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Chapter Text

Jeremy walked into Mark's office and threw himself into the chair in front of the desk.

"Are you going to the concert Thursday next?"

Looking up, Mark asked, "Who's playing again?"

"Adele, Wembley, in the company box."

"Yes, I think I will. Are you and Magda attending?"

"Yes, Magda adores her. Taking anyone?"

"Pardon?"

"We get two tickets each and wondered who you were going with?"

"Ah," Mark said, nodding, "not sure yet."

"Good. Magda has an idea for your extra seat."

"Jeremy, if Magda is thinking of setting me up—"

"No, no, nothing like that. Bridget loves Adele and Mags thought she could go with you."

"I doubt Bridget would consent to attend a concert with me. We haven't exactly been on friendly terms lately."

"Ha! You're mistaken then as it was Bridget's idea when she heard there could be an extra ticket."

Mark couldn't help but laugh. "Ok. But I'm not calling Bridget. This is Magda's show. If she sets it up, I'm game."

That Monday, Mark's office phone rang through after his assistant announced the caller as Bridget Jones. "Mark Darcy."

"Hi. It's Bridget."

"Bridget, hello. I hear we're attending a concert together Thursday?"

"Yes, I love Adele. Thank you for allowing me to use your spare ticket."

Mark thought she sounded very sincere in her thanks, so decided not to think about their last encounter at The Hide Bar. Instead, he discussed logistics with her; the company car would be taking him, Bridget, Jeremy, and Magda, along with another couple from work. With that settled, they rang off with firm plans for the concert.

On arrival at Wembley Stadium, the usher quickly whisked the group to their box. Bridget was excited to see the food was buffet-style and included drinks with a bartender along with a private loo. She and Magda gushed over the food while Mark got her a white wine to go along with his bitter. Others from their office and a few clients had arrived and filled out the 20 seats.

Mark and Bridget chatted amicably in the twilight, leaning over the rail in front of the seats, taking in the view of the vast arena. Then she startled him with an apology.

"Mark, I'd like to apologize for my actions at the Christening."

At first he thought she meant for spending the night in his room, but she continued.

"I'm not sorry for our night together. I enjoyed it very much," she explained and smiled. "But I am sorry I left without a word while you were asleep. That was very rude."

"Your note made it very clear why you left," Mark replied and couldn't help but wonder about the timing, as this was three months after the event.

"Not to get too deep while we're here to enjoy a show, but I was overwhelmed and took the easy way out by leaving without saying goodbye."

He had been gutted when he woke to find Bridget gone. He didn't know what he had expected going in, but opening his eyes and not finding her there, with only a note that rehashed their failed relationship, was certainly not high on his list.

"Apology accepted, and thank you for that. It means a lot," he said and smiled. He'd like to at least be on friendly terms with her.

As others joined them at the rail, they turned and went inside to peruse the offerings.

"Looks a little better than the annual turkey curry buffet," commented Mark with a smile.

"What?!" exclaimed Bridget. "Nothing surpasses that feast... and I meant 'pardon' of course," she said, rolling her eyes with a laugh. They each grabbed a plate of food and joined Magda and Jeremy at a table.

As the lights went down to signal the show was starting, Mark and Bridget sat next to each other with Magda and then Jeremy to Bridget's right. When Adele walked on stage, Bridget and Magda jumped up and started screaming, along with 98,000 other fans. Mark and Jeremy made eye contact over the girls and smiled at their excitement. That was the last time any of them sat down for the rest of the concert.

The opening song was "Hello," and Mark couldn't help but hear Bridget belting out the lyrics along with Magda. Seeing how much she enjoyed herself he was delighted she was there to see the show. As the songs and dancing continued, Bridget leaned back into Mark, swaying to the music. Taking his cue from Jeremy and Magda, Mark put his hands on her shoulders and moved along with her. He was startled when she then grabbed his hands, lowering them around her waist down in front of her, holding her hands over his whilst continuing to move. Mark wasn't the biggest fan of popular music, but he found himself recognizing more songs than he thought, having heard them on the radio over the last few years.

As Adele started to sing "One and Only", Bridget turned around to face Mark, and looking up to meet his eyes pulled his head down to hers and kissed him slowly. He took a quick breath and reciprocated. They continued to sway and snog, while it seemed like all around couples were doing the same. Why does every bloody lyric sound like it’s about the two of us? he thought, and felt lost in the moment and could only assume that Bridget felt the same. As the next song started, he leaned over Bridget's ear and said jokingly, "My God, Bridget, are all her songs this upbeat? I'm absolutely wrecked. Don't let me near a knife whilst eating." Bridget looked up and laughed, "I know, isn't she brilliant?"

The next song was faster-paced, and Mark smiled as she and Magda danced and sang the lyrics to "Send my Love to Your New Lover".

When the girls went to use the facilities and get another drink during the interlude, Jeremy moved over next to Mark. Grinning broadly, he asked, "What's this all about with Bridge?"

Mark replied, "I've no idea. We've barely spoken in months. Since the Christening, really. We've crossed paths several times but—"

Just then, Bridget and Magda reappeared, and Jeremy moved back to the other side of his wife.

"What's going on with them??" Magda queried Jeremy.

"Mark has no clue. Bridget's wonky!" he replied.

"Did he really say that?" asked Magda incredulously.

"No, I did," laughed Jeremy.

"Bridget's had some wine, but not that much. Looks like they're both having a good time anyway," said Magda while turning back towards the stage.

As the concert ended, Jeremy and Mark grabbed Magda and Bridget by the hands (Mark felt allowed to take this liberty as they had a special treat for the girls, and the crowd was immense). They hurried them both out into the hall and against the flow of people.

"Where are you taking us?" Magda yelled over the din.

"Just wait," said Jeremy with a sly grin.

They took the elevator down to the basement and exited through the doors into a crowd of people. A security guard stopped them, and once Mark showed his lanyard, they were allowed to pass.

"Mark, Jeremy!" came a voice from ahead of them. As they approached, Bridget and Magda saw that it was Adele greeting the two men; they looked at each other with disbelief in their eyes. As Adele continued in her Cockney accent, she hugged both Mark and Jeremy and kissed their cheeks.

"So glad ya could make it! Who've ya brought with ya tonight?"

Mark introduced both Bridget and Magda.

"How are ya?" Adele enthusiastically asked the girls.

Both Bridget and Magda beamed while answering and said that they enjoyed the show tremendously. As Adele was called away, Bridget and Magda acted like sixteen-year-old girls who'd just met the Beatles. They questioned Mark and Jeremy about how they knew the singer and received the backstage passes. Jeremy explained that he and Mark had helped with the Grenfell Tower inquiry and the panel that the Prime Minister had set up to investigate the fire. Adele was a force behind the scenes in getting help for the victims, and they had crossed paths during their joint work on the project.

Chapter Text

After the concert, the firm's car was scheduled to take Bridget, Mark, Jeremy, Magda, Nigel, and Amelia home. As Mark didn't want to push what could end up to be a sticky situation, especially after the enjoyable evening he'd had with Bridget, he requested that the service drop him first. He used the excuse that he had court in the morning, which wasn't a fabrication. Bridget would be dropped next and then the other two couples.

Over the next few weeks, as Mark didn't hear from Bridget, he again assumed that their kiss had been due to the concert's ambiance and the love songs that Adele had sung. Jeremy asked if he'd heard from her and even volunteered Magda to speak to Bridget concerning the evening, but Mark demurred; carrying on with finalizing the divorce with his soon to be ex-wife Camilla and immersing himself in his work was enough to deal with at the moment.

Several weeks later the senior partners called Mark and Jeremy into Maurice Lewis's office.

"Mark," said Maurice, "Jeremy tells me you and he have been discussing the development of a department with some of the younger barristers, focusing on human rights law."

Caught off guard, Mark nodded his acquiescence. Jeremy hadn't consulted him about discussing their private conversations with Maurice. They had only considered the idea in very general terms and hadn't put any solid plans down on paper.

"So, when do you think you can present this to the partners?" Maurice continued. "Jeremy suggested you head up the group, be a mentor to and manage them. It would mean removing you from your daily court duties, but think of the influence you can have on the next generation of human rights law. Not to mention removing much of the travel from your schedule and allowing a more normal work week. Have you thought of managing prior? Of the wisdom you can impart due to your experience? As much as we'd be reluctant to lose your expertise in the courtroom and with our international clients, this could mean an entirely new business model for the firm, not to mention a very lucrative revenue stream, along with the notoriety these cases tend to garner. I can't think of anyone we'd rather have to lead this endeavor than you."

As Mark contemplated Maurice's words, he felt himself grow excited over not only the daunting challenge ahead but also the thought of fewer overnights and foreign airports. My age must be catching up to me, he ruminated, when sleeping in my bed each night is now a top priority. 

"Maurice, give me until Monday, and I'll have a proposal and an outline ready. Will that work?" Mark asked.

"Perfectly, looking forward to seeing it in writing. Will Monday at half three do?"

Mark departed Maurice's office, nodding his head yes with Jeremy following close behind.

"Jeremy..." began Mark.

"I know, I know. Sorry mate, I should have discussed speaking to Maurice with you prior to—”

"No, that's not it at all," laughed Mark, clapping Jeremy on the shoulder. "Thank you for getting the ball rolling. Unfortunately, with my court schedule and the divorce taking my attention, I'm afraid this idea would be relegated to the back hob. And thank you for the vote of confidence in heading up the department. Managing young barristers will be a far cry from day-to-day prep on individual cases."

"Ah, but no one has your knowledge of the law," replied Jeremy, "now, how to get that knowledge conveyed to a group of young barristers, that's another question entirely."

Chapter Text

After a particularly hectic day at the studio, Bridget, Cathy, and Miranda made plans for after work. They met at The Hide Bar, near London Bridge. After a very filling dinner, the three moved to a high top for drinks. Chatting amicably about their co-workers, both girls were surprised when Cathy announced that she and Richard Finch had been shagging.

“Was this before or after ‘I see guinea pigs on skateboards?’” asked Miranda, only to be hit on the arm by Cathy.

“And when did this start??” said Bridget incredulously.

“Well, if you must know, it only happened recently, after new management. I think these young ones really threw him for a loop. Truth be told, I feel it took him down a notch.”

“Not that he didn’t need it,” muttered Bridget under her breath.

Just then, Miranda heard Bridget exclaim, “Oh, fuck!”

Eyes wide, both girls followed Bridget’s gaze to a tall man standing with a group at the bar.

“What, who?!” asked Cathy.

“It’s Mark,” said Bridget.

“Mark, from the Christening, Mark?” asked Miranda.

“Yes, the same.”

“I’ll call him over. Have you seen him since?”

“No....and no!” Bridget exclaimed.

Miranda looked at her with a quizzical face. “And why not?”

“I may not have told you everything from that night... ”

“Ooh-kay, and what part did you leave out?” questioned a startled Miranda.

Bridget looked sheepish and said, “I may have left before Mark woke the next morning.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she exclaimed.

“It’s complicated,” she replied, looking away from Miranda’s eyes.

“Try me,” Miranda retorted, taking a loud sip from her cocktail.

“When we shagged that night, several times,” Bridget confided, “he was newly separated, technically still married. I broke it off with him previously due to his work schedule, and to jump back into that with him not yet divorced... I panicked.”

“Bridget, he’d been married for five years and was separated, wasn’t the Christening a ‘just for now’ anyway?” stated Miranda.

Seeing Bridget’s face, Cathy exclaimed, “Do you still love him then?”

“I think I’ll always love him. Unfortunately, love has nothing to do with it,” said Bridget.

At that moment Jeremy walked towards their table on his way to the loo.

“Bridget!” he said as he gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Just out with some mates from Chambers,” indicating the group standing at the bar. “And what brings you here?” he asked, turning expectantly towards Cathy and Miranda.

Same old Jeremy, thought Bridget, as she introduced both of her girlfriends. After introductions, Jeremy departed for the loo but on his way back stopped again and called to Mark at the bar, motioning for him to join him. As Mark walked toward them, Bridget felt her heart racing.

Well, this is awkward, she thought while putting on her most convincing smile.

“Bridget, hello,” Mark said, meeting her gaze straight on, then turning to introduce himself to the others. “Mark Darcy, and you are?” he asked, extending a hand first to Cathy and then Miranda. After more introductions and small talk, Bridget felt herself again becoming overwhelmed with emotion.

Damn it, she thought, I can’t even be in Mark’s presence without completely turning to mush.

Rather than embarrass herself further, she suddenly looked at the calendar on her phone and excused herself quickly by saying she was late to meet a friend. She then exited the bar while hailing a taxi as she rushed out the door.

Covering smoothly for her friend, Miranda said to Cathy, “Crikey, I was supposed to remind her to leave at 8.00.”

After the two girls got up and quickly followed Bridget out the door, Jeremy commented to Mark, “What got into Bridge? She ran like a scalded cat when you came over. Have you not seen her since Jude and Gile’s Christening?”

“No, this is the first I’ve spoken to her since. I seem to be persona non grata where she’s concerned.”

“Mark, you haven’t called her now that you’re a free man again?”

“Well, technically speaking, I’m not quite free yet.”

“Details mate, details,” said Jeremy with a laugh.

Chapter Text

The presentation to the senior members of the barrister's group had gone exceedingly well. Mark slowly extricated himself from the daily workload of court cases and moved into planning mode with all on board. His first course of action was to promote two more experienced barristers to serve as team leads. These would be his right-hand men, so to speak, as one was female. Each team lead had three younger barristers reporting to them. Mark's organizing skills shone as they divided up the caseloads amongst them, had weekly strategy meetings, and managed the team's travel schedule while working with the senior partners to promote the new business and attend to the group's marketing with an external firm.

Although not traveling for individual cases, Mark spent long hours in chambers. The first weeks were a blur, and he found himself returning home at the end of a long day exhausted and spent. The team lead would travel with their respective barrister when overnight trips were scheduled. While Mark didn't miss the trips, especially since his schedule was very busy with the daily management of up to thirty or more cases for his team, he often found himself lonely. More than once, as he ran into Jeremy, he held his tongue to stop himself from asking if Magda had any news on Bridget. As when he was younger and single, there seemed to be no shortage of females making it known they were available once word got out that he was no longer married.

At Jeremy's and even his mother's prodding he thought it high time to venture out on a date. Never one for small talk, this was made easier at a professional event to promote the new department. The woman he sat next to at the round table of twelve was beautiful and witty. As they chatted over their meal he found out that she was a professional orchestra member and played violin (she was attending as the guest of a member of the advertisement firm), and he decided to ask her for a dinner date. The two glasses of scotch and the red wine with dinner seemed to help him along, and Kathryn readily agreed to a date that Saturday evening.

Mark was impressed with Kathryn’s home upon arrival. After entering, as she gathered her purse and wrap, he noticed the flat was immaculately kept with a beautiful view of the city park from the 3rd-floor windows. He had made reservations at a local chophouse and hoped that she approved of his choice of venue. Over drinks and an appetizer the conversation flowed, and Mark felt able to relax and enjoy her company.

"What are your favourite pieces of classical music?" he asked, hoping to hear her answer matched some of his own.

"Beethoven's Symphony Number 8. I love to listen to that piece. It’s often called the 'little symphony in F' because it's the shorter of the two F major symphonies, the other being No. 6, and doesn't even last a full 30 minutes; the audience received it with a tepid reception at its premiere in 1814. This upset him as he believed it was far superior to his previous 'Symphony No. 7'. While I disagree with that sentiment entirely, I empathize that his 8th is one of the most gracious and interesting of all his works and is unusually upbeat. There isn't a defined slow movement, typically the second part of a given piece, whereas the second movement here is a brief, graceful exercise in precision. It's also one of my favourites to play."

"I do agree on your assessment," replied Mark. "Quite simply, the piece is a lot of fun. One gets the sense that Beethoven loosened up from his usual preoccupation with posterity and was enjoying himself, encouraging the performers and listeners to do the same."

Kathryn then asked Mark his favourite, to which he replied, "Mine is Tchaikovsky's 'Serenade in Strings.'"

"Well, I certainly play the right instrument for your tastes," Kathryn said. "Why that piece?"

"He had just recently rediscovered 'The Magic Flute' by Mozart and intentionally tried to imitate his style in the first movement. It doesn't sound much like Mozart – it's probably more the kind of music Tchaikovsky thought he might have written had he lived in Mozart's era. The second movement, a Valse, has become very popular in its own right and features one of Tchaikovsky's best melodies. His former teacher Rubinstein announced it as Tchaikovsky's best piece, and I tend to agree," Mark replied.

Throughout the evening Mark discovered Kathryn had never married. Her love of music and career were the main factors in her life, and it seemed she was very happy. She was only a few years younger than Mark and played for the London Symphony Orchestra.

"Do you often travel with the Orchestra?" Mark queried.

"Not too much. We have a short, one performance trip to Frankfurt at the end of the month. Then a few weeks later, we travel to Cologne, Dortmund, Frankfurt, and finish in Munich. We'll be gone a total of 5 nights. So not too bad. We'll be playing Tchaikovsky on the last three stops."

"And your job?" she asked. "You must travel quite a lot with the number of barristers in your new group. It was quite interesting to hear about your work at the event. How long have you been leading them?"

"It's a fairly new endeavor—at least the part of managing a group. I've done human rights law since university. But after 20 years of travel, mostly in foreign countries, I find I'm quite enjoying the rather mundane life of staying put," Mark replied with a chuckle. "The travel now is left to the younger barristers and their respective team lead. It's been a transition to remove myself from individual cases at ground level, so to speak, and to now fly at a thousand feet. I'd say that's the hardest part to get used to. But the reward is not only teaching and imparting knowledge to the group but also to be able to touch so many cases at one time."

After dinner, Mark ordered dessert for them both. Over coffee and creme brûlée, Kathryn asked if Mark would like to attend a Half Six Fix concert on Wednesday.

"I'm not familiar, though it sounds intriguing," stated Mark.

"The concerts start at 6:30, last an hour and there isn't an interval. With only one or two music pieces, the conductor is on-hand to talk about how the music flows and why they think everyone should enjoy it – it's an opportunity to appreciate the full event of live orchestral music in an hour or so. You get a close-up view of the performers on the big screens and may even see me," she said with a wink. "The entry bars will be open before and after the concerts, you can take drinks into the concert hall, and there are restaurants on-site for dinner. What do you think?" she asked. "We could have dinner afterward, at the venue."

"I'd love to," replied Mark. "Can I confirm after checking my schedule following our Monday morning meeting?"

When Mark dropped Kathryn off at her apartment, she asked him up for a nightcap. After such an enjoyable evening, Mark felt the urge to take her up on the offer. Finishing a coffee with Bailey's, he rose to leave with Kathryn walking him to the door.

Turning back to her before exiting, he said, "I enjoyed this evening very much and hope you did as well."

Kathryn smiled up at him and replied, "Yes, the dinner was excellent and the company even better. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Please let me know about Wednesday."

Leaning in, Mark kissed her briefly and murmured that he would be in touch with his schedule. Even though it was a brief kiss, he felt an excitement that he didn't expect to feel so soon after his divorce and his constant thoughts about Bridget.

Chapter Text

After getting back to Kathryn that he would, in fact, be able to attend and was looking forward to the concert on Wednesday, Mark rang off and looked up from his desk as Jeremy entered his office.

"Just checking in," said Jeremy. "How did your dinner go on Saturday?"

Mark gave a genuine smile and said, "Actually, quite well. She plays violin for the London Symphony Orchestra, and I'm attending their short concert at the Barbican this Wednesday. Why don't you and Magda join me?"

"I'm sure Magda would love it; what time does it begin?" he replied.

"It starts at half six and goes for an hour. Bars are open prior and after, and drinks can be brought into the concert. We're planning on dinner after on-premise, so you're welcome to stay. This week the performance is Prokofiev's Symphony No. 5," Mark said.

"As long as they have food and drinks, I'm sold. Count us in," replied Jeremy.

On Wednesday, Mark, Jeremy, and Magda arrived at the Barbican with enough time for Mark to introduce his friends to Kathryn before the show. After she departed for the performance, the three got their drinks and took their seats.

"Mark," said Magda, "Kathryn is a delight! So easy to talk to. When Jeremy said she was a concert violinist, I must admit I pictured someone uptight with her hair pulled back in a fierce bun. She's absolutely gorgeous and so unassuming." Jeremy almost choked on his wine at his wife's remark but recovered with aplomb.

Mark couldn't help but laugh out loud at Magda's description as he had thought much the same himself. "I'm glad you approve. Over dinner, you'll see just how correct you are," he said, smiling.

True to the description, the concert lasted just an hour. And although Mark could have watched for the typical duration of several hours with an intermission, it certainly was the perfect way to attend a symphony on a weeknight. He was interested to see what Jeremy and Magda thought, as they weren't typically classical music lovers. The Half Six series were aimed at novices to the genre, and they certainly fit the bill.

As they milled about afterward with more drinks, Kathryn came and joined them. Mark bent and gave her a quick kiss, congratulating her on a beautiful performance.

"Oh, my lord!" gushed Magda. "That was the most beautiful music I've ever heard."

"I think she cried at the third movement," ribbed Jeremy.

“I did not! It was actually the first," Magda replied with a laugh. "The emotion was almost unbearable. Slavic angst at its best."

Jeremy, Kathryn, and Mark looked at Magda with surprise and admiration at this last comment.

"I did read up on the composer before attending," said Magda with a sly smile.

At that moment, a gentleman approached the group and gave a hug to Kathryn.

"Mark, Jeremy, Magda, this is the conductor of the beautiful music we just played, Michael Tilson Thomas," she said by way of introduction.

"I heard your comment on Prokofiev," said Michael to Magda. "Are you a fan?"

"This is my first live symphony, and I think my life has changed!" she replied.

"Perfect then. You're exactly the audience we want for these shorter concerts. You heard in the introduction to the piece that it was composed in the closing moments of World War II and premiered while Russia was locked in combat with the Germans. The music certainly could have been dark, but I find it vibrant and optimistic. How did you feel?" he asked.

"I found it dark and light-hearted, simultaneously," Magda enthused.

"And you, Jeremy, are you also a novice to classical music?" Michael asked.

"Yes, but driving anywhere with Mark, you tend to get exposed to it," Jeremy replied with a chuckle.

Turning to Mark, Michael asked, "And how did you find the performance? Was it too short for your tastes?"

"No, I enjoyed it very much. I won't say I'm surprised, but I'll certainly make time for more live music now that I know about these weeknight performances," Mark replied.

"Excellent! I think we have some converts, then. It was very nice to meet you all, and I'm so glad you could attend our show. Please join us again soon," said Michael as he turned and moved on to the next group of patrons.

Mark then suggested they head upstairs to Osteria, the Italian restaurant where they had reservations at 8:00. Upon entering, Magda noticed the stunning view of the fountains along with St. Giles Cripplegate Church and hoped they had a table at the window. While waiting at the bar, all four ordered drinks; Mark and Jeremy had Scotch, while Kathryn and Magda each requested a glass of red wine. Soon after receiving their libations, they were told the table was ready. To Magda's delight, the hostess led to a window table.

"What a pretty venue," Magda commented.

"I'm glad you like it," said Kathryn. "I did request a window table and am so glad they could accommodate us."

After everyone had ordered, Magda asked Kathryn how she liked playing the piece by Prokofiev.

"I honestly enjoy all the composers we play. I have my favourites, but they're all so very different that it's hard to pick just one. Mark tried to pin me down to one, too," she said, smiling at him as she continued, "In the piece tonight, I particularly enjoy the second movement. It's a fast, crazy, and short composition and seems full of Prokofiev's sarcastic sense of humor. The music zigs and zags capriciously as if the orchestra is engaged in an elaborate game of cat and mouse. And then, at the end, which I think is masterful, it builds in a frighteningly gradual crescendo; the music slowly gets faster and louder."

Even though Magda had never heard the composer's music before, she felt like Kathryn had described it perfectly. "That's exactly how I felt whilst listening to it. Jeremy," Magda turned to her husband, "I think we need to download some music for the house. I have a new passion."

All three laughed at Magda's enthusiasm, and Kathryn offered to help Magda pick out some lighter and shorter pieces to start her collection. As dinner wound down, the four said their goodbyes, and Mark asked Kathryn if she needed driving home.

"If you don't mind," she said. "We have a car service available, but it sometimes takes a while to arrive."

"I'd love to, and it's no problem at all," replied Mark. "I didn't drive myself but have the car service we use at Chambers. Which is probably a good thing right now, after the number of drinks I've enjoyed this evening."

Upon the car pulling up at Kathryn's building's kerb, Mark asked the driver if he could wait while he walked her up to her flat. After she had found her key and unlocked the door, she turned to thank Mark for another beautiful evening.

"I'm so glad you asked Magda and Jeremy to join us. They're delightful, and I'm relieved they enjoyed the show so much. It can be hit or miss for those who might enjoy a symphony, and it seemed they both had a good time."

As Mark made to reply, he was cut short when Kathryn leaned forward to kiss him goodnight. As their lips met for what he assumed would be a chaste kiss, he was surprised at the quick escalation in passion from both of them. The kiss quickly turned into something more and left them both slightly breathless. Pulling apart, Kathryn looked into Mark's eyes, and without conscious thought, his head bent again to meet her lips. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, enjoying the feel of her soft mouth against his. Kathryn reached up and put her arms around Mark's neck, which further stoked the electricity between them.

Just then, the bell on the elevator rang and startled them both as a neighbor exited and passed by. The older gentleman tried to give them some privacy as he passed and averted his eyes, but this was hard in the close quarters of the hallway.

Kathryn took a deep breath, smiled, and said, "Goodnight, Mark. And did I mention how much I enjoyed this evening? I think your driver is probably wondering what's taking you so long."

"Goodnight, Kathryn," Mark replied with a grin as he tried to regain his composure for the walk back down to the car.

Chapter Text

On Saturday, Bridget planned a lunch date with Magda. They met at Eat Cafe on Duke of York Street. After both ordered sandwiches, they decided to spend the afternoon shopping at Fortnum & Mason.

Over their food, Magda asked, “So, how’s work going with the new management team? Have you made any inroads with the fearsome Alice Peabody and company?”

Laughing, Bridget responded, “No! That group is one of a kind. I initially thought it was due to my age, but even Miranda can’t stand the bunch of them. She’s usually able to get along with anyone, so we’ve concluded that they’re space aliens sent to torment us for being part of the British Press.”

Chuckling, Magda asked, “How does Finch handle it? He’s as barmy as they come. Is he ready to off someone?”

“Ha! Funny you should ask. He’s taken to shagging—“

“NO! Not Alice Peabody. Oh, for God’s sake! What that man won’t do,” Magda said .

Bridget almost spit out her tea. “No, not Alice. Dear Lord. Even he wouldn’t stoop that low... at least, I don’t think he would. No, but I think you’ve met Cathy in make-up? They seem to be commiserating over the new management team in bed.”

“Well, I can see those two pairing up. I always liked Cathy. Just hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

As the two friends continued their conversation, Bridget, against her resolution not to do so, asked if Magda had any news of Mark via Jeremy. She held out as long as possible before bringing up the topic and only hoped it seemed nonchalant.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Jeremy and I attended a symphony with Mark on Wednesday. He’s just started seeing a concert violinist. She plays with the London Symphony Orchestra. We all had dinner after at the Barbican. There’s an Italian restaurant on-site, Osteria. Great food, by the way. Her name is Kathryn; she’s very nice and even offered to help me choose some classical pieces for my music library.”

“Oh, and how did you enjoy the show?” Bridget asked, hoping her racing pulse wouldn’t give her away. Mark’s seeing someone again. I really shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a successful barrister and good-looking man who is now single.

“Bee, I loved it! We should go sometime. They have one-hour concerts on varying Wednesdays. It was very moving. I know Mark has always had an affinity for classical music, but I honestly just couldn’t be bothered with sitting through anything that requires an intermission. But an hour is just perfect. I swear it brought tears to my eyes more than once.  She introduced us to the Conductor afterwards, which was such a thrill. He was very interested in our opinions on the show’s format.”

“And how did Mark and she meet?” Bugger my traitorous mind for asking these questions, thought Bridget.

“He mentioned that it was at a work event for his new job,” Magda replied, suddenly very quiet.

“New job?! Magda, why haven’t you been keeping me up to date?”

“Sorry, sorry. You made it pretty clear that Mark Darcy wasn’t part of your life. That’s why I was so gobsmacked at your actions during the Adele concert. I understand being friends, and I think that’s all fine, but Bridget, if you still love him...”

“Magda, you know I’ll always love him. I just couldn’t continue to take a backseat to his career. It’s not that we didn’t love each other; he just wasn’t not there enough. If he wasn’t travelling and at home, he was often gone long hours or—, I’m sorry. I know you lived through it with me.”

“I know,” her friend said sympathetically. “That’s why I haven’t mentioned any news of Mark to you. If you wanted any updates, I knew you’d ask.” Also , she thought , Jeremy, per Mark’s request, asked me not to say anything .

“So, the new job??” Bridget reiterated quickly.

“I’m really not that in the know,” she fibbed, “you should just contact Mark and ask him about it. I know he’s managing a group of young barristers, but that’s about all Jeremy’s divulged. It’s all very recent.”

Upon finishing their lunch they made the short walk to Fortnum & Mason.

“Well, I have some news of my own,” stated Bridget.

“Do tell!” giggled Magda.

“I’m going to do the ‘Back from the Dead’ interview of Daniel Cleaver on TV.”

“Pardon?! You told me he was found alive, and I saw on the news he’s back in London, but I thought you were strictly behind the scenes now?”

“I was, am. However, Daniel would only give us the exclusive if I did his interview. I certainly scored in the eyes of Alice Peabody with this coup,” she said with a broad smile.

“Have you spoken to him since he’s been back then?”

“Yes, he contacted me to say thank you for speaking at his memorial. Said it touched his mother deeply. I’m glad I could do that for him. I don’t think anyone else there was over twenty-five and could have put two coherent thoughts together!” said Bridget and laughed.

Chapter Text

As Daniel’s interview approached, the staff at Hard News were helping prepare for the “Back from the Dead” story. The exclusive coverage would be a giant scoop for the program. It appeared all of London would be tuned in. The papers and news outlets had covered the event for the last week and a half, and the build-up was immense. It seemed everywhere one looked was a daily update.  

When Daniel walked in, Bridget greeted him with a warm embrace. Although they’d spoken prior, this was the first time they’d seen each other since his return, and Bridget couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. She wasn’t tense about seeing Daniel again; her romantic feelings for him were long over, but she was worried about being in front of the camera after so long.

“Jones!” exclaimed Daniel. “My, but you’re looking fine. Rather ‘stick insect’ like, aren’t you?” He leaned close and whispered, “I must say, I miss your luscious curves though.” This last sentence was said with his best rakish grin and big hug.

“Daniel, you will never change!” exclaimed Bridget when they disengaged. “And you look quite fit for someone dead. It’s wonderful to see you alive and well.”

Miranda, Alice and Richard Finch joined them, and they moved to a conference room and took their seats around a large, round table, reviewing how the interview would flow and the amount of air time they would be allowed. There was less room for error since it was going to be a live shoot and not taped prior. Miranda had worked with Bridget over the last week on technique, and she felt confident and prepared. They did a practice run through a mock interview so Daniel would know what to expect on air. He had already reviewed the questions that would be asked and had struck through several.

Grimacing, Alice asked, “And why won’t you answer these? Do you have something you’re hiding?”

“If there’s anything I’m hiding, then I’d like to keep it that way.”

Miranda kicked Bridget under the table to stop from laughing out loud. It wasn’t often that someone could leave Alice Peabody speechless, and both relished the moment, albeit silently.

The interview was a huge success. Daniel couldn’t have been more accommodating on air. If there were any questions he didn’t want to answer, he quickly sidestepped them and gave enough of a response that Bridget was left sounding like she’d received the answer to the question that she had initially asked. The piece even received coverage on the nightly news programs, including a brief spot on both BBC and ITV.

Afterward, Daniel asked Bridget to join him for dinner. “Jones, I have a proposition for you and would like to take you out to discuss it. What do you think?”

“Proposition? That sounds intriguing. But not if it includes returning to your flat,” she laughed.

“I think you know me better than that by now. No, this is a serious business endeavour. I want to run it past you. I think you’d be perfect for what I have in mind.”

“That’s the problem; I do know you.” At his crestfallen look, she relented. “Of course, I’ll let you buy me dinner and a drink. You have me intrigued.”

Daniel suggested the steakhouse Hawksmoor Seven Dials in the old Watney-Combe Brewery in Covent Garden. The restaurant occupied a big basement with low, flattering lighting. It was hugely atmospheric and had plenty of original features, including gently arched brick ceilings and cast-iron columns. The venue was packed, and Bridget couldn’t help but notice the looks that Daniel received, even overhearing several diners' comments about his return from supposed death. She commented that she felt she was dining with Harry Potter, ‘the boy who lived’.

“My God. You’d think you came back from the dead or something, what with the looks you’re receiving.”

The hostess took them to a table for two. Daniel suggested scallops in port wine and garlic for a starter. Over dinner of steak and a nice bottle of red wine (“So glad to see you’ve graduated to red with beef,” he complimented), he laid out his proposal.

“Imagine a weekly, half-hour show hosted by you and me. It would be very similar to The Smooth Guide but London-centric. I’ve had several people approach me since I’ve been back, and yes, I’m sure the media coverage I’ve garnered with my resurrection didn’t hurt,” he explained with a wry smile. “What do you say? I’m sure you’ll need time to think about it, but I think it'd be smashing with your production expertise and our on-air chemistry. Also, be honest, Jones. How long can you last there with Alice in Wonderland? She seems quite the manager. How old is she, 17? Is she even allowed out past dark?”

Once finished with their steaks, Bridget ordered dessert. “This sounds interesting. It’s a huge step to leave the program that I helped build over the years and we’ve won awards for, but last week, Alice said, ‘I want to nutri-bullet the shit out of the news.’ Who says that?! What the fuck does that even mean?”

Daniel laughed. “Just give me the word, and we’ll start production. How much time do you need?”

“Can you give me a week? I’d really like to think about it, and if I agree, I should provide two weeks' notice. I honestly doubt Alice would allow me to stay, but it’s the right thing to do.”

“Of course. Take your time. And you’re right, you built that program. I do think that it may have run its course, though. This show could be the perfect opportunity for you—producer and on-air host. If anyone could pull this off, it’s you; I have every confidence in your skills. Both in front of and behind the camera.”

Daniel hailed a cab as they left and said to her, as she got in, “It really is good to see you, Bridget. All joking aside. I’m glad we’ve reconnected, whatever our working future holds. Thank you again for the kind words at my memorial. It meant a lot to my mum. Makes me sad that I missed it.” With that, he kissed her and said he would be in contact in a week.

Chapter Text

After the interview and dinner with Daniel, Bridget called for an emergency summit with her friends. She met with Jude, Sharon and Tom over lunch on Saturday. Since everyone was married, she included Magda in the invitation. The group rarely got together without spouses or children, so they started the meal with a celebratory drink.

“To old friends,” said Bridget, raising her drink high in a toast. It was quickly amended at the withering looks she received, “Sorry, sorry! ‘There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends’.”

“Oh Bridgelene,” Tom said, “That was beautiful! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“She doesn’t,” replied Shazzer with a laugh. “She stole that from Jane Austen.”

The look Bridget then gave Shazzer was withering. “Well, I was going to ask for advice from all of you, but now I think I’ll just figure it out on my own...” she pouted.

Laughing, the four then begged her to tell them her dilemma. “Come the fuck on, Bridge. Spill it! I’ve got about an hour before Eduardo starts calling about how to change a diaper,” cajoled Tom.

“I’m thinking of leaving my job,” she stated.

“And...??” asked Jude. “There has to be more to it than that. Are you dying, getting married, moving to Australia?”

“I know, I know! You’re going to murder Alice Peabody, and you’ll be in jail for an extended period,” guessed Shaz.

“Magda, you’re being quiet. Would you like to venture a guess?” asked Bridget.

“I’m afraid to say, but it has something to do with Daniel Cleaver. Am I right?”

They all looked at Bridget expectantly with mouths open.

“Bridget! You’re not shagging him again? I mean, I know the interview went well, but to start up with that fuckwit one more time?” said Jude.

“Bridge... do you think this is a good idea? You saw the number of females at his memorial. You’d be competing with half the women in Europe”, added Shaz.

“Sweet Jesus and all his angels, no , I’m not sleeping with Daniel. What’s wrong with you? He wants us to do a travel show together, and I’d be the producer and co-host. It would mean getting away from Alice Peabody and her entire crew.”

“Well, I, for one, think you should go for it. You’re a natural in front of the camera and work magic from behind it. But would you be travelling out of the country with him again? I know it’s been a long time, but you can’t forget Thailand,” Tom said.

“Tom, I’ll never forget Thailand. And it was  a long time ago. But we’ve moved past that. Also, the show will be in London and the surrounding area only. So no long travel, one or two nights at the most,” replied Bridget.

———

After Bridget told Daniel that she would love to join him in co-hosting and producing the show, she spoke to Alice and formally submitted her two-week notice. As expected, she was let go immediately, although she received a severance package equal to a week for every year she worked.

Richard Finch seemed quite sad at the news and said, “Bridget, I’ll miss you immensely. Right, then...” he turned away quickly and made a beeline for the loo. She’d never seen him act quite so human.

Miranda was more vocal in her goodbye. “Bridget, I’m going to fucking miss you around here. I can’t believe you’re leaving me with Alice Peabody and her merry henchman.”

“You’ve still got Richard,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, right. He’s the 50-ish clone of Alice’s young flunkies. That makes me feel much better.”

Since Bridget was free to begin work immediately, she rang Daniel, and they scheduled a meeting with the show's financial backers. With a budget firmly set, they next began the task of securing a production team and studio from which to operate. With Bridget’s background and connections within the industry, this was all accomplished in a little over three weeks.

Daniel knew Bridget’s affinity for Jane Austen, so he suggested the city of Bath as the premiere episode. Only an hour and a half outside London by train or a little over two hours by automobile, the town was a perfect starting point to launch their show. The filming would take place over three days and two nights, and then production would finish in London, at Warrington Studios, just south of the Thames, about 15 minutes from Bridget’s flat in Borough Market. Twelve shows would be filmed for the inaugural season, each episode taking approximately two weeks to complete. ITV network had contracted to air the show. All involved agreed upon the name Greater London Adventures .

Bridget and Daniel spent the first few days researching the city and scripting the half-hour episode. They then travelled to Bath for two nights and three days of filming. At Daniel’s suggestion (he really was doing everything in his power to win her over), Bridget asked Tom and Shaz to come with her for the two nights. Both had free time as their significant other and children were out of town.

Since it was featured in the show, Bridget, Tom and Sharon stayed at The Royal Crescent Hotel and Spa in a suite with two bedrooms, while Daniel had a single room. The common area of their room was beautifully decorated. The ceiling was luxuriously ornamented in swirls of pale pink and cream ‘icing’ plaster. Tom ogled it even more than the two women while practically drooling as he described it to Eduardo on his mobile. “You have got to see this place. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Mr Darcy was going to come around a corner and shag me,” he explained in obvious delight. At this, Bridget turned quickly with eyes wide in mock horror. “Not your Darcy, Bridge. Not that I would mind!” said Tom dismissively. Every comfort was provided, including a sumptuous four-poster bed, lavish soft furnishings and a contemporary bathroom stocked with Floris toiletries, fluffy white towels, bathrobes and slippers. There was a faultless Wi-Fi connection, two large LED televisions and an excellent sound system on the nightstand.

As Bridget had to meet Daniel to start filming, the plan was for Tom and Shaz to enjoy the spa and pool, have a bite for lunch, and then all would meet for a late dinner.

Once Bridget and Daniel started walking down the Main Street of Bath and filming was underway, it quickly became evident that something was wrong. They were loosely following the script, commenting on the beauty of the significant strand of grand townhomes, when Bridget’s face contorted into a grimace.

“What in God’s name is that stench??” she said, practically keeling over.

Daniel, too, couldn’t help but notice the assault on his olfactory nerves and exclaimed along with her, “Whatever you do, don’t light a match.”

“It smells like a dead fish, inside a dead fish!” replied Bridget while futilely fanning the air before her face. “Hopefully, the smell will have passed by this afternoon; from Bath generally, I mean, not me.”

The local accompanying them explained, “Farmers been muck spreading.  Depends what way the wind blows/air drifts....I thought it was something in my bin when it first occurred,” he said in total deadpan. 

Daniel carried on with the narrative to get back on track. "Between 1801 and 1806, Austen's family moved to Bath for her father's retirement. The town was hugely popular at the time with its fashionable society, and many went to the city to 'take the waters'. Word of mouth amongst the wealthy touted the spa resort as a stop for those looking to improve their health. 

“Good God, did the air smell this foul in Austen's time?!" snapped Daniel, rubbing his watering eyes. "Whichever farmer is responsible for this horrific odour needs fining!"

Bridget tried to follow Daniel's lead and continued, "The city, which is mentioned in each of her novels, plays a major role in both “Persuasion” and “Northanger Abbey” and is the perfect starting place for an Austen fan. Bath is the picture of Georgian elegance and also a World Heritage Site. Most importantly to Austen fans, it houses the Austen Centre, which celebrates her life and literary works." Daniel tried to keep his face from contorting from the smell. He looked at Bridget with admiration until she blurted out, "I love working near the countryside, especially when it has that sweet smell of manure all day,” laughing uncontrollably.  Daniel and the entire crew then broke down in laughter, as it seemed nothing to be done about the odour except carry on. Since they were on a tight shooting schedule, they quickly returned to the show's narrative and worked on it as best they could, willing their features not to give away what was happening to their noses. Daniel commented that the film editor would have his work cut out for him with today's footage.

"I can only hope that tomorrow brings clear skies and a nice westerly wind,” said William, the cameraman, at the end of the day's filming.

Bridget immediately kicked off her shoes and sank into a side chair when she returned to the room.

“Where’s Tom?” she asked Shaz.

“Said he’s not feeling well—scratchy throat. Didn’t seem to slow him down whilst having the hot-stone massage,” she said laughing.

Just then they heard a moan from the bedroom. Bridget walked over and stuck her head in. “Tom, are you feeling all right?”

“No, my throat hurts, and I’m stuffy,” he replied with a moan, then started expounding on his aches and pains in explicit detail. Bridget walked over to the bed and felt his forehead. He wasn’t in the least bit warm, but she did say, “Poor Tom. I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well."

“I know, Bridge. Do you think I can still go out to dinner with you? I’d hate to miss it. Maybe a short nap will help. I feel like I’m going to die...” he said with a pathetic groan.

“Get some rest, and we’ll be just outside the door. We’re not meeting Daniel for a few hours.”

Bridget closed the door and walked over to Shaz. “Oh my God, has he been like this all day? It’s a cold; you’d think he’s dying. Men! Let’s go to the bar and have a drink. I, for one, could use it, and you’ve got to be ready to throttle him now!”

“The thought has crossed my mind once or twice. A martini may help in that regard,” she replied, gathering her purse and jacket.

They walked through the gardens to the rear of the hotel, to the Montagu Bar and Champagne Lounge.  Bridget was feeling a little hungry since she and Daniel only had time for a quick bite several hours ago. They ordered a cheese board and some drinks as they admired the intimate lounge area.  The bar's walls were painted a medium to dark blue, and the dark wood accents gave it a classic feel. The two sat at the bar, and Bridget asked Shaz if she and Tom had run into the same issue with the air they had while filming.

Since they had been inside the hotel or spa all day, she said they did not, but added, “I wondered if they’d forgotten to empty the trash bins at the restaurant just now, as we walked through the garden. Didn’t you smell it? You’re probably just used to it by now. What will you and Daniel do tomorrow if it’s just as bad? Can you actually film in it? The smell won’t show on the telly, but can you keep your faces neutral with the onslaught to your noses?”

“Well, as they say, ‘The show must go on’.  I just hope it can go on with a little less agricultural aroma. Right now, I’d welcome the exhaust fumes of London over this. At least I can keep a straight face with carbon monoxide.”

After finishing their drinks and food, Bridget and Sharon returned to the room to check on Tom. He had just finished a shower and was feeling much better.  “Can we stop at the chemist so I can get some cold medicine? That and a drink should set me straight.”

Chapter Text

The following day Bridget was up early to begin work. A television shoot is a whirlwind of “covering the script” or ensuring everything mentioned is supported by footage. This includes the main components of “on-cameras” (where Bridget and Daniel would explain difficult-to-cover topics by talking straight into the camera) and “walk-and-talks”, whereby both hosts would be doing just that, explaining the scenery while moving along with the camera. Whilst the “shooting script” would provide a blueprint for filming, the crew had to be ready to flex with whatever may come up. Bridget and Daniel often found themselves rewriting to accommodate changing conditions, bursts of inspiration, happy and unhappy accidents, and whatever might find its way into the camera operators’s viewfinder. The rewriting process — “scrubbing the script” — was also collaborative, as both co-hosts debated each word with their crew well into the evening, as this was their initial show and the first time they had all worked together.

Today, they would cover the Jane Austen Centre, the Baths, and the Thermae Spa; tomorrow, they would finish with some local pubs, restaurants, and general local scenes before returning to London. Daniel, Bridget and Steven would take the following week to edit the material into a half-hour show. Bridget hoped the air would be fresh and clear for their filming today.

