To Watch Over Her
Part 2 of 3

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 23,144 (this part: 8,627)

Rating: M / R

Disclaimer, etc. can be found on Part One. I just got home from work, and certain somebodies (*looks in direction of UK*) are waiting with bated breath for this part…

Holy Christ.

Nick had put on the news briefly before fetching Bridget for dinner, and saw that all hell had broken loose in the City of London: the delivery of a suspicious white powder to a barrister in chambers; biohazard and emergency response teams on the scene; only reluctantly at the end of the report did they name whose office they speculated the powder had surfaced in:

Mark Darcy's.

Quickly he switched the news off but after doing so, he could not move for the thoughts swirling in his head. Damn that boy for being so cavalier about his own safety. He knew immediately that he could not let Bridget know, at least not until there was more information one way or another. It could be something like anthrax; it could be baking powder.

It was hell not knowing.

He walked to the library, saw her typing away at what he presumed was her latest column. He smiled. At least she'd been inspired today to write. "Bridget, it's time for supper."

She turned to look at him, smiling. "No pizza again today, I'd wager."

"No, child."

Her brows drew together. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," he said, recovering quickly. "Just worried about dinner getting cold."

She smiled again, then rose from her seat. "I've been really productive today. I'm comparing the world of dating to chess strategy."

Nick chuckled, surprising himself.

At that moment his mobile rang, and he reached in to his pocket to answer it. Calling identification indicated it was the Metro Police; his heart raced. "Bridget, pardon me, I need to take this call."

She nodded, mouthing, "I'll go to the kitchen."

When he was certain she was out of earshot, he took the call. "Nick Wentworth."

"Nick. Don't let on it's me. Mark."

A cold rush of relief washed over him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I wanted to let you know that after a decontamination shower, the laundering of all of my clothes, near destruction of Bridget's letter to me, and a thorough cleaning of my office, the determination was that it was confectioner's sugar."

"That isn't what the news is reporting."

"It's not official until the final round of testing is complete, after thirty-six hours. But initial testing indicates a ninety-nine per cent chance it's regular household sugar."

"So you don't want to speak to—"

"No. In fact, I'm calling to ask that you keep her away from the news. I don't want her knowing about it even though I'm all right, because she'll want to come back to town. The men threatening her to get to me did this specifically to, I quote, 'smoke her out'." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I very much want to speak to her, but it's best I don't."

Nick said nothing at first; he knew how much this tense separation was killing both of them. "Don't worry," said Nick at last. "I'm keeping her safe. We're about to have supper. I've got everything in hand; just take care of yourself."

"I will. In future my mail's going through the police scanners first."

"Is the trial on track?"

"Yes. And I can't see the end of it too soon." Mark coughed. "Good thing it was only sugar. Think I inhaled some. I should go though; the inspectors want to speak to me about the initial letter. They have a preliminary analysis and if it can be tied to this case and the sugar threat… we're talking domestic terrorism on top of everything else. It'll be hard to wiggle out of that."

"Good job, my boy. Have a good night."

"I'll try. You too." Mark paused. "I wish I could say 'give Bridget a hug for me', but that'd give it away."

"Yes."

Mark paused again. "Goodbye, Nick."

"Goodbye."

He disconnected the phone.

He felt a little lighter as he joined Bridget in the kitchen, even found himself laughing a little, a natural reaction to having potentially devastating news dispelled with good. Bridget had already served each of them a portion of steak and salad and was pouring wine for them. "Good call?"

"Very good. Please let me know what you think of the way I've spiced these fillets. It's something new I'm trying."

She cut off a corner and popped it into her mouth, chewing and obviously savouring the steak. After she swallowed, she proclaimed, "It's a winner."

After supper, Bridget was amenable to another round of chess—funny how resistant she'd initially been, and how eager she seemed now—but he was alarmed when she proclaimed, "And afterwards I'm watching some telly. I feel so disconnected from the real world."

It at least gave him a chance to think of something to suggest, which had the unfortunate side effect of him not being at the top of his game; as a result, Bridget nearly won the match.

She was feeling pretty pleased with herself, which gave him the perfect opening for the diversion he'd concocted: "Since you've progressed so well, I have a surprise for you, and you mustn't tell Mark."

Her eyebrows shot up. Nick was certain that Mark would forgive this deviation of his instructions in the name of her safety. It was not as if she could dash off onto the Underground.

Nick continued, "After sunset, when it's dark, I would like to invite you out into the backyard for a cigarette."

The disbelief was evident in her expression, but then she grinned. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Unless you really want to just mindlessly channel hop—"

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "A fag out back? Infinitely preferable."

He smirked smugly. Sometimes it was far too easy to distract her.

………

"Uncle Nick?"

Bridget crept into the kitchen, surprised that Nick was not in his usual place at the table before consulting a clock and seeing that it was already ten-thirty in the morning. Whoops, she thought, though wondered why he'd let her sleep so long. Nick had kindly left her breakfast in the refrigerator (berries and yoghurt) and left the French press ready to add hot water to for more coffee.

