Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ross pressed Demelza closer to him on the futon, then tucked the thin mofu under her. He managed to do this without waking her, though soon enough they’d have to rise and face the trials of the day. He wasn’t worried about what was to come next. In that moment, he was thoroughly enjoying his happiness--their shared happiness.

Her body felt good against his. Her skin, her softness, and especially her warmth. After nearly a full day of dormancy, the worthless air conditioner was now pumping out frigid air full blast. He tried to contain his shiver lest it disturb her, but no matter how chilled he was, he couldn't bear to leave her, not even for a minute, to switch the unit off.  Instead, he pulled the soft kakebuton --meant for one--over them both, and kissed her beautiful smile.

Even as she slept, she seemed cheerful--the condition of happiness just seemed to exist within her.

Of all the business trips Ross had taken in his decade of working for Botallack Paper Making Machinery Co., Ltd., this one to Japan had been the most interesting.

Today, with Demelza wrapped in his arms while he felt relaxed and content, he was actually able to frame the experience as interesting. But yesterday--and up until last evening--he’d still been oscillating between grumbling in the better moments, of which there had been few, and full-on seething the rest of the time.

---

“Ross? Ross Poldark?” 

Ross looked up from his book to see a strange woman peering down at him. He’d timed his arrival at Heathrow perfectly--he hated waiting but equally despised rushing. It was always a bit of a gamble how long it would take to get through security but this evening it had all worked to plan, and as he sat by the gate listening for his boarding call, he was feeling rather pleased with himself. 

It was a feeling that would soon disappear--and not return for several days.

This woman who now stood before him interrupting his well earned moment was rather tall with a bright smile and a tangle of red curly hair that she’d attempted to tame into a ponytail. In contrast to his business attire, she was dressed in track pants and a pink hoodie--one he’d later learn was quite soft. She had a travel pillow hooked to her rolling case and a shoulder bag that was bursting with what looked to be papers, books, and magazines. She was clearly ready for a twelve hour flight. 

Ross was certain he’d never seen her before yet she was somehow familiar to him. 

“Poldark from Botallack Machinery?” she asked.

When she spoke again. it came to him in a flash. It had been her athletic wear that threw him off.

“Of course, you must be Carne from the Bristol Office,” he said and offered her his hand but instead she plopped down next to him and began jiggling one trainer-clad foot. 

“Well, Bristol is where they send my paycheque and where I keep a rather empty flat, with the exception of several houseplants that somehow manage to stay alive, bless them, but I’m usually dispatched throughout the region--which they keep redefining anyway--so I’d hardly call Bristol home,” she explained without being asked. It was staggering how much personal information she’d packed into one sentence. “And please, call me Demelza. If I’m to be your partner in crime slash travel companion for the next week, then you can at least skip the formalities. I know it’s my name too but Carne always makes me think of my father....”

“Erm...yes. We should be boarding soon,” Ross mumbled. He purposely hadn’t made arrangements to meet up with her until they arrived in Tokyo but she must have sought him out.

Ross had spoken with Demelza Carne at least three times in the past month but never met her in person. On the phone she came across as both a giggly teenager with boundless energy (and a tendency to curse) and a matronly old aunt with a more disciplined, cheerful, outlook. There was something about her that just seemed out of sync with the rest of his work colleagues. He hadn’t imagined her to be late twenties or even vaguely attractive.

“So are you ready for this?” she laughed.

“Ready for…?” he asked.

“Tokyo...and then Osaka! And of course this year’s Pacific Rim Manufacturing Conference!” she chirped.

“I suppose. Have you attended others?” he asked, trying to remember the details of her CV.

“Oh no, this is new to me. But I’ve been assured it’s a fun time. And not just fun as defined by large scale industrial machine manufacturers--sorry, I guess that’s you--but genuinely a good time. At least according to Grace in the Tokyo office. Have you met her?”

“No, but I imagine I’m going to,” he said. 

The Tokyo office she referred to was not technically part of Botallack Paper Making Machinery Co., Ltd. but a “sister company” and a member of a larger global coalition of paper making machinery manufacturers that Bottallack had recently joined forces with. Ross was skeptical about these new relationships. There just seemed too many reorganizations and alliances recently--all untested and constantly changing. Nothing was what it seemed. Hell, the firm wasn’t even located in Botallack anymore and hadn't been for decades.

He--and Demelza Carne--were to present at the conference in Osaka on new approaches in customising high efficiency production lines, but they also were scheduled to meet with some potential buyers from China. They had a thorough and polished written proposal that had been the focus of the London and Bristol teams for some weeks now, and while they didn’t have to negotiate the financial end of the sale, they were still charged with making a persuasive pitch in person.

Ross assumed John Henshawe and the others in BPMM upper management had thought Carne capable, but certainly no one had asked him his opinion.

She must have caught him looking her up and down but laughed, and saw it as yet another excuse to explain things.

“Don’t worry--I polish up nicely when the need arises! But it’s really better to be comfy on such long flights,” she said no doubt assessing his clothes. Yet she must have approved of what she saw because she gave a quick nod and smile. It was a nice summer weight suit after all, well-tailored, in a shade of grey that worked well with Ross’s own dark colouring.

“Yes, I’m sure...you are right…” He began. Was it better to engage her or just let her go on?

“And I know it’s supposed to be like 35 degrees in Tokyo and even hotter in Osaka, but I always find airplanes so damn cold, I get the worst aches, especially in my legs. So it’s always long pants for me--and some good stretches if I can sneak them in--not all aisles are accommodating. You must feel that too, Ross--I mean you’re rather tall. I wonder how different the legroom is in First Class--I’ve only ever flown Business Class to Asia and in truth I find that luxurious enough as it is. So glad the BPMM sprung for that this time.”

“Yes,” he said. The horror of being squished next to her for twelve hours in Economy was enough to make him shudder. Then again, if she always talked this much, twelve hours in any configuration was going to be a trial.

“Oh look, Ross,” she said pointing to the Departures board. “Our flight has been delayed.”

So much for carefully laid plans, he thought. 

“I’ll go see what I can find out. Watch my things?” she asked, but bounded away without waiting for a response.

“It’s just rain,” she explained when she returned a full ten minutes later. “You’d imagine no planes would ever leave Heathrow if that’s all it took to ground a flight! And to think I was worried about typhoons in Japan--I’ve read August is the peak time of year for that.”

“Must be more than drizzle here. Maybe a storm in our flight path,” he said. Ross didn’t love flying in the best of times, and though he’d never admit it, bumpy flights filled with turbulence made him particularly anxious. As much as he disliked waiting, it might be better than a rough flight.

“Ah, that makes sense. Well, I got us some chocolates--I should have asked if you like chocolates--and a few crossword books to help fill our time. This one is the Sunday Times and this one is The Telegraph--I don’t like either one as far as newspapers go, but they both do a good puzzle.” She held up two books and smiled.

“Yes, they do,” he said and from his own bag pulled a Sunday Times Jumbo General Knowledge Crossword book that he'd bought himself earlier. He regretted the move at once, as she squealed with delight and grabbed his arm.

“Oh Ross! You’ve the same one?! This is going to be so much fun!”

---

The delay at Heathrow was the first of many unscheduled but inescapable setbacks. It wasn’t long after they’d taken off (two full hours late) that they hit the turbulence Ross had so dreaded. He tried his best not to let the distress show on his face every time the plane shook.

“Which was the goddess with the sacred owl? Seven letters...” Demelza leaned closer,  completely unfazed by what was happening around him. 

“Minerva,” Ross mumbled through clenched teeth. 

“Ah yes, I was thinking Athena but that’s only six--isn’t it? Unless it’s somehow spelled differently in Greek, like with an extra ‘E’ or something.” 

“No, it’s not,” he said hoping that would end things but she stared at him, waiting for more. “You need an ‘R’--see, number 8 down is Humbert,” he said hoping that would placate her.

“So it is, Ross. You hadn’t struck me as one who knew Nabokov protagonists!” she laughed. “Okay, look this over for me.” She thrust the book at him. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

The ‘fasten your seatbelt’ signal had come on but Demelza defiantly rose to use the loo anyway.  She came back after a few minutes and turned to Ross with a smile. Apparently this was all quite exciting to her. 

“I just spoke to the flight attendant and you were right about a storm in our path--it’s massive, it seems--so we are being rerouted,” she said.

“That so…” was all Ross could manage.

“If it gets worse they may need to make an unscheduled landing--that’s what they call emergency landings these days, you know.” She actually winked as she said this. “But, get this--before we can land, we’ll have to dump fuel and that’s best done over water. So that’s probably the Baltic?” She leaned over him to peer out the window. “Apparently we’re so loaded up with jet fuel that we’d risk exploding if we landed just now.”

“Oh…” he replied again. It was almost a moan that he quickly disguised as a tired sigh. Then his curiosity kicked in. Weren't flight crews notoriously tight lipped about potential dangers lest the passengers panic? 

“Carne,” he asked, “How did you get all that information just now?” 

“I just asked and Malcolm told me...”

“Malcolm?”

“The tall flight attendant. That’s his name…”

Chapter Text

Just as Demelza’s source had predicted, an unscheduled landing was made, in the middle of the night, in St. Petersburg. And while the fuel dump was a success--and they hadn’t met a fiery end on the runway--they still faced a four hour wait in the largely deserted Pulkovo Airport.

And once they finally arrived at Narita--a full day late--it was only a few hours before they needed to leave for Osaka, the next leg of their trip. Just enough time to catch up on emails and to get what supposedly counted as a full night’s sleep, but was really only three hours. 

Somehow it was already Wednesday, although not to their bodies.

This delay meant they missed working with the Tokyo team on a mutually agreed upon approach to the Thursday conference. 

“They were supposed to take us out for sake and karaoke, which would have been brilliant,” Demelza lamented. “And Henshawe said they really wanted to roll up their sleeves and strategise with us before you and I try to woo the potential buyers from Zhengzhou. So not only did we miss out on the fun, but it looks like we missed out on their insights too,” she sighed at the lost opportunity.

Of course she’d find a raucous night out enjoyable. Ross began to think all their delays might have been worth the bother after all if he’d been spared such an outing. He hated forced camaraderie--and he hated singing in public.

