Omnia Vincit Amor Pt. 04

Chapter 18

Claire emerged into Arrivals Reception pushing her trolley with two huge cases, two smaller ones, her laptop and some duty-free bags. She searched those waiting and then saw Peter standing among the crowd. He simply stood. He did not wave to catch her attention and his face seemed emotionless, neither happy nor sad, though certainly not eager.

She made her way to him and stood before him, the trolley between them. She looked enquiringly at him and he seemed to awake and stand aside.

"Let me," he said and took the trolley from her, pushing it towards the exit and the car park. She walked beside him. He made no attempt to talk to her.

As they approached the car, she broke the oppressive silence.

"Very good flight, thanks for asking," she said sarcastically.

He was opening the boot and froze. "Oh, er, good," he said. No more.

She left him to load the car then return the trolley, and sat in the passenger seat.

He got in and drove. Again there was no conversation, and by now she felt no need to try to make any, so the journey was made without a word passing between them. When they reached the house, she left the car and used her key to open the front door. There was no one at home.

She went to the kitchen and put the kettle to boil for some tea. She opened the fridge and found it full of food. She wondered how he'd managed: he was no cook. She made the tea and put milk into her mug. Then she sat at the kitchen table.

Peter returned from the upper floor having made three journeys with her baggage. Claire had his tea ready for him as he liked it, black with lemon. He sat down, looking anywhere but at her.

Claire was itching to say something, but something told her to remain silent and allow Peter to make the first move. He sighed, then seemed to force his eyes to look at her. She sat impassive, sipping her tea from time to time. She was staring at him all the time, patiently waiting.

He seemed to gather himself, as if wondering how to begin.

"Claire... I put your bags in the spare bedroom..."

He saw her face clouding, and hastened on. "No, not like last time. I didn't know... I mean you might not want..."

She understood. He was uncomfortable with her, wondering if she would want to sleep with him after all the problems there were between them.

"Where do you want me to sleep?" she asked quietly with half a smile.

She could see he was wrong footed. He was struggling to find the 'right' answer.

"I don't think you want to sleep with me," he said at length. "You seem distant."

"Peter, I'm asking you. I'll sleep where ever you want."

He sighed. "With me," he said quietly. "I'd like you to be with me."

"Fine," she said. "Are my other things still in the spare?"

"No, no!" he said urgently. "I moved what was left after you went. I'm sorry about when you came. Looking back on it, and talking about it with Lieve Hoebeek, you were right: I behaved very badly."

"Well, we're trying to put things right now, aren't we? I'll go and unpack."

It was a relief to leave the kitchen and climb the stairs. It had been an uncomfortable beginning, almost as if she was coming to stay as a guest with a stranger. Then she understood that he was far more uncomfortable than she was. She felt such a mix of emotions: she had been annoyed at his lack of welcome, then discomfort as they sat with their tea, now it was sadness at his discomfort, and a longing to put him at his ease.

She realised she no longer felt at home in the house, but she put that down to the distance between Peter and herself. She would spend some time unpacking. Perhaps she would feel better when everything was back in its place.

She was right: she did feel better. She looked round the room. Everything was as it was before she left so long ago. This had been her life for years and years, and now she was back. The tension drained away, and it allowed feelings of worry and concern for Peter to surface. He seemed lost and she hated that. What to do?

Then she made up her mind and went downstairs, finding him still sitting in the kitchen, staring into space.

"Peter," she said. He jumped.

"Come here," she said.

He stood and came to her, standing at arm's length. She took two small steps and put her arms round his neck and onto the back of his head. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

At first there was no reaction, then his lips softened and he began to kiss her back, his kisses becoming intense and passionate. He groaned as she pushed her body at him, and his arms at her waist pulled her close. She felt exultant as the kiss went on and on.

At length the kissing ended, but the embrace did not. She looked up into his eyes and saw the begging there, begging to retrieve what they used to have. She stroked his hair and neck, and felt the power of her love for him return. She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs to their bedroom.

He stood looking puzzled, until she made her move.

