To Sail Beyond The Sunset: The Life and Loves of Maureen Johnson

Chapter 12 - ‘Hang the Kaiser!'

I'm wondering whether Pixel will come back at all, so disastrous was his last visit.

I tried an experiment today. I called out, ‘Telephone!' just as I had heard Dr Ridpath do. Sure enough, a hologram face appeared... of a police matron.

‘Why are you asking for a telephone?'

‘Why not?'

‘You don't have telephone privileges.'

‘Who says so? If that is true, shouldn't someone have told me? Look, I'll bet you fifty octets that you're right and I'm wrong.',

‘Huh? That's what I said.'

‘So prove it. I won't pay until you prove it'

She looked puzzled and blinked out. We shall see.

Mr Bronson was at church on Sunday. After the services, at the huddle at the front entrance where church members say nice things to the minister about his sermon (and Dr Draper did preach a fine sermon if one simply suspended critical faculty and treated it as art) - at the door I spoke to him.

‘Good morning, Mr Bronson.'

‘Good morning, Mrs Smith. Miss Nancy. Fine weather for March, is it not?'

I agreed that ii was, and introduced him to the others of my tribe who were present, Carol, Brian junior, and George. Marie, Woodrow, Richard, and Ethel were at home with their grandfather - I do not think Father ever entered a church after he left Thebes other than to get some friend or relative married or buried. Marie and Woodrow had been at Sunday School but, were, in my opinion, too young for church.

We chatted inanities for a few moments, then he bowed and turned away and so did I. Neither of us showed in any fashion that the meeting had any significance to either of us. His need for me burned with a fierce flame, as did mine for him and we both knew it and neither acknowledged it

Day after day we conducted our love affair wordlessly, never touching, not even a lover's glance, right under my father's eyes. Father told me later that he had had his suspicions - ‘smelled a rat' - at one point, but that both Mr Bronson and I had behaved with such propriety that Father had had no excuse to clamp down on us. ‘After all, my darling, I can't condemn a man for wanting you as long as he behaves himself - we both know what you are - and I can't scold you for being what you are - you can't help it - as long as you behave like a lady. Truth is, I was proud of both of you, for behaving with such civilised restraint. It's not easy, I know.'

Through playing chess with my father and, shortly, with Woodrow as well, Mr Bronson managed to see me, en passant, almost every day. He volunteered as assistant Scoutmaster for the troop at our church... then drove Brian Junior and George home after Scout meeting the next Friday night - which resulted in a date with Brian junior for the following afternoon to teach him to drive. (Mr Bronson owned a luxury model Ford automobile, a landaulet, always shining and beautiful.)

The following Saturday he took my five older children on a picnic; they were as charmed by him as I was. Carol confided to me afterwards: ‘Mama, if I ever get married, Mr Bronson is just the sort of man I want to marry.'

I did not tell her that I felt the same way.

The Saturday after that one Mr Bronson took Woodrow downtown to a Hippodrome Theatre matinee to see the magician Thurston the Great (I would have been delighted to have been invited along; stage magic fascinates me. But I didn't dare even hint with Father watching me.) When Mr Bronson returned the child, asleep in his arms, I was able to invite him inside as Father was with me, lending his sanction to the meeting. Never once during that strange romance did Mr Bronson enter our house without Father being there and then publicly present.

Once when Mr Bronson fetched Brian junior back from a driving lesson, I invited him in for tea. He enquired about Father. Learning that Father was not home, Mr Bronson discovered that he was already late for an appointment. Men are more timid than women... at least in my experience.

Brian arrived home on Sunday 1 April, and on the same day Father left on a short visit to St Louis - to see my mother I assume, but Father never discussed his reasons. I could have wished that Father had stayed at home, so that Brian and I could have taken a little journey to nowhere, while Father guarded the tepee and Nancy did the cooking.

But I said nothing about this to anyone, as the children were as anxious to see their father and visit with him as I was to get him alone and take him to bed. Besides... Well, we no longer had an automobile. Before leaving for Plattsburg this time Brian had sold El Reo Grande.

‘Mo,' he had said, last year, leaving in April, it made sense to drive to Plattsburg; I got lots of use out of the Reo there. But only a fool would attempt to drive from Kansas City to upstate New York in February. Last year in April I had to be pulled out of the mud three times; had it been February I simply would not have made it.