She pulled the tops off of the strawberries in order to put them in the yoghurt, and went to throw said discarded tops into the waste bin when she noticed the newspaper was in there. It looked as if the paper had not even been opened, which was odd, as she knew how much Nick enjoyed his crosswords. She reached in and grabbed it, grateful that coffee grounds or other detritus had not been dumped on top of it.

The minute she saw the front page, she knew why he had sacrificed his crosswords. She was alternately terrified and angry.

Anthrax Scare at Inns of Court
Thought to be Linked to Barrister in High Profile Case

She scanned the body of the article for Mark's name and found it. She also discovered that it had been his office that had been the focal point for the possibly anthrax-laced mail.

Bridget did not know what to do first. Her eyes filled with tears as the paper fell from her hand. She was trembling with fear. Nick had clearly seen the newspaper yet was deliberately trying to keep her in the dark. How could Nick not have been more concerned?

Sitting back and doing nothing might have been all right for Nick—love the old bugger, but… bastard! she thought—but it was not all right for her. She went back upstairs, dressed hastily, then stopped to think. Even if she left the house, she had no idea how she'd get to London.

Decidedly she thought, I'll just have to pinch his car.

She went back downstairs and crept back to the kitchen. Still no Nick in sight. She passed through to the garage and upon seeing his car, realised she did not have the keys. Shit. She didn't have the faintest idea where he kept his keys; logic dictated maybe the kitchen was the place to deposit them after entering from the garage. She turned around to re-enter the house.

She found, much to her dismay, that the door had locked behind her.

Double shit!

Her mind raced; she thought if she could just get the garage door opened and find some way to get the car started, she could be on her way to London in a flash. The controller for the garage door was likely in the car, she reasoned, and it couldn't have been that difficult to hotwire a car; people in the movies did it all the time. She went to the door of the car and pulled hard on the handle, which did not in fact open the door, merely set the alarm to wailing a horrible doo-wee-doo-wee that felt like sharp spikes pushing into her eardrums.

Within seconds, even over the din of the car alarm, she could hear Nick's voice booming:

"Bridget! What the hell are you doing?"

He held up his car keys, pushed a button, and blessedly the alarm ceased, though the ringing would likely sound in her ears for some time to come.

"I'm going back home to London and you can't stop me."

"The hell I can't," said Nick, striding up to her and grasping her wrist, yanking her back into the house.

She began, stumbling against the kitchen counter as he released her wrist, "I saw the paper—"

"Yes, I saw the mess of paper on the kitchen floor where you left it," he said, sounding a bit calmer, though still looked furious. "I had a very good reason for not telling you about this."

She pursed her lips.

He went on to explain. "Mark asked me not to."

"Mark? When did you talk to—the phone call last night?" she asked as the light dawned. "Why didn't you let me talk to him? Why didn't Mark want you to tell me about this, about any of it?"

Nick sighed in that long-suffering way he had mastered. "First of all, Mark said that the powder was harmless. Fine grain sugar." She exhaled with relief. "Secondly, the people threatening you did this to try to lure you back to London, so Mark didn't want you to know any of it, not even that he was all right, because he knew you'd want to go back straightaway." She felt tears brimming in her eyes again. She tried to be strong but felt them spill on to her cheek, and turned away before Nick could see. Mark had been right. She wanted to go back to London more than anything now, damn her own safety.

She felt Nick's strong hand on her shoulder.

"I did ask him if he wanted to speak to you," he said gently. "He did, but he thought it best if he didn't, because that would only make you question why he was calling. I'm sorry." After a pause, he continued. "He did ask me to give you this, though, and I shouldn't because of how irresponsible and foolish it was of you to try to take off with my car and head directly into the jaws of danger, but I'll allow that you're probably upset. So here."

With that he embraced her, held her with the same sort of comfort any blood relative could have given, and then some. She felt so weak and vulnerable at that moment that she started to cry, somewhat restrained at first, but quickly disintegrating to wet, snotty bawling.

Finally she calmed down, pulling back to wipe under her eyes and at her nose.

"Thank you," she said quietly, then looked to him with pleading eyes. "Please take me back to London. I don't care what happens to me. I need to be near Mark. I'm so scared for him."

"I can't do that, Bridget," he said calmly. "I promised him I'd keep you safe here, and so I shall. He's fine, the police are very close to finding the culprits behind this, and the trial will be over in less than a week and a half."

"You see? I can go home. If you don't take me, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Nick asked hotly, his features rigidly stern, his icy eyes burning into her soul. "Try to escape again? Are you mad? Do you want me to lock you in your room for the rest of your time here?"

"You wouldn't."

"If I had to, yes, I would."

She started to cry again, willed herself to stop. "I really don't know if I can make it another week and a half."

His voice returned to its previous tenderness. "You can. And I'm always right. Now come on, let's try again to have breakfast. I'll even let you have the crosswords."

She reflexively chuckled through her sniffles. "All right." She tried to resolve to be patient and stay safe for Mark's sake. "Uncle Nick, when you spoke to Mark, where did he call from? Can I call him there?"

