A Pair of Brown Eyes: Chapter 21

The morning following his outing with Claire and the children, Andrew woke up feeling exhilarated, and he had the inkling his lovely assistant had everything to do with such happiness. Her reserve, which she sometimes seemed to exert at random, was most puzzling and irritating, it was true, but for the most part she had been showing of late more freedom in her dealings with him; and now the only lingering memory was the taste of her sweet lips as he kissed her and she embraced him. How many things he would have told her the previous evening if she but had given him a chance.

If only Caroline hadn't interrupted them at the worst possible moment...! Asking Claire whether she would marry him...! He chuckled despite himself, and shook his head. That kid, bless her! She reminded him so much of her mother. And, quite honestly, the thought of marrying Claire wasn't al all unpleasant. Yes, so many things he would love to tell her; but the wall she had built around herself was still too thick. His smile dropped. He wondered if her always wearing those widow's weeds had anything to do with the matter; but he couldn't very well tell her to stop wearing them, could he? Curiously enough, she didn't strike him as the kind of woman who would strictly observe those customs. If only those two years of full mourning were already over. He smiled again as he imagined how beautiful she would look dressed in brighter colours.

He found himself whistling while he prepared for work, and it wasn't until he felt the water on his face as he washed that he noticed how cold the air was getting of late. And, while he was only aware of the warmth in his heart, he had to own that this was a decidedly chilly dawn, indeed! And it was just the first Monday in October! Dawn? Oh, that's it! His smile broadened the moment he remembered what he had been humming all morning, despite those elusive first notes he never seemed to get right: Dawn in the mist, that lovely piece Claire had composed for the festival.

But all those thoughts were forgotten when he was called on an emergency which claimed all his attention for the present. There was no time to lose--he couldn't wait for Claire to arrive--so he left her a note telling her he would be absent for a while. He was sure she could handle everything.

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Fortunately, no fatal consequences were to be regretted of his sudden visit to a patient, so Andrew's good mood hadn't suffered much by the time he was back.

The door that led to the clinic was open, and voices could be heard from within. Upon approaching it, he saw her as she walked towards a middle-aged man she obviously had been attending to; how gorgeous she looked in her working attire and displaying her best professional prowess. It suddenly occurred to him how well suited she actually was for the work; who would have thought that of the frail, untrained little creature he had met four, five months before?

"But, aren't you a little quick in assuming, sir..." Andrew heard her as she addressed the man, her voice remarkably firm, "that the police would have been of any service, had she gone to ask them for help?" And after saying that, she pointed to the newspaper the man was holding in his hand.

Andrew wondered what news they must have been discussing to elicit such a strong response from her. Despite their seeing each other on a daily basis, there was always something new to discover about her: a new layer, a new depth into the personality of that increasingly less mysterious lady called Claire Parker; and on this particular occasion, he had just learned of her shocking dislike for police forces.

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Let that patient delude himself if he chooses to, Claire thought on her way home that evening. She knew what police officers did when such grievances were posed to them by a woman...

A trifling business, he had called it. To be more compliant, he had asked her...

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The building looked impressive, and Claire hoped that the stony glances those lions were casting at her were sympathetic rather than accusing. Be it as it may, she couldn't hesitate now; she couldn't and she wouldn't. She had gone too far already...

She shut her eyes briefly, squared her shoulders, and let out as heavy a sigh as she was capable of. But all the calming gestures in the world wouldn't have prevented her hand from shaking as she reached for the knob and entered the lobby.

She first caught sight of a rough-looking sailor who kept staring at her in that lecherous way she knew but too well. Claire decided to ignore him, however, and trying not to falter, she headed for the counter, where an imposing, uniformed man stood.

"What can I do for you, madam?" he asked her in a neutral tone. Not deterring her, not encouraging her.

That was an interesting question. What could he do for her? Claire herself didn't know for certain; her hands were sweaty, and her breathing, quick and shallow. "I..." She wasn't sure she had said it out loud: the man's expression gave away nothing. "I..." she tried again, a little louder this time. "I've come to... I want to..." The stranger was now staring at her. "I've come to report... a... an aggression."

"Is that so?" The policeman seemed a little more interested at last, but Claire had expected him to start taking notes, which he didn't. "And who would the aggressor be?"

Obvious as the inquiry was, it had never occurred to Claire she would have to answer that. "My... husband."

The sigh he released upon hearing this reverberated in her ears, even though she had the feeling it hadn't been audible at all.

"Your husband, right?" he frowned "And that would make YOU the victim, I guess?"

Claire didn't like how he eyed her next, in a way which was anything but flattering. She faintly nodded her response.

"I can see no signs of ill-treatment about your person. Are you sure you know what an aggression is, Mrs...?"

"Richardson." Five years of marriage, and bearing his name was still hard.

"Look, Mrs. Richardson, I hope you understand you need some proofs to support what you're claiming. Can you offer any?"

Offer proofs? Claire was immediately reminded of the heavily made-up woman she had seen upon entering the police station: even her cleavage was showing! How was she to offer proofs without exposing herself in such a way?

Of course she could offer no proofs! The only thing left for her to do was to remain silent.

The officer must have interpreted her hesitation as a negative, because he merely said, this time in a gentler tone, "I thought so. There, there. I'm sure he's sorry for having been a little too harsh on you, and is presently waiting for you to come home so he can apologise." He then proceded to escort her to the door, giving her a little smile--which did nothing but add to her predicament.

"Don't you think, madam," he added, "that Scotland Yard should be concerned with more important things than to intervene in such a trifling business as a quarrel between lovers? I have no doubt you are a great comfort to your husband. Perhaps you could try to understand him better and be a little more compliant to him?" He gave her hand a light squeeze. If that remark was meant to reassure her, it failed miserably.

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That night Claire's sleep was again haunted by her horrid, disturbing dreams...

Back to the Prologue

This chapter is dedicated to my s/o, who's taking a very important exam just as we speak (write), and made me promise I'd have this chapter published by the time he was finished, so he'd have something nice to read afterwards. Isn't he a dear?