Omnia Vincit Amor Pt. 03

Chapter 12

John and Claire devoted Thursday to house cleaning and tidying ready for the weekend visitors, and in addition Claire dealt with all the laundry. Lifting a laundry basket proved to John that he was not anywhere near fully recovered!

Friday morning was the time for the weekly shop. In addition, Claire and John visited the local butcher and bought a leg of lamb big enough for five.

Saturday was a relaxed day, more so because it rained all morning and the afternoon saw a procession of heavy showers, and being kept indoors, Claire went to her room for the afternoon, taking a novel with her that she'd found on John's book shelves.

John knocked at four. "There's Mass at five," he said. "You want to go? It'll give us all morning tomorrow to get ready for the invasion."

She laughed. "Sounds a good idea."

So they went to the vigil Mass and had a ham and cheese salad on their return. John put on some music and they read, sitting opposite each other, until, after another whisky nightcap they retired.

When the doorbell rang on Sunday morning, Claire grinned at him and went to the door. She opened it to find a young woman and a man.

"Hello, you must be Clare," she said brightly, "and this will be Luke. I'm Claire Klinsman."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Klinsman," said the younger Clare with a smile, as the pair shrugged off their rainwear. Outside there was a fine drizzle.

"I'd say call me Claire, but that might be awkward. My second name is Deborah, so perhaps I can be Claire D?"

"D'you think Dad called me after you? A sign of his unrequited love?" she asked with hand on heart and a giggle. "He was quite coy about it on the phone, but he did say you used to be his girlfriend."

"Come through, and you can embarrass him all you like." They both laughed, and both thought they would get on with each other very well.

The bell went again. "I'll get it, Debbie," Clare Junior said, and so 'Debbie' led Luke into the living room.

They could hear Clare's voice excitedly telling the visitor something, and the other woman, for it was a woman, answering her in more measured tones.

Catherine was duly introduced to Claire, but Catherine was much more reserved. At this, John appeared from the kitchen, while Claire took his place cooking, leaving John to face his daughters, but leaving the door ajar to catch the conversation.

"Good God, Dad!" exclaimed daughter Clare. "Your face!"

"Is this what was in the papers?" asked Catherine, wincing at his facial bruising.

"What was in the papers?" cried Clare. "Who's attacked you Dad?"

John was about to water down the story but Catherine was too quick for him.

"Two men, father and son, attacked Dad. They beat him up. The father accused him of sleeping with his wife -- Dad you didn't, did you?" Then a gasp of realisation: "Claire's the wife of the man who attacked you. It did say she came to look after you."

Claire was about to go back to intervene, when she heard John's voice.

"Calm down, both of you. Now, to begin with, did I sleep with Claire? Well, did I?"

There was a silence, and both girls looked shamefaced.

"No Dad," said Catherine at last. "You didn't. But I don't understand; what is she doing here?"

"Well, Cathy, she's looking after me."

"But--" started Clare.

"Look, you two, just listen and I'll give you some background." He said, looking at two worried faces. They nodded, and Claire came into the room and stood near the kitchen door. He continued.

"Claire lives in the Netherlands with her husband and family--"

"Lived," interrupted Claire. "Since this last episode, I don't live there any more."

"Sorry, lived in the Netherlands. She was over here with her family because her mother was dying. She was on her way to visit her sister and called on Fr Gerard. He told her about Mum's death, so she kindly came to see me.

"Well, her husband suffers badly from insecurity, and has done all through their married life, but the row after she visited me was so serious that she told him that to cure him of his jealously, either he put up with her coming to stay with me while she sorted out her mother's estate, or they would be separating. She came and stayed here for four weeks, though she was actually only in the house for about two weeks.

"When she went back there was an almighty row. He had called all their children together to effectively put her on trial. This was too much for her, so she came back to Britain. She went on a thirty day retreat at Greystones, then went on to her mother's house.

"Peter, her husband, assumed she had come to be with me and that we were having an affaire. I ask you? Her mother had just died and I've not long lost your Mum. Would either of us be interested in an affaire? We're both in our fifties, for crying out loud! He came here with Thomas his son, and when I opened the door they crashed in.

