girlyswot

Boxing Day began cold and crisp, a perfect winter morning. Mrs Marlow, Rowan, Gin and Nicola made their way from Trennels up to the Major's in time for the ten o'clock meet. Patrick was already waiting, hands full with a nervous-looking animal Nicola didn't recognise. He flourished his whip at sight of her and carefully made his way over to her side.

'It's good to see you back. How are you?'

She smiled at him. 'Cold. Missing the sea.' She shivered and he offered her his hipflask.

'Let's slope off after an hour or two? Catch up properly?' He smiled cajolingly.

As they made their leisurely way back across the Crowlands, Patrick offered chocolate and again passed over his brandy. They saw to the horses, leaving them well rugged up in the orchard, and went inside.

'So, tell me all about it.' He sat down, prepared to indulge Nicola in her tales of the sea.

'Not much to tell. We went up to Norway, sailed round the fjords for a couple of months then came back. Roger made me learn to do everything. The crew were pretty friendly. I…' She paused, looking intently at Patrick. 'I missed you,' she admitted.

He smiled crookedly. 'I missed you, too. Come here.' They did their best to make up for the months apart.

'I forgot. Here. Happy Christmas.'

'Oh! I didn't bring yours.'

'Go on, open it.'

So she tore off the paper and string. Unbelieving, she picked it up reverently. It was framed simply but the contents didn't need any dressing up as far as Nicola was concerned. Her eye was drawn first to the unmistakeable signature at the bottom. 'H. Nelson, F^st Sea Lord.' It was a short letter, from Nelson to his friend and fellow Naval Officer, Admiral Sir Vincent Jervis, concerning 'the last glorious action.' Nicola read it through twice, wonderingly, while Patrick waited patiently, watching her.

Eventually he broke into her reverie. 'So, do you like it then?'

'Oh, Patrick, it's perfect. Thank you.'

'Can't you thank a fellow better than that?' he enquired. So she kissed him briefly before turning back to read the letter once more.

'But surely, Patrick? I mean, I know it's frightfully rude to ask but… how on earth could you afford it?'

'I had something of a windfall last month. Ancient-and-not-missed aunt died and terribly helpfully left yours truly a tidy sum. Most of which Pa insisted went straight in the savings account. But enough left over for some fun things, too. My treat was that animal you saw this morning.'

'He's gorgeous,' said Nicola enthusiastically.

'He is rather. And when I've shown him he can trust me, he'll be a nice restful ride. When do you hare off again on your adventures?'

'Dunno. Not till February, prob. Or even March if the weather's awful.'

'Great. Look, what I wondered was, why don't you come and stay with me for a week or two? At the cottage? Weekends are a bit hit and miss for me at the moment at the estate and it would be too miserable for words if you were here and I was there and…'

She looked alarmed and began to pleat the tails of her shirt between her fingers.

'Patrick?'

'You don't want to?'

'It's not that I don't want to see you. I mean, I'd love to come and stay and see where you work and maybe help out a bit. And I don't want to waste time before I go, but…'

He looked at her curiously, then realised what she was saying.

'There are two bedrooms, Nick. I didn't mean…'

'Oh. Good. Yes, please, then. Only, what about the parents?'

Patrick considered this. 'I think mine will be okay. Why don't you ask yours and then we'll see?'

'Yup. I'll have to work out when would be the best time. I need to go and see Mr West's friend and then Roger Clayton and start fitting out Windfall. And I'll have to go up to London to organise visas and things. But I'll have one proper holiday with you before I go.'

Patrick's parents had looked more disapproving than he'd expected but they'd agreed that yes, he was an adult now, and yes, they trusted him so okay, Nicola could stay with him for a couple of weeks before she left. But his mother looked as if she wanted to say a lot more and, later when she'd left, his father did say a lot more, most of which Patrick rather felt he could have done without.

Nicola chose her moment carefully. She'd gone to Port Wade with her mother to choose oilskins and fittings for the yacht and, shopping done, they were companionably sharing lunch in a harbour pub.

'Patrick's asked me to go and stay with him for a bit before I leave. I thought I might go back with him next weekend. If you think it's alright?'

Mrs Marlow surveyed her daughter carefully.

'How much do you care for Patrick, Nicky?'

Nicola bent her face over her plate and chewed her sandwich to hide her blush.

'Um… quite a lot.'

'How much do you think he cares for you?'

'A lot. He doesn't say much but it shows. You can always tell with Patrick when he feels more than he says.'

'He's older than you.'

