Chapter Text
Prologue
“Mr Hiddleston.”
A welcoming smile was on her lips.
She greets me as I approach her in the little café near Sloane Square where we had agreed to meet. An empty cup of coffee sits on the little table in front of her, telling me that either I’m late or she had been early. Either way, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Would you mind if we walked a little?,” I ask tentatively and she shakes her head, still smiling.
“Not at all.” Grabbing her bag and jacket, she follows me out onto the street and for a moment we walk in silence.
London around us is buzzing. Cars are whizzing past, buses navigate the crowded streets, tourists with their city maps mingle among the posher inhabitants of this borough, probably trying to find the Natural History Museum or the V & A.
We finally reach the riverbank and I take a deep breath even though the air is probably not much cleaner here than further down in the maze of alleyways and streets. I can feel her eyes on me.
Her dark brown orbs, the colour of a rich hot chocolate I once had while on a press tour in Germany are, I have to be honest, not the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. The most wonderful eyes for me are grey and shining with long, curved lashes.
And closed.
Forever.
Their carbon copies, two wonderful sets, are still there for me to look at, however, even though at the moment they are probably, hopefully, drawing lopsided castles and superhero vehicles at their nursery.
Leaning onto the waist-high stone wall, I turn around slightly and look at her. The vehicles passing by are messing up her hair, strands of which have long fallen out of her meant-to-be-untidy French braid.
“Are you sure about this? I don’t know whether it will be what you expected,” I ask quietly, my eyes fixed on hers.
“I don’t have any expectations, Mr Hiddleston,” she shrugs with a smile. She seems to be smiling all the time. Reminds me of myself actually. And her.
“Please call me Tom. I might not be 25 anymore but we’re going to spend quite a bit of time together and I want this to be a comfortable situation for the both of us. Too much formality might be an obstacle there.” Shoving my hands into the pockets of my dark trousers, I try to take her in without appearing to be blatant.
She looks young but not immature and her outfit, a coral coloured blouse teamed with a pair of beige slacks, screams casual rather than stiff upper lip. I don’t know much about her except for her name and her previous work. That’s all I needed to know after Luke recommended her to me.
But then again this is not about her. It’s about me.
“Okay...Tom,” she nods. “How would you like to proceed? Is there anything you’d like to know about me before we start? Or do you have any questions in general? Any rules? Any taboos?”
She might be a bit younger than me, in her mid-twenties I suppose, but she is incredibly earnest and professional. She knows of the importance - for her and for me - and I am thankful for her sense of tact. Whether or not she will be that considerate all the time needs to be proven.
"To be honest, I have no idea," I smile a little shyly, my hand inevitably ruffling through my unruly curls which are finally shimmering in their natural colour again after I had to dye them for a role at the National Theatre a few weeks back.
"This is a rather new situation for me and I guess I'll have to tell you mid-way if there is anything I'm not comfortable talking about. Or maybe I could tell you in the end if there's something I don't wish to be included? I get carried away sometimes while talking and...well, it might happen that I tell you too much."
I know I'm blushing a bit, my body betraying me once more while I’m trying to pretend I’m cool about it. Talking too much has gotten me into rather embarrassing or uncomfortable situations a lot in the past and even though I try my hardest, it keeps happening again and again.
She nods, a sympathetic smile on her lips, which are the colour of ripe raspberries.
“Of course. You have the final say anyway and I’m bound to discretion by contract.” She pauses for a moment, her gaze gliding over the muddy, dirty brown water of the Thames nipping on the just as dirty beaches on either side of the riverbed before her chocolate brown orbs find me again.
“Mr Hid-...Tom, I’m not doing this for the fame or the money or whatever other superficial reason you might think of. I’m doing this because I admire you and I’ve always been an admirer of your wife. The last thing I want to achieve, is hurting you or the memory of her.” Again she pauses, looking at me for some kind of acknowledgement and I nod slightly, encouraging her to go on.
“We will do this at the pace of your choice. Whenever you want, wherever you want. It’s all entirely up to you. Professionally speaking, I'm all yours so to say.”
Her voice has become quieter while she talked and for a moment I simply look at her, taking in her words. I’m nervous but so is she, I realise. This is not only about me talking of my past, telling the story of me and my deceased wife.
It’s also about somebody finally listening, and she will do exactly that, listen to it all, knowing that she will be the first one, even my family and friends included, who will hear it all, every single detail. It’s a bit like therapy but instead of healing my wounds, I want to tell the world about the woman who has changed my life forever.
They might know all about her public image, the one they were allowed to look at when she attended premieres, hers or mine, and other events with me, but they have not the faintest idea of who she was as a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother.
It’s about time they got to know.
“Thank you,” I mumble finally and I can see her relax a little, just like me. Slowly, my lips curl into a smile and her own returns back to her full lips as well. This is new and different for the both of us but I am fairly confident it will work out well. The recent proof of her own nervousness and insecurity helps me to trust her and I know that with time it will be easier, it will become normal.
“Shall we walk a little?,” I ask, still smiling, motioning down Chelsea Bridge towards Battersea Park.
“I’d love to,” she replies gratefully and together we cross the bridge and enter the park shortly afterwards. Memories come flooding back but now is not the time to release them. Not yet.
We talk about the recently warmer weather, about the newest addition to the Royal Family - a boy, bless the lord- and new film releases. Who would have thought she likes animated movies just as much as I do? It's all rather casual and maybe even superficial but it helps us to get to know the other bit by bit. Opening up to a complete stranger, stripping off the carefully assembled layers of protection against the invasion by the public eye, is not easy. Strangers will have to become friends and what better way would there be than over dinner with a glass of wine?