Bridget met Daniel, William, and John (the second cameraman, who would also wear the hat of a sound engineer and listen to the audio as the footage was shot) at the hotel restaurant for the breakfast buffet. They all had the mango bio yoghurt straight from the Yorkshire Dales (per the menu), the supremely creamy coffee, and some delicious Matcha muffins. Shortly after sitting down, Fredric, the local guide, joined them. After eating, they tepidly followed Daniel out the door while tentatively breathing in. At first blush, it seemed all was well again, and they sighed collectively. “Thank heavens,” said Daniel. “All I can smell is car fumes."

Their filming would start at the Roman Baths, and Bridget began the narration as William panned over the green-blue waters.  

“The Roman Baths are a site of historical interest. The Romans once used these warm waters for public bathing. The Baths themselves are below the modern street level. There are four main features: the Sacred Spring, the Roman Temple, the Roman Bath House, and the museum, which holds artefacts in the waters. The beautiful buildings above street level date from the 19th century. The water that boils up from the ground at Bath falls as rain on the hills nearby. It then filters down through limestone rock to a depth of between 3 and 4,000 meters, where the earth’s energy raises the water temperature to between 69 and 96°C. Under this pressure, the warmed water percolates to the surface along cracks and faults in the limestone.  

“The Baths are a major attraction and, together with the Grand Pump Room, received more than 1.3 million visitors last year. Visitors can tour the baths and museum but cannot enter the water. The thermal waters contain over forty minerals, the most concentrated being sulphate, calcium and chloride. Bath is long associated with well-being, and the word “spa” is associated with the Latin phrase "Salus Per Aquam" or "health through water.”

Daniel picked up the narration. “Powered by the same mineral-rich thermal springs that calmed the Romans, the first to harness the city’s healing waters back in AD43, Thermae Bath Spa is a decidedly twenty-first-century take on the spa experience. The indisputable highlight is the rooftop pool with its sensational 360-degree city views. The vistas are made even more spectacular by adding atmospheric steam on a cold day. 

“For indulgent treatments, Thermae’s New Royal Bath offers a huge range of treatments in a contemporary space, combining glass, stone, light and water to create an all-embracing sense of wellbeing. One can also relax in the Wellness Suite, an immersive multisensory space with several distinct spa experiences, including Roman and Georgian steam rooms, an Ice Chamber and a Celestial Relaxation Room.”

The filming then covered more of the history of the ancient baths before moving on to the Jane Austen Centre. Once at the museum, Bridget directed Daniel, William, John, and Fredric into their spots. As the Centre knew of the show’s schedule, the staff made every effort to accommodate them.  

Daniel began this part of the show. “The Jane Austen Centre’s exhibition has been created under the guidance of Maggie Lane and Louise Ross, two of the leading experts on the author, and includes input from local members of the Jane Austen Society. It is one of the foremost places to learn about English literature’s most beloved novelist.

“The Centre aims to be instructive while also exciting and informative. It’s situated in an original period location, and guides in Regency dress greet visitors. There are activities and exhibits, including the opportunity to try on Regency costumes and view a film starring Adrian Lukis as Mr. Wickham in the famous BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.”

Bridget joined Daniel on camera, wearing a splendid period costume, continuing with the narration. “Part of the ambience and fun of a visit is getting to dress as they did in the Regency Period. There are dresses, coats, bonnets, top hats, shawls, reticules and parasols to try on and pose with. The staff also encourages you to take photos to document the experience. As one would imagine, the dress-up portion of the visit is one of the most popular stops at the Centre.” When she finished speaking, the camera panned out to film some actual visitors posing in period garb.

After changing, Bridget dragged Daniel into the gift shop on their way out. “Bridge, you’re acting like a child in a candy shop,” he chuckled while trying to move her out the door toward the crew. “Come along, now.”

”Not before I buy this,” Bridget said, quickly paid for a book titled Mr Darcy’s Guide to Pemberley.

Walking the short distance to their next stop at the Thermae Spa, Bridget said, “We’re burning daylight. Walk and talk and keep it simple.”  Daniel, the camera operators, and Fredric exchanged knowing glances as if she hadn’t been the one to hold them up in the gift shop.

Under Bridget’s instruction, they would film her and Daniel partaking in some of the spa’s offerings. The highlight of the segment would be the open-air rooftop pool, which offered views of Bath Cathedral and the city as the sun went down and the lights in the town came on.  Daniel commented that Tuesday evening seemed to be “young couples night” as much snogging was happening in the pool. Both cameramen had to film judiciously to get some clean shots. Later on, while in the darkest of the steam rooms, as the air swirled and then lightened, Daniel and Bridget discovered they weren’t the only ones in attendance. Another couple were “deeply engrossed”, and Bridget couldn’t help but comment, “For fuck’s sake, get a room,” which sent William and Daniel into fits of laughter. The two guests got up and left, whilst the man muttered, “Sod off,” to John as he angled the camera in their direction.

“Best to let that last bit get edited out then,” said John grimly.

The next morning, Bridget, Daniel, and the cameramen did some “b-roll” filming, shots that would make up all the beautiful footage that would be artfully stitched together to convey a sense of place and illustrate points mentioned in the script. A typical half-hour travel show would take about five to six days of filming, but Bridget and Daniel pushed it when aiming for three days of film due to their tight budget and the close locale.

After wrapping up a little after four and saying goodbye to Fredric, their guide, who now felt like part of the crew, Bridget, Tom, and Shaz returned to London in one vehicle. At the same time, Daniel and the two crewmen drove back in Daniel’s larger Range Rover, along with the bulky equipment. When they arrived, it would be time for supper, and Bridget and Daniel agreed to meet early the following day at Warrington Studios to start  the editing.

After all the work in the field, they did not yet have a TV show — just a polished script and a lot of raw footage. At this juncture, the studio’s master editor, Steven Moreno, would take over. Bridget and Daniel worked closely with Steven since this was their pilot episode, and they wanted input on what was left in or cut. In the field, per Bridget’s instruction, William and John always had Steven’s concerns in mind, ensuring they provided him with footage easily cut together. Bridget explained to Daniel that it could be jarring to cut straight to a close-up; the viewer needed to ease into it with an establishing shot. So, while filming, William and John ensured they shot all of the bits and pieces Steven needed.

When filming, each shot had been identified to facilitate Steven’s work. While there wasn’t a literal slate clapboard at the beginning of each shot, William verbally “slated” what he was about to film: “Hey Steven, this is that Roman statue.” “Hey Steve, another angle on that statue.” “OK, this is a wide on the Royal Crescent, where the townhomes are.” Steven would also get a copy of the (semi-) final script, which had been tweaked and polished throughout the shoot; “scrubbing the script” meant simply reading through the entire script repeatedly, ensuring each word earned its keep. Part of the scrub was knowing which footage worked — and which didn’t — and tailoring the words perfectly to what had been filmed.

“When we’re satisfied with the script,” Bridget explained to Daniel, “we’ll record a ‘scratch track’ — a quickie voice track of the entire script, whose sole purpose is to give Steven something to cut to. This track needn’t be perfect — we can replace it later.”

In his office, with Bridget and Daniel by his side, Steven used the script, the verbal slates, and the scratch track as guidelines to piece together the show. As he worked, he said, “Like all other parts of the process, editing a show is equal parts science and art: as editor, I have a clear blueprint, but I employ my artistic bent, along with your and Bridget’s input,” he continued, looking at Daniel, “in how it’s pulled together. It’s also very tedious: I have to rewind each little snippet and rewatch it, again and again , to cut it just right.”

“Right,” said Daniel in reply. Although he had some involvement in television during The Smooth Guide , he had not been involved in the production aspect. “That’s a lot of watching Bridge and I then. At least I have a co-host that’s easier on the eyes than I am.”

Once the rough cut was complete, Bridget and Daniel watched it from start to finish and weighed in with their notes. Even with their short shooting schedule, the show came in a couple of minutes long and had to be shortened. Some cuts were pretty blatant, but others came down to a no-win pick between two equally good bits that they felt deserved to be in the program. At the end of the day, because a show gets only 30 minutes (21 minutes and 16 seconds of actual content, once you subtract the open, credits, and advertisements), the time constraint would force them to respect their audience’s attention span and make tough decisions, so as not to bore the viewer.

After Steven made the final cuts, the footage was sent to a specialist to be colour-corrected, evening out variations from different shooting situations to help the show feel visually cohesive; as two of the three filming days had been overcast, a colourist was needed to spruce up the washed-out or cloudy footage.

“Too bad they can’t even out the odours,” muttered Daniel when Steven commented on their stiff facial expressions on the first day of camera work. After all the tweaks, Bridget, Daniel and Steven watched the final cut again — the final “scrub,” with the help of the studio’s ace wordsmith, Lisa Talbot, and made a few last-minute wording changes. Finally, they would record the last voice track, and Steven would cut it to the colour-corrected final version. The production process took the better part of the week and was finished just in time for a screening on Saturday evening, before the show's debut on Monday at 8.00 PM.

Bridget invited all her friends, including Shaz and Fergus, Tom and Eduardo, Giles (Jude was away on business), Miranda, Cathy and Richard from Hard News , Magda and Jeremy and even her mum and dad. She was surprised when her mum called and told her she’d also like to invite the Alconburys, since they would be in London for the weekend. When she couldn’t think of any reason not to, she consented and looked forward to seeing Una and Geoffrey again.

The screening was held at Warrington Studios at half seven, lightly catered by a local firm, and included a bartender serving beer and wine. Daniel had fewer guests than Bridget, and she was relieved at seeing he had brought his latest girlfriend; no matter how often she told her friends and mum that they weren’t romantically involved, Bridget always felt they thought she was lying. The studio also invited some guests along with the investors, and the screening room was filled with over thirty attendees.

Daniel stood before the guests after the showing. Looking at Bridget, he held out his hand so she could join him.

“Thank you all for your generous applause. We’re excited you could join us tonight and share our new endeavour. I would be remiss if I didn’t say that none of this could have been accomplished without Bridget here.” Bridget smiled and took a slight bow. “As much as I’d like to take complete credit for the show, it is a team effort.” Laughter erupted when Daniel said this. “Bridget is the production mastermind behind the scenes, along with our extensive crew of two,” more laughter, “and of course Warrington Studios and our small group of investors,” he finished, nodding to the two couples at the back of the room.

Bridget added, “I’d like to echo what Daniel said. Thank you all for coming tonight. We’re thrilled you like our creation, and let’s hope the public agrees with your assessment by tuning in on Monday evening. Please join us for drinks and some light fare on the patio.”

The entire group started moving out to the lit patio, and Daniel embraced Fiona, his date, saying to Bridget, “Jones, you’ve simply outdone yourself. I couldn’t be more impressed with your production acumen; your choice of Warrington for a partner was pure genius. The process couldn’t have been easier.” Fiona spontaneously gave Bridget a big hug, too.

On the patio, Bridget made straight for her mum and dad. Colin, her father, pulled her into a warm embrace. “Poppet, we are both so very proud of you,” he said, kissing her head.

“Oh, my godfathers!” exclaimed her mother. “Bridget, you simply amaze me!”

Well, thought Bridget, I think she means it. Smiling, she accepted her mum’s cuddle.

After that, the rest of the evening went past in a blur. First, the Alconburys squeezed her close (Geoffrey a little tighter than she felt warranted), and then all of her friends. It indeed seemed that everyone in attendance enjoyed the show, which boded well for the debut on Monday. At the end of the evening, Bridget went home exhausted, if not a little squiffy.

Chapter Text

Kathryn invited Mark over for dinner on Monday night. It wasn’t something she’d normally do at the start of a work week, but she was leaving town for eight days on Wednesday to play several dates in Germany and Austria. The trip would be the Orchestra’s most extended excursion of the year, and she was looking forward to a change of venue and playing in the great halls of Vienna.

When Mark knocked, she greeted him with a glass of red wine. “Mmm. Thank you,” he said, kissing her cheek as he loosened his tie and hung his jacket in the foyer.  

“Hope you like pizza with eggplant,” she said.

”Takeaway? Love pizza, and I don’t believe I’ve had it with eggplant prior,” he said, sipping his wine.  

“Not takeaway. Homemade,” Kathryn said, smiling. “Well, the crust is store-bought, but the eggplant is roasting now, and then I’ll fold the pie together when it’s done. Tomato mozzarella salad for a starter.”

”Sounds perfect. What can I do to help?”

“Just relax after a back-to-work Monday. How was your day?”

”Nothing too horrendous. It’s been relatively quiet the last week or so. I’m only afraid that it’s the calm before the storm.” Mark said this as he walked over to the large windows that opened to the balcony overlooking the city park. “Gorgeous night out. The weather’s been outstanding the last few days.”

”if you’d like, we can eat outside. We won’t have the weather for it too much longer. We should enjoy it while we can.”

Walking back into the kitchen, Mark came up behind Kathryn and kissed her on the neck. “What’s that for?” she said with a smile and turned to face him. Mark had been reserved in his show of affection to her after their initial kiss in the hallway. She knew he was newly divorced, so she certainly wasn’t going to push the issue.

”No reason. I’m sure you have a hundred items to take care of before your trip, so thank you for taking the time to cook.”

“My pleasure,” said Kathryn with another smile. “And could you bring the wine and salads to the balcony?”

Mark grabbed the wine glasses and the two salad plates before walking out to set them on the small dining table on the balcony. “What music is that? Wait. Let me guess.” He listened and thought momentarily before stating, “Bruch’s Violin Concerto.”

“Ooh, you’re good,” replied Kathryn while sitting at the small table. 

After eating the salads, Kathryn took the plates in and brought the pizza out. Mark thought the pizza was delicious and complimented her on her effort.  

“You're welcome. I’ve never tried it without baking the mozzarella in the oven. The recipe said to tear the fresh cheese off in small pieces and add it after it comes out of the oven, and the residual heat will melt it. I quite liked it. It's very fresh-tasting.”

Since Kathryn prepared the meal, Mark offered to wash the dishes after dinner. Once finished, he asked if she’d like him to bring her a second glass of wine so they could finish the bottle.

”Yes, please. I have some dessert later if you’re interested. I’m just too full now to eat anything else.”

“Agreed. You’d have to roll me out of here if I ate another bite at this juncture.”

Mark sat down on the sofa next to Kathryn. She mentioned that she’d heard of a new travel program that was on at 8:00, and after a quick search, turned the telly on to the show. After she leant back into Mark and settled herself to watch, she felt him tense up rather quickly. Turning, she asked if something was wrong. “Mark, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um, right. It’s just that I know both hosts,” he said rather weakly.

“What a small world. I remember watching Bridget Jones years ago when she first started. On Sit Up Britain, I think. She’s adorable. I haven’t seen her on air in ages, though. It’s nice she has her own show. At the advertisement, you’ll have to tell me how you know them.”

Mark had no inclination to dredge up bad memories on such an enjoyable evening, so he decided to go with the true, if slightly mundane, version of knowing Bridget from childhood and Daniel from University.  

After watching the entire show, Kathryn got up for the dessert of cannolis, “Sticking with the Italian theme”, she called out as she returned with two plates. While Mark ate his pastry, his mind turned over how he hadn’t heard about Bridget and Daniel’s working partnership and their new travel show. I’m sure that Jeremy knew. Why hadn’t he told me, and did my mother know, for that matter?  

The half-hour program had been excellent, and even Kathryn commented on the co-host’s on-screen chemistry. Since the show was about Bath, Mark couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of Bridget’s disastrous interview with the star of the PBS production of Pride and Prejudice many years ago. “I think it’s on YouTube, actually,” he told Kathryn.  

“I’ve got to watch that. I’m sure it’s hilarious.”  

“Yes, but you see, I’m not sure she meant it to be,” Mark said with a laugh. He had court early in the morning, and Kathryn had a lot of loose ends to tie up prior to her trip. They both decided to call it an early night. It wasn’t lost on Mark that his romantic thoughts for the evening had come to a crashing halt once Bridget appeared on the telly.

While walking to his car, Mark thought about Bridget and Daniel again. Have they started to see each other? Is it just a close working relationship? Is it any of my business? And most important, why do I care so much? Bridget made it abundantly clear that she’s moved on... but why, then, is she still unattached?

Chapter Text

When Mark arrived at work on Tuesday morning, he went directly to Jeremy’s office. He wasn’t mad at his friend but felt he had been let down by withholding information about Bridget.  

“Mark. Good morning,” said Jeremy upon his entering.

”Morning, Jeremy. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Any significant developments with a mutual friend, maybe?”

To his credit, Jeremy did look slightly confused, but then the penny dropped.  “Ah, you mean Bridget?”

”Yes, I mean Bridget,” Mark said in exasperation. “Who else would I be referring to?”

”Whoa, now. Unless I missed something, you’re seeing a lovely violinist, and before that, when I offered my help with Bridge, well, Magda’s anyway, you flatly refused.”

“Jeremy, did you know about Bridget and Daniel’s new travel program?”

”Yes. May have gone to the special screening on Saturday.” He at least had the wherewithal to look slightly abashed while saying this.

“All I’m asking for was a heads-up. It would have been nice not to have learned about it whilst sitting on a sofa with my date last night.”

“That must have been a real mood killer,” said Jeremy sympathetically, thinking he was glad he didn’t have to face Mark in a courtroom.

”To say the least. Of course Kathryn picked up on it right away. I was left explaining that I knew Bridget from childhood and Daniel from university.”

“That’s all you said?? Playmates and uni? Well, that’s an understatement if ever I’ve heard one.”

Mark rolled his eyes at Jeremy and turned to depart.

“Have you told Bridget yet?” asked Jeremy. “About your new position, not travelling?” he clarified at Mark’s questioning look.

“No,” Mark said with a finality he didn’t quite feel. “This isn’t about Bridget.” Even as he said this, he wasn’t entirely sure it was true.

——————

The rest of the week seemed a blur to Mark. When the weekend came, he drove the few hours to see his parents just outside Grafton Underwood, in Huntingdon. The drive was made longer by accidents on the M1. It had been a month since he’d last visited, and his mother had scolded him about the length of time between his trips home. The ride was uneventful except for the traffic issues, and he found he couldn’t keep his mind off of Bridget again. Unfortunately, by the time Mark arrived, he had worked himself into an agitated state over Bridget working with Daniel again and managed to take his frustration out on his mother when she met him in the drive.

”Mother, good to see you,” he said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Here, let me take your briefcase,” she replied, hugging her son as he went around to the boot to grab his duffel bag. “You look in a foul mood. Is something bothering you? Everything all right at work?”

”May I ask you a question?” he said and stopped.

Turning back, she said, “If it’s about Bridget, then no, you may not. Mark, you’re forty-seven years old. You told me you’ve started dating someone new, at my prodding, mind you. I won’t be taken to task for not updating you on her every move. I can’t remember from month to month if you want news of her or if you don’t. And yes, I knew of her working with Daniel again,” she said, relenting. “And while I hope she knows what she’s getting into, she’s a grown woman, and I’m sure she can handle herself just fine.”

Jesus, my mother knows me too well, was all Mark could think after he apologised, having the grace to look ashamed as he walked by, giving her a wan smile and another kiss.

As mother and son walked into the kitchen, sharing a laugh, Malcolm looked up from his newspaper. “Good morning, son. And what are you two laughing at?”

“Nothing,” replied Mark. “Just wondering if Mother has always been a mind reader?”

Malcolm tipped his paper to catch Mark’s eye as if to say, “And you’re just now catching on to this?”

——————

When Kathryn returned from her business trip on Thursday, Mark and she made plans to have dinner out that Saturday night. He was also going to accompany her the next Saturday evening to a gala fundraising event for the Tate Modern, where she would be playing with a small ensemble representing the London Symphony Orchestra. Due to their schedules, these were the only evenings they had open in the coming weeks.

Per Kathryn’s choice, dinner was a casual affair, eaten at a Thai restaurant just around the corner from her flat. Mark had offered to cook since he knew from experience what eating out on the road was like, especially for extended periods.  

“Believe it or not, I’m in the mood for Thai. Do you mind?”

”Not at all; I’ve eaten in all week,” he replied.

After their appetizer, while they waited for their main dish, Kathryn asked Mark how his week had gone.

He told her he’d had a delightful weekend visiting his parents. “Except for the drive it was very relaxing. Two accidents turned a two-hour trip into three. I’m afraid I took my bad mood out on my mother. Of course, she’d have none of it and quickly put me in place,” he explained.

“You’re very fortunate to have both parents and in good health.”

“I agree and try to get home at least once a month. Without the foreign travel in my schedule anymore, it seems my mother would like me more often, though,” he replied with a chuckle. “Work, on the other hand, is another matter.”

At Kathryn’s prodding, Mark told her about a case they had just concluded.  

“Czech Nationals of Romani ethnic origin are known as Gypsies. Gypsies are often subjected to discrimination in the Czech Republic, including physical attacks. This leads some of them to claim asylum in the UK. However, during an immigration crackdown, the British government stationed officials at the airport in Prague to question everyone boarding flights to the UK. If officials thought passengers would likely claim asylum once they arrived, they wouldn’t be allowed to get on the plane.

“Here’s the problem, though. Gypsies were given a tougher ride. They were questioned more intensively and had to produce more evidence to prove they would not claim asylum. Six Gypsies, our clients, challenged this in court, arguing that it was discriminatory. The judges in the Supreme Court found that the system was discriminatory. Extraordinarily, 90 per cent of Gypsies were refused entry compared with less than half a per cent of non-Gypsies. This type of discrimination on racial grounds is against both UK and international law.

“Our argument, and we won, convinced the judges to comment that it’s considered direct discrimination to stereotype, even if the stereotype has some truth. It was discriminatory to single out an individual Gypsy because Gypsies as a group were more likely to claim asylum. It’s the first major case in which one of my new group has effectively presented and won a favourable decision.”

“Mark, that’s fantastic news. You must be proud to have been part of it.”

After dinner, Kathryn asked Mark if he’d like to come up for a nightcap. They had an enjoyable evening, and Kathryn entertained Mark with details of her concert tour. Vienna was the trip's highlight; playing at the Musikverein Concert Hall was a lifetime experience. How she described the grand hall, the acoustics, and the audience's reaction made Mark feel like he was there.

Kathryn poured them each a glass of red wine. “Michael conducted Mahler’s Ninth from memory without a score. It seemed that the audience was holding its breath. The entire room was focused as one where there’s usually coughing and noises from the crowd.” Mark could see the excitement and emotion in her eyes as she spoke.

Kathryn moved to the stereo and turned on a jazz station, asking Mark if he wanted to go outside to finish their drinks. Walking out to the balcony and leaning on the rail, they sipped their wine and continued conversing in the semi-darkness. Once finished, Mark asked her for her glass and set it on the small table with his. He then took her in his arms and kissed her slowly. She hadn’t asked him about Bridget or Daniel again, and he was glad for that. He was enjoying her company very much; they shared common interests, and he was undoubtedly attracted to her. Bridget had been on his mind entirely too often this last week, and with Kathryn, he could forget. He was only too happy to oblige when she took his hand and led him back to her bedroom.

Much later, waking in darkness, Mark took a moment to get his bearings. A small smile spread across his face as he stretched and remembered why he was pleasantly sore. He got up to use the loo and, upon returning to bed saw that Kathryn had woken.

”Good morning,” Mark said softly and grinned.

”Morning,” she replied, smiling.  

Kathryn moved over on top of him. Starting at her shoulders, he ran his hands slowly down her back, finishing by cupping her bottom.  

“Hmmm, someone’s an early riser, I see,” Kathryn said, kissing him deeply.  

Later, after a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, Mark departed, planning to see her again on Saturday for the Tate.

Chapter Text

Bridget and Daniel agreed on The Tate Modern as the topic for their second show. Located in the Bankside area of the London Borough of Southwark, on the Thames, it was very close to Borough Market, only a five-minute drive away. They planned to do the entire show on one museum, or in this case, an art gallery. That way, they felt they could provide an in-depth history of the building and some of the works it held. Also, Daniel posited that if they were fortunate enough to be picked up for a second season, with all the museums in London, they would have enough material to carry the show for years.

On Monday, Daniel came into the studio with a grin. “Bridge, what do you say about working this Saturday evening?”

“Ugh. Why? We can get plenty of footage later this week. And what are you looking so chuffed about?” she asked.

“Only that the Tate is having its annual, invitation-only, black tie fundraiser, and our show might have been asked to attend.”

“Stop! Are you taking the piss, Daniel?!”

“Why would I do that?” he laughed. “Due to our show’s fabulous reputation—’’

“Daniel, it’s been one episode!” she interrupted.

“Okay, let me rephrase. Due to our show’s sponsors sitting on the board of the Tate, we have been cordially invited to film the event by covering the annual gala and working it into the program. Fundraising is a huge component of their operating budget and one not often seen by the public. They’d be grateful for the exposure. So, what do you say?”

“I’ll need a new dress and shoes! And how are you set for a tux?” she answered with a gleam in her eye.

With a slightly new take on their Tate exposé, they set to work on adding a fundraising and general museum overview component to the show's script.

—————————-

Once they set up for filming on Saturday with William and John, Bridget and Daniel started by getting some general footage in the can before the crowd arrived. They had already filmed most of the shots of the gallery and the works they’d be covering, so today’s material would cover the fundraising aspect.

Daniel, dressed in a velvet jacketed black tuxedo, began the narration. “Welcome to the Tate Modern, one of the world's largest museums of modern and contemporary art. The Museums Association agreed upon this definition of ‘museum’ in 1998; 'Museums enable people to explore a collection for inspiration and enjoyment. They are repositories that collect, keep and make artefacts and specimens accessible to all, which they hold in trust for society.' This collection includes art galleries with collections of works of art and museums with historical collections of objects.

“It’s estimated that there are about 2,500 museums in the UK. Over 1,800 of the sites have been accredited by the Association.”

At this point, Bridget jumped in, dressed in a floor-length, black satin formal gown with a plunging neckline and slit that showed off her legs and the black, open-toe stilettos that she wore.

“There are several types of museums, and it’s dependent on who owns them as to how they’re managed. These include: National museums that are run and funded directly by the central government of each United Kingdom nation. These are usually larger institutions that hold collections considered to be of national importance. All national museums in the United Kingdom offer free entry to their collections. Tate Modern is in this category.

“Local authority museums are owned and run by a town, parish, borough, city, or county councils or other local authorities. They generally house collections that reflect local history and University museums are owned and managed by the school. Their collections often pertain to specific areas of academic interest.

“The free admissions practice applies to national museums and collections funded directly by each UK nation's central government. It’s free to access the permanent collections in all national museums, though they may charge for temporary exhibitions. Almost all University museums and many local museums also operate a free admissions policy.

“Tate Modern recently surpassed The British Museum as the UK’s most visited thanks to its extension and hugely successful Picasso and Modigliani shows. Its rise knocked the British Museum off its top spot after 11 years.”

Once this part was completed, albeit after several takes, Daniel and Bridget could relax and join the fundraiser event since they wouldn’t be filming any more direct shots for the evening. The two cameramen continued to film both of them and the other attendees for shots that Steven could use in later edits.

Bridget and Daniel were asked to join a group that included their show’s financiers (and Tate board members), Byron and Elizabeth Adams and Leonard and Maggie Ratcliffe, along with several other museum benefactors and the director of the London Symphony Orchestra, Michael Tilson Thomas. When Bridget heard the orchestra’s name, she remembered Magda telling her about meeting the conductor and Mark’s friend (girlfriend?) playing in that same ensemble.

After more introductions, Michael explained that the LSO would be playing that evening as a smaller group known as a chamber orchestra. It would be composed of 15 musicians consisting of violins, violas, four cellos, two double basses, and several woodwind or brass instruments. Just then a striking woman joined the group, and Michael introduced her as Kathryn Renwick, one of the group’s violinists. Byron Adams introduced Bridget and Daniel as co-hosts of Greater London Adventures, explaining the show was filming its second episode tonight.

“I saw your episode on Bath last week and loved it! In fact, I watched it with Mark Darcy. He said he knows you both. He’s here tonight. He’s just popped into the bar,” Kathryn said, looking behind her as Mark joined the group, carrying two drinks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, thought Bridget.

Well, fuck, thought Daniel.

Fuck, thought Mark, seeing both Bridget and Daniel simultaneously.

At that moment Michael and Kathryn were summoned by an event coordinator, signifying the orchestra was about to begin play. Kathryn grabbed Mark’s hand, telling Bridget and Daniel, “Excuse us please. I’m sure Mark will want to catch up with you later.”

Whispering into Bridget’s ear, Daniel suggested they order a drink at the bar, and they quietly excused themselves from the group.

“Well, that was a proper surprise. I’m not sure what’s more shocking: running into Darcy or how stunning his date is.” To the bartender, he said, “White wine and a whiskey, neat, please.”

Belying his calm demeanour, Daniel swallowed the drink in one deft movement. Then he looked down at Bridget. “Are you all right? You look slightly shell-shocked.”

“Yes, fine. I think I’ll find the loo. Be back in a minute.”

Daniel began to think something was amiss when Bridget didn't return right away. After ordering himself another drink, he took her wine and scanned the crowd. Catching sight of her through the big glass windows, he saw she was outside on the patio alone, with a fag.

“Jones, why the fag? What’s bothering you?” he said, walking up.

“Nothing,” she replied, throwing down the cigarette.

“Look at me. For you to pick up a fag, it isn’t ‘nothing’”, he observed quietly. “Oh my God, is it Darcy? I thought you over him? I never understood why you ended it. If I were of that persuasion, I’d ask the man out, past notwithstanding. He only seems to get better with age.”

“Daniel, being in love with Mark was like being his mistress. He was married to his work.”

“Plenty of relationships survive with high profile and demanding jobs. I’m sure you had your reasons, and I’m not saying they weren’t valid, but if you still care that much, why don’t you tell him?”

“If you haven’t noticed, he has a new girlfriend.”

“Ah, and a very attractive one. I could take care of that for you....” he said with a lustful grin.

“Daniel! You wouldn’t dare!”

“Joking Jones, joking. The man would truly murder me if I tried that again.”

Sitting next to her on the low stone wall, Daniel looked over and said gently, “A lot of it was on you, too. You kept expecting him to change. Is he so terrible as he is? Yes, you’re very different on many levels, but even while his work takes him away from you, he always supported your career. He didn’t expect you to put your life aside for him. But did you expect that from him?”

Not answering his keen remark, she stood. “Come on, let’s be good guests and go back inside and mingle.”

Once inside, Bridget heard the melodious strains of the orchestra music playing over the low hum of conversation. It was very lovely if she took the time to listen to it. Maybe Magda was on to something. Her thoughts were interrupted as she stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with her wine.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” she said, looking up at Mark, who was also ordering a drink. Dressed in a classic black tuxedo, he had added a pair of black, heavy-rimmed glasses to his ensemble. He had got browned and was slightly thinner since she’d last seen him.

He looks gorgeous, she thought, and Lord in heaven above, please restrain me from asking him for a quick shag out back.

“I see that you and Daniel are working together again. I like the show.” Mark couldn’t help himself and asked, “Are you seeing him again, then?”

“God, no! We’ve actually become good friends only since his return. But I’d never trust that man as far as I could throw him,” she laughed.

Mark felt himself release a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“Ah,” he replied and paused momentarily; if she and Daniel could be friends, he thought, before continuing, “Bridget, would—”

Interrupting and without thinking, Bridget asked, “Would you like to have lunch this week?” If Daniel and I can be friends, why can’t Mark and I?

After a brief pause, Mark smiled. “Yes, there’s nothing I’d like better.”

“What about Kathryn, though?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.

“We’re only recently dating. I’m sure she’d be fine if I have lunch with an old, sorry, ‘childhood’ friend,” he said with a grin, referring to her answer when he introduced her to his ex-wife after Daniel’s memorial.

“Do you still have my number?” At his nod, Bridget said, “Call me with a time and place? I’m sure your schedule is harder to work around than mine.”

Chapter Text

On Monday, Steven, Bridget, and Daniel began working on the editing. Their second show had a slightly different format than the Bath episode. The Bath show gave a broad overview of a town, with smaller segments covering many local topics. This episode was focused on one gallery but would cover several specific pieces of artwork and the added aspect of fundraising. The hardest part would be which pieces to take out to allow the fundraiser footage.

Steven slowly went through the “on-camera,” where Daniel and Bridget talked directly into the camera - in front of a piece of art. In this case, on-cameras addressed a topic that was hard to convey visually, such as an artwork's historical context or background. While these on-cameras were in the shooting script, some had to be rewritten and carefully worded on the fly (since, once filmed, they couldn’t be changed - unlike the voice-over, which could be endlessly revised until it was recorded later). Bridget was showing Daniel and Steven that she was a master at putting each on-camera into precisely the words she wanted and then memorising those words on the spot. She would sit with Daniel in a quiet corner, reviewing the lines out loud to them both while William and John set up the shot. By the time the camera operators were ready, both co-hosts were too. They did carry a teleprompter, just in case, but as of yet, they did not have to use it. Steven commented that he was very impressed at their level of teamwork after only two shows. It made his tedious editing job that much easier. 

After a particularly contentious segment in which Bridget and Steven wanted to keep a particular segment of footage but Daniel did not, Bridget’s mobile rang, and she excused herself to answer it, thinking a break from the material would do all three of them some good. Looking down as she walked outside, she saw it was Mark’s number.

“Hi!” she said, a little out of breath.

“Hello. Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound busy.”

“No, I’m fine. Just need a break from staring at film over and over. How’s your Monday going, as far as Mondays go?”

Laughing at her comment, he answered, “Well, while I’m not staring at film, I have had better days.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. Tough day at Court already?” she said sympathetically.

“No. A puncture on the way to work, so I arrived late to my meeting.”

Bridget knew Mark’s compunction for punctuality (and her propensity for lateness), so she couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought I felt the world stop spinning on its axis for a moment there! Magda mentioned you had a new position at Chambers. You’ll have to fill me in over lunch. That is why you’re calling?”

“Yes, actually, it is. How does Thursday at half one work? I’m free at lunchtime all week, so any other day would work also.”

“Thursday’s perfect. Any particular place in mind, or should I choose?”

“You choose, but you know I have a soft spot for fish and chips,” he chuckled.

“OK. I have the perfect place. Very near your work. Have you been to McGuire’s Local?”

“Never, but I’ve heard good things. Do you need a lift, or shall we meet there?”

“We can meet there. It’s not too far from my work. I can catch a mini-cab.”

With that they rang off with confirmed plans to meet on Thursday.

Returning to the editing room, she found Steven had talked Daniel into keeping their idea of the segment in the show, so felt doubly pleased the rest of the afternoon.

————

On Thursday, as she readied to leave for her lunch with Mark, Bridget let Daniel know she’d be gone for over an hour.

“Lunch date then?” he asked with a grin.

“Actually, yes. Well, more of a meeting than a date. I asked Mark at the Tate on Saturday if he’d like to have lunch, and we arranged it for today.”

Daniel’s eyebrows raised and waggled at her response, but before he could say anything else, Bridget admonished, “Daniel, it’s lunch. We both agreed that if you and I can be friends again, he and I certainly can try. Besides, you saw Kathryn... and she’s a violinist.”

“Yes, I did, and she could play the tuba and look good whilst doing it. Give my regards to Darcy.”

At Bridget’s glare, he amended his statement, “Never mind, please don’t mention my name. See you when you return, and don’t hurry on our behalf. Steven and I will continue to cull through film.”

For once Bridget arrived before Mark did. She asked for a table for two, and they sat her at a quiet booth near the rear. The restaurant was bustling due to its location in the legal district, and she felt lucky to be seated immediately.

Just as the server turned to leave, Mark arrived. “Would either of you like a drink, or cold beverage?”

Mark ordered a bitter and Bridget a white wine. The waiter left them alone to talk for the first time since the concert. Bridget felt awkward at first.

She needn’t have worried. Once they started conversing, the years fell away. Maybe because it was lunch and they were in a public place. Perhaps it was because Mark wasn’t married. As they waited for their entrees, he asked how she and Daniel came to be working together.

“Mark, Hard News brought in a new brand manager. Plus a bunch of millennials with very pointy beards. On the males, that is,” she said, laughing. “But the coup de grace is Alice Peabody. The owners felt the show too old-fashioned and serious. And she was the smiling assassin sent in to sack anyone older than her. Which, come to think, is pretty much everyone.”

“That had to hurt. You’d won awards for your work in turning that show around. Had the viewership fallen off then?”

“No. That’s what we couldn’t understand. It felt like they wanted to make the news a reality show. Maybe that’s the future of the bloody industry? Maybe they’re trying to get ahead of a trend? No matter. It feels like I made the right career choice.”

After their fish and chips arrived (they both ordered the same item), Bridget asked Mark about his new responsibilities at Chambers.

“So, Magda tells me you’ve got a new position, and you’re managing eight now. What does it entail, and are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, enjoying it immensely, and believe it or not, I’m working about thirty cases instead of the typical few if I were handling them individually.”

“Mark, you’re a nutter! Your schedule was busy enough prior. How much more can you travel?”

“It’s less travel, actually no travel to speak of. Two managers directly beneath me handle the minutiae and any travel if needed. They, in turn, have three barristers each below them, and those six are responsible for the individual cases, and they do travel quite regularly.”

“Well, if you’re happy, and it seems you are, then I’m happy for you. Congratulations on your new post!” said Bridget, raising her glass in a toast.

They continued to talk and even had dessert. Both declined a second drink as they were expected back to work. Hearing her phone vibrate, Bridget looked down to see a text from Daniel.

Steven wants to know if you’re going to spend all afternoon shagging Darcy or do you plan on coming back to work?

“Oh bugger, I’ve been gone over two hours! Steven, our editor,” Bridget explained, “will be ready to send out the search party for me.”

At that, Mark, too, looked at his watch, surprised to see how late it was. He had no specific appointments to return for but hadn’t told anyone he’d be gone so long.

Bridget insisted on picking up the bill as she had issued the invite. When the server gave it to Mark, Bridget grabbed it from his hand, laughing. “You can get it next time.”

“Oh? And when would that be?” he replied with a grin.

“A fortnight? You pick the place. And no Le Pont de la Tour!”

They went out the front door together and stood while she waited for her cab. Mark opened his arms and hugged her. “Thank you for lunch. I’m glad we could do this. So, two weeks then?”

Looking up, she replied. “Yes, what do you think... friends?”

“I’d like that.”

When she arrived back at the studio, Bridget went into Steven’s office. “Shagging all afternoon. Really, Steven?”

At his dumbfounded look, Bridget went looking for Daniel.

Chapter Text

Steven, Bridget, and Daniel completed their work on the Tate and, prior to it being aired on Monday evening, began the research and scripting of their third show. It would cover London’s Royal Residences: Buckingham Palace, The Tower of London, Kensington Palace, and Hampton Court Palace.

“Bridget, forgive me if I’ve said this ad nauseam, but why didn’t you warn me about how much work a television series involved? It seemed so much easier simply playing co-host,” Daniel moaned.

“Daniel, I’ve been working on a daily news program; this is a piece of cake compared. Exactly what have you been doing these last few years?”

“Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t involve this much effort,” he laughed.

“Thank God for the internet. We can research and write the script without leaving the studio. Then we can film on Thursday, Friday and Monday. Does that give Steven enough time to turn it into a proper show? I honestly think we should cut it down by one royal palace. Which one to leave out?” asked Bridget.

“Since Hampton Court is over 15 miles from the Tower and Kensington to the Tower is less than five miles, with Buckingham in the middle, let’s drop Hampton and Henry VIII,” suggested Daniel. “No need to cover that lady killer.”

“I thought he was quite large. Was he really a hit with the ladies then?” asked Bridget innocently.

“Jones, you’re priceless!” said Daniel with a chuckle.

“Haha, Daniel. My basic history’s not that bad. He had six wives and offed two. You’ll never let me live down Germany, will you?” said Bridget, giving him a saccharine sweet smile.

Daniel and Bridget went out for lunch to break up the long day. As they waited for their food to arrive, Daniel asked how her lunch with Mark had gone.

“I’m not sure exactly. We had an enjoyable time but definitely stuck to safe subjects.”

“You were gone for over two hours; it couldn’t have been all bad.”

“Mark and I have a complicated past. You, of all people, should know that. Only made worse by spending the night with him several months ago and leaving before morning.”

“Well, you’ve made a dog’s dinner out of that. I’m surprised he even agreed to have lunch with you. I thought you hadn’t seen him since his divorce. Anything else you’re not telling?”

She then told Daniel about attending the Adele concert and kissing Mark.

“So, let me get this straight. You shag at a Christening, didn’t see him for months, attended a concert together and snog like mad teens. Then you didn’t speak again until last Saturday?

“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound mad.”

“Mad would be putting it nicely.”

_______________

Mark was faced with a dilemma. Kathryn called Monday morning asking if he’d like to meet for dinner and watch Greater London Adventures afterwards. She had enjoyed the first show and was looking forward to the second one covering the Tate Modern event they’d attended. And, of course, Kathryn didn’t know the entire background of Bridget, Daniel and himself. While he hadn’t lied to her when she’d asked how he knew them, Mark wasn’t entirely comfortable with his answer and, if asked for more detail, wasn’t sure what he’d say. Therefore, he begged off, and they made plans to talk later in the week. Several days after, he contemplated his lunch with Bridget and thought it had gone well enough, although they hadn’t discussed anything that could cause angst. And making plans for another luncheon seemed a good sign of rekindling their friendship. As he was thinking this, his phone vibrated with a new message.

Mark - was wondering if you’re available to have dinner instead of lunch next week? Crazy at work right now and hard to get away.

Certainly. What evening works best for you?

How about Thursday? Are you free?

Yes, that works. Pick you up at 7? Casual dress.

See you then:)

Bridget and Daniel worked Friday and Saturday of that week and finished their filming on Monday. That would give Steven and the two of them Tuesday through Friday to complete the editing and hopefully alleviate their having to work over the next weekend.

The filming had taken longer than anticipated. Starting with The Tower of London, Bridget and Daniel decided that even though the Crown Jewels weren’t part of their scripted material, they filmed a segment on them anyway, thinking that Steven may be able to edit them into the show, time allowing.

The next residence they filmed was Buckingham Palace. Instead of focusing solely on the palace's history, they covered it briefly and then kept their script much more topical.

“Queen Elizabeth II hosts at least three summer garden parties in Buckingham Palace’s 39-acre private garden, where guests feast on approximately 20,000 sandwiches per party. There are about 30,000 guests each year, and they are treated with Buckingham Palace-blend tea and cakes, and they have a chance to talk to members of the royal family informally,” began Bridget.

Daniel came into the picture at that point. “I’m sure our invitation was lost in the mail. Perhaps next year? When Britain’s sitting monarch is physically present inside one of the royal residences like Buckingham Palace, the building raises the Royal Standard, the Monarch's official flag. But when she’s elsewhere, the standard is swapped out for the UK's national flag, the Union Jack.”

“Coutts and Co., the royal family’s bank, has an automatic teller machine in the Palace's basement. Other amenities include a post office, movie theatre, cafeteria, and over seventy loos. John Lennon once claimed that the Beatles smoked pot in a Buckingham Palace men’s room when they dropped by for a visit in 1964, but two other members of the band have denied the story.”

Now Daniel spoke again. “Edward Jones, a teenager,” he looked at his co-host, asking, “Any relation Bridget?” before continuing. “Also known as ‘Edward Cotton’ or ‘Boy Jones,’ was seemingly obsessed with young Queen Victoria during his teenage years. No one seems to know why. In 1838, Jones was apprehended after he’d snuck into Buckingham Palace and stolen many of Queen Victoria’s belongings, including a few pairs of her underwear. He gained access to the palace through unlocked doors or unshuttered windows on the ground floors—there was no royal security in those days. Jones was caught entering Buckingham Palace on three separate occasions and admitted to having been inside the palace many more times. Eventually, he was sent overseas by the authorities, though he temporarily returned to the United Kingdom as an adult.”

“Buckingham Palace, built in 1703, has 775 rooms, of which 188 are staff bedrooms, 92 offices, 52 royal and guest bedrooms and 19 staterooms. It officially became a royal residence in 1837 once Queen Victoria made it her home. When the Queen is not in residence, typically vacationing at Balmoral in Scotland from July to September, the magnificent state rooms are open to the public. She may be one of the richest women in Britain, with sparkling jewels and a fortune of approximately $639 million, but the Queen has her frugal moments. She makes good use of the bed covers when they become too old to be used on the royal beds, having them cut up to be repurposed as cushion covers. Also at the palace, strings from parcels are reused, light bulbs of more than forty watts are reportedly banned, and old newspapers are shredded for horses’ bedding.”

The last Palace they filmed was Kensington. This home was Bridget's favourite of the three since it was where Princess Diana lived. They could also work over the weekend, and Steven predicted they’d need at least one of those days for last-minute tweaks.

_________________

Bridget was ready and waiting outside when Mark pulled up at 7.00 on Thursday. Getting out of the car as she ran across the road, he went around and opened the door, greeting her with a smile. “I’m sorry, have you seen Bridget Jones?” he asked as he returned to the driver’s side.

“Oh, sod off,” she said with a laugh. “I can go back upstairs and make you wait ten minutes if you’d like.”

“Not necessary. Just wanted to make sure I had the right building. How does a cheeseburger sound?”

“Perfect. Are you feeling well?” She reached over the centre console and put the back of her hand on his forehead. “No fever.”

“Do I look off? I feel fine.”

“We’re going for cheeseburgers and you have khakis on? I’m not sure I’m with the correct person!”

Quickly pulling into a car park, Bridget said, “It took four minutes to drive here. We could have walked it in two.”

“Thought it’d be a bigger surprise if I drove over. Have you eaten here then?” he asked as they walked up to Elliot’s, on the next street over from Bedale.

“Yes, a few times. They only serve their burgers at lunch, though. They have lots of small plates we could share or we could try somewhere else?”