‘Besides,' Briney had added, with his best Teddy Roosevelt grin, I'm going to buy us a ten-passenger car. Or eleven. Shall we try for eleven?'

We tried for eleven but failed to ring the cash register that time. Briney went off to Plattsburg by train, with a promise to me that when he got back,' he intended to buy the biggest passenger car available - a seven-passenger, if that was the biggest - and what did I think of a closed car this time? A Lexington seven-passenger sedan, for example? Or a Marmon? Or a Pierce-Arrow? Think about it, dear one.

I gave it little thought as I knew that, when the time carne, Brian would make his own decision. But I was glad to know that we were going to have a bigger motor car. A five passenger car is a bit cramped for a family of ten. (Or eleven, when I managed to catch.)

So, when Brian got home on 1 April 1917, we stayed home and did our lovemaking in bed. After all, it isn't necessary to do it in the grass.

That night, when we were tired but not ready to go to sleep, I asked, ‘When must you return to Plattsburg, my love?'

He was so long in answering that I added, ‘Was that an improper question, Brian? It has been so long since ‘98 that I am unused to the notion of questions that may not be asked.'

‘My dearest, you may ask any question. Some I may not be able to answer because the answer is restricted but far more likely I won't be able to answer because a first lieutenant isn't told very much. But this one I can answer. I don't think I'll be going back to Plattsburg. I'm sufficiently sure of it that Ididn't leave anything there, not even a toothbrush:

I waited.

‘Don't you want to know why?'

‘My husband, you will tell me if it suits you. Or when you can.'

‘Maureen, you're too durned agreeable. Don't you ever have any female-type nosiness?'

(Of course I have, dear man - but I get more out of you if I am not nosy!) ‘I would like to know.'

‘Well... I don't know what the papers here have been saying but the so-called "Zimmerman telegram" is authentic. There is not a chance that we can stay out of the War more than another month. The question is: do we send more troops to the Mexican border? Or do we send troops to Europe? Or both? Do we wait for Mexico to attack us, or do we go ahead and declare war on Mexico? Or do we declare war first on the Kaiser? If we do, do we dare turn our backs on Mexico?'

‘Is it really that bad?'

‘A lot depends on President Carranza. Yes, it's that bad; I already have my mobilisation assignment. All it takes is a telegram and I'm on active duty and on my way to my point of mobilisation... and it's not Plattsburg.' He reached out and caressed me. ‘Now forget war and think about me, Mrs Mac Gillicuddy:

‘Yes, Clarence.'

Two choruses of ‘Old Riley's Daughter' - later Brian said, ‘Mrs Mac, that was acceptable. I think you've been practising.'

I shook my head. ‘Nary a bit, my love; Father has watched me unceasingly - he thinks I'm an immoral woman who sleeps with other men.'

‘What a canard! You never let them sleep. Never. I'll tell him.'

‘Don't bother; Father made up his mind about me before you and I ever met. How are the Plattsburg pussies? Tasty? Affectionate?'

‘Hepzibah, I hate to admit this but... Well, the fact is.... didn't get any. Not any.'

‘Why, Clarence!'

‘Honey, girl, they worked my tail off. Field instruction and drills and lectures in the daytime, six days a week - and surprise drills on Sundays. More lectures in the evenings and always more book work than we could possibly handle. Stagger to bed around midnight, reveille at six. Feel my ribs; I'm skinny. Hey! That's not a rib!'

‘So it isn't; it's not a bone of any sort. Hubert, I'm going to keep you in bed until we get you fatted up and stronger; your story has touched my heart.'

‘It's a tragic ore, I know. But what's your excuse? Justin would have offered you a little gentle exercise, I'm certain.'

‘Dearest man, I did have Justin and Eleanor over for dinner, yes. But with a house full of youngsters and Father a notorious night owl I didn't even get my bottom patted. Nothing but a few gallant indecencies whispered into my horrified ear.'

‘Your what? You should have gone over there.'

‘But they live so far away.' It was a far piece even by automobile, an interminable distance by streetcar. We had first met the Weatherals at our new church, the Linwood Methodist, when we moved into our home on Benton Boulevard. But that same year, after we got on friendly but not intimate terms with the Weatherals, they moved far out south into the new J.C. Nichols subdivision, the Country Club district, and there they switched to an Episcopalian church near their new Nome, which put them clear out of our orbit.

Briney and I had discussed them - they both smelled good - but they had moved too far away for much socialising, and they were older than we and clearly quite well to do. All these factors left me a bit intimidated, so I had moved the Weatherals to the inactive file.

