"Cara, it's not what you think." His hands banged lightly on the door.
I clicked the deadlock, knowing he would hear it.
"Shit! Fuck!"
It seems the rumours of Martin being a bad influence on Ben's vocab are true.
"Cara, please, let me explain."
I didn't answer; I couldn't, I was still too upset. The anger was ebbing and hurt was taking its place, but the hurt was worse - much, much worse. The pain of rejection washed over me and left me shaking in its wake.
"Are you seriously going to make me explain through a closed door?" Yes I bloody am, I wanted to yell but couldn't. I rested my head against it, feeling the little prickle at the back of my eyes that told me tears were not far off.
"Okay, okay." I could almost hear him pacing up and down on the other side of the wooden barrier. "But promise me you'll hear me out; how do I know you're still there?"
I banged once on the door.
"Cara." His voice was lower, with a tender note that had been distinctly absent up until now. "I was sitting in the alcove when you came on to the stage for the last set. You told that joke about the cameras and you looked so...god, that dress...so damned sexy. Then you sang those songs...slow hands and kissing all over and lasting all night. Hell, I was so hard I was too scared to get off my stool in case Bob threw me out for being a pervert."
I made a small noise that I muffled behind my hand.
"When I had myself under control I went to wait in the car but then you were there, talking about sexy beasts...and that kiss...shit, that kiss. I wanted to push you up against the building and take you then and there but...you deserve better than that, much better, so I...I stopped. In the car I couldn't look at you or touch you for fear of losing control all over again."
He paused for a few seconds and I heard him take a deep breath. "I didn't mean it to look like I was rejecting you. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, it's the last thing..."
I opened the door.
"I'm truly sorry Cara." The look in his eyes when he thought he'd hurt me made the tears finally roll down my cheeks.
"I'm sorry too," I whispered.
He took another deep breath. "I want to hold you so badly."
"Then why aren't you?" I looked at him through the tears.
He gave the little smile at the corners of his mouth that I like so much. "Am I allowed in?"
I took a step forward and pulled him in, shutting the door behind him then wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him just as tightly as he was holding me, my head resting on his chest, my eyes closed. I heard the thumping of his heart and felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of my head as his hands rubbed my back. I sighed, the tension dissipating, and we just stood there holding each other for a while.
"Cara?"
"Yes?"
"Should I always be worried when you call me Benedict?"
I smiled into his chest. "Probably."
"Good to know." I squeezed his waist.
Another few minutes passed.
"Are you still free today?" I nodded. "Fancy going for a drive?"
I looked at him. "In the Jag?" He smiled and nodded. "Can I wear your flat cap?"
"Why?"
"I think it will look good on me."
"Is that your subtle way of saying it doesn't look good on me or are you just making a fashion statement?"
I grinned. "A little of both."
"Ouch!" he laughed and shook his head at me. "What have I let myself in for?" A huge yawn escaped my mouth and effectively stopped me from answering. "All right, I think that's as good a hint as any." He pressed a soft, warm kiss to my lips then unwrapped his arms and bid me goodnight. "Pick you up at eleven?"
"Yes." Another yawn.
"Buonanotte bella signora." (Goodnight beautiful lady)
My eyes widened. "You speak Italian?"
"A little. It's better than my Greek, but not by much."
"Buona notte Ben."
---
We drove into Kent, windows down so we were buffeted by the mild wind, sunglasses on against the glare but also for Ben to hide, me wearing his flat cap and he in a Panama. I didn't pay much attention to our route, content to just enjoy the experience and his company as we chatted about all manner of things. After turning off the main road and travelling down country lanes for a while, he stopped at a gate marked 'Private Road' and got out to open it. "I'm not going to end the day at the local police station am I?" I asked him with a grin.
"The owners are old friends of my parents, you cheeky wench," he replied as he drove through then got out to close the gate again while I laughed. We drove another mile over a rough track until he pulled in near a stand of beautiful beech trees. Once we alighted he took a basket and blanket out of the boot, held out a hand to me and led me along a path that meandered through the trees and shrubs until eventually opening to a flat, grassed area that rolled gently down to a peacefully flowing stream.
"Ben, it's beautiful!"
"Joins up with the River Medway about a mile down that way," he nodded his head toward the east.
We set up our picnic spot then went for a walk, rambling hand in hand along the path, occasionally stopping to examine a flower or listen to a birdcall. I rolled up my jeans and dabbled my feet in the stream but it was far too cold to stay in for long.
"I believe you owe me a few interesting facts about yourself," Ben told me as we sipped on a cider after finishing our picnic. "For all the ones I told you at Joe's the other night." The sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead, the bubbling of the water nearby a peaceful serenade. I stowed my bottle safely and lay down on the blanket, sighing contentedly.
"What would you like to know?"
"Tell me about your family."
My contentment vanished in an instant and I grimaced; it was a topic that came with baggage. "Bare bones: my mother ran off with another man when I was ten; my father never got over her leaving. I have two older brothers and we were pretty much raised by our grandparents. Not terribly interesting, I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry." He came to lie down beside me on his side, head propped up on his hand. "It must have been hard for you when your mother left."
"I won a spelling bee when I was eight." I avoided his eyes, hoping he would take the hint.
"Cara..."
My eyes squeezed closed and my fists clenched. "My winning word was incorrigible." Please, please, please, don't make me talk about it right now, Ben. About all the nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering what I had done wrong to make my mother leave. Of asking myself how I had failed her as a daughter, thinking she had just stopped loving me. It took me a lot of years to realise that it was all to do with her and nothing to do with me, or my brothers.
I felt his hand take mine and interlace our fingers, a slight pressure applied in comfort, and I squeezed back in thanks, neither of us saying anything for a while. It gave me time to recover myself.
"Star Trek or Star Wars?"
The question was so unexpected I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked back with a steady gaze but I saw a mixture of sympathy and understanding in the back of his eyes. That's when I first felt it, this strange little tug in the middle of my chest, so fleeting that I thought I'd imagined it.
"Star Trek." How could I possibly say anything else? Duh.
He smiled. "Did you just say that because of – "
"Yes." Now I was smiling. The movie premiere was still a month away but everyone knew Ben was playing the villain, just not who that villain would be. My money was on Khan, personally, but hey I could be wrong. I was just hoping it wouldn't be someone slimy and horrible like the douchebag he'd played in Atonement.
"You don't have to do that."
I smiled again. "No shit, Sherlock." It took a few seconds for the shocked look on his face to fade then he burst out laughing and my smile widened. I mentally punched my fist in the air, feeling I'd scored one for Sherlock fans everywhere.