"I'm afraid not, child. He was calling from the police station. I think he figured it would be safe calling from there."

"He was really all right?"

"Aside from breathing in a little sugar, he's really all right."

"And he's sure it's sugar?" she asked, panicked.

"The folks doing the testing seem to think so with a very high degree of certainty. Really. I know it's foolish for me to say so, but: Don't worry."

At least Nick acknowledged it was foolish for him to tell her not to worry.

………

"Mr Darcy, this was delivered to you late yesterday. We only just processed it today, and actually, we've got the original in the lab."

Mark blinked, meeting the eyes of the police inspector, then took the letter from the man's hand.

The letter contained two lines of text:

I promise you we'll find her. We're very close now.
And when we do, it won't be sugar we'll send her.

Mark looked up, panicked.

The police inspector asked, "Have you contacted her since she went out of town?"

Mark said, "I only sent her an item she left behind through a very circuitous route. Unless Rebecca herself is in on it, and I very much doubt that, then no, no one could know where she is."

"And has she contacted you?"

"Once," he said, "through an equally circuitous route."

"So exactly how many people now know the location where your wife is hiding?"

Mark had still not revealed Bridget's location even to the police, only that she was safe with his uncle. "My uncle, Rebecca, Jeremy, and his wife Magda, who also happens to be a long-time friend of Bridget's."

"The circuitous routes, I gather. Okay. And you're absolutely certain none of these individuals would be in collusion with the person or persons making these threats to your wife?"

"Absolutely certain," he said with confidence, though the spectre of Horatio's betrayal reared its ugly head most inconveniently. He shook it aside; he knew Rebecca, Jeremy and even Magda much better than he'd ever known Horatio, and knew none would betray himself or Bridget.

"Any thing else I should know?"

Mark had to be honest. "I did call my uncle to let him know I was not in danger after the sugar scare." After a pause, after receiving an incredulous stare from the inspector, Mark added, "From your police station."

"Ah. I see." He handed Mark the rest of this mail; Mark could not help but feel a little indignant that such precaution needed to be taken. "Good news, though." He paused to clear his throat; Mark wondered if it was actually for dramatic effect. The inspector continued in a much quieter voice. "Evidence was not easy to gather off of the letters you've provided—the bugger was very careful. The lab boys had a tough time of it, but they've got the proof we need to level charges against the man sending these threats."

"You know who's doing this?" Mark asked, dumbfounded; now he was wondering why it had taken him so damned long to give him this information. "Is it at all connected to my case?"

"We're certain of the identity of the owner of the prints and the DNA that were found, but we're fairly sure he's not acting alone, and that it's connected to your case. This chap's a weaselly sort of fellow who I think will snitch on his mates to save his own skin."

Mark exhaled heavily with a breath he did not even realise he was holding in. "How fast can you act?" he asked. "Trial's due to conclude in a week's time."

"We're on the move right now to pick him up. All very hush-hush. Just wanted to keep you apprised." The inspector went around to sit behind his desk again; when he spoke again his tone of voice was louder and much crisper. "Thanks for coming down to get your mail. Much appreciated."

Mark realised at the voice change that perhaps the news about making the identification was something the inspector was not supposed to have told him. "Thank you, Inspector. Let me know when you have more for me."

………

The days had begun to blend together, and while Nick and Bridget slipped into a rather comfortable routine, she thought constantly of Mark and plotted her great escape almost daily. Unfortunately, she was never far from Nick's watchful gaze, and she had noticed very soon after arriving that each of the windows had a very beautiful and very functional set of iron bars covering them.

Before she knew it, though, it was a week since she'd arrived. Surely, she thought, surely the police have caught the person doing this by now. If not, her place really was at his side during this difficult time, just as she vowed on her wedding day.

She also reasoned that Mark was likely just being overprotective of her, as usual. After all, it was Mark who'd received the powder, not her. Why in the world would they care if she was with Mark? Worrying about her when he was dealing with this all alone and no one to take care of him was insupportable.

She was resolute. She was going to leave, and tonight was going to be the night. Never mind the car and garage and all the alarms and keys needed; she could just sneak out right through the front door. The train station couldn't have been that far away.

………

Nick was suspicious. Granted, he was always suspicious, but tonight, he was even more so.

He expected, knew, that she would try to leave again, and it was nothing overt that she'd said or done, but the little things: the way she'd gaze out the window as if looking for a way out; how she was so distracted during their chess match that she missed the tactical opportunity of a lifetime; the especially affectionate way she'd hugged and pecked his cheek good night.

As he turned over in bed, halfway between wakefulness and dreaming, he thought how much he would have liked a daughter. He liked being around Bridget because she felt like the daughter he'd never had—complete with inappropriate insubordination—and consequently felt her absence most acutely when they were apart. He was thankful he got to see both her and his nephew as frequently as he did; it wasn't as if a son would have been unwanted, but there was a special place in his heart reserved for a daughter, and Bridget filled that place quite neatly. It was lovely to have someone in his life he could spoil in such a way (especially with his cooking), and who could in turn spoil him with such honest affection. Not that he would ever own up to it.

