Chapter Eighteen #2
‘So, my lady,’ Thorn said, turning his attention back to his wife, and slipping her arm in his.
‘We have many choices to occupy our time—and we have a room nearby for the night. There is, as you can see, this delightful shingle beach. There are baths, I’m told, an arcade, some half-timbered houses, a fish market, more shopping, some fascinating boat launches, games, entertainment and walks of all sorts, and a castle. What would you like to do?’
‘Everything,’ she smiled, broader than he’d ever seen, her eyes alight with joy. ‘But first, I want to put my feet in the water.’
So, tugging him along, she set off to find a path to the sea, and Thorn had to mark this moment down too, as one of the happiest of his life.
In the end, they didn’t do everything. They wet their feet in the sea, Hypatia frolicking like a child, Thorn frolicking alongside her, to the amused and sometimes disapproving stares of others.
Then, when the sea rose past the patches of comfortable sand, they went back and sat on the shingles, and watched the waves, the children, the other lovers, the fishermen.
When Thorn asked if she was hungry, or wished to go explore elsewhere, he saw enough hesitancy and lack of enthusiasm in Hypatia’s otherwise bright face, that he knew she didn’t.
So he went off to find them food, obtaining a mix of sea produce from a fisherman’s hut further along, and they feasted on it right there, watching the waves, the children, the other lovers, and the fishermen.
They didn’t speak much either, which he didn’t find he minded at all.
They didn’t need to talk today, or any day, to enjoy each other’s company, and share in something.
Eventually, he rose again to fetch them some shaved ice, but beyond that, they didn’t move, until the sea began its descent again, at which point they went to soak their feet, wandering along the length of the shore, and back again.
And they held hands, and swung their tied-together boots between them as one might a small child, and they watched the children, and the fishermen, and looked at the huts, and the castle on the cliff, and the other lovers, and the new buildings along the seafront, and watched the sunset.
Thorn, for one, found it to be perfect, and amended his earlier thought; this was the happiest he’d ever been.
Eventually, a chilly evening breeze, conspiring with exhaustion, drove them to seek the comfort of their hotel, so, somewhat reluctantly, they put their socks, stockings and boots back on, and made their way there, stopping for some hot buns full of crab on the way, which they devoured without delay or ceremony, before continuing on, weaving through visitors like themselves, and locals of all ages and dispositions, half admiring the architecture, half merely soaking in the atmosphere.
Finally, they arrived at The Old Beech, and were brought up to their small, but delicately decorated room, overlooking the seafront, and which featured one specific amenity: a screen between two single beds.
‘I hope it’s all right,’ Thorn said, once the attendant showing them up had departed. ‘I couldn’t quite justify getting two rooms, but if you wish me to, I’m sure they’ll have something for me.’
‘This is perfect, Thorn,’ she reassured him with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you for thinking of this arrangement. For a perfect day.’
‘You’re not disappointed we didn’t see or do anything else?’ he asked, smoothing one of those rambunctious curls from her forehead; just an excuse to touch her really. ‘We’ll have some time in the morning, but not much.’
‘I’m not disappointed at all.’
The way she looked at him then, honey-green eyes so full of joy and light; if he hadn’t already been in love with her, he would’ve fallen for her then.
No one wouldn’t have.
He might’ve told her, found that moment to be the perfect one to say as much, yet something stopped him, and he simply leaned down instead, and kissed her, with a slow, languorous, and profound depth that made everything within him calm, still, and settle.
After a moment, or perhaps a hundred, they broke apart, and he smiled.
‘We should get cleaned up, and in more comfortable attire.’
Hypatia nodded, and he released her, so they could go about doing just that.
Seizing the opportunity while she was busy behind another screen, he placed his other gift on her pillow; the bed by the window of course, which he suspected would be open the night through, despite any noise of nighttime revellers below, to allow the briny air and seagulls’ cries in.
Settling on top of his own bed once properly refreshed and changed, he laid back, and stared at the mouldings on the ceiling, remembering the day, and every day which had led up to it, wondering how he’d gotten here, how extraordinary life was, to have conspired by myriad events, choices, and chances, to bring him to this.
To a wife so extraordinary, to love, to—
‘Oh, Thorn…’
He grinned, hearing admiration and pleasure in her voice, and seeing it a moment later when she came around the screen to stand beside him, cradling the iron rose in her hands like some fragile treasure, eyes darting along every millimetre.
‘You like it?’
‘It’s incredible,’ she smiled, and he didn’t take her surprise at him being capable of such work badly; rather, it filled his heart with pride.
Thorn shifted, sitting up, and making room for her beside his legs if she wished to join him, which she did.
‘It looks as though you’ve plucked it from the garden, and dipped it in metal.
I mean look at this,’ she breathed, running her fingers over it now, along every thin petal, every leaf, every move and wave and twist of the metal. ‘This must’ve taken you days…’
‘Only a couple,’ he shrugged, blushing slightly.
‘I don’t mean… This isn’t to say you’re not good at doing what you are, but Thorn, this is artistry.’
‘Do you know, I think I enjoy it more now that it isn’t my profession. I used to count the hours, rage sometimes at the time it would take to make such intricate, lifelike pieces for some gentleman’s gate, or lady’s fireplace shield, whereas making this…’
Was a labour of love.
He didn’t say that, and wondered why his lips and tongue refused so to speak such a confession, even in a sideways manner, smiling softly as if to merely say: you understand.
‘I understand,’ Hypatia said, with a mirroring smile. ‘Can I ask you a strange question?’
‘Lord, you do frighten me at times, Hypatia,’ he chuckled. ‘Go on, then.’
‘That first day, when you arrived at Gamin Hall, and I saw you after my confrontation with Warren, and just now, when I told you this rose was incredible, what were you feeling?’
Frowning slightly, he thought back, not truly being one to catalogue his feelings as they passed through him; recognising them, yes, however, the practice of storing away a notation of their arrival and departure not being something he typically did.
He wasn’t entirely sure why Hypatia was asking, or if he wanted to know, but he would answer, regardless, as she had asked, and that was reason enough for him.
‘Pride,’ he told her finally, meeting her gaze, troubled and searching now. ‘Of my work, and that day, of you. Beyond how I’d ever felt it before, in truth.’
‘Hm,’ she nodded, turning to look back down at the rose and biting her lip.
Ask her.
‘Thank you,’ she said after a long while, rising. ‘For that, for the rose, for everything, Thorn. Good night.’
A swift but sweet kiss, and she was gone to the other side of the screen.
Ask her.
He heard her open the window, grinned, then heard her slide into bed, and so he did the same, and extinguished the lamp beside him, before she did hers.
Ask her.
‘Why did you ask me that?’
‘I didn’t recognise it, and so it troubled me.’
Oh, I shouldn’t have asked, though I can’t truly regret it, for now I understand so much more.
Another chapter for The Book of Hypatia.
‘Good night, Hypatia.’
I love you.
‘Good night, Thorn.’