidden, undressing him, exploring the planes and angles and curves of his body, touching him, stroking his skin, learning what made him moan and shake and come apart, taking him into herself, still dressed, glorious on top like a goddess, the goddess of house and home and life. This wasn't her, or maybe it always had been, she didn't know, and in this moment she didn't care. All she knew was that Siegfried's hand was on her knee, thumb sweeping over the crease of it and her whole body throbbed with need.
"I want," she half-sobbed against his mouth.
"Anything, dear heart. Anything. Just name it."
"Touch me." And there it was, bold as brass, twice as shiny. She couldn't take it back even if she wanted to. She didn't want to.
Siegfried's hand convulsed, stilled. "You'd let me...?"
Audrey pressed her lips together and nodded, half-ashamed, half-defiant. "This is what I want. I want you to touch me. I want you to..." Was she really going to say this out loud? She took a deep breath. "Pleasure me. I need you to, Siegfried. I need you to do that. For me."
Siegfried shifted underneath her and she could feel his hard length shift against her hip. It sent another spike of arousal between her legs. She was so wet already, just from this. Look at that, there was life in the old dogs yet. Siegfried leaned forward and kissed her neck, hand beginning to track up her thigh. "My Audrey. I'll pleasure you every day and twice on Sundays if you'll let me."
"Careful what you say, Siegfried Farnon, or I'll hold you to that. Don't make promises you can't keep."
Siegfried's laugh was wet against her skin. He leaned back and said, "I plan on making lots of promises, you know. I'll have to speak to James. He memorised them all as I recall." His finger skirted the edge of her knickers as he spoke. Audrey gasped, almost overwhelmed.
"Siegfried."
"Audrey." He pulled a serious face, but his finger started to edge under the loose cotton.
"Do you mean it?"
"When do I ever not mean it? No, scratch that. When do I ever not mean it when it comes to you? I told you: you are the answer to every question. You are everything I need, everything I want. I don't want to spend another moment feeling wretched without you, and the whole bloody world should know it." He stopped and frowned. "Of course, if that's amenable to you?"
"Very amenable, thank you," said Audrey, settling in to lean on Siegfried's shoulder, cat who got the cream and all the wool it could tangle, thank you very much. "I seem to remember I set you a task."
"You did."
"Well, you better get on with it then."
"My fiancée," said Siegfried to the air with a tone of long-suffering. "How I endure." But he reapplied himself to Audrey's neck and his fingers crept higher until he found the crease of Audrey's folds and drew his thumb along it. She shuddered, pushing herself into his hand. It wouldn't take much. Not today.
"Patience," he muttered, rearranging himself so that the heel of his hand rested against her mound, fingers slipping between her folds. "God, you're so wet. You're so wet for me, Audrey." He sounded awestruck, as if she really were a goddess. It made her brave and bold and she shoved up against him again and again.
"That's it," he said. "Good girl. You take what you need." His fingers slid further down. "Can I?"
She nodded, tight and fierce, and he pushed two fingers inside her, thumb brushing over her centre. She cried out as he thrust into her, hardened nipples pushing painfully at the fabric of her bra. Blindly, she sought out his mouth and they pressed their lips together, just to have another point of connection. It wasn't kissing any more. It was something else entirely. Siegfried kept up his rhythm in time with her thrusting, and when he started to moan into her mouth she realised that he was rocking too, his member pushing against her hipbone. The very idea of his arousal at hers sent another jolt through her and she began to crest, a deep, swelling pressure, like a kettle coming to the boil.
She clutched at his shoulders, fingers gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing. It were as if she were trapped at the precipice of something truly wonderful.
"S...s...s...Siegfried," she stuttered, for the first time unsure.
"It's all right, dear heart. I have you. You're safe. Always. You can let go now." With that he pressed deep inside her, and she cried out as the pleasure rolled over her in convulsing waves, her body shaking in his arms. He kissed her through it, lazily moving his fingers inside her as she came down. Slowly, he withdrew them and she let her head loll back against the wing of the chair, watching him as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. Her eyes widened.
"What?" he said. "You're delicious in every way, didn't you know that?"
Audrey blinked, part still in the heavens, part downright bemused. "This morning I were handing out cake tins round the village as a stalwart member of the community, ex-warden, housekeeper in good standing and now-"
"Now?"
Audrey shrugged. "It's been a day, ha'n't it?"
Siegfried laughed, shaking her like an earthquake. "Your gift at understatement is unmatched, dear heart." He busied himself readjusting her skirt so she looked minimally less debauched. It was a valiant effort, but ultimately doomed to failure.
Audrey's heart swelled. "Dear heart? I like that."
Siegfried picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss in the palm. "Good. Because that is what you are. What you've been for far too long. Will you forgive an old man for being too stubborn to admit what was in front of his face until it was almost too late?"
"'appen I will," said Audrey, layering on the Yorkshire extra thick the way she always did when she felt a little overwhelmed, like putting extra buttercream on top of the cake when you weren't sure the sponge were up to snuff.
"'appen," echoed Siegfried and snorted against her shoulder. He quietened down and after a moment said, "I meant what I said, you know. It wasn't the heat of the moment."
"Which part? The pleasuring or the wedding?" There was no need to ask except for the look on his face.
"Both, I assure you. I'm a man of my word."
Audrey leaned forward and kissed his nose. "I know that, you silly man. And I continue to be amenable. To all sorts, actually." She tapped his chest. "Don't you...?"
"Ah. That. Ah. That's rather...taken care of, actually." He saw how she began to draw herself up and grabbed at her wrists. "Now, now, no need to get cocky about it."
Audrey widened her eyes at him and started to giggle and then to laugh. For a brief moment, Siegfried looked genuinely affronted and then he caught the laughter too. Eventually, they subsided into the occasional giggle until Siegfried said, "My utmost apologies, Audrey, but I fear I may soon lose my legs if I don't restore the circulation. Difficult to keep you in the manner to which you've been accustomed if I'm to be a legless vet."
Audrey slid off his lap and got to her feet. "I've often seen you being a legless vet," she pointed out. "Last time were only a couple of weeks back. What were it? Four double scotches?"
"Oh, I see I'm still to be the butt of the joke."
"O' course. Well, not all of 'em. Save some for Tris."
Siegfried sighed and beat at his legs with the flats of his hands. "Plus ça change," he said, then looked up at her, eyes twinkling. "Wars should end more often, I think. It's worked out very well for me."
"Better if they don't bother starting at all."
"Right as usual, M-dear heart," said Siegfried. "I'll just point you at the government and you can get them all sorted out. If I'm anything to go by, they don't stand a chance."
"Shut it, you," said Audrey, with all the love in her heart. "Stay there. There's leftover Victoria sponge in the kitchen. That'll solve your pins and needles." She sashayed away towards the kitchen, an extra sway in her hips and spring in her step.
"You are a wonder!" Siegfried called after her. "And a miracle!"
Audrey caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the dispensary as she passed. She looked red-cheeked and dishevelled, and exactly like a woman who'd let her employer debauch her before making an honest woman out of her. It was, without doubt, one of the best days of her life. She lifted her hands to her warm cheeks and grinned
"I know!" she called back, reaching for the cake tin. "In't it grand?"