Ten Days at Sea

He turned back and just breathed for a moment.

And then she dropped a bomb and said, quietly, "Yes, I love you too."

Brett drew in a breath, stunned.

There was silence for a moment while he desperately tried to work out what to say.

They just stared out at the black sea, until he broke the silence.

"Yeah, I... here's the thing, Fiona..."

And she turned to him, and said, passionately. "Now look here, Brett. I know you feel it too, and I know damn well you can't afford to. I know I can't. But I do, and you do too, and it's just the way it is. I'm going to have to walk down that gangplank and back to my life in a day or so, and you'll sail on, and we'll both have to deal with our hearts being broken."

She paused for breath.

"God knows I didn't ask for this, and I'm pretty sure you didn't either. It's gotten out of hand, far more than I could have predicted. But here we are. And we have to acknowledge it."

There was more silence as Brett struggled to work out the right thing to say.

"If you don't say something soon, Mister, I'm going to tip you into the drink. Don't let me bare my heart and you just ignore it," she threatened.

"I honestly don't know what to say, Fiona," Brett said, turning to look at her. The gentle wind on the bows was flipping her hair up and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. She grabbed his hand and rubbed his palm on her cheek.

"What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you I love you? I love you. There I said it. I love you. I. Love. You. And I'm a merchant sailor and you're a member of the aristocracy, and never the twain shall meet. We are the ultimate in ships passing in the night."

Brett's voice was brittle at the end and he looked away.

"Yeah. Bloody unfair, isn't it?" Fiona answered, laconically.

"You might say," Brett hissed bitterly.

"I don't know how to handle this, either, Brett," Fiona said, gently. "I have to go back to a marriage I don't really want to be in. To a life of duty. I mean, these few days with you, they are like a bubble in my life. I wouldn't exactly call it a holiday, not for what I went through to get here. But saying that, I would do it again, for these days with you."

She moved in closed to him, and grasped his arm, pulling it around her body and molding herself to him, holding his arm in place.

"And don't say you wouldn't either. At the end of the day, Brett, are we better for having done this? For having these feelings? Or worse? I chose to believe we are better. I have something to measure life against now. You've made me feel things that I've never felt before, that I never thought I'd ever feel. And here it is, thunderbolt city."

There was more silence. Brett wasn't struggling to find the right thing to say, he was just drinking in the moment. He was standing with his arm around his woman, his love, looking out at the endless ocean.

"The thing is...the thing is..." she started to utter, then stopped.

"Look, you know, this has to end, right? I have the Duty. I have to return to the life. There is no future. God knows I wish there was, but there isn't." She paused again.

"And I think we need to make a clean break after this, you know?" She turned to look at him, staring him in the eye, to be sure he was getting the message, and understood why.

"We need to make it quick and brutal. Like ripping off a plaster," she said. He looked at her quizzically. "Err, band-aid, I think you call them?"

He nodded. He got the point.

"No trying to follow the other. No stalking. You go on with your life and I'll go on with mine, and we don't. Look. Back." She poked him the chest with each word to punctuate her meaning.

"You don't suddenly show up in England, and I won't show up...well... anywhere you are. Promise me, Brett. Promise me you'll let this go. Treat this time we had as hallowed ground and never tread on it again."

Brett just stared at her.

"Promise me," she hissed, with intent. "I don't want either one of us to regret this time. But we have to end it. And have a pact."

Brett turned away and leaned on the railing, and not looking at her, nodded. Not what he wanted, but he got her point. They were too different.

Eventually, he said, "You've destroyed me for any other relationship, you know. I'm serious. How am I going to find another You?"

"I should think so too!" she retorted, smiling again, hesitantly, and then turned into him and pulled his head down into a kiss. "I'm one of a kind, and don't you forget it!"

They kissed again, and it started to get more urgent, more passionate.

She broke it off, and, flushed, said, "Let's take this back to the cabin. We have one more day. Let's make the most of it."

And taking him by the hand, she pulled him down the edge of the deck back to the cabin block.

"The last I saw of your mother, she was walking down the gangplank, scarf around her neck, oversized sunglasses -- she looked like she was just getting off the Royal Yacht Britannia, rather than having just narrowly escaped death a few days before."

Brett sighed as he remembered.

"I couldn't even accompany her. No risk of impropriety, you see. I, like everyone, watched from the deck above. Just a face in the crowd. She did turn around at the bottom, and looked for me, but there's no way she would have been able to make me out.

"There was a surprising number of photographers there -- way more Caucasian faces that you'd expect, for a Chinese port. I suspect the UK press had flown some of their guys out there. Naturally, she played up to them all. That was the last I saw of her in the flesh. Some guy came by in a Range Rover for her things later in the day.

"We stayed in port for a full two weeks -- way longer than usual. The owners and chairman of the line who owned the ship flew in, and with the captain, they milked the press for all it was worth. And then, when the furor died down, we loaded up and slipped out of port, bound for New Zealand."