She undid her slacks, and slid them down her legs, kicking off her shoes and stepping out of the garment on the floor. Then her sweater, lifting it over her head and casting it away onto the carpet. She had chosen her sexiest bra and knickers, and now stood for his inspection, before moving to him and kissing him again, this time on his neck and chin.

Again his arms went round her and roved over her naked back, brushing against her bra strap.

"Take it off," she urged him, and he flicked open the hooks, the cups becoming loose. He stood back and she shrugged the light lacy thing off, displaying her breasts to him, and moving once more into his arms.

Now they kissed again, and this time she moaned, all the pent up frustration of the months being compressed into that sound. She heard and felt the vibration of his own lustful groan.

She stood back again and this time, slipped down the lacy briefs, leaving her naked and open to his gaze.

She drank in his urgent need of her, his lust, then a flash of worry and guilt.

"I'm getting onto our bed," she said. "I want you, Peter."

He stood uncertain, as she lay back and allowed her legs to fall slightly open. This was familiar territory, she vamping him and he reluctant for fear of making her pregnant. She had to say what she always said when reaching this point.

"It's perfectly safe, Peter. Come to bed."

Up to this point she had acted without further thought. Initially she wanted to break the distance between them, now she had a burning need for sex, just physical sex. It eclipsed all other feelings, and she didn't care. With relief she now watched him shedding his clothes, and revealing his body. He was as she remembered, a little overweight with a small belly on him. As the briefs came down, his erection powerfully sprang free and she groaned in anticipation of what it would feel like.

As he lay down, she leant up on her arm and ran her other hand over his body, chest, stomach, and then made her way down his legs, feeling his thighs, and calves. Then she felt his hand on her back, moving down and over her bottom, into her crease, and under to her sex.

Her face was at his groin, and finding his erect cock so close, took him into her mouth.

"Claire!" he gasped. "Claire, you shouldn't!"

She lifted for a moment, "Shut up, Peter," she growled. "Just enjoy. I can't conceive so it doesn't matter where your cream goes!"

"But-"

"Don't worry, this hard cock will be in the right place when you come!" and she sucked and bobbed.

Then came a shock for her. He was stroking her clitoris, a circular motion bringing her close.

She pushed him down, and straddled him, grasping his engorged rod and feeding it to her, and sinking down. "Aah!" came from her lips: the feeling of being filled after so long was soo good!

After all the frustration of life with John, now she wanted resolution, and worked herself on him as he lay beneath her. He was looking askance, and was quite still, but she didn't care, she was on her way to her own little ecstasy!

However, as she neared the moment, as the warmth, the tingles grew, he began to move as well, unable to resist his own passion, pushing up as she pushed down. With a sense of satisfaction, she knew he had lost control and was fucking her. She knew he would not last long: he never did.

With a loud roar, he came, and she felt the pulsing deep down. She continued until she came in her turn, twitching and jerking with the spasms, on and on until she fell onto him and was spent.

She rolled off him and snuggled into his chest. Silence and heavy breathing from both of them.

Then, "Claire?"

"Peter, relax. No discussion. We're together again. Don't spoil it with an inquisition. Just be thankful and enjoy me. There'll be time for talk. Now we need to re-connect."

She knew he wanted to say more, but felt him slacken, letting the tension of his worries go. So they lay quiet and in time both fell into a short sleep.

She did not sleep long. She quietly lay on her back and turned her head to look at him. Yes, he was a handsome man, and his body was beautiful if a little overweight. If only. Her worries returned, as she wondered how successful his treatment had been, dreading a return to his insecurity.

She quietly left the bed and dressed, going down to the kitchen and regaining familiarity with her erstwhile domain. She inspected the fridge at more length realising someone other than Peter had stocked it. Mary? Elizabeth?

She began to make frikadellen, now enjoying the kitchen and feeling at home. Peter liked frikadellen with rice, it was one of his favourites. Later, she was sure, the children would drop by. She looked forward to that. Later still, Peter and she would talk. Or tomorrow. They had time.

--

John Pollard opened his front door on his return from the airport to a house which felt more empty than it had after the funeral when everyone had gone home. The calendar in the hallway reminded him what day it was. He smiled at the irony of parting from Claire on Saint Valentine's day. On the other hand, he found it amusing that the feast day of a celibate priest who was killed for his faith should now be the occasion of rampant lust and sexual desire!