--

“Oh come on Poldark, it’s an adventure!” Demelza tried to buoy his spirits when they boarded the very early bullet train from Tokyo to Osaka. It was her idea to catch the 6:15 and apparently she had to wear her enthusiasm like a Girl Guide badge. “I mean, we may as well just get on with it. We’re still jet lagged as hell, add a bit of a hangover from last night’s mini bar--I told you not to, by the way…”

“I’m not hung over,” he huffed. 

“See? At least there’s something to be grateful for then!”

“Are you always this insufferably cheerful?” he asked her once they found their seats and were speeding south. 

“I should hope so.” She smiled and handed him a bottle of water, which he reluctantly accepted.

He was already miserably uncomfortable--still overdressed and more overwhelmed--but he’d never admit that to her. Ross was used to London crowds but hadn’t been prepared for the crushing throngs on the station platform; the press felt especially worse in the August heat. And if it was this hot so early in the morning, what would it be like as the day wore on?

He would also never admit to her just how exhausted he was--but of course she could tell.

“Are you always this irascible?” she laughed. “Is that the word I want?” 

“You tell me, Carne, you're the crossword expert,” he mumbled. He was still bitter about stertorous, her big crossword coup the day before. How the hell did she get that clue? Takes one to know one, he supposed.

“Ross, you like crosswords,” she laughed again. “Just think, if we hadn't hit that storm and gotten rerouted, you wouldn't have gotten to spend so many hours doing puzzles…”

“Not hours, days,” he interrupted. 

“Not days, hours,” she continued. “You wouldn't have gotten to spend so many hours doing puzzles in airport bars with me. See what you would have missed?” She hadn’t been insulted by his sarcasm. She didn't take much personally.

As the scenery flashed by, she leaned against the window, occasionally looking at him with what seemed to be a perpetual smile. He tried to read but couldn’t even pretend to keep his eyes open.

He hadn’t fully realised he’d drifted off until he woke with a start when she’d touched his arm.

“Ross, do you want the window? We can switch. Might be more comfortable--your neck looks stiff. Or maybe my pillow?” she offered. 

“No,” he muttered and turned away abruptly. There was something unsettling about her soft voice, the way she said his name. And back lit by the dappled early morning sunlight streaming in through the train window, she somehow managed to look lovely. 

“I’m awake…” he grumbled.

“Oh? Do you want to talk strategy then? I mean it’s all up to us now...”

“Us? So none of the Tokyo team will be at the conference or the meeting with the buyers? It’s just you and me?” Ross asked. “How did I miss that?” He was baffled that she’d been privy to such information. The emails he received from Henshawe had been very technical and dry as hell.  

“Nope, just you and me--the sole representatives of Botallack Paper Making Machinery Co., Ltd. and its countless affiliates. But come on, Poldark, we got this!” she said, punching him in the arm. “Where’s your confidence? Your fighting spirit?”

He was rather sure he’d already  lost any and all spirits somewhere along their travels. Maybe he left them in the airport bar in St. Petersburg--or maybe she sucked them out of him with her boundless energy and incessant chatter.

--

They should have sensed by the very long taxi ride from the rail station in Osaka, that things were about to get worse instead of better. 

“Good god, these accommodations are out of the way and nowhere near the conference center by a long shot, ” Ross moaned as he opened the frosted glass door for Demelza to enter first. Apparently unimpressed by gentlemanly manners, she shot him a look, then shook her head with a smirk. Maybe his instincts were outdated but he was past caring what she thought. 

But before he stepped in, he checked the address to be sure they’d arrived at the right place. It wasn’t what he expected--which would have been an actual hotel--but instead turned out to be a small guest house or ryokan. And it didn't look very traditional, at least not from its bland concrete exterior nor from its equally indistinct lobby. 

“Well, we’ll just have to leave early in the morning to allow enough time to get to the conference center.” Demelza of course couldn’t allow his complaint to stand. “Maybe we can go into the heart of the city later today and get a sense of how long it takes? I have a bus schedule…”

“Or we can just take a taxi,” Ross mumbled. “That would be easier…”

“Either way involves traffic, and that can be unpredictable--or predictably slow depending on the time of day, so it looks like another early rising for us tomorrow!”

Was that meant to be a good thing?

“Oh look,” she exclaimed, “there’s WIFI in the lobby here! Why don’t you start our check-in, Ross, while I see if Henshawe emailed me back?” 

“Of course,” he said, thankful for an excuse to move away from her, even if it was only a few feet. The interior space was quite narrow so he suspected all the rooms were stacked up on subsequent floors.

Ross rang the small bell and while he waited for someone to appear at the desk, he kept his back turned from Demelza.

“Oh, fucking hell!” she laughed. “Are they making this shit up? How could so much possibly happen in only one day?” If she wanted him to ask what was amiss, he was not going to yield so easily.

“Ross,” she finally gave in, as he knew she would. “You’ll never believe this…”

“Good morning, sir and madam.” Their host had appeared through a quietly sliding door and gave them both a polite nod. He either hadn’t heard Demelza’s cursing a moment earlier, or he just wasn’t showing signs that it had bothered him.

“Erm..hello, we have reservations under the names Poldark and Carne. I have a reservation number somewhere…” Ross began.

“So apparently the high speed fourdrinier lines in Taunton went down yesterday--and since there is no clear timetable of when production will resume, we have to revise the report with new data. Or rather, slice out all references to not only Taunton, since it's no longer our star example, but all the EPC projects and any DCS thermal controls. Then we‘ll need to rewrite the conclusions using only the remaining accurate numbers. But where does that leave the GCS steam condensate…” Demelza was talking but it sounded like she was trying to explain this ridiculous turn to herself, not Ross. For once she didn’t have a knee-jerk positive response.

“What?” Ross started to ask but then turned his attention back to the business of checking in.

“Yes, Mr. Poldark, I see your reservation here. For two nights. How would you like to pay for your room, sir?” the man behind the desk asked politely.

“Not sure why no one in the London office can do the edits, but apparently it’s on us?” Demelza went on.

Ross tried to drown out Demelza’s voice, but the bad news she’d announced loud enough for all of Osaka to hear, rang in his head. And knowing the way these things often played out at BPMM, he didn’t doubt Henshawe’s last minute assignment.

Demelza was tapping away, replying to Henshawe for both of them, although Ross suspected her tone and choice of words would be far more diplomatic than any he’d choose. He and Henshawe went way back, and Ross never hesitated to tell him whatever four letter words were on his mind.

“To pay, sir?” the man repeated.

“I was under the impression it was paid for when it was booked,” Ross replied.

“No, sir, that was just to make the reservation. Payment is due now.”

“Fine, let’s just get on with it,” Ross said. Same words Demelza had used earlier that morning but somehow his was not as sunny a delivery. Ross handed over his corporate card and tried not to tap his foot too impatiently. 

“Sorry, Mister Poldark, this card isn't valid,” the clerk explained.

“What? Why?”

“That's what the card reader says. It doesn't tell me why.”

“It worked yesterday…” Where had he last used it? The book shop at Heathrow, then of course at the bar in the St. Petersburg Airport. 

“Do you have another, sir?”

“Here’s mine,” Demelza said, apparently done catching up on the bad news from home. She handed her bank card over with a flourish, and of course a smile. 

“My apologies, Miss Carne, but this one is also invalid,” the man explained. 

Although this also inconvenienced him, Ross felt a certain satisfaction that her efforts to save the day had fallen flat. 

“What? Ross?! This must be some mix up! Didn't our cards work last night?”

“No, the Tokyo rooms were already paid for when we checked in and our train this morning had been pre-booked as well” he grumbled. “Here, this is my personal card.”

“Very sorry, Mr. Poldark. We don't accept Mastercard. Only Visa and JCB…”

“Cash. Ross, I can just pay with cash. Let's just do it so we can settle in and contact the bank to get our cards sorted straightaway,” Demelza said and began counting out yen from a wad of bills in her bag.

“Here take some of mine,” Ross said and reached into his wallet.

---

“At least he’s very friendly and speaks exceptional English,” Demelza whispered to Ross as they followed their host down a very narrow hallway to a very tiny lift. 

The three of them barely fit inside and when he heard the drive cables groan, Ross made a mental note to take the stairs next time. It took some time but they eventually landed on the third floor.

“This is your room and I can show you the bathroom down the hall…” the exceptionally friendly man began.

“Room?” Ross stammered. “Just one room?” 

“I’m sorry, San ...” Demelza began to intervene when she saw Ross’s face grow dark pink. Ross couldn't believe that she actually called the man San. “But there must have been a mistake, I believe the reservation was for two.”

“Two people, two beds, one room.”

“Well, have you another then?” she asked. “I think we have enough cash for a second room,” she turned to Ross and lightly touched his arm. It had been so unexpected, he jerked back and almost lost hold of his suitcase.

“Very sorry, sir and ma’am.” He really was quite friendly. “No other vacancy until Thursday night. Very busy week in Osaka."

“Of course,” Demelza said.

“Thursday?” Ross sputtered.

“It is a big room though,” the man said. “And there’s WIFI!”

“Let's at least look at it,” Demelza said and stepped inside.

Chapter Text

There wasn’t much to look at. Four blank walls in a glossy shade of white that somehow managed to look dim, and what appeared to be an air conditioner unit mounted up on the wall, almost out of reach. The ceiling was quite high, and while that may have added to the volume of the room, it didn’t really provide them any useful space. There was light but no view--the only windows were along the top of the wall close to the ceiling adding to the claustrophobic vibe. 

As might be expected, the floors were covered in tatami mats. Two futons were folded up in neat stacks in opposite corners of the room. Other than that, there were two low tables and nothing else.

“It’s very clean. Thank you...erm...Arigatō gozaimashita, ” Demelza said haltingly, and taking that as a cue, their host hurried away. 

Once she’d closed the door, the room grew even smaller. She flicked on the bright fluorescent lights, then quickly switched them off again.

“Remind me to never let Prudence Paynter do our travel arrangements again,” Ross spat as he unzipped his case with more force than was warranted.

“Well I doubt she will,” Demelza replied. “Prudie’s a temp and is being reassigned next week. You should take your shoes off, Ross--the tatami, you know...”

Was that a smug challenge to his cultural competency?

“Prudie is it now? Are you two close?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so sneering but all his contempt for the shabby room and their new work complications seemed to come out at once.