"The door must have hit me in the face and I fell back and hit my head on the wall, so I was out of it. Mrs Frobisher, bless her, called the police and an ambulance. Peter made an unfortunate error, and Thomas lost his temper, believing the worst. So that's it. Claire and I are friends from way back. She came to look after me when she heard what had happened."

"What your father has not told you, is that he went to the magistrates' court and pleaded for their release, so Tom's family would not suffer," added Claire. "After what they did to him, I'm not going back."

There was a silence, as the information was assimilated. Then Cathy spoke.

"Hmm," she said looking towards Claire standing near the kitchen door. "That's why we're so proud of him; that's Dad all over."

"So you should be," said Claire before returning to the kitchen.

"So, Dad," said Cathy, "Clare already made her into your girlfriend, whom you used to know way back. From what we've just heard, she's a little premature."

"She was premature when she was born," laughed John. "Came a week early in case she missed any gossip."

"Oh, D-a-a-d," whined Clare, much to Luke's amusement.

"Well? Was she your girlfriend?" asked Catherine, but Claire in the kitchen could hear no judgement or distrust in her voice; she knew that with these girls 'Dad' could do no wrong. They were right as well, she thought and smiled as she went about her kitchen duties, cooking the vegetables.

"Well, Cathy," he replied. "As usual she's right and wrong at the same time, quite a feat!" There was laughter at that. He was continuing. "We went out together for about a year and a half, but we were both too young; it got too intense and we split up. She married her husband, and I married Mum. That was thirty odd years ago."

"She's still very good looking," said Luke. "Very kind eyes. And a very nice name," he added with a grin as he saw Clare about to reprove him for looking at another woman! His girlfriend sighed affecting disgust, but with a grin of her own.

"I've a couple of photos of her from back then," John said. "In one of the albums." He got up and went to the sideboard.

"Mum knew about her?" asked Clare Junior with surprise.

"Of course," John replied, his head buried on the cupboard. "We had no secrets."

"Did she know what you got up to with her?" came the next question.

"Yes, as I said, no secrets. I know what Mum had got up to before we met as well." A pause. "Mum can't tell you, and I won't tell you. That's our secret."

"Perhaps Claire might," said Cathy with mischief in her eyes.

"That will be up to her, but my lips are sealed. Here's the photo."

There was a collective gasp.

"You let her go?" said Luke in awe. "She's gorgeous! Not conventionally pretty but really beautiful. Ow!"

Luke had merited an elbow in the ribs from his lover.

"He's right," agreed Cathy in wonderment. "She looks lithe and athletic. Was she Dad?" This time it was Cathy's turn to giggle.

"Was she what?"

"Was she lithe? Athletic?" it was said by Cathy with a certain suggestiveness, not lost on young Clare, who guffawed.

"Very fit," said John, with a straight face. This time everyone laughed: 'fit' had a multitude of meanings.

"What's going on?" asked Claire entering the room. "Why are my ears burning?"

"We're looking at your photo from way back," said her younger namesake. "You're still slim and..."

"And?" Claire asked her wickedly.

"Ok, you asked: sexy!"

"Why thank you Clare. I'm liking you more and more every minute!"

Everyone laughed, and young Clare coloured up, grinning.

The meal was a success, both from the food point of view and the conversation, which was light and full of humour.

Afterwards, they sat in the living room with coffee.

"So what's in line for you, Claire?" asked Cathy.

"Well, your Dad didn't tell you the whole story, out of consideration I think, for Peter and Thomas. Thomas is very rigid in his beliefs, an old-fashioned Catholic. But Peter did something terrible some time ago, and combined with what happened here, I don't think I'll ever be going back."

To John she looked to be on the edge of tears, and he moved the conversation to lighter topics. When it was time to go, both girls and Luke embraced Claire.

"Stay here with John," whispered Cathy. "Go to him for support and comfort. We're all on your side."

Claire held it together until the visitors had gone, then broke down completely, and as usual John took her into his arms and hugged her.

"They are so kind!" she sobbed. "But that's not surprising, they're your children."

The pair tidied up after the visitors and then it was time for bed. Claire was very quiet, and looked miserable. As always, they took cocoa, they kissed at the head of the stairs and went their separate ways.