It was all too fitting that he should have been lazily thinking about her, about how dear to him she was, when the sound of her voice, apparently cursing at quite high volume, made its way to his ears. He was a light sleeper to begin with, but even if he hadn't been he surely wouldn't have been able to sleep through that.

He sat up, bemused. She must have discovered that he'd been locking her bedroom and bathroom during the night. Frankly, he wondered why it'd taken her so long.

He sat up in bed, slipped into his robe and went into the hallway. "Bridget?" he asked through the closed door. "Everything all right?"

"I can't believe you've locked me in!"

He didn't dare open the door. "Yes, well, looks like I had good reason to do so."

"Nick, I want to go back to London."

"Were you planning on walking?"

"Of course not!" came the indignant retort.

"What was your plan?"

There was silence. "To catch the train."

"Ah, so you were planning on walking. The nearest station is a good distance away, and there isn't much service at three in the morning. Bridget, go back to bed."

"What if I'd wanted a snack?" she said, annoyance plain in her voice, clearly changing tack.

"Why do you think I fed you so well at dinner?"

More silence. "Fine. I'll go back to sleep, but in the morning, we are discussing my going back to London."

"I can tell you right now that the extent of my half of the discussion will be this: 'No.'" He grinned at her stubbornness—she wouldn't have been her without it. "Go to bed," he said in his best commanding voice.

She did not say another word.

………

Nick woke at his usual time and went immediately to Bridget's door, unlocking it and knocking. There was, unsurprisingly, no answer. He stepped cautiously into the room, saw that, clad in her sheep print pyjamas, she was fast asleep with the bear tucked under her chin, a crease still furrowing her brow, a pout still playing on her lips.

"Bridget, child, wake up."

She grunted in return.

"Come on. You have a lot of work to do today."

"Go away," she said, turning over.

He strode to the bed, standing over her. "You have a deadline today."

"I have a deadline at the end of the day," she grumbled.

He went to the window, throwing wide the blinds, causing her to recoil into a ball under the sheets. "You'll be finished before dinner preparation," he said, "with which I will need your help."

She flipped her sheets back and sat up, hair askew. "Why are you being so mean?"

"I have to keep you busy or else you start making plans," he said drolly. "Now get up, get in your shower and I'll go fix coffee and breakfast. If you're not down for food when it's ready, I'm throwing it away."

"Uncle Nick!" she said, pouting.

"Time's a-wasting," he said, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

………

There was one thing she did concede. Even though she completely loathed being dragged out of bed far too early at the threat of her breakfast being so rudely dispatched, she did get her article finished in record time, and she very much enjoyed cooking with Nick.

She still resented being treated like a prisoner.

"Up for chess tonight?" he asked as they finished dinner.

"Dunno," she said, then was overtaken by a yawn. "You've run me quite ragged today."

"All right. Off you go to bed then."

"But Nick. It's seven in the evening."

"If you don't want to play chess, I have things I need to do," he said nonchalantly. "And I can't be fussed to keep an eye on you at the same time."

"No, no! I'll play!"

He leaned back in his chair. "Well, I don't know. I've kind of got my mind set to work on my article some more, and you look very tired, child." He dove his hand into his trouser pocket; she could hear the jingle of keys as he pulled them out.

"Please play, please?" she asked, in rather a more begging tone than she had intended. She was not proud of this.

He cracked a grin, the old bugger. Playing was exactly what he'd wanted all along. "Well. If you insist."

………

"They want to what?" asked Mark.

"I think you heard me," said Jeremy, leaning against Mark's office door, smug smile in place. "With the new charges in place they can see the writing on the wall. They want to plea bargain."

Mark's whole face fell in shock. The added conspiracy charges for terrorism and the abundant proof (and testimony of the person who'd actually made the threats against Bridget and had sent the mail threat) made a guilty conviction and a long sentence very likely.

Jeremy added, "This whole thing could be over in another day or so."

Mark was elated. This entire case had worn him out body and soul, and he was glad to see the end of it come sooner rather than later, even if it was only by days. He smiled. "This is the best news I've had in a very long time."

Jeremy grinned. "Thought you might like to know. We have a meeting in the morning to discuss the proposed plea. We could have it to the court by afternoon."

Mark had a crazy thought to leave the office at once and pick up Bridget that night, but reason kicked in. He needed to have this whole thing wrapped up and over with before he could bring her home, for her safety as well as his peace of mind. "Well. Might as well get home and get some rest. Have a very big day tomorrow."

"Very," Jeremy said, smirking again. "Taking care of this mess, and, I'm sure, a little holiday to plan." He winked, then left Mark's office.

Yes, he thought, continuing to grin. Very good idea.

………

Stunned.

As he listened to Bridget cheer, watched her get up and dance around the playing table in her victory, Nick merely sat there, stunned. Not even Mark could beat Nick at chess on a good day, and now he had just been defeated by a woman who'd been playing a hair over a week.