“Let’s share if that’s all right with you?” Mark said, slightly disappointed his plan for burgers hadn’t worked out.

They sat at a small two-top table, and Bridget ordered a white wine and Mark red as the server explained that all the wines listed were sourced from small artisan growers who farm their land organically or bio-dynamically. Grapes were hand-picked, and wines were made naturally with little or no additives.  

After she departed, Mark gave Bridget a sceptical look. “And you’ve had the wine prior and enjoyed it?” he said with not a little scepticism.

“Yes, but I never met a glass of wine I didn’t like. Here’s our server. Try it and tell me what you think.”

Mark sipped on the wine, declaring it very good. “I’ll concede the wine then. Do you have any suggestions on the food?”

They both looked over the menu and decided to start with the sourdough bread and butter and the Cobble Lane Cured spianata & saucisson charcuterie. Once the food arrived, Mark took Bridget’s plate and added a few of each item before fixing his own.

“Oh, this bread is heavenly,” Bridget extolled after taking a bite, grabbing more butter to spread on her piece. “Beware, though, the spianata is hot! We may need to order some water to go with it.”

Trying a bite, Mark coughed a little due to the spiciness. “You weren’t having a laugh!” he choked out, taking a quick bite of the bread to quell the heat. He next tried the saucisson, which tasted more like a summer sausage and wasn’t at all hot.

Bridget recalled hearing in the news that in 2015, the World Health Organization labelled processed meats, like saucisson, to be as carcinogenic as smoking and drinking. “It seems I’ve given up one vice but picked up another,” she said, smirking before reaching for another bit of each sausage and adding them to her dish.

“Living in the 21st century is carcinogenic. It’s the excess that makes everything go awry,” said Mark as he claimed the last remaining slice.

“I couldn’t agree more. What are they going to say next? That water can also give you cancer?”

After each ordered another glass of wine, Bridget said, “Mark, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you marry Camilla?”

The server reappeared with their wine order, asking if they were ready to order another plate. Having agreed on two more items, Bridget responded with their order of fazzoletti with venison ragu and mussels.

Alone again, instead of answering, Mark looked at her. “May I ask why you never married?”

“Touché,” she replied and gave him a soft smile. The implication inferred was twofold for both of them. They had each decided based on the other person, and it was also a weighty topic to discuss so soon in renewing a friendship.

They finished their food and drinks, and as Mark dropped her at her flat, Bridget leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, saying, “So far, so good. Do we tempt it and try again next week then?”

“I’m willing to if you are,” he said, smiling. “Ring or text me with a place and time since it’s your turn to choose.”

Chapter Text

Mark, Kathryn and another couple, Oliver and Gabrielle (who played in the same orchestra as Kathryn), had a date scheduled for Saturday evening. They were attending a performance by the London Philharmonia Orchestra, one of several other orchestras based in London. The show was to be conducted by Vladimir Ashkenazy for a performance of Dvořák’s classic, the New World Symphony. Of particular importance to Kathryn and Gabrielle was that joining him on stage would be acclaimed violinist Sayaka Shoji to perform Brahms’ forceful Violin Concerto. The finale would be Grieg’s Holberg Suite. The entire concert would last approximately two hours, including a twenty-minute interval, and the four had dinner reservations after at Spring in Somerset House, which was only a 5-minute drive away, just across the Thames.

The Brahms’ Violin Concerto was one of the greatest works in the instrument’s collection. The music was filled with deep melodies and free-spirited dances; the piece could be intimidating, placing many technical demands on the soloist. Lasting approximately forty minutes, it tested the performer’s endurance. The music opened with a single line, then grew to a symphonic scale, revealing some of Brahms’ most emotional music. At the centre of it was the violin – at some points chaotic and turbulent, at other times kind and soft.

Kathryn and Gabrielle took Mark and Oliver behind the stage for a prearranged meeting with the violinist. After introductions, Gabrielle asked Sayaka about the daunting task of presenting five performances of the Brahms concerto in five days.

“It’s going to be a challenge,” the soft-spoken violinist said with a hint of a laugh. “I believe I’ve played it three times in three days, but never five in a row. It’s one of my favourites because much of it is based on dance music. As a child, I often listened to recordings of Brahms’ dance works for the orchestra. I also think the middle movement is one of the most beautiful slow pieces of any violin concerto.”

“How do you keep your playing fresh?” asked Mark, “when you perform five days straight?”

“We don’t improvise the notes in classical music, but I think it’s essential that you improvise the timing, which can play a large role in making each performance feel new — it should never sound like a machine. Improvisation is important, and I admire the people who can do it,” Sayaka replied.

When they took their seats and waited for the show to begin, Kathryn told Mark that the violin Shoji played was the 1729 Recamier Stradivarius, an instrument with a sound that projected strongly in its lower range, even over orchestral accompaniment, whilst maintaining a warm sweetness of tone when ascending to its highest notes.

Ashkenazy set a dignified pace for the protracted opening movement. Shoji's entrance was dramatic, with finely controlled runs and confident double and triple stops. Her command of Brahms' demanding writing was impressive, as was her understanding of the composer's emotional intent. The cadenza was incredibly well played. The Orchestra’s principal oboist, Margaret Thompson, played the simple solo that opened the Adagio with a subtle tone and supple phrasing, a nice counterpart to Shoji's reading of the songlike romance. Shoji unleashed a torrent of virtuosity in the finale, leading Brahms' foursquare dance with extraordinary flair. The Philharmonia’s players were up to the task, keeping pace with Ashkenazy’s top-gear tempos.

After the concert, they drove to their dinner reservation at Spring in the grandly neo-classical Somerset House. A tax office had once occupied the space, but now there was an atrium garden and dreamy dining room decorated in pastel hues, Italian marble, and blossoming wall art. Light-filled during the day, it glowed softly at night, with gleaming brass lamps along the bar and chandeliers that seemed like floating bubbles.

On their way to the table, Oliver commented, “The staff have a curious uniform. Stripy tops, white, rolled-up trousers. They look like sailors who’ve been sectioned.”

While waiting for their drinks, the couples discussed the performance, especially Brahms’ Violin Concerto and Shoji's beautiful playing.

”When a human reaches the divine. Sayaka played the piece like a master. De Saraste, the 19th-century violinist, refused to play the music. He said something like he didn’t want to stand on stage with his violin, and listen to the only melody in the adagio,” said Gabrielle.

“The work is inspired by the violin concerto of Ludwig van Beethove, his idol. The pieces aren’t only composed in the same key of D major and share a similar role for the soloist, but they bear striking similarities in structure and form, right down to the unusual way in which the timpani accompanies the soloist’s first entrance,” explained Kathryn.

“I enjoyed the second movement especially, as it’s led not by the violin, but the oboe. The violin eventually enters, but that’s what makes it so different. It’s not something I’d expect,” said Oliver.

“At the finale, Brahms allows the violinist to present an energetic rondo with a hint of the Gypsy about it. I also enjoyed the music by Dvořák. For me, at least, the opening movement conjured up the image of a ship sailing across the Atlantic with a sense of expectation and promise of new adventures,” Mark said.

When the waitress returned, Kathryn ordered a cod roe starter with crème fraîche and foraged herbs. After she left with their order, Kathryn quietly said, “Which I translate to: posh taramasalata on toast, which is roughly my favourite, devil-may-care, throw-nutrition-to-the-wind food, posh or not. They can fancy it up with wood sorrel and lovely, basil-sized leaves that taste of citrus, but they can’t dent my uncomplicated love for it.”

Mark chose the veal chop for the main course at the server’s recommendation. When the food was delivered, and the thick, broad, charred and unexpectedly wide meat was set before him, he said for Kathryn’s ears only, “I assumed all butchers kept them out back and only sold them if you did an Italian accent. It looks like Desperate Dan’s face.” Mark’s comment caused Kathryn to laugh out loud.

Upon seeing the anchovy on top, she responded, “It’s the culinary equivalent of falling in love with someone and then finding they also own a power drill!”

Kathryn had the slow-cooked pork shoulder, which could not have differed more from Mark’s meal in pace, mouthfeel, and overall theme. “Where yours screams chew, delight, conquer! Mine says relax, linger, savour,” she said after several forkfuls. “You must try some; the polenta is to die for.”

Reaching over, Markh tasted the pork and polenta. “Fabulous, but I still made the correct choice. Although I may need another taste to make sure,” he laughed, spearing another piece of the tender roast.

For pudding, along with strong coffee, Gabrielle and Oliver had pannacotta, which had been allowed to spread across the bowl so it was like a set-soup, with damson sorbet on top, and a buttery, spicy biscuit, “like one you might find on a German Christmas tree, except a million times nicer, and not stale,” laughed Gabrielle.

Mark and Kathryn ordered hazelnut and pear tart to share. The tart was the more impressive dish to look at, with a crust over the top of nuts, sugar, and egg white and pears peeking out. It had a sandstone, geological look as if the universe wanted it to be eaten.

At the end of the meal, as they waited for the bill, Gabrielle said, “I’ve eaten here one other time and have been making plans ever since to come back; a totally unjustifiable Christmas lunch with a friend… anniversaries… birthdays. I won’t do any of them – it would bankrupt me. But my mind was whirring for another excuse. So glad we could get reservations!”

When Mark took Kathryn home, they were relaxed after a long, enjoyable evening, good company, and very filling dinner. After parking, they walked up to her building, and once inside, Kathryn asked Mark if he’d like a drink. “I can offer a glass of cab, scotch or Baileys. Your choice,” she said, pouring herself a Baileys on the rocks.

“Your Baileys looks good. Thank you,” he replied, reaching for the glass she proffered. He had been hesitant for more intimacy, and he could only attribute it to his two recent meetings with Bridget. It wasn’t conscious on his part because he had more than enjoyed their night together, but her schedule had been booked with work the last week and a half after she had asked him over to watch Greater London Adventures. I can’t deny that the time spent with Bridget has been on my mind, he thought. But I shouldn’t let my rekindled friendship with her get in the way of any feelings I may have for Kathryn.

Maybe to prove this, Mark approached Kathryn as they walked to the living area and, looking down, asked, “May I?” before lowering his head to kiss her. When she responsed favourably, he sat on the couch and pulled her down to straddle his lap, then put his hands under her dress to run them up her thighs to her lower back.

“Mark?” she asked, pulling back to look at him.

“Hmm?” was all the answer he could manage, continuing to place kisses on her neck.

“I don’t want to stop this at all, but you’ve been a little distant the last couple of weeks. I understand if you want to slow things down.”

“I’m sorry. Did I give that impression? Wasn’t my intention.” He said this before moving his hands over the front of her dress, running his thumbs over the hardened points of her breasts.

Finding it difficult to concentrate with his attention where it was, she replied with a slight intake of breath. “Mark. Are you telling me I’m imagining things? Ever since we ran into your friends, Bridget and Daniel, at the Tate. Was she more than a childhood friend then?”

“They both were more than friends,” he replied, pulling her into his arms and across his lap so they could talk.

“What? Daniel was more than a friend also?” she said incredulously.

“No, not like that,” Mark answered, laughing gently at her misunderstanding. “I was married very briefly in my thirties for a matter of weeks. Daniel was one half of the cause of that marriage ending. My ex-wife was the other. He was my best mate at the time, and needless to say, it was quite a humbling experience and one I’m not prone to talk about.”

“And Bridget? Did Daniel break you two up also?”

“No, though not for lack of trying... Bridget felt I worked too much, wasn’t available enough, and ultimately I couldn’t make her happy, as much as I wanted to. So she ended it.”

“And were you? Never there, I mean?”

She felt her heart go out to him at the fleeting look of pain she saw in his eyes. “Mark, I’m sorry.” She moved around so that she could kiss him again.

“Kathryn, Bridget was a long time ago. I’ve been married for five years and divorced since. If you’ve no objection, I’d like to continue what we started earlier,” he said, bending to kiss her ear and neck. When she responded, he gathered her in his arms and stood, then carried her to the bedroom.

————

Mark woke just before daybreak, seeing that Kathryn wasn’t in bed. After visiting the loo and putting on his boxers and vest, he went to the kitchen. Smelling freshly brewed coffee, he poured himself a cup, then took it out to the balcony, where he saw her wrapped in a robe.

“Everything all right?” he asked, sitting in the adjacent chair. “It’s a little chilly out this early.”

“You said her name several times in your sleep.”

At his look of embarrassment, she quickly continued. “Mark, I’m not angry, maybe a little wounded pride, though. You don’t get to our age without bringing a little history.”

He didn’t have to ask to whom she was referring. He closed his eyes, took a moment, then opened them. “Christ. Forgive me. I have no excuse. Since seeing her at the Tate, we’ve seen each other several times, strictly as friends.” He certainly didn’t want it to seem like he was sneaking behind her back with Bridget, and felt it was best to disclose their meetings sooner rather than later.

Giving him a small smile, Kathryn said, “I’m glad you and she can be friends. It seems she was a huge part of your life. But maybe there’s more to it than friendship?”

Draining his coffee, he replied sincerely, “Suffice to say, and probably against my better judgment, I still have feelings for her.”

Chapter Text

Mark was eating a takeaway lunch in his office between meetings on Monday when his mobile phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Bridget.

“Mark Darcy,” he answered.

“Mark, did you know it was me ringing?”

“Of course”, he replied with a chuckle.

“Then why... oh, never mind,” she laughed. “Since it’s my turn to choose the venue, I suggest Nabruzzi, in Borough Market. I’m in the mood for Italian. Will Friday night work?”

“Friday night and Nabruzzi work perfectly. Shall I meet you there, then? What time?”

“Let’s say seven? And I’d like to discuss something with you. If that’s all right?”

“Only if I reserve the right to remain silent on the grounds I might incriminate myself,” he said with a smile, remembering her question the last time they met.

“Spoken like a true barrister,” she laughed. “See you Friday then,” and they rang off.

When they met at the restaurant on Friday evening, after Bridget had removed her coat, Mark saw she wore a dark blue dress that showed off her legs and complimented her eye colour.

“You look very nice,” he admired, kissing her cheek after taking her jacket to hang it on the coat rack.

“As do you,” Bridget replied. He was dressed in khakis, a white button-down shirt, navy double-breasted wool coat, and a blue-patterned scarf tied loosely around his neck against the chill. He also wore thick-framed glasses. This was the second time she’d seen him dress casually on a work night, and she felt the look suited him.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” she apologised with a sheepish look.

Looking at his watch, he noted it was only ten minutes after seven, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Bridget, for you, I’d consider this early. I’m famished. Are you hungry?”

As she nodded in agreement, Mark hung up his scarf and jacket, and they were shown to their table.

After he helped her with her chair and sat down, she asked, “How long have you worn glasses?”

“About six months. Do they age me terribly?” he replied with a laugh.

“Oh, yes! I’m afraid people will think I’m with my father,” she teased with a smile.

“Taking the piss, I see,” he said with a chuckle. Just then, the waiter came for their drink order. “Chardonnay, I presume?” he asked and turned to tell him.

“No, I’m thinking of pasta with meat sauce, so I’ll have a glass of Chianti, please,” she said.

Mark raised his eyebrows in shock, telling the waiter he’d have the same.

“Since when do you drink red?” he asked incredulously.

“My tastes have expanded since we last went out. I do enjoy a nice red with steak or Italian.”

The waiter reappeared with their wine, two glasses of water, and a basket of sourdough bread with Puglian olive oil.

As neither had opened the menu yet, he asked for a few more minutes to place their order. After his departure, Bridget raised her glass, “A toast to drinking red wine in khakis.” The smile she gave caused his heart to skip.

“To red wine and khakis,” he answered back with a smile of his own and met her eyes over the table with the incredible intensity she remembered so fondly.

After ordering and waiting for their tomato salad, Mark asked Bridget how her work was going. “Very nicely, thank you for asking. On our next show we’re covering the V&A. Did you know it’s more than just the story of Victoria and Albert?”

Not sure if she was taking the piss again, he asked, “So, I take it you’d never been?”

“No, never! I doubt it would have made Shaz, Jude or Tom’s list if it didn't have a bar. Mine either, come to think,” she said, which caused him to laugh. “Queen Victoria was said to be so shocked by the nudity of a full-size plaster cast of Michelangelo's 'David' that she had made a suitably proportioned fig leaf and had it hung on the statue using hooks when dignitaries visited. Imagine! If we had gone it would have been to see the nude sculpture, including Tom. Makes you wonder how she ever managed to have nine children.”

Once the attentive waiter cleared the salad plates and the food arrived, they each ordered another glass of Chianti. “Oh, my Lord,” Bridget exclaimed. “I could drink this by the bucket.”

She had chosen the eight-hour beef shin ragu with pappardelle, while Mark had the pici cacio & pepe. The fat, wriggly, and dense Tuscan noodles are cousins to Japanese udon. The dish was bathed in sharp pecorino romano and freshly milled black pepper emulsified in a cooking water splash.

After tasting her dish, she looked at Mark with an ecstatic expression. “The idea that a spiralised courgette can substitute for pasta. As if. As if a frond of watery squash is fit to touch the hem of pasta’s garment. This is heavenly. Nothing beats fresh, house-made noodles.”

“If Nabruzzi embarked on an expansion plan, anyone lucky enough to welcome them to their neighbourhood should immediately put out the bunting,” said Mark, taking another sip of wine. After tasting his dish, he proclaimed, “This is barreling straight to the top of my desert island dishes. Would you like a taste?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” she responded to his enthusiastic comment.

Mark twisted a few of the thick noodles onto his fork, but as they were short and slippery, he leant over the small table and offered her the bite, not wanting to create a mess. Reaching out to steady his hand, she slowly took the food directly from him to avoid wearing the noodles on her dress. Rolling her eyes in delight, she pulled back, saying, “And I thought mine was good. Yours is orgasmic!”

Not wanting to divulge exactly where his mind went after her comment, he quickly drank his wine while looking down at his food, sure that his face was flushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a soft laugh, “didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all”, he said and grinned a little self-consciously. He couldn’t be happier having dinner with her, and a little discomfort at his own expense was a small price to pay.

Putting him back at ease, she got him to laugh, saying, “The next time I’m craving Italian, you’ll find me here, in a corner, with an expression of glazed lust, hoovering up worms of pici like a deranged cuckoo.”

After finishing their entrees, they ordered two decaf coffees and a chocolate torte to share. Remembering that Bridget had mentioned wanting to discuss something with him, he asked her straight out, “So, did you need some legal advice?” knowing full well that it was nothing of the sort.

At first she looked confused, but then remembered. “Oh! My question.” Looking up at him, she said with a tremulous voice, “Mark, would you consider going out with me?”

Now it was his turn to be confused as he furrowed his brow. “We’ve been out three times now. Did you have somewhere specific in mind?”

This time she looked a little discomfited. “I meant on a proper date,” Bridget said, looking up and meeting Mark’s gaze straight on. She had no idea how close he was to Kathryn or if they were exclusive yet, but she felt if she didn’t try soon, it may very well be too late.

Chapter Text

“Bridget, do you know what you’re asking?” he replied with his amazing ability to communicate great sorrow and immense joy with a single look, even as his expression barely changed.

“If you’re willing, there would need to be ground rules. I suspect you may have some of your own.”

A slow smile spread across his face. Mark would like nothing more than to see Bridget romantically again, but she was right. Those things that seemed like red flags early on in their relationship had turned out to be lasting issues. Since she had caught him off guard with her question, he asked her to expound on her ground rules.

“Does that mean you’re considering it then?” she asked, not allowing her hopes to get up.

“Is it all right if I’m not sure at this precise moment? I’d certainly like to know your rules and what I’m in for before I decide,” he said, smiling softly.

Bloody lawyer, she thought. “Rule number one, and I’ll certainly take my share of the blame, no shagging.” She couldn't stop laughing out loud when she saw his astounded expression. “Mark, you look like I just drowned a kitten!”

Trying to compose his features, he replied, “I didn’t realise we had issues in that regard. You certainly seemed to enjoy the night we shared at the Christening.”

“Exactly. That’s the one area we don’t have any problems with. If we hop into bed like mad bunnies, I'm afraid we’ll be right back where we were five years ago.” She turned serious and, reaching across the table, took his hand in hers. “I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t think either of us do.”

“Agreed, I take your point.” Mark ran his thumb gently over the top of Bridget’s hand, caressing it slowly. “Please continue.”

Well, that seems to be a good sign, thought Bridget. However, if he can make me feel like this with just his thumb in a busy restaurant, I may have trouble with rule number one.

“Your work,” she said. “More specifically, the travel and hours even when you’re not away on a business trip.”

“I don’t travel with my new duties.”

“I did notice that you’ve been available every time we’ve met lately. Is that permanent?”

“Yes,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“And the hours, then? You said you have upwards of thirty cases at one time.”

“I have two capable junior barristers as management to handle the bulk of the casework. I can’t deny that for the first few months the hours were brutal, but since then my typical work week has averaged 45 hours and no weekends to speak of. Can you say the same?”

“No, I can’t. We’ve worked several weekends already. Would that be a ground rule, then?”

“I don’t foresee that being an issue. I suppose it would depend on the details, the seriousness of our relationship at the time, and the extent to which it happened.” After he said this, as he thought of having weekends free but Bridget being tied up with work, he suddenly felt very remorseful. Wasn’t that what she had dealt with for years? Yes, he had said he understood when they had discussed it. But his work was more important not only to him, but to his clients and their families. And it had left her immensely alone. No matter how many friends she had, she was often lonely in the relationship that mattered most; he had put her second to his career. And he had suffered for this single-mindedness by losing her. His inability to balance his work and personal life now seemed to be less a quirky affectation and more a tragic flaw. He would like to make it up to her, but could he? Or might he continue to be a disappointing partner, even with the best intentions? The only way to do this was by showing her, not talking about it. He now realised this was his motivation in pursuing and taking the new position in Chambers, a position that didn’t include travel, but removed him from directly representing clients. If he expected his personal life to change, he had to be the impetus. Otherwise, he felt he might end up being very lonely.

“So, I know this is sudden; do you need some time to think about it?” she asked. She was having trouble reading Mark’s clues. Why was he still holding her hand? Had she mucked up with the “no shagging” rule? How much was Kathryn part of his decision? His distinctly English brand of emotional aloofness had managed to seem charming and dashing, like a mystery to unwrap when they had first met. However, in middle age, there was something a little touching in his very stuckness. He had married Camilla, presumably because they were more compatible, but that hadn’t worked. What exactly did he want and need in a partner?

“Mark, I know I asked prior. Why did you marry Camilla?”

As he drained the last of his coffee, he said, “I don’t know.”

Bridget responded in a slightly elevated tone. “How can you marry someone and not know?!” Looking around, she apologised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice so loudly.”

Mark couldn’t help but laugh at her outburst. “It’s not that I don’t know why I married her. I don’t know quite how to put it into words. After you and I split, I couldn’t help but think there was an underlying incompatibility, no matter how much we loved one another. With Camilla, there may not have been the same type of love that we shared, but compatibility was always present. She understood my work and I hers. She probably travelled as much as I and worked the same hours.”

“Then why did you split?”

Thinking about her question, Mark looked down at their hands and spoke very quietly, “Because she wasn’t you.”

This admission, coming from him, caused her to smile and ask, “So, dinner next week? A proper date?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” he said and met her eyes again.

Once their bill was paid, Mark drove the short distance to Bridget’s flat. After parking, he went around to open her car door and help her out. Walking side by side to her building’s front door, she suggested they spend several hours at the V&A for their first date and have dinner afterwards. The museum was open late on Friday evenings, so they could work a full day.

“Are you sure? They still don’t have a bar on the premises,” Mark laughed.

“I’m confident we can have a drink with dinner after. Would you like to choose the restaurant?” she asked.

“Of course. We’ll talk later in the week to firm up plans.” He kissed her quickly and turned back to walk to his car, hands shoved into his trouser pockets.

“Mark,” she called after him. When he turned around to face her, she said, “Will you have some ground rules by Friday? I’d hate for them all to come from me.”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” he nodded and smiled before turning to continue to his car.

————

On Monday when Mark mentioned to Pierce, his assistant, that he had a date with Bridget on Friday and they would be going to the V&A, Pierce brought up the sold-out exhibition on the fashion designer Dior. If he thought it unusual he wasn’t attending with Kathryn, he certainly didn’t let on. Thinking the show would be very much up Bridget’s alley, Mark asked Pierce to locate two tickets for the Friday evening event. After many phone calls and request for a budget, he came to Mark’s office on Wednesday morning with a large grin. “Believe it or not, this was one of the tougher requests in recent memory,” he said, handing Mark two tickets. “Oh, and I may have gone slightly over your budget, so don’t be surprised when you see your charge card receipt.” With that, he left to the sound of Mark’s laughing.

A week had never moved so slowly to Mark. He and Bridget had spoken on Wednesday, and he would be picking her up directly after work on Friday. They would visit the Victoria & Albert Museum for a few hours before moving on to dinner. He suggested The Big Easy on King’s Road since it was only a fifteen-minute walk away. Mark could tell by her voice she had heard of the restaurant and bar before, later confirmed when she asked, “You weren’t joking when you said we could get a drink after.” The restaurant was known for their libations, American seafood and live music. Mark couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the surprise he heard in Bridget’s voice.

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When Friday finally came, Mark felt excited and unable to concentrate on work fully. It must have shown in his demeanour as Pierce told him later in the day, “So, tonight’s the date with Bridget? Not that I could tell by your good mood. You’ll have to let me know how she enjoys the Dior exhibit. I’ve heard it’s excellent.” Being in excellent spirits, Mark told his assistant he could take off early to get a head start on the weekend. “You don’t have to tell me twice. See you on Monday then. Looking forward to hearing how your evening went.”

London traffic caused Mark to be slightly late in getting to Bridget’s work at the studio. While on his way he texted, asking if she’d like him to come inside for her. She immediately responded, saying she’d be waiting at the kerb. When he pulled up in front of the building, Bridget jumped in the front seat. “Hello! Ha, beat you to getting my door. Not that I mind, though,” and she gave him a welcome kiss on the cheek. “So, the V&A, then dinner?” she asked as they pulled away into the flow of never-ending traffic.

“Yes, and I have a surprise,” Mark said, pointing to the tickets in the centre console. Picking them up, Bridget let out a squeal.

“How did you get these? I’ve heard they sold out within hours.”

“Connections and a very persistent assistant. Oh, and according to Pierce, a busted budget,” he replied laughing. The short drive to the museum took about twenty-five minutes, primarily due to traffic.

“So, an interesting choice for dinner,” said Bridget. “I didn’t think such a casual restaurant would be your cuppa. You’re full of surprises today.”

“I’ve heard good things from workmates and the assistants at Chambers. I knew you wanted a drink, and the consensus was they have the best. And it’s very near the V&A, so we can walk over or drive after, you choose.”

Leaving the vehicle in the car park, they walked the short distance to the entrance. Since it was now December, the air had a decided crispness to it. Mark had swapped out his suit jacket, button-down shirt, tie and cufflinks for a jumper, with a light woollen jacket over it.  Bridget wore a blue silk blouse, a velvet jacket, a skirt just above her knees, and black leggings with short black boots.

“Mark, I left the tickets in the console!” Bridget exclaimed, grabbing his hand to head back to the car.

“I have them,” he laughed, patting his jacket pocket to show where they were. Bridget kept hold of his hand as they walked up the steps to the entrance. He smiled at the warm feel of her hand in his.

Entering the building, they looked up at the massive Dale Chihuly sculpture. It was hard to miss the incredible blue, green and yellow explosion in glass suspended from the ceiling of the central dome, leading the eye up to the equally spectacular Hereford Screen on the balcony above the entrance. Bridget told Mark it wasn’t a light fixture but a massive sculpture resembling some living organism. She and Daniel had done the preliminary research for their show but hadn’t completed the filming yet, and she had already memorised a few facts. “I’m not sure if I think it looks like a giant squid with writhing tentacles, perhaps a swarm of bees, or an upside-down Christmas tree.”

“Since we’re coming into the holiday season,” laughed Mark, “I’m going with the upside-down Christmas tree.”

They were both enthralled with the retrospective once they had queued for the Dior Exhibition and entered. The displays were a social history in needle and thread, an elegant memory of the post-war world. The exhibition covered the Dior story in ten thematic rooms that started with the infamous New Look (the phrase coined by Harper’s Bazaar editor Carmel Snow) through the styles – some more faithful to Dior than others – of his successors: Yves Saint Laurent (who was only 21 years old when Dior passed away of a heart attack and he was tasked with succeeding him as designer), Marc Bohan, Gianfranco Ferré, John Galliano, Raf Simons and the present creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri. 

A newsreel in the third room proclaimed, “The Dior circus comes to London”, and instantly, visitors were caught in the middle of the London season: coming-out balls, deb’s dances, court circulars. They saw Dior’s strong-minded muses: Nancy Mitford, Margot Fonteyn, and the ungovernable Princess Margaret. “How sweet she looked, how butter-wouldn’t-melt in her mouth,” observed Bridget upon seeing the photograph by Cecil Beaton for her 21st birthday, dressed in a Dior gown and then seeing how faded and party-ravaged the dress was today, on full display in a glass case. “It’s a dress worn, danced in and smoked in; to destruction. At least I hope she got her money out of it,” said Bridget in awe.

There were little black suits from the Forties and Fifties: the “Daisy” suit (1947) ordered by both Mitford and Fonteyn; the “Debussy” dress (1950) embellished with hundreds of dragonfly sequins. Dior tucked and pleated cloth with reckless disregard for cost. One suit required 80 yards of fabric. A photograph from 1947 showed the designer running a gauntlet of women demonstrating against his wastefulness: “Mr Dior, we abhor dresses to the floor.” The time period was post-war Europe, and rationing still occurred in many countries.

The grand finale was the ballroom—a large circular room displaying the many spectacular evening dresses and ball gowns from the history of Dior. Every single gown was stunning in its own way, but combined with the visual effects, it took Bridget’s breath away. The room's walls and ceiling played host to scenes of spectacular projections and lighting. One minute, it felt like one was standing in a shower of golden glitter; the next, it was as if you were watching shooting stars under a brightly lit night sky. The changing light and colours highlighted the different tones and textures of the outfits. Bridget asked Mark if they could go around this room several times, as every time the light changed, she noticed a dress she hadn’t paid much attention to the first go-round.

When they exited the museum, Mark asked if she’d like him to drive the short distance to the restaurant. Thinking of both having a drink or two and a large dinner, she suggested they walk the fifteen minutes, feeling it would at least help burn a few calories. As they leisurely strolled down Sloane Square, walking in front of the upscale retail strip, Bridget certainly felt scarcely any hardship, especially at night, when the approach of December transformed the walk into a mass of twinkling lights, with things occasionally glimpsed in shop windows that were added immediately to her mental Christmas wishlist; either for herself or friends. As they walked, Bridget felt Mark reach over and take her hand in his, and she willingly obliged, leaning into him as they continued on and discussed the exhibit.

“I think my favourite Dior piece of all time is the Junon dress from 1949, in the Ballroom display. It’s a dream of tulle and sequins, and you can see the floral inspiration in the multi-layered petals of the dress skirt. The blue-black sequins against the white background are stunning.”

“I’m happy then that we got to see the exhibit. I had honestly only heard about it in passing. I’ll have to let Pierce know how much you enjoyed the show. He’ll be pleased to have suggested it.”

Upon entering the restaurant, Mark commented, “It seems authentic, from what little I know of genuine crab-shacks.” There were red and white checked tablecloths and dark wood walls over every available inch of which business cards were pinned. While they waited a few minutes for their table, Bridget asked Mark for his business card, then took one of her own, pinned them together on top of the thousands already on the wall, saying, “There, we’ve joined the ranks!”

Being led to a table for two, they passed industrial pendant lighting and mounted blackboards, dotted here and there with rusty, distressed signage with sayings of the “Life’s a Beach” ilk. Bridget noticed a mix of diners, from twosomes to small clusters of smartly dressed lads to a couple of birthday gatherings.

Once seated and waiting for their server, they observed a family with three teenage girls. They alternated between staring avidly at their phones, bickering amongst themselves, and appealing to their parents to tell the others off. An older couple was then led to seats to Bridget and Mark’s left. Looking over, they seemed suitably alarmed at their proximity; the tables were very close together.

“Don’t worry,” Bridget said cheerily. “I promise not to eavesdrop on your conversation. Well, only the good bits.”

The white-haired gentleman said with charm, “Oh dear, well, I’ll have to make sure I speak entirely in Portuguese!”

“Oh, but we’re amazingly fluent in Portuguese,” said Mark, which was so out of character that Bridget burst out in laughter, and just like that, any awkwardness dissipated.

After their waitress tied the bib around Mark's neck in preparation for a messy dinner, he commented, “I can’t remember the last time I did anything for the first time.”

“Mark, surely your mother tied a bib around your neck as a child?” said Bridget incredulously.

“I’m sure she must have. Although she says I was born able to use a fork and knife quite well,” he answered with a smile.

Bridget then commented for Mark’s ears only, “When dining in such close quarters to total strangers – and with the unflattering addition of a large, plastic bib to our outfit, no less – we have two choices: either stare resolutely at your companion and refuse to engage with those around you, or you can get on board with it and have some fun.  And, since you chose the venue, you seem to have jumped in with both feet!”

Their new neighbours seemed to have the same attitude, and the woman, not to be outdone by her twinkly co-diner, took advantage of the squeeze between the settings to touch Mark’s arm whenever she talked to them. Seeing this, Bridget thought, I really can’t blame her, to be honest. He looks exceptionally lovely. And this is a place that encourages you to go for it. The third time she touched Mark, his right eyebrow shot up so that only Bridget could see, which caused her to reach across the table and take his hand, saying, “Have I told you how nice you look tonight?” trying to keep a straight face.

When their waitress returned, Mark ordered a Kronenbourg and Bridget the slushy mojito. They skipped the smaller starters for a shared Chilled Combo. When it arrived, along with their drinks, they eyed each other excitedly over the seafood selection on a bed of fine ice. Shellfish crackers were quickly wielded, and lobster picks dug avidly into spidery legs, leaving no morsel uneaten. “I refuse to believe there’s none left,” muttered Mark, accompanied by a savage spiking and twisting of the pick. Trying to pace herself, Bridget asked for water when the residue was cleared from their table as the mojito was going down too smoothly.

While waiting for their main course, Mark excused himself for the loo. Upon returning, he laughed and said, “Calling it a schlep to the men's bog is a little like saying Kerry Katona doesn't mind talking about her private life occasionally. Blimey, I could have caught a Piccadilly Line train from down there."

Once he was back, Bridget quickly left for the ladies room. She walked by the kitchen, where she saw a wood-fired oven full of faggots burning so brightly it looked like the stage at the London Palladium. There were glass-sided grills full of red-hot burning coals. Further down in the basement, presumably somewhere near the earth's core she couldn’t help but think, were BBQ smokers imported from the U.S., run on oak, apple, hickory and cherry wood. There was a 1,500kg lobster tank. There was stuff for making smoked meats.

“If you don't like barbecue, you’re dead to me,” she told Mark after she had sat back down at their table.

“I thought we ordered seafood?”

“We did. I just had to say that after seeing the production downstairs.”

They had ordered the seafood combo to share. Their starter arrived, smelling pleasantly like the wood-burning oven it had been run through, served in a vibrant cream and white wine sauce. After tasting a bite, she said, “Mark, it’s of a sort you could dab behind your ears, and, frankly, I probably will by accident.”

After having his own taste, he responded, “Bridget, if you put this behind your ears, I can’t be held responsible for breaking your rule number one.”

Laughing at his reference to their discussion from the other evening, she said, “Maybe we didn’t need to order the sides of green beans and creamed spinach, but a bit of green on the table makes me feel like I’ve checked some vague nutritional box for the day.”

Mark finally took a small bite of the baked beans, avoiding them so as not to waste precious room. Sighing, he said, “I have never had refreshing baked beans before.”

The couple next to them fairly gawped when looking over at the feast on their table. “Are you going to eat all that?” said the man, a tad enviously. Then the lady’s hand fluttered towards an arm already about to spring into eating action. “Are you an MP?” she asked admiringly. “I feel like I’ve seen you before, perhaps on the telly?”

Just as Bridget was about to yell out about Mark’s appearance on television while defending the foreign punk band Poonani, she looked up in time to see him wearing his severest expression, fairly begging her to keep this to herself. Almost choking on her drink, she started laughing so hard she had tears on her cheeks. As they ordered one more drink before leaving, and after bidding the couple to have a good evening as they got up and departed, she asked Mark why he didn’t want her to say anything about his career.

“I’m only afraid she would have crawled into my lap if she thought I was on the telly and a QC to boot,” he said, smiling.

During the short ride back to Bridget’s flat, she asked if he had any thoughts on his own ground rules.

“I do, but as it’s rather late, why don’t we discuss it another time?”

“Ah, does that mean another date then?”

“Yes, I’m certainly willing if you are?”

After she answered yes, Mark insisted he walk Bridget to her flat.

Once they were in, he helped her remove her jacket and hung it on the coat tree.

“Does kissing you fall under rule number one?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not, Mark—”

Before she finished getting his name out, he leaned down and touched her mouth with his. Gently, he kissed her, then opened her lips with his tongue. Swirling slowly, he teased, licking, probing. He pulled back unhurriedly and took her left hand in his and, raising it to his mouth, kissed the ends of her fingers in turn, finishing by placing his tongue on her palm. She watched his face while he did this; somehow, it felt more intimate than when they had been kissing.

He broke away and kissed her eyelids, then the tip of her nose, before looking into her eyes.

Breathing unsteadily, she said, “That’s so unfair, Mark. You did that on purpose.”

“Yes, you’re right. I did kiss you on purpose,” he said with a smile. “Goodnight, Bridget.” He turned to let himself out. As he walked down the few stairs and opened her door, he heard her say, “Mark, would you like to—”

Without turning back, he said over his shoulder, “Ground rules, Bridget!”

“Sure, easy for you to say... you’ve probably been shagging your musician all along,” she said to no one.

After he was downstairs, the cool night air hit Mark. Sitting in his car, before pressing the ignition, he pinched the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, running a hand down his face. Once composed, he allowed himself a smile as he started his car and drove toward home.

Chapter Text

Bridget and Daniel worked Saturday, meeting William and John at the studio for a full day of filming at the Victoria and Albert Museum. They would also film on Monday, which would allow them and Steven Tuesday through Friday to complete the show. If needed, they could also work the following Saturday. They were much more efficient as a team now, even after just a few shows. The ratings had increased after each episode, which was a positive sign that the network would offer an extension for a second series. Daniel hoped management would also ask them to film additional shows for the current series, above the original twelve they had signed on for.

Bridget texted Mark on Sunday, telling him she thoroughly enjoyed their evening at the Dior Exhibition and dinner afterwards. He responded back immediately, telling her he was returning from visiting his parents and would get in touch later in the week.

On Wednesday evening, after finishing work at the studio, Daniel met Fiona at Le Pont de la Tour for dinner. Since they had worked until well after 7.00, he asked Bridget and Steven if they’d like to join them. Steven would arrive shortly, as he had an errand to run.

As the hostess led three of them to their table, Daniel said, “Forgive me, but with two beautiful women as company, I can’t help but feel the lead in a Richard Curtis romcom.” Fiona thought this the funniest thing ever and immediately leant over and gave Daniel a full-on snog.

When he looked at Bridget expectantly, Bridget couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t look at me! Our snogging days are long over. Daniel, I don’t know what you did to deserve Fiona, but I hope you continue to count your lucky stars!” She really liked Fiona and hoped Daniel would avoid mucking it up with her. Steven arrived soon after and sat to Bridget’s right in the open chair.

“Don’t let me forget to order Grace dinner before we leave, or she’ll divorce me by morning,” he laughed. They had all been working late the first several weeks of the show, and theirs wasn’t the only program Steven was responsible for. He also had two other shows he was editing concurrently.

The restaurant’s location was excellent. It occupied an extraordinary length of the ground floor of a warehouse building right beside the Thames, giving glorious views both ways, most notably of Tower Bridge, lit up electric blue and fairly glowing at night.

The sommelier came to their table and made some interesting suggestions. Surprisingly, the selections were not all French – Bridget and Steven ordered a glass of “Monsters Monsters Attack” Riesling from Australia’s Clare Valley by Some Young Punks.

Bridget thought the name silly for a wine. Still, the sommelier was very informative about the blacked-out label – it used to feature an illustration by artist Asaf Hanuka of a giant monster with x-ray vision ravaging a city as people fled, running and screaming. The importer felt it might encourage children to drink, so they covered it up.

Daniel ordered a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc wine “Quickie” for Fiona by the same winemaker, saying, “This has always been a restaurant where the ratio of drinking to eating has been generous, possibly in tribute to the oft-expressed preferences of its founder.”  When the bottle arrived, Daniel laughed as he read the label, “From the pulp fiction novel of the same name - ‘There’s no time like now to dress down and open up. As time flies, like so much unnecessary clothing, you’ll quickly find you need more. When there’s no time to think, there’s more time for love.’ My word, I think I need to invest in this winery!”

While they were looking at the menu, Fiona commented that she quite liked the views of the city—the red lights, like eyes at the top of the Gherkin and the glowing blue of the Lloyds Building.

“It’s a shame that the Shard owners couldn't be arsed to put it in our sight lines,” said Daniel, taking a sip of his wine.

Steven had roast Yorkshire grouse, Brussels tops, liver route and blackberries. The bird was taken off the bone and served pink and redolent. “As good a grouse as ever I’ve eaten,” he said after a bite.

Bridget enjoyed the braised halibut, grelot onions, cauliflower and crab sauce, which was smooth and creamy. She declared it an excellent fish, surrounded with cauliflower purée, florets, and some trendy little onion. “Not so very different from spring onion,” she noted, saying the dish was nicely poached, with the rich, smooth crab sauce provided to pour over. 

When the waiter came round to inquire after their food, Bridget asked if he was French, taking note of his strong accent. After replying that he was, in fact, Bulgarian, he admitted he’d arrived in the country only a few days earlier. “How typically British,” said Fiona with a smile, “we are such a cultural melting pot.”

The dessert of Paris Brest and hazelnut cream had Bridget waffling on like one of the judges of the Bake-Off about Choux pastry. The waiter explained that the name of her dish came from its resemblance to a bicycle wheel from the cycle race in France between the two cities that had been ongoing since 1891. The other three ordered the crème brûlée, which contained three maraschino cherries.

“Finding them is like entering a Spot the Ball contest!” Steven commented.

After dinner, when they were on their way out, Daniel ran into Mark just as he and Kathryn were coming in the front door. “Sorry about that”, he said before realising it was his ex-mate. “Darce, my apologies.” To Kathryn, he said, “Kathryn, nice to see you again. This is my girlfriend, Fiona; you both know Bridget. And this is Steven, our editor.” To say Bridget felt awkward was an understatement. By the look on Mark’s face, he, too, wanted to be anywhere other than standing in front of Kathryn and Bridget simultaneously.

“So very nice to see you both again”, said Daniel as he and Steven shook Mark’s hand, and he quickly ushered Fiona and Bridget out the door and away from the stream of patrons coming and going. After Bridget arrived at her flat, her mobile rang, and the caller ID showed Daniel’s name. “Hi. Are you all right? I must say, you handled that quite well. Never would have known you had a date with Mark five days prior. Bravo!” Bridget had previously updated Daniel about what she thought was a successful date with Mark.

“Did I? Didn’t feel that way to me. Oh God, Daniel. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up,” she said dejectedly, slipping off her heels.

“Bridge, you’ve had one date, and by the sounds of it, a successful one. He was dating Kathryn before your overtures. Did you make plans to see each other again?”

“Yes, he asked if I was willing, but we hadn’t made firm plans. We texted on Sunday but I haven’t heard from him since. Now I know why,” she said, and he could hear the unhappiness in her voice.

“Well, far be it from me to offer dating advice, but I think you’re overreacting. Have you even heard Mark’s ‘ground rules’ yet? I know you said you’d given him yours. And, by the way, maybe he’s getting your Rule Number One in with Kathryn since you’ve declared it off the table?”

“Fuck!” she exclaimed. “Do you really think so?” Bridget could hear Daniel laughing as he said good night. She had only been joking the other night when Mark was leaving. Now, Bridget fervently hoped he hadn’t heard her comment about Kathryn. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was pressuring him to stop seeing Kathryn after sharing only one date. And by the look of things, he had no intention of doing so.

Chapter Text

Mark and Kathryn were taken to a table immediately since the restaurant had cleared out after the dinner rush. When Mark pulled out her chair and then sat, his mind raced. After the date with Bridget he contemplated breaking it off with Kathryn, since he didn’t feel it would be fair on his part if his heart were elsewhere. But he had changed his mind after mulling it over and briefly discussing the situation with his mother. As she had pointed out, he had only seen Bridget once. Who knew if it would go beyond a few dates? His mother had always told Mark she thought of Bridget as a daughter. Still, ultimately, she wanted her son to be happy, preferably with Bridget, even after their past issues, but it was his choice, and she would support any decision he made. He had never been good at seeing more than one person at a time, and the few times he attempted it, it usually ended in disaster. He could end up stepping in it if he weren’t careful. He may inadvertently hurt Kathryn and Bridget and end up very lonely.

Just then, the waiter arrived to take their order. Deferring to Kathryn and after she asked for a glass of cab he ordered a scotch on the rocks, feeling he could use the potent liquid's fortification.

“So, small world, running into Daniel and Bridget,” Kathryn said when their waiter left to order their drinks.

“Yes, it rather is,” he said pensively. Ok, I should immediately disclose to Kathryn that Bridget and I went out on Friday. However, we haven’t discussed being exclusive. But we have slept together, and I would hope she affords me the same courtesy if she were seeing someone else.