Then Brian ran into them again when Justin tried to get accepted for Plattsburg; Justin had given Brian as a reference, which flattered him. Justin was turned down for officer candidate training - a damaged foot, an accident that had maimed him before he learned to walk. He limped but it was hardly noticeable. Brian wrote a letter, urging a waiver; it was not granted. But as a consequence Eleanor had invited us to dinner in January, a week before Brian left for Plattsburg.

A fine big house and even more children than we had - Justin had incorporated into the house design an elegant but expensive idea; Justin and Eleanor occupied not just a master bedroom but the entire upper floor of ore wing, a master suite consisting of a sitting-room (in addition to a formal parlour and a family sitting-room downstairs), a huge bedroom with a pantry and wine safe in ore corner, a bath broken into units; a tub, a shower, and two closets, ore of the latter having in addition to its WC a fixture I had heard of but never seen before: a fountain bidet.

Eleanor helped me try out the latter and I was delighted! Just what Maureen, with her give-away body odour, needed. I told her so, and told her why.

‘I think your natural fragrance is delightful,' Eleanor told me seriously, ‘and so does Justin.'

‘Justin said that about me?'

Eleanor took my face between her hands and kissed me, softly and gently, her mouth slack-not a tongue kiss but not totally dry. ‘Justin said that. He said considerably more than that. Dear, he feels enormous attraction to you' - I knew that - ‘and so do I. And so I do for your husband. Brian affects me all through. If by any chance you two share our feelings... Justin and I are willing and eager to realise our feelings in acts.'

‘You mean a trade-off? All the way?'

‘All the way! A fair exchange is no robbery.'

I didn't hesitate. ‘Yes!'

‘Oh, good! Do you want a chance to consult Brian?'

‘Not necessary. I know. He wants to eat you, raw.' I took her face between my palms, kissed her deeply. ‘How do we go about this?'

‘Whatever is easiest for you, Maureen little love. My sitting-room converts into a second bedroom in only seconds, and it has its own little powder room. So it can be either two couples, or all four of us together.'

‘Briney and I don't hide from each other. Eleanor, I have found in the past that, if I simply take my clothes off, it saves time and words.'

Her mouth twitched. ‘I've found it so. Maureen, you astound me. I've known you ten years, I think. Back when we still lived on South Benton and we all attended Linwood Boulevard Methodist, Justin and I discussed you two as possible playmates I told Justin that Brian had that look in his eye but I couldn't see any way to crack your armour. The perfect lady, right out of Goday's Lady's Book. Since in order to be safe this sort of family seduction has to be negotiated between wives, we simply moved you to the Too-Bad list.'

I was unhooking and unbuttoning, while chuckling. ‘Eleanor love, I broke my maidenhead at fourteen and I've been in heat ever since. Brian knows it and understands me, and loves me anyhow.'

‘Oh, delightful! Sweetheart, I gave my cherry away at twelve to a man four times my age.'

‘Then it couldn't have been Justin.'

‘Heavens, no!' She stepped out of her drawers; it left her in opera-length hose and evening slippers. I'm ready.'

‘So am I.' I was eyeing her and was sorry, Briney hadn't shaved me, as she was as smooth as a grape - Briney was going to love her! Tall, statuesque, blonde.

A few minutes later Justin placed me on the Persian rug in front of the fire in their upstairs sitting-room. Eleanor was beside me, with my husband. She turned her head toward me and smiled and took my hand, as we each received the other's husband.

I've heard formal discussions at salons in Boondock, complete with Stimulator and Interlocutor, debating the ideal number for polymorphous sensuality. There were some who favoured trios, each of the four sorts of all four or any, and some who favoured high numbers, and some who insisted that any odd number could produce maximum pleasure but no even number. Me, I still think that a foursome of families, all loving and lovable, cannot be, beaten. I'm not running down any other combination and I like them all. I'm simply naming what I like best, year-in and year-out.

Later that night Brian telephoned Father and explained that the streets were getting icy; would he mind being zookeeper for us tonight?

Brian looked down at me. ‘What was the far-away look in your eye?'

‘I was thinking about your favourite girl -‘

‘You're my favourite girl:

‘Favourite blonde girl. Eleanor.'

‘Oh. Granted.'

‘And your favourite oldest daughter.'