“No, I've never met her. She works in your office, Ross. I’ve only ever spoken to her by phone but I do like to get to know the people I work with--and who work for me--and I find that to be friendly with them actually helps to get things done.” She laughed again--she was always laughing it seemed--but this time there was just a trace of sarcasm in it, as if she was poking fun at his irascible nature.

“Yes, well, has she no oversight?”

“Prudie meant well.” That soft voice again. Was it worse than her laugh? “Ryokans are highly regarded--and quite frankly what I would have chosen for myself were I traveling for pleasure.” 

Pleasure. With everything around him so unpleasant, Ross found the word grating, especially coming from her mouth. 

“Yes, but not this one. This is more like a youth hostel!”

“No, it’s far more private than a hostel!” she laughed.

“Jesus, Carne! I’m really not interested in how you categorise the place! We’ve only the one room and it’s hot as hell!”

“Ross, check the weather. It’s hot as hell everywhere.” She’d already shed her shoes--of course--as well as a layer on top, and now only wore a close fitting tank with a short breezy skirt. If it weren’t for her bare feet, she’d look as if she was ready for a game of tennis. “And most ryokans don't have WIFI in the rooms, so we’re lucky there.”

Lucky bothered him even more than pleasure.

“At least there’s air conditioning,” she said looking up at the unit hopefully.

“That doesn't seem to work.” He stretched to see if he could adjust the settings and the fan speed. Ross was a tall man but only just reached the buttons. If there was a remote for the AC it was nowhere to be found. He pushed what looked like an ‘up’ arrow and waited. It got louder but that was all.

“At least we could check in now instead of having to wait until later in the day. And since we are flying home from Osaka, we won’t need to take another train back to Tokyo…though I rather liked the Shinkansen,” she added. 

Good god, if she said at least one more time, he was sure he’d lose his temper for real. He said nothing but exhaled through his teeth.

“And, Ross, do we really have a choice until we get our bank cards sorted? I mean I do have some cash--I read that it was important when traveling in Japan…” Again the smugness. Of course she’d read up.  “But probably not enough for two other hotel rooms so I’d have to get more.” She knotted her hair up into a messy affair and dabbed at the beads of perspiration that had formed on her skin with some garment she’d pulled from her case. It turned out to be a tshirt that she then tossed onto one of the folded futon piles. 

“Osaka is a major metropolitan city, Carne! There have to be hundreds of places that will accept my personal bank card and then the office can reimburse me later,” he argued. “Or we put it on your personal card,” he added, remembering her disdain for chivalry. “I mean if you’re able.” 

“Unless I’m maxed out, you mean? I happen to be very responsible when it comes to my personal finances,” she laughed. “But thanks for making assumptions about me based on...gender? Age?” 

“I didn’t mean that…” he mumbled but it didn’t sound like an apology. He couldn’t win with her.

“If you must know, I would need to check with my bank first before I use my personal card. I paid for some auto repairs for my brothers earlier this month. But before we left Heathrow I transferred the funds to cover things, so it's likely to be all cleared by now...I think. How long ago was that even?”

“Your brothers…”  It wasn’t a question because he wasn’t really interested in the answer.

“Look, Ross, it's just not worth it to find another room right now,” she said, perhaps reading the newest note of frustration on his face. “I know Osaka’s a massive city but there are no fewer than six separate conferences happening here this week, as well as a film festival!” She’d have read about that no doubt. “So already we’d be hard pressed to find a sudden vacancy that we can actually pay for, that’s better than this and not just farther out of the way! I too am knackered as hell, but none of that matters because we have less than 23 hours to get this proposal updated.” 

“And the presentation…” he reminded her.

“Oh that we can wing. No one pays attention to data in those things but they will when they see it on paper and have more time to deliberate. The proposal has to be our priority. Let's get it done and if we find we have spare any time after that, then we can look for a new hotel.”

“I suppose,” he muttered. She might be right but he didn't have to admit it aloud.

“And when I say the proposal is our priority, I mean yours and mine alone, with no help from the office back in London, because as Henshaw just made clear in his last email, they are all now at home...asleep.”

“Henshawe really had the nerve to mention sleep when we’ve had none? Good god, Carne, could this day get worse?”

“Oh Ross, I’m really sorry you have to share a room with me--and believe me, as much as I’ve come to like you, after so many hours together, I’m craving some privacy too.” 

“Carne...” he started with a sigh. 

“But at least I don’t snore and I’ll keep to my corner--I grew up with loads of brothers so I’m used to sharing space and staying out of the way. And I wish there was something I could do to fix your day, Ross, but the way I see it, every minute we’re traipsing around Osaka looking for an upgrade, is a minute we could be working. Let’s face it, we have a shit ton of work to do and it seems we’re rather fucked. And to be honest, I’d rather not lose my job over this debacle.” It was the closest she’d come to sounding desperate the two days he’d been with her. Or had it been three days? 

“Of course.” He didn't have it in him to argue more. He pulled out his laptop and settled himself on the zubaton next to one of the low tables. 

At least there were two beds, he thought. Or rather two futons.

Silently he began to scroll through pages of the precious document they needed to amend by tomorrow morning. Rather he was silent but she was humming. Or was the humming coming from the inefficacious AC unit?  

Inefficacious. That was a word she had claimed to dislike.

“Ten letters second letter E, clue is annullable…maybe... sexless? Oh that’s not ten... defeasible ?” She’d asked him in the Ice Bar, a slick and overpriced establishment at Pulkovo Airport, during hour two of their four hour Russian layover. It was quite late, or very early depending on how you looked at it, and few places on that side of security were open at all.

Ross knew a few phrases of Russian and the server must have understood some English--it was an airport after all--but apparently not enough to understand they might want food. So in the end ‘vodka pozhaluysta’ seemed to be the only mutually understood phrase. And that exchange was repeated more than once.

“That’s not what defeasible means,” Ross answered her. 

He was going to suggest they go their separate ways during the delay and meet up again at the gate, but he’d been disturbed by some of the leers she’d attracted as they walked through the deserted but not entirely empty concourse. Looks that had only intensified at the bar. So without asking her preference or her permission, he resolved to be her chaperone, even if it meant endless crosswords.

“Defeasible? Yes, it does,” she insisted. 

“I thought it meant ineff…” he began.

“Ineffectual?”

“Thank you for telling me what I think. I was going to say inefficacious,” he corrected her.

“Inefficacious? Ugh, I hate how that word sounds. Like it starts as one thing on your tongue but then ends up something completely different.” She slowly licked her lips while she spoke, perhaps to demonstrate she had a tongue. Ross quickly glanced around to be sure no staring strangers had seen that particular gesture. Of course they had.

“You hate a word?” he asked.

“Yes, so? But instead of inefficacious, I rather like...nugatory instead,” she laughed.

Ross shook his head and took another drink from his vodka, hoping they’d feed them on the plane. He wondered if she purposely collected words in a notebook, just for the obscure crossword triumph. He’d known people who did that, but most of them were pensioners. She’d said she had gotten hooked on puzzles because she traveled a lot and they helped pass the time on trains and planes, but were crosswords all she had waiting for her when she got home? He suspected she’d blather on about her personal life sooner or later, even though it was none of his business--nor of his interest.

“Nugatory ...” he scoffed. It was probably the first time in his life he’d ever uttered it; it was a thoroughly ridiculous word.

“Or maybe fuck all?” she said, perhaps suspecting that he wasn’t listening. “Or shit? As in ‘Demelza’s contributions to the BPMM presentation were exactly fuck all and thus they had a shit result?’” 

That had made him laugh. Maybe he just needed more vodka to tolerate her. Or she needed more vodka in her to be tolerable. 

But sadly they were now in their shit room in Osaka and there was fuck all to make anything more tolerable, certainly no vodka. Then again considering it was not quite eleven in the morning and they had a massive the task in front of them, that was probably for the best.

Ross wiped the sweat from his forehead but couldn’t do much to address his t-shirt that was growing damp across his back and chest. He just had to get on with it and focus.

At least this was the edited document they were working from--only 50 pages. The original report, a compilation of a dozen authors, had been 100 plus pages. This iteration was quite well written, a rarity in the field of industrial machinery. Hell, it almost made him want to buy whatever they were selling. He’d need to mention that to Henshawe when they got back to London. Right after he throttled him both for dumping this whole project on them last minute and for pairing him up with Demelza.

Ross still couldn’t fathom why in heaven's name the top BPMM brass sent them, of all people. Sealing lucrative international deals wasn’t really either of their specialties. He was a process engineer, Lead Process Engineer to be precise, and she was...what exactly did she do? She had one of those nebulous titles- -Resource Team Facilitator --that was more about people than machines. Back at Heathrow, Demelza had casually mentioned she had a theory why they’d been teamed up for this but she didn't go so far as to share it with him at the time. Was he supposed to coax it out of her? Well, not now. 

Thankfully she was silent for once.

She was sprawled across the floor in her corner, happily tapping away at her laptop, a pencil twisted in her messy bun. Her eyes squinted slightly whenever she paused to reread what she’d written, but that damn smile never wavered. 

Ross could feel his own facial muscles tightening as he tried to work. And any perspiration collecting on his brow didn’t correspond with any inspiration happening in the brain behind it. He ran his hands through his hair knowing it would stand on end but he was past caring about his physical appearance, though he made a note to himself to shave before tomorrow’s meetings.

At least the room was quiet. No street noise or boisterous neighbours to disturb them. But bland as hell, airless, and mostly just too small. Would it seem less grim if it were a little larger? By how much? 

That gave Ross an idea.  

“Carne! What if--hear me out---look at Appendix 6.3. We might have some leverage with the technical parameters of the low density cleaner models. If we push the 4% consistency model, instead of the 1%...”

“Oh, apply that across the board, not just to the pulp detrashers, and see what it does to production capacity!” Demelza squealed.

Ross did some quick calculations. “It looks good, at least for the first column.”

“Even the MCS drive control systems?”

“Yes, I think it could work,” he said. “We might not be as fucked as we originally thought.”

“Only marginally fucked? Here’s to cautious optimism!” she laughed and held up her nearly empty water bottle. She’d already drunk about three litres since they left Tokyo. 

“Ugh, I'm killing all ocean life,” she said as she crushed the plastic bottle in her hands. “Trust me, I’m not like this at home.”

“Not hot?” he asked disinterestedly.