Brett tried to take another drink from his already empty bottle, and looking at it suspiciously, he put it down and, making eye contact with both his children, finished up, saying, "I spent the next fifteen years going around the world, ship to ship. Ended up a first mate before I retired here. I followed your mother's life for about six months -- your press sure does intrude on you guys, doesn't it? After six months of abject misery, and discovering she was pregnant with you two...well, my sanity couldn't take it anymore. So I just let it go. Left her to her life, to the Duty she chose. I mean, I get it. She didn't have much of a choice, but...still...

"She was the great love of my life. Those ten days literally spoiled me for the rest of my life. I tried to make things work with other women, other relationships, you know? But they... just didn't measure up. I knew it was me with the problem, but what can you do?"

He paused, looking out at the sea view.

"And then I met Caroline, who was every bit as damaged and disappointed at life as I was. She had her own story and demons to battle, like me. We gravitated together and made a life, giving each other the space to grieve for the things we'd lost."

"And here I am. And then you showed up. Talk about reopening old wounds," he finished, ruefully.

The kids sat back as he wound down, glancing at each other meaningfully.

"Well, she didn't forget you either. I mean, so many things made sense after Daddy died and she sat us down and told her version of that story. When we were growing up, our bedrooms were all nautical themed. We'd get little airfix models -- you know, the little plastic models kids make, of planes and boats and what not? Well, all ours would be merchant ships. We never understood till now," Amelia said, after a while, grabbing hold of Brett's hand.

"Yes," agreed Bradly. "Every other holiday, we'd go on cruise. She used to sit on the little verandas the suites we had were graced with, and have tea and stare out into the ocean. She used to say the sea calmed her. I think she was reliving memories, now you've told us your story."

There was another silence, and then, hesitantly, Brett addressed the elephant in the room.

"How... how is she? Does she ever...?" he said, looking at the ground, almost afraid of the answer.

"Well, she's fine. Older, I'm sure. But Mummy always did look after herself. She's quite a spry forty-six-year-old. Did you know we are the exact same age as she was, when she met you?"

Brett just stared at Amelia. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Bradly shifted and then spoke, "Actually, now that Daddy is gone, she's decided to step back from public life. She's now the official title holder, or was, anyway."

"Was?" asked Brett, looking over at Bradly.

"Yes, she abdicated her title. Passed it on down. 'Retiring from public life' is a euphemism for letting go of the title and passing it down."

"So, you are now the Duke?" asked Brett.

"Yes, for my sins. I was born twelve minutes before Milly, so now, I'm the Lord of the manor, His Grace, the Duke of Ipswich," answered Bradly, simply.

"Am I supposed to call you My Lord or bow or curtsey or something?" said Brett, pursing his lips. He had no idea if his kids had his same sense of humor; time to find out.

"Well, strictly speaking, according to protocol..." started Amelia.

"Yeah, I seem to recall us colonials having a little war with your lot so we wouldn't have to bow and scrape and all that crap," interrupted Brett, dryly.

"Yes, well, of course," said Amelia, cheeks a little red, evidently embarrassed. Bradly just grinned at her, obviously enjoying her discomfort, as siblings are wont to do.

There was another silence.

"So, where do we go from here?" asked Brett, getting up to get another beer. "I mean, you came to see me, I know you exist, now what?"

"Well," said Amelia, exchanging a glance with Bradly, "We were hoping to get to know you? I mean, it would be nice to know some family history, you know? Any uncles or aunts, or cousins out there for us to meet?" asked Amelia, half hopefully.

"'Fraid not. Only child. My parents died when I was seventeen, so there's just me."

"Well, not anymore," smiled Amelia, and it went through Brett like a knife. So Much Like Her Mother!

"Won't that be a bit...awkward? Long lost daddy shows up from the US? I mean, won't that impact your titles?" Brett wanted to know, settling back into his chair after passing a bottle to both his children. His brain had started working again, seeing the bigger picture.

His. Children. ...Jesus.

"Well, I hope you understand, Dad... we can't go around admitting this. In terms of the title, well, stuff like this is as much part of the Royal Family as crowns and pomp and ceremony. I mean anyone who really thinks that Harry is really Charles biological son..." Amelia trailed off as she saw Bradly shaking his head vigorously at her.

"Anyway," she said, after a second, trying to get back on track. "The Palace will just simply issue a denial if it comes out, and that'll be that. Short of a DNA test, that's the end of it. They just ignore it. It's what the Royal Family are very good at doing, unfortunately. So, not really worried there, as long as we don't flaunt it."

"That does mean," added Bradly, "We can't officially recognize you, Dad. There's no point in waving a red flag, either. Neither one of us particularly want to flaunt what happened with mother all those years ago, and I'm sure she doesn't either. With that in mind, I hope you aren't really looking to make a big deal out of all this?"

"If I was, do you think I would have let your mother walk away?" demanded Brett.

"No. Quite. Point taken," answered Amelia, quietly.

