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.