“Mark,” she said, with a small laugh, “you didn’t hear a word I said.”

“Pardon?” he replied a little sheepishly at being caught with his mind elsewhere.

“Do you know what you’re leaning towards for dinner? I can’t decide between fish or beef. I could ask the waiter for his recommendation and see what his thoughts are.”

“I think I’ll start with the lobster bisque and have the grilled Dover sole for my main. You haven’t decided then?”

“To be different from your seafood, I’ll try the beef filet. And another glass of cab to wash it down.”

When the waiter returned, Mark asked if he could send over the sommelier. After asking for recommendations, Mark ordered a glass of “Clean Slate”, a German Riesling, being told it was called a trocken or dry white wine. “Earthy and spicy notes start the wine off and lead to a flavour reminiscent of peach or apricot. The light body and fresh flavour are balanced with the crisp finish. It’s grown in the Mosel region of Germany, along the border with France.”  

“Sold,” Mark said as Kathryn ordered another glass of the cab. 

Once the waiter had left with their order, Kathryn inquired about the trip to his parents. “Hopefully not the same traffic you encountered on your last visit.”

“No, thank God. It was the normal, two-hour, peaceful, if less than scenic drive on the A1. No surprises this time.”

“And all’s well then? Is your mum happy that you got back to visit so soon? You’d mentioned she wished she could see you more often.”

“Yes, I think I made her and my father quite happy,” he said, smiling at the thought. “We had dinner with old friends, and I got caught up on the town gossip. There’s an annual holiday fair downtown on Saturday, and as my father preferred to remain home, I had the pleasure of escorting my mum. She still enjoys showing me off to all her friends in town,” he laughed. “I sometimes feel as if I’m eight instead of forty-eight. It seems that the town has the opposite of a curse. Maybe a blessing is the word I’m looking for, as so many of their contemporaries are still healthy and active.”

“I think it’s nice you’re so close. I have male and female friends who haven’t spoken to their parents in months, if not longer. It’s quite refreshing.”

Not wanting to talk solely of his family, Mark asked, “How is your mum? You said she lives in Liverpool? How often do you get home to visit? And you have a sister there also?”

“She’s great. She lives very near to my sister, and they’re constantly travelling. I envy their closeness in a way. My sister, Beth, is eight years older than me, and they’ve always been close. The next trip they’re discussing is San Francisco in the spring. I’m hoping I can join them for it. They just returned from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, and both are as brown as a biscuit. I guess it was good that I missed that trip, as I’m sure I would have burnt to a crisp in the tropical sun!”

Once their food arrived, they hastily dug in, as it was a little later than either of them usually ate. Mark shared his soup, and they declared it the best bisque they’d ever had. 

“I could honestly make a meal out of just the soup, along with a baguette and some butter; it’s that good,” commented Kathryn, as the wait staff picked up the bowl and brought their mains. “If we weren’t at a restaurant, I’d have kept the bowl and used my finger to get every last bit!” she lamented, causing Mark to turn to look for their server.

“I can flag down the waiter and request he bring it back if you’d like?”

“Don’t you dare! But next time I come, I’m having my own bowl and not sharing a drop,” she laughed.

After enjoying decaf coffees after their meal, Mark drove them back to her flat. They had already discussed that since Mark had an early morning meeting, as did she, he would head home once he dropped her. Mark's thoughts calmed a little on the walk up to her building after the initial surprise of running into Bridget. Kathryn caught him off-guard when she asked him to come in, saying she’d like to discuss something.

Kathryn poured them each a glass of water, and they sat in two comfortable armchairs in her living room in the semi-darkness, with only a low kitchen light. She drew in a deep breath, “Mark, everyone has that one love they never truly get over. It seems to me that Bridget may be that person for you. And from what you’ve told me of her, the fact that she hasn’t married five years after your break-up and subsequent marriage, I’d venture to guess that you’re the same for her.”

He thought about denying this simple truth but knew she’d see right through it. She deserved more than that. He looked over and saw a tear on her cheek. He wanted to comfort her; he’d come to care deeply for Kathryn in the short time they’d known each other. But what she had said was true, and he wouldn’t lie to make himself feel momentarily better.

Reaching over, he took her hand in his. “Please know that I never intended for this to happen.”

Standing, she wiped the tears on her face and hugged him as he stood also. “I know,” she muffled a response into his chest. Leaning back and looking up at his face, she continued, “Mark, as much as it pains me to say so, I hope you and Bridget can work things out. Just promise me that if you don’t, I’ll hear from you immediately?”

Mark softly kissed the top of her head and gently hugged her back. Then they walked to her door, saying goodbye. Once Kathryn closed the door behind him, she broke down in tears, glad she had managed not to lose it in his presence.

Chapter Text

Early the following day, when he arrived at work and sat down, Mark texted Bridget to ask if she had time to talk. Just after responding, her mobile rang.

“Bridget Jones speaking”, she answered sweetly. She couldn’t help but give him back some of his own medicine.

Laughing, he asked, “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“You know it’s me. You’re the one who called,” replied Bridget with a sigh.

“Right. My apologies, wasn’t sure I had the correct person,” he chuckled. Changing the subject, he jumped into what was on Bridget’s mind. “So, about last night—”

“Mark,” she quickly interrupted, “you don’t owe me an explanation after one date. I can’t deny I was surprised to see you, but more so because I hadn’t heard from you since Sunday.”

“Yes, about that. I’d been to visit my parents over the weekend and was inundated with work once back. I already had dinner plans from the prior week, and even so, they had to be postponed by a day. With that said, I’d like to see you again?” Unbeknownst to Bridget, Mark could feel himself tense up, waiting for her answer.

She thought about being petulant and making him sweat, especially after seeing he and Kathryn together, but he technically hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t used to dating someone she knew was seeing others. Miranda kept telling her that dating had totally changed since she was in her twenties and early thirties. It was now free and loose. Is that how Mark saw it? She couldn’t fathom that crumpet-up-the-bum Mark Darcy was more hip to dating mores than she, but maybe she needed to loosen up. After all, she had shagged Jack and Mark in the same week.

“Yes, I’d like that. Did you have something in mind?”

Mark replied that he had not yet made plans. Truthfully, he had half expected her to tell him to bugger off.

“Good. I need a date for Jude and Giles’ party on Saturday. Are you available? It’s very casual. The theme is ‘ugly holiday jumpers’. Don’t suppose you still have that old reindeer sweater?”

He laughed out loud when thinking of his top dresser drawer and that same Christmas jumper. “I know exactly where it is. And I’d love to join you on Saturday night. I haven’t seen my goddaughter since her Christening. Does this mean you’ll also be wearing the tapestry dress?”

“Oh, bloody hell, no!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. Laughing, she continued, “I’m fairly certain my mum used that old thing to reupholster a chair. But I still have the snowman-wearing-a-scarf jumper your mum gave us.”

“Ah, I must have donated my match to that one. I was almost killed once when the snowman’s scarf got entangled in a pasta-making machine. I never let my mother forget that.”

“I imagine Jude will go apoplectic when she sees us walk in together. I’m sure Giles wanted to send you an invite, but she probably forbade it, knowing I was attending.”

“Oh? Is that some hidden code you had? ‘Mark Darcy can only attend if Bridget Jones has previously declined?’” he asked, and she could hear the amusement in his tone.

“Yes, and you wondered why we never ran into each other over the years? I was protected by the secret force of friends’ good intentions,” she replied, not wanting to divulge just how true her statement was.

When Saturday came, Mark picked Bridget up at her flat. After ringing the entry phone, she buzzed him up. “I’m very close to being ready. Honestly, maybe five minutes, at most.”

Smiling, he took the stairs two at a time, looking forward to the evening ahead. Entering, he glanced around before hearing her call from the bedroom that she’d be out momentarily. Except for their date last week, when he had briefly come in, he hadn’t seen her flat since they’d broken it off. A flood of memories hit Mark when he sat down on the living room sofa. He reminisced about their past, thinking he had done quite well the last five years and even considered himself content for the most part. Until admitting he was never as happy as when he was with Bridget.

She emerged from the back of the flat, dressed in high-heeled boots with tight jeans tucked into them. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled up and away from her face in a twist and she did, indeed, have on the jumper with the snowman across the front. His mother bought the same one for each of them when they’d first begun dating. To him, in that moment, she looked perfect. Better, he felt, than when she first received it.

“You look... lovely,” he said, trying not to let his voice give away how emotional he was at being in her old flat, where they had shared so many happy times, and seeing her in a top that his mother had given her. “How on earth did you manage to keep that wretched jumper all these years?” he asked, hoping to alleviate the feelings threatening to overtake him.

“It’s the perfect holiday attire, and I pull it out and wear it every Christmas!” Looking him over, she couldn’t see what he had on under his coat. “Mark, please tell me you found that appallingly bad reindeer jumper?!”

Unbuttoning his jacket and smiling, he held it open so she could see what he wore beneath. When her eyes lit upon the big reindeer with the red nose on the front of his turtleneck jumper, she quickly walked the few feet between them and put her arms around his waist. Pulling her tight, he pressed his lips to the top of her head in a kiss, inhaling the distinct fragrance of her shampoo he had missed so much.

“Ready?” he asked as she leaned back slightly and looked up at him. When their eyes met, Mark felt her move up to kiss him, and when their lips made contact, he thought himself completely lost.

The kiss seemed to continue forever. It felt so good to have Bridget in his arms again. Yes, they had kissed and more at the Christening, now months ago, but he had still been married, although separated at the time and again, briefly at the Adele concert. He kissed her last week, too, after their date. But this time, after she had asked to see him again, she initiated the kiss. Gently breaking apart, he said, “What time does the party begin?” He had to say something, anything, to interrupt the moment. They were only two dates in, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back to the bedroom and make love. Mark had no idea how long her rule of no shagging would be in effect, and he would do everything within his power to hasten its end, but he did want to make sure she felt it was the right time to move their relationship to an intimate one.

Breathing unevenly, Bridget answered that they would get there just as it started if they left now, and turned, moving to gather her coat. Once he helped her with it, she murmured a thank you as they went down the stairs. After helping her in, he turned the stereo on, pulling away from the kerb. When she heard who the artist was, a surprised Bridget turned to him, “Mark, I don’t believe this is Bach, Brahms, or whomever! Are you playing Adele? And more to the point, is it coming through your phone?”

Laughing, he turned and smiled. “Similar to your expanding tastes in wine, my musical tastes have branched out. I quite enjoyed her concert.” What he didn’t add was that the music now reminded him of their attending the concert together, and he often played it in the weeks after when he hadn’t heard from her.

Bridget smiled back. “So, I didn’t ask the other day when we spoke, how are your parents doing? It’s been too long since I’ve seen either of them. I ran into your mum back home over the summer. She looked in fine health. Said your father was recovering from a broken wrist though. Some home repair injury?”

“Yes, seems he was on a step stool, painting some trim outside the front door, when the stool threw him off. Those were his words, according to my mother. A quick trip to A&E and he was good as new, except for a slight case of wounded pride and a plaster cast for five weeks. Seems his days of home maintenance may well be over. It’s been a point of contention between the two of them since. He insists that he can continue to fix things about the house, and my mother forbids him to do so.” Mark said this with obvious affection in his voice and not a little bit of humour.

Upon arriving at Jude’s, Bridget knocked once and walked in, with Mark directly behind. At the sound of the door, Jude immediately made for the entrance to greet the new arrivals. Seeing Bridget first, she exclaimed, “Bridget, happy Christmas! I’m so glad you could make it!” and hugged and kissed her friend's cheek. It was then that Jude saw Mark. Her eyes lit up, almost in panic, as she assumed that her husband must have made a faux pas and inadvertently asked Mark after she had invited Bridget. Laughing at her friend’s obvious discomfort, Bridget grabbed Mark’s hand and explained, “I'm here with Mark tonight, Jude. Where would you like us to leave our coats?”

Jude hugged and kissed Mark and wished him a happy Christmas. “Well, it’s nice to see both godparents together! You’ll have to come upstairs to say goodnight to Ava before we put her down for the evening. The sitter’s just bathing her now. Giles is in the kitchen with drinks if you’d like to go on in,” she directed while taking both their coats. When Mark headed off to find Giles, Jude grabbed Bridget’s hand just as she was set to follow.

“What the fuck!” she hissed under her breath. “How did this come about?!”  

Laughing, Bridget responded, “It’s actually our second date. I asked him out after seeing him at the Tate while Daniel and I were filming a few weeks ago. Ostensibly, it was as friends. Funny, but when I saw him there, he was on a date at the time.”

“Well, you’re being very cool about all this. You haven’t mentioned a word about picking back up with him. Is it serious? What have Tom and Sharon said? If I had to bet, I would have said you and Daniel would have started back up before you and Mark, no matter how much you protested,” she said with a laugh.

“I haven’t mentioned it to anyone except for Daniel. He’s been very supportive, and of Mark too. Hasn’t pulled any punches in pointing out some truths about the past that I may not have seen on my own.”

Mark had a glass of Chardonnay ready for her when they walked into the kitchen. Handing it to Bridget, he asked, “I hope white’s to your liking?” as he took a sip of his red.

”Of course, and thank you.” Taking the glass, she hugged Giles in greeting, wishing him a happy holiday season. From the room behind Giles and Mark, she saw Tom standing with Eduardo and Shaz with Fergus, all with drinks in hand. She caught Tom’s eye and saw his eyebrows shoot up when he saw Mark beside her. Assuming correctly that both her friends would think what Jude had and that Mark and she were here separately and she needed rescuing, she again grabbed Mark by the hand and asked him to say hello to them.  

Walking over to her group of friends, he couldn’t help but feel like a man being led to the gallows. Bridget immediately announced that they were here together on a date. He was pleasantly surprised when Tom gave him a big hug and kiss on the cheek. After shaking hands with Eduardo and Fergus, he faced Sharon. “Happy Christmas, Sharon,” Mark said and leant over to kiss her. To his surprise, she grabbed him in a full-on hug. “Mark, it’s fucking good to see you!”

Bridget took Mark’s hand as they stood and discussed current events with the other two couples. Leaning against him, she listened to the conversation around her, then heard Mark quietly whisper in her ear, “Bridget, what did you say to Tom and Sharon? That was the nicest they’ve treated me in... forever, come to think,” he said with a slight chuckle.

”Honestly, I’ve not even told either we’re seeing each other again. I’ll ask them if you’d like me to?”

”No, that’s quite all right,” he said with a smile. “I’d venture to say you’ll hear it from both of them before the night’s over.”

As they all continued to talk, Tom and Eduardo brought up the topic of the discharged Army veteran, Wayne Green, who had taken his own life in November. “He was found dead in a pal’s flat, up in Bolton, after a suspected suicide last month and spending over a year sofa-surfing,” said Eduardo.

Added Tom, “He was trying to rebuild his life after a medical discharge over mental health issues. All he wanted was his own place, but after being discharged, he received no help from the Army. I saw an interview on the telly with his father; it’s really very sad.”

Mark had some experience with the case, albeit second-hand, so chimed in, “I’ve heard that up to 35,000 veterans could be homeless this Christmas, and thousands will spend the holiday season sleeping rough – but many more will be sofa-surfing or staying in B&Bs and hostels.”

Fergus said, “There should be more support. But it seems one day you’re in, the next you’re out, and you become someone else’s problem.”

“Homelessness amongst veterans is a huge hidden problem,” added Eduardo.“I saw on the news that he had four meetings with his case worker from a service to support veterans cancelled at the last minute,” interjected Sharon, shaking her head.

“The Bolton Armed Forces Centre for Veterans, run by Cait Smith and Scott Hawtrey, first met him earlier this year when he was on a friend’s sofas and without a home. I’ve worked with the Center, and their service is invaluable. The family says they tried their best to help him, but he struggled with his mental health, and they were unable to give him all of the support he needed.  Scott said that the veterans need to be a bit more of a priority to the councils, but in his particular case, they could only offer temporary accommodation due to his age.  Unfortunately, it seems to fall on these local councils to be the first point of contact for struggling vets, and often they’re not set up to be able to handle it,” continued Mark, adding, “and due to this, the veteran is the one left suffering.”

“Mark, wasn’t the Armed Forces Covenant supposed to guarantee that members of the armed services have the same access to support as any other citizen? It seems they should have priority; after all, they were willing to give their lives in service,” asked Bridget.

“Yes, and that’s where Scott said the biggest disconnect is. The local councils are inundated with trying to provide services to all those in need, and often the veteran is already at the end of their rope, so to speak.”

As several other partygoers joined the small group, Mark excused himself to refill his wine glass. Bridget soon followed him to the kitchen, and he also topped off her glass.

“A little heavy conversation for a holiday party, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but it’s all that’s been on the news these last few weeks,” replied Bridget. “I’m glad it’s getting some coverage, and maybe the holiday is the reason.”

At that moment, Jude and Giles walked into the kitchen, asking if they’d like to go upstairs and say goodnight to their goddaughter.

Upon entering Ava’s bedroom, Bridget picked up the little girl from her cot. Immediately, she started crying and reached for Mark. Once Bridget handed her over, she snuggled into his chest and quickly quieted, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Mark’s look of terror as he held the infant was priceless. He had no idea why she wanted to come to him, even less so when she wrapped both arms around his neck. Eyes wide, he tried first to hand her back to Bridget and then lay her back down; at both attempts, she started kicking and crying until forced to hold her close again.

“Seems you’ve got a new best friend,” said Bridget, laughing uncontrollably.  “Ava must find you a bit irresistible!  Let’s take her downstairs and see if Jude or Giles can pry her off.”

By the time they returned downstairs and found Jude, Ava was asleep in Mark’s arms, making it much easier to hand her off. Taking the baby, Jude left to put her back down for the evening. When Mark excused himself for the loo, Tom and Shaz made a beeline for Bridget.

“So, how long have you had your Mr Darcy back?!” asked Tom.

“Bridget fucking Jones! Have you shagged him yet? Or should I say again?” said Sharon, referring to the night of the Christening.

Looking around to ensure Mark hadn’t returned, Bridget responded, “I must say, I didn’t think you two would be so receptive to Mark and I seeing each other. What’s gotten into you? Mark even commented on how nice you were to him.”

“You’ve not exactly been happy in your love life these last few years without Mark Darcy. Even if you couldn’t see it, we certainly could. Who knows if things will work out between you, but it is better to try again than wonder what might have been. Also, Eduardo saw how I looked at him, so it would be best to keep my relationship intact if he were otherwise engaged.”

Shaz added, “Bridge, the night of Ava’s christening, Fergus pointed out that Mark Darcy was so head over heels for you, he might as well have rented a road sign, declaring his love for all to see.”

Laughing, Bridget replied, “Shaz, Mark and I were together that night, but he’d just ended it with his wife. I think it was more a rebound than anything. I had to ask him out this time.”

Rolling her eyes in disbelief, Shaz looked over and saw Mark conversing with Jeremy and Magda, who had just arrived. “Please!” she said dramatically. “I’ll just go over and ask him,” and she turned to join Mark, Jeremy and Magda.  “Don’t you dare, Sharon!” hissed Bridget, following, with Tom trailing both of them.

After greetings and holiday cheer were exchanged, Bridget went to Mark’s side, seeing that he had a plate of canapés.

“Ooh, where did you find these? They look fabulous.” 

“Here, take them, and I’ll go find some more.”

”No need; I want to refill my wine. Where are they hiding?”

After telling Bridget where the appetisers were located, she departed, with Magda following.

“So, Mark says you’re here on a date?” asked Magda incredulously.

“Yes, I am a modern woman of substance and can be open-minded when dating in the contemporary social climate,” laughed Bridget.

“Well, good for you! I’m glad you saw fit to go out with him.”

”I had to ask him out. After you told me about Kathryn and meeting her at the Tate, I felt I’d better move quickly. I'm afraid she is lovely and right up Mark’s alley.”

”Bridget Jones, you minx!” said Magda with a chuckle. “I’ll have to see what Jeremy knows about them. If he has any updates.”

”No need at this point. I just ran into them at dinner on Wednesday. I almost felt sorry for Mark. It looked like he wished he were facing a foreign dictator rather than having the two of us in front of him. Thank God Daniel saved the day and quickly moved our dinner group out the door.”

“So, you’re all right with Mark dating someone else? That’s rather large of you.”

”Obviously, I’d rather he weren’t. But it did light a fire under me; that and our discussion at lunch. When you pointed out that if I was still in love with him, I should make contact. Thank you for that.”

Once they had poured more wine and picked up some appetisers, they returned to the party. It was then that Jeremy asked if Mark’s jumper was the same one that he remembered Bridget describing as horrid, among other things, to his wife years ago before they had all realised the small-worldness of it all; that Bridget was best of friends with Magda and Mark, and Jeremy worked together in Chambers.

Feigning hurt feelings, Mark looked down at Bridget with an affronted expression, commenting, “I never knew you disliked my jumper so much!  I rather thought it was what attracted you to me in the first place.”

”Oh, don’t even go there, Mr. Darcy!” she laughed. “Or I’ll be forced to remind all of the list of rather horrible attributes you regaled your mother with concerning me.”

Bridget stood on tiptoes and gave Mark a big snog in front of all. “I’m so happy that you told me at Magda and Jeremy’s dinner party that you liked me ‘just as you are’ despite my obvious shortcomings.”

Mark surprised everyone in the group by returning the kiss before pulling Bridget into a hug.

So much for the uptight and restrained barrister , thought Jeremy, raising an eyebrow to Magda. Magda smiled, thinking she was happy that Bridget had asked her husband’s partner for a date.

With the evening winding down, Mark noted Bridget was a little squiffy, having had a good time with her friends and not eating much of the food. Once they said goodbye, he gently led her down the front steps, helping her into the car. She wasn’t precisely pissed but was certainly in a good mood.  

“Mark, would you like to come up for a nightcap?” Bridget asked on the drive to her flat, looking over coquettishly.

”Yes, I’ll come up,” he replied a little rougher than intended. Of course he had every intention of taking her to her flat, especially after such an enjoyable night spent with friends. But he didn’t know how much self-control he would have if she chose to kiss him or more. And in her state, he felt he shouldn’t take advantage of it, as much as he may have wanted to forget her bloody rule. “Mark, are you mad about something?” she asked with an exaggerated pout.  

Laughing, he said, “No. And I’m sorry for the curt reply.”  He couldn’t exactly tell her that if she chose to move their physical relationship to the next level, he’d have to try somehow and stop it from moving there, no matter how much he wanted precisely that.

Chapter Text

Pulling up to Bridget’s flat, Mark found a spot to park along the kerb, just one building down. After opening the car door for her, offering a hand up, he was pleasantly surprised when she appeared perfectly sober as they walked across the street and up the stairs to her flat, chatting amicably about the party and laughing at Ava’s “crush” on him. Opening the door and hanging up their jackets, she went to the kitchen, asking if he’d like some coffee with Kahlua. Nodding yes, he took a seat on the sofa. Feeling slightly guilty for thinking she was half-pissed and therefore would want to kiss and possibly more, as she often had in his recollection of their time together, he got up to offer a hand in preparing the drinks.

Standing very near and looking down with a smile, Mark said, “Bridget, thank you for the nice eve—”

Before he could finish the sentence, she took the coffee cup from his hand, placed it on the counter, and proceeded to press herself close against the length of his body. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into an intense kiss.

Despite believing himself fully prepared for this eventuality, Mark’s resolve was sorely tested. Bridget’s initial demeanour and their casual conversation led him into a false sense of security after they had come upstairs.

She slowly stopped kissing him, “Yes, Mark, you were saying...?”

Fuck, he thought, she knows exactly the effect she has on me.

Without waiting for an answer, she reached up, pulling him back down into the kiss. As much as his mind thought her idea of taking it slow and getting reacquainted had merit, he couldn’t pull himself away. When she took one hand and started unfastening his belt buckle and, with the other, began firmly pressing into him, he moaned low into her mouth.

“Bridget, you’re killing me,” he managed as she continued moving her hand slowly over him.

With supreme fortitude, he took her hands, removed them from where they were and held them tightly. Then he became the aggressor in their kiss, moving his lips over her ear, taking the lobe gently between his teeth, causing her to inhale sharply. Mark moved slowly down her neck to her throat, heard her make a low noise when she tried to catch her breath, saying his name, although he wasn’t positive as his mouth covered hers again, capturing the sound.

While intensely trying to stop his body from going past the point of no return, his mind was working on a way to somehow slow this down with her. Two dates in just weren’t enough. They hadn’t yet discussed anything of consequence; were just getting to know one another again after several years of living separate lives.

“Bridget,” he said quietly, pulling her tight, softly kissing her temple.

Hearing her name, she stopped, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, trying to slow her breathing to a normal rate.

“I’m not exactly abiding by my own rule, am I? Thank you for being the voice of reason.”

“You’re certainly not making this very easy for me,” he said in agreement. After holding her for another moment, he said, “Come on, let’s have that coffee,” and moved away, pouring them each a cup. “Kahlua?” he asked.

“Yes, please. And I promise to behave the rest of the night,” she said, then took her coffee to the sofa and sat.

Mark stood in her living room with his drink, ready to sit in the armchair, when she invited him to sit by her on the sofa, patting the empty spot with her hand. Smiling back, he settled beside her, setting his cup on the table.

Turning, he took her free hand in his. “Bridget, I’ve missed you terribly. I told you the same the night of the Christening, but you disappeared before morning.” As he said this, he reached up with one hand and brushed the hair back from her face, tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

“Mark, now you’re killing me.”

“Hardly a fair comparison,” he said gently. “I tell you how much I’ve missed you while you push me to my physical limits.”

“You said you and Cameron split—”

“Camilla”, he interrupted with a low laugh; Bridget had remembered his wife’s name the last few times she’d mentioned her.

“Camilla, then... because of me, ‘Because she wasn’t you’ were your exact words. What did you mean?”

“She and I were very compatible, but I couldn’t provide her the thing she truly wished for.”

“And... ? What was that?” She looked directly into his eyes, not flinching.

“My heart. It’s always belonged to you. Always will. I never meant to make it hard for you to love me.”

“It wasn’t hard; it was too easy. I wanted more than you could give.”

“Come here,” he said, and when she leaned towards him, he took her in his arms. “Bridget, what are we doing? Are you ready to try this again? There’s nothing I’d like more, but I couldn’t take it if you’re not sure.”

“What about Kathryn?” Bridget had no idea how far along they were in their relationship, but he seemed to like her very much; they appeared to be a perfect match from what Magda had said, and Bridget had even liked Kathryn when they met at the Tate.

“She broke it off,” he said.

“Why?” she asked tremulously.

“Once you and I became friendly again, she immediately saw right through me; saw that my heart still belongs to you, that you’re my world,” he answered, holding her tightly, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes, hoping that her reply was what he wanted.

Bridget pulled back. “Mark, I love you. Always have, always will.”

He knew it was pressing his luck, if not his endurance, but he bent to kiss her again. It would be too easy to get carried away at this juncture, and they still had so much to discuss. He felt tears running down her cheek.

“Why are you crying, darling?” he asked, leaning back to wipe the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

When Bridget heard Mark call her the endearment he so often used during their time together, it set her off again, and tears began to flow. Looking at her in confusion, thinking she was upset, he immediately pulled out a handkerchief so she could wipe her face and blow her nose.

Bridget laughed at him through the tears, “I never imagined that you and I would be in this place again, declaring our love for one another.” She trailed off, overcome with emotion once more.

Mark suddenly realized that he’d said everything but that word, so to make his point abundantly clear, he took her chin, tilting her face up so their eyes met, and said, “Bridget Jones, I love you—the way you were, the way you are, and the way you always will be.”

Chapter Text

Mark gathered Bridget to him, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist and reciprocated the hug. Quietly she asked, “Can we still take this slowly? Get to know one another again. I promise to try harder... oops, bad way to put it; I promise to behave better regarding rule number one.”

“Yes. It’s been over five years apart. As much as I hated your ground rules, I think they make sense. I understand your reasons for laying them out, even if I was loathe to embrace it,” he said. “I want,” he stopped, then started again, “let me rephrase that. I need you to know you’re my priority. I can only prove this by showing you, not talking about it. And although my job and career are still important, they mean nothing if you’re not in my life.”

Sniffling and futilely trying to stem the tears from flowing again, she thought back to something Daniel had said. “Mark, how do you feel about women working, having a full-time job, or career?”

Not knowing where this train of thought from her was heading, he replied honestly, “I’d say it’s entirely up to the woman in question as to what she’d like. And even then, I’d venture to guess that her opinion may alter as her life circumstances change. Now, if you had asked me that when I was fresh out of university, I may have given a different opinion, but I, too, have evolved and changed,” he said laughing. “What brought about that question?”

“Daniel and I were talking the night at the Tate, and he pointed out that you always supported my career. You never expected me to become a barrister’s wife, the type that stayed home, put on dinner parties and produced children.”

“If you had wanted that, I would have supported it. Well, maybe all but the dinner party bit. Cooking was never your forte. Or has your food preparation undergone a metamorphosis these last few years?” Mark asked.

“No, sadly, it has not. That’s why God invented caterers and takeaway,” she laughed. At that moment, a small yawn overtook her. “You could stay the night if you’d like?”

“I’d better not. Again, my mind may fully understand and agree with your motives for spending some amount of time together before becoming intimate again, but my body doesn’t always comply. You’ve not been to my house yet. Can I cook you dinner tomorrow evening?”

Bridget didn’t particularly relish the idea of visiting the home he had shared with his ex-wife, but she also felt with all the accommodations he was making she should get over it and put her feelings aside for the moment. Maybe too brightly, she responded, “That would be wonderful! What time, and can I bring some wine?”

————

Mark picked Bridget up for dinner late afternoon and drove them back home. She brought a bottle of cab; since he had tipped his hand he was serving beef, although he wouldn’t say precisely what. On arrival, Bridget was genuinely impressed upon entering the red brick-fronted townhome. From the outside, what looked like a very traditional home, which might have dark wood floors with large, heavy oriental carpets everywhere, astonished her when she saw the new and modern interior. The flooring was a warm, medium-coloured, wide plank wood with a matte finish and ran the length of the space; the floor consisted of a water closet just off the wide entryway and to the left a reception room with a bay window, while straight ahead was an open-plan combination of kitchen, living room and dining room. Two large skylights over the dining table bathed the room in natural light, and beyond it, a wall of sliding glass doors that looked out over the massive back garden and terrace. The outdoor area had a dining table, a low stone wall border, and three wide steps led down to the grass.

“Your home is gorgeous. How many floors are there? And is that entire space out back your garden? It’s gigantic.” She thought his home in Holland Park was significant, but this one was even grander.

Laughing at her enthusiasm, he replied, “There are four levels, a basement below and the second and third floors above. Come, I’ll take you on a tour.”

They ascended to the top level in a lift that faced the foyer and looked to Bridget like a door to another room. She didn’t know anyone with a lift in their home, and she let Mark hear about it on the way up. The upper floor contained two bedrooms and two baths. The larger bedroom was exceptionally spacious and measured six meters by three and a quarter meters. It was set up as a home gym and sported more than a few of the latest exercise and weight machines. Moving down and using the stairs to the second floor, Mark showed her the main bedroom, en-suite and two other bedrooms, one of which was an office. Bridget tried not to think of Mark and Camilla sharing the bedroom. Still, she felt uncomfortable as she faced the reality that not only had she and Mark been apart for some time, but he had shared his life with someone else during that same period. Trying hard not to show how affected she was by such stark evidence of his previous marriage, she smiled and cheerily followed him down, past the ground floor, to the lower ground level, which held yet another bath and bedroom, a utility room with washer and dryer, along with a massive reception room, which measured well over eight and a half meters by five. The room consisted of two large sofas, a chaise, and a built-in that ran the entire span of one wall and sported a flat-screen television. Outside, through black metal framed sliding glass doors that folded up on themselves, accordion style, was a small concrete terrace walled in but open to the sky with a black, modern metal stairway leading up to the ground floor, through the outside garden and terrace. Mark took her hand and led her up the back stairs. They entered the house through the sliders and into the dining room and kitchen, where they had started.

“I love your house!” Bridget said convincingly. She did think it was a beautiful home.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “I hope you’re fine with hamburgers since we never enjoyed them at Elliot’s. With cheese and bacon? And a small salad with a Dijon vinaigrette?”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful and I’m starving. Haven’t eaten much all day, saving my appetite. What can I do to help?” she offered.

“You can pour yourself some wine if you’d like. The glasses are behind me, second door from the left and the opener’s by the sink.” When Mark started pattying the meat, his mobile rang. Looking down where it lay on the counter, he saw from the display it was his mother. “It’s my mother. Would you mind answering while I wash my hands? I hate not to answer when she calls; I always worry my father may have had another home improvement injury.”

“You’re sure? Have you told her we’re seeing one another again? I don’t want to give her a shock,” she laughed.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled when she hears your voice,” he replied.

Picking up the phone, she answered, “Mark Darcy’s phone. Bridget Jones speaking.”

Silence greeted her until Elaine sputtered, “Bridget? Is everything all right? Where’s Mark?”

Laughing, Bridget said, “Yes, he’s fine, we’re fine. He’s fixing burgers, and his hands are a mess. Here he is now,” passing the phone over just as he finished drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

Bridget could hear Elaine’s excited voice asking what they were doing together as soon as he brought the phone to his ear. “I’m cooking dinner for Bridget and myself. At my house,” he laughed. “Yes, I’ll call you later. Is everything all right then? Yes, of course,” he said, handing the phone back. “My mother would like to speak to you.”

Grimacing, she took it, fearful of a mother’s protective nature regarding her son. She listened, slowly smiled, nodding at whatever Elaine said, and then rang off with a sincere goodbye.

“So, did she read you the riot act? Warn you to stay away?” he joked. Mark knew his mother where Bridget was concerned, and it would startle him if she said anything of the sort.

“No,” she replied with a smile. “She said to enjoy ourselves and that you’d better call her as soon as I leave or in the morning after I leave,” and her face flushed red with embarrassment. “Your mum is one of a kind and so very pragmatic.”

“And? Did you tell her you wouldn’t be staying over?” he laughed.

“No! It’s bad enough your mother thinks we’re having sex every spare moment and has always thought that. I won’t even try to explain we’re not. At least, not right now we aren’t,” she chattered, clearly flustered.

Walking over to stand close, Mark pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering into her ear, “We can always prove her right. The burgers do need to temper for a half hour before I put them on the grill,” and he began to kiss her neck.

“Mark. I thought we were both in agreement on this. Now you’re teasing me mercilessly. How am I supposed to—”

She stopped. She could feel his body shaking with laughter at her outburst. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you? What if I had agreed? Then what would you have done?” she questioned, laughing back.

At her response, Mark shook his head and gave her an intense look before responding, “Now, Bridget, what do you think I’d have done?” he asked incredulously. “I would have either picked you up and carried you upstairs to make wild, passionate love or said I have a meal to prepare and that I’ll need to take a rain check.” Chuckling, he returned to the sink and started assembling the dinner salads.

Sticking out her tongue and smiling, she opened the bottle of wine, pouring it along with two glasses of water, which she took to the dining table. Seeing an unlit candle, and as dusk was fast approaching, she lit it. “Thank you for lighting that. I’d meant to do it earlier,” he said. After finishing their salads, and clearing the dishes, Mark took the burgers to the terrace to light the grill.

Following him, Bridget complimented the homemade salad dressing. “I’d ask you for the recipe, but you’d know I was only doing so to impress you and that I’d never actually make it. It was delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, and it’s easy; I think even you could throw it together,” he said, smiling. Seeing Bridget rub her bare arms in the chill night air he reached over to pull her near enough to feel the heat from the grill. “How late would you like to stay? There’s a football match at 7.00, and I want to watch it if you’d like to stay. Unless you have something you’d rather see? Or I can take you home? What time is work in the morning?”

“I think I’ll watch some of the match, if you don’t mind. I planned on taking a mini-cab home, so you don’t have to drive a half hour each way again.”

“I don’t mind driving you.”

“I know, but we can both have a drink and not have to worry.”

“Bridget—”

“Mark, I take them all the time. I insist.”

Relenting, he nodded in agreement. He knew when he’d lost an argument.

Over dinner Mark told Bridget he had just listed his home for sale with an estate agent.

“Why? It’s beautiful. Too large for one?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, partly. I like the home but always thought it quite big. So, a fresh start in something a little smaller, perhaps.” He wanted to tell her he hoped they’d continue to spend time together in the future, and didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. “I’d like it if you could help me with the search. I’ve always trusted your judgment. We could take a look at listings after dinner?”

“Of course, I’d love to help you look. Could actually be fun. What are you thinking; townhome, detached home or apartment?”

“I’m open. Let’s see what catches our fancy on Right Move. The agent has two properties to see on Wednesday if you’d like to come. We could have dinner after if you’re free?”

”Yes, I’d love to. Daniel and I are taking a few days off as a holiday special has pre-empted our show for the week.”

After dinner and washing up the dishes, they took their wine downstairs to turn on the football and look at real estate on Mark’s laptop. Once he had entered a budget, she whistled loudly. “Wow, you’re really splashing out then!”

”Bridget, you know I’ve always made a good living,” he said, sounding slightly defensive, even to himself.

“I’m not complaining, so forgive me if I sound like it. I’ve always been impressed by your career, and you’ve certainly earned it,” she said, leaning over to give him a cheek peck. “Probably goes back to my mum. I know I’ve told you how she described you to me. And I quote, ‘He's one of those top-notch barristers. Masses of money.’ Made me feel that if I did fancy you, it was only for your earnings.” She stopped suddenly, with a pensive look on her face.

”What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he asked.

”Mark, do you think your mother’s rang my mother about our dinner tonight? If so, I can imagine the proper dressing down I’ll get if she hears about us dating again before I tell her...”

Laughing, he replied, “No, my mother’s smarter than that. But I wouldn’t wait too long. I can only guarantee about twenty-four hours. Then she may explode.”

After watching the football match while looking at house listings, they made plans for Mark to pick her up at half-six on Wednesday, meet with the estate agent, and have dinner afterwards.

Chapter Text

Bridget had Monday through Wednesday off from work. Waking on Monday, after ensuring she had enough coffee on hand so she wouldn’t have to run out for a cup, she rang her mother. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly.

“Bridget, is everything OK? It’s Monday, are you at work? Don’t tell me they cancelled your show. Oh! Are you dating anyone? I met the most interesting man at the library yesterday—”

“Mum!” Bridget interrupted. “That’s why I’m calling. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. Mark and I are seeing one another again,” she said, letting out a loud breath from frustration and nerves.

“Honestly, darling, I thought you were seeing that Daniel fellow you’re working with. Who’s Mark?”

At times Bridget wondered if her mum ever listened to her. “Darcy, mum! Mark Darcy. You know, the person I was engaged to previously? Elaine and Malcolm’s son?”

“But he’s married to a fellow barrister. Dutch girl, I believe.”

“I’m sure Elaine told you that he’s divorced now. We just recently started seeing each other again, and I thought you’d want to know.”

“That’s wonderful news! Does that mean you’re not interested in Samuel?” she asked.

“No, mum, not interested in Samuel. Wait, who’s Samuel? Oh, never mind! Thank you for thinking of me,” she said sweetly, trying to think of anything other than pulling her hair out.

Her mother continued on for ten minutes about irrelevant topics, each seeming to careen off in a direction opposite the one prior. Bridget felt that each time she tried to end the conversation, her mum would think of two more things she had to tell her.

After finally ringing off, she fell back on the couch, feeling like she’d just run around the block a time or two.

—————

After arriving at work and before his regularly scheduled meeting with his team, Mark also called his mother, as he hadn’t done so after Bridget had left the evening before. “Mother, good morning,” he said in greeting. “And before you ask,” he laughed, “Bridget did not spend the night.”

“Mark, you sound happy! Tell me everything, but start with Kathryn. I thought you might bring her home soon to meet your father and me. You’d said you had a date with Bridget, and I thought you were also continuing to see Kathryn?”

After catching his mother up on his and Bridget’s successful dates, including the rekindling of their friendship and the time they had shared as friends and, therefore, why he wasn’t still seeing Kathryn, he was surprised when she turned rather serious. “You’re aware how much I like Bridget, but be careful. I know how devastated you were when you two broke it off previously. Please take it slow and make sure this is what you both want.”

He thought of protesting, to let her know that he had no intention of taking too long where Bridget was concerned this time around, but she quickly finished, saying, “That’s all I’ll say on the subject, as I trust you both have changed since you were together last. Now, when will you be seeing her again?”

“Wednesday for house hunting. Which leads to this; I’m listing my home for sale and looking for something smaller. I’ve asked Bridget to help with the search, and we’re meeting an estate agent after work. I want to get her input on the new property.”

“Well, I must say, you’ve been full of surprises these last couple of days. You seem content, and for that, I’m thankful. And since you’re due for a visit in the next few weeks, maybe you can bring Bridget? Your father and I would love to see her. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t heard from Pam regarding you two. She usually acts as the town crier for any goings on.”

Laughing, Mark replied, “Funny you should mention that. I’m sure you understand why Bridget and I want to keep this close to the vest for now. It’s not that we’re hiding it, but we certainly aren’t going out of our way to let others know. I think we can't be blamed after only a matter of weeks. She’s just telling her mother today before Mrs Jones hears it from someone else.”

—————

After finishing a second cup of coffee and before running several errands she’d been neglecting due to her busy schedule, Bridget called Mark’s mobile, but it went directly to voicemail. She then called his office and got his assistant, Pierce.

“Hello, Bridget,” he said with a smile. “Mark’s just back from his morning meeting. Before I put you through, how did you enjoy the Dior Exhibit? Mark mentioned you liked it.”

“It was fabulous. I learned so much, and the dresses were stunning! Mark said you were the one who told him about it. Thank you for the recommendation,” she said sincerely.

“I’m glad to have thought of it. My wife is the one that brought it to my attention.”

“You’re being too humble; you pulled a blinder to procure two sold-out tickets!”

“Thank you. I’ll pass you on to Mark now. Have a nice day,” he said pleasantly and transferred her.

“Hello, Bridget,” Mark said, knowing what was coming when he didn’t introduce himself with his normal greeting.

“Mark?” she asked. “I'm not sure I know how to talk if you haven’t announced yourself properly,” she said with a laugh.

Chuckling, too, he asked if she’d like to call him back so he could try again.

“No, after all, I did call you; I'm pretty sure I know who you are. Don’t suppose you have time for a quick lunch today? I have a few errands and will be in your neighbourhood.”

“Jeremy’s asked me to lunch at a new place near Chambers. Why don’t you join us? I’m sure he’d enjoy seeing you.”

“I’d love to. What’s the name? I’ll meet you there.”

Bridget was surprised that the venue was a pizza parlour when she arrived. The restaurant’s name, Leo’s, had given nothing away, and if Mark hadn’t said Jeremy suggested it, she would have thought he’d chosen pizza for her. The two men were already sitting at a rear corner table, and when Bridget joined them, Jeremy jumped up to hug and kiss her. Mark then did the same, but his kiss lingered, and he held her hand momentarily as she sat beside him. Hmm, she thought, not sure what’s gotten into him lately, but I like it.

Once they had ordered, Jeremy asked Bridget about Daniel and how the show was going.

“Daniel’s fine. Hopefully, he’s picked a topic for our next show and started the research. We have a list of fifteen places that made our shortlist from which to choose. It’s almost been a letdown, having this week in between shows. We were moving so fast it didn’t allow a moment to breathe. I just hope we can pick up the pace again. We’re going to start early and meet at the studio on Thursday. That should give us a few extra days. And I think he and Fiona are getting rather serious. I overheard them on the phone, discussing rings,” she said conspiratorially.

“She’s certainly clever,” said Jeremy. “The night of your screening, Mags and I spoke to her and Daniel for quite a while. She has a joint honours degree in accountancy and international relations. Her work at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office sounds fascinating. Mark, it’s been all over the papers; she’s on the team investigating the Professional Footballers’ Association charity. There are serious concerns about how the charity funds have been raised, and they’ve launched a full statutory inquiry.”

“Daniel, settling down?” Mark said, somewhat derisively, “I met Fiona briefly at Le Pont, and she seemed charming. The strong ethics of her office don’t exactly line up with Daniel’s modus operandi,” replied Mark. “Frankly, I’m surprised he’s attracted to someone in that line of work.”

Both Jeremy and Bridget were silent for a moment. Mark wasn’t usually so outspoken about others, but it was undoubtedly understood where Daniel was concerned. Before either could respond, Mark spoke again, contritely, “Sorry for the outburst. That was uncalled for.”

To quickly change the subject, Bridget asked Mark how his new job was progressing, to which Jeremy answered. “I know Mark won’t say so himself, but after some expected growing pains, the department’s running like a well-oiled machine. The juniors love him, even though he tries to act gruffly, and the partners are chuffed to bits over the positive press exposure and results. I’ve honestly not seen a unit run so smoothly.” Turning to Mark, he said, “You really should have started this several years ago. You’d be retired now and living in Bermuda.”

Bridget could tell that although Mark wasn’t entirely comfortable with Jeremy’s praise and the attention shown him, he was also proud of the group he managed and the results they’d achieved in so short a time. “Thank you, Jeremy,” Mark said, looking his longtime partner in the eye. “Coming from you, that means a lot. Without your prodding, I may never have undertaken such a venture.” What Mark didn’t say but was grateful for was without this new job and different responsibilities, chief among them being the absence of travel, he might never have been able to rekindle his relationship with Bridget. He’d have to thank Jeremy in private.