“Oh, I’m always hot.” She winked then laughed again--a laugh that seemed to ricochet off the shiny blank walls. Maybe the room was too small for her voice. 

Now she was saying something about single-use plastics but he wasn’t paying attention and instead, was planning his next move. He opened a new spreadsheet and turned away from her.

“Listen, Ross, why don’t you concentrate on all the conversions and other numbers and I’ll edit the text as you go,” she proposed. “I’ve been told I can be persuasive…”

“Umm….” He wasn’t objecting just trying to take a moment to weigh the options. Apparently he took too long for her rash mood. 

“What’s a four letter word for precipitant, first letter ‘R’?” She’d actually woken him up on the flight from St. Petersburg to Tokyo to ask him that clue, then thought of the answer before he’d had a chance to speak. ”Oh, of course-- rash!”

His first impression, that she was just somehow out of sync--not just with his work colleagues but with his whole world--continued to be validated all these many hours later.

“Or I can do the numbers and you be the salesman--I’m told you’re good at that, Poldark. I mean good for an engineer,” she laughed to signal it had been a joke. “Really I’m fine either way,” she said and waited for him to reply. 

He didn’t.

“Okay Ross,” she laughed--of course . Everything she said was followed by a laugh. She’d probably laugh if she were hit by a bus. “There’s a vending machine down the hall. You keep calculating and I’ll go get us some cool drinks.”

-----

“Yes! That felt good!” Demelza sighed as she came bounding into the room. It suddenly seemed much smaller with her back in it.

Ross looked up from his laptop to see her hair was wet and she’d changed her clothes. She still wore the tank but now had on a pair of light cotton shorts that resembled men’s boxers yet were tailored for a woman--perhaps pants to a pajama set--and definitely not professional attire. But he supposed the space they now shared was anything but professional. 

She’d apparently had a shower. A damp towel was draped over her shoulder that she then tossed on the floor near her open suitcase by the door. So much for keeping to her corner of the room.

“You should try it,” she said brightly. Of course it was brightly. “It will cool you off, if only for a few minutes.”

“I will, at some point,” he said, “but I’m on a roll and would rather not stop working.” A subtle hint that she might try it too.

“The bathroom really wasn’t bad--not like some hostels or B&Bs I’ve stayed in. It was clean and felt private--I mean the door locks so of course it was private, but it didn't feel shared, if you know what I mean…”

Ross muttered something under his breath that even he couldn’t understand. Regardless of her appraisal, he felt entirely too old to be sharing bathrooms with strangers.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here...do you want what I think is lemon, based on the colour of the can, or would you prefer orange--again going by colour here--oh look, there’s a picture of an orange! They’re both fizzy and cold!” She held up two cans for him to choose from--all the text was in Japanese. “And when was the last time you drank any water?” she fussed in the soft voice he disliked so much.

“Earlier,” he answered vaguely. “And I’ll take lemon, I guess.” At least she didn't say anything about him being sour.

“You know we should plan to take a meal break at some point soon. I’m sort of hungry but then again it’s probably unwise to eat too much in this heat. So maybe just a snack?”

Ross was quite hungry and didn't need her to remind him. That morning they'd ostensibly shared a bento box she bought at the train station, although she’d eaten most of it herself. But despite his grumbling stomach, he couldn’t see going out for lunch now. She was right when she said earlier that they should focus. Every minute traipsing, was a minute they could be working. 

Traipsing had been his word.

“Nine letter word for ‘gadding about’,” she’d asked once they were finally back on the plane, headed for Tokyo.

“Erm...traipsing,” he’d said after a moment's pause..

“That isn’t nine letters,” she’d replied. It was a snort really.

“It most certainly is,” he’d insisted and began to write it out for her on a cocktail napkin while she counted it out on her fingers. 

They were very long fingers, he’d noticed. Good for playing the piano--or so his old Cornish aunt would have said. Aunt Agatha was always ascribing value to different body parts, especially child bearing hips (which according to her, no one had anymore). Agatha also thought Ross had legs made for riding a horse, but sadly that wasn’t really part of his daily routine in London.

“Oh you’re right,” she’d finally said. “Let’s try traipsing then.” 

Had that really been yesterday? It was too difficult to keep track of the time that had passed anymore, and now it seemed to matter little since the hours ahead of them in Osaka were quickly counting down. 

Ross rose to his feet and examined the buttons on the air conditioning unit again. This time he tried pressing a blue oval shaped one but it produced no observable change. His frustration wasn’t helped by the distinct headache he felt coming on. It could have been caused by any number of factors--heat, dehydration, lack of sleep, stress, her need for constant conversation. Maybe all of the above.

“Ha, whoa! Fucking hell!” Demelza cried, collapsing against her futon roll in a fit of giggles.

“What is it?’ he snapped. Was he really the only one working?

“Taste your drink, Ross,” she smiled and unable to wait for his response, began to scoot across the floor to get a better look at his reaction. 

“Carne? Did you do this on purpose?” The supposedly refreshing drinks were, in fact, alcoholic. Ross didn’t find the situation funny at all. 

“No, I assure you. I had no idea!”

“So ‘5% ABV’ marked clearly on the can meant nothing to you?”

“Good eye, Ross, and no, I didn’t see that,” she laughed and took a long draught. “It's not bad--sort of bitter but still thirst-quenching. A fizzy drink is a fizzy drink!”

He too took another drink--he knew it was a bad idea but could not resist the temptation since he was thirsty and the cold can was already in his hand. If only it wasn’t so damn hot in the room! He had another taste, this time more like a slug than a sip. 

“Kanpai, Ross! I suppose it’s happy hour somewhere in the world...” she cheered. “You know, I almost feel a bit like Eve, encouraging you like this...”

“Adam wouldn’t stand a chance with you, Carne. Neither would the serpent,” he huffed--it was almost a laugh.

He wasn’t sure what he meant but he knew he was done talking.

Chapter Text

Ross woke in the stiflingly close room completely bathed in sweat. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why he was so miserable, but the loud hum of the worthless air conditioner helped to jog his memory on both scores.

The exhaustion, the jet lag, and now the lingering effects of a stiff drink taken on an empty stomach, were too much for him. He laid his head back down on the makura and fighting the nausea, tried to think.

He was alone, that much he could tell, but how long had he been asleep? If it weren't so hot in there, he most likely would have sunk back into the sleep he so desperately needed. Instead, using all his self-discipline, he sat up. He first reached for his watch--it was almost one o’clock--and then the bottle of water sitting next to his futon.

“I’m leaving this right within reach so you don’t even have to open your eyes if you need it, Ross,” Demelza had said when he’d finally admitted he needed a nap. Even as he recalled it in his mind, he found her attentive voice as abrasive as her laugh.

The water was now warm but he took a few great gulps anyway. He didn't feel appreciative--this was her fault afterall for giving him the alcoholic lemon drink. 

But where was she? If he didn’t feel like total shit, he might have thought to go down the hall to make sure she wasn’t passed out sick at the toilet. Then again, she seemed to be able to hold her drink rather well. At least that’s the impression he got of her at the airport bar as they counted the hours with vodka upon vodka.

No, her shoes and her bag were gone. She must have gone out.

The AC unit was now rattling so loudly that it shook the wall it was mounted to. If he could better reach it or had something to stand on, he’d take a closer look. It most likely needed its ball bearings adjusted. 

Using the t-shirt lying next to him, he mopped the sweat from his face and torso. He didn’t recall taking off his trousers or his shirt off but apparently he had. His impressively hairy chest, which always served him well in colder months, was an absolute torment now. 

A shower would be ideal but he didn't want to leave the room for long in case Demelza hadn't taken her room key. 

Face it Poldark, you’re really fucked, he told himself. He’d fallen asleep on the job while his partner had skived off altogether. The way things were going, they would never finish the report, but he knew he would keep trying regardless. He’d always been a sucker for hopeless causes.

That’s precisely why he’d been drawn to BPMM years earlier. It was a gamble that had paid off. The firm had been on the verge of failure but he and Henshawe had proposed major changes that had not only saved the business but allowed it to thrive. Would that change if he blew this opportunity for more international buyers?

Before he opened the cursed document again, he checked his email to see if he’d heard anything on why their cards weren’t working. Nothing from the office manager who handled BPMM corporate accounts, only an automated message from the bank that told him a representative would be available to chat with him later during business hours. What did he expect? London was not yet awake. 

Still he held tight to the shred of hope that they could sort this and change hotels before night. The thought of sleeping in that room and sharing that tiny space with Demelza for twenty four hours was unbearable.

Hopeless causes indeed.

---

“Ross, are you awake? Can you help me with the door?” The familiar but not entirely welcome voice called out from the hallway.  

Ross rose to his feet and found his legs were stiff from sitting for so long. He really needed a good stretch. The hotel in Tokyo had had a pool--if she hadn't been so insistent on catching the early train he could have had a swim that morning.

When he opened the door, he saw Demelza’s hands were full with what looked like--and smelled like--bags of takeaway food. The enticing aroma was enough to set aside his resentful thoughts of cool swims and he reached out to help her with her burdens.

“Allow me,” he said.

“Oh thanks. I didn't want to spill anything,” she said breathlessly as she kicked off her trainers. “Okay, don’t laugh Ross, but I brought soup.”

“Hot soup?”

“Yes, but also cold noodles and some really cold green tea.” 

“Where did you go?” he asked and pulled one of the small tables to the center of the room and knelt next to it. 

When she joined him and began to unpack their lunch, he thought for a moment he could smell her too. Of course she was sweaty from her excursion, but she still had a musky sweetness about her. Unlike him, she didn't seem to stink in the heat.

“Not far--it’s a billion degrees outside. And as stuffy as it is in here, at least we aren't out in the sun. The pavement makes it even worse. But I found a very small park where I sat for a bit and then in an alley behind it, I found the soup and noodles.”

“You were wandering strange alleys alone?” His tone was so sharp that she’d no doubt miss he was actually asking about her safety.

“It’s the middle of the day, Ross,” she laughed. “But that was the brilliant part. This little place...I guess you’d call it a diner...well, it wasn’t open but when the proprietor saw me reading the menu posted outside--or trying to read it anyway--he opened up just for me!”

Ross was about to say something cynical about how a pretty woman can open doors but decided, wisely, to hold his tongue.

