Frank smiled, but looked a trifle uneasy, as he often did about my less delicate war stories. "Don't worry," I assured him, seeing the look, "I won't tell that one at tea in the Senior Common Room."
The smile lightened and he came forward to stand behind me as I sat at the dressing table. He pressed a kiss on the top of my head.
"Don't worry," he said. "The Senior Common Room will love you, no matter what stories you tell. Mmmm. Your hair smells wonderful."
"Do you like it then?" His hands slid forward over my shoulders in answer, cupping my breasts in the thin nightdress. I could see his head above mine in the mirror, his chin resting on top of my head.
"I like everything about you," he said huskily. "You look wonderful by candlelight, you know. Your eyes are like sherry in crystal, and your skin glows like ivory. A candlelight witch, you are. Perhaps I should disconnect the lamps permanently."
"Make it hard to read in bed," I said, my heart beginning to speed up.
"I could think of better things to do in bed," he murmured.
"Could you, indeed?" I said, rising and turning to put my arms about his neck. "Like what?"
Sometime later, cuddled close behind bolted shutters, I lifted my head from his shoulder and said, "Why did you ask me that earlier? About whether I'd had to do with any Scots, I mean—you must know I had, there are all sorts of men through those hospitals."
He stirred and ran a hand softly down my back.
"Mmm. Oh, nothing, really. Just, when I saw that chap outside, it occurred to me he might be"—he hesitated, tightening his hold a bit—"er, you know, that he might have been someone you'd nursed, perhaps… maybe heard you were staying here, and came along to see… something like that."
"In that case," I said practically, "why wouldn't he come in and ask to see me?"
"Well," Frank's voice was very casual, "maybe he didn't want particularly to run into me."
I pushed up onto one elbow, staring at him. We had left one candle burning, and I could see him well enough. He had turned his head, and was looking oh-so-casually off toward the chromolithograph of Bonnie Prince Charlie with which Mrs. Baird had seen fit to decorate our wall.
I grabbed his chin and turned his head to face me. He widened his eyes in simulated surprise.
"Are you implying," I demanded, "that the man you saw outside was some sort of, of…"I hesitated, looking for the proper word.
"Liaison?" he suggested helpfully.
"Romantic interest of mine?" I finished.
"No, no, certainly not," he said unconvincingly. He took my hands away from his face, and tried to kiss me, but now it was my turn for head-turning. He settled for pressing me back down to lie beside him.
"It's only…" he began. "Well, you know, Claire, it was six years. And we saw each other only three times, and only just for the day that last time. It wouldn't be unusual if… I mean, everyone knows doctors and nurses are under tremendous stress during emergencies, and… well, I… it's just that… well, I'd understand, you know, if anything, er, of a spontaneous nature…"
I interrupted this rambling by jerking free and exploding out of bed.
"Do you think I've been unfaithful to you?" I demanded. "Do you? Because if so, you can leave this room this instant. Leave the house altogether! How dare you imply such a thing?" I was seething, and Frank, sitting up, reached out to try to soothe me.
"Don't you touch me!" I snapped. "Just tell me—do you think, on the evidence of a strange man happening to glance up at my window, that I've had some flaming affair with one of my patients?"
Frank got out of bed and wrapped his arms around me. I stayed stiff as Lot's wife, but he persisted, caressing my hair and rubbing my shoulders in the way he knew I liked.
"No, I don't think any such thing," he said firmly. He pulled me closer, and I relaxed slightly, though not enough to put my arms around him.
After a long time, he murmured into my hair, "No, I know you'd never do such a thing. I only meant to say that even if you ever did… Claire, it would make no difference to me. I love you so. Nothing you ever did could stop my loving you." He took my face between his hands—only four inches taller than I, he could look directly into my eyes without trouble—and said softly, "Forgive me?" His breath, barely scented with the tang of Glenfiddich, was warm on my face, and his lips, full and inviting, were disturbingly close.