‘Something ambivalent there. Positional grammar? Oldest favourite daughter. Favourite oldest daughter. Yes, I guess they both mean Nancy. Continue.'

‘News I couldn't put into a letter. Nancy did it.'

‘Did what? If you mean she did it with that pimply kid, I seem to recall that you concluded that a year ago. How many times can she stop being a virgin?'

‘Briney, Nancy finally decided to tell me. She had a scare and that pimply kid doesn't come here any more, because he wouldn't stop after a rubber broke. So she told Mama. So I douched her and checked her calendar with her and she Game around, just fine three days later, and she stopped being scared. But at last we were women together and we talked. I gave her some hurry-up Father Ira instruction, including the lecture that goes with the Forberg etchings - hey, that thing does have a bone in it after all!'

‘What do you expect? You're talking about Nancy's fancy; did you think I could stay limp? While Nancy's pretty fancy is verboten to me, I can dream, can't I? If you can dream about your father, I can dream about my daughter. Go ahead, hon; get to the good parts.'

‘Nasty man. Lecher. Brian, don't tempt Nancy unless you mean business or she will rum and sink her fangs into you; she's in an unstable state.

‘And now to the good parts. Brian, as we agreed, I told Nancy about the Howard Foundation, and promised that you would talk to her about it, too... and I telephoned Judge Sperling. He referred me to a lawyer here in town, Mr Arthur J. Chapman. Do you know him?'

‘I know who he is. Corporation lawyer, never goes into court. Very expensive.'

‘And a trustee of the Howard Foundation:

‘So I inferred from your remark. Interesting.'

‘I called on him, identified myself, and he gave me Nancy's list. For this area, I mean: Jackson and Clay Counties, and Johnson County in Cansas.'

‘Good hunting?'

‘I think so. On the list is Jonathan Sperling Weatheral, son of your favourite blonde.'

‘I'll be a brass-balled baboon!'

Later on that night Brian said, So Ira thinks this city slicker is his brother's woods-colt?'

‘Yes. You will think so, too, when you see him. Dear one, he and I look so much alike that you would swear that we are brother and sister.'

‘And you have an acute case of flaming drawers about him.'

‘That's a mild way of putting it. I'm sorry, dear.'

‘What is there to be sorry about? If your interest in sex were so mild that you never thought about any man but your poor, old, tired, worn out - Ouch!' - I had pinched him -‘husband, you wouldn't be half as good tail as you are. As it is, you are quite lively, Mrs Finkelstein. I prefer you as you are, good points and bad.'

‘Will you sign a certificate to that effect?'

‘Certainly. You want it to show to your customers? Darling girl, I slipped the leash on you years ago, as I knew then and know now that you would never do anything that could risk the welfare of our children. You never have, you never will.'

‘My record isn't all that good, dearest. What I did with the Reverend Doctor Ezekiel was stupidly reckless. I blush whenever I think of it.'

‘Zeke the Geek was your rite of passage, my love. It scared the hell out of you and you'll never take a chance on a second-rater again. That's the acid test for adult adultery, my true love: what sort of person you select with whom to share your escapades. All other factors follow naturally from that choice. This Bronson who may or may not be your cousin: would you be proud to have him here in bed with us tonight? Or would it embarrass you? Would you be happy about it? How does this bloke measure up?'

I thought about Brian's acid test and checked over Mr Bronson in my mind. ‘Brian, I can't pass judgement. My head is spinning and I haven't any sense about him.'

‘Want me to talk to Father Ira about him? Nobody can pull the wool over Ira's eyes.'

‘I wish you would. Oh, don't suggest that I want to go to bed with Mr Bronson; it would embarrass Father and he would say Mrrrph! and grunt and stalk out of the room. Besides, he knows it. I can feel it.'

‘I can understand that. Of course Ira is jealous of this city slicker, over you. So I'll stay away from that aspect of the subject.'

‘Jealous? Father? Over me? How could he be?'

‘My love, your great sweetness makes up for your slight stupidness. Ira can be - is - jealous over you for the same reason that I can be jealous over Nancy and her little pink fancy. Because I can't have her. Because Ira wants you himself and can't have you. Whereas I have no need to be jealous over you as I do have you and know that your riches are an inexhaustible bonanza. That beautiful flower between your sweet thighs is the original horn of plenty; I can share it endlessly with no possibility of diminishing its wealth. But for Ira it's the unattainable, the treasure that can never be reached.'