“The owner was the one who suggested hot soup--he claimed there were benefits to eating hot things on hot days. Maybe he was playing with me, a dumb western lady, but he seemed convincing. He also suggested the cold noodles for balance . He used a Japanese word but I don’t remember it. Remind me to look it up.”

She removed the lid of one of the cardboard soup containers and smiled as she breathed in the steam, then handed it to him proudly. “It’s tonjiru--miso and pork--I should have asked you if you ate pork. I hope you do…”

“I do,” he said simply but was so hungry he’d have eaten anything. Still, the pork slice floating in the broth was one of the loveliest sights he’d ever seen, certainly the first thing to have given him any joy that day. He’d already nabbed it with a pair of chopsticks and was shoving it eagerly into his open mouth before he remembered to thank her.

“Carne, this was a kind and generous act,” he began.

“Oh, stop it. I know you’re starving, so don’t worry about thanking me--if that’s what that awkward line was supposed to be. Just eat, Ross!” She seemed genuinely pleased to see him enjoy himself. She watched him for a minute then began expertly twirling noodles onto her own chopsticks.

“Oh fuck, these are good,” she laughed. “And try the tea, it's brilliant. It’s from the vending machine here, in case you are wondering how I managed to keep it so cold. Don’t worry, it’s not alcoholic!”

He hadn’t thought to wonder or to worry. He was too busy marveling at the silky pork belly slab that had lent its richness to the broth around it--complex but simple, rich but mellow. Truly the soup was the work of a master. 

“So you got some sleep?” She snickered with delight after glancing at Ross’s bedhead.

“Yes, but I also did some work. I read over what you’ve done so far too.”

“Oh?” She leaned back in amusement. “And does it meet your approval?” 

 “You know, the new version that you wrote today is really amazing.” He meant what he said but the satisfying meal was perhaps helping him to express his appreciation. “It matches the original text and tone perfectly. Seamlessly, really.”

"Like it’s one author? Imagine that…” She raised her brows and opened her mouth in mock surprise before she flashed a smile that was dangerously close to being a smirk.

“You’re the original author?” he asked cautiously.

“No, you’ll recall the original report was a mishmash of a hundred different technical reports and financial projections. But I was the lucky editor who pulled it all together into the final version--I mean the version we thought was final until yesterday. It was quite a feat! But I‘ll be honest with you, Ross…” She took a drink from her cold tea and looked across at him. “The section from your division was impressive--analytic and surprisingly well written. I could see you had a firm-wide perspective.”

“Firm-wide? You could tell that?”

“Of course. You can learn a lot about an author if you read closely enough. Anyway, I owe you an apology.”

“For essentially rewriting the report yourself just now?”

“No, I’m not doing it myself. Ross, you’re reworking all the numbers!”

“That's just as well since you …”

“Why? Because you think I don't know how to count?”

“Demelza...I never said that.” He was growing frustrated. He’d been trying to show genuine gratitude and she wanted to goad him into...into what exactly? She wasn’t really arguing, but teasing. Maybe she thought this was fun. He sighed and started over. “So why are you apologising?”

She looked at him curiously, her face still and unreadable for a moment, then it softened into her trademark smile.

“You know, that’s the first time you called me by my name instead of Carne,” she said.

“Isn't Carne your name?” He could tease too.

“I mean Demelza!”

“It's an unusual name…” he said, hoping he wasn’t now goading her. Even the most good-natured people didn’t like to be teased about their names.

“So is Poldark,” she countered. “Apparently Demelza is an old Cornish name.”

“Are you from Cornwall” he asked.

“No, but it seems I was conceived there. I know I’m a grown adult but I'd rather not think about my parents shagging on a beach,” she grimaced. 

He laughed and almost choked on his mouthful of soup.

“Anyway, The Cornwall Experience must have made some impression on them to saddle me with the name. My brothers all got off easy with rather standard names like Drake and Sam and Luke.”

“Easier to spell maybe but not as interesting,” he said. He tipped his cardboard bowl up and slurped the remainder of his soup. For the first time in days, he felt human.

“Thanks...” she replied with an undisguised note of suspicion. “I’ve been told Demelza means ‘thy sweetness’ but I’ve never had confirmation of that. Good god, it could mean anything? What's a seven letter word for repugnant or incorrigible?”

“After reading your work here, I’d say more like irreplaceable.” He meant that too. “I have an old aunt who lives in Cornwall. She could probably tell you what Demelza means,” he said. “Okay, stop dodging the question, Demelza. For the third time--you are sorry because…?”

“Well, I think it’s because of me, we got this shit assignment. Henshawe knows my background in technical writing, and since I edited the last draft, he most likely figured it would be easy for me to just whip up a new one. He doesn’t really understand what goes into it--the time…”

“And the skill,” Ross added.

Again, she froze for a moment, perhaps unsure if that too was a sincere comment. Finally she seemed to accept it and turned her attention back to her noodles.

“And I’m afraid that your reputation of being so sharp and rescuing failing production teams, means Henshawe has bottomless faith in you too, Ross.”

“You mean unwarranted faith?” he laughed.

“I didn't say that. You really turned this firm around with the systems modernisation you implemented, at least that’s how the official story goes. That was before my time, but you are legend, Poldark.”

“Why do I feel like that was a backhanded way of saying I’m old?”

“Are you going to finish your...?” She ignored his last statement and pointed to his noodles with her chopsticks. 

“No, take them but give me your soup?” he proposed. He’d been eyeing the last exquisite piece of pork in her bowl that she’d left untouched.

“Really? Oh, Ross!” She squealed with delight and for a moment he was worried she might reach across the table and hug him. He pushed the noodles closer to her, suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was still shirtless. 

If Demelza minded or even noticed his half dressed state, she didn’t say a word.

Chapter Text

"Fuck!” If Ross could have thrown his laptop across the room he would have. Any calm contentment brought by lunch had clearly evaporated, and now frustration and despair returned in full force. “After all these hours of work, only to find that…Fuck! fuck!”

“Ross, what is it?” The soft voice was back.

“All the conversions were working,” he started to explain while he continued to stare at the screen in utter disbelief, “it was just a matter of scaling up. Until Table 7.9...then suddenly the fucking formula no longer applies!”

“That's impossible,” she said, scurrying across the floor to read over his shoulder.

“Would I lie?” he quipped. Why was she so close to him?

“No I mean, you must have made a mistake. Let's give it another…”

“So you're questioning my judgement?” he asked. 

“Of course not. But I hope you’d question mine and ask me to recheck my work if the tables were turned, especially if our future depends on getting it right. Take your ego out of this, Ross.”

“My ego?” he sputtered.

“Ross, accept it. We got set up. Henshawe, BPMM, the entire industry has fucked us--up the arse. But we have to move on. Sure it would be great to show them up, to save their skins and impress everyone with our brilliance in the process…”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone!” he shouted.

“No, that you are not,” she laughed. “Now let me look.”

He thrust the laptop at her and rose to his feet. 

“I’m going to…” He didn't finish his sentence but slammed the door behind him. He’d slipped into his plastic sports sandals but hadn’t replaced his shirt, so he certainly wasn’t going out for a walk. His only viable destination was the bathroom. It was better than nothing.

---

She’d been right. Of course. A shower did help to cool him off.  

He’d left his soap and shave kit in the room but next to the bath was a cupboard with the customary small bottles and a stack of clean towels that he assumed were meant for guests. He lingered in the tiny shower stall, allowing the cold water to run over his body, unaware of the time--and wholly unconcerned. What was waiting for him back in the room? Demelza’s skill was in writing, not systems analysis. There was simply no way she could conjure up the result they needed. 

Finally someone knocked on the door so he felt compelled to move along. He tried his best to dry off with the thin towel that proved no match for his expansive chest hair, then dressed in only his boxers. With nowhere else to go, he reluctantly returned to the room, hoping he could quickly put more clothes on without Demelza noticing.

He’d left without his key so he had to knock.

“What’s a four letter word for ‘bed driven’?” she asked, as she stepped back from the door, still unfazed by his half-dressed state.

“Bed driven?” he repeated and dove for his case straightaway. Thankfully he’d shoved a pair of quick dry athletic shorts into his packing at the last minute. He slipped them on over his boxers but left his shirt off for the time being.

“Yes, I believe it's meant to be a play on bed ridden.”

“You’re doing a crossword?” he asked. “Now?”

“Yes, Ross, to clear my mind.”

“I thought you wanted to check my work…”

“I did,” she said. “And you were right. The new formula doesn't work for any grammage ranges higher than 20.5 g/m2 …”

“Damn. So now what…”

“I sent Henshawe an email and let him know it might not work to redo the full proposal after all. Let me take a quick break and we can figure what parts of the original text to cut based on the numbers that do work, not that I like that solution. You’re the engineer but I’m pretty sure cherry picking data doesn’t make for good science, does it?”

“You did all that while I was in the shower?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“It took only a minute to see you were right. Another two minutes to warn Henshawe. I suppose I should have deliberated more on how I phrased things, since it might mean our necks.”

“I'm sure your email was just fine,” he said. No doubt he would have irreparably bungled it. She was right--she most often was--they needed to clear their heads. “Now what was the clue again?” he asked and sat down on his zubaton across from her.

“Bed driven,” she repeated. “Four letters...Hmm... Lust? Want?”

“Worn?” he suggested. 

“Oh yes, I don’t know why I wasn’t thinking of ‘tired’ words. That’s ironic,” she noted. “Spent?”

“That's five letters.”

“Yes, you’re right again, Ross, and I suppose that spent is what happens after you’ve been to bed,” she laughed but this time it was soft, like a restrained giggle. Was she finally flagging or did talking about sex embarrass her?

“Sick?” he offered.

“Love?” She looked up at him.

“Beat? Pain?”

“Wow, Ross. Are you always so insufferably glum?” 

He opened his mouth to rib her back but then saw she wasn’t joking.  

And why should she? Why should she waste another second trying to lighten their spirits, while also keeping them both on track? She’d done most of her agreed upon portion of the report, hell, she’d been the one to find them food and drink. All he had done was moan and shout and fill the room with his grey thoughts and his hairy, sweaty body.

Never once had she complained when she had just as many reasons to--if not more. Never once had she questioned whether she’d be safe with him, a big hulking man, ostensibly a stranger--and one with a temper.

He’d been inwardly complaining about her incessant laughter, but she was right. There was nothing funny about him. 