'Two years. But it doesn't feel like that because we've been friends for such ages.'

'You don't think you'd be better off still being friends?'

Nicola thought about this and eventually shook her head. 'We are still friends. But now… I don't have to worry that one day he'll find some other Ginty and stop being my friend.'

'What about when you go away?'

'I'll miss him. I missed him all the time I was in Norway. I mean, I missed other people too. Lawrie, and you and Rowan and everyone. But I sort of only missed them when I happened to think about them. But missing Patrick was just always there. Which is why I want to go now, as soon as I can. Because the longer I stay, the harder it'll be to leave him. And I do still want to go, more than anything, I just want Patrick to be waiting for me when I come home.'

Mrs Marlow smiled briefly. 'When I first met your father, he said exactly the same thing to me. Yes, alright, go and stay with Patrick, but Nicky, please be careful. Actually, I was going to say that to you before you left anyway, so I might as well say it now. I think you should go on the pill.'

Nicola looked up from her salad, wondering whether she'd heard right, but her mother was continuing, matter-of-factly. 'You won't want to risk being out of action while you're alone and at least if the worst should happen anywhere, you won't have to worry about getting pregnant. I'll make an appointment for you when we get home. Are you finished with that? We've still got lots to do before we catch the train.'

Nicola nodded meekly, still dazed with shock and embarrassment from the conversation, and followed her mother out into the damp street.

'So, anyway, she's said I can come, but I don't think it can be next week after all. And the week after I'm staying with Miranda. So it'll have to be the last week in February and the first in March. And then I'm leaving the week after that.'

'Oke. In that case I'll try and come home this weekend. Fancy a film on Saturday? The new James Bond should just about have reached Colebridge by now.'

The weeks flew by for Nicola as she organised herself for the next eighteen months. So many things to be thought of. She arranged radios and cooking gas and practised lashing jury masts in case of disaster. Windfall was put through her paces in the worst winter gales and Nicola grew accustomed to her ways. Eventually, the last week in February arrived and she bade farewell to the boat for a little while.

Waving a sketchy farewell to Rowan and slinging her bag in the back, Nicola jumped in beside a grinning Patrick who leaned across to kiss her cheek.

'All set?'

'All set.'

'We'll have to stop somewhere on the way to get supplies.'

'Oke.'

They found a corner shop which had a small chiller cabinet from which Patrick selected bacon, eggs, cheese and ham. Nicola added a loaf of bread, cornflakes and marmalade.

'Bet you don't have any at home?' she grinned.

'Nope. Disgusting stuff,' replied Patrick, who preferred his toast with honey. 'Look,' he pointed behind her, 'Let's get a bottle of wine and celebrate.'

'What are we celebrating?'

'Being grown ups at last?' he offered.

She shook her head. 'No, let's not have wine. Why don't we just get some bottles of beer instead? Tastes better with a fry up.'

'If you insist.'

'And you'll need some milk.'

'Nope. I'll pick some up at the farm.' He paid for their things, adding a large bar of chocolate as an afterthought.

They stopped at the farmhouse first, collecting milk and Spade, Patrick's new spaniel puppy. Nicola was introduced to Mrs Cartmell and her husband who she instantly liked but, for once sympathising with Patrick's shyness, she merely said a polite greeting and followed him back to the car.

'Well, this is it.' He indicated the tiny cottage, two-up, two-down, which he called home. He led her straight into the kitchen with its curling lino on the floor and ancient fridge whirring in the corner. But it was clean, and although none of the furniture matched, it was sturdy and practical. Someone had obviously made an effort to brighten the room with cheerful gingham curtains and lampshade. Coats were hanging on the back of the door and boots were left in an untidy heap just inside. Patrick's washing up was still on the draining board. In front of the fire, an old blanket served as bed for Spade who was currently engaged in running around the room as fast as possible, again and again, making sure everything was in its place.

'Cup of tea first? I'll put the kettle on and show you round while it boils. It doesn't take long.'

The back room contained a worn but comfortably squashy looking sofa, a small TV and three bookcases crammed full with titles Nicola remembered seeing before. The stairs led up to a landing hardly big enough to be dignified with the name. On the left was Patrick's room, just large enough to squeeze in a double bed, a chest of drawers, a hanging rail and two more bookcases. It was too dark for Nicola to see but he promised to show her the view tomorrow.

'If it's clear, you can see right across to Long Barrow and Six Mile Point. Arthur claims you can see the Channel but no-one believes him. It's at least thirty miles.'