John stripped off and climbed into bed naked as was his fashion after his visit to his en suite bathroom. He picked up his novel, and read while he drank his chocolate drink. He read a chapter, then switched the bedside light off and lay down.

He was almost asleep when a flash of light woke him. The bedroom door had opened and the light from the landing had shone on his face.

"Ugh?" he managed.

"John?" the voice was Claire's and was sad and tentative.

"Er, yes, Claire?"

She moved over to his bed.

"Please, John..."

In the beam of the landing light he saw she was in a pair of silk pyjamas. He knew what she was asking, and only what she was asking. He threw back the duvet, inviting her in, and displaying he was naked, but he knew she knew he slept like that.

She climbed in and came over to him, and he covered her with the quilt. Then got out of bed.

"John, I didn't--"

"It's all right, sweetheart, I'm going to switch the landing light off," which he did and came back to bed. "Now come here," he said and she wrapped herself round him.

"It was your children," she said haltingly. "So loving. So accepting. Why can't mine... I'm so lonely, John. So lonely." She wept in his arms, pressed against him.

"So am I my darling," he said quietly. "So am I."

She snuggled into him. No more was said, and both slept.

It's fine going to sleep in a woman's arms, but how do you face each other in the morning? crossed John's mind as he lay on his back with Claire's back to him in the early morning light.

He slid out of bed soothly without waking her, visited the bathroom to relieve himself, put on a dressing gown and then went to make tea for them both.

His whole being was content and satisfied. For those few months he had wakened in an empty bed, and the stark realisation that his Lizzie was gone for ever. Every night he went to sleep with the same aching loneliness and half the bed unused. Last night his bed was filled with another soft, warm female body, and what was more, it was a body that he had loved before Lizzie, and whose owner he loved still.

She needed solace after the loss of her mother, her husband and her children. As he waited for the kettle to boil he tried to understand the magnitude of such a loss, then realised that loss is not measured in quantity. Both of them suffered the loss of thirty odd years of intimacy and love.

He needed solace as well, and had not realised how much until she crawled in beside him. He felt warmed and comforted by her warm soft female presence, and could not help hoping for a repeat.

Then he checked himself as he filled the teapot. It might be enough to lie in each other's arms and appreciate each other as friends for one night, but it would not stay at that level. It would not be long before sex reared its head. Then what? She was married, end of story.

He took the tea up to the bedroom, put her tea by her side of the bed -- Lizzie's side of the bed, came the fleeting thought -- and then took his to his side, sitting in his dressing gown on top of the duvet, one leg crooked and the other on the floor.

The bed's movement when he sat down woke her and she stretched, opened her eyes and then tensed, a look of guilt crossing her face.

"Good morning!" said John with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. "Sleep well?"

"John, I'm so sorry!" She made as if to get out of bed.

"Drink your tea," he said, and she looked to her side and relaxed. She sat up in bed and took the steaming mug in her hand.

"Thanks," she said. "This is luxury, I normally..." and she checked herself.

She took a drink then put the mug down. "John--"

"Claire, you were lonely and you came for comfort. There's nothing wrong with that. As it happens it was good for me as well. Every evening and every morning this empty bed reminds me that Lizzie's gone. It was comforting for me as well, to have you in the bed with me."

"All the same... I don't think it would be good to do it too often. Even at our age, having you naked in bed with me would be too great a temptation. It was pretty bad last night!" and she laughed to relieve the tension in the remark.

"You're right, of course, but if things get too much for you, you can always come back."

"Thank you John. I will, believe me."

She finished her tea, got out of bed and walked out of the room. John watched her slim form and her rounded bottom moving under the silk of her pyjamas.

Hmm, she's right about the temptation, he thought ruefully as she closed the door behind her.

There was no awkwardness at breakfast, and the matter was not brought up again. The next night, John wondered if he would receive a visitor, but she did not arrive, and he felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

There had been nothing from Elizabeth and Claire felt the loss. Each day she had hoped for something the next day, but there was nothing from her.

"I'm worried about Peter," she said over coffee that morning. "From what the children said, he seems depressed."