He went over all of the moves in his head. He was confident he had played well, that all of her moves had been proper too, and yet….

"So what do I win?"

"You mean besides being the deliverer of my ignominious defeat?" he said.

"Oh, chuh, Mark must beat you all the time," she said playfully. He did not respond. "Every once in a while?" He still said nothing, which, in retrospect, was probably a mistake, as her eyes widened big as saucers. "Ever?"

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

"You're kidding!" she said, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. "Never ever?"

"Bridget," he said darkly.

She was still grinning as she sat down again. "Want to make it double or nothing?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Absolutely not," he said. "It's late and it's time for bed for you."

"Until tomorrow then?" she queried.

Not wanting to seem like a sore loser, he said, "We'll see."

She rose from her chair once more and walked over to where Nick sat, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pecking his cheek. "Good night," she said, still beaming as she danced out of the room.

Maybe, he thought drolly, I should just not try to win if it's going to keep her so well-behaved.

………

"So what's her name?" asked Bridget over breakfast.

"Whose name?" said Nick, though he looked like he was afraid he already knew.

"Your… you know. Lady friend," said Bridget, in Mary's words.

At that, Nick laughed. "You mean my 'just for now' girl?"

Just then, Bridget spotted Nick's mobile phone sitting on the table, the edge of it barely visible from under the corner of the folded newspaper. Her heart raced, a plan immediately forming in her mind. "Yes."

"I'm still not sure why it matters to you."

"I'm curious," she said, eating her eggs. "I care about you and want to know that you're happy. That and I can't keep calling her 'just for now' girl, 'cause if I ever meet her I'd probably call her that."

Nick chuckled again. "Rose."

"That's pretty," said Bridget decisively. "Is she, as I think you put it, a generation too young for you?"

"No," said Nick with a grin. "She's dodderingly old, like myself."

Bridget pursed her lips. "You are not dodderingly old. In fact, you're still a very handsome man."

"You're not really unbiased, child."

"So is she mad at you for not seeing her for so long?"

"Well, she's not happy, but I explained it was a family emergency, and she understands."

"That's good." She needed to get Nick to leave the table. The impulse to grab his mobile before he realised it was there and took it back was very strong. "Have you seen anything more in the paper about Mark's trial?"

"I think there was something on the front page. Let me get it for you."

He stood and made for the counter. She had her chance. "Anything in this section?" she asked, grabbing the folded paper and the phone in one fell swoop. Victory! She dropped the phone onto her lap, then slyly tucked the phone into the pocket of her trousers before making a great show of opening up the twice-folded section and looking for news.

"Ah, here it is," said Nick, locating the front page at last. "Says there have been additional charges levelled due to the mail threat."

"Oh, so that means they know who did it?"

"It doesn't say. They're usually pretty circumspect with an open investigation."

Bridget pouted. "I hope this doesn't mean it's going to drag this thing out longer. Not that I don't like your company, but this house arrest thing is getting a bit tedious."

Nick chuckled. "No offence taken."

"Well, off to the loo, then off to the library," she said, rising from her place at the table. "Excellent brekkies as always."

"I'm glad you approve."

Fighting the urge to bolt at top speed up the stairs, she scaled at a leisurely pace then went into the bathroom, closing the door and leaning against it. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone.

She never thought she could have been so happy to see a mobile phone. She started to punch Mark's number in and was about to hit Talk when a knock directly behind her head caused her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Bridget." It was Nick. "My mobile, please."

How did he know? "Nick, please, a little privacy please."

She felt the knob turning, and she leaned harder against the door. He was stronger than she was though and the door came crashing open. The jolt caused the phone to fall out of her hand and hit the floor hard. The fracturing of the case was audible.

Nick looked furious. "You little liar."

"That's not fair. I never said I didn't have it."

He looked surprised for a flash before the anger returned. He stalked past her to retrieve his phone. He picked it up, pressed a few buttons. His expression got even darker. "And now you've broken my phone."

"Don't put that on me. If you hadn't forced the door open and knocked me over I wouldn't have dropped—"

"Bridget!" he snapped, shouting at her. "Why do you continue to defy me?"

Indignantly she said, "I'm a grown woman and if I want to make a phone call, I can."

"Grown woman? When you have selfishly tried to undo all of the work we've done to protect you? It could put you in danger, put Mark's case in danger… all for what amounts to a temper tantrum?"

"No!" she cried; as she spoke, tears spilled onto her cheeks, and her voice began to crack. "It's because I miss Mark more than anything in the world, that being apart from him is like being deprived of a part of myself. Not even hearing his voice is killing me."

"Bridget," he said, his voice a little softer. "I am not unaware of how much of a toll this is taking on the both of you. I would never deny you a phone call otherwise." He set the broken phone down on the sink then gave her a big, fatherly hug. "You just have to have patience, and think of the bigger picture. When Mark's done with his case, you'll be safe, and I can take you back to London."

