A Home at Last

Clara found the magazines while looking for a charging cable.

The top desk drawer held cigarettes. The second held money in rubber bands. The bottom held three old magazines with women on the covers wearing very little.

She looked at the dates.

"He's sentimental."

Vince, returning with bottled water, stopped in the doorway.

Clara closed the drawer.

"Not what it looks like," he said.

"It looks like magazines."

"Well. Yes."

"Then we're in agreement."

He put down the water too hard.

"He doesn't go around with women."

"He's married to one."

"You know what I mean."

She looked at him.

Vince rubbed the back of his neck.

"There was a man he worked for years ago. A woman the man treated badly. She hurt him. Badly. Damian was there. Had to keep him alive until help came."

Clara's expression changed.

"After that, he wouldn't let anybody close. Not like that."

She thought of her husband's impossible claim, the anger with which she'd dismissed it.

"He told you this?"

"I was there afterward. You don't forget somebody looking like that."

Vince looked toward the corridor, suddenly regretting how much he had said.

"I wouldn't tell you if it wasn't true."

Clara sat quietly for a while.

The magazines remained in the drawer.

She no longer wanted to make a joke about them.

***

They moved into Bennett Row on New Year's Day.

Owen supervised the deliveries. Vince carried things that should have required two people, then complained when the younger men watched instead of helping.

Clara stood in the courtyard with a list that became less useful every time somebody spoke to her.

"Which room for this?"

"Where do you want the books?"

"The kitchen tap's dripping."

"Mrs. Wolfe, the locksmith—"

She looked up at that.

For a second she wondered who they meant.

Damian saw her expression and smiled to himself.

At noon, she found Vince and Owen standing in the rear passage discussing where they would sleep after everything was finished.

"Here," she said.

They looked at her.

"There are rooms at the back. Two proper ones. Choose whichever you want."

Vince glanced at Damian, who had followed her outside.

"We don't want to get in the way."

"You told me where he goes, you go."

"Yes, but—"

"Then unpack."

Owen looked at Damian.

Her husband leaned against the doorframe, trying to look as though this wasn't making him happy.

"She gave you an instruction."

Vince grinned.

"Yes, boss."

"Which one?" Owen asked.

"Whichever one's less likely to hit me."

Clara left them laughing in the passage.

Two younger men joined the household to help with security and errands. Nate and Eli: the pair who had pulled the rental agent off her in the alley.

With dark hair and clean shirts, they looked younger than she remembered.

"You ran away from us," Nate said, helping her move a box of books.

"You were standing over a man in a puddle."

"We were helping."

"You'll have to develop a more reassuring approach."

Eli laughed and nearly dropped his end of the box.

A cook came from the hotel. A cleaner would visit during the week. Owen had arranged everything so quietly Clara didn't realize how much work he'd done until there was nothing left for her to panic about.

That evening they ate in the courtyard beneath heaters, with the kitchen doors open and plates passing from hand to hand.

Clara had thought a family dinner was something you survived.

Here, Vince argued about potatoes. Owen told him to use the serving spoon. Damian put the best piece of chicken on her plate and looked offended when she moved half of it onto his.

Nobody asked for anything she couldn't bear to give.

Owen brought out a small ledger after dessert.

"Household expenses," he said. "Separate from the businesses. I thought you should see them."

Clara read the first page, then the second. Wages. Food. Maintenance. A line for the garden, another for vehicles.

"Does he know what all this costs?"

Damian looked offended.

"I do sign things occasionally."

"You sign most things without your glasses."

"I don't need glasses. I wear them to impress you."

Vince laughed so hard Owen had to move the wine.

Clara pushed the ledger gently back.

"Keep doing what you're doing. Just tell me if there's something I should understand."

Owen nodded, visibly pleased by the trust.

Damian watched her pour a little more wine for both men before taking any herself. For once, he didn't interrupt her conversation or ask when she was coming upstairs. He liked seeing her here too much.

She drank more wine than she intended.

Upstairs, her husband caught her smiling at the bed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He came behind her and put his arms around her waist.

For a while they stood looking at their reflection in the window.

"I've got a home," he said.

She laid her hands over his.

"So have I."

His face lowered into her hair.

A minute later, he asked, "When do you start?"

She turned.

"The job?"

He nodded.

"February. They moved the intake to match the new project."

He took that in.

"You'll come back?"

"Weekends. When I can. You can come to me too."

He gave a short breath.

"I've heard worse offers."

"You're not going to argue?"

"Would it work?"

She shook her head.

"Thought not."

He tightened his arms, not to trap her, just enough to keep her close another moment.

"Remember where home is."

She turned fully and touched his face.

"I will."

***

The hotel in Westbridge overlooked the river and stood fifteen minutes from the practice.

Damian signed for a year's serviced accommodation before Clara finished reading the brochure.

She looked at the amount and made a small sound.

"That's more than my salary."

"Consider it motivation to get promoted."

"For the next six years."

"Don't be pessimistic."

The room had a desk, a small sitting area, a kitchen she didn't need, and windows that made the city seem gentler than she remembered.

There was no danger of a relative turning up with a spare key.

She couldn't pretend that didn't matter.

Damian stayed the first week.

He offered to take the team to dinner. She explained, carefully, why arriving as the new assistant with a wealthy husband buying everybody's evening might not be the introduction she wanted.

He listened with both arms folded.

"I was being friendly."

"I know. Let me get through the first month without everybody wondering what I'm compensating for."

"You're good at the work."

"Then let them find that out."

He looked at her for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"All right."

She kissed him for it.

He immediately tried to turn the concession into an invitation to spend the morning in bed.

She went to work smiling.

***

On the first Saturday, they went to a movie with moving seats.

Damian spent half of it glaring at the screen and the other half pretending he hadn't jumped when cold air blew at his neck.

Outside, he said, "We should put one of those in Briarhaven."

Clara laughed.

"You couldn't just enjoy it?"

"I did enjoy it. That's why people would pay."

She ordered two drinks at a crowded café and sent him to collect them.

He stood in the queue in a pale jacket and trousers she had persuaded him to try, looking enormous among men carrying laptop bags.

Every time the line moved, he looked back to check she was still there.

Clara sat beneath the awning, warm sunlight on her face, and smiled at him.

He said something she couldn't hear.

She lifted her eyebrows.

He shook his head and smiled back.

A shadow fell across the table.

"Clara?"

Julian stood beside her chair.

Celia was with him, holding shopping bags.

Clara's smile faded, not into longing, but into the weary realization that an afternoon could be interrupted this easily.

"Hello, Julian."