She stared at him for another uncomfortable moment, then moved away to go rifle through her case. 

He leaned over at the puzzle she’d abandoned on the table. Even her writing was cheerful. A drop of water from his hair fell on the page and smeared the pencil.

“I think the second letter might be O,” he said. “So love would work.”  It was a rather nugatory peace offering.

“Yes, it could be love,” she said flatly.

Or done. 

It suddenly was too quiet in there.

“Listen, Carne, you've had hardly any sleep for days except for only a few hours. Why don’t you lie down and get some kip? I’ll go get us some more provisions so you can have some time alone,” he said.

“Don't you need me?” she asked. “To help you, I mean? 

“Well, you are the brains in this operation,” he tried to joke but it sounded brittle and sarcastic coming from him and when he heard her sharp inhalation, he was worried he’d gone too far. “But some sleep will...” He didn't know how to finish. He suspected he would very much need her tomorrow, that to sell this proposal--a shit proposal neither one of them really believed in anymore--he’d need her enthusiasm and that perpetual smile.

“Sleep helped me to think more clearly,” he said. “It certainly won’t hurt you.”

“Okay but only twenty minutes. I’ll set my alarm but please don’t let me sleep longer than that,” she said and began to unfold her futon. “Actually make it twenty-two. I need two minutes to fall asleep.” 

He tried not to laugh at this quirk. She really had so many.

“That sounds precise,” he said.

“Napping is a science,” she said. He barely caught the wink but it was there. 

Perhaps she wasn’t totally done with him.

---

Chapter Text

Ross hadn’t a clue where he was going--there had been a stack of folded paper maps at the desk in the lobby but he hadn't thought to take one, and he stubbornly refused to pull out his mobile. He turned left in the blinding sunlight and then as soon as he had a chance, turned left again. 

It was a quiet little neighbourhood that surrounded them, mostly residential with a few shops. The occasional small garden or potted flowers on balconies offered some colour to the otherwise indistinct white buildings. He passed people but they weren't rushing, just going about their usual afternoon routine. 

Demelza would have found the flowers cheering. Of course she would. And she probably would take photos of the pink climbing roses and maybe even the small dogs that yapped further up the road. Perhaps she would say hello to anyone she saw--whereas Ross just lowered his eyes. She seemed fearless when it came to speaking the limited Japanese she knew, a tourist’s vocabulary picked up from Duolingo, she’d explained.

“Watashi wa atarashī koto, neko, dokusho, geijutsu, ryōri o manabu no ga daisukidesu,” she’d haltingly said to him on the plane, then burst into a tirade of giggles. “It means ‘I love learning new things, cats, reading, art and cooking’--at least I think it means that.”

“And do you?” he’d asked. It had seemed the more efficient response at the time than actively ignoring her.

“I do! And I hope we can see some art on this trip--especially temple art--if we have any downtime…”

“I like art too,” he’d said, knowing her next move would be to research museums and galleries for them to visit and then telling him about them in excruciating detail. 

Downtime. Well, that had been a naive dream.

Two laughing boys approached on his side of the pavement. He waited for them and their long shadows to pass before he walked on. He suddenly felt very lonely.

Perhaps he’d been too harsh, too judgmental of Demelza this whole time. After all, it had been a difficult few days for her as well. He was a shit companion and he knew it, yet she’d stayed steady and bright with him regardless. And without her drive and determination, where would they be?

She seemed well practised at the art of optimism--not just the perpetual smile but her words, her hopeful perspective in face of uncertainty. She could have learned it young, out of necessity. She’d mentioned she had brothers--in a large family she might have had a specific role to fill, offering comfort to fretful younger siblings or acting the peacemaker. Now, even as an adult, she seemed to still be making peace with herself in some way, with the world around her, like it was a means to survive.

Ross laughed lightly to himself, proud of his off-the-cuff assessment of her emotional landscape. 

Not bad for an engineer, she would have said. But then again, your specialty is analysing whole systems, not just individual parts.

You mean not bad for an only child, he would have countered. 

Were you then? No wonder you aren’t used to constant company or sharing your toys, she would laugh making it clear she was both teasing him, but still sympathetic that he’d grown up alone.

“Good god, I’m actually having conversations with her in my head!” 

Ross froze in his tracks, as if that would help stop the thoughts that over and over looped back to the ryokan and to the sleeping woman he’d left behind.

It didn’t.

---

“Oh Ross. You’re back!” Demelza leapt to her feet and met him at the door, then stepped back to allow him to enter the room

“Sorry, I was longer than 22 minutes…” he said and slipped off his shoes. Instantly he felt cooler.

“My alarm woke me. And I’m not your responsibility, after all,” she said. 

Ross couldn’t quite read her tone and that caught him off guard. It was so unlike her usual cheer, and in no way a playful or even self-deprecating tease--so what did she mean by it? Obviously, she wasn’t his responsibility. She was an independent adult woman. But as her friend, didn’t Ross have a right to care about her and to fulfill promises made? 

Unless she was purposely putting distance between them now.

“Ross?” Demelza asked, looking at him quizzically. “You okay?” She touched his arm--friendly, gently--and he felt the shadows disappear in a flash. Maybe he had been reading too much into everything. 

“Oh, what did you bring?” She took one of the bags from him.

“Nothing from your special source--this is all street food, I’m afraid.”

“That still sounds rather special.” She knelt next to the cluttered table and began to unpack the bag. 

“More noodles for you, since you liked them so much, and these are octopus balls--a regional specialty, I’ve read.”

“You read, did you?” she repeated with a small smile. “Well, Ross, thank you. You’ll have to tell me all about where you went so I can live vicariously through you. No one will ever believe I was actually in Japan, we’ve seen so little.”

“I should have asked you if you even ate octopus,” he said. “I hope you do…”

“I do, but I probably shouldn’t--they are so intelligent. Or should I say perspicacious?” she laughed but it was only a light one.

“What’s a four letter word for perspicacious?” He’d been the one to ask her that clue. Before they landed in St. Petersburg, the turbulence had grown more than unsettling. He thought engaging her in a crossword might distract him or at least disguise his nervousness.

“Have you any of the letters?” she’d asked him, and peered over to see what he’d filled in. She was close enough that he could feel the softness of her pink hoodie.

“I think the second letter is ‘A’...” he’d said. He recalled he’d liked her perfume--it was light and the way it mixed with her own body warmth stirred something familiar in him.

“Four letter words are the hardest sometimes, aren’t they?” she’d laughed as the plane lurched again. 

The ‘fasten your seatbelts signal’ had been lit for some time and now the flight crew walked through the aisles making certain passengers had done just that. When Malcolm came by, he gave Demelza quite the friendly smile. 

“So easy to confuse,” Demelza had said. “Get them wrong and your whole puzzle is fucked... Let’s see ‘wary’? Or ‘sage’?”

“Those are very two different things,” he’d said. 

“Well perspicacious means...clever but like hyper-intelligent. It can also describe an ability to notice and understand things that are difficult or not obvious. So part of that can be perceiving hidden danger...so I think wary works.” She’d gone ahead and wrote it in his book.

After that clue, she’d taken over the puzzle and finished it for him, but asking him his input on each word. His plan to distract himself on the flight had worked, but he’d lost any hope of escaping her chatter.

Now, in their hot, stuffy room, as she quietly unpacked the remainder of the food, it was her uncharacteristic silence that worried him. She held up a large glass bottle, examining the label for any clues of its contents but still said nothing.

“To be honest, I’m not sure what it is,” he explained. “I passed a shop that sold alcohol and I thought we should try some sake. But I don’t know if that's what this is…I think it’s stronger.”

“Maybe shōchū?” she offered. “We need cups…”

“Yes, of course,” he said. He should have thought of that. “Maybe warm booze isn’t the best idea right now…”

“Well, Ross, everything is warm, isn’t it?” she rightly observed and rose to her feet. Without any explanation, she left the room and returned only a moment later with two small cups wrapped in plastic that she must have retrieved from the cupboard next to the bath. “I might regret it,” she said, “but I think I could use a drink.”

Again, there was something in her tone that concerned him. It was more than just tired.

“Oh? Why’s that?” he asked, trying to sound casual, open.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started. “What if the problem with that last table is ultimately my own fault? I mean, in the version I edited back home, maybe I somehow corrupted the data?”

“Seems unlikely,” he said abruptly. 

“But really it all comes down to that last table, that one particular data set that just won’t work, doesn’t it? You have to at least admit it’s a plausible theory.”

“Demelza, it does us absolutely no use to speculate,” he said. “Let’s just look at it one more time with fresh eyes. Actually what we really need is a break,” he said and poured them each a drink.

“Seems like a gamble,” she said, peering into her cup.

“The shōchū?”

“No, what if even after a break, we still have no epiphany but then have even less time to work?” she asked.

“Then we go ahead and cut the bad data from our conclusion--it will make our written proposal weaker but we'll have to make it up with charisma in person.” 

“Oh?” She wasn’t easily convinced.

“But we need rest and relaxation tonight to pull that off tomorrow.”  

“So we're probably fucked, but if we don't stop working, we'll be more fucked?” she asked.

“Essentially,” he laughed. “Look, Demelza, let's spend one more hour on this--and that's it. If we can't salvage it after that, we never will. Then we’ll just send it off to Henshawe for a final review.”

“Yes, then the report can be his problem while we sleep,” she said.

"Well we should go to bed early tonight but before that...maybe once we’re done with our work, you and I can go out--for a walk, for a proper meal, for whatever.” He had the sudden urge to retrace all the steps he’d taken on his brief outing, to show her what he’d seen, what he’d heard, what he’d smelled. She would have loved the food stalls at the little market that he’d found. 

But how did he know she would? It had to have been something she’d said. 

“An excursion does sound brilliant,” she said cutting into his thoughts before he had a chance to follow them further. “And maybe it will be cooler by evening, so worth the wait?” A trace of her usual sanguinity had returned. 

He sighed with relief.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he laughed. “Demelza? What’s this?” he asked, looking up at the opposite wall. Over the course of the day, the room had taken on definite signs of occupancy but something was different now.