After finishing their meal, Jeremy returned to the office, and Mark offered to drive Bridget back to her flat. As it was a fifteen-minute drive at best, she cheerily accepted. Once in his car, she asked about his comment concerning Daniel and Fiona. “Mark, did it bother you that Jeremy inquired after Daniel? I know you’ll never be fast friends again, but you’re not jealous of our working relationship, are you?”

Taking a minute before answering, he carefully thought of his words before replying. “I may be. I envy the time you spend with Daniel and the ease with which you rekindled your friendship.”

“But Mark, did you stop to think that it is so easy with Daniel because we’re only friends, nothing more? My feelings for you are much deeper than they ever were for him. I love Daniel, but I’m in love with you.”

Turning in his seat to look at her, he replied, “Thank you for that. It seems no matter how old I am, he still tends to get under my skin. At least where you’re concerned. Now, here you are,” he said as they arrived at the front of her building. Before he had time to look for a spot to park, she leaned over and kissed him. “No need to park; I’ll see you Wednesday after work. I’m looking forward to starting the house hunt.”

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, Mark picked Bridget up at half-three after making plans to start their house hunt early. At his request, Bridget called Charles, the estate agent, and after introducing herself, suggested two choices they had found while looking online together. She asked if they could see these two homes and the ones Charles had chosen. Their first stop was in Chelsea. Charles showed them a three-bedroom townhome with a double, manicured rear garden.

Bridget thought the kitchen beautiful, telling Mark, “I may just have to learn to cook. And look at the view out to the enormous garden.”

“OK, this one is off the list. The kitchen is too attractive, which may cause Bridget to attempt food prep. It’s a little large at over 290 square metres. What do you think?” Mark said when Charles had moved ahead.

“Agreed. I love the warm tone of the wood flooring and the brightness with all the windows, but I’m afraid I’d get lost trying to find the loo.”

The second stop was in Fulham, on the River Thames and one which Bridget and Mark had suggested. The home was different from anything Mark had lived in previously. The building had been a marble factory in its previous life. Charles unlocked the front entry and preceded them in. The view of the river greeted them from the ground floor and included an eat-in kitchen, utility room, a cloakroom and a lounge area. The vista of the water was framed by floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors, and there was a balcony with room for outdoor dining. Mark watched Bridget’s face for her reaction. She turned to him, eyes wide, “This view is breathtaking. You must put this home on your shortlist, if only for that. Hopefully, the rest of it will live up to this.”

Charles had done his homework and explained the home in detail as they stood and looked out on the water. “This is a unique, interior designed, newly built three double bedrooms, three and a half bath townhouse within a privately gated, riverside development with private car parking spaces. The property is arranged over four floors and consists of 200 square metres.

“Following the staircase to the 2nd floor, you’ll find a dual aspect reception area divided into a dining room and lounge area with direct access to one of the river view terraces via the bi-folding doors. The staircase extends to the bedrooms, with two on the third floor, one with its own en-suite and a family bathroom.

“The main bedroom is on the top floor, arranged with a dressing room and en-suite loo. The terrace for the bedroom is accessed through bi-fold doors, giving an ever-changing view of the river.

“The property benefits from three balconies, a 24-hour emergency helpline, an on-site building manager, CCTV, video entry and parking.

“With the riverside location, it’s also conveniently close to several transport links, including Hammersmith, Ravenscourt Park Tube Stations, and several regular bus services. On the drive-in, I’m sure you noticed the complex is surrounded by many attractions, such as Fait Maison at The Tea House, Garden Centre & Café and the William Morris Society, so there’ll always be something to do close by. If you’d like, please look around, and I’ll be out on the balcony to answer any questions you may have afterwards.”

On the second floor, which housed the dining room and lounge, they immediately walked to the row of bi-fold sliding doors, opened them, and stood on the terrace. The view across the river to the left was of the WWT Wetland Centre and proved a respite from the typical London cityscape of high-rise buildings. As Bridget stood at the rail, Mark came up from behind, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck.

“I’m not sure I could get any work done at home with a view like this.”

“Ah,” she replied, “just move your eyes to the right, and all is normal again. Well, as normal as a city view can be,” she said, pointing to the rows of buildings. “Let’s go in; it’s chilly on the water. Can’t wait to see the rest.”

When she turned to face him, Mark continued his warm embrace. “I meant the view of you on the balcony.” He bent to press his lips to hers. “Definitely would not get any work done.”

“Mmm, Mr. Darcy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

Laughing, he pulled away to let her pass, but not before whispering, “And you would be 100% correct.”

The home was a model and therefore furnished, allowing them to see how the space was utilised and how much furniture it could accommodate. “I’m not crazy about some of the artwork,” said Bridget, looking at a vast, modern, black-and-white photo of two women, with what looked like one whispering into the other’s ear. “But I do love the furniture. Maybe because it’s new and perfectly fits the space. The flooring is to die for. And I love the knots in the wood. Gives it so much character.” Mark pointed out that the doors could be folded back in warmer weather, leaving the entire room open to the balcony. After touring the secondary bedrooms, they headed up to the top floor, which was reserved entirely for the main suite. It was large enough to hold a king-size bed and comfortable lounge chair. The glass bi-fold doors led out to the largest of the three balconies, with enough room for a loveseat, two matching chairs and two coffee tables. The loo was modern, but they agreed it was tastefully appointed and functional.

Once back at ground level, they went into the kitchen, which had a double-wall oven and a six-burner gas cook-top.

“Just think of all the frozen pizza you could reheat using two ovens,” Mark teased.

The cabinets, which covered the entire expanse of one wall, had a modern look with a high-gloss dark wood finish. Three windows kept the space bright with natural light. There was also a large kitchen island topped with white quartz and an under-counter wine cooler.

“I’ve found my favourite room!” Bridget exclaimed. “So, what do you think? Could you see yourself living here?”

Knowing she felt his Holland Park home had been a little too modern, especially the kitchen, he answered, “Yes, I like it. The views by themselves are worth the price. How do you feel about it, about the modern feel?”

“I’m surprised to say that I like the modern touches. It somehow still maintains a homeyness about it. Maybe it’s the warm wood floors and all the natural light coming in. And the three outdoor balconies, I love them.” she finished enthusiastically.

“Good, so that’s one on the ‘keeper’ list. Let’s find Charles and see the last two. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” Mark asked.

When they approached the second home on their list, they decided to forego stopping. The facade wasn’t what they had envisioned after seeing it online. There had only been one exterior photo, which was an extreme close-up. After seeing it fully, Bridget turned to Mark and made a face, to which he agreed, telling Charles, “I think we’ll forego this home. It's not exactly what we pictured when we saw it online. Can you take us to your second one?”

The last home they saw was on Alexander Square in South Kensington. It was a magnificently proportioned Grade II Listed family house on a garden square, with off-street parking and a generous west-facing garden. Once inside, Charles went full-on into estate agent terminology, regaling them both with the property's attributes.

“This elegant family home is situated on a private road and enjoys green views, both front and rear, overlooking the communal gardens and a private garden to the rear. The property enjoys a beautiful first-floor drawing room, a generous dining room, a study, a kitchen and a conservatory breakfast room. The main suite occupies the second floor, with two bedrooms sharing a bath on the third floor. The lower ground floor offers the flexibility of a fourth bedroom. In addition, the property has a separate laundry room, guest cloakroom and wine cellar. Mark, I have some calls to catch up on, so if you’d like, you and Bridget take your time and look around. When you’re done, I’ll answer any questions.”

They both appreciated the front door and entryway when Charles took them in. Four wide marble steps led to an oversized, arched, black, wooden front entry door surrounded by wrought iron fencing. The ground-floor exterior was a modern white, while the floors above were a light tan brick. Once inside, they saw that the interior was updated, and the kitchen had grey upper cabinets with white lowers and classic white marble countertops, a stainless steel vent hood over the stove, and an in-wall single oven. The kitchen and dining area flooring was a neutral Porcelain tile, while the rest of the common areas had a dark, herringbone-patterned wood floor. The small classic den/library had built-in bookshelves, a fireplace, and a desk room, allowing Mark a proper home office. The main bedroom was a little traditional for both their tastes, but nothing that new paint and furniture couldn’t update. Walking out into the back garden, they were impressed by the greenery in a space that wasn’t overly big. The patio had several levels, a dining table for four and a lower level with four lounge chairs around a fire pit. The size of the house, at 241 square meters, was a little larger than Mark had in mind, but it didn’t seem overly large either. Listed at almost six million pounds, this was the most expensive of the three they’d seen.

Bridget and Mark decided to keep this home on their list, even though it was more significant than they wanted. They liked the traditional feel and recognised it was tastefully updated with modern amenities.

Bridget kept notes of the pros and cons of each home, and as they parted with Charles, Mark promised to get back to him in a day or two with their thoughts on each property. After Charles dropped them at his office and they were back in Mark’s car, he suggested they go for dinner, asking Bridget to choose the venue.

“I know we don’t have reservations, but could we try The Ivy? It’s very near, and I’d love to have their cod.”

Using his mobile, Mark dialled through the car’s Bluetooth, finding they could accommodate them on short notice.

“It helps you’re a high-profile barrister,” Bridget said after he disconnected. “One of the many perks I love about dating you and missed these last few years.”

They were seated promptly on arrival at the restaurant; Mark frequented the venue often, and the maitre de was familiar with his law firm. Over dinner, they discussed the homes they’d seen and used Bridget’s notes to compare details. It seemed to Mark that she was leaning towards the house on the river after hearing her expound on the virtues of each. Bridget made it clear it was his choice, but the home was her favourite of the three. They split a bottle of white wine and were in no hurry to leave, preferring to sit longer before driving home.

“Since we’ve been seeing one another and even before that, when we went out as friends, you’ve not once missed a date, rescheduled or even taken a work call. Although there was the time that your mum called when I was at your house,” Bridget said, taking his hand across the table to hold it.

“I’m certainly happy you’ve noticed. I’m not sure I knew what it was like to be in a relationship with someone and not spend half of their time on my work.” Looking into her eyes, he confessed, “You know I find emotional declarations difficult, but the truth is... these last months we’ve shared have been the happiest of my life.”

Smiling, she nodded her agreement, finding it difficult to speak and not get overly emotional in a public venue. After gathering herself, Bridget told Mark she’d like to dispense with her first rule. “I’m honestly surprised we’ve made it this long, and I feel it’s served its purpose. What do you think?”

The look on his face was sceptical as he stammered, “You wait to tell me this while having dinner in a very public restaurant,” he stopped for a moment, seemed to collect himself and before continuing looked directly into her eyes. “I’m going to go to the loo now. I’ll text you if all’s clear, and then you can follow me. Or, since we’re both done eating and paid, we can head out to the car, as the windows are tinted. What do you think?”

“You’re not serious?!” she stuttered, surprised by his grave countenance. “Mark, it’s cold out! Therefore, I choose the loo,” she said, smiling seductively. “Just don’t be too obvious about it. We’ll just have to wait until we’re home if anyone's near.”

The surprise on his face when she answered almost made her think he was taking the piss until he said, “Don’t believe I can make it home,” and took her hand, caressing her palm, which at that moment felt immensely arousing.

“Mark, go! Before I join you on your lap... or change my mind,” she whispered.

Looking around, he stood, gradually letting loose of her hand, and walked deliberately to the hallway where the loos were. Bridget pulled out her mobile and waited. Her phone vibrated just as she felt she was about to explode with anticipation. Swiftly, she looked around before walking calmly to their rendezvous.

Immediately upon entering, Mark gently pushed her back against the door, reached behind with one hand and quickly turned the lock. The click of the bolt engaged sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and she looked into his eyes expectantly. The room they were in was an antechamber to the actual WCs and had a sitting area comprised of a couch with two comfortable-looking chairs and fresh-cut flowers on a low table. With both hands now beside her head on the door, he bent to kiss her, never breaking her gaze. She surprised him tremendously when she reciprocated hungrily with a ferocity he hadn’t anticipated.

Their embrace escalated quickly when he took his hands from the door, threading one through her hair, sliding the other down to cup her arse, pulling her tight. She could feel his arousal against her, which led her to begin to reach for his belt.

“Fuck,” she heard him exclaim rather loudly.

“Thought that’s what we’re here for?” she asked huskily.

“Bridget, I honestly thought you’d never agree to this. I was truly expecting you to come in here and tell me to go bollocks myself. I’m so sorry to have even started it now. If we were discovered, I don’t think it would look good for either of us.”

At the mention of this reality, her thoughts flashed to what a news headline might look like; “Human rights barrister arrested for public fornication” and for herself; “Travel Show host caught shagging in loo of popular restaurant.” She suddenly began laughing uncontrollably, doubtless due to the aroused state she was in and overwrought emotions.

“You’re not angry at me then?” he asked, relief evident in his tone.

“I may be later, but right now we’d better get out while we can and before I rethink leaving.”

When she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand, “Bridget?”

“Hmm?” she answered, turning around.

“I love you,” he said emotionally. “Your spontaneity never fails to astound me.” He pulled her back for a quick kiss. “Here, let me go first and ensure all’s clear.”

With that, he stepped in front of her, unlatched the door and walked into the thankfully still-empty hallway, leading her by the hand through the busy restaurant. Following him, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face, reflecting on his words. She may not have gotten her much-anticipated shag, but she felt more content than she had in years and even a little smug.

Chapter Text

On the drive back to Bridget’s flat, after telling Mark about the headlines she had imagined if they had been caught in flagrante delicto, so to speak, their laughter almost caused him to pull the car over for safety reasons.

“I’m not sure which would have received more coverage, the barrister aspect or you, as a television personality. Thank God we can laugh about it. Nor was Jeremy required to come bail us out,” Mark said.

“Or worse yet, our mothers!” added Bridget, setting them both off again.

Finally able to breathe normally again, Mark asked if they could talk when they went upstairs.

Once inside and out of their coats, Bridget made and poured decaf coffee, surprising herself when she found some in the recesses of her pantry.

“Here you are,” she said, handing him a cup of black coffee. “What did you want to talk about?”

“When you discarded your rule this evening, what did you mean by that?” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “I mean, besides the obvious,” he said quietly. “I know it hasn’t been too long since we’re seeing one another again, but with our past we went from a few dates to declaring our love. Are we moving too fast? Where are we headed? Do we have a plan? Bridget, I desperately want to make love to you, so much that I ache with it. And I believe you feel the same after this evening,” he said tenderly. “But I’m also terrified that history could repeat itself. If it’s all right with you, can we discuss what didn’t work for us before we make that decision? Have I shown you enough these last few months?”

“Mark, you never said; what are your ground rules?” Before he answered, she continued, “There has to be a reason your work took precedence over us. I know I ended it, and how much that hurt you. But it was self-preservation at that point. You’re right, you know. I do want you, so, so much. Enough that I’ll risk my heart again.”

“I don’t want you to ‘risk’ it. I want you to know I understand what you went through. I can’t tell you why I didn’t realise it then, but I do now. I want to think I’ve changed since then. I only wish I hadn’t needed to; that my priority had always been you, us. If you had asked me at the time, I’m positive I thought I was maintaining a balance between work and my personal life. It’s only with hindsight I realise how wrong I was in that assumption,” he stopped for a moment, then continued, looking intensely into her eyes. “I want nothing more in this world than to be your husband. And I want you to believe me when I say it. It’s always been true for me; I was just too proud to realise it.”

Stunned didn’t begin to explain how Bridget felt at that moment. Everything he said was what she had felt years ago when they had broken it off for good. She had tried to explain her feelings to him over their last year. He had listened between the late hours, the travel and his all-encompassing career, but she felt he never heard her. Now, after they had decided to move on with their lives and being apart for years, he finally understood why she had made the choice she did.

At a loss for words, she said, “For someone who says they find emotional declarations difficult, that one pretty much takes the cake.”

“My ground rule, and I have only one, is that you tell me you’ll marry me. Not someday, not in six months, but as soon as we can choose a house. I’d like us to marry and move into our new home together.”

Bridget was overwhelmed. Yes, she was ready to sleep with Mark, to resume the intimacy and passion that she, they, loved so much. Five years ago, before their split, Bridget would have given anything to hear him say the words he just had, to show he understood how she truly felt. But at this moment, when he was opening his heart, she was suddenly angry and scared. Furious that they had wasted so many years yet she couldn’t seem to move on from him in that time, no matter what she told herself. She was scared that she was willing to try again because she wanted so badly to believe when he said he had changed. But were several months enough time? Could he maintain his good intentions concerning his work and personal life? What if his job changed? Would he fall back into the same patterns? Would he think he maintained a proper balance, even when she didn’t?

She trusted that he meant everything he told her; it wasn’t like Mark to say anything he didn’t thoroughly think through or mean. But to borrow a phrase from her mum, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. She wanted to be completely honest with him, but she wasn’t even sure how to put everything she was feeling into words, much less do it without hurting him immensely.

Chapter Text

“Bridget, you look unnerved,” he said, pulling her close to envelop her in his arms, holding her tight. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

After a moment she replied. “When you said ‘at the time’ you were positive you maintained a balance between work and your personal life; that was the same time I was falling apart. How could you not see that? I had to make the decision to leave, while still deeply in love, and walk away. Because if I didn’t, I would have ended up hating myself; and ultimately you. It’s been pointed out that maybe I wasn’t understanding enough of your career, and while there is some truth to that, I’m not the kind of person that can be alone more often than not. As unhappy as I was after our split, I can’t fathom how utterly heartbroken I would have been if I had stayed.” When she finished speaking he maintained his embrace, feeling her body shake; as if saying the words out loud had reopened a long closed wound.

“Shh, darling.” He gently rocked her, kissing her cheeks, overcome with emotion too. “Please believe me when I say how very sorry I am for my past behaviour where we were concerned. I let my career run my life, instead of prioritising us. I assumed you would always be there, no matter the demands of my work. This new job, without the travel and the interminable hours is the first step I took to realign my priorities; whether I was lucky enough to be with you again or not. This change is for me, first and foremost; because not doing so would be tantamount to conceding I was content with my life.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped her eyes and said, “Here, blow your nose.” Once finished, she looked up into his eyes, put her hand on his cheek and started to kiss him. Momentarily stopping, she whispered, “l love you.” He pulled her onto his lap. Their next kiss started slowly but quickly escalated into a frenzy of barely controlled desire, both of them equal in their fervor.

“So, should we move to the bedroom?” he asked softly, looking into her now heavy-lidded eyes.

“Mark, I look and feel a mess after my crying jag. Besides, since we’ve made it this long, I’d like to wait until the wedding night.”

Not understanding her meaning, he asked, “And when will that be?”

“As soon as we decide on a house.”

“Bridget, what are you saying?”

“I want to marry you; not some day, not in six months, but as soon as we can find our home.”

—————

Christmas Morning

Mark would pick up Bridget and together they’d make the drive to Grafton Underwood. Later, they would have lunch with Mark’s parents and dinner at Bridget’s mum and dad’s. Bridget’s mother insisted she stay in her old bedroom and Mark stay at his parents. She was only too happy to agree with her mum for once, since she was finding it increasingly difficult to handle her self-imposed celibacy. They’d also only be staying two nights, as that was all Bridget felt she could handle of her mother, not to mention both their workloads in London.

When Mark rang her entry bell she unlocked it quickly, with truly Christmas morning levels of excitement. Before he had cleared the last step, Bridget greeted him on the landing with a hug and kiss. “Happy Christmas!”

“Mmm, happy Christmas, darling,” he said.

Seeing he had a paper bag in one hand and drink tray in the other she offered to take one.

“I’ve brought you a cappuccino and coffee for me. There are also two scones. Thought we could eat something before making the drive. How close are you to being ready?” he asked.

“Just have to grab my overnight bag and then we can sit.”

Just as Bridget came out from the bedroom and set her bag at the door, Mark was putting two plates down on the table. Reaching over, she put her hand into the bag and pulled out the scones, some serviettes, and a small, robin’s egg blue box wrapped on all four sides with white satin ribbon, hand-tied bow and the words Tiffany & Co. embossed on the lid. Looking over at Mark her eyes widened in surprise when she recognized the iconic box from the famous jewelry store. She wasn’t a material person by any means, but absolutely loved the Tiffany heart necklace that her mum and dad had gifted her years ago. The cubic box she held was the embodiment of a girl’s dream.

Setting the present down on the table, she stared at it, until Mark prompted her with a radiant look. “Happy Christmas, Bridget. Are you going to open it?”

With trembling hands, she unwrapped the ribbon, opened the lid and looked inside to see a smaller Tiffany Blue ring box decorated with their initials, BJxMD. She seemed to be frozen, causing Mark to pick it up, open it and remove the two carat diamond ring, taking her left hand in his. He met her gaze and placed the ring on her finger. Her eyes lowered to look at her hand, admiring the beautiful setting. The design elevated the stone above the band, maximizing the light reflected from the cut. She thought she had never set eyes on anything so beautiful, and enthusiastically told him so, tears running down her cheeks.

“I’m speechless. It’s the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. I’m not even going to whinge about the amount it must have cost, as whatever the price, it’s absolutely worth it!”  

After they finished their pastries, they stood to leave and Bridget wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. It felt so good to be this close with a wedding on the horizon. “Mark, have you heard back from the estate agent? Does Charles think they’ll accept our offer? If we don’t find a house soon, I’m afraid I may burst,” she laughed, wiping her eyes with one of the napkins.

He bent to kiss her, then touched his forehead to hers. “Not yet. He promised to have an answer some time tomorrow. If accepted, it should take about 3-4 weeks. Two things help; paying cash and having a good solicitor, which is where Jonathan comes in. Working in the same office will speed the process up exponentially. I’ve never used his services, but everyone in Chambers sings his praises.”

Maintaining their embrace, he held her tightly for several moments, then lifted her left hand and kissed the top of it. As if on cue, they both said, “I love you,” at exactly the same moment, causing them to break apart in laughter. When Mark bent to get her bag, he heard her say under her breath, “Love you more.”  He sincerely doubted it, said so, then took her bag and rushed down the narrow staircase, hearing her loud protest from behind.

On the drive north to their parents, Bridget surprised Mark by asking if the wedding could be a small affair, with fifty people, at most.

“This is my third marriage, and last by the way. Five or five hundred, it’s immaterial to me. Whatever you’d like. Although if you’d rather it sooner than later, due to, shall we say, your ‘frustration’,” he laughed, looking over at her, a big smile on his face, “then yes, I’d think fifty could be pulled off rather quickly. Have you thought about venues? You really need to choose that first, so we can post the announcements in the local registrar’s office, including the venue’s. There’s a twenty nine day minimum notice period.”

“Bugger! I’d forgotten that part. How archaic. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Dartmouth House, in Mayfair? I’ve been to several weddings over the years and they’ve always been done quite well.”

“Were you and Camilla married—,” she started to ask, but he cut her off before she could finish.

“No, Bridget, we were not.” He stared at her, eyes narrowed in warning.

“My, my,” she laughed, “you’re certainly being a bear. Would you like me to drive for a while?”

”No need, just try and behave yourself. Perhaps a nap?”

With Tchaikovsky on the radio, Bridget was very relaxed. The car was warm and the seats extremely comfortable. She soon found herself dozing as the miles rolled quickly by. Out of the blue, without opening her eyes, she asked, “Mark, can you say NGochi?” using the authentic pronunciation with the African click.

“No.”

Opening her eyes, she faced him. “You didn’t even try! Please say it.”

“Are you referring to the former dictator of Burimundi?” he asked.

“Yes! So you know who he is? Can you say his name then?” she pled.

“Say it again, slowly though.”

“Nn-gochay!” said Bridget, enunciating all three syllables very slowly, as if he were a two year old, while at the same time making the distinct clicking noise in her throat.

“Can you use it in a sentence?” he asked earnestly.

“‘NGochi was brutally murdered by his generals... Wait! Why are you asking me that? This isn’t a spelling bee,” she questioned. “Are you having a laugh?!”

“NGochi”, he said with perfect pronunciation, his grin so big she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I should have known you’d pronounce a foreign despot’s name properly.”

“What made you think of that?” he asked. “My music can be emotional but it’s not generally known to cause thoughts of a coup.”

“Not sure, really. My mind was wandering, I guess. We’d done a show about the assassination with the Foreign Secretary on Hard News.”

“Ah, yes. I watched that episode. Your host almost made it sound like she empathised with the dictator,” he chuckled.

“You watched the program? How often?” Bridget asked in surprise.

“As often as I could,” he said, glancing over at her. “I knew you were producing, and it allowed me to remain somehow connected, even though we hadn’t seen one another for several years. I’m sure Camilla”, he said the name with extra emphasis, “thought me crazy, although she never said a word. I didn’t know if she was aware of my reason for watching or not.”

“I’m flattered,” she said at his revelation, for lack of anything more articulate.

Reaching over, she slowly moved her fingers down his left arm where he held the steering wheel. He glanced over quickly, not taking his eyes from the road but for a second.

“Bridget!” he said in warning. “I’m driving.”

She loved it when he got authoritative in his speech.

“You’re acting as if you were thirty,” he continued, reminding her she had often tried to distract him when they drove home to their parents.

“I didn’t like it then... but frankly, I’ve missed it,” he admitted to her shock. She was fully expecting to be reprimanded, as he used to do when she got frisky while he was driving.

“Ooh, does that mean I can continue?”

“No, unless you want to risk life and limb of us and every other driver on the road.” Thinking of a way to take her mind off of him, he switched the radio to a pop station, which caused her to sit back in her seat and start humming along with the music. Before too long, she was singing the lyrics quite loudly and slightly off-key. The remainder of the drive went by without incident, and Mark found himself contemplating how much his life had changed for the better over the last year.

Chapter Text

When Mark and Bridget pulled up to the Darcy’s home, Elaine, Mark’s mother, came out to greet them. Mark had updated her on their impending marriage, and she proceeded to give Bridget an engulfing hug, kissing both cheeks.

“Congratulations, and may I say how happy I am for you both? Bridget, you look radiant! Welcome to the family again!”

“Thank you, Elaine. I couldn’t be happier!” Bridget said, returning the kiss.

“Mother,” Mark said, smiling, bending to kiss her. He returned to the boot and retrieved his overnight bag, leaving Bridget’s behind for her parents’ home.

Turning to Bridget, Elaine said, “Dear, your mother and father are here too. I think she wanted to wish you a happy Christmas and congratulations, too. We can all have a light lunch and drinks and then head to their home for dinner later.”

Mark questioned his mother about their plans; he didn’t realise they’d have both meals together. Elaine replied to Mark quietly so that Bridget wouldn’t overhear, “I was fretful for darling Bridget. If Pam thought her daughter was slighting her with you both coming here first...” she explained, trailing off.

“Mother, you’re a genius. Thank you for thinking of her,” he said smiling warmly at his mum. Mark had difficulty believing the same consideration would have been shown to either of his ex-wives. Not that Elaine had ever been rude or inconsiderate, but she seemed to have a soft spot for Bridget.

Once inside, Bridget ran to her mum and hugged her, wishing her father and Admiral Darcy a happy holiday too. As she embraced her dad, throwing her arms around his neck, giving him a big kiss on the cheek, her mother spotted her hand. “Bridget! What do you have on your finger?” Looking at Mark over her father’s shoulder, Bridget tried not to roll her eyes at the outburst but only half succeeded, causing him to hide a smile behind his hand. Having his future mother-in-law catch him laughing at her expense wouldn't do. Not to mention his mother would bollocks him for being impertinent.

After a light lunch of mostly drinks and a few small sandwiches, followed by the opening of gifts, after Bridget had told the story of her new engagement ring several times, Pam and Colin left to prepare the dinner meal. They now had several hours to relax prior to leaving for the Joneses.

“Bridget,” said Elaine. “I hope you don’t mind, but I insisted you stay with us tonight if you’d like.” She looked at Mark as if to gauge his reaction. Maybe Bridget’s right, thought Mark; perhaps my mother does believe we shag like rabbits. His mother was a very special person and genuinely open-minded.

Fully expecting Bridget to decline the invitation due to her earlier words, he was pleasantly shocked when she agreed. “We have a nice guest room made up for you, on the opposite side of the house from us. Very near to Mark’s room, should you need anything,” she said, causing Bridget to turn several shades of crimson and Mark to cough lightly in embarrassment. It was one thing for her to understand human nature but quite another to discuss it with her openly.

Later, before leaving for dinner, she and Mark went to his car and grabbed her overnight case. When he took her upstairs to show her to the guestroom, he pointed to the loo and his room as they passed. “Mark,” she laughed. “As if I could forget. On past visits, that room has seen its share of proving your mum correct on our penchant for shagging!”

Dinner was a delightful affair. All the traditional Christmas foods were laid out for their consumption. The wine was French, and Mark was impressed that the Joneses had splashed out for the holiday meal. Bridget’s mum had always been an excellent if a little traditional, cook. Mark’s father imbibed a little too much over dinner and dessert afterwards, and Mark and Bridget were also a little too pissed to drive the short distance back to the Darcy’s. Therefore, Elaine took the keys from her husband, who had insisted he was fine enough to get them home, and perfectly manoeuvred the large Range Rover back to their house. Looking over at her softly snoring husband in the passenger seat, she commented, “And he felt he was sober enough to get us home in one piece. Heaven help us,” she laughed as she and Mark gently got him out of the car and helped him into the house and up the stairs to their bedroom.

As it was still relatively early, being only half ten, Bridget and Mark went downstairs and poured a Bailey’s on ice for each. They then took their drinks to the large sitting room, with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that overlooked the manicured and attractively lit back garden. The room was illuminated only by the beautiful Christmas tree in the corner, which gave off the fresh scent of pine and caused Bridget to say, “You just can’t get that aroma with a fake tree. Your mother’s always done up the house so nicely for the holidays.”

Sitting on the sofa, she leaned back into him, sipping her liqueur. Mark’s free hand played with her hair, pressing light kisses into her temple. He couldn’t remember being as content as he was at that moment. Maybe it took him until almost fifty years of age to realise how much Bridget meant to him, how his career meant nothing if he didn’t have her to share the successes and tribulations with.

Sensing his emotion, she asked, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking how lucky I am to have you back in my life, permanently this time. It could have gone so many different ways. You could have married in the time we were apart, had children and a new life that precluded me, us, from finding one another again.”

She turned to face him, reached up with her hand and placed it on his cheek, passionately kissing him. Before either knew it, she had fully turned and was straddling his lap while his hands moved down below the hem of her dress and inched slowly up her legs, past the top of her thigh-high stockings, causing them both to moan in unison. He cupped her arse, squeezing lightly, causing her to writhe in his hands, finding it hard to remain still when he pulled her down. She moved both hands through his hair, saying his name as they continued to kiss wildly; his hands moved up to her breasts, and he ran his fingers over the hard points, feeling how aroused she was, even through the fabric.

“Mark, I want you now,” she whispered vehemently. “Please, can we go to my room?” She broke away momentarily to get the words out but immediately continued the kiss as if her life depended on it. Her hands were on both sides of his face, pulling him closer if that were possible.

“Bridget, you’re sure? What happened to waiting...?” He said this haltingly as she continued the onslaught of kisses. Mark couldn’t believe he had the wherewithal to think this coherently, as all he wanted, so very acutely, was to take her to her bedroom, as she had asked.

“Fuck...” she kissed him again, then broke away long enough to say, “Waiting.”

Taking her hand, they ascended the large staircase together. They were both breathing hard when they entered the guest room, and it wasn’t due to the flight of stairs but more from having never caught their breath from the passionate embrace they had shared moments ago. Shutting the door softly behind them, they immediately started kissing again, standing just inside the entry. “Please tell me this dress doesn’t have all those infernal buttons again,” Mark said, very seriously, as he walked her backwards towards the bed. When her backside felt it behind her, she sat suddenly. While still standing in front of her, he started to unbutton his shirt slowly, never breaking her gaze. As it fell to the floor, he quickly reached for and pulled his vest off, throwing it somewhere to his left. Next, he pulled at his belt buckle to loosen it, but Bridget stopped his hands. Moving them out of the way, she removed his belt and tossed it after the vest, hearing it land on the floor somewhere. She then pushed his pants down around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, toed off his socks and kicked them all in the general direction of the other clothes. He was now standing in front of her, in boxers only, evidence of his arousal pushing against the fabric.

She stood up, running her nails lightly down his chest to his abdomen. Not stopping there, she slid her hands down over him, to below his waist, finally cupping him outside the boxers. He groaned her name as she did this, bringing a smile to her face. Removing her hands from his body, she started to unbutton her dress, hearing his slight intake of breath as it fell to the floor, and he saw her standing in front of him, in bra, pants and stockings only. She turned him around so that his back was now to the bed, pulled down his boxers and discarded them, adding to their growing pile of garments, and gently instructed him to sit, fully unclothed. Kneeling between his legs, she dropped her head to take him in her mouth as he said in a gravelly voice, “Darling...” He never finished his thought as Bridget slowly moved lower, causing him to run his hands through her hair. Mark wanted her to continue very badly but also realised that in his state of arousal, he wouldn’t last very long if she did.

“Bridget,”  he tried to say, but it only came out as a croak. Catching his meaning, she stopped and looked up at him, meeting his barely open eyes. With the break in her attention, he could pull her up to the bed, turning her so he could lay fully beside her. His hands then moved to undo the bra she had on, getting it on the first try, causing her to laugh lightly. Mark dipped his head to the spot between her breasts, his tongue playing on the skin, finally moving to one hard point, licking and gently taking it into his mouth, drawing it in. He was rewarded when he heard her attempt to say his name in a whispery-thin voice.

“Mark, can’t take it anymore... please!” she said pleadingly. 

“Not yet,” he teased, pulling down her pants and stockings and throwing them somewhere on the floor, adding more items to the pile of discarded clothing. His right hand grabbed her hip, then moved down to the crease at the top of her leg, finally moving up and into her moistness, his long fingers causing her to cry out in her passion. She moved under his expert attention, unable to recall her name or even where they were; all logical thought had fled her brain. His thumb moved slightly, pressing into that spot that finally sent her over the edge. He could feel her coming as she loudly called his name, causing him to quickly cover her mouth with his, to muffle her noises, as that last bit of thought process that was still thinking of such things kicked in.

As Bridget brought her breathing back to normal, she felt Mark move and kneel between her legs. Bending down over her so they were face to face and supporting himself on his elbows, he looked directly into her eyes, saying, “I love you, Bridget,” and slowly entered her, watching as her head moved back, her chin tilting upward. Her eyes closed with the pleasure of feeling him, and he moved faster, not able to control his body. After several moments, when Mark thought he couldn’t hold off any longer, he reached down between their bodies, touching the spot he knew so well, feeling her come again, in wave after wave, around him. Trying to sustain her pleasure as long as possible, he finally came when she raised her hips into him, moving her hands to pull their bodies closer so he couldn’t tell where he ended, and she began. Falling off to the side, he dragged her across him, holding her tightly. Neither said anything momentarily as they inhaled great gulps of air, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Mark,” she finally sputtered.

“Yes?”

“Mmmm,” she tried to devise a rational thought to convey to him how much she had enjoyed their lovemaking, but her mind wasn’t cooperating.

Laughing at her stupor, he pulled her tighter, asking, “You will be here in the morning this time?”

“It may take me that long to regain my bearings.” She turned over, with her back facing him, and he threw his arm over her, pulling her close as they both fell asleep.

“MARK!” Bridget exclaimed, startling him from a deep sleep.

“Yes?” he asked, sitting bolt upright, looking around for an intruder, fire, or whatever had caused her to wake in such a panic.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger. We didn’t use any protection!”

“Bridget, it’s too late to think about that now. The horse is out of the barn, so to speak, and we’ll be married in a month. Now go back to sleep,” he said pulling her to him, kissing her temple.

Before falling back to sleep, she couldn’t help but think this older version of Mark had a propensity to surprise her, and she rather enjoyed it.

The following day they were woken by a gentle tapping on the door, followed by Elaine’s voice. “Mark, Bridget, breakfast is in half an hour.”

Bridget’s eyes opened wide, causing Mark to laugh at her expression. “Darling, you said she already thinks we shag at every opportunity. It’s nothing that’s going to shock her.”

Chapter Text

Over breakfast, both Bridget and Mark couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces, a fact that wasn’t missed by Mark’s mother, evidenced by her comment, “I trust you both slept well. Bridget, how was the bed?” as she poured them both some coffee and passed the basket of pastries, after taking one for herself.

Deciding that Elaine had no problem with them sleeping together under her roof, she surprised Mark by answering very directly, “Perfect, thank you.” Turning to Mark, Bridget asked, “How did you find it?”

Reaching for her hand, he took it in his, caressing it. Then he looked into her eyes and said, “Never slept better.” The smile on his face spread slowly, producing the dimples that she loved.

Elaine’s look of smugness at their exchange wasn’t missed by anyone at the table, except possibly Malcolm, since he was absorbed in a crossword puzzle and, therefore, slightly oblivious to the double entendres his son and Bridget were sharing.

The plan for Boxing Day was to meet in Kettering. Bridget, her mother, Una, and Elaine would shop, hoping to grab some holiday discounts; Mark, his father, Geoffrey and Colin would all watch football at a local pub. They had reservations later for dinner at the local chop house. The following day, after a quick breakfast at Bridget’s parents, they would return to London, hoping to get in half-day of work.

When Bridget was packing her things to stay at her parents’ home that evening, Mark came into her bedroom, ostensibly to offer his help. Coming up behind her quietly, he kissed her neck, making her jump. “Mark! You frightened me! Try announcing yourself next time,” she admonished with a fierce glance, then couldn’t help but laugh at his slightly wounded look.

“Just getting back at you for your 2:00 AM outburst.” He pulled her onto the bed with him, so they were lying face to face, only their torsos on the bed, legs hanging off. Pulling her tight, he began nibbling at her ear. “Not sure if I properly let you know, but I thoroughly enjoyed last night. So... is your rule officially terminated or back in place until the wedding?”

“Hmmm...” she pretended to be thinking, watching his face as he tried, and failed, to act nonchalant about her response, managing to look instead so very earnest, solemn and sweet. “Thank you for asking, as not many men would do so. And as you so eloquently stated, ‘the horse is out of the barn’, so, if it’s OK with you?” After finishing her sentence, she leaned over and started kissing him, receiving her answer with the intensity he responded to her.

Pulling apart since they were about to leave, he said, “I came in here for a reason. Charles just called. The sellers accepted our offer.” His broad grin showed just how happy he was by this news. “So, now that there isn’t a pressing reason to move in quite so expeditiously, should we rethink the wedding timeline? We could move in six to eight weeks, allowing a little more planning on your part. And lest you forget, my ground rule is still in effect: to move into our new home as husband and wife.”

Her shocked look gave Mark’s heart a shock. Was she having second thoughts? Did she now want to postpone? When Bridget finally answered, his relief was evident when she said, “No! I still have every intention of making the 29-day timeline. I’ve already been in touch with Daniel and have plans to register at both Westminster and Southwark’s offices tomorrow once we've returned to London. He’ll hold down the fort at the studio while I’m gone. I can’t imagine it could take more than two hours.”

Touched by her enthusiasm, if not her typical lack of proper planning, he asked, “Have you chosen the venue then? If you want to make the shortest deadline, I’ll also need to register in Ealing.”

Her crestfallen look melted his heart. “Guess I should have thought it out a little more. I was so worried about my part, I quite forgot that you’ll need to register too.” Tears threatened her eyes as she realised her blunder. “When do you think you’ll be able to get to the registrar’s office? I’ve reserved the venue as I got quite lucky with Daniel calling in a favor with the manager. The first Saturday we could schedule is February 1st. That does give you six extra days,” she said hopefully.

Laughing at her rambling, so typically Bridget, he asked, “Are you going to wait until the day of to tell me where to show up for my wedding?”

“Oh! I looked online yesterday at your suggestion of Dartmouth House in Mayfair. These places are booked months, sometimes years out. A small wedding definitely helped, as the larger rooms are all booked. I had no idea how hard it was to reserve one. When I texted Daniel about needing a few hours off, he offered help and called the event planner. I’m sure he must have dated her at some point.”

Caught between being irritated that Bridget and Daniel were texting (they were, after all, co-workers) and that his ex-mate helped procure the venue for his upcoming nuptials, Mark took a deep breath, exhaled, and decided to count to ten.

“Well, I’ll have to check my schedule to see when I can make it to the registrars. I should think within the next month shouldn’t be a problem.” He was only saying this due to his irritation, as he intended to file tomorrow or Monday at the latest. He didn’t intend for Bridget to be distraught at his answer.

“Bridget,” he said, wiping a tear away with his thumb, “I plan to register tomorrow when we return. You know how I am where Daniel’s concerned. I’d rather not be indebted to him for helping us find a venue so quickly. I’m sorry for my remark, as I never meant to hurt you.”

“Do you think it’s time you two let bygones be bygones? He and I work together and probably spend as much time together as you and I. I can’t tell you enough how supportive he’s been of me, of us. When you were seeing Kathryn he pushed me to ask you out, saying I needed to act fast and not let you go without trying now that you were free again.”

Mark was shocked by Bridget’s revelation on two counts. She said she’d been interested in getting back together with him longer than he was aware, and Daniel was truly helping facilitate it. She had mentioned that Daniel had supported him, but he had honestly dismissed it as Bridget’s propensity for always seeing the good in people.

“I’ll think about it,” he said grudgingly.

“Please do, as I’d like to invite him and Fiona to our wedding.” Her smile left him thinking that there wasn’t much he could deny her. Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and he pulled her close for a hug.

—————

Once back in town on Friday, they were both able to give notice of their intention to marry at their local registrars to meet the timeframe of February 1st. For dinner that evening, Mark brought an Indian takeaway to her flat. They sat on the sofa in front of the telly, and he asked if she’d like to arrange a dinner date with Daniel and Fiona. “If he’s going to be working with my wife, I should probably come to terms with it at some point. You do realise we’ll never be best mates again?”

“Because of your first wife?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yes, of course, I could never trust him again after that, but even more was how he treated you. He was very willing to sleep with you just to spite me.”

Slightly indignant, Bridget said, “Mark, to be fair, he and I dated before you and I, and he didn’t even realise that we knew one another.”

“What about Thailand?”

“You and I were split at the time.”

“Bridget, I’m not going to argue with you over Cleaver. Why do you insist on defending him?”

“As I’ve said before, I’ve chosen to forgive him for his indiscretions towards me, and we are now not only friends but co-workers. Just as you and I have changed over the years, so has he. I understand that what he did to you concerning your first wife was unforgivable, but I’d like you to be civil to him. Is there something else that’s bothering you?”

Mark was silent for several moments before quietly saying, “At one of our many fights, he told me I should just marry you... because then you’d definitely shag him.” After saying this, he started to laugh. “Good God, I sound like an idiot.”

They were both laughing very hard when Bridget finally sputtered, “No! Did he really say that?”

“Yes, he did,” Mark said after catching his breath.

“Well, he certainly did know how to press your buttons. And just so there’s no misunderstanding,” she said, kissing his neck, running her fingers lightly over the cotton of his shirt, “you’re the only person I want to shag, now and definitely after we’re married.”

She proceeded to run her hand from his knee up his thigh, hesitated slightly, then moved to undo his zipper, slipping her hand inside and pressing firmly into him. By this time she was kissing his ear, gently biting, before releasing it and moving to his mouth, running her tongue deftly across his lips, taking the bottom one in her mouth, and pulling lightly. Her hand could feel him begin to strain against his pants, but before she could remove his belt, he stopped her, turned her onto her back and kissed her with a fierceness that took her back.

“I think we need to make up for lost time,” and he pulled her up by the hand, leading her into the bedroom. The flat had new furniture since the last time he’d spent the night, years ago. He wanted to comment on it, tell her that he noticed and liked it, but he only had eyes for her, as she had taken off her dress and was now lying on the bed, the duvet pulled back, with only her matching black pants and bra on. They had been together only two nights previously, but it seemed forever to him. And as much as he didn’t care about it then, they had been in his parents’ home. Now they were alone, and God help him, he had missed her immensely.

She switched off the bedside lamp and lit some scented candles, casting a warm, soft glow on the room. Wasting no time, Mark doffed his shirt, vest, pants and socks before she was done, leaving only his boxers. As he moved to the bed, she pulled open the drawer of her nightstand and grabbed a condom, setting it next to an open magazine.

“I think we’d better plan this time. At our age, there’s no excuse for a happy accident.”

Lying facing one another, Mark was suddenly overcome with feelings; they came crashing at him from all directions. Being in her apartment, in her bedroom, in bed with her, the time they’d spent together over the last few months. He felt it was a dream, that he’d wake up any minute, and she’d be gone, and he’d find that none of it had ever really happened. Reaching over, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He didn’t trust his voice to put into words what his thoughts were. As if she understood, Bridget moved over and began kissing him, slowly at first, but within seconds, the embrace had become almost animalistic in its urgency. He reached for and removed her bra, unfastening it from the front. His lips bent to take in one hard point while his hand firmly caressed the other, running his thumb along her nipple. She moaned in pleasure while her hips moved, pressing into him through his boxers. As if both had the same realisation, they quickly removed the extraneous garments, barely breaking their embrace. Mark had never felt so alive; how had he lived without her touch for so long?

Bridget turned on her back, allowing him to move his hand down to her thigh, then quickly up, feeling how ready she was when his fingers touched her. She stopped his hand, causing him to look at her. Her eyes were brimming with tears; her smile told him she was okay, that she was feeling their shared past and was affected by it as much as he. Moving his hand away while at the same time pulling him over on top of her, she ran her fingers over every part of him that she could, as if she had never before felt him, as if she never would again. She pushed him onto his back next, kneeling beside him, her hands never stopping their movement but adding her lips and tongue to his body. He revelled in her exploration, willing his body to relax and enjoy the sensation so that she would continue, so that she wouldn’t stop making him feel this way.