"Okay," she sniffled. "And I can buy you a new phone."

He tightened his embrace, chuckling.

………

Despite the morning's drama, the day turned out to be a relatively quiet one: Bridget found something nice to read in the library as Nick decided to devote the day to finishing his article. He had expected more theatrics when he insisted she read in his office with him (so he could keep an eye on her), but she agreed without a fight, leading him to believe that maybe she wanted the company. When he looked up just before they were to leave to start supper, he found she had dozed off with the book against her chest, sitting sideways in the chair with her legs dangling over the edge.

"Bridget, child, I never thought Wodehouse could put anyone to sleep."

She started awake. "Oh, goodness. What time is it?"

"Time to make supper."

"Oh." She turned in the chair and got to her feet, stretching. "What's on the menu?"

"I was thinking baked salmon, long grain rice and a side of steamed asparagus."

She grinned.

"What's so amusing?"

"I always feel like a child in the kitchen when you're around, but I don't mind. I learn a lot from you."

"You are a child in the kitchen," Nick said, fighting a grin of his own. "Come on, let's get started."

………

He must be a magician, thought Bridget, taking a long draw off of her after-supper cigarette, staring up into the night. I can't think how else to explain what he does to food.

It was miraculous he allowed her to come outside with him for a smoke, given her previous escape and phone call attempts. Secretly she thought he rather liked having someone to do these things with—cook, play chess, and even smoke—and suspected that Rose was not the chess-playing type.

"What's on your mind?" asked Nick.

She felt her skin flood with embarrassment. Thank God he couldn't see it. Thinking quickly, she supplied, "Just wondering how many more nights we'll be eating supper together."

"Ah." He paused, and she could see the flaring ember at the end of his fag. "Probably looking forward to nights out with your girlfriends and takeaway pizzas whenever you like." And Mark, she thought, but that went without saying.

"Well, yes," she said, "but that doesn't mean I won't miss you terribly."

He said nothing.

"Or your cooking."

She heard him chuckle. "I always thought Mark might have inherited the talent."

"He's much better than I am," explained Bridget. "But he's usually too busy to cook, hence the takeaway, or the housekeeper's cooking, but she can't hold a candle to you." She took another drag. "I wish you lived closer to London, Uncle Nick."

"As do I."

"And I don't mean just for your cooking."

He laughed low in his throat again. "I know."

She looked up at the stars, feeling wistful, imagining Mark was perhaps at that moment doing the same. That's silly, she thought chidingly. He's probably far too busy with his case to be gazing at the stars.

She stubbed out her cigarette, rose from the patio chair and stretched. "Well. I think I will have a bath before bed," she said, looking down upon him, preparing to bend to peck a kiss into his cheek as she always did. Instead, she dropped to a crouch then reached to give him a huge bear hug. She pecked his cheek, then said, "I will very much miss you," she said, her voice surprisingly laden with emotion.

He said nothing, only returned the hug, then kissed her on her forehead as she pulled away. "Enjoy your bath," he said.

She wouldn't swear to it, but she thought she saw tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes.

………

As of five P.M. tomorrow, it would all be over.

Mark had never felt so elated in his entire life. He had gone to the window of the bedroom he shared with Bridget, the anticipation of having her there again making him grin like a fool. He looked out into the evening sky, taking in a deep, relieved breath, then reached for his mobile phone.

He didn't think it would hurt to call Nick, to arrange for Bridget to be here at home waiting for him when he finished. He couldn't think of a better reward.

Unfortunately, he seemed unable to reach Nick's home number—a pre-recorded BT message saying all circuits were busy and to try again later was what he was met with repeatedly—so he simply tried Nick's mobile.

Strange. That wasn't ringing through either; it just kept ringing and ringing.

Mark then figured he would try again in the morning. It wasn't as if Nick lived hours upon hours away and needed an entire day to travel.

It concerned Mark a little that, when he tried again at the lunch recess the following day, he could still not get through, but figured it had more to do with BT then any threat against his wife, considering the man responsible was no longer free to make threats, let alone carry them out…

It didn't mean that as the end of the day approached, the sentence was handed down, and he still couldn't reach Nick that he was thinking about things rationally.

He simply got into his car and headed straight for Cambridge.

………

"Well, bugger," said Nick, more to himself than to anyone else. "I wonder how long this has been out."

"How long what's been out?" It was Bridget, looking up from her spot on the chair. She'd given the Wodehouse another go and had managed to stay awake this time.

"The telephone."

"What's wrong with the phone?"

"No dial tone."

"You don't think…"

Nick laughed at the dramatic turn of her tone. "No, Bridget, I don't think this has anything to do with Mark, the trial, or any threat against you. The phone lines out here can be a little unpredictable."

"Oh." She settled back into the seat, looking a little mollified.

"If I had a working mobile," he said cheekily, "I could call BT and find out."

As expected, she shot him a dirty look.

"Why don't you go to your neighbour's and see if they have a dial tone?"

It was a very good idea, but he hardly wanted to leave her in the house alone.