“Oh, I was sorting my clothes for tomorrow and I took some liberties and hung up your crumpled suit as well. I hope that's okay…”

She’d hooked two clothes hangers from the high window ledge--one held his grey suit and the other a dress of hers. The way his suit touched her dress, just at the edge, it looked like they were holding hands. Or maybe dancing. The dress was red silk--a bold colour--but he could imagine it looking good with her bright hair, on her body. They’d at least go out with a bang.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Oh?” She seemed taken aback by his gracious response. “I inquired at the front desk if they had a clothes iron we might borrow, but Satoshi said they didn't. But he did give me the hangers. Curiously, he appeared quite concerned that he couldn’t help us more…he even asked if I thought a clothes iron was something he should invest in for the future. He’s just really so friendly…”

“Satoshi?” he asked.

“Our host. His name is Satoshi.”

“Oh, good to know,” Ross said. I do like to get to know the people I work with--and who work for me--and I find that to be friendly with them actually helps to get things done...Isn’t that what she’d declared earlier?

“Anyway, it won’t be ideal,” she went on,“but tomorrow we’ll be so fucked that whether or not our clothes are creased will be…”

“The least of our worries,” he answered with a light laugh, then realised something else  was different in there. He cocked his head and listened carefully. “Demelza? What did you...is the AC working?” It wasn’t really cooler, or at least it was hard to say for sure since Ross had just come in from the blazing out of doors. But the unit sounded different to him.

“That was all Satoshi.” She proudly showed him the remote control she held in her hand. “He came up to check it out when I told him it wasn’t working. I don’t know what he did, but maybe it made a slight difference?”

Ross had a brief moment of alarm--at worst a panic and at least just a concern--that Demelza had had the clerk up in their room whilst she was alone. Satoshi might seem a friendly man but anything could have happened. 

Yet nothing had, he reminded himself. Demelza was capable of making her own judgments, and trusting whatever strangers she saw fit. She’d trusted Ross after all.

He reached up to feel the stream of air coming from the air conditioner unit. It was definitely a change, whether it would prove effective would be another story. 

“Good work,” he said, trying his best to put his own worries aside.

I’m not your responsibility, Ross. What had that even meant?

Chapter Text

“This octopus is amazing. Excellent choice! ” Demelza said. 

It was her idea to move the little table under the air conditioner hoping they would soon be able to feel its cooling. But the room still remained overly warm, so they had once again stripped down to the bare essentials. Demelza was back in her light shorts and strappy tank, and Ross reluctantly had shed his shirt again.

“Oh please, Ross. I told you I have brothers. I’ve seen bare chests and--gasp--even chest hair before. Hell, if I could, I’d take my top off too!” she laughed. 

“Is that how they do things in Bristol?” he joked.

“Absolutely. We have zero manners, you know,” she replied with a playful smile. “I’m glad to see you eating, Ross.” 

“What do you mean? I ate earlier?” he asked as he shoveled more noodles into his mouth.

“Yes, and I was glad to see it then too.” She snickered just a little, as though she was enjoying some private joke.

“Okay, Carne. Not sure what you are playing at but I’m glad to make you happy,” he laughed. He found, quite to his surprise, that in that moment he was happy too. Not merely because of her happiness. He really couldn't think why. 

“What’s your favourite travel experience, Ross? I mean besides this one,” she asked and poured him another warm glass of shōchū. 

“Kanpai,” he said. “Let’s see...I went backpacking with my cousins when I was in uni--to Patagonia. My cousin Francis complained the whole time but then once we were back home, he always talked about what a great trip it had been.”

“And you didn’t complain?” she asked. There was no smirk even though one would have been warranted.

“No, of course I was much younger then so sleeping in new places, in tents or hammocks was easier for me.”

“Oh you’re hardly old, Ross. I’ve never slept in a hammock but heard they are amazing,” she said.

“You think everything is amazing,” he said.

“Oh sorry…” She lowered her eyes and gave a sort of self-deprecating smile he’d come to recognise.

“No, it’s a good thing,” he added. “That you can still see wonder and surprise around you. That the world has not yet jaded you…”

“Jaded me?” she laughed. “Not yet? Is it inevitable that it will happen?” Her eyes appeared so soft as she looked at him, biting her lip. 

She was reading him, peeling back layer upon layer, to reach deep within him. But he didn’t feel exposed. Not by those kind eyes, that soft voice.

“Well, maybe not,” he said. “And you, Demelza? Your favourite travel experience? You travel for work so much, you must have stories…”

“Oh hard to choose. And I probably won’t be doing that in the future. I’m up for a promotion which means I’ll be stuck in the London office--your office--dispatching others around the world.”

“Will you miss it?”

“Yes, but from now on when I do travel, it will be for pleasure, for myself.”

“Do you like traveling alone?” He wasn’t sure why he asked.

“I’m good at traveling alone,” she said, “but I prefer going with mates. Even a shit hostel can be fun if you’re with friends.”

“Or a shit ryokan?” 

“Remind me to feed you more often!” she laughed. “Are you actually admitting I am your friend, Ross?”

“What?” he asked.

“So I’m not your friend?” She was enjoying this.

“No, of course. But what do you mean about feeding me? Are you implying…” But he wasn’t angry or even irritated. He saw it too. He was easier when his stomach was full.

“Let's just get this report done so we can go out…” Her shoulders were shaking from holding in a laugh.

“And find me even more food? I see what you are doing. But if that’s what it takes to keep the peace…” he teased. 

“Peace? Am I really so difficult?” 

“No, I’m aware of my good fortune. Just imagine if I’d been traveling with Warleggan. Do you know him?”

“That ponce in accounting? Let me guess, you two don’t get on?” 

“No, we do not," he said simply. "Demelza, do you ever wonder why us?”

“What?” she asked.

“Why did they send you and me on this mission? We’re from different ends of the business and it’s not really either of our fortes…”

“Yes, well, I figure they sent me because of this supposed promotion I may be getting. It’s either a test to see how I handle myself or a complete set up to watch me fail--so they have an excuse to pass me over…”

“Ouch. May I say that sounds a bit uncharacteristically cynical?”

“Oh, but I'm very good-natured about it all, so it's still technically in character,” she laughed. “Besides, it’s just a theory…”

“Okay, why me? Do you have a theory there?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And?”

“It’s because you’re so attractive,” she said matter-of-factly and took another mouthful of noodles.

“I’m what?”

“You never heard the nicknames? Granted I've never heard it directly myself, but I'm told they call you ‘Poldark and Handsome’ and then I’ve also heard you referred to as Lead Provocative Engineer’...you know, a play on ‘Lead Process Engineer’...”

“What?!” he choked.

“I don't think provocative is really the word they want, maybe alluring or seductive. You know me, I’d prefer pulchritudinous. This is a surprise to you, Ross? They were so open about it that I assumed you were in on it or maybe even started it…”

“So they sent me here, to this conference…

“And to this important sales meeting,” she added.

“Because I’m attractive? But that's so...shallow!”

“Oh, it is wholly inappropriate and short-sighted considering your CV. Quite frankly, once we return to London, it will have to stop,” she said, suddenly sounding official and unlike herself. “But it's not just that you're good-looking, Ross. You can convince people of anything because of your charisma and charm…when you decide to turn it on, that is. So probably after lunch,” she laughed.

“What?” he scoffed again.

“You never noticed you’re a good salesman? And don't tell me you don't know you're good-looking? Oh Poldark! Nice try.”

He huffed another series of objections, then poured himself another drink of the warm shōchū. He knew that was bad manners--wasn't each supposed to pour for the other? But he was growing more and more flustered and just wanted an excuse not to look at her--and that smile--and to keep his hands busy.

“I’m not going to pry into your personal life,” she went on, clearly about to do just that. She was enjoying the turn this had taken. “But I imagine it would provide evidence to your attractiveness, I mean surely you’ve had...partners?”

“I...what kind of question…are you asking if I’m single?”

“No, I wasn’t. But are you?” she smiled.

“Yes but...”

“Still regardless of your current status, haven’t you noticed the way people look at you?”

“What? How?” He shook his head in disbelief. But the more he protested the more she dug in. Her eyes were sparkling now. She was playing with him.

“How do they look at you? Are you seriously asking me that?” She laughed but it was also a warning. Last chance to turn around before the danger ahead.

“Yes, I’m asking,” he naively answered.

“Okay....maybe like this,” she said. 

The look she gave him could be described as nothing short of sexy. She inhaled breathily, her lips parted ever so slightly, just enough for her tongue to peek through. Her eyes widened and they no longer had that spark but instead hid something deep and mysterious. She held her chin aloft at an angle that wasn’t at all about the chin itself, but about drawing his eyes down her front to her breasts that projected forward when she inhaled.

Ross froze, stunned by her transformation.

“Really? Nothing?” She relaxed back into usual self with a laugh. “Then again, you didn’t notice the women in Pulkovo bar who flashed you those same looks.”

“What?”

“Yes, there were at least two of them. You were cool as a cucumber though, weren’t you? It was impressive--both your obliviousness and their tenacity considering you were with another woman.”

“They didn't know who you were…” he stammered.

“Oh, so you did notice them? Okay, how about this?” 

This time she winked at him. It was so exaggerated a gesture that she couldn't keep a straight face for long afterwards.

“I'd think you had something in your eye or were having a fit,” he teased, then poured more shōchū into her cup.

“Fair.” She took a drink and she contemplated her next move. “Okay, what about...this?” 

Now she shifted closer to him then leaned forward, and dragged one single finger slowly down his cheek. Her eyes were trained on him, her face calm, no more silly expressions. 

If she could see how it left him breathless, she pretended not to notice.

“I'd think I had something in my eye.” He managed to choke out the words, trying to sound casual.

“Oh fuck then. I've lost my touch,” she laughed. 

At that moment he was grateful for her laughter, her unwavering lightheartedness. She made everything feel easy--it really was a gift.

Now it was her turn to pour him another drink of the warm spirits. Afterwards, she held the bottle up to get a sense of how much they’d drunk, then she pushed her hair back from her forehead. Her fine curls were wet from perspiration, and reminded him of how she looked when she’d come out of the shower hours ago. 

For some inexplicable reason he felt compelled to reach up and touch them with the back of his hand.

She gasped and looked up at him with startled eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn't have done that--it's been a hellish day and I'm not myself.”

“No, Ross...” she said softly. “It has been a hellish day but that's exactly why you should do that.” She took his hand in hers and gently placed it back on her head. “And I think you’re being very much yourself.”