When he could take no more, feeling he couldn’t lie still a moment longer, his breathing having become ragged, he grabbed her hands and quickly turned her over. He intended to kiss her, to explore her softness, as she had done to him, for him. He kissed her mouth as he lay between her legs, pressing up against her, his lips travelling to her neck and collarbone.

“Mark. Kiss me again.” It came out in a whisper.

Moving slightly up to do as she asked, he felt her hips tilt up, her legs wrapping around him as she pulled him into her. She let out a gasp, drawing her nails across his shoulders as he pushed deeper. Bridget moaned when his movement quickened as he thrust into her with wild abandon, groaning with each stroke, his voice joining hers, as she, in turn, pushed up to meet him. She cried out louder when he bent his head and took the hard point of one nipple in his mouth, applying gentle pressure with his teeth as he thrust again and again. This seemed to set her off as she cried into his shoulder, somewhere between a moan and a scream, with her climax. Knowing she had come, he felt himself release too, made all the more intense by his emotional state.

Panting for breath, she said, “I love you.”

Moving himself to lay beside her, he tried to focus but had trouble doing so.

“Mark? Are you ok?” she asked, concern in her voice. “You haven’t said anything.”

Gathering his thoughts, he told her how much he loved and adored her before exclaiming, “Jesus, we forgot the condom again.”

“I think we were more responsible when we were younger. I’m going on birth control as soon as I can see the doctor. I’ll take the blame for it this time. I didn’t exactly give you much chance to stop and, um, ‘suit up’, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he admonished, but his eyes danced with a smile.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks went by quickly for Mark and Bridget. They had five weeks to arrange a wedding, albeit a small affair, finalise the purchase of their new home, decide how to combine two homes' worth of furniture, and plan and take a honeymoon, all while working full time.

Bridget and Daniel’s next show covered the Eight Royal Parks in London. Daniel had chosen the subject while Bridget and Mark were visiting their parents over the Christmas holiday, and she was excited to start the scripting and filming for the episode. When she got to work on Monday, she asked Daniel if he and Fiona would like to join her and Mark for dinner on Saturday evening, feeling she should jump right in with both feet, so to speak, and start working on wearing her co-host down, if need be.

“Jones, I’m shocked. What sexual favour did you promise to get him to consent to dinner?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t have otherwise done willingly,” she laughed. “Seriously, Daniel, you both need to swallow your pride. I work with you and am marrying Mark, and it would certainly allow my life to run a little smoother if you two made up at some point, at least to the point of being civil. I’d also love to have you and Fiona at our wedding. You know how much I appreciate your help. You pushed me when I needed it, and even though you won’t admit it, you know him better sometimes than I do. All the time you two spent together at college gives you an insight into his thoughts that not everyone is privy to.”

Looking down and seeing her left hand, Daniel exclaimed, “Bridget, fuck me. I’ve just noticed the rock on your finger. When did this happen? I only saw you on Friday. If Fiona sees that...”

“Mark gave it to me on Christmas Day. I wore it Friday, but was in and out with leaving to register at both offices. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she gushed, clearly quite emotional about her upcoming nuptials.

“Yes, it is,” he said, taking her hand fo examine the diamond ring. Pulling her close in a hug, he kissed her temple. “I’m sincerely happy for you and Mark. You deserve this, to have found one another again. I can’t tell you how excited I am, and if I helped in any way, I’m happy to have done so. You realise without me breaking up his first marriage and treating you so abysmally when we dated, you may never have given him a second look? I’ll have to remind him of that Saturday,” he said with a devilish grin.

They spent all of Monday and Tuesday scripting the show. Daniel had done the majority of the research when Bridget was off, but there would be a lot of ground to cover for the filming, so they would need the extra day, at least, to get it all in, working late on both nights and finishing a rough draft, enough so they could begin filming on Wednesday. They’d have to be very organised at each park to get all eight in between Wednesday and Monday and only take the weekend off if they felt they could. Bridget called Mark late on Tuesday, as she and Daniel had stayed to continue working on finishing the script.

“I don’t think I can make dinner tonight. I'm not sure what time we’ll get done here. I don’t know what we were thinking, visiting eight parks in a half-hour show,” she said dejectedly.

“Why don’t you split them over two shows, do four this week and four next?” he asked her.

She was quiet before exclaiming, “You’re a genius. I don’t know why neither of us thought of that. There’s just too much to cover in a half-hour show. Let me run it by Daniel, but I think it’ll work. Thank you for pointing out the obvious for us. I’ll call you back if I can get away in the next half hour. Should I bring by a pizza, if so?”

“Yes, please let me know. If not, no worries; I’m sure I have something here. Don’t stop; I can order in if you sneak away at a decent hour. Will you come by later, or will I see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow unless I can get away soon. Don’t want to keep you up late.”

After hanging up with Mark, Bridget and Daniel discussed splitting the show into two episodes.

“And your fiancé came up with this idea? Bloody brilliant. Glad he learnt something useful while at Cambridge,” said Daniel with a chuckle.

Since they were breaking the show up, Bridget and Daniel called it quits for the night. Filming would not take as long since they only had to cover four parks on each show. Bridget rang Mark on her drive over; he ordered pizza delivery to be there upon her arrival.

Knocking on his door, Mark greeted her excitedly. “Hi. I thought you were the pizza delivery person. Come in,” he said, kissing her cheek and pulling her into a warm hug. He offered her a glass of wine while setting her bag on a side table.

“Red, please. God, I’ve missed you,” she said, returning his hug, following him into the house as he set her overnight bag on the stairwell.

After pouring the wine and handing her a glass, the doorbell chimed again; this time, it was delivery. After paying the delivery man, Mark brought the food into the kitchen and placed it on the counter, serving them each two slices on the plates Bridget had laid out. Taking them to the table, they began by sharing a small salad Mark had prepared, drinking their wine and discussing the day’s events.

“This pizza is divine. I think it’s the best takeaway I’ve had. And I thought I was the one that knew all the best spots!” Bridget laughed.

“You taught me well. I now consider myself a pizza connoisseur.”

She asked if he’d like to make the reservation for their dinner on Saturday with Daniel and Fiona. “I’m not sure where to go. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Let me work on it tomorrow. Pierce may have some ideas. I’ll let you know what I settle on and the time. Somewhere with a good bar, as I imagine Daniel and I may need liquid fortification.”

After finishing their meal and cleaning up, they went to bed, calling it an early evening. Tonight was Bridget's first stay overnight at Mark’s house. Planning, she had brought a small overnight bag to go to the studio directly the following day.

“Can you hold me?” Bridget asked, cuddling up to his warmth as they relaxed in bed together. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages instead of days.”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, pulling her gently into his embrace and kissing her forehead. They talked for a while, and Bridget asked if he’d like to join her for the appointment with the planner at Dartmouth House on Thursday evening.

“If you’d like me to attend, I certainly will, but I trust your decisions. I thought Magda was going with you?”

“She is; I just didn’t want to leave you out, in case you had your heart set on lavender place settings!” she joked, knowing Mark’s tastes ran much more classical.

———————–—————————-

For dinner on Saturday, Pierce had managed to procure a reservation at Seven Park Place, in the St. James Hotel and Club in Mayfair, sitting next to St. James’ Palace and very near Buckingham Palace. The interior consisted of gold, black and dark wood mixed with soft leather, geometric shapes and large white vines, which sit upon the black wallpaper. Mark didn’t precisely feel nervous walking in with Bridget, but more on edge as they spotted Daniel and Fiona at the bar, having just arrived. He hoped for Bridget’s sake that Daniel didn’t ‘push his buttons’, and, for his part, he’d try to be cordial to his ex-mate, as he had promised her he would. Mark wore a dark suit, and Bridget wore a chic, cream-coloured lace dress with matching stiletto heels. Before being taken to their table, they all sat at the bar, ordering drinks; Bridget and Fiona had the signature 1857 cocktail, with its crisp citrus notes, at the bartender’s recommendation. Taking inspiration from 1857, when the St. James Club opened, the drink recalled the club’s original vision of welcoming travelling diplomats. The cocktail featured ingredients from every continent. The bartender expounded on the recipe, telling them he made it with City of London Gin, Guanabana liqueur, pineapple-lime juices, Yuzu bitters and fresh Finger lime. Mark and Daniel ordered a scotch on the rocks and stood behind Bridget and Fiona, who sat at the bar, half-turned so they could all converse.

“Mark, let me offer our congratulations on your upcoming wedding,” Daniel said, reaching over to shake his hand.

Accepting the handshake, Mark thought Daniel would surely comment on this being his third attempt, although no thanks to him on his ill-fated first marriage. When he didn’t hear a snide remark, and he and Bridget both received a congratulatory kiss on the cheek from Fiona, he allowed himself to relax ever so slightly.

Daniel continued, “Thank you for the suggestion on the show. It's a smashing idea to make two shows from one, by the way. Bridget was ready to throw a wobbly for biting off more than we could chew.”

“Daniel! I was worried about getting it into one show. I didn’t know how it would flow. But it’s a moot point now,” she laughed, “thanks to Mark." She leaned over and kissed him, causing Daniel to chuckle at Mark’s discomfort when he slightly coloured in embarrassment.

They were seated promptly after finishing their drinks. The tiny eatery consisted of just nine tables, making it one of the smallest Michelin-starred restaurants in the world. The menu offered contemporary French fare, which changed seasonally to reflect the best local British produce. Not long after taking their seats, the amuse bouche, which consisted of salmon tartare, chicken liver, and filled choux pastries, arrived. A bread selection followed, with several options, including one containing raisins and bacon bits – served alongside three kinds of butter; one flavoured with chilli from the Pyrenees, about which Fiona commented, “It isn’t spicy at all, but adds a rather lovely kick.”

Once they’d ordered, Mark asked Fiona about her job, stating Jeremy had mentioned the Professional Footballers’ Association Charity investigation and the issues there. As she told them briefly about her role, only giving up what was general public knowledge, it led to a brisk discussion between Mark and Daniel about football in general and where their favourite clubs were in the standings.

The waiter brought their entrees after the table was cleared from the appetisers. Bridget had fresh lobster topped with a luxurious sauce; she paired it with a glass of 2007 Delas Freres Hermitage Blanc Marquise de la Tourette, Franc, at the sommelier’s recommendation. Mark’s main course consisted of a roasted fillet of turbot with slow-cooked smoked streaky bacon, wild mushrooms, chestnut purée, and roasted chicken, paired with a white German Riesling.

Daniel ordered the Sea bass, grilled until its skin wrinkled over the firm white flesh and balanced atop an intensely flavoured red wine jus flecked with tarragon. Fiona had Ox cheek, the meat thickly daubed with a Madeira sauce and set among smoked bacon lardons and braised onions. After a few bites, she commented, “It’s refreshing to eat in a central London restaurant where you don’t need to bring an ear trumpet to hear what your companion is saying. I have a friend who’s recently dined here and revealed that if she ever had the time to have an affair, this is where she would hole up. The ambience is so quiet and private.”

“Yes,” said Daniel, “it is genuinely, straightforwardly, friendly rather than cringingly obsequious, and the cooking is well-considered, not clever - and still looks recognisably like a plate of food.”

Daniel seemed to only have eyes for Fiona, setting Mark’s mind at ease. When Bridget talked about her meeting with the event planner at Dartmouth House the previous evening, discussing how even a tiny wedding required loads of planning, choices and decisions, Fiona was very sympathetic, offering to help in any way she could.

Swallowing his pride, Mark thanked Daniel for helping secure the venue on such short notice. He genuinely appreciated his help securing the beautiful room, knowing it allowed Bridget to plan their wedding without any additional worries or surprises.

When they parted upon exiting, Mark said, “It was a pleasure dining with you both this evening. Daniel, Fiona, we hope to see you at our wedding in a month.” He hugged Fiona and shook Daniel’s hand, the smile he gave reaching his eyes while he watched them drive away. As the valet pulled up with Mark’s car, he thought the evening had gone better than hoped. Having dinner with Daniel wasn’t something he felt he needed to do often, but it was certainly a long time coming, with the bonus of making Bridget happy.

Chapter Text

“Bridget!” Mark shouted from upstairs. She was in the kitchen having a piece of toast and coffee, watching the Sunday morning news. For once, she was downstairs and dressed before him. Maybe it had to do with being unable to keep her hands off Mark after lying beside him all night. She lasted until morning before waking him with her lips on all parts of his body, including his mouth. Afterwards, she jumped in the shower and finished dressing before he got out of bed. She had left him in a good mood, or so she thought. She couldn’t imagine what he was upset about, as he rarely raised his voice, even when perturbed.

“In the kitchen,” she called out, preparing to be reprimanded for who knew what. She’d forgotten what it was like to live with Mark, or any man, for that matter. Oh, God! Had he found a piece of hair in the sink?

Coming down the stairs quickly, he had a look of concern on his face. “Bridget. You weren’t leaving without saying goodbye?”

“No, just eating some toast,” she replied, giving him her most innocent smile.

“Good. A thought struck me as I was shaving. When are the wedding invitations being mailed? I know it’s only 50 guests, but with the time needed to RSVP...” he trailed off, wanting to help with the planning but not knowing what to do.

“Already taken care of by Cynthia, our coordinator for the event. I’ll show them to you later. I have a few extra at home. They’re a nice lavender and mauve, just as you wanted.”

Turning to her after pouring his coffee, he saw she was trying to stifle a laugh. “You’d better show me the invitations. If they turn out to be lavender, I’ve only myself to blame for not checking. You’ve certainly warned me enough on the colour.”

“Mark, they’re cream and black. Very classic. Don’t forget, I’m going with Shaz and Jude for my dress fitting today. Fiona’s joining us for lunch after, so not sure when I’ll be done. Do you want to come over later?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. We can talk about the honeymoon and look at a calendar for some dates. Have you spoken to Daniel about taking time off?”

“Not yet, but speaking of Daniel, thank you again for last night. I do appreciate how difficult that was for you. You handled it very well; if I didn’t know the whole story, I would have thought you’d fallen out of touch over the years. We’ll have to do it again in a fortnight.”

“Bridget,” he said, drawing her name out in a long sigh. “I did it once. Can we just leave it at that for now?”

“I’m teasing. But I sent their invitation out, so technically we will be having dinner with them again soon,” she laughed.

After the dress fitting and lunch with her friends, Bridget called Mark on her way back to the flat. It was approaching dinner time so she offered to pick up takeaway and asked if he had a preference.

“Chinese?” he suggested. “Would you like me to stop and get it?”

“No, I’m going by Hunan King; I can grab it. I’ll see you at 5:30. Do you still like the same items?”

“Yes, all the usual suspects. And some potstickers. I’m famished.” She laughed at his legal reference. God, how she had missed his dry sense of humour.

They ate on proper plates on her small kitchen table, using chopsticks at Mark’s insistence. Then moved over to the couch after.

Mark sat back with Bridget leaning against him, his arm around her shoulder, “So, honeymoon destinations. New York—”

“Too cold. That’s the problem with a winter wedding. A lot of locales are going to be frigid. Where could we go that’s warmer? Or a ski vacation; that would take care of that.”

“Tahiti, Hawaii, Australia?”

“All beautiful, but very far away. And don’t you dare say Thailand!” she said without smiling.

Since he had no intention of bringing up Thailand, he quickly continued, “San Diego, Puerto Vallarta, Bermuda? Skiing in Breckenridge or Vail, Colorado? Or perhaps closer to home, Switzerland or Austria?”

“I’m not sure. My God... I never thought it would be this difficult to settle on a spot. Did you mention Baja, Mexico?”

“No,” he laughed, “although I had Mexico in there.”

“I can’t decide, but can I research Cabo?”

“Of course. I’ve not been but heard it’s very nice. And to throw it out... Hintlesham Hall? And spend the rest of the week in our new home? Maybe Paris in the spring, at a later date? Now, may I talk to you on a separate topic?” he asked more seriously.

“Yes, if we must change the subject from vacation,” she pouted, maintaining her grin.

“Have you made your appointment with the doctor for birth control?”

“Yes. That I did do.”

“I was thinking, as we haven’t exactly been the model of...” his face was slightly flushed now, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he was trying to say.

“Mark, just spit it out,” she laughed, guessing it had to do with their resumption of physical activity.

“Right. Do you want to forego the doctor? I wouldn’t mind a ‘happy accident’.” The vulnerability his words showed touched her heart.

“Hmm, hadn’t thought of that, except to plan how not to get pregnant. You’re sure? You usually like to plan these things down to the second.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t be planned. How do you feel about just seeing what transpires? I hope you know I’m more than content to spend the rest of my life with only you. If we’re lucky enough to have a child, then all the better.”

“It would mean I wouldn’t be able to drink alcohol and I’d like to participate in a toast at the wedding. Maybe we can wait until after the honeymoon, and decide. What brought this about?” she asked, surprised at the conversation's turn.

“Well, our lack of planning for one. Also, we’ll be married soon and seeing your friends with their families. I think only Magda and Jude had children when we were together last.”

“OK, then,” she said, smiling. “I won’t go on the pill, but we have to be more careful. At least until after the honeymoon. And your suggestion of Hintlesham Hall now and France in the spring sounds intriguing.”

—————————

For her hen party, Bridget’s friends insisted they take her out to celebrate one week before the wedding. Tom, Jude, Shazzer, Magda and Miranda led the festivities. They would start at Jude’s home by watching episode four of The BBC’s Pride and Prejudice , famous for the ‘lake scene’ and then play the game ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ before going out to dinner and drinks. Bridget didn’t want a big to-do, feeling it wasn’t warranted at her age and a quiet affair would be better. Bridget’s mum, Pam, Mark’s mother, Elaine, Fiona, Cathy and Aunt Una would also attend the celebration.

When they all arrived at Jude’s the champagne and some light hors d’oeuvres were brought out. The DVD was queued, toasts were made, and they all watched the show, glued to the television and drinking Moët. At the scene showing Mr Darcy jumping into the lake and emerging sodden in his white shirt all the girls screamed, including Tom. Even Pam, Elaine and Una sighed when Darcy and Elizabeth met afterwards. Once the program finished, the slightly pissed conversations started, with multiple rewinds of the scene.

Tom began the debate, “It’s about Darcy diving into his lake on a hot day, not having to be polite—and suddenly finding himself in a situation with Lizzie where he does need to be polite. So there are two people having a strained conversation, politely ignoring the fact that one of them is soaking wet.”

“Wipe the drool from your chin, Tom!” said Jude, leaning over to playfully do just that.

Shazzer said, “He’s rich, aloof, arrogant, stiff, taciturn and shy. All at the same time. Now that’s some fine acting!”

Elaine surprised everyone when she added, “Though it’s about many things, it’s principally about sex, and it’s about money.”

Fiona, who, along with Miranda and Cathy, was younger than most of the guests, asked if anyone had heard the interview with Andrew Davies, the writer of the mini-series. “It’s so very true if you think about it. A reporter asked him, ‘Why have all these classic serials got to be about the male lead getting his kit off?’ And he said, ‘Hey! I started that!’ I remember I watched it with my mum for the first time when I was fifteen. We still pull it out annually and view it together.”

“I just adore Jennifer Ehle. Every time she giggles or raises her eyebrows, she lets us know that Elizabeth is laughing at all the snobbery around her, so it’s okay for us to laugh, too,” said Bridget. “Also, for those that haven’t read the book, it’s so funny when they find out that the lake scene wasn’t in it! The writers added that.”

Jude topped everyone’s flutes off with more champagne and brought out the ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ questions. The two mothers, Pam and Elaine, would be the final judge on any disputes.

“Okay, first one. Bridget, we gave these questions to Mark and asked him to answer truthfully. This will show how compatible you are going into this marriage. The first question is, ‘What is Bridget’s strangest quirk’?” asked Jude.

Bridget answered without hesitation. “Waking him with thought vibes! He swears it doesn’t work, but it’s never failed. He can deny it all he wants; I’ll continue to wake him up that way. It still works now, after our time apart.” she laughed.

Tom read Mark’s answer, “‘Thought vibes.’ But he qualified his answer and said, ‘She swears this works, and I haven’t the heart to tell her I’m waking on my own.’”

Bridget laughed. “He just won’t believe what’s in front of his own eyes.

“What’s his weirdest quirk?” asked Jude.

“He folds everything, even his boxers!” Bridget quickly glanced at her mum. “I'm not sure how I know that,” she muttered under her breath. Everyone laughed except Pam, who seemed mortified by her daughter’s words.

“Next!” yelled Jude, “‘What’s her favourite flavour of ice cream’?”

“He’ll get this one,” Bridget said smugly. “Chocolate.”

“‘Ben & Jerry’s,’” Tom said, reading Mark’s reply, trying not to laugh too hard so he didn’t offend his friend.

Bridget glared at him and then at all her friends. “That’s not even a ‘flavour’, and he’d better be careful, or he may be sleeping on the couch on our wedding night.”

“Moving right along!” Jude yelled, trying to make herself heard over the laughing. “‘Who has the most exes’?”

“Official or in general?” Bridget queried. “Ex-spouses is definitely Mark. Ex-significant others would be me.”

At hearing her answer, Pam admonished Bridget, “My godfathers, darling! And with Elaine here! Whatever will she think?”

Elaine leaned over and patted Bridget’s hand, quietly saying so only Brdiget could hear, “I am so glad you and Mark found each another again. You’re the one person I’ve truly seen him happy with, dear.”

“And Mark’s answer is... ‘I have the most exes, at two,’” read Tom.

Looking to both mums, Jude asked for a ruling. Pam agreed with Mark. “He’s technically correct. Bridget’s not been married, so she has no official exes, while Mark has two.”

“Mum! Whose side are you on here?!” laughed Bridget.

Chiming in, Elaine added, “I’m afraid I’ll have to support my son, Bridget. He wins, although Malcolm and I fully endorse you being the last, if that’s any consolation.”

“The next question, what does Mark think is your favourite sexual position?” Jude glanced at both mothers, noticing Elaine was chuckling while Pam had turned pink.

“Hmmm, that’s a tough one. I’m going to go with Cowgirl. Could you even get Mark to provide an answer out loud? Which one of you took their life in their hands, by the way?”

Tom retorted, “It was me. Believe it or not, he was quite accommodating. It took him a while to loosen up, but once he did... jackpot. And his answer to this not-at-all embarrassing question is... “cowgirl”. Well, I certainly know one area where you two are compatible!”

“Yes, we’ve not missed a beat concerning the bedroom. And if Mark knew I was sharing any of this, he’d be absolutely mortified, which is exactly why I shall,” she giggled.

“Bridget, you are such a breath of fresh air, and I can see why Mark adores you. Without naming names, I don’t know what he saw in either of his exes,” she said, causing her future daughter-in-law to lean over and kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Elaine. Coming from you, that means everything.”

After Bridget sat back, Jude read the next question. “‘Where's the last place you would ever go on holiday’?”

“He’d better get this one right; Thailand,” Bridget answered emphatically.

“‘Thailand’,” said Tom, reading Mark’s reply, “but to be fair, half of Great Britain knows that answer.”

Continuing with the next question, Jude asked, “‘What's the one sentimental item Mark will never be able to throw out’?”

“His Christmas reindeer jumper. He wore it to your party just last month. And he had it on the first time I met him. As adults,” she clarified.

“Aww, he said he could never throw out his reindeer jumper. It reminded him of the first time you met,” Tom said, adding, “His wife put it in the bin for charity, but he later found it. He said he read her the Riot Act over donating it without permission. How romantic,” Tom said, wiping his eyes. All the attendees were likewise affected, and Pam stated smugly, “I knew I was right about you two. It just took a little longer than anticipated, but all’s well that ends well.”

“This should be an easy one,” said Jude, reading out the next question. “‘What was the last text message you sent him’?”

Bridget was silent for a moment before burying her face in her hands, saying softly, through her fingers, “Can’t wait to shag tonight.” She said the words so quietly Tom had to ask her to repeat herself.

“Elaine, mum, I’m sorry you both now know the secret behind the hold I have over Mark.” She turned to look at Tom. “I hope you’re happy now.” Then slowly and with much more volume, she reiterated, “Can’t wait to shag tonight,” at which point everyone burst out in laughter. Bridget flushed in embarrassment, feeling after all this talk of shagging and sexual positions, she was certainly proving Mark’s mother correct in her assumptions about their sex-life.

“Funny, but Mark seemed to think it was, ‘What would you like on your pizza?’ Even showed me the text from yesterday.” Knowing Bridget had just put her foot in it, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

After several more questions and answers everyone finished their champagne, and they all trundled into a limo rented for the evening. The group had reservations for dinner at Room 43 Bar and Kitchen. The restaurant was a combination of Mediterranean and Persian and had a small jazz ensemble playing. Shaun and Christian were their assigned waiters, and they both were very accommodating when they found out the celebration was a hen party.

The group started at the small bar, which was just large enough to fit all of their party. A banner was strung up in front of the  countertop, declaring, “Bridget’s getting married!” Everyone ordered drinks, including Elaine and Pam. The cocktails were inventive, and Magda and Tom declared the Ginger Kick and Lavashak favourites. After moving to a large table, the food was brought out in a family style for everyone to share. The table was filled with a breadboard, vegetables, chicken and prawn skewers, Ghormeh Sabzi stew and stuffed vine leaves. There was so much food and different plates that they all tried a little of everything, with Bridget declaring it the best meal she’d had in ages. She and Fiona laughed when they saw “Some Young Punks” Naked on Roller Skates Shiraz Mataro on the wine list. It was the same winery that they had ordered several bottles of when they had eaten at Le Pont de la Tour with Daniel and Steven the night they had also run into Mark and Kathryn.

Once they had finished eating their dinner, Tom, Miranda, Cathy, Fiona, Magda, Jude and Shazzer all moved and sat at the bar. Bridget remained at the table with her mum, Elaine and Una, chatting amicably about the gossip from Grafton Underwood. It felt good to be brought current on the town news and not worry about being fixed up by her mum and Una with any random single men. All four would return to Mark’s to spend the night and stay Saturday evening before returning home Sunday after Mark’s stag party. Mark insisted it be dinner only and a small affair since this wasn’t his first marriage.

While the women and Tom continued imbibing at the bar, Bridget and the three older women slipped out, having called a taxi to return them to Mark’s. On their way to the exit, Bridget stopped to thank Jude and the others, explaining that she was tired and had a busy week ahead, full of appointments and to-do lists. After much cajoling to stay and drink, she slipped out with her future mother-in-law, who seemed to sense her desire to get back to Mark sooner rather than later.

———————————-

When Bridget woke the following day, she turned in bed and found Mark gazing at her. “So, how does it feel?” he asked with a lazy smile.

She stretched, yawned, and replied, “How does it feel? I’m not hungover. I really didn’t even drink last night, but I had a wonderful time nonetheless.”

“Not that, to be woken by thought vibes,” he leaned over and started nuzzling into her neck. “Though I’m glad you behaved at your hen party. From the texts I’ve received this morning from husbands, not everyone was as well-behaved as you.”

Bridget’s eyes widened in alarm at hearing this. “Mark, what happened last night? Everyone’s all right, aren’t they?” she asked, suddenly feeling guilty that she left her friends in a bar.

“Yes, all well and accounted for, now. Evidently, they closed the bar, Cathy and the bartender disappeared into the wine cellar, Miranda and a waiter were nowhere to be found, and your other four friends were in the loo, let’s say not feeling too well. Oh, and even Tom was in the lady’s room,” he said with a laugh.

Bridget had never felt so glad to have missed out on the revelry.  Waking up with a horrible headache one week before her wedding day was not something she wanted to deal with, especially with Una, her mum and Mark’s mum, whom she would have to entertain today and an already planned schedule.

Chapter Text

When Bridget arrived at work on Monday, Daniel was already at the studio, starting the research for the next show. The new episode would cover the history of Westminster Abbey. Daniel had stepped up, taking a lot of the work on his shoulders, along with Steven, so she could have time for her wedding organising without feeling overwhelmed. Bridget planned to take Wednesday through Friday off the current week and the following week for her honeymoon.

“Good morning, Daniel, Steven.” Bridget was carrying a drink tray with a cappuccino and coffee for her co-workers. “I’ve brought you both a Monday morning pick-me-up,” she said smiling, placing their cups on the table.

After taking the drink and thanking her, Daniel said, “We have a surprise for you, too. Steven asked, and the station agreed to push the show back by one week, so we now have three full weeks to prepare. This allows you to relax on your honeymoon without feeling guilty,” he said grinning since he was pushing her not to think about the job while planning her big event.

“Daniel and I can complete the research this week on the Markets of London, and film you on Monday when you’re back. That is, if you decide to come back. Have you decided where you’re headed yet?”

“Yes, Jones, just where is this honeymoon of yours? Did I hear you mention Thailand? If so, I’ve some pointers for Mark that I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate.”

Bridget leaned over to smack his arm. “I wouldn’t set foot in that country again. I’m positive I’m not allowed under threat of arrest. Mark may have secured my release as a citizen of the United Kingdom, but I don’t think the local authorities were happy about losing their scapegoat.”

Steven’s astonishment caused the two of them to remember he wasn’t aware of the long-ago incident. “Fill you in later, over dinner and drinks. Mostly drinks,” Daniel said.

Bridget gave her co-host a warning look. “Please be kind to my future husband in the retelling. Without his help, I’d probably still be imprisoned in a foreign country.”

“Bridge, he tried to drown me when he returned to England. For making a pass at you, and you weren’t together at the time.”

“He was upset because you saw me being pulled out of line by customs agents, and you still got on the plane... and you tried also made a pass at me. Oh, and he just told me what you said after the fight.”

Laughing at getting her ire up, he asked, mischievously raising his eyebrows, “We’ll find out about that after next week, won’t we?”

Daniel saw he was getting under her skin, which hadn’t been his intent, so he stood and walked over, pulling her into a hug. “Love, I was truly a prat to both of you. Thank you for forgiving me and putting in a good word to Mark. I wouldn’t have thought dinner with him possible a year ago. You are truly a calming influence on both of us.”

Watching this exchange between co-workers, not knowing if they were genuinely sparring, Steven asked, “Daniel, how soon can we have that dinner? I can’t wait to hear this. He thought for a moment, then said, “Wait. I vaguely recall reading about your incarceration in the paper. Had slipped my mind until this moment.”

“Steven, lest you forget, we have the awards dinner tonight. I will certainly fill you in on my less-than-smashing behaviour over a pint or two,” said Daniel.

“What dinner are you attending tonight for the show?” Bridget asked.

Steven proudly answered, “We thought you’d be too busy with planning the wedding, so didn’t mention it. We didn’t want you to worry over missing it.”

“You’re welcome to come if you have time. The event begins at half six at the Convention Centre. Steven and I are going straight after work,” Daniel said.

“While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I would have liked to have the choice of attending or not. And yes, I’d love to go with you. I’ll have to pop home to find a dress to wear,” she replied. She’d also like to call Mark and fill him in. They didn’t plan on seeing one another tonight due to a scheduled dinner with his two team leads to review the open cases and any issues that might come up while he was away. One of his leads had been travelling, and this was their first meeting opportunity.

“I’m bringing Fiona. And Steven, is your wife attending?”

Looking sheepish, Steven said he had mentioned it to Grace last week but had not followed up. “I’d better call her now as I’m sure she’d enjoy it. She loves these events, whereas I can take or leave them.”

“Bridge, why don’t you see if Darcy can join us? Now that we can sit at the same table without fear of kicking one another,” Daniel asked.

“He has a business dinner scheduled tonight, so I’ll have to be a fifth wheel.” This had been one of her issues with Mark from their previous years together, but she certainly couldn’t be upset with him at this late stage, as he had a prior engagement, and she had just been made aware of the event.

An hour later, Daniel’s mobile rang while Bridget and he were researching on their laptops, discussing show ideas about Borough, Covent Garden, and Camden Markets. Looking down, he saw a number he didn’t recognise, surprised to learn who it was upon answering.

“Daniel, it’s Mark Darcy. Don’t let it on it’s me. Are you with Bridget?”

“Yes. Working away. How can I help?” he asked, sounding as relaxed as possible.

“She rang earlier to tell me about the awards dinner tonight. I’d love to surprise her and attend. Can you ring back and fill me in on the details?”

“Certainly. Any particular time?” he responded, just to give himself a moment to think up a cover story since Bridget was only five feet away.

Ringing off, he turned to Bridget, not missing a beat, and said, “Bloody dentist’s office, reminding me to schedule my cleaning. Seems I’m several weeks past my checkup date. Now, if only our government ran as efficiently.”

Bridget, Steven, Grace, Daniel and Fiona arrived at the event venue together, having driven together in Daniel’s Range Rover. Several bars were set up in the foyer, and travel posters hung on the walls and from the high ceiling. Twinkling fairy lights were interspersed amongst them, making the ample space seem magical. Steven pointed out the large poster of their show with the title emblazoned at the top and a flattering photo of Bridget and Daniel in front of The Houses of Parliament. Draped underneath was a banner announcing the award nomination of ‘Best New Travel Programme’. After talking for several minutes, Steven and Daniel left for the bar, leaving the girls to chat. Bridget was pleasantly surprised when several people approached, congratulating her on the show's success. She was now pleased she had decided to attend, even if she did have a hundred other items she should probably be tending to. After three people who worked for the London County Council stopped by to wish them well and compliment their show, Bridget said, “Wow. I’m not sure why, but sometimes it takes hearing it from your peers to realise you’re doing a good job. I had no idea our show was so well received, especially by others in the industry.”

Returning with a drink for Fiona and Bridget and handing each a glass of Chardonnay, Daniel agreed. “Congratulations Bridget and Steven, to a job well done. Cheers!” All five toasted, with Fiona and Grace offering their well wishes also.

The place was packed with industry employees, nominees, and guests. Daniel was talking to Fiona and Bridget when Mark, dressed in a dark suit, walked up behind Bridget. He put his finger over his lips in the universal ‘quiet’ sign, trying to hide a wide grin. Steven also spied him and was about to call out a greeting when Daniel elbowed him in the side.

Moving quietly up to Bridget from the rear, he slipped his hands to her waist and, bending his head, kissed her bare shoulder, whispering, “I’ve missed too many of these over the years. Congratulations, darling.”

Jumping at his touch, she quickly turned to throw her arms around his neck and give him a welcome kiss, her blue eyes wide in surprise. “Mark! What are you doing here?! What about your dinner meeting?”

Smiling down with a distinct tenderness in his voice, he said, “Rescheduled. I wanted to be here to support your work.”

After getting a hug from Fiona and being introduced to Grace, Mark shook Steven’s and Daniel’s hands. “Thanks for the information, mate. It's much appreciated.”

Overhearing the exchange between the former friends, Bridget smiled. As Daniel had said, maybe she was a good influence on the two ex-mates.

They were seated at a large, round table for ten, with their show’s placard in the middle; a much smaller version of the poster hanging from the rafters. The dinner choices were printed on a prix-fixe menu, and after everyone had ordered and the salads delivered, Daniel asked Mark about their honeymoon. “Bridget won’t divulge the location of your trip to Steven or me, and I assume Thailand is out. Where in God’s green earth are you taking her?”

Looking at Bridget with surprise and seeing her nod, Mark said with unmistakable softness, never breaking eye contact with her, “Hintlesham Hall for a long weekend, then spending the remainder of the week in our new home.” He reached over and took her hand.

Hearing Mark's answer, Fiona and Grace put their hands over their hearts, moved by Mark’s admission of a quiet honeymoon in their new house and the emotion on his face. Daniel remembered watching Mark look like this on television during the interview Bridget did with his clients, the Aghanis. Besotted was the only word he could think of. Years ago Daniel had been arsed about Mark’s show of affection towards Bridget, whereas now he was ecstatic.

“Bridge, were you afraid to tell Steven and me that you’d be in town most of next week for fear we’d make you come into work?” Daniel questioned, raising an eyebrow in mock concern.

“It’s not you and Steven I’m worried about; it’s my mum, Shaz, Jude and Tom. If they find out we’re not leaving the country but will be in London, in a new home to boot, Mark and I will never be alone, honeymoon or not. So, if word gets out, we have told exactly the four people at this table and I,” she stopped and smiled at Mark, “we, will know precisely from where it came.”

“You’d best check the other four at this table then,” Daniel advised, looking at the other couples. They were chatting amongst themselves, paying no attention at all to the conversation. “I saw the white-haired bloke taking notes.”

Ignoring her boyfriend, Fiona asked quite innocently, “Bridget, your mum seems so nice. And Mark, yours is such a dear!” she added, looking at him. “I truly enjoyed spending time with both at Bridget’s hen party. And your friends, too, although I left before things got going from what I’ve heard. Would they not leave you alone on your honeymoon??”

Turning to Bridget, Mark said, “Allow me.” Looking at Fiona with an unwavering stare, using his most serious barrister voice, he said, “Not only would Bridget’s mum manage to show up at the most inopportune times, including breakfast the morning following our wedding night, but her friends, and I’m going to include Magda in the group, would be at our home more often than not. I’m now starting to rethink our plan. We may need to leave the country to get some time alone.” When he finished, Mark leaned over, pulled Bridget to him, and kissed her, showing what he said was in jest, although the part about her mother honestly worried Bridget.

After dessert was served, the ceremony commenced, with tourism websites, tour companies, airlines, sites, landmarks, and museums all recognized by Visit London and The City of London.

Leaning over to Mark and then to Daniel, Bridget excused herself for the loo. According to the schedule placed on the table, their particular category wasn’t due to be announced for fifteen minutes. She, Fiona and Grace made for the ladies' room, giving them plenty of time to return before the presentation.

Daniel, Steven, and Mark had a round of drinks delivered to the table when the Best New Travel Programme category was announced before two other awards and out of order per the schedule. Looking at Steven and Mark, Daniel said, “Fuck, they’ve gone out of order. The girls will miss it.” Jumping up to find them, Mark stopped him. “I’ll go. If you win, you and Steven will have to accept.”

Mark walked briskly between the tables, changing into a run once out of the ballroom and in the corridor. Spying the three women coming out of the loo, chatting between themselves, Mark approached urgently. “Bridget, the schedule’s been changed. Your category’s up now.”

All four ran to the ballroom's door. Seeing that the presentation had just begun, they quickly walked to their table, with Mark following at the rear, urging them on.

Sliding into her chair and slightly breathless, Bridget recognised the presenter as a London television anchor, Ellen Majors, of BBC Two. After she was introduced by the host, she described the nominees.

“The Best New Travel Programme benefits all the nominees in every category tonight, as new shows draw attention to our wonderful city and surrounding area. This exposure helps London and its environs out-compete other major tourism destinations. Our city welcomes more visitors than ever before, and we see more staycations as Brits holiday at home. The nominations include two podcasts listened to by people all over the world, opening up London to an audience both here and overseas; a monthly YouTube show that has almost a quarter of a million followers in less than a year; a weekly television show that’s online only and a biweekly programme that airs on ITV with approximately three million viewers after only a handful of episodes. All five of the nominations drive tourism, which in turn help fill our hotels, restaurants, museums, entertainment venues and shops.” Mark reached over and took Bridget’s hand, very proud of the work she, Daniel and Steven had accomplished so quickly.

Continuing, she said, “And the winner for Best New Travel Programme is.” She stopped momentarily to open the large envelope, “ Greater London Adventures, produced and co-hosted by Bridget Jones and Daniel Cleaver! Congratulations!”

Upon hearing their show’s name, they jumped up, grabbing Steven by the hand to have him join them in accepting the award. On stage in front of the microphone, Daniel moved back, allowing Bridget to speak.

“I’d like to acknowledge the other nominees, first and foremost. While it may seem like putting a show together is easy when watching the final product, there’s a lot of work going on behind the scenes, as I’m sure the others can testify. Thank you to Steven Moreno, our editor, who takes a large collection of shots and pieces them together to make a show. And, of course, to Daniel Cleaver, my co-host and the one that came up with the idea. We’re glad it helps London’s entire tourism industry. And lastly, thank you to my fiancé, Mark Darcy, for his support and understanding when I put in long hours at the studio.” Bridget stepped back from the microphone to allow Daniel to say a few words.

Kissing her on the cheek when she handed him the award, Daniel started. “Well done, Jones. Like Bridget, I’d like to acknowledge Steven and our immense crew of two cameramen/sound persons, William Acker and John Coombs. If our show has in any way helped to drive tourism to London and the other fine nominees tonight, it shows that the main draw is truly our beautiful city, with its history, people and venues. Thank you for rewarding us for doing what we love; talking about London and presenting it to an audience.”

After returning to their table, all three were congratulated by Mark, Fiona, and Grace, the other couples, and by people at the tables adjacent to theirs. After Bridget sat down, Mark pulled her into an immense hug, kissed her, and told her again, “I am so very proud of you, darling.”

Returning Mark’s kiss, she said, “You don’t know how happy I am to have you here.”

After the presentation concluded, they mingled in the large foyer of the event hall, receiving congratulations from what seemed like half the room.

“The tourism industry certainly seems to be friendlier than publishing, or television for that matter. I don’t remember getting this kind of attention from either of those professions,” said Daniel happily.

Chapter Text

“We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Bridget Rose Jones and Mark Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Those words were what Mark remembered most from the ceremony, and how beautiful his wife was. As a surprise, Bridget had hired a string quartet to play during the drinks reception. The ensemble consisted of four women and featured two violins, one cello and one viola. Bridget had chosen the small drawing room for this portion of the ceremony, surrounded by baroque wall decorations and an ornately carved ceiling. The space was elegant and intimate. High-top tables covered in white flowing cloths were placed throughout, with stylish vases of white winter flowers as centrepieces, giving guests a place to gather, drink and eat the canapés that servers were passing around. Champagne or a glass of wine greeted each guest when they entered, or they could choose one of the two bars for a cocktail.

The musicians began by playing Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D as Mark, Bridget, and the wedding party slowly made their way around the room, greeting friends and guests. As he listened to the beautiful music, Mark pulled his wife close to kiss her. “Thank you for this. Whatever gave you the idea for classical music?”

“Well, it’s your wedding, too,” she laughed. “And Magda thought you’d enjoy it very much. It really is lovely and fits the venue perfectly. But there’ll be more contemporary music for dancing later.”

After over an hour of drinks and hors d'oeuvres, including lots of photographs of guests and with them, mingling and receiving congratulations from co-workers, neighbours from Grafton Underwood and friends old and new, Mark was starting to feel a little pissed. Turning to Bridget, he observed, “How are you holding up so well? I haven’t seen you without a full glass of wine, yet you’re surprisingly sober.” Pulling on his hand, she started to lead him out the hallway and into the privacy of a room to which the wedding party had access; before they could get to the door, Miranda and Cathy intercepted them, both slightly squiffy.

“Bridget, Mark, no stealing off for a quickie,” Cathy admonished. Mark smiled broadly, as this was exactly what he thought Bridget was up to.

“Bridge,” exclaimed Miranda, slightly slurring her words, “wait til you see your surprise tonight. You can thank me later.”

One of several photographers had followed the newlyweds into the hallway and started snapping candid shots. Bridget’s look of exasperation caused Mark to whisper into her ear, “Darling, we’ll have plenty of time later and believe me, ‘quickie’ is not what I have in mind.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I have something to tell you, but it can wait.”

Concerned there was an issue, although he could find no fault with the setting, drinks or food, he asked, “Is everything all right?”

She smiled at him, never looking more beautiful. “Never better.” The photographer caught the moment as Mark leant to kiss her lips.

Returning to the party, Mark led Bridget towards Daniel and Fiona, who were conversing with Jeremy and Magda. Clapping Jeremy on the back, he said, “I can’t thank you enough for your support and hard work today.” He then embraced Magda and Fiona. When he got to Daniel, he paused, met his gaze, and said, “Oh, what the hell,” surprising everyone by pulling him into a hug.

“Thanks, mate, and congratulations to you both,” Daniel said sincerely.

The wedding breakfast, really a three-course dinner, was served in the Long Drawing Room. Overlooking Andrew Street and decorated in the late 18th-century style, the room featured a Robert Adam’s fireplace, beautifully draped full-length sash windows, French-style rococo ornate coving, and tall ceilings. The wedding party and parents were seated at the front of the room, with Bridget and Mark in the centre.

After an impeccable dinner, Mark leant over to Bridget. “You’ve outdone yourself. I couldn’t be more impressed with the location, the food and most of all you, Mrs. Darcy.” Elaine fondly observed Bridget’s look of utter happiness at the compliment as she approached her son and new daughter-in-law, leaning down to hug her. “I am so proud of you, Mark. And Bridget, you’ve made my son the happiest I’ve seen him. Thank you.” Just as she finished, Mark’s father joined them, shaking Mark’s hand and kissing Bridget’s cheek as he shed a tear, trying vainly to cover it up. “Bridget, you are the most beautiful bride I’ve seen. Second only to Mark’s mother on our wedding day.” He turned to kiss his wife, then did the same to Bridget again.

After the dishes were quietly cleared by the discreet wait staff, Colin Jones gave the Father of the Bride speech, which would be followed by Mark’s Groom speech and Jeremy’s speech. Bridget became very emotional during her dad’s heartfelt talk, especially when he teared up and her mother broke down in hushed sobs. After finishing, Colin wiped his eyes before introducing Mark. Handing the microphone to his new son-in-law, Colin congratulated him by shaking his hand fiercely before pulling him into a bear hug. He grabbed the microphone back but thought better of it as he teared up again.

Unflustered, Mark turned to Bridget where she sat beside him and began. “Bridget, I have found saying the right words difficult in the past. For a man whose livelihood is built on his oratory skills you have always left me speechless. You give me your love and much more with only one condition: I give you my love in return. This I gladly do. I am not marrying someone I can live with; I am, finally, married to the one person I cannot live without.

