There was the house…!
The lane became a circular drive about an immense informal garden, tall and lush with flowers… what sort Lewrie wasn't quite sure, but they were blue, pink, white, pale yellow, rather pretty, uhm… somethings, he thought, a real English country garden that would bloom colourful from March 'til November. Caroline's work, that, and her green thumb.
There had been time for ivy (he was fairly sure he knew ivy when he saw it) to lay tentative creepers on the house front, about the imitation Palladian stucco central portal, and the homey grey brick. New white urns sat on either side of the portal as.. .jardinieres, he puzzled? Big as wash-tubs! Some yews and hollies to frame them between the windows-aye, definitely recognisable yews and hollies.
His hollies, his house, his house… his door! It was a glossy dark-blue, with his silvery Venetian-brass lion door-knocker prominent at its centre… and that door was opening…
He was out of the coach before the postillion could get down to lower the metal step for him, knocking his hat off in the process, and galloping to enfold the brood which erupted from the house.
"Good God, Hugh!" he cried. "My, boy, my boy!" he whooped, as he lifted him off his feet. "I'm home! Gad, yer gettin' heavy as any man. Sewallis!" he said, lowering the wildly exuberant and squirming Hugh, to fling his arms about his eldest, who, for once, came into his arms with something akin to enthusiasm to embrace him. Ten, he was by then, and sprouted like a weed, already as tall as Lewrie's chin!
"God, you're a sight for sore eyes, Sewallis. Grown so…!"
"Welcome home, Father," Sewallis said, teared up and with his lower lip trembling, but clinging to some shred of his sober stoicism. "We've missed you so."
"Yay, you're back, you're back!" Hugh crowed, so excited that he was capering sidewise like a cross-gaited pony. "Did you kill lots of Frenchmen? Did you sink a lot of ships? What'd you bring us? Ooh, what's this… a medal! Hurrah, did you get it from the King?"
"Boys… my God!" He shuddered, hugging them close to either side of him. "And little Charlotte?" He knelt down, tears in his eyes, as he beheld a perfectly adorable wee girl-child, no longer a squawling chub, but a miniature young lady so like her mother, with her mother's radiant amber-hazel eyes and spider-web fine, light-brown hair, long and bound into a loose tail beneath a missish little mob-cap. "When I left, you were still in swaddles. Lord, is it you, Charlotte?"
She hung back, a tad leery of him, a coy finger tugging at one corner of her pert little mouth… staring at him wide-eyed, like at a bad bargain. She came within grasping range only at his coaxing.
"Are you really my daddy?" she asked of a sudden, sounding just a bit cross and hiding her pudgy little hands in the folds of her fully flounced little sack gown.
"Well, o' course I am, Charlotte," he assured her, a tad put off. "Just been away too long, that's all. Of course I am."
As if to say, "Well, that's alright then," she relented, rushed to reward him with such a radiant and flirtatious smile, and flung her arms 'round his neck. He picked her up and stood, not knowing quite what to do with such a delicate packet, as she at last giggled aloud and gave him a peck on the cheek. Daughters, he thought ruefully, as he returned the favour upon both her cheeks; boys, now… them I can understand! Hell, I was one!
"Did you like the doll I sent you from Venice?" he asked her, as he paced about in a circle to admire her-now that she was satisfied that they were kin, "Did you get it… all safe and sound?"
"Ooh, Daddy, yessf she squealed with delight. "Did you bring me another?"
"Alan!" From the doorway.
He spun about to face her. Caroline! He roared her name in joy. It had been three long years; so long he'd almost forgotten what she looked like, even with a miniature portrait hanging in his cabins, almost forgotten what she sounded like.
Hugh was prancing about, wearing his gold-laced hat. Sewallis was being his ever-helpful self, dragging a heavy valise towards the entry. Yet there was his wife, and he could have trampled them all in the dust in his haste to hold her.
She came to him with the same haste, and charming little Charlotte had to fend for herself as Lewrie lowered her to the ground, instantly forgotten, to free his arms for Caroline.
Fierce as a lioness, her arms were about his neck as he lifted her from her toes. Fierce and needy as a starving lion was he, were both of them, as their lips met. She was beaming, weeping, her tears hot on his cheeks and his neck as he held her, pressing her to him and re-discovering her taut, slim firmness, and the sweetly softer curves of her hips, her belly against his, the press of her breasts…!
"God, it's so good to be home!" Lewrie crowed at the skies as he lowered her, slid his hands down to grasp hers, and leaned back to regard her. Her hair was down, like Charlotte 's, long, lustrous, and so fine-spun and loosely bound back in an almost girlish welcome, instead of a proper "goody" housewife's starched mob-cap. Clean, bright-shining… and sweet-smelling of her trademark citrony, flowery Hungary Water. Her eyes, her merry eyes! With the riant folds below them which waxed when she was happy… her mouth and lips, so widely spread in joy…
Damme, a touch o' grey? he puzzled at the sight of her temples; she ain't… I ain't… mean t'say, we ain't that old yet, surely…?
Crow's feet! merry-lookin' crow's feet, he corrected himself instantly. He felt her hands, so spare and slim, looked at her from head-to-toe (smiling all the while, mind), and took in how spare her forearms were below the lacy froth trim at her elbows-a definite softening of her formerly firm flesh, a falling away from the bone beneath…
Ah, but she did have the damn' fever, couple o' years ago, now didn't she? he assured himself; that'd put a few years on anybody!
He let go her hands and stepped forward to hold her close once more, to nuzzle at her neck, drink deep of her aroma, and stroke her back. "So damn' good t'be home! With such a lovely wife t'greet me! Swear t'Christ, Caroline… you're even lovelier than before!" Lewrie almost (but not quite) lied.
"Alan, I've missed you so!" she whispered in his ear. "Three long years! I'm sorry, I was above stairs… hoping you'd come today. Preparing, should you…?" She laughed softly.
"And a fine piece o' preparin' you've done, my dear," he told her. "Turned out like Sunday Divisions. Fair as morning…"
Here now, don't trowel it on, he chid himself; well-hang it-do! She's a woman, ain't she? You can't pay enough compliments!
They stood back from each other again, gazing fondly.
"Been dyin' t'be away from Portsmouth, London… achin'!"-Alan chuckled-"t'be with you… see your sweet, angel's face." She teared up again. But she was smiling fit to bust. "Love what you've done with the house, the drive, and all. And this fine round garden! What a splendid sight," he prated on. "I'd wager it's a fine thing to clap eyes on first thing of a morning… from our chambers, hmm? Or watch the dusk gather…?" He leered.
"Mummy, see Daddy's medal!" Hugh prompted. "For killing ever so many Frogs!"
"Frenchmen, Hugh dear," Caroline automatically corrected. "For killing Frenchmen then," Hugh amended.
"Not so polite to say 'round dear Sophie though, is it, Hugh?" Caroline instructed. "You must think of what might hurt people by the words you say… or the topics you mention, hmm?"