Page 43 of Beloved Beast

“One final thing. Do not pity me, for I do not pity myself regardless of what I said earlier. I have accepted how things are many years ago. I am at peace with who I am.”

Gillian nodded and turned to leave the room. As she headed upstairs, she was amazed she took this as calmly as she did, even though her hands still shook. The story was incredulous and gothic at its core. Why wasn’t she more upset, bordering on hysterics? The answer was simple. She loved and trusted him. To absolute distraction. Finally, she understood how powerful love could be in overcoming monumental obstacles.

* * * *

Luke rubbed the back of his neck as he watched Gillian trot upstairs. Resignedly, he made his way to the kitchen and like an automaton prepared the chicken, surrounding the breasts with small potato wedges and sliced carrots. Too bad onions were hard to get. But he could serve the preserved green beans and beets with the dish. There was fresh bread, a little butter, and the tarts. A most excellent meal. He would probably not enjoy any of it.

Despite the fact he did trust her, he felt sick to his core for revealing his deepest, darkest secrets. The fact she sat for hours and listened to him ramble on and actually believed what he had to say more than proved she loved and trusted him.

Damn, he must feel the same. Because if he didn’t, he would have manufactured a spurious story to explain it all. He’d put her on the boat and never see her again. In fact, he could give false promises of reuniting when the war was over, while taking on a new persona and disappearing from London for good. It might be the best thing he could do for her.

There were many options to consider. For now, until he could work all this out, they would continue on as they were. If he were any kind of gentleman, he’d end this. But they agreed to the short-term affair with no strings conditions. He never believed any sort of attachment would come of this. But it was there, growing tighter and more profound with each day.

As Luke set the small table, he wondered why Fred had not been in touch as yet. According to his nephew, there’d been discussions about installing a telephone in this old place, but MI-6 believed the more isolated, the better. Besides, the post and telegraph office in the village had a public phone kiosk if needed. He could send Gillian, but there always lay the danger of being overheard thanks to Charlwood telephone services, which consisted of party lines. No, using telegraph and private mail delivery remained the safest way.

Regardless, they’d been here ten days, although Fred claimed it would be a while before he made contact. Eager for her to be gone? Luke didn’t like the fact he became emotional during his long narrative, not only revealing his secrets but his vulnerability. Certain aspects of his long life still rankled. He’d convinced himself coming here might banish old ghosts. All it did was stir them up and create more complications.

By the time Gillian came downstairs, the smell of fresh soap filled his nostrils, along with her own feminine scent mixed with Chanel No. 5. With no trepidation or hesitation of any kind, she ran to his arms and embraced him. This lovely lady was even more demonstrative than Glenna. He found comfort in her easy, giving manner and generous affection.

They headed to the parlor and Luke turned on the Philco radio. She smiled. “Our song.”

“Pardon?”

“In the car the first day as we drove around London, Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again” played on the car radio. Three times throughout the day,” she said.

Luke smiled. “Yes, you’re right.” He held out his hand. “Let us dance.”

She came to his arms willingly, laying her head against his chest as he clasped her hand and slipped his right arm about her waist. They swayed to the music as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…

“Will we meet again, Luke?” she asked as she gazed up at him. Her hopeful tone caused his heart to beat a little faster.

“You truly wish to?”

She nodded, laid her head against him, and sighed.

They moved around in a small circle, slow dancing. “Then we shall do all we can to see it done.” Dastardly of him to say such words when he wasn’t sure of the future. But holding her like this, felt right. Her being with him in bed—it felt right. And the past week, the card and chess games, the conversations about books, films, her childhood in Dover, the quiet time they spent reading, playing music, being together. Yes, he’d missed it. But for all their companionability, nothing compared to how they came together physically. Luke truly believed he would never find such intimacy again. But he had. And he’d be a damned fool to let it slip away.

The song ended and Luke stepped back. He wanted her. As if reading his thoughts, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. God, he could take her right here before the fire. But as the kiss deepened, the bell on the cooker dinged loudly. They broke apart.

“Ah, dinner is served.” Taking her hand, he led her into the kitchen. There was a dining room, but it was being used for storage. In fact, not all the rooms in the old house were in use. Pulling out her chair, Gillian sat and gave him a warm smile. He set about serving, laying the chicken and vegetables on a platter and bringing it to the table along with the beets and green beans. He fetched the sliced bread last. After pouring them glasses of cold water, he sat and ladled up the food.

“Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this for days. I cannot remember the last time I didn’t have meat that wasn’t from a tin,” She laughed as she cut into the chicken and carrots and took a mouthful. “Lovely. Heavenly. The meal is perfect. You, Luke, are perfect.”

His chest puffed out with pride at her words. “After everything I told you, you can make such a statement?”

Meeting his gaze, she laid her hand on top of his. “Yes.” Gillian spoke with a decided conviction and despite his previous misgivings, his heart soared. Biting into a piece of potato, he gave her a crooked grin.

“It was courageous of you to come here again, after all those years and the many memories. If it were me, I am not sure I could’ve done it.” Gillian popped a piece of chicken in her mouth, reached for a piece of bread, and then generously buttered it.

“I nearly didn’t. Even though I had left the majority of my grieving behind, I needed to come to terms with the lingering resentment I still carried concerning my reincarnation. I could have stayed away, never come here again. It’s time to forgive. Let the past go. Besides, not all the memories here are bad ones.” Luke swallowed down a bite, reaching for a piece of bread as well. The meal tasted fabulous tonight. Not sure why.

“You mean falling in love with your wife?” Gillian asked.

“Yes, but also finding a friend I did not expect. While I was out on a late night sojourn, I sat on a rock feeling sorry for myself when I heard a pathetic sound. I looked down and leaning against my leg was a poor, shivering black cat that represented everything I was feeling. Alone. Damaged. Scarred. I took him in and we were not from each other’s side for the next nineteen years.”

He smiled sadly at the recollections. “He was the best friend—other than Glenna—I ever had and the first being that made me feel wanted and not a monster. In his old age, Noir lost a good deal of his hearing and moving about became difficult, and as a result he spent most of his day lying in the sun by the lighthouse tower. It’s where I buried him when he died.”