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Helen wins the next game, besting them in only two rounds of the possible three Mr. Farnon proposed. Audrey is sure the others noticed she wasn’t much of a competitor tonight; as enjoyable as it was, for once her heart wasn’t in the game. She was far too occupied with reacclimating to thinking about this place as home without immediately having to consider how terrible it would feel to leave it.
Because she’s staying. She’s been suspended in the string of decisions about Gerald for so long that it’s rather strange to have settled on an answer. For everything to be over.
As soon as Mr. Farnon’s put the game away, Helen clutches Oscar to her bosom and heads up to the bedsit with a squeeze to Audrey’s shoulder and a thank you for them both.
After bidding Helen a good night, neither Audrey nor Mr. Farnon say anything more. After a couple of minutes, the quiet edges past mutually contemplative and becomes deeply uncomfortable. Just when Audrey is about to drink her last sip of wine and excuse herself to bed with a reference to the long day they’ve all had, Mr. Farnon clears his throat.
”If I may—what caused you to change your mind?”
She supposes she hadn’t exactly said. She’s still gathering her words when he speaks again.
“Er—sorry, or, erm, Gerald’s mind.”
“Not to worry,” Audrey says with a wan smile. “It were me. Mostly. And then it were him, I suppose, but only because—”
“Ah.” Mr. Farnon lifts his chin and sets his lip into a straight line, a sure sign he’s going to say something proud and a bit foolish. “As I suspected.”
Audrey brings a finger to the stem of her wine glass, then watches her own hand smooth over the tablecloth on its journey back to her lap. She sighs. “It weren’t…any one thing, really. I wanted to be here for Helen, and the baby. And to keep you in proper working order.” She’s just wine-warmed enough to add, “And that’s a rather mean feat. After all, you were already proving hopeless at finding a replacement.”
“That I was, Mrs. Hall.”
“And I wanted—” Her eyes fill with sudden tears. “—to be here when Tris comes home. And James.”
Mr. Farnon nods, the gesture a sharp little thing, his eyes darkening with the depths that always appear when his brother comes up in conversation. “I understand. But all the same, I’m—” He glances about the room. He’s laid eyes on every inch of this room ten thousand times, too. His home, since long before she arrived. “I’m sorry you felt you had to give up an opportunity.”
“It’s all right,” Audrey says, surprising herself with how easily the words come. She’ll miss Gerald, and she’s grieving the dream that’s stirred at her heart all year, the dream of being a wife again, a woman with a husband, loving and being loved. Not to start over but to create something better for herself and for Gerald out of all that she’s learned. But the most palpable emotion she’s felt this week has been relief—watching Mr. Farnon and Helen share the sound of the baby’s heartbeat, clear and strong, and the relief that Jess and Dash won’t have to know how dangerously close to separation they’d become, and the relief that she won’t have to pack her things and dread the day she realizes that all the well-intentioned letters and offers of visits “home” have petered out into nothing, or nearly nothing. “An opportunity isn’t everything, Mr. Farnon. I’m where I want to be.”
“Hm.” Mr. Farnon takes a sip of his stout, seeming, for once, at a loss for words.
She can’t say any of it, but suddenly she wants to tell him that she’s glad for everything that’s happened. That all the dog walks and kisses and conversations have made her certain she can love again. That she’d been afraid, divorce or no divorce, that it wasn’t possible for her to feel safe with another person again. And now she knows her fears were understandable but ultimately unfounded. Audrey knows that Mr. Farnon is relieved too. This time yesterday, he’d thought Helen would stay at Heston Grange and that Audrey’s notice would stick. She imagines him lonely, missing Evelyn as always, with no brother to yell at, no Herriots to pester, a housekeeper who cooks and cleans and minds the telephone but has no use for board games and books and drinks by the fire.
“Do you miss it?” she asks. “The…opportunity?”
Love, she means. And she’ll perish of embarrassment if he misinterprets and reminds her that he hasn’t hurt for opportunity—Dorothy, Diana, even that appalling Miss Harbottle, and those are only the ones she knows about. She means Evelyn, and how he’d adored her, the grief of heartbreak aflame in the broken man she met ten years ago. She means Robert, even, when she dares to remember the pleasure of their earliest days without taking a nosedive into the betrayal that was to come. She means husbands and wives, hearts beating in unison, a house becoming a home.
“Of course I miss it,” Mr. Farnon says.
He stares into her eyes, expression haunted. He looks so alone. Audrey places her hand on the sleeve of his jumper, her fingertips burrowing into the wool, and he covers her hand with his own. They’ve touched like this plenty of times—everyone touches in this house, with the practiced yet casual intimacy borne of living and working at all hours under a single roof, stripping off dirty clothes in the kitchen, handing over the necessary tools for late-night surgeries, brew traveling from kettle to cup to mouth, breaking bread again and again—but until now they’ve never touched with the awareness of how narrowly close they came to everything changing forever.
The kiss changes everything forever. It’s awkward at first, only because they both surge forward, both giving, neither receiving, and they’re sat at a perpendicular angle, and her chair squeaks, and somehow his beer bottle is in the way. But when she feels him start to pull away she grips his wrist through the jumper, and he must hear that as stay because he parts his lips and she relaxes her jaw and kissing becomes as easy and vital as breathing.
“Mrs. Hall,” he starts to say as they break for breath.
He stands up; she doesn’t know why.
“Don’t apologize,” she begs, rising from her seat to look him in the eye.
She expects bluster. I wasn’t going to, he’ll say, bluffing. But he steps closer and places a hand on her shoulder. The touch tingles, and she’s barely registered that before their mouths meet again. She’s felt young love twist her insides into ecstasy, the hazy promise of the future at least half of the fun. She’s felt a second chance love calm her and remind her what she’s capable of feeling. But this—a kiss with Siegfried Farnon—is pure desire. A simple, perfect need that sends her body lurching into his. His hands are warm and firm on her back and when she dares to bring her hand to the side of his face, she smiles against his mouth at the whimper her touch pulls from his throat.
“Oscar, up here!” Helen calls from the top of the stairs.
Her voice is soft, but loud enough to make Audrey and Mr. Farnon startle away from each other and freeze in place.
“There you are,” Helen says, and Mr. Farnon grins as if holding back laughter. “Silly kitty.”
Even if he’s managed to hold back, the laughter is contagious. Audrey’s exhale turns into a chuckle, and the release of it is yet another relief even if she has to stifle the sound. Mr. Farnon joins her, shoulders shaking.
Finally, Audrey sobers. “This will keep?” she ventures, regretting the question mark until Mr. Farnon nods resolutely, the remnants of mirth still playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Farnon.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Hall.”
Audrey leaves him with a smile, warmly returned. She walks past the kitchen, making sure everything is in order for tomorrow before she goes up to her bedroom. She imagines Mr. Farnon lingering down here a while longer, perhaps drinking the rest of his stout and thinking about what’s happened before he turns out the lights and heads upstairs for the night. She grins as she walks up the stairs, face flushed. For the first time in a while, she can hardly wait for it to be tomorrow.