‘But Father can have me any time!'

‘Woops! Did you finally get past his guard?'

‘No, damn it! He won't give.'

‘Oh. Then the situation is unchanged; Ira won't touch you for the same reason I won't touch Nancy - although I'm not dead sure I'm as noble as Ira. You had better warn Nancy to stay covered up and downwind when dealing with her poor, old, frail Pop.'

I'm damned if I'll warn her, Briney. You are the only male in the whole world I am absolutely certain would not hurt our Nancy in any way. If she can get past your guard, I'll cheer her on - I might learn something from her about how to cope with my own chinchy, impossible-to-seduce father.'

‘Okay, you redheaded baggage - I'll sniff Nancy and jump you. That'll learn yuh!'

‘T'm skeered. Want a giggle? Brian junior wanted to look. Nancy let him.'

‘Be damned.'

‘Yes. I kept my face straight; I neither laughed nor pretended to be shocked. B. Junior told her that he had never had a chance to see just how girls are different from boys -‘

‘What nonsense! All our kids have been naked in front of each other from time to time; we brought them up that way.'

‘But, dear, he really did have a point. A boy's differences hang right out where they can be seen; a girl's girlishness is mostly inside and doesn't show unless she lies down and makes it show. That is what Nancy did for him. Lay down, pulled up her robe - she was just out of her bath - spread her thighs wide, pulled her lips apart and showed him the baby bole. Probably winked at him with it. Probably enjoyed it herself. I would have... but none of my brothers asked me to.'

‘Wench, we haven't found anything yet that you don't enjoy.'

I thought about that. ‘I think you're right, Brian. Some things hurt a little but mostly I have a wonderfully good time. Even this frustration over Mr Bronson pleasures me more than it hurts... since I can tell my beloved husband all about it without causing him to stop loving me.'

‘Do you want me to tell Ira to lay off? Ask him to give you the shut-eye chaperonage that I would give you?'

‘Uh, let's wait until you have sized up Mr Bronson. If you approve of him, I'll have my drawers off in a jiffy. If you don't, I'll continue my best Vestal Virgin act, which is what he has been getting. But, as I told you, my head is in a whirl and my judgement is no good. I need your cool head.'

On Tuesday the Post and the Star each reported that President Wilson had asked the Congress to declare that a state of war exists between the United States of America and the German Empire. Wednesday we waited for the shout of ‘Extra!' in the street, or for the telephone to ring, or both and neither happened. We required the children to go to school although they did not want to, Brian Junior especially. Woodrow was utterly unbearable; I had to refrain from switching him too often.

On Thursday Father returned home, in a state of tense excitement. He and Brian kept their heads together, and I stayed with them, mostly, while delegating all that I could. Woodrow demanded that his grandfather - or someone - play chess with him, until Father turned him over his knee and walloped him, then make him stand in a corner.

On Friday it happened. War. The extras were on our street just before noon, and my husband was on his way almost at once, after telephoning a brother officer, a Lieutenant Bozell, who picked him up and off they drove to Fort Leavenworth, their M-Day assignment. Brian did not wait for his telegram.

Brian junior and George were home for lunch, waited until their father left - then were late for school for the first time ever. Nancy and Carol came home from their school - Central High School, just a few blocks away - just in time to kiss their father goodbye. I did not ask if they were cutting classes or had school closed early; it did not seem to matter.

Father exchanged salutes with Lieutenant Bozell and with Brian, then headed straight for the streetcar line without coming back into the house. He said to me, ‘You know where I'm going, and why. I'll be back when you see me.'

I agreed that I knew. Father had been increasingly restless ever since his request for active duty had been turned down.

I turned everything over to Nancy and went back to bed... for, the second time, as I had impressed Father as baby watcher earlier, so that Brian and I could go back to bed after breakfast; we both guessed that this would be der Tag.

But this time I went to bed just to cry.

About three I got up and Nancy served me tea and milk and toast; I ate some of it. While I was fiddling with it, Father returned home in the most towering rage I had ever seen him in. He offered no explanation. Nancy told him that Mr Bronson had called and had asked for him... and that brought it out of him in a flood.

I think ‘poltroon' was the mildest term that he used about Mr Bronson. ‘Pro-German traitor' may have been the bitterest. He did not use profanity, just words of rage and disappointment.