As if reading his mind, she said, "I promise not to make a run for it."

He thought about it, but decided against it. Mark wouldn't be done with his case for a few more days at least, and the line would surely be back by then. "I don't need to make a call that badly," said Nick.

He got back to work; Bridget got back to reading; before he knew it he was finished with the article, it was time to start preparing supper, and she had fallen asleep again. What kind of book does it take to keep that girl awake? he thought amusedly.

He stepped out of his office, leaving her to her nap, and was heading for the kitchen when a knock at the front door caught his attention.

Maybe it's a neighbour come to see if my line has a dial tone, he thought, perplexed.

He swung open the door and was astounded by the sight that greeted him:

It was his nephew, and he looked concerned.

"Mark?" he said quietly in his confusion. "Good to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Nick, is everything all right?" he asked. "I've been trying to reach you since last night…"

"A little trouble with the phone lines," he said. "It happens a lot."

"What about your mobile?"

"Oh, well," Nick explained. "We had a bit of a… an incident with the mobile and it broke, but that's neither here nor there. Why are you here so soon?"

Mark blinked confusedly at the allusion to the mobile struggle, but he then explained, "It's over and done with. Bridget can come home." He fell silent, then looked concerned. "Where is she? Don't have her locked in her room, do you?"

Nick laughed outright. "Not at the moment, no. She's in my office, at the end of the hall. She fell asleep while reading. Why don't you go wake her up, and I'll start supper. You're staying, I hope?"

Mark looked thoughtful, then smiled. "If you have the room for us, sure."

………

It had not taken Mark long to decide that he didn't want to have to make the drive all the way back to London before he was able to take her in his arms and hold her close. That would have been more than he could bear.

He slipped into Nick's office, his eyes immediately searching for and finding her. She was sideways in the wingback chair, her legs draped over the armrest, the opened book tented against her chest, which rose and fell with slow, measured breaths. He was sure that she had not been an angel during her stay, but right now she looked so much like one that he could not resist crouching at her side, touching her face tenderly, and brushing a golden lock out of her eyes.

………

Bridget had been having the most pleasant dream. She and Mark were picnicking on a boat on a very broad river; she could just barely see the banks but being with him she felt so safe that she hardly cared.

Through her sleep she felt fingertips against her face. Furrowing her brows, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and opened them unsurely.

She must have still been sleeping. That was the only thing that could explain what she was seeing.

"Hello, love," came Mark's tender voice.

Coming instantly into wakefulness, she pushed herself upright then scrambled into his arms. This had the unfortunate effect of causing him to lose his balance, sending his besuited self backwards most inelegantly to land on his backside on the floor. He was laughing, though, and as she laid there sprawled atop him, holding him like she might not let go, she began to laugh too.

"That's so typical of you, Bridget," he said, sitting up again with her on his lap. "Turning my world upside down."

She laughed once more, tears of happiness in her eyes, before she pulled him into a soul-satisfying kiss. Everything she wanted to say, every question she wanted to ask, could wait.

She could feel Mark chuckling low in his throat. "I'm happy to see you, too," he managed to get out, between those moments where she utterly laid claim to his lips. She pulled back from the kiss, still disbelieving that he was really here with her.

She combed her fingers through his hair; he closed his eyes at the very contact. "How is it that you're here?" she asked softly, placing tender little kisses around his mouth. "Aren't I still in danger? Your case—"

"Is over," he interrupted. "It's over and you're coming back to London with me."

She could barely breathe. This wasn't just some sort of clandestine visit, where Mark had changed cars three times in order to come to her; it was over and he wasn't leaving Nick's without her. "Over?"

He nodded.

"I'm not in danger any more?"

He shook his head.

"We'll be in our own bed tonight? Because I'm not letting you—"

She stopped when she realised he was still shaking his head in the negative.

He leaned forward to explain. "I am not waiting to get back to London for that," he said in a low growl into her ear. "Only supper."

"Oh," she said, rather giddily for one syllable, remembering the other bedroom with the double bed, the one farther away from Nick. "That will suffice."

"Do you think?" he said, lavishing attention upon her neck, taking her earlobe between his teeth. She felt dizzy, snaking her arms about his neck.

"I'm not so sure now," she said disconnectedly.

"Mark! Bridget!" It was Nick's booming voice. "Supper!"

It had exactly the effect she was sure he wanted it to have; Mark stopped what he was doing, briefly kissed her cheek, then murmured, "Come on, let's have something to eat."

She grinned. They definitely would be retiring early that evening.

He went to rise from the floor, but she was not letting go of him. "Bridget," he said, "I can't stand with you hanging onto me."

"Why not?"

"Hm," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose if you haven't been eating too many of Nick's muffins…" She swatted him playfully just as he swept her up into his arms and planted another kiss on her mouth.

"I'm not letting go of you tonight," she warned.

"Duly noted," he said, then strode out of the office.

………

When Nick saw Mark and Bridget enter the kitchen, her arms around his neck as he walked, carrying her, into the kitchen, he thought (and not for the first time) of how much he had misjudged her at their initial meeting.