"It IS a big deal though... to me," muttered Brett.

"Yes, I can imagine. Us too. We spent the entire flight talking about it. Wondering who you are, reading Mum's dossier over and over. And thankfully, you really are everything we had hoped. Right Brad?"

"Definitely," agreed Bradly, firmly. "Great taste in beer too," he said, holding up his almost finished bottle.

"Well, that's nice. I warn you though, I really know nothing about being a dad. Never figured it was on the cards for me."

"Don't worry, we'll guide you through it," Amelia said, leaning forward to take his hand again.

"One thing though. Please, while our father was never really that available, or there that much, he did his best, so please, don't disparage him? That would mean we couldn't be around you, and no one wants that."

"Oh please, the man was a saint! I am just jealous he got you and your mother for all those years," said Brett, emphatically. "Nothing but respect here."

He paused, then asked, gently, "Do you think he knew?"

"Well, Dad wasn't the most present person when it came to family, to be frank. I don't think he really had a clue what to do as a father, either. But like Milly said, he did his best. Tried to steer us right, have the talks he thought we needed to have, made sure he turned up for music recitals and so on. But where he really excelled was at running the estate. He was a whiz with animal husbandry, for example, so I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the heterochromia in our eyes tipped him off. But if it did, he never said a word to us, or loved us any less than he was capable. For that alone, he deserves respect," said Bradly, reflectively.

"To the Duke," said Brett, raising his bottle. "May a good man rest in peace."

"Hear, hear," agreed Amelia, and they all three raised their bottles. They all took a long drink and sat for a moment, each with their own thoughts.

"So, are you in town for long? What does your mother think about you coming to see me?" asked Brett, conversationally, without thinking - more for something to say to break the awkward silence than anything.

"Well, since we are now the official royal representatives, we have to go home as soon as possible, I'm afraid. Mummy has moved out of the main house and into one of the small cottages on the estate. It's all up to us now, so we have to be around and be seen. Plus, I have a practice to get back to," answered Amelia.

"Practice?" inquired Brett, interested.

"Yes, I'm a solicitor. Lawyer, you'd say. First year of it, at a local group. Lots of pro bono work, local land trusts, things like that. Brad is now the Lord of the Manor, and his full-time work is now the Duchy."

"But," interjected Bradly, "we'd like to extend an invitation for you to come visit. Have a holiday. Spend some time with us, so you can see our lives. And we'd rather like to portion some time to come out here, and see how you live, if that's okay?"

Brett shrugged. "Well, yeah, I mean, of course. I just... don't want to make it awkward. With your mother, I mean."

There was yet another meaningful glance between the two of them.

"Dad..." said Amelia, carefully, "I know Mum was the love of your life... well like I said, she's decided to take a step back from public life. It's a totally understood thing. Lost her husband, so she'll wear her tweeds and do her gardening and just retreat a bit. Happens all the time in our strand of society. And to do that, she's going to just... take off for a bit."

Amelia was clearly groping for words, constantly looking back at her brother for encouragement and confirmation of what she was saying. Bradly was nodding at her, clearly sympathetic to her phrasing.

"She's decided to take a cruise. She says she has wonderful memories of some time spent at sea."

Amelia was concentrating on Brett as she spoke, watching and evaluating his response to her words.

"For six months. Around the world. She's booked a suite -- quite one of the nicest on the ship in fact. Two bedrooms, Private deck, steward, the whole deal."

"Oookkkay?" said Brett, not following.

"And... it leaves in two days."

"From San Diego."

There was a sudden silence as Brett's eyes bulged and understanding flowed into him.

"She's HERE?" he said, abruptly standing up. "Now?"

Amelia grinned at Bradly and then smiled even wider at her father.

"A hotel downtown. The Coronado. We are staying there too."

Brett looked wildly around. "She wants to see me? Me?"

"Well, as long as you have your passport, I think the idea was that you might want to join her? You've got nothing going on that you can't leave, right?"

"I..." Brett fell back into the chair. "This is for real, right? She's here?"

Amelia nodded, vigorously. "And waiting for you. If you want, Dad."

"She's here," Brett muttered to himself. "I've got to...pack, get the house shut up. I need to go, do you think it would be okay if I just showed up? What should I wear?" he was babbling now.

Amelia glanced at Bradly, who was also grinning broadly.

"I think it would be more than okay, Dad."

Brett stood outside the hotel room door, nervous despite himself. Twenty-three years. He'd traveled the world, seen storms and other things, experienced what life had to offer, and yet, what was inside this room terrified him; something -- no someone -- he desperately wanted.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could land his hand, the door opened. And there she was. A little aged, but the same woman. Same eyes, same porcelain skin, some crows and wrinkles, but the same smile. Same inviting mouth. Same...everything. It made his pulse race, just looking at her.

"Hello Sailor, ready to pick up where we left off?"

'Oh god yes,' thought Brett, 'All things come to those who wait.'