I had great trouble believing it. Mr Bronson a coward? Pro German? But Father was detailed in his account and broken hearted in his response. In my own confused grief - my beloved country, my beloved husband, my secret lover, all the same day - I had to force myself to remember that Father was hit just as hard. His brother's boy - or was Tbeodore Bronson his own son? Father had hinted at the possibility.

I went back to bed, cried some more, then lay there, dry eyed; with this triple ache in my heart.

Father tapped on my door. ‘Daughter?'

‘Yes, Father?'

‘Mr Bronson is on the telephone, asking for you.'

‘I don't want to talk to him! Must I?'

‘Certainly not. Is there anything you wish me to say to him?,

‘Tell him... not to call me. Not to come here. Not to speak to any of my children... now or ever.'

‘I'll tell him. With a few words for myself, too. Maureen, his sheer gall amazes me.'

About six Carol brought me a tray. I ate some of it. Then Justin and Eleanor came to see me and I cried on my big sister and they consoled me. Later - I don't know the time but it was after dark. Eight-thirty? Nine? I roused at some commotion downstairs. Shortly my father came up, tapped on the door.

‘Maureen? Mr Bronson is here.'

‘What?'

‘May I come in? I have something to show you.'

I didn't want to let Father in; I hadn't cleaned up and I was afraid Father would notice. But... Mr Bronson here? Here? After what Father had said to him? ‘Yes, Father, come in.'

He showed me a piece of paper. I read it; it was a carbon copy of an Army enlistment form... which stated that ‘Bronson, Theodore' was enlisted at the rank of Private in the National Army of the United States.

‘Father, is this some sort of bad joke?'

‘No. He's here. That's authentic. He did it.'

I got out of bed. ‘Father, will you start me a tub? I'll be down quickly.'

‘Certainly.'

He went into my bath; I peeled off my gown, went in after him, thanked him. I didn't realise that I was naked in front of him until he looked at me and looked away. ‘Ask Nancy to serve him something, please. Is Nancy still up?'

‘Everyone is up. Get into that tub, dear; we'll wait for you.'

Fifteen minutes later I went downstairs. I suppose my eyes were red but I was smiling and no longer stunk and I was dressed in Sunday best. I hurried to him and offered my hand. ‘Mr Bronson! We are all so proud of you!'

I don't remember details of the next hour or two hours or whatever. I sat there in a golden haze of bittersweet happiness. My country was at war, my husband was off to war, but at last I knew the deeper meaning of ‘better death than dishonour' - I knew now why Roman matrons said, ‘With your shield or on it.' Those hours of believing that my beloved Theodore was not what I had believed him to be but a coward who would refuse to defend his country - those hours had been the longest, most hateful hours of my life.

I had not really believed that there were such subhuman creatures. I had never known one. Then to have it rum out simply to be a bad dream, the result of a misunderstanding over words... I've read somewhere that pleasure is relief from pain. Psychologists are a silly lot, mostly, but that night I enjoyed that sort of ecstatic pleasure. Even my fires of libido were banked and, for the time, I did not worry about Briney, so joyed was I that Theodore was indeed what a man to be loved must be: a hero, a warrior.

My big girls did their best to stuff him full and Carol made him a sandwich and wrapped it to take with him. Father was full of man-to-man advice, old soldier to new recruit; my big boys were falling over each other to try to do things for him, and even Woodrow was almost well-behaved. At last they all lined up to kiss him goodbye, even Brian junior, who had given up kissing save for an occasional peck on his mother's cheek bone.

They all went up to bed but Father... and it was my turn.

I have always been of such rugged health that winning testaments for perfect attendance at Sunday School was never any trouble to me - so wasn't it nice that I had two testaments when I needed them? I did not even need to think up a new inscription; what I had written for my husband was right for any Lucasta to any warrior off to the wars:

To Private Theodore Bronson

Be true to self and country.

Maureen J. Smith

April 6, 1917

I gave it to him, saw him read it, then I said, ‘Father?' He knew what I wanted, a decent amount of privacy.

‘No.' (Damn him! Did he really think that I would drag Theodore down on to the rug? With the children awake and only a flight of stairs away?)

(Well, perhaps I would.) ‘Then turn your back.'

I put my arms up and kissed Theodore, firmly -, but chastely... then knew that a chaste kiss was not enough to say farewell to a warrior. I let my body grow soft and my lips come open. My tongue met his and I promised him wordlessly that whatever I had was his. ‘Theodore... take care of yourself. Come back to me.'