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Summary
He usually liked this part; the darkness enveloping them in close proximity, the oncoming headlights lighting her face for split seconds at a time, the calm, the crackle of the radio and the good-natured arguments about station choice. It usually felt comfortable. It was low stakes time in the presence of a beautiful woman; his scale dwarfing hers in a way it never seemed to in the field, the scent of her perfume and her hair. He could snatch the briefest of looks at her profile with little recourse, catch the flame of her hair in the headlights the chiaroscuro that settled on her features. That face was built to be rendered by a great master he thought, Rembrandt maybe. No, he corrected, Caravaggio; dramatic and reverential, like she was, and lit from within.
He realised that he shouldn’t really be so aware of all of this, it wasn’t entirely professional. She had an effect on him that he tried hard to deny.
Series
- Part 1 of Living with the Embers