He wondered if the story that Valentine died because he defied the Emperor Claudius and promoted marriage was true. The story was that Claudius forbade marriage among the young since he thought unmarried soldiers would fight more bravely.

So, John thought, if the story were true, it would be a relevant day for Claire to go back to try to save her marriage.

He made tea out of habit, and sat in the back room looking out over the garden, its winter state mitigated by the swathes of crocuses and snowdrops along the flower beds. The bare trees were swaying in the wind, and the clouds broke to allow the sun to brighten the flowers. Somehow the sunshine made everything seem more comfortable.

He sighed and wondered how Claire would fare with her husband. He did want her to be happy, and wondered if Peter could change enough to make her life a happy one rather than merely tolerable.

Then he caught himself. Did he really want her attempt at reconciliation to fail? If it did, would she come to him? He did not want to admit to such a desire, it was wrong, but he knew it was there.

He shrugged and turned to complete the jobs that needed to be done when a visitor had left, washing bedding and washing up after the hurried breakfast. After lunch he could not stand the empty house any longer, and went to visit his housebound parishioners, putting off his return until after dark.

His daughter Clare came to visit in the evening and stayed until she knew it was his bedtime. He was grateful for her thoughtfulness and said so, getting a hug and a kiss as she left. It cheered him, that visit, and he went to bed in a better frame of mind.

He had a brief recollection of Claire's naked body in his bed the previous night, and felt the beginnings of an erection. He grabbed his penis and masturbated, coming over his naked chest and stomach and feeling the blessed relief of tension.

His mind went back to his adolescence when the Church's teaching that such 'self-abuse' was a mortal sin. He remembered his guilt and frequent confessions, and smiled. Now he felt no guilt at all: his body made vast numbers of spermatozoa all the time and there was no need to keep it for intercourse, indeed he knew the teaching was based on a false biological understanding, and unused sperm were simply absorbed back into the body. Masturbation was a valid pleasure and did no harm. He cleaned up and slept.

Next morning as he checked his emails, he saw that she had written.

My Dearest John

I'm writing this late at night, after Peter has gone to bed. I miss you so much already, you were so relaxing, being with you was a real rest cure. So far Peter and I seem to be settling down. He is very tired and dispirited, but seems relieved that I am back. Apparently I am to visit his psychiatrist on Wednesday, which should be enlightening. I hope so.

I can't put into words the feelings I have for you after you have looked after me so selflessly and with such love, when you yourself are suffering the loss of Elizabeth. You were really a solid rock I could rebuild my self-image upon and gain confidence again.

I will never forget your kindness in putting up with me for so long, accepting me when I arrived out of the blue, suffering Peter's and Thomas's attack and then interceding for them.

If everything works out between Peter and me, I will probably not see you again, but there will always be a chunk of my heart that is yours alone. So thank you so much for everything you've done for me and mine. My children think you're something special. They're right.

Love you. Your Claire.

He read the email several times. In the end he thought it was a goodbye message. She would not be coming back. He wondered if she would phone him for support; the tone of the letter seemed to rule that out. He felt a sadness at that, but took it as a dose of realism. If Peter and she made a success of their relationship, he would only be an intrusion, a source of discomfort. He filed the mail under 'personal'. He closed the laptop with regret for a lost love.

It took a few days to regain the routines he had followed before Claire disrupted his lonely and ordered life, but soon he was back to normal. It was, he reflected, a satisfying life, cheering the lives of the old and the sick, who, he accepted, were much lonelier than he was. Life went on as before. He had still half expected her to ring him, or email him, or even text him but as the weeks went by he realised it was not going to happen. He let it go with gentle sadness.

Lent began at the beginning of March, Good Friday on the 22nd of April, and Easter Sunday on the 24th. It was on Tuesday 26th that when he answered the phone early in the afternoon he received a surprise

"John, it's Claire."

"Claire! How lovely! How's things?"