“Home isn't a building that you go to every day; it isn't your possessions or necessarily where your family and friends live. It's a feeling you get when you meet the love of your life and are lucky enough to find her again. It's where you’re the happiest and the place where you can be the best possible version of yourself and yes, sometimes you love a person because they feel like home.

“Truly I have learnt so much from you, and I hope there’s a day when I can show you how that feels. For example, pizza is considered a vegetable;

God invented takeaway for those who can’t cook.

A person can be woken with thought vibes;”

At each of Mark's three comments the guests laughed loudly, with Tom, Sharon, and Jude leading them, whistling noisily to show their approval.

“And lastly, you’ve shown me how to be vulnerable.”

When Bridget heard Mark admit his feelings, she wiped at her face, trying in vain to control her emotions.

“I’ve always believed that our history should lead us to be together, and I promise the bunny outfit from so many years ago had nothing to do with it. By the way, thank you, Una and Geoffrey.” Mark found his parents’ friends in the crowd, smiled warmly and raised his champagne glass in recognition. Bridget buried her face in her hands, turning crimson as she blushed in remembrance of the ill-fated Tarts and Vicars party.

“You know everything about me and love me, just as I am. You know my faults, including my appallingly bad taste in Christmas jumpers,” he laughed as he said this, grinning broadly at his wife, “yet still agreed to marry me. I am fortunate to have been the one to marry you.

“To quote John Keats, ‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever,’ and Bridget, you are so very beautiful to me. Speaking of Keats, I’d like to thank Daniel Cleaver, without whose help Bridget and I may not have found one another again. Your support in that regard is appreciated more than you can know.” Mark raised his glass to Daniel, who smiled back and tipped his flute in return.

“To my parents. Who worked especially hard to teach me the difference between right and wrong. It has been said when children find true love, parents find true joy. Please know I have now married my true love.

“To Bridget’s mother and father, Pam and Colin. Thank you for pushing your daughter towards a recently divorced barrister who happened to be in a foul mood at the annual turkey curry buffet. Without your matchmaking, we may never have met.” Bridget looked at her parents affectionately, noting that both were wiping tears from their eyes at Mark’s heartfelt words.

“To my best man, Jeremy, you and Magda have been there for Bridget and me and have supported us both. If not for your prodding, I may not have made the most critical decision of my career, which allowed me to prioritize my life; without doing so, I know we wouldn’t be here today. I want to thank you both for everything.

“And finally, the bridesmaids, Sharon, Jude, Tom and Magda. Thank you for calming Bridget’s nerves, helping her prepare today, and getting her here in one piece, especially on time. You’ve done a brilliant job. Although you are now married, your urban family remains as strong as ever. Please join me in a toast to my beautiful wife, the one I have always loved, Bridget.”

Before Mark could sit, Bridget jumped up, futilely wiping the tears from her face and hugged him. Holding her, he kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “I love you,” as she cried emotionally into his suit jacket.

Mark wondered what direction Jeremy would go with his speech; as a barrister, he also had no apprehension about speaking in public and quite liked the spotlight. Bridget’s father stood again and introduced Jeremy. “As most of you know, my new son-in-law is a well-known barrister. He works in Chambers with Jeremy, his best man. Mark and Bridget, so that you know, I did try to dissuade him from telling too many off-colour jokes. When that didn’t work, I went to his lovely wife, Magda, who I’ve known since she and Bridget were in uni together, and he has since promised to tone it down. Ladies and gentlemen, Jeremy.”

Jumping in, Jeremy began, “Mark and Bridget, thank you for allowing me to play a special part in the most important day of your lives. Mark, you could have chosen any of your work colleagues or friends as your best man, yet you selected me. Well, I was the first person to say yes, anyway.” At the joke, the entire room laughed, and Jeremy was off, causing Bridget to grab Mark’s hand for support from their friend’s rapier wit.

“When Mark asked me to be his best man, stories flooded my thoughts. I saw this as an opportunity to talk about my hero, a fit, kind-hearted, brilliant man admired by all who know him. But when I showed the speech to my wife, she took it, telling me the idea of a best man speech was to focus on the groom, not myself.” The room erupted in laughter, and Mark groaned while Bridget leaned over to kiss him.

“Let me say how lucky you are, Mark. You will leave here today having gained a warm, loving and caring wife who is funny and radiates beauty wherever she goes. And Bridget, how lucky you are that you leave today having gained a gorgeous dress and a lovely bouquet.” Bridget tried not to chuckle too hard at Jeremy’s ribbing of her husband, but it was honestly very nice to see him laughing so much at his own expense. Mark could sometimes be very stoic, and she certainly enjoyed bringing a lightheartedness to him and their relationship.

“I asked Bridget’s mum, Pam, how it felt to see her daughter get married. And she said, ‘It only seems like yesterday that she was going to bed with her dummy.’ It’s funny how history repeats itself. In all seriousness, I wish you both nothing but the best for your future. You’re a fantastic, unique, and perfectly matched couple. Bridget, you give Mark love and true happiness, and most of all, you make him smile and laugh. Those are truly wonderful gifts, and Mark is a better person for it because of you. Mark, I’ve never seen Bridget’s eyes reflect what’s in her heart as when you walk into a room. Her love for you is so easy for all of us to see. I hope all your dreams come true and you lead a healthy, long, and happy life together.

“Magda and I look forward to being a part of your lives and having you both as part of our lives for many years. Mark, sorry I’ve murdered you on this speech today; you know how much I love you. Thank you for the honour of being your best man. On behalf of the wedding party, I’d like to thank both of you for sharing this wonderful occasion with us. Also, thanks to all the parents; without you, this could never have happened, and specifically to Mark’s mum, Elaine.” Elaine looked startled to have been singled out by Jeremy, afraid of what would come. “Your taste in Christmas jumpers for your son is renowned. After Mark and Bridget’s first encounter, which didn’t go very well, Bridget couldn’t stop telling Magda and me about the bloke in the reindeer sweater. She talked about him so much we knew right then she was, in fact, smitten. I think I can speak for everyone in this room when I ask what took you so damn long?”

At the pointed innuendo to their past, the room broke out in applause and cheers from the more tipsy guests, most being Bridget’s friends. Looking at one another and laughing, Mark gave her a chaste kiss, to which Bridget responded by placing both hands on his face, pulling him to her for a passionate kiss. Jeremy doubled over in laughter at watching the scene before wrapping up. “Now, it gives me immense pleasure to invite you to stand and raise a toast. To Mark and Bridget, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!”

When all the guests stood and raised their champagne flutes to toast, Bridget finally let go of her husband, but quickly moved back for one last snog, causing Mark to flush, smiling as they broke apart to pick their glasses up for the toast.

Since the guest list was comprised of only fifty, all attendees were invited to the entire ceremony; none would be leaving nor new guests arriving for the dancing and late-night food. The seven-piece band was set up in the Churchill Room, where they would play and provide background music for the cake cutting.

Their first dance as a married couple was to the song “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Mark enfolded Bridget in his arms, the lights turned low, and all the guests gathered around the dance floor. They moved slowly, her head on his chest, her arms resting gently on his while he encircled her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace. Bridget loved the song and Mark had told her, very gallantly, that it didn’t matter to him what song they danced to as long as they were finally married. Closing her eyes, she swore she could feel Mark’s heart beating. When the lyrics started, her eyes flew open in astonishment at the live voice and she heard the crowd murmur. The entire reception realising at once the song was being performed in person by the artist. Bridget looked at Mark, realising he was as dumbfounded as she, until she recalled Miranda’s words regarding a surprise. After meeting the artist at the music festival they attended together, Miranda and the pop star dated for several months before going their separate ways, although they remained in touch and on friendly terms.

Moving to the beautiful music, Bridget was more content than she had ever felt. Although she hadn’t planned on telling Mark in such a public setting, she was overcome with emotion for her new husband, the love of her life and soon-to-be father.

“Mark, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” Stopping their dance, he placed both hands on either side of her face, wiping the tears away. “This is possibly the most wonderful piece of information I’ve received in my entire life. I couldn’t be happier than I am right now,” be said rather stoically.

——————-

Glancing around their suite at Hintlesham Hall, not finding what she was searching for, Bridget exclaimed, “Bugger! Let me just go and grab my mobile,” turning quickly to leave the bedroom; until she heard Mark urgently call to her from the bed, half covered by a sheet.

“Bridget, forget your mobile. We aren’t leaving this bed unless room service rings or one of us requires medical attention.” The smouldering look in his eyes made her stop in her tracks.

“But what if someone—” she began. “Sorry, what was I thinking?” Moving to the end of the large bed, she smiled seductively, took off her dress and let it pool at her feet before stepping out of it. She got onto the bed and moved slowly towards him.

“No,” Mark said, stopping her.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated. “Lie back and relax. I’ve wanted to do this since we first met.”

“Mark, it’s not like we haven’t been together before,” she said, but understood his meaning before he clarified, whispering, “Not when I can call you my wife, and carrying our child.”

He gently turned her over so that she was lying on her stomach, hands raised over her head, wrists crossed, with her head turned to one side.

His lips began a slow journey, starting at the base of her neck as he swept her hair away to allow access to her skin, moving gradually down her shoulders, his body pressed against her. Kissing her tenderly, his tongue ran over her skin, hands placed on her sides, moving down the length of her, causing her to shiver in anticipation. Feeling her tremble, he leaned over her ear, “Cold?”

When she answered, her voice came out a whisper: “No,” the one-syllable word was all she could manage. Hearing her attempt to reply, he smiled, knowing the effect he was having, on her and himself.

As much as he had loved her voluptuous curves, her body was still perfection to him, retaining a femininity borne of her confidence and hard work. He knew she exercised and it showed. His hands felt the results of her efforts when he massaged and caressed her back and legs. Trailing kisses across her neck, close to her ear, he said softly, “Bridget, I’ve always loved you and never thought you heavy, but now...you’re so beautiful.”

She acknowledged his compliment but could only manage a low, throaty sigh as she turned to look back at him with a smile.

He sat on his knees, between her outstretched legs, his hands trailing down, caressing, until reaching her calves, then her ankles. Moving slowly upward, he massaged her thighs before landing on her backside, stroking with his hands. Her low moan caused him to catch his breath, wanting her so very much but continuing his movement. His right hand slipped slowly down her thigh, so he could feel how ready she was. Her hips rose, inviting his hand to explore.

“Mark,” she said, overwhelmed by the need to see his face.

“Shhh... relax, darling. We have all night.” He continued moving his hand, inducing her body to pull up, her fingers gripping the sheets as she tried to hold onto some control before moaning in pleasure, and he could feel her climax, calling out his name. He had never been with someone as responsive to his touch, his lovemaking as Bridget. He couldn’t imagine his life without this, without her a part of it.

When her breathing subsided to a normal rate, she felt him move off the bed. Watching, she saw him put a blanket over one of the side chairs. Taking her hand, he led her to it, sat down, and invited her to join him. Straddling him, her feet barely touched the floor. “Thought you’d like to try your favourite position on your wedding night, Mrs Darcy.” Moving his hands over her shoulders and down her back, he felt her lift herself and lower over him. Their eyes locked, and he could feel his jaw working, trying desperately not to hurry things and let her have control. It took all of his considerable restraint to will his body not to move, not to drive up into her as he desperately wanted to. He closed his eyes with the effort until she moved slightly up, only to meet her gaze again when he opened them at the break in contact. She reached down with her hand and held him, guiding him into her, this time fully lowering herself, causing him to wonder, as he shut his eyes once more, how long he could remain still no matter what his mind was communicating to his body. Her eyes never left his face as she watched his reaction. The were as close as two people could be, before she said in an unsteady voice, “Tell me what you want.”

At her words his eyes opened. He tried to say that he wanted this night, these feelings between them to never end, that he had everything he needed. But she leant up and forward, raising herself once more, then trailing her hand between their bodies, stroking him as she moved lower. The last lucid thought left his head, and his reply came out before he could think. “I want to make love to you.”

Her breath caught at his words, and she smiled, fully aware of how aroused he was. She began to move up and down, torturously slow, directing the pace. Kissing his mouth, neck and shoulders, her lips left a trail of heat. After enduring this for several minutes, he leant his head back, a low growl escaping his throat, and his hands moved to her waist, holding her tight. His body thrust up with the force of his ardour as he took the hard tip of a breast into his mouth and sucked gently, then with more strength as she too begged him, her back arching up before she leaned closer, running her hands over his chest, to his face, into his hair, kissing him with such passion that it took his breath away. He had never felt this emotion, the sense of losing himself so entirely in her. Mark knew she was coming when she yelled his name, her mouth even more insistent on his, almost frantic, as he felt her orgasm. Her utter sense of release, of pleasure, made it impossible for him to hold back any longer. His climax was so forceful he moaned loudly while burying his face in her hair, pulling her tight, and holding her in his embrace.

Afterwards, having moved to the bed, they lay side by side, facing one another. Bridget reached over to run her right hand through the hair over Mark’s ear, loving the thought they were now husband and wife. He reciprocated by leaning over to kiss her.

“Oh. My. Lord,” she finally managed. “Wish I’d known that sex as smug marrieds was so enjoyable. May have tried it a little sooner.”

“If it were only that easy,” Mark said and laughed.

Chapter Text

Bridget stirred, opened her eyes, and found Mark gazing at her. “Good morning,” he said quietly, stretching and sighing. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little sore.” His smile said that he really didn’t mind, though.

“Yes, just a little. Though not enough to slow me down on our honeymoon,” Bridget replied. “It’s the best type of sore.”

“You know, the only way to work out the kinks is to get back at it as soon as possible,” he said, moving over her, bending his head to kiss her neck.

“Mark, dragon breath!”

“I’ve been up and brushed,” he said with a smug laugh and continued to kiss her, moving down, causing her to momentarily forget her protests as he lightly caught the point of a breast in his mouth.

Returning to her senses, she pulled him up by the arms. “Stop! I’m going to brush my teeth and take a shower. Why don’t you join me?”

“I believe I will.” He got up and out of the massive bed, offering his hand for a lift. Eyeing her husband up and down, enjoying what she saw, she took his hand, waggling her eyebrows at his nakedness, laughing as he grinned playfully at her.

Following her, he started the shower while she brushed her teeth. When done, she turned, hung a towel on the hook and stepped into the steam-filled chamber. “Mark! It’s hot!”

“Come here,” he murmured into her ear from behind as his hands roamed over her body, lathering her with the bar of floral-scented soap, the suds allowing a smooth track as he moved up and down. “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant,” he said as both hands lingered over her stomach, caressing softly. They had discussed the pregnancy on the drive from London. Bridget thought she was excited to have a baby, but it was nothing compared to Mark’s happiness. He still was very reserved in front of her friends and family, but when alone, he continued to open up in ways that constantly surprised her.

After she reciprocated the thorough cleaning, they carefully exited and dried each other using the fluffy white towels. Bridget led Mark to the bed, where they proceeded to “work out the kinks” he had alluded to earlier.

“Hmm,” she said with a sigh. “May need another go in the shower after that, but so worth it!”

“Right,” he laughed. “I’m also starving. Do you think you can be ready in time to make breakfast downstairs?”

The look she gave him didn’t reflect a first-day-of-honeymoon sentiment but more a you-know-me-too-well, sod-off scowl.

His eyes flew open in mock dismay, “They do stop serving in an hour,” he said in defense.

————-

After eating, as they were finishing their coffee, Mark saw the satisfied grin on Bridget’s face and commented, “Now, aren’t you glad you made it down for breakfast?”

“I have a surprise planned, but you’re working your way out of it!” she laughed, reaching for his hand on the table.

“Does the surprise have anything to do with heading back to our room for the afternoon?”

Looking crestfallen, she replied, “No, but I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s set for 2:00 and lasts for an hour and a half. Would you rather cancel and stay here?”

He smiled at her disappointment and said, “No, I’d love to see your surprise. We have all night, after all.”

“Oh, goody,” she exclaimed. “Let me drive so you won’t know until we get there. It takes over an hour, so we’d better freshen up and leave. Plus, I’d like to arrive early so you can show me around.”

“Well, you have me intrigued now.”

Just then, the waiter arrived back at their table with the bill.

“Sir, if you’d like to charge it to your suite, we’ll just need your signature and room number,” he said, handing the bill to Mark.

Taking it from the server before Mark could, Bridget picked up the pen from the tray, added their room number, and signed her name, “Mrs Bridget Darcy”, with a flourish. The grin on her face caused him to smile, too, realising why she wanted to do this mundane task.

Thanking them with a bright smile and congratulations on their marriage, the waiter turned and left. “That’s the first time I’ve used my new name,” she said emotionally. “Mrs Darcy. I never would have believed this possible five years ago. Maybe we should cancel the surprise and stay here.”

______________

As they drew nearer their destination, Mark guessed they were visiting Cambridge, the University he had attended and received his Master of Laws Degree in International Human Rights. Pleasantly surprised, he asked, “Bridget, what exactly do you have planned at Cambridge?”

“A tour. I’ve always wanted to visit where you matriculated and thought as long as we were close... what do you think?”

Her thoughtfulness moved him immensely, but thinking back on their time together, he realised it shouldn’t have. She had a very giving nature and was the most caring person he’d ever been with.

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely, touched by the gesture more than he could convey in words. He hadn’t been back in years, except for the random, odd event and would enjoy sharing his memories with Bridget. She glanced over, blue eyes glossy with emotion. Taking her free hand, he touched it to his lips.

“You’re very welcome. If our child should ever be fortunate enough to get accepted here, at least I can say I’ve visited.”

He laughed at her answer, remembering their long-ago argument over the education of their offspring. One of the many reasons he loved Bridget was her non-conformity to old standards; for her to do this for him and their soon-to-be family proved why he couldn’t get her out of his system.

“If he chooses to be a poet, an artist, or a banker, I’ll love him the same because he’s ours.” She couldn’t help but note the softness in his voice.

“Him?” she laughed.

“Or her, whom I’ll love as much as I do you.”

After the tour, which provided a general overview of the ancient learning institution, whilst they were milling about and conversing outside the Squire Law Library with others in their small group, along with their Student Guide Trevor, it came out that Mark had attended the university and was now a prominent barrister in London and QC. Several attendees were potential students; it turned into an impromptu, real-world Q&A with Mark, including several from the guide who studied law, although he hadn’t chosen his papers yet. Watching him share his insights into the university and law practice, Bridget felt quite proud of her husband. He was a very passionate man, once drawn out of his natural reticence; his emotion was proven in his well-known, impassioned arguments in the courtroom and the many cases he’d won. It came to mind, as she watched him animatedly discuss his career, that the zig-zag barriers put up to make sure that a queue fills the minimum space required in an as efficient and fuss-free manner as possible was very much like a map of both Mark and the majority of the British male psyche. Once at the jumping-off point, their universal response was, “After you.” She may not have fully appreciated this in her early thirties or even as recent as their prior split, but as she aged, as priorities changed, she found it quite endearing, feeling a rush of love for him.

While Mark was talking, a man about his age stopped and politely interrupted the group, asking, “Mark?”

“Ian!” he replied, both men clasping the other in a shoulder-slapping hug.

“What brings you here?” Ian asked as Mark grabbed Bridget by the hand to pull her closer for an introduction.

“Funny you should ask,” he said, smiling at his wife. “We were married yesterday, and Bridget surprised me with a tour. We’re staying at Hintlesham Hall, an hour away.”

Ian took Bridget’s hand, shook it, and hugged her. “Congratulations. Mark and I go back to our days here at uni. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Forgive me. Bridget, this is Ian Bradshaw. He’s Vice-Chancellor here. Ian, this is my wife, Bridget.”

Remembering where he was, Professor Bradshaw turned businesslike, congenially greeting the others. All were impressed to speak with Mark, a barrister and QC and Vice-Chancellor of the college. Bridget thought Trevor was going to have an apoplectic fit, as he stumbled over himself, trying to wrap up the tour but obviously in such awe of Ian that he was left stuttering.

She leaned over to Mark and said quietly, “Why don’t you ask Ian to have a drink with us before we head back? I’m afraid poor Trevor may have cardiac arrest if you don’t pry your friend away soon.”

Before he could ask, Ian turned to Mark and Bridget and said, “I’d love to take you for a congratulatory drink, but would that be imposing on your honeymoon?”

“We’d love it. And I can hear about your uni days with Mark. Did you know Daniel Cleaver too?” asked the ever-gregarious Bridget.

At the mention of Daniel’s name, Ian raised his eyebrow at Mark, causing him to chuckle. “Long story,” he said and grabbed Bridget’s hand, nodding his head yes to Ian’s suggestion of the Anchor Pub, just a short walk away.

“When was the last time you were here?” Ian asked.

“It’s been about five years for a symposium on minority rights.”

“Well, the Anchor’s had a full refurb and has been brought up to date as a trendy gastropub. A far cry from our school days, when you couldn’t see inside for all the students smoking.”

As they continued their walk to the pub, Bridget asked, “Now that I’m in the presence of two lawyers, I’ve always meant to ask, why don’t barristers shake hands?”

Smiling at her earnestness, Ian answered, “The custom dates back to sword-bearing times when a handshake was considered a way to demonstrate to a person that you weren’t armed. Since barristers were gentlemen, they trusted each other implicitly, so there was no need to shake hands.”

Looking at Mark, Bridget concurred, “I’ll vouch for that,” and grabbed his hand, raising it to her lips; she had matured from when they first dated when her insecurities caused her to distrust some of his actions. Ian jokingly quizzed them, asking, “How long have you two been together? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were newlyweds.”

They requested a seat on the riverside since it was a beautiful, sunny day. The view was of quite a few novice punters on the calm water, causing Bridget to beg Mark if they could go for a ride before heading back.

Laughing at her enthusiasm, Mark replied, “Of course. But you realise the water's quite chilly if we accidentally go in?”

“If you have time, you should walk in the Botanical Gardens. The Glasshouses are indoors if it’s too chilly outside, although it’s unseasonably warm today.”

Mark grinned at Bridget’s, asking, “Before or after the boat?”

“After. And we have to make sure we don’t fall in. Would not be a nice hour-long ride back.”

When the server came, the men ordered a pint of Green King IPA while Bridget asked for water. Feeling peckish, she ordered baked camembert with pecans, apricots and sourdough bread. She and Mark had reservations for dinner at their hotel, but not until half eight.

“So Ian, what was Mark like at university?” Bridget asked with a grin as soon as the waiter had taken their order. “The only stories I’ve heard have been from Daniel, so I’ll take those with a grain of salt. Even since he’s been on his best behaviour.”

“Wait a minute,” Ian said out of the blue. “Bridget Jones, right?” At her befuddled nod yes, Ian continued, “You did the TV interview with Daniel when he was found alive.” His question was more of a statement.

“Yes, you saw it? I’m not normally in front of the camera, but Daniel insisted I conduct the interview, or he wouldn’t agree. Have you seen our travel show, too?”

“I have. I’m not home often, but my wife’s an avid viewer. Thanks to your show we have a spring holiday set for Bath. She’s insisting we stay at the same hotel featured in the episode, do the spa treatment and, of course, visit the Austen Centre. I’m just hoping I can somehow get a round of golf in with all the activities she’s planned”, he said, laughing.

“If she loves Austen, she sounds like a woman after my heart. I’d enjoy meeting her,” Bridget said sincerely.

“It’s a date then. Mark, give me your number and I’ll call you with some times. Don’t worry; I’ll wait a week to let you finish your holiday.”

When Bridget excused herself for the loo, Ian asked how Bridget knew Daniel. He was aware of the ex-mates falling out over Mark’s first wife but was perplexed by how Daniel fit into their story.

“Daniel actually dated Bridget before me, over ten years ago. I knew her briefly from growing up in the same small town, and our parents are friends,” he explained. “We dated for years before she broke it off due to my, let’s say, more than busy schedule. I was married, although separated, when I saw her at Daniel’s memorial service and again a week later at a mutual friend’s baby christening, where we both served as godparents.”

He stopped causing Ian to prompt, “And?... How did you end up marrying? I’ve only just met her, but she seems very special. You both look head over heels in love.”

Mark continued, not telling him about their tryst at the christening, "Daniel helped in that regard. I was newly divorced and dating someone, never contemplating Bridget and I might start seeing one another again when she asked if I’d like to go out. After she and Daniel started working together on their travel show, she confided to him that she still had feelings for me, and he very gently but firmly pushed her to act on them. And the rest is history, as they say. We’ve had dinner together, and he and his girlfriend attended our wedding. Bridget helped in that respect. My wife is a special woman; she’s eternally optimistic and finds humour whenever facing adversity.” The heartfelt way Mark said this left Ian in no doubt that his old friend was quite happy in his new marriage.

At that moment, Bridget joined them again. They continued reminiscing for the better part of an hour before they parted ways with a promise to meet in April for dinner.

Walking the short distance to the boats, Mark took her hand.

“Have you enjoyed today?” she asked.

“Yes, tremendously. Thank you for the surprise. I’m also glad to have seen Ian and that we’ve planned for dinner with him and his wife in April. You’re perfect for me, you know.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” he laughed, knowing he wasn’t telling her something she didn’t already know, “I tend to be morose, introverted, and singularly focused on my work. You’re the opposite, and I appreciate and love you for it.”

Touched at his heartfelt compliment, she asked, “Maybe we should head back to the hotel now? It would give us several hours before our dinner reservation.”

His eyes widened in pretended shock, “Bridget Darcy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

“And you’d be right,” she grinned. “What do you say?”

“Let’s do the boat and skip the gardens? It really shouldn’t be missed. We’ll still have plenty of time before dinner.”

Sitting on the boat, she leaned into Mark and rested her head on his shoulder. It was really quite beautiful, and she sat back and listened to the punter’s narration.

“For those who don’t know what punting is, where the hell have you been hiding?” The guests in the boat broke out into laughter at the guide’s irreverent humour. He continued, “Punts are long, flat-bottomed, wooden boats pushed along by someone called a ‘punter’. The punter stands at the back and pushes the boat along with a long pole; the activity is called punting. It’s sometimes mistaken for the gondolas in Venice; although there are similarities, the gondolas aren’t as cool.

“Punts were initially used to ferry goods along rivers that were too shallow for conventional boats to navigate. As river trade began to decline, this gave way to ‘Pleasure Punting’ in the 1900s. Don’t worry—it’s not as dodgy as it sounds. Ditching the cargo for passengers, punting became a quintessential part of local life and one of the most popular things to do in Cambridge.

“Why did it become so popular? Firstly, the river runs through some of the most historically significant areas of the UK, and secondly, it’s bloody beautiful. Plus, it’s as typically English as you can get. Literally a caricature of middle-class Britain come to life. It’s so popular, in fact, that celebrities travel from far and wide to swan around on the waters, and the Queen comes down on Tuesdays to enjoy a river tour. I joke!” he said, exclaiming further, “She only visits on Sundays.”

A few famous colleges they saw from the river included Trinity College, founded by King Henry VIII in 1546; Trinity Hall, where scientist Stephen Hawking studied; and St. Johns College, which poet William Wordsworth attended. After they finished, they were both very relaxed from being on the calming water, and the hour-long drive back seemed to pass in no time, especially since Bridget had slept for most of it. Returning to the hotel, Mark woke Bridget and gently shook her. They still had an hour and a half before their dinner reservation. Once in the room, she fell on the bed, yawning loudly, still very rested from her long nap. He removed his trousers and jumper, leaving him wearing only boxers and a vest, and joined her, propping his head up with a pillow. She snuggled up next to him, lightly running her hands over his chest, fully intent on following through on her thoughts of a shag with her husband. Until she heard him softly snoring. Sighing, she quickly realised she couldn’t blame him. The boat ride had been very relaxing, and while she had slept for the better part of an hour, he’d had to concentrate on their drive back. She’d let him sleep and wake him in an hour, leaving enough time to shower before their reservation.

The next thing either remembered was a persistent knocking on the door, causing them both to sit bolt upright. Mark immediately glanced at the clock on the side table, seeing their reservation was in 15 minutes.

“Shit. We overslept,” he remarked calmly.

“Housekeeping,” announced the woman’s voice at their door. “Can we get you anything?”

Mark jumped up, walked to the door, cracked it open, and said, “All good at the moment. We’ll be out for dinner shortly if you want to turn the bed down later.” He thanked her and closed the door. Turning, he expected to see Bridget still on the bed, so he was surprised to hear her in the loo with the shower running. He had fully anticipated having to pry her from the sheets to get her moving.

Jumping into the shower just as she was coming out, he pulled her body against his, teasing, “I can’t believe you fell asleep, and now we’ve almost missed our dinner reservation. Whatever will the maitre’d think happened to the Darcy’s?”

“If he’s worth his salt, he’ll realise we’re on our honeymoon and assume we were shagging all day. I’ll ring while you’re in the shower and tell them we’ll be fifteen minutes late. Now, shake a leg,” she said, giving his bare bottom a light tap.

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs Darcy!” he said, shutting the shower door behind him.

Sticking her head back in, careful not to get her hair damp, she told him, “Oh, my Lord, Mark. I thought you were referring to your mum when you called me that. May take some getting used to,” she laughed, her smile lighting up her face as she withdrew to dress for dinner.

When they were led to their table by the hostess, Bridget whispered, “Did you see the smug look we received from the hostess when they told her we were running late? For shame, Mr. Darcy. If you hadn’t dozed off, I would have confirmed their suspicions.”

Sitting, Mark commented on Bridget’s appearance. “I didn’t have time to tell you in the room, but you look beautiful. New dress?”

“Yes, thank you for noticing. Jude helped me pick it out. Half the fun in planning the wedding was picking out a few new items for this week. And you look quite handsome, too. Do not let me get dessert. I don’t want to be so full that I fall immediately asleep on the second night of our honeymoon. Oh! Where are your glasses?”

Patting his suit jacket, he pulled his glasses out and put them on to better read the menu. “What are you thinking for dinner?” he asked as he looked at the specials on a separate paper and the table d’hote menu.

She didn’t respond, but Mark could feel her gaze on him. Without looking up, he laughed, “Bridget, you’ve seen me in glasses before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you thought they were sexy.”

“Hmm. How to compare... you know the red negligee that I wore very briefly last night?” At her reference, he raised his eyes, suddenly very interested.

“Actually, no. As I recall, you stepped out of your dress and onto the bed.”

“Oh!” she laughed. “You’re right. I never had a chance to wear it. Well, I have it in the room, and I’d love to show it to you later.”

She watched his face as he tried to maintain his composure, seeing him flush when she slipped out of one shoe and moved her foot up his left calf.

“And these glasses make you feel the same?” he asked seriously.

“Mmm,” she responded, sounding more like a purr than an actual word.

“I may never take them off then, Mrs Darcy.” He smiled, adding, “And believe me when I say my mother is the last person I think of when I call you that.”

Chapter Text

After dinner, on the walk back to their room, Bridget suggested a stop in the lounge, where the lovely notes of a piano playing floated out. Sitting at a small table, the waiter asked if they’d like to try one of their memorable after-dinner liqueurs.

“I’ll have a decaf cappuccino. What would you suggest for my husband?” Bridget asked, attempting to get Mark to try an after dinner drink instead of his usual Scotch.

“Do you enjoy Turkish Delight?” the waiter asked.

“Oh, yes!” came Bridget’s enthusiastic reply. She liked most confections, so Mark covered his laugh with a well-timed cough. Bridget gave him a sideways glance, to which he feigned innocence, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “I never knew you liked sweets,” he deadpanned.

Mark commented he wasn’t familiar with the beverage, so the server explained. “There’s nothing else like it. It’s a Polish aperitif and has a 200-year history, including after World War II when the recipe was lost. It has rose top notes, which make it evocative of Turkish Delight. And with its sweetness it evokes something of the icing sugar that coats the candy. Adding it to tonic instead of gin is probably the easiest way to enjoy the drink. But pouring it over crushed ice with fresh lime juice is delicious, too. And, like many on our list, it goes great with prosecco.”

“Sold. I’ll try it with fresh lime, please,” Mark replied, knowing Bridget would want a sip since she couldn’t have one of her own.

After he brought their order and departed they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the piano. Bridget sipped her cappuccino, looking at Mark. “It doesn’t feel like just yesterday we were married. It seems as if it was a month ago. I’m biased, but it was the loveliest wedding I’ve ever attended. And you were, are, the handsomest husband I’ve ever had.”

“I’m also your only husband. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Nope. Only seriously close one other time. Besides with you twice.”

“Oh, and the person other than me? Was it the primary school teacher?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I never stopped loving you. You do know that?”

“Jeremy?”

“Mostly. Jude, too. I’d often visit her work to ask after you. I’m sure she saw right through me.” He took her hand, caressing it tenderly with his thumb. “How many monthly visits does one need to review their account balances? She never said?”

“She may have done,” Bridget replied with a smile. “She’d call within hours of your visits. I tried to act like I didn’t care, but she knew better. No matter how much I said I didn’t want to hear, she’d ring the next time you came in. I’d protest, but she’d continue. I never objected too hard, so that pretty much gave me away. Then, one month, she didn’t call. The next time I saw her I asked if you’d been in, if she’d seen you.” She stopped, tears forming in her eyes.

Mark knew where this was leading. It was when he’d added Camilla to his accounts. Jude seemed upset the day he visited with his new wife. Upon arrival he approached another employee, but Jude saw him and immediately came over to help. Although she congratulated Mark, she’d also given him a sympathetic smile.

“Did she say I continued to visit?” he asked.

“Yes. And thank you.”

His quizzical look prompted her to continue. “For always loving me. Even after we split, I never stopped loving you. That’s why I said no to Scott. Even after you’d married I couldn’t move on. I thought that eventually I’d be able to. It just took longer than anticipated.”

“Oh, so you did get me out of your system?” his smile hid his regret.

“Do I look like I did? I was the one that asked you on a date, if you recall.” Seeing he had finished his aperitif, she took out her handbag, reached into her wallet for a £20 note, put it on the table and took his hand, pulling him into an embrace. She whispered into his ear when he bent down, “Can I show you how much I missed you while we were apart? We still have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

A smile lit his face when he answered. “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more.”

When they got to their room, Bridget asked Mark to wait in the sitting area. Removing his jacket, he kicked off his shoes and socks, leaned back, and stretched his legs out. He was surprised at how quickly she returned, his breath catching when he saw the red negligee and very transparent matching robe she wore.

“You are so beautiful,” he said emotionally. Reaching for her hand, he pulled her closer. She sat on the chair with him, straddling his legs, face to face.

“I wish I could see myself through your eyes.” As accomplished as she was in her career, she still seemed to doubt her appearance. Or maybe she just wanted his reassurance.

“You would never stop loving yourself.”

She smiled at his response, touched by the depth of tenderness and look he gave before placing both hands on either side of her face to kiss her. Taking his time, he explored her mouth, teasing gently until she pulled away, breathing hard. “Mark, will you put your glasses on?”

He laughed out loud at her request, thinking she was joking, until she reminded him, “Do you enjoy this?” She glanced at her body, clad in the red transparent negligee and robe, which seemed to accentuate every curve.

He responded with a smile and nod. “Point taken.” Before sitting down he had removed his glasses, setting them on the small side table to the right of the chair. Reaching over, he picked them up, but before he put them on, Bridget took the eyewear and placed them on his face, her eyes never leaving his. She leaned back to admire his appearance before closing the short distance between them, humming low in her throat. The sensual way she did this, her look of appreciation, excited him like nothing he’d experienced. Their kiss escalated into a frenzied attempt to find out who could remove the other’s clothes as fast as possible. Mark had the advantage; her almost nonexistent robe and negligee came off relatively quick. She was now straddling him without any clothes, while she had only gotten as far as unbuttoning his shirt and removing his belt.

“Mark. There’s a bit of inequity here,” she whispered, causing him to laugh softly.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Stand up,” she directed.

He did as asked. The light in the large room was dim, illuminated only by a single lamp at the far end. He could see her standing before him, outlined by the soft glow.

Moving behind him, she pressed herself close, circling his waist, and by feel only, unzipped his trousers. She moved her hands up to the last few buttons on his shirt, unfastening them. Moving her hands under the material, she ran over his stomach, her nails lightly grazing his skin, before continuing across his chest until he felt he could take it no more. Just when he leaned back with a low groan, she slid her hands under his boxers, causing a hitch in his breath.

“Now who has the advantage?” he asked.

“Are you complaining? If so, I can stop.” Bridget began to pull away, but felt him take her hands and move them back. “Hmm, didn’t think so,” she teased.

Keeping his hands over hers, he directed their movement, his breathing ragged. “Bridget,” he said. She waited for him to continue; when he didn’t, she moved again, caressing softly. She loved making him feel this way, pushing him to the limit until his passion erupted. For a man in control of so much in his life it seemed their lovemaking was where she often had the upper hand, where she could make him forget his inhibitions and natural restraint. He turned to face her, bending to cover her lips, hands moving over her in desperation. Aroused as he was, she, too, was affected.  Quickly buttoning his trousers so he wouldn’t trip, Mark picked her up and walked to the bedroom. Bridget couldn’t remember wanting him more than she did at that moment, except for the night before.

Chapter Text

Waking up, Bridget looked over to see Mark still asleep. It was only 6.00AM and she had no idea why she was fully awake. Maybe there was something to be said for sleeping next to the person you loved after being apart for years. The last two nights, the first of her life as a wife, had been extremely relaxing. It could also have something to do with being on honeymoon with Mark and having no deadlines or work issues to contemplate. She knew it was all those things, but she also understood that the person beside her, her husband, was part of the reason for her happiness.

She managed to get out of bed and dressed without waking him. They had no firm plans for the day; having discussed an exploration of the grounds, walking over to the nearby golf course for lunch in the clubhouse and possibly a spa treatment. Mark had even told her he would have a couples massage if she wanted. She just might have to take him up on that. Best to enjoy something he wasn’t normally prone to do while she had him relaxed and in the country. Even though his job was different now than when they were together previously, she knew it was still stressful and the situations that he dealt with daily were often things that the average person couldn’t fathom. At least he didn’t have the additional worry of foreign travel to oftentimes dangerous, third world countries. Not only was she extremely thankful that his new duties included hours that allowed for a more normal and balanced home life, she didn’t have to endlessly worry when he was away; jumping when the phone rang, fearful of the worst on too many occasions to count.

She went downstairs to the patio restaurant and ordered a small cup of coffee, taking it outside to sit in a comfortable chair on the large stone veranda that looked over the beautifully maintained landscape. Although it was chilly, she had on a jacket and the coffee tasted that much better as it warmed her against the early morning cold, the mist rising gently off the lawn as the sun’s rays warmed it.

Bridget sat quietly, listening to the few conversations around her, contemplating the change in her life over the last year. A new job and with Daniel, no less. She honestly had not seen that coming. She and Mark becoming reacquainted, first as friends and then as lovers. And now he was her husband and soon to be father to their baby. Even though it ended up to be of short duration she had truly enjoyed the renewing of their friendship. She certainly had struggled not to show him too much of her true feelings at the beginning; that she was still very much in love with him. She had meant it when she said it wasn’t a good idea to sleep together right away, even though it was almost all she could think of when around him. The rebuilding of their relationship had truly started when they went out as friends; both remembering how much they enjoyed one another’s company, how easy it was to laugh and how much they genuinely cared about one another. The things in him that were so different from herself were what drew her to him. And he had always had her utmost respect for his work ethic, sense of fairness, how very clever he was and the way he loved his parents, especially his mum. 

Lost in reverie, she was startled when the chair beside her moved. Glancing over she saw Mark had come looking for her with coffee in hand.

Smiling, he said, “Good morning. Missed you.” He reached and took hold of her hand, both sitting in the cool morning air, watching as the sun slowly formed long shadows out of the darkness, as the trees and hedges started to take shape.

After several moments, he looked over. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Laughing, she answered him, “Okay, but you asked. Why was I up at the ungodly hour of 6.00AM? I can’t believe we’re married. I love my job. I’m so excited to be having our baby. What do I want for breakfast? What do I want for dinner? How much I love you.” When she said the last sentence, she looked at him with a warm smile. “Oh, and how good it feels to be just a little sore, two days in a row.”

“I think I owe you several pounds after that. And I especially love your comment about our baby.” He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it, holding her gaze with his warm, brown eyes.

“Mind if I chime in?” he asked. At her nod yes, he added, “Looking forward to our new home.”

“Oh, yes. That should definitely be on the list.” Her face showed how much she agreed with him.

After finishing their coffees, Mark left for their room to shower. Bridget told him she’d be ten minutes behind so she could enjoy the solitude for a few more minutes.

“Take your time. We’ve no solid plans and I just may go back to bed.”

“Even with the coffee you just drank?” she asked, disbelief showing on her face.

“Decaf, darling. I’m always planning ahead.” Kissing the top of her head after he stood, he turned and left, presumably to go back to sleep.

While watching his retreating back, she thought he must indeed be relaxed and enjoying their time away if he could take a nap after being awake for nearly an hour.

Walking back to the room, her route led her by the hotel’s concierge desk. Approaching the counter Bridget saw the young woman setting up for the day. She was very friendly and asked Bridget how she was enjoying her stay.

“Very well, thank you. I’m actually on honeymoon, just up from London. Your hotel is absolutely gorgeous. My husband and I stayed at Christmas several years ago and enjoyed it so much that we’re back!” Bridget effused.

“Thank you. I’m glad to hear you like it.” A smile lit her face, the pride in her work coming through for Bridget to hear. “What do you do in London?”

“I co-host a travel show on television.”

“What’s the show’s name?” she asked, her eyes lighting with interest, “Perhaps I’ve seen it. I try to watch any shows on travel, except ones where they insist on eating insects or jumping off mountains,” she said grimacing.

“No insects on our show and the most daring thing we’ve done is jump in a warm hot tub. I know I wouldn’t try a bug and Daniel’s worse than me.” Bridget told her about the show before asking her name.

“Mary. And you must be Bridget Jones then?”

“Yes, so you’ve seen it? And it’s actually Darcy now,” she said.

“Darcy? I thought your co-host’s surname was Cleaver?” Mary asked in confusion.

Laughing, Bridget explained, “As charming as Daniel may be, my husband is a barrister in London and if I don’t say myself, even more handsome. Does it seem we’re romantic on air?” she asked with consternation.

Smiling back, Mary replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry! No, now that you mention it. You just seem to get along so well, I think I just assumed.”

“No offense taken,” Bridget said.

“I especially enjoyed your episode on the Tate. I’ve been several times and the Orchestra that played at the fundraiser was exceptional. At least it sounded like it, from the snippet I saw. I’ve been to see the LSO and the London Philharmonic whilst visiting London.”

“I take it you enjoy classical music then?”

“Yes, I played the violin at uni. I wasn’t talented enough to follow it as a career, but I have a minor in music. Are you a fan, too?” she asked excitedly.

“No, but my husband is. I’d like to attend a concert with him one day. We were just married Saturday and had a string quartet play classical music at the reception. I remember Pachebel’s Canon in D. Did I get that right?” she asked with a smile. “I’m more a fan of pop music, but must admit it was breathtaking.”

“Yes, and that’s such a beautiful piece for a wedding. Have you been to the Apex in Bury St. Edmonds? They have a special concert series going on. The venue is gorgeous and tickets are only £15.”

“Tonight’s our last evening before we head back to London. Not that I’m sorry to be going home,” she clarified. “We’re actually moving into our new home when we get back.” Her features lit up when she talked about the house she and Mark would now be sharing.

“I’ve two extra tickets for the performance tonight, courtesy of the hotel, if you’d like to go. It starts at 7.30. Not sure of your plans but you’re welcome to them.”

“We’d love to attend. Mark will be so pleased and surprised.” She hugged Mary warmly and departed, heading back to their room to tell Mark about the concert.

As she expected, Mark was beyond excited about the tickets for the concert. “Bridget, I adore you,” he said excitedly. “After lunch, if you’d like, let’s try the couples massage. It’s the least I can do after yesterday’s surprise and now tonight’s concert.”

He had just come out of the shower and was standing with a towel wrapped around his waist. While she was undressing to jump in the shower in preparation for their lunch, she noticed him still in the same spot, looking perplexed.

“Did you lose something?” she asked, as he was clearly searching for a misplaced item.

“Yes, have you seen my glasses? I thought I put them on the bedside table last night.”

Looking at the bed and remembering how long he actually kept them on at her request, at one point only wearing them and nothing else. She walked over, pulled back the bedclothes and spied them under the sheets. Picking up the glasses, she handed them to Mark with a smug smile, causing him to flush. “They may need a cleaning before you wear them,” she laughed. “Seem to be smudged a bit.”

The walk to the golf course clubhouse was only ten minutes. On the way out, Mark insisted they stop by the concierge desk to thank Mary for the concert tickets.

“Bridget,” said Mary at their approach, “and this must be Mark.” After Bridget gave the younger woman a brief hug, Mark put his hand out to shake hers but was surprised when she hugged him also.

“Thank you for the tickets for tonight’s concert. We’ll make good use of them,” Mark said.

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad they went to someone that truly enjoys classical music. Bridget told me this will be her first concert. It should be a wonderful experience. The Apex is such a beautiful venue and the acoustics are top-notch. You’ll have to let me know how you liked it, before you leave. Oh! And congratulations on your marriage. Bridget told me you’re celebrating your honeymoon with us.”

“Thank you,” Mark replied warmly, “Can you perhaps suggest a restaurant before the show, in Bury St. Edmonds?” he asked.

“Maison Bleue is French. It usually books up, even on a Monday evening but I’m sure we could get you in. There’s also Francela, which is Mediterranean and very good. Both have pre-show menus but you won’t feel as if they’ve rushed you through.”