Ross tried to grasp the full weight of her words but knew enough not to argue. 

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. Her damp skin felt cool and he leaned in to be closer to it. His forehead met hers and they stayed that way for a moment, to steady themselves, to catch up with the whirl, with the inevitable that was happening around them. 

Even though the air conditioner hummed away, the room suddenly seemed so quiet, so still. He could hear the zubaton shift under them, hear her breath, hear his heart beat in his chest.

He knew he was going to kiss her--perhaps he’d always known--yet he’d no warning of how wonderful it would feel. To connect with those soft lips and take in her loveliness. It was both the warmest comfort but also a dangerously energised current that flowed through him in great waves.

“Oh Demelza,” he whispered into her mouth, unwilling to fully separate from her for even a second. 

“Ross…” He could feel her smile. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for some time,” she sighed.

“I’m glad you're now a woman of action,” he said, surprised that he had it in him to be playful after something so momentous.

“Action?” She took the bait.

She wove her long fingers into his hair and pulled him back to her. He might have expected she’d kiss him with the same drive and determination she always exuded. Of course there’d be no half measures with her. Especially not in love. 

Her breath on his skin woke him, as though she breathed life into him, and his arms--arms that had been lonely for far too long--gripped her across her back. All his muscles acted with one purpose: to hold her body close to his.

They were now on the floor, half on the unfolded futon, half on the tatami. Her legs were wrapped around him, her nails grazed his bare skin. He rolled her on her back and his whole body pulsed in anticipation. She gasped for air and he paused, laying his head next to hers for a moment, so they might each catch their breath.

“You know we still have a shit ton of work to do,” she panted.

He read it as only a half-hearted attempt to be responsible, and when she flung her leg around him once more, he knew her resistance was failing.

“That sounds utterly boring, Demelza,” he said and kissed first her neck and then her shoulder. His fingers slipped under the thin straps of her top and slowly began to expose more of her smooth skin, her enticing flesh. “Suppose I have other plans for you?” 

She reached for him and found his mouth again.

---

Chapter Text

“Did you sleep well?” Ross asked gently when he saw Demelza stir. 

“Ross, how long have you been awake?” She pulled the kakebuton up over her naked body and gave him a quick glance. He could see she was trying to read him--and his distance--to see where they now stood: the classic morning-after assessment. “Do we need to get up…” she asked, her eyes darting up and down his naked body.

“No, it's early still--6 o’clock,” he said softly and smiled. “We have plenty of time.” He put down his laptop and quickly moved to rejoin her, lest she get the wrong impression of his intentions--though the fact that he hadn’t dressed was a pretty clear sign. 

She eagerly made room for him on the futon and pressed her bare body close to his. 

“Mmm,” she sighed, as her fingers danced in his chest hair. “How things have changed in only a few hours.”

“For the better?”

“Yes, the air conditioning is now working and I need you to warm me…”

He wrapped his arms around her again and listened to her breathing. “We have plenty of time,” he whispered again.

“So we do.” She rubbed her face against his chest which he read as a request for a kiss on her forehead. Then she leaned her face up which he read as a request for kiss on her lips 

“I’m glad you’re still here with me,” he said. 

“And where would I go?” she laughed.

“You might have woken in the night after the shōchū wore off and crawled back to your corner.”

“Now why would I do that?” she smiled. “You can’t blame this on the shōchū, Ross. I like sleeping with you and I like lying here awake too.”

“And do you like me?” 

“I could learn to,” she teased.

“Maybe this will help--I have some surprises for you.”

“What? Surprises? My my, Ross. I read you wrong.”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Never,” she said and planted a kiss on his lips. “You are whimsical and fanciful and astonishing…”

“I don't know about whimsical, but if you are going to do that thing again where you pay me compliments, please do.” He laughed and stroked her bare back. “At least I liked how that ended last night.”

“Those weren't empty compliments but the truth,” she said.

“Go on then. I believe I was astonishing…”

“Let’s see…” She eagerly played along. “You also have secret depths and many, many hidden talents. Okay, is it my turn to receive compliments?”

“You…” he stopped and found himself choking on what was either a breath or a sigh--or maybe just the words felt so meaningful that they filled his throat, his chest, his heart. 

“That inspiring, huh?” she started to tease, then looked at his face and saw his loss of words was caused by something else. She put her head to his heart and he felt her patience sink into his skin.

Finally he managed to speak. “You make me really happy when I’m around you, Demelza,” he said seriously. “You make the world a better place.”

“Oh?”

“And you're clever as hell.”

“Mmm…”

“And you're a brilliant travel companion.” 

“Am I?” she smiled this time with pride. She had so very many different smiles.

“And you're beautiful and very sexy…” he said, dragging the back of his hand down her thigh until she squirmed and threw her whole leg across his body, a gesture he now knew signaled her excitement. “Okay, is that enough?” he teased. “Do you want your surprises now?”

“More than one? You spoil me.”

“They are for both of us, I admit. Okay, first I got an email from Henshawe this morning. He sent us a revised Table 7.9. The data was wrong for the higher grammage ranges, but it wasn’t your error. It was Sanson’s. He’d even known for weeks that he made a mistake but didn't own up to it until we found it. Do you know Matthew Sanson?”

“No, but he sounds like a prick! I have to admit I liked the idea of showing them up, saving their skins and impressing everyone with our brilliance in the process.”

“We can still do just that. I finished the calculations--they all work.”

“While I slept?” she cried.

“It literally took 5 minutes--but Henshawe and Sanson don’t need to know that. Let them think we slaved for hours.”

“I mean, we sort of did. Wait! Ross, were you working...naked?”

“Yes, well, I wanted to hurry up and get back to you. Anyway now your conclusion works.”

“Oh Ross that's brilliant. It means we aren’t so very fucked after all.”

“Not even marginally fucked. Henshawe also told me…” Ross paused, feeling a bit like a cat playing with a mouse. 

“Yes?” she probed.

“He said how impressed he was with your leadership and your attitude towards this whole debacle, and how lucky I am to have you coming on as new Regional Manager. So it sounds as though your promotion is a done deal regardless of what the prospective buyers decide today.”

“Oh…”

“So Regional Manager, is it Carne?” he laughed. “Imagine my surprise to learn from Henshawe that as of next week technically you were going to be my boss.” 

“It’s still not official yet,” she said quickly. “And don't worry. I read the company protocols carefully. We are allowed to have a personal relationship as long as I'm not your direct supervisor nor involved in any of your evaluations. I double checked.”

“You did? When did you…”

“Oh, back home. I just wanted to know in case…I mean, I told you I thought you were attractive.”

“You planned this?” He remembered the day before she’d said she’d come to like him, but had assumed she was teasing.

“Hell no,” she laughed. “In fact, once I met you in person, I regretted even entertaining the idea for a minute. So glad I never mentioned it to another soul. I bought that extra crossword book in Heathrow so we wouldn’t have to talk to each other on the twelve hour flight. That backfired.”

He laughed a deep chuckle that filled the room, then he kissed her again.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked.

“Very much. But only between meals. Although to be fair, most people are grumpy if they’re hungry or tired.”

“You make me sound like a toddler,” he laughed. “There's more news.”

“Oh? What's that?” She put her hand to his cheek. It was so soft a gesture it caught him off guard. A personal relationship. Yes, that’s what this was.

“Well I also connected with your girl Prudie on WeChat.”

“Prudence Paynter does WeChat?”

“Yes, she does, and she’s able to change our flight to extend our stay here by a few days, if you'd like. Just say the word and we can see some temples, maybe some art. Proper meals--you know people come to Osaka just for the food. Imagine actually leaving the room--together.”

“Really?” She started to sit up in excitement but he gently pulled her back down and wrapped his arms around her again.

“She’s also changing our accommodations but is waiting for you to pick between the Hilton and or the Fudouguchikan Ryokan.”

“Oh Ross, you know what I'd choose!”

“Then that's my wish too. It has great views and private onsen…”

“Let’s try to check out Dōtonbori--I love a good canal. And then Nara is a quick train ride from here, we can visit the Tōdai-j temple tomorrow!” Her eyes were dancing, already planning their next excursions. “Oh...erm...is she booking one room or two?” She bit her lip.

“It’s a suite, so technically it's three,” he said.

“And how many futons?” she asked with a sly grin. “Oh, Prudie will love that bit of gossip. But Ross, how will we pay for it?”

“Credit cards sorted as well. Turns out the office had informed the bank when we’d be traveling and where--so they wouldn't be alarmed by sudden foreign purchases. Standard procedure. But once the bank saw the charges in St. Petersburg, which had not been part of our reported itinerary, they assumed we’d been scammed or robbed, and they froze both our accounts. A bit overzealous for a couple of vodkas.”

“It was more than a couple. And that’s really your fault, Ross.”

“My fault?” he stammered, feigning offense. He knew she was teasing and expected her answer would somehow be entertaining.

“If you hadn’t insisted on acting the chivalrous gentleman at Pulkovo…”

“Chivalrous?” he laughed. “I was chivalrous?”

“Don’t think I didn't see what you were doing. Watching out for me like that, staying with me when all those creepy businessmen were lurking about--it was very sweet by the way--but if you hadn’t insisted on also buying a round or two, then all the drinks would have been on my card alone. Then only my account would have been frozen…”

“Yes, but then we’d have gone to the Ritz and spent the day in separate rooms and wouldn't have gotten to know one another,” he said, rubbing his stubbly cheek against hers.

“Oh, that’s true, and we certainly have gotten to know one another, haven’t we?” she said. “Wait, Ross, are you saying you’re glad we stayed here after all?”

He laughed--not quite her signature laugh but inspired by it--then he kissed her again. 

This time it was no quick peck. He put his hands on her head, and bracing his arm muscles--gently, lovingly--held her face to his. He was marking his admiration for her and the resurgence of the passion that had gripped him throughout the night. 

“Oh…” she breathed, then making sure he wouldn’t be breaking away anytime soon, she grasped his forearms with her strong fingers. “Ross,” she whispered.

“I think you’ve since inspired better qualities in me than chivalry...if you’ll allow me to show you…” He put his mouth to her neck and felt the electricity that pulsed through her body.

“Ross...do you really think we have time for...?” she murmured.

“Nothing matters but this moment, Demelza, you and me together…”

“Then we have all the time in the world,” she said.