"Smells wonderful," said Mark. "Pasta?"

Nick nodded, thinking it sweet that Mark was choosing to carry her to the dinner table. They sat down, she on his lap, and thought (again, not for the first time) how he'd never expected to see his nephew like this, so obviously smitten with this girl, even still.

"So explain to me, Mark, how it comes to pass you're finished with your case sooner than expected," said Nick, dishing out the penne.

"Plea bargain," said Mark with as much dignity as possible considering Bridget was nestled into his neck, eyes closed, smiling contentedly.

"Ah," said Nick. "I thought a plea might have been in the cards when I saw mention of additional charges, but I didn't want to get Bridget's hopes up."

Bridget popped up. "I'm glad you didn't say anything either! I would have gone mental!"

Nick chuckled. As if she hadn't already been going mental. He then watched as Mark brought a forkful of food up to eat and like a baby bird, Bridget opened her mouth, half-grinning, waiting for some penne.

Mark naturally obliged.

If Nick were a betting man, he would have bet his savings on Mark and Bridget claiming fatigue and retiring early.

"I presume," said Nick, "that the monster threatening your wife is safely behind bars?"

"Absolutely," he said, then took a forkful in for himself. Bridget leaned into the table far enough to grab her glass of wine, then took a sip. "He was, however, only in it for the money. He had nothing personal against Bridget."

"He was very good at writing scary things," said Bridget, then opened her mouth again for another bite of dinner. Mark had anticipated this and delivered it to her with impressive precision.

"Well, then I'm glad he's locked up," said Nick.

"For a very long time, despite giving evidence to the Crown against his employers."

"Hurrah!" said Bridget, raising her red wine and sipping again.

"Hurrah," echoed Mark, feeding her another bite.

They made it through one of two plates before Bridget, looking up to Mark, realised he had sauce on his lower lip, and felt the need to swipe it off with her thumb. As she stuck the edge of her thumb between her lips, their gazes seemed to lock. Mark then said in a strangely disconnected voice, "Well, I'm pretty wrecked given the events of the day."

"Mm. Me too. All this worrying has taken its toll. Think I'll sleep well tonight though."

Highly dubious of Bridget's proclamation, Nick could only reflect how he could have doubled his savings as Mark rose from his chair and carried Bridget upstairs. Nick stifled a smirk as he heard Bridget comment, "And we can even use the big bed!"

………

"Bridget," Mark whispered a scold in return, "I don't think you realise how easily your voice carries."

"Sorry," she whispered back, smiling. "I'm just so… happy to see you."

As he got to the top of the stairs, he tried to lower her to her feet. "Lead on."

"No. I told you I'm not letting go of you tonight."

He chuckled, conceding, as he raised his arms again.

"Go in there," she said, pointing to the third door down the hall. "I'll get my bag and—"

"Is there anything you really need from that bag?" he asked quietly, interrupting her.

She grinned, placing her lips upon his neck and kissing him. "I don't suppose I do."

He went to the door at the top of the stairs as she indicated and as the door swung open, he smiled upon seeing it. It was as dignified, as stately, and as bland as anything he'd had in his house before Bridget had moved in, and immediately he wondered what she'd thought of the Nick's decorating style.

Only now did he dare try to set her down, and this time, she allowed him to. She stood on her feet, but still had her arms linked around his neck.

"You know," he said throatily, running his fingers along the underside of her arms to place his hands on her waist, "this could prove to be inconvenient."

"What could?"

"Your refusal to let go of me. How am I supposed to divest you of your troublesome clothing?"

She smiled. "I trust you'll find a way."

Bridget was, of course, right; his employment of logic—releasing one of her hands at a time from around his neck—prevented the rending of fabric (and kept what he knew to be one of her favourite bras intact).

By the time her hands came away from him altogether, she was far too otherwise secured by his person to care where they were.

………

She didn't care if she slept at all that night. She had missed him far too much.

As a result, she also didn't care about whether or not he slept, either, and so upon catching him dozing, she stared at him until the inevitable result occurred and he opened his eyes. "Bridget?" he said, blinking sleepily. "What's the matter?"

Her only reply was to smile quite devilishly.

"Bridget," he laughed. "There's no hurry. I'm not going to disappear."

She pouted, lightly raking his chest with her fingernails. "But I'm not sleepy."

"Hm," he said. "I have just the thing to help with that."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Quickly he turned over and began to kiss her again, then, as he lavished a shower of light kisses on her throat, he said, "Glass of warm milk should do nicely."

"Mark!" she said, as he leisurely moved down to kiss the divot between her collarbones.

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend," he said, not stopping, pushing her flat against the mattress, moving to press kisses in a line along her sternum. "Nice big serving of turkey then?"

"No." She started to giggle, but faltered as she felt his tongue against the skin of her stomach.

"Oh," he said, grazing his teeth against her hip. "How about a bedtime story?"

"Hm, I quite like where this story is going," she sighed.