January 1, 1966
Central London and "Kenwood" Weybridge, Surrey
*Cynthia
Cynthia was happy. As she packed up the remaining folders that contained a combination of personal pencil sketches and gallery account statements, she smiled. She couldn't wait to get home to him. Soon, she hoped, they would continue their conversation about making their reconciliation official.
She down in the chair behind her desk and looked around the room. The gallery was part of who she was now - and she would miss being there every day. It was only a matter of time before people found out about her and though she accepted that life would never be the same again, it didn't mean she had to give up the gallery completely. She simply wasn't ready to sell off her financial and emotional stake in the place. John was too busy, too easily distracted to get caught up in the details; she had only said she would no longer be working there everyday, which was true. She didn't tell him that she and the co-owner, John Dunbar, had decided on a new business structure where she would be a silent partner. She couldn't - and wouldn't - give up her art or that part of her newly found independence.
For now though, she had to remain focused on getting Andrew out of her life - once and for all. Brian was a miracle worker. Somehow, someway, the press still hadn't found out. She wondered how much his silence was costing.
It had been a difficult two weeks and Jhn was constantly on edge. She knew he was trying to be sympathetic and that he had hated seeing her both physically and emotionally battered, but he couldn't cope, and often grew angry and frustrated with her instead.
This afternoon had been the first moment, the first sign that they were finally finding eachother again through all the latest madness and heartache. She would have given into him there on the couch. She taped up the box and laughed out loud. Poor Dot. The look on her face. It was almost like they were back in college - passionate, naive, totally oblivious to everyone and everything around them.
She was ready now - ready to go home and be with him, make love to him. She hoped they could discuss the future; figure out how they could make it together in this crazy, whirlwind of a life they were now sharing. It most certainly was not going to be easy.
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"John luv? Are you here?" She called out as she walked into the sitting room. It was half six and she had been gone longer than she expected. With a great sigh she dropped the heavy box full onto the coffee table.
"He's messin' about upstairs in the studio - been locked up there for hours."
She turned around and smiled at Dot, giving her a sympathetic look. "Thanks Dot. You alright then? I'm so sorry about before."
"Nonsense dear." She said as she picked up the tea cup John had left on the the end table earlier. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm just about to pack it in for the night. Is there anything you need before I head home?"
"I don't think so. Thank you."
"See you in the morning." As she walked toward the kitchen she called back to her, "He's in one of his moods, luv - just so you know."
"Wonderful..." She muttered under her breath. Perhaps they weren't going to have the night she had envisioned after all.
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She waited until eight o'clock before she went upstairs to his studio, quietly knocking on the door. She heard him abruptly stop playing the guitar and bit her lip, waiting for it.
"For Christ's sake! I was almost bloody finished." He was walking towards the door. "All I asked for was a little peace and qu--" He stopped himself after opening it, seeing her standing there. "Oh. I didn't expect you to be back yet."
"It's past eight o'clock luv..."
"It's that late already?"
"You must have lost track of time." She leaned forward, kissing his lips quickly. "Hello to you too." She was unsure of whether he would laugh or bite back.
He smiled, setting the guitar down against the wall. "Get everything you needed then?"
She nodded. "The rest of it is downstairs in a box on the coffee table."
"Good. So it's all finished now. No more distractions." He pulled her close, kissing her.
"All finished." She lied, kissing him back and resting a hand against his chest. Hoping he wouldn't ask her any more questions, she deepened it.
"Easy Miss Powell..." He broke the kiss, smirking at her. "I'm not finished up here yet."
"Yes you are." She knew he liked it when she pushed back, and right now she wanted to forget - forget all the problems Andrew had caused, forget the secret she was keeping from John, forget the fact that the new life she was embarking on with him was scaring the hell out of her. She needed him. She just wanted to it to be them again. The way it used to be. She stepped closer to him once more, kissing him harder this time.
"Mmm.." He muttered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't fancy listening to me, do you?" He began pulling her into the studio.
"No, not really." She mumbled between kisses. She smiled at him as he sat back down in his chair, pulling her back into his lap. "Shouldn't we go to the bedroom...?" She asked, fixing his bangs.
"Later."
She closed her eyes as soon as she felt his lips against her neck. He paused momentarily to lift her jumper up and over her head and her cheeks become hot. She buried her head into his shoulder, smiling.
"Assertive one minute and shy the next..." He teased. "It's nothing I haven't seen before Cyn."
"Oh stop it." She lifted her head, swatting his shoulder softly as he dropped her jumper on the floor beside them. She continued talking as she let him unbutton her trousers, lifting herself up as he tugged and pushed them and her knickers down her legs. "It has been a while you know...and the last time...well, we both know how that turned out."
He was smirking. "I still know every inch of you luv...always have, always will." Unhooking her bra, he slipped the straps down her shoulders and tossed it to the floor, kissing her passionately. "Every single inch."
She moaned softly into the kiss as she felt his hands begin to roam. He didn't just drive her mad - he allowed her to be free. She felt him shift below her, and reached down, unzipping his trousers. Through the years they had mastered bunk beds, sand dunes, showers and bathrooms. Now they were here, in a little chair in his studio, surrounded by what he loved most. It almost seemed natural.
Everything else soon faded away. No other man knew her like he did. He made her feel alive, and was the only one she'd ever trust completely, the only man who allowed her to let herself go - giving her an escape from expectations and judgement. John was free. For the most part he didn't give a shit about what people thought. He did what he wanted. He made her laugh and he made her cry. He was who he was and she loved him for it. She needed him just as much as he needed her and the thought of losing him again was far worse than anything else.
Telling him about the gallery could wait.