His mind was working overtime. How did she sound? Sad? Weary? Happy? No: neutral — in control. So why was she ringing? Was it all over with Peter? She was answering him.

"Better than I ever expected," she said. "Peter's therapy is going well, and Doctor Hoebeek thinks it's time I took a break. It's been hard work, but he's getting better. She thinks I should come back to you, if you'll have me, for a weekend. It's part of the habituation process, I think she called it. If that's all right with you?"

John did not have to think, "Why, yes! You know you're always welcome. When?"

"This coming weekend? It's a bank holiday in Britain on Monday for May Day, isn't it?"

"If you come on Thursday, Friday's a holiday as well - there's a royal wedding, or haven't you heard?"

"Of course! I'd quite forgotten. OK, I'll arrive Thursday Evening. Pick me up?"

"Let me know your arrival time, and I'll be there."

It shocked him that he felt resentment. Apart from the first time she visited him, she only came when she needed something. He mentally slapped himself. She came because she trusted him, and liked to be with him. He let the feelings go.

They had a pleasant and warm long weekend, both in weather terms and in their relaxed friendship, John thought. Later he wondered if he had been fooling himself. After they had watched William and Kate get spliced on TV, Claire broached the subject both had so far avoided.

"Lieve Hoebeek is very good. She sees Peter alone but also has some sessions with both of us. I saw her alone once as well.

"Quite a lot has happened. The biggest thing is that I now have a part time job teaching English as an assistant in a secondary school, and also in the evenings with adult classes. Peter was on edge to begin with, but his therapy has helped, and he didn't want to know every detail of my interaction with my adult students, or the male teacher I work with in their language department, though I know he was quite desperate at first.

"Under Lieve's guidance I have also been out socially with the teaching staff, getting back quite late. He found that hard, but I've done it three times and now he's easier about that as well. Lieve got me to tell him about every detail at first, and that helped.

"Again under her guidance, I've got as far as arriving home late from work or shopping without telling him immediately why. I told him later in the evening though. He was so good: I could see how desperate he was, poor mite! But he's learning all the time.

"So, John dear, it's still work in progress. We're having a party next weekend, and his brief is not to muscle in on conversations I have with other men. I know there's at least one inveterate flirt coming, so that will test him further. I'll have to keep an eye on Peter to see how much I can flirt back!" She laughed at that.

"Has he accepted that we respected your marriage vows?"

"I don't know," she answered. "Lieve says that's in the future, and will require us to have a few shared meetings when the time comes."

John could sense there was a greater distance between himself and Claire this time, and he put it down to her growing security, and commitment to staying with Peter. He could not help feeling disappointment, but he accepted it was right, and was content that he'd been part of her reconciliation.

--

On May Day Monday Claire drove over in John's car to see Ellen. After she gave much the same report to her sister, Ellen wanted more. They were alone in Ellen's bedroom.

"So how's the sex?" Ellen asked bluntly. "Any improvement there?"

Claire coloured. "I rather ambushed him when I got there, took him upstairs and ravished him, cowgirl style until he came. I had to assure him I was 'safe' before he would really relax, if relax is the right word!"

"Wow, Sis!" Ellen gasped. "So, after?"

"We had a talk. Over dinner. I made him frikadellen, his favourite. Then sat him on the sofa and sat on his lap. He was stammering at me, something, I couldn't tell what, in any case, it was my turn.

"I told him things were going to be different in bed, if he wanted me to stay. Perhaps he wouldn't want me to stay after I'd finished telling him what was what. He didn't get a chance to get all ponderous like he does when he's laying down the law as he sees it. I gave him the odd kiss, on his lips, neck, ear. And every time he started to say something, I told him I'd not finished.

"You should have seen his face! But he clearly didn't want to rock the boat, so I could carry on. I told him I thought his theology was wrong and gave him a lecture on the biology of sex. It took some time, but really boiled down to the thesis that sex is a gift and the gift is pleasure, that mankind has already 'filled the earth', that we have more than made our own rightful contribution to such filling, that the church is inconsistent about the balance between pleasure and making babies, since it wants openness to life every time but is happy that sex continues when a woman has passed menopause, even though there's no possibility of conception.