Nicola's room was smaller, with a desk which had been shoved into a corner to make space for her fold-out bed. He'd made the bed up and left clean towels folded on the end. There was even a vase of freesias on the windowsill.

'I hope it's okay. The bed, I mean. No-one's ever slept in here before. It's probably freezing – like the rest of the house. You'd better take my hot water bottle. And the bathroom's through here. It's a bit old and cracked but clean, I promise. And there's masses of hot water whenever you want.'

'Patrick.' She reached out for his arm before he could go back downstairs. 'It's lovely.' She smiled. 'I'm really looking forward to this.'

'Me too. Come on, I'm parched.'

They had a magical time. Rising early, Patrick would bring Nicola a cup of tea before they both headed out to see to the hawks. Nicola was surprised at how quickly she remembered the routine and settled in as if this were her job, too. She usually left Patrick to finish carrying Regan and went in to make breakfast for them both. Days passed, riding out with the hawks or, when it was too wet or cold, tucked up in the little cottage, playing scrabble or monopoly, laughing at each other's attempts to cook meals, heading out for walks or rides buttoned up in as many layers as they could find.

After one particularly fierce soaking, Patrick insisted Nicola went straight upstairs for a hot bath.

'I'll start on supper. Shall I bring you a cup of tea in a minute?'

He changed out of his wet things, attempting to warm himself in front of the fire and cupping his hands round his own mug of tea. Twenty minutes later, Nicola came downstairs, wrapped only in an enormous towel, holding out her clothes to be hung on the wooden airer.

'Better?'

She nodded. 'Teeth seem to have stopped chattering.'

'Good. Go and sit by the fire. Supper'll be ready in a few minutes.'

He brought their plates through, piled high with pasta and tomato sauce. Nicola was curled up on the sofa, feet tucked under her. Her blonde hair was slicked down and her shoulders rose gracefully out of the white towel. Patrick caught his breath.

'Here. You should be able to manage with it on your knees.'

He sat beside her, carefully distancing himself as much as he could from the goddess who had found her way to his sitting-room.

Nicola ate hungrily, watching the flames and hardly seeming aware of Patrick or her effect on him. When she had finished, she put her plate on the floor and turned to smile at him. She removed his half-finished plate and took his hands in hers.

'Kiss me, then.'

'What?' He sounded bewildered.

'You've been wanting to ever since I came downstairs. So go on then, kiss me.'

Helplessly, he leaned forward, smelling her clean hair, her soft skin, reaching for her lips with his.

'Oh Nick,' he whispered and pulled her towards him. The towel slipped a little and he gasped, biting his lip to try and stop himself.

'It's alright,' she said. 'Go on.' His hands were in her hair, stroking and massaging; his kisses were stronger, deeper, harder than before. She arched towards him, giving herself up to him.

'Are you sure?' he whispered, pulling away once again.

'Oh yes,' she murmured and began to unbutton his shirt.

They lay in front of the fire, watching the flickering light throwing its shadows and flashes of warmth across each other's bodies. Patrick's arms held Nicola to him, their legs comfortably entwined.

'They were right, then,' he observed.

'Who were?' Nicola wondered.

'Our parents. In thinking we'd be certain to do it.'

'Yes. How strange.'

'Strange?'

'Well, I didn't think we would. Did you?'

'No, not really. I didn't think you wanted to. Not yet.'

'I didn't. Not until today. But then I thought about going away and I realised I wanted to have this memory. I wanted to know we'd done it and know what it was like so that I would have that to look forward to.'

'And? Will it be something to look forward to?'

She turned over so that she was facing him. 'Well…' His hazel eyes were dancing yellow and red in the firelight. 'It wasn't like I thought.' He waited. 'It's sort of like that time I jumped the Cut on Buster. I didn't really know what I was doing, I just hung on. But it made me feel as though I could do it another time properly. D'you see?'

He nodded. 'Me too, you know.'

'Yes, I suppose so. I hadn't thought about that.'

'We could give it another go now. Upstairs, maybe? More comfortable.'

She looked at him shyly. 'Would you mind terribly if we didn't?'

He shook his head. 'Whatever you want. I should take Spade out for a run anyway.' He rolled away from her and began to dress. Nicola lay still, watching him. Just as he was about to leave the room she spoke.

'Patrick, I do love you.'

He turned and smiled at her. 'I know. I love you too.'

So that was alright.

Author's note: sorry - more fluff, no angst, no other Marlows... But chapter 8 has lots of both. Honest.