So he damn well ought to be, thought John, though he said nothing, but rubbed her shoulders as he stood behind her chair.

"D'you think I should write to him?" she asked plaintively. "See if he's changed at all?"

"If it makes you feel better," John said. "Can't do any harm." Secretly he did not believe that. He wondered if after all that Peter had done, and his lack of any remorse for his violence, he could ever change.

After lunch Claire spent the afternoon writing a letter to Peter. When it was finished she did not show it to John but sealed it and took it to the post box. He felt excluded for a moment, then berated himself: this was a letter between a married couple, and they had a right to privacy.

The Letter

Dear Peter

Look where we've got to Peter. You're in a mess, but there is a way out.

It was so easy, wasn't it, living as we were? You in total control over me and whatever I did. You never had to worry about me then did you? But you did. If I was talking to another man, no matter how innocently, you could rush up and intervene. You did. Every time. Don't deny it, it's the truth. I was always 'safe' under your total control. I felt I could hardly move. I suffered it for years and years out of love for you, under you.

UNDER.

Do you recognise that picture of our life Peter? Because that was how it was for me. From my point of view I was always looking over my shoulder, not because I was ever doing anything wrong, but because I wanted to avoid the Spanish Inquisition when we got home. You do not realise even after all this trouble how it felt for me, do you? Why? You are too wrapped up in your own insecurity, your stupid groundless fear.

I thought I understood you. I don't. I never thought you would intercept and write that letter to John, I never thought you would assemble our children and lie to them about me, to put me in some kangaroo court. Our own children Peter, how could you do that?

Well, now they know exactly what you did, your violence and criminal behaviour. It seems you were too much of a coward to admit what you'd done, or accord John the credit or the immense service he did to you and Thomas.

You know, sometimes I wonder if you, the super-religious saint in the family even thought of that teaching in the gospels. John GOT YOU OFF. You made John into an enemy, and John got you off. "Do good to those who persecute you." I think it goes. Didn't impress you though, did it? Get that Peter? You don't really understand or follow the core teaching of your own religion.

I say to you again, before God, and may I burn in hell for all eternity if I am lying, John and I have not had sex since we met again after all those years. In all the time I've been with him, we have not had sex in ANY sense of the word. It is your jealousy and fear that is painting this fictitious picture. It is so wrong! Even now you continue the fantasy after what you've done to him, a loving, compassionate Christian man who actually lives by the gospel.

I have not tried to poison the family against you, as you tried to do against me. I have simply given them the facts since I no longer trust you to do so. I'm trying so hard to be fair to you, and I really mean that. I tell them what is real and true. You'll have to live with that.

Peter, I'm not asking the world of you. You have a serious mental problem. I'm asking you to get psychological help, to admit your insecurity as a weakness that has caused this tragedy. That is what it is, a tragedy. If you do what I ask in good faith I WILL return to you. But things will have to be different, for I will not live as I have been living with you any more.

Please Peter, I keep telling you I love you. I want to come home. I want to live with you all our days, but as equals who trust each other totally. For God's sake, change. Get help.

It's in your hands.

I do love you, much more than you realise,

Claire.

She also sent the letter as an attachment to his email address. She waited all week for a reply, though admittedly without much hope.

She filled her time mainly in the garden, first three days were blessed with sunny periods, but Thursday was wet and she gave up for the day. Friday morning was the weekly shop. After they finished putting the shopping away, she looked out from the living room as yet another shower speckled the window, and admired her handiwork. The garden looked beautiful and cared for. She hoped Elizabeth would approve.

Chapter 13

The doorbell rang after lunch on Friday. John wondered if this would bring more suffering and pain as he trudged to the door, steeled himself and opened it, keeping well clear of the arc it would make as it opened. On the step stood a young woman with a rucksack, and John saw immediately who it was.

"You have to be Elizabeth, Claire's daughter!" he said with a broad smile. "Come in, come in! You will make her day!"

She smiled uncertainly. "Y-yes, how did you know?"

"Sweetheart, you are the spitting image of your mother when she was your age! My family were looking at a photo of your mother from back then. I'll show it you later, but come through. Claire!" he shouted. "Here's a visitor for you!"