Mark looked expectantly at his wife, “Your choice, darling. What do you feel like?”

“I think... Francela,” Bridget said, after a moment’s thought. “I could definitely go for some Greek food.”

Mary asked them what time they’d like their reservation, took Mark’s mobile number for the restaurant’s information and told them that she’d arrange their dinner plans. Bridget said she’d stop back by on their way to the spa and confirm.

After Mark had excused himself for the loo, Mary told Bridget, “I believe you’re right! Definitely charming and he’s a barrister to boot?”  Bridget couldn’t help the smug look on her face at the girl’s comment, causing Mark to say as they headed out, “Ready for lunch?  And you looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. What were you two girls discussing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Bridget responded in a sing-song voice, “just girl talk. Not anything you’d be interested in.” 

She grabbed his hand for the short walk to lunch, while smiling broadly to herself. At the clubhouse they both had a light lunch, in anticipation of a relaxing massage. Bridget enjoyed a salad with grilled chicken while Mark partook of a club sandwich. Since it was barely half eleven, they had time to go back to their hotel before their scheduled spa treatment at one.  Bridget suggested that instead of going back to the room for an hour that they should go to the spa early and enjoy the sauna or steam room.

Having changed into their swimsuits and robes supplied by the hotel, in anticipation of using the hot tub and sauna, as they walked hand in hand to the treatment rooms, Mark confessed to Bridget that he was slightly nervous of the massage.

“Whatever for?  I know you’ve had a massage prior. And you enjoyed them,” she asked perplexedly, remembering that she had even treated for him to have a massage during one of his more difficult cases, albeit several years ago.

“Not really sure. I’ve never had one with you.” He didn’t bring up to her the fact that he and Camilla had once stayed at a spa in the States and partook of a couples massage. To him, the experience left much to be desired and he found it hard to truly relax with his wife in the same room. Although he did want to enjoy one with Bridget and certainly didn’t want to deny them the shared experience.

“Mark, do you want to skip it? Or we could go solo? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” she said sympathetically. “Especially on honeymoon.”

He should have known she’d be understanding of his reticence, even if she didn’t know what was causing it. Smiling, he told her, “Let’s do it. What’s the worst that could happen? But being as relaxed as I already am, I warn you I may fall asleep.”

“Then that just shows how much you enjoyed it. As long as you don’t embarrass me by snoring.” She was glad he chose to continue with their original plan and that he felt comfortable enough in their relationship to try something with her he wasn’t entirely sure of.

When they checked in the attendant asked if Bridget was pregnant. As she wasn’t yet showing, she didn’t understand the woman’s question, until she went on to explain that it wasn’t suggested that a woman in her first trimester of pregnancy indulge in a hot tub or sauna, due to the temperature. She did confirm that a massage would be fine and that it helped for the therapist to know about the pregnancy beforehand. “I’m so glad I mentioned it then. It’s a routine question that we’re required to ask and since a majority of our clients tend to be older, it’s not often that I hear a yes. Congratulations on your baby.”

“Thank you.” Turning to Mark, she said rather dejectedly, “Well, I guess those two items are out.” The woman courteously suggested a swim in the heated pool, taking them outside to show them the beautiful garden and private area.

After their relaxing swim, the two therapists, Ellen and Julie, led them back to their large and private room, showing them the main area with the two massage tables, the shower and the attached sitting room.

Ellen pointed to the counter, “And since you’re celebrating your wedding, we have champagne, some chocolates and fresh fruit for you to enjoy in private. There’s also cold lemon water on the table. You have the space for a full hour after your massage, so please relax and take your time.”

“Oh, I can’t drink now, but Mark, you should have a glass when we’re done,” exclaimed Bridget after she had left them to get undressed.  “And we’re definitely coming back here after the baby’s born. I’ve never felt so pampered in all my life. I’m sure both sets of grandparents would help sit for a weekend.”

Once they were ready, having taken off their clothes, with a large towel draped over their body, and lying on their backs per the therapists’ instruction, Bridget started to giggle.

”Bridget,” warned Mark, trying not to give in and join her, knowing that if he did, they may never stop laughing. “What’s so funny?” He was using his best, very serious barrister voice.

“I’m sorry, Mark. But the second I got on this table, I’ve had to use the loo.” After saying this, she again broke out into laughter.

“Then you’d better hurry. They could return at any moment.”

She quickly jumped down, not even bothering to wrap herself in the towel, and walked towards the loo at top speed. Mark smiled as he thought yet again how unpretentious she was, especially as compared to many of the people he worked with daily.

Once their massage began, he thought he couldn’t be more relaxed. Bridget had helped Julie pick out the aromatherapy oil and with the dim lighting, relaxing music and candles, he felt his mind clear and all tension, along with any thoughts of his previous couples massage, melt away. He didn’t think he fell asleep but was in such a relaxed state when the therapists finished and then left, he wasn’t positive he could even stand on his own.

Both lying on their stomach, she looked over at Mark. “Oh, my Lord. I’m sorry, who are you again?”

“Not sure I can remember my name. But I think we were married recently. It’s the last solid memory I have.”

“So, I take it you enjoyed the massage?” she asked smugly.

“Umm,” he managed to get out. Then added, “Immensely.”

They stayed where they were for several minutes, before Bridget remembered the chocolates and fruit, saying “I’m going to get up slowly. Then I’ll help you up.”

Mark laughed at her, sitting upright and swinging his legs onto the floor. He grabbed his robe and put it on but before he could cinch it, Bridget was up and pressed very close, her robe all but forgotten.

“That was better foreplay than a wine-filled meal at a swanky restaurant, especially for someone that isn’t drinking.” Her hands then began to run under Mark’s robe, causing him to catch them, attempting to stop their exploration.

“Bridget. We’re not alone,” he said very urgently into her ear, as she had started to kiss his chest before moving up to his jawline.

She could feel his arousal even as he protested. If she could just get him to kiss her, she knew he’d never be able to stop, no matter where they were.

“Mark, we have the room to ourselves for a full hour. They won’t be coming back,” she cajoled. She felt his resolve crumbling when his hands tightened slightly around her waist before moving down lower to pull her close. She looked up to see that his eyes had closed, his hands now moving over her bare bottom. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down into a kiss that seemed to go on forever. Just as he started to pull away, making a futile sound of protest, she wrapped one leg around his waist, allowing him to slip fully inside her, his robe still draped over his shoulders.

The next sound he made was a guttural moan, or had it come from her? She wasn’t sure and didn’t care. He picked her up as she wrapped her other leg around him, supporting her from underneath, turning so that her back was pressed against the wall, using gravity to help them both eventually find their release.

Panting whilst she regained her breath, he gently set her down, and bent to kiss her. “You are a very bad influence on me.”

“I love you too,” she replied with a satisfied grin. “And I could kill for some chocolate and a lemon water.”

Chapter Text

Walking back to their room, Bridget commented that as relaxed as she was, she felt like a wet noodle. Mark agreed, nodding. “May need a nap before we go for dinner and the concert. We’ve plenty of time for at least a half hour,” he added.

“Two naps in one day? That’s the equivalent of you being late for an appointment or, better yet, me being early.”

Walking up the glorious staircase carved with flowers and fruit and up again to the third floor, where the beautiful bones of the building showed through as ancient beams supporting the sloping ceiling, Bridget took Mark’s hand. She pulled him into one of the stately salons whose door had been left ajar so they could admire the ornate fireplaces, stone-flagged floors, paintings and fine furnishings. In the lounge of an empty suite, they glimpsed an astonishingly ornate plaster ceiling. There were oil paintings of finely dressed ladies holding flowers or babies or jewellery and men of action in dashing uniforms everywhere. One generation of owners had been painted by Gainsborough, who lived nearby, although all but a few were safely in museum collections in Britain and the United States.

“The atmosphere is so calm and peaceful but never uncomfortably hushed,” observed Mark, impressed by the opulence of the past on display.

Nearing their room on the top floor under the eaves, Bridget observed, "’Braganza’ is our suite’s name. I didn’t notice that yesterday. I only saw our room number. It takes up the entire floor; there aren’t any other doors on this level. You certainly pushed the boat out.”

“Anything for my bride,” he said laughing, swiping the room card to let them in. “You know, we should discuss some dates and itinerary for Paris in April. It’ll be here before we know it. I’ve laid the groundwork with Maurice and my team, so you have to convince Daniel and Stephen to let you go again so soon.”

“I’d love to, but am slightly knackered from the massage and extracurricular activity. How about later this week when we’re home?” Bridget asked, yawning loudly.

________________________

After enjoying a wonderful dinner at Francela, which included leg of lamb for Mark and keftedes for Bridget, they walked the short distance to The Apex. The courtesy tickets from the Hotel were just a few rows back and centre.

“So, tell me what I need to know. What should I expect?” asked Bridget excitedly.

“Open yourself up to the music. Let it trigger your emotions – maybe even your memories. Feel the rhythms; follow the tunes. Watch the musicians and the conductor and see how they interact. Notice how the music ebbs and flows – surging at times, delicate at others, and everything in between,” he explained passionately. “It lasts about an hour and a half plus the intermission, so a little longer than the concert Magda told you she liked.”

“What exactly is a symphony orchestra?”

“It’s a collection of up to 100 musicians, although it looks like this one is slightly smaller, who play instruments of four basic types: strings, woodwinds, brass and percussion.”

“What if I need to cough during the music?” she asked very seriously.

Seeing that she wasn’t taking the piss, he calmly told her, “Allow yourself to become involved in listening to the music and watching the performers. The more you’re absorbed in what’s happening, the less likely you are to cough. If you can’t restrain yourself, try to wait for the end of a movement. Or bury your cough in a loud passage of music. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to let loose if needed.”

“Why don’t the musicians smile while they play?”

Smiling, he observed, “Only you would ask that question,” then leant over affectionately and kissed her. “I love you. And you realise you’ll now smell of garlic for a week?” referring to the Greek dish she’d had as her dinner.

“You’re not exactly smelling of roses yourself. Lucky for you I enjoy garlic so much.” She quickly dug through her purse, finding mints for she and Mark. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Did I finally stump you?”

“Hardly. Look closely, and you’ll see that some musicians smile. But in general, they’re concentrating deeply. They’re ‘in the zone.’ After the music is over, you may see them smiling broadly. In the piano concerto, if they liked the soloist’s playing, they won’t just smile – the string players will tap their stands with their bows as a sign of appreciation.”

“What do we do during the intermission, and why do they have one?”

“Remember what we did immediately following the couple's massage?” he replied thoughtfully.

Her look was enough to cause him to laugh out loud. “Mark! Where did that come from?!” she questioned, eyes wide, looking over to her right at an older couple who seemed to be listening to their conversation.

“Shag flashback,” he responded with a warm smile and chuckle. “No, it’s a short rest period for the musicians and conductor. Once you see how much activity goes into a performance, you’ll understand why they need a break. Listening to music is also an intense activity, even if considerably less physical, and a break in the middle helps you concentrate better in the second half. They’re only fifteen minutes, so just enough time to use the loo.” He was impressed that she was so interested but had never heard her ask so many rapid-fire questions in a row.

After he finished explaining, Bridget leant over to the woman with a disarming smile. “We’re on our honeymoon. Sorry if I’m bothering you with all my questions. My first time at a classical concert.” She was positive they’d overheard Mark’s comment on shagging as they both had wide, knowing smiles on their faces.

“Not at all. And congratulations on your wedding,” the woman replied. Her husband leant over to Bridget, “My dear, are you the young lady on Greater London Adventures? We’re both avid fans and have seen all the shows.”

“Yes, I am,” she responded, flattered by the compliment. “I’m so happy you’re both enjoying the program.” Bridget looked at Mark and introduced him. “This is my husband, Mark Darcy, and I’m Bridget Jones. Oops, Darcy! Still getting used to that.”

Since the concert hadn’t started, Mark stood and leant over to shake the man’s hand and then the woman’s. “Pleased to meet fellow music aficionados. And you are?” he asked politely.

“I’m Elizabeth, and this is John. We live in Bury St Edmonds, and you’re correct, we love the shows here, and our orchestra is top-notch if I don’t say so myself.”

The two couples continued to talk briefly before the conductor entered, signalling the start of the show.

Bridget followed Mark and their new friend’s lead on when to applaud. Although Beethoven’s Coriolan Overture wasn’t long, she found herself teary-eyed from the depth and grandeur of the piece, having to reach for Mark’s hand and her purse for a tissue. She hadn’t realised how emotional instrumental music was and thought it was possibly pregnancy hormones until she noticed Elizabeth also wiping at her eyes.

After the conclusion of the same composer’s Piano Concerto Number 3 in C Minor, once the applause had settled and the crowd began to move about for the intermission, Mark turned to Bridget expectantly, hoping that her constant hand holding and emotional dabbing of her eyes, at one point even reaching for his handkerchief, meant that she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Well?” he asked with a hopeful smile. “As good as the massage?”

“Kill me now, this is what I want to listen to forever! I’m slightly mad at you for not taking me to a concert years ago.”

“You know it wasn’t from lack of trying. But at some point I finally conceded and gave up. I’m very happy you’re enjoying it now.” His look showed how very pleased he was at her obvious pleasure so far.

Laughing, she responded, “You did take me to the Adele concert, introduced me to her after and enjoyed it. Did you realize that all I wanted, so very much, was to shag you that evening?”

“I did wonder, after your kiss,” he said enigmatically.

“That’s it? You ‘wondered’? You didn’t feel the same?!” Her look of irritation was something to behold.

“Come on,” he said with a broad grin, standing and taking her hand to head for the lobby. Once she was ahead of him in the slow moving line, he put his hands on her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “Yes, I wanted you that night. And the next. And tonight and tomorrow.”

She turned to look at him, meeting his gaze amongst the crowd. Even though they were surrounded by others, she felt as if they were totally alone. His dark eyes conveyed how much he loved her.

After returning to their seats and enjoying the finale of Brahm’s Symphony Number Two, the crowd stood and applauded, and Bridget again found herself wiping tears from her eyes. Mark leant over and asked, “Are you all right?” as he offered her his handkerchief again.

Taking it, she blew her nose. “I never imagined music could be so passionate.”

Pulling her into a warm embrace, he kissed the top of her head, running his hands over her shoulders, caressing tenderly. “Mark, honestly, how could you not fall in love with this? And did you see the flautist’s epically majestic moustache?”

Laughing at her observation, they said goodbye to their new friends and drove back to Hintlesham Hall.

Bridget snuggled up in bed to him, telling him how much she enjoyed their day, starting with watching the sun come up, their massage, dinner and finishing with the beautiful concert at The Apex. “Which piece was your favourite of the three?” she asked, running her fingers lightly over his chest.

Pulling her tight, he replied, “The first movement of the last piece might be the single most perfect piece of music ever written.”

“I don’t know how to describe it correctly, but about halfway through that last piece, when it seemed the entire orchestra was playing and it kept building, and then the drums joined in.”

“Timpani”, Mark said softly, his fingers caressing her hand as it travelled over him lightly.

“Timpani,” Bridget repeated, “then everything went silent, and just the strings started playing. So softly at first it was indescribable and almost painful. And slowly the rest of the instruments joined again, becoming powerful, but gradually so. I wasn’t the only one shedding a tear. I glanced at Elizabeth; she was more emotional than I was.”

“Classical music is the kind of thing where you start exploring, and the rabbit hole just goes deeper and deeper in terms of different recordings, different symphonies. You find conductors you really like. The one I’ve found to be the best for me is Herbert von Karajan. He conducted the Berlin Philharmonic through the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies. Every decade he recorded the Beethoven symphonies, and the ones I've been obsessing over are from the 1970s.”

After a yawn overtook her, Bridget continued, “It's almost like being an adult and something you didn't like as a kid, like Brussels sprouts or coffee, you suddenly taste differently. You can discern the subtleties and get why people love it. I’m glad I got to experience it with you. It was a perfect last day here and I know this will surprise you, but can we attend a concert in London? Maybe not the LSO, though? Aren’t there several other orchestras? As much as I liked Kathryn when I met her, I’d prefer not to be around someone who can play violin and looks like she does. Not to mention fancies my husband.”

Chapter Text

After stopping on their way to the car, letting Mary know how much they both enjoyed the concert and thanking her again for the complimentary tickets, Bridget and Mark started the drive to Grafton Underwood. They had a planned lunch with their parents before returning to London and their new home. Their plans for the remainder of the week included getting the house in order, finishing the unpacking, visiting some of London’s unique attractions that they never seemed to find time for and dinner out. However, Mark was eager to test the new kitchen by cooking several recipes they’d discussed.

He looked over to Bridget at the traffic light just before entering the motorway, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, asking, “So, what did you think? Are you enjoying your honeymoon thus far?”

She answered with enthusiasm. “I love it! And I can’t wait to get home. It isn’t that I’m not looking forward to lunch with my parents and in-laws. Wait. With your parents and your in-laws...” she trailed off, looking at him with a happy grin when she referred to his parents as her in-laws. “I’m confusing myself. But tonight will be the first night in our home as a married couple. How much work do you think we have in front of us? I know you got a lot done on your own, but all those boxes still need to be unpacked and put away. And it’s all the little items.”

Laughing at her uncertainty about their new familial relations, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll still make time to relax. Did you say you wanted to visit a museum or park?”

“Yes, and dinner out too? Maybe the new pizza place around the corner? I’m so glad Magda was able to accept our furniture delivery, so we don’t have to take a day to wait around the house for it.” She paused, then continued, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he responded, knowing if she introduced her question like that, it usually meant a more serious topic than where they might go for dinner.

“I know you said you started managing so your work hours and travel schedule would be better suited to a more balanced personal life. But why management? You could have done consulting work or teaching even?”

“I’m sure you remember me speaking of Derek Hobson?” At her nod, yes, he continued, “We had dinner a while back, and he said something that made me think about managing. I believe I’ve mentioned that he’s a piano player?” She nodded once more. “Someone at music school once told him, ‘You're never going to get the sound you're yearning to express from just one instrument. You need a whole orchestra.’ So, he began thinking about becoming a conductor. That's how I felt, in a way, about my transition into managing. I'm never going to be able to say, to do everything I want with one instrument myself. It's akin to conducting an orchestra. I can be a part of and affect many more cases and people. With consulting, I feel I’d miss the hands-on of individual cases and the courtroom. Even though I don’t attend court daily, I certainly have to help prepare with the team, often attending as moral support or advice and teaching... hmm. Hadn’t crossed my mind, really. You always have a fresh perspective and open my eyes to other avenues I may not have considered. I do appreciate that about you.”

The passion conveyed in his voice told her that he genuinely enjoyed his new responsibilities and wasn’t making the change for someone else but had been contemplating a more significant role in his firm. She was glad he could garner so much pleasure from his career while actually working fewer hours than he had in years past. Bridget was taken aback when he continued, “What would you think if I pursued managing partner?”

Surprised, she said, “I don’t know much about it, but Mark, you could do anything you put your mind to. How would you feel about leaving the team you built so soon? Especially after the success you’ve had. What would Maurice think? You’ve done such an outstanding job they may be reticent to promote you away from your department so soon. What do you want in a few months or a year? Or are you thinking soon?” After their time together, she felt confident he would honour his commitment to her, to their baby, of fewer hours worked and a balanced home life.

“Not immediately. Maybe before the end of the year. You’re right; I’m not ready to abandon what I worked so hard to build. But I should discuss it with Maurice. I’d like him to know of my interest.” Mark was thankful he had Bridget as a sounding board again and was able to share her unique perspective on issues and provide input he took to heart.

—————

After a filling lunch at Bridget’s parents’ home, Pam and Elaine directed the men to sit and watch the football while the three women cleared the table, put away the leftover food and did the washing up. Bridget and Mark planned to stay until late afternoon and finish the drive home before the dinner hour. As full as Bridget felt after eating her mum’s salad, delicious pot roast and homemade rolls, she thought she might not need to eat again for several days. And they still had the homemade banana cream pie that Mark’s mum had brought to polish off.

Bridget actually felt as if she might be sick, as stuffed as she was, but couldn’t stop herself from eating the entire piece of pie Mark handed her; it was that good. Then she heard her mom trill, for all at the table to hear, “Bridget, I’m so sorry you’re pregnant on your honeymoon and didn’t get to enjoy a proper wedding night! I mean, I’m certainly not sorry you’re pregnant, and we’re quite looking forward to our first grandchild, but the timing of it all!” If it were anyone else saying this, she might have thought they were taking the piss, but she should have known she wouldn’t make it through the entire afternoon and not be slightly mortified by something her mum said.

Mark’s eyes opened wide and he coughed, almost choking on his coffee after glancing at Bridget and then his mother. For her part, Bridget was turning a shade of red that he had never seen. He couldn’t discern if she were angry or embarrassed by her mother’s comment. Possibly both.

Leave it to her father to save the day when he smoothly said, “Now Pam, I’m sure Mark and Bridget had a fine wedding night, baby or no.”

Just then Mark’s mother chimed in, hoping to change the topic by offering to give them the balance of the uneaten pie, “Here, let me wrap up these last two pieces for you. You can have it when you get home later.” She jumped up for the kitchen, smiling as she tried to hold in her laughter.

Bridget got up to follow in an effort not to say something to her mother that she’d later regret, especially in front of her new in-laws. Walking into the kitchen, just behind Elaine, the two women looked at each other and immediately began to laugh. Elaine held her arms out to her daughter-in-law, and Bridget stepped forward to accept the embrace, once again thankful that Mark’s mum had such a level head about her.

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and Mark appeared. Seeing his mother and Bridget sharing a laugh and an embrace, he immediately felt better, having been fearful his wife might be upset at another of her mum’s verbal gaffes. His mother’s nod and the look she gave him indicated he should be a sympathetic husband and comfort his wife. Aways trusting his mother’s intuition, Mark stepped close to Bridget and pulled her to him.

Elaine finished wrapping up the pie. “Mark, Bridget, I’ve heard it’s quite all right to have sex up until birth. And I trust you’ve been enjoying your honeymoon so far?”

Laughing at her mother-in-law’s forthrightness, Bridget answered, surprising even Mark when she said, “More than enjoying it, Elaine. In that respect, I am certainly not my mother’s daughter.” She tilted her head to Mark for a kiss, which he was happy to oblige her with.

——————

The home they had decided on was in South Kensington on Alexander Square. Mark insisted on carrying her over the threshold when they pulled up in the drive. He quickly grabbed both of their bags from the boot of the car, along with the leftover pie from his mother, met her at the front door and set the items down, giving Bridget the keys to unlock the knob. Even though he’d been married before, he wanted her to experience the traditions of a honeymoon, of being husband and wife in their new house.

“Mark!” she protested with a laugh as he bent to grab her.

He stopped, teasing, “You’re not going to deny me this pleasure, are you?”

The look on his face underneath his grin gave her pause. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the hopefulness, the emotion shining in their depths. He may have started out thinking that he’d like her to experience this tradition, but it seemed to her, at this moment, it was as much for him. Both of his failed marriages were for convenience, a business merger of sorts. This time, he had married for love.

“No,” was all she could say to him as a tear spilt onto her cheek. Overcome with feelings, she threw her arms around his neck as he bent, took her behind the knees, and lifted her up and into his arms. He pushed the door open with his right foot and carried her inside before setting her down. Looking into her eyes, he said, “I love you, Bridget Darcy. Welcome home.” She was the one who initiated the kiss that followed, pulling him down by the back of the neck into a very passionate and extended snog.

Bridget noticed the new furniture in the lounge behind him when they broke apart. “Oh my Lord, Mark! It’s beautiful.” She took his hand and pulled him onto the new sofa, falling back into the comfortable piece and tugging him down with her on the soft cushions.

Leaning back, he threw his arm around her shoulders, kissed her hair, and explained, “The threshold superstition dates back to ancient cultures. People believed that brides were especially susceptible to evil spirits through the soles of their feet, and many of those evil spirits supposedly liked to hang out on the threshold of homes. The groom carried the bride across the threshold to ensure any of these spirits didn’t attack her. So you see, I was only looking out for your safety.”

“Mr. Darcy, I do believe you missed your calling. College professor! Although if I were a young co-ed in your class, I may have trouble focusing on your lecture while daydreaming about what I’d like to do to you to earn extra credit.” Her voice ended up a purr at the last sentence. “Please continue, Professor,” she added sexily, kissing under his jawline.

“Only because you asked nicely,” he laughed and went on, “Other variations on the superstition’s origin exist, too. In medieval Europe, grooms carried brides across the threshold to avoid onlookers seeing the bride as scandalously eager to consummate the marriage. In the later days of Europe, some believed that if the bride tripped on her way into the new home, it would cast bad luck on the marriage and home. Hence, the groom would carry the bride across the threshold to avoid any chance of her tripping.”

“I’d say that you covered all eventualities, at least where I’m concerned. I would scandalously like to shag my husband the first night in our new home but would probably trip over the threshold in my haste to get into the bedroom. So, you killed two birds with one stone. And I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. Do you want to eat something and then head for Bedfordshire?”

“Yes, let’s see what we can find in the kitchen. I had Rosario stock up on a few essentials while we were gone. I didn’t want to come back to a completely empty pantry.”

“Speaking of your housekeeper, when is she coming next? Would hate to be walking around starkers and scare the poor woman.”

“Our housekeeper,” he reminded. “And I asked her to give us a few days alone. She said she’ll be back on Friday. So you can walk around without clothes for the next few days. You’ll hear no complaints from me.”

He got up and walked to the kitchen, asking what she was in the mood for. “We can always call for takeaway if I can’t find anything here.”

His loud chuckling caught her attention, especially when it turned into laughter. “Bridget!” he called.

“Mark, whatever are you laughing—,” she stopped mid-sentence, seeing what he was looking at. A computer-generated sign that read, “Mark Darcy only", was hanging on the fridge door with sellotape. “Bridget Darcy not allowed.” It was signed, “Shaz, Jude and Tom (blue soup anyone?)”. At the bottom, in smaller letters, was written, “Shepard’s Pie, chicken noodle soup and spagbol inside.”

“Well, I think we have our dinner tonight. Which of the three do you fancy?”

Feigning anger at her friends’ impertinence, she pouted, “God, you’d think they thought I was a crap cook or something. They can all bugger off!”

Mark’s look of surprise told her he didn’t know if she was joking or serious.

“I think I’d like to try the spagbol, though.”

Realising she wasn’t distraught with her friends, he reminded her, “I thought you were so full after your mum’s lunch and the pie that you weren’t going to eat the rest of the day.”

“Well, I am eating for two now. Have to keep my stamina up. It’s really for the baby. But you’re right. I’ll have some soup instead; it’s lighter.”

Laughing at her rationale, he took the soup out and put it in a small pot on the hob to reheat.

—————

“That was delicious,” Bridget stated as they sat on the sofa. “And I’m going to text everyone now and thank them. I’m sure Tom made the spagbol. It’s his specialty. And Jude the soup and Shaz the Sheperd’s Pie.”

“Let me text. That was very nice, and I’d like to let them know we appreciate it.”

“Mark. Do you even know how?” she ribbed.

The look he threw her could have melted ice. “Just give me their numbers, and yes, I think I can manage.”

“Ok, ok. But what’s your best guess on who made what? I bet I got it right.”

Thinking for a moment, he answered, “Challenge accepted. Jude made the spagbol, Sharon the soup and Tom the Shepard’s pie, and let’s make it interesting. Winner gets to choose the venue for our day out.”

“You’re on. After all, they’ve been my friends for far longer than yours. Be prepared to pay up,” she said enthusiastically, causing him to laugh at her competitiveness.

Once he entered their numbers, Mark sent the text. He copied Bridget on it, too, and she jumped when her mobile alert sounded. Picking it up from the side table, she read:

Thank you all for the food; will come in handy as we continue to celebrate our honeymoon. Big lunch at parents so opted for the lightest choice and went w soup. V. good. Appreciate the sign re: Bridget’s blue soup and reminder to keep new wife out of kitchen. BTW, lots riding on this... who made what?

She quickly jumped onto his lap, playfully slapping his shoulder. “That was uncalled for. And how do you know about abbreviating ‘very’ like that?”

“Darling, I did read that excerpt from your diary. I still think you should call a publisher; it’s quite well done,” he laughed and kissed her, pulling her into a hug.

Both their phones pinged simultaneously with a text. Bridget leapt for Mark’s mobile before he could grab it, expecting confirmation she had won their wager.

Picking it up and holding it out of his reach, she read out loud, “It’s from Tom, and he says:

You’re welcome. Honeymoon shags are the best;) Bridge should know my speciality is Shepherd’s Pie. Where is she making you take her??

Before Mark had time to gloat or Bridget to pout, Shaz's text popped up.

A text from Mark fucking Darcy! Didn’t know you had it in you. Seriously, you are welcome. Anything we can do to help keep her out of the kitchen. Glad you both (oops, all 3 of you ❤️) enjoyed my soup!

“Oh, God! I’ve missed all three. Just shoot me now,” Bridget wailed. “I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of this. You have to promise you won’t tell.”

Catching her off guard while she was lamenting, he grabbed his phone back and started texting immediately:

You’ll be happy to know I matched all three cooks to the correct dish and your old friend/my new wife will join me for an afternoon at the British Museum on Thursday. Much appreciated.

Jude then texted:

Sorry I’m late to the party. Was helping Giles with a bath. For kids, not us. Bridge! You know the only thing I can cook is spagbol, that’s why I married Giles, so I never have to! Enjoy the museum. Have you been upstairs yet? Entirely Magda’s idea, including the baby’s room.

“Oh Christ, this should be good. I guess Magda was doing more than just waiting on our furniture delivery,” Bridget said.

“They not only cooked but in case you didn’t notice, every last box was put away. I think we owe them all dinner soon. And it’s well worth it. I was ready to throw in the towel on consolidating two houses worth of kitchen utensils. You have more than your fair share of gadgets for someone who doesn't cook.”

“Blame my mum. She thought I’d eventually become Nigella Lawson one day if she kept buying them.”

Once they climbed the stairs, they immediately saw what Jude had been referring to. Hanging on the door to their bedroom was another sign, this one reading “Bedroom” with “Bed” crossed out and handwritten over it, in bright red, the word “Shag”. Tom and Eduardo signed it with a flourish in a pink marker.

“Should we?” asked Mark, pointing up the flight of stairs.

“Yes, let’s get it over with,” she sighed with a resigned chuckle. “I do so want to use our bedroom, oops, shag room, on the first night in our new home, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake.”

Two bedrooms were on the floor: the baby’s nursery and a guest room. On the nursery room door was another sign which read, “Happy result from shag room.” This one was signed “Magda. And congratulations again. Love you both!” A big heart was hand-drawn under her signature. After reading Magda’s message, Bridget felt her eyes brimming with happy tears and she turned to Mark for a hug.

“You do seem to have the most thoughtful friends, darling.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as he ran his hands up and down her back until she interrupted. “We have the most thoughtful friends. Now, let’s go break in the new bed.”

Bridget led him down the stairs by the hand. Walking into their en suite and turning on the water, she said, “I’m going to shower after a long day. Want to join me?” Not waiting for an answer, she began to pull his jumper off, then his vest underneath, as he took her meaning and unfastened his belt, quickly removing his trousers and pants. When he looked up, he saw she was catching up to his state of undress, having only her bra and pants left on. When their eyes met, she was overcome by the familiar electricity he always induced in her, which never failed to leave her slightly breathless. Pulling his head down, the snog she started rapidly turned into much more, with both of them seeming desperate at the same time, each trying to cover the other’s body and skin with their hands as fast as possible. He pushed her up against the door, hands on either side of her face, the kiss they shared deepening with a passion that neither could control. “Mark, shower later,” she finally got out, tugging him towards the bed before dropping his hand so she could remove the last of her undergarments.

Afterwards, as she lay with her head on his chest, attempting to bring her breath back to something resembling regular and the fireworks in her brain starting to dissipate, she asked quietly, “Tell me again how much you missed me.”

She couldn’t see his face, so missed his smile at her question.

Just as he started telling her again how much he had missed her while they were apart, she blurted, “Shit, we left the water on! Hold that thought; I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Text

The following day when he woke, Mark stretched out, groaned loudly and reached for Bridget, only to find her absent. It was still relatively early, and although she’d been up before dawn two days before, it wasn’t like her to be an early riser by habit. After checking their bathroom, Mark slipped into pyjamas and a vest. Finally locating Bridget in the kitchen, hearing loud clanging even before clearing the stairway, he walked into what looked like a cyclone zone. Dishes were strewn everywhere, milk and flour were spilt on the countertop and floor, and the general disarray made his eyes open wide in disbelief. Hearing his approach, Bridget turned with a large grin. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve made cheesecake pancakes. And coffee.”

Walking over he offered a kiss, wishing her a good morning. Trying to hide his astonishment, Mark quickly moved over to the coffee pot, took a cup from the cabinet and filled it. Cheesecake pancakes sounded overly rich, but if Bridget were thoughtful enough to make this gesture, knowing her lack of culinary skills, he would eat everything she put before him. “What can I do to help?” he offered. “Do you need the butter and icing sugar out?”

“Yes, please. The pancakes are almost ready. I was just about to come up and get you. You have perfect timing.”

Grabbing the items from the fridge and pantry, he took them to the large kitchen island and sat where she indicated two sets of utensils and plates. After a minute more, she took the pan off the hob, walked over, and plated them with two large pancakes each. He took his knife, slid it into the butter and carefully spread it over the hot food. Once melted, he added a light sugar dusting, eyed them warily, took a long drink of his coffee, and finally built up enough courage to take a bite. His eyes must have shown his surprise because he heard Bridget start chuckling from his left.

“These are life-changing. Why haven’t you made them before?” He was thinking, but didn’t say out loud, that she could make the most enormous mess she liked as long as she made them for him again. “How long have you been eating these, and where did the recipe come from? You said they have cream cheese as an ingredient?”

“No, it’s actually cottage cheese and don’t make that face.” She laughed when he cringed at the mention of cottage cheese, which was never his favourite. “My mum gave me the recipe years ago, from Nigella, of course, and this is the first time I’ve tried making them.”

“Honestly, I will never eat a pancake from a restaurant again. Dinner worthy.” He finished them before she had even taken a few bites.

“Here, take this. One’s plenty for me,” Bridget laughed while giving him the plate and sliding her pancake on his. “Please don’t tell me though that I’ll have to cook more than once a month unless it’s frozen pizza. That I can handle. Besides, I so enjoy your cooking.”

Once Mark had quickly finished Bridget’s portion, she reached in front of him, gathered his plate and utensils along with her own and stood to walk to the sink with them.

“Here, you cooked; let me do the washing up. It’s only fair.” He felt he may well regret his offer as he looked at the disaster that half the kitchen was. “Darling, you could learn to utilise the ‘clean as you go’ method. How did you manage to get so much flour on the floor?”

Looking down, she seemed to then notice how much flour she had spilt. Laughing as he went to find the Hoover, she replied, “No clue, but I bet you won’t want pancakes again for a while. Are you sure you don’t want any help, Mark?” The syrupy way she asked this let him know she didn’t appreciate his advice about her cooking expertise.

She walked to the coffee pot, stepping over the mess on the floor with exaggerated movements, taking her time while he waited for her to refill her cup. Sauntering back to the island, she sat again, watching him over her cup, drinking slowly, and observing as he poured the washing-up liquid into the sink. He couldn’t help but think she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Chuckling, he asked, “Since you made breakfast, what would you like to do today?”

“I’m not sure. The weather’s supposed to be almost 15°C and mostly sunny. Let me think a minute.” After a short pause, she finally suggested The London Eye.

Turning from his dishes with a startled look, he faced her. “Pardon?” He knew her fear of heights, so thought she was pulling his leg.

“I’d like to go on The Eye. I’ve never been and now seems like a good time as any. We have the time, I have no excuses, and I’m ready.”

“You’re sure? Didn’t we try this once years ago, and you absolutely refused to get on after waiting in the queue for hours?”

“Yes, and I’m definitely prepared now.” The look on her face told him otherwise, but he was willing if she was, and tomorrow they were attending his choice of the British Museum; therefore, he was more than happy to oblige, as mad as it seemed to him.

After finishing, he sat beside her with another cup of black coffee in hand. “I think I just worked off any extra calories I ate,” Mark said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve not seen someone destroy a kitchen as fast as you. Mind you, I’m not complaining. Well, maybe just a little,” he chuckled, “but I will gladly clean up after Typhoon Bridget in order to have those again.”

“Haha,” came her sarcastic response. “If you’ll clean up, I’ll make them whenever you want. I can’t promise I’ll clean as I go, though, as I don’t think I was born with that gene. Oh, forgot to tell you. I asked my mother what the secret was to forty-five years of marriage, and do you know what she told me?”

“Can’t imagine,” he replied, genuinely thinking he had no clue what wisdom his mother-in-law could impart on the longevity of marriage. Especially after her long-ago fiasco with another man. One who had absconded with not only Bridget’s parents’ money but his own parents’ funds and several of their friends as well.

“‘Not hating each other on the same day.’ So we have that to look forward to.”

“Darling, if I don’t dislike you after washing up for a half hour after eating three pancakes, including having to Hoover,” her look caused him to amend his statement slightly, “three of the loveliest pancakes I’ve ever had, then I don’t think you need worry about me hating you, ever.”

“That could be the nicest thing anyone’s ever told me. Whoever said barristers weren’t romantic?” she asked, feigning seriousness, until she giggled.

Her laughter had him smiling, too, as he added, “Also, I highly doubt your dad has ever hated your mum. God bless him.” His face creased up at the thought of his long-suffering father-in-law.

—————

Just over an hour later they were in the queue for the London Eye, now the Coca-Cola Eye. “Really, Mark, did they have to rename it for a soda? It now sounds like something that if I did get in my eye, I’d immediately tear up, have to go to A&E and definitely need some drops for. It’s a petrifying experience for anyone with a fear of heights. I’m terrified of heights. But I have established a pattern of facing this fear for my job. So, of course, I will make myself get into one of these glass pods for pleasure. I expect many questions and near-panic attacks to occur. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Trying to comprehend everything she had just said rapidly in fifteen seconds, he smiled indulgently, just as he did the last time they tried this when it first opened.

“If you’re having second thoughts, it’s best to get out now instead of after we’ve queued for over a half hour,” he told her, ready to leave and do something much more to her liking, like shopping or lunch.

“Nope. We’re here, and I’m going through with it. Don’t even try to talk me out of it. But what happens if I have to pee? This is a genuine fear I have - being stuck without a loo. The ride lasts for thirty minutes. I was truly so concerned about having to pee and being stuck in the air that it kept me up last night.”

Laughing at her honesty, he asked, “Is that why you were up so early then? Why didn’t you let on that you were contemplating going up? I could have talked you out of it.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t discuss it with you. You would have reminded me of my last failed attempt and I would have chickened out.” She then excused herself for the loo. When she returned, she noticed he’d only moved by five feet. “I thought you’d at least have moved up the length of your car. Which, by the way, is decadent. As a Labour voter, I’m unsure I can ride in it in good conscience.”

“You didn’t seem to have too much trouble falling asleep in it on the way back from Cambridge to the hotel,” he laughed. “Or extolling its virtues while driving to Grafton Underwood. Would you like me to trade it in for a Mini?”

“It’s easy being virtuous when you don’t have money for the finer things in life. I’d hate for you to have to change for me. Keep your car; I’ll keep my Mini, if only to soothe my conscience. By the way, the loo? Holy moly, it's a sink and an extremely powerful hand dryer in one. I almost didn’t come back. Our restrooms at home may need updating.”

He could tell she was nervous as she continued to prattle on, “Did you know that included in the entry fee to the Giant Wheel of Terror is something called the ‘4D experience.’ 4D? Is that more real than real life? Also, I’m kind of liking these,” she said this when Mark donned the oversized black specs for the video. “You know how I said I find you extremely sexy in glasses?”

“Yes,” he sighed as he glanced at her wearing the immense spectacles; she resembled a bug of sorts as they were extra large on her small face. “Don’t tell me you want to belong to some club that shags at the top of The London Eye?”

Laughing at him, she responded, “No. I was going to say you’re not so sexy in them.”

When the short video started they quickly found out that the 4D meant added smells and moisture. Suddenly there was smoke and then their nostrils were filled with a sickeningly sweet smell of bubble gum. Then it was snowing and raining, inside the theatre.

“Didn't I just come from being in the real rain?” Mark whispered into her ear; they had been caught in one of London’s frequent pop-up showers on their walk from the car park.

“And everything smells overly sweet. Are we being misted in Coke?”

The Coca-Cola jingle punctuated the short movie, and an outbreak of satisfied laughter reverberated in the audience at the conclusion. Walking out the large doors and following the crowd, Bridget said, “It started to feel like we’d unwittingly become part of a real-life advertisement. I even want a Coke now.”

Continuing to walk down the hallway hung with modern, framed photos of London landmarks on either side, she commented on the music playing in the background. “I feel like I’m in an Urban Outfitters. I hear The XX, Ilya Golitsyn, Sigur Rós. Very hip.”

Taking her hand, immensely enjoying their day together of sightseeing, Mark agreed. “I hope the gift shop sells a soundtrack, and it’s called something like ‘The London Eye Millennial Metro Cool Chill Lounge Mix.’”

“If they don’t sell it, I may have to make one to remember how fun this is. Assuming I make it off alive, that is.”

Finally, they were admitted into one of the large pods. The doors silently closed, and Bridget grabbed Mark’s hand for support.

“Oh god, oh god, here we go. I’ve got the collywobbles,” she muttered under her breath, making him chuckle and pull her tight. Luckily, it didn’t seem too crowded in their capsule. The guests spoke many languages, as the majority of riders were tourists. Mark was surprised when she pulled away from him, still holding his hand, and forced herself to find a spot up against the glass for a choice view.

“I don’t like this, not at all. I’m going to have to be brave like Jodie Foster was in Contact. I'm ready to go!”

He stood behind her and put his chin on her shoulder, asking with concern, “Are you really that terrified? Maybe you should come away from the window and sit down?”

Turning to look at him, she had a huge grin plastered on her face, from fear or enjoyment, he couldn’t tell which. The ride was moving at a glacial pace, making him wonder how she could even be scared at all.

“Bridget, it’s barely moving,” he continued. “We’re only twenty feet in the air. You’re starting to worry me.”

“I almost want it to go faster because I can't tell if it’s still or in motion, but then again, going faster would probably be horribly scary. Who’s driving this ride? I so hope they have their Coca-Cola London Eye Professional Operator's Permit. My life is in your hands, Mr. Coke.”

“Stop!” he said, almost doubling over with laughter. “Bridget, you’re killing me. Now I have to use the loo. It’s only a half hour around. If you keep making me laugh, I’ll never make it the entire rotation.”

Approaching the highest point of the ride, 443 feet above the Thames, they looked out at the view of the city, including the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Tower Bridge. The more she observed the vista, the less she thought about the height or the lack of a loo. “Sometimes I forget what a wonderful city we live in,” she commented. “I moved here directly after uni, not wanting to return home. I was ready to be grown up, away from mum and dad. And I’ve been here ever since. Could you ever go back to Grafton Underwood? To live, I mean?”

“Not right now. But never say never. Maybe when we’re older we’ll appreciate the quiet, the countryside. But my career and yours is London-centric.” When he finished he noticed her eyes widen. “What?” he asked.

“I’ve just seen the Emergency Use Only intercom and it calls the ride operator. So there really is a driver; I was taking the piss earlier when I said that. Do you think anyone’s actually been stuck up here??” Her tone sounded slightly desperate again.

“Bridget, no one’s ever gotten stuck,” he lied so smoothly he surprised even himself. He knew of someone from Chambers who had been stuck at the top for several hours, albeit a few years ago. The last thing she needed was to realise it could happen, even if there was only a remote chance.

“I haven’t thought about a loo for fifteen minutes. Now, that’s all I can think about. Oh, I bet people have sex in these all the time. It probably happens quite often in the evening, when it’s dark.”

The three young boys on the ride chose that precise moment to begin jumping around, causing Bridget’s heart to perform flip-flops. The look of terror in her eyes propelled Mark to walk over quickly and admonish them to behave. Their parents then pulled them by their jackets to the seats, making them sit quietly by their sides.

“Thank you. I could envision our pod floating down the Thames, and instead of thinking of our loved ones, we’d die thinking only of Cherry Coke.”

Bridget asked where he was going when he took her hand and moved towards the doors. “Darling, we’re at the bottom. I’m disembarking. Unless you’d like to stay on for another go?”

Following as fast as she could, she said, “That wasn’t bad. Existential crisis aside, the views were amazing.”

Chapter Text

Having a lighter breakfast than the previous day, which consisted of only toast and coffee, Mark went over the exhibits he wanted to see at the British Museum, but not before teasing Bridget. “No cheesecake pancakes today?”

The arsed look she gave him prompted a smile before he started a discourse about The British Museum. “I’d like to see the Egyptian Sculpture Gallery, and Sutton Hoo And Europe, covering approximately AD 300 through 1100. I haven’t been in ages, and I remember them both being quite interesting.”

“Sutton who?” asked Bridget innocently, having never heard of the archaeological site.

Laughing, he spelt it out for her. “It’s Sutton Hoo. H-O-O. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it. Oh, sorry,” he chided, “no bar there either,” referring to her comment on the V&A Museum from their date last year.

Her eyes started to glaze over as he continued. “Modern Egyptology began with a French scientific expedition accompanying Napoleon's invasion of Egypt in 1798. After Britain defeated the French, the Brits took some of their most significant finds, including the Rosetta Stone and the sarcophagus of the last Egyptian pharaoh.

“Later, the British Consul-General Henry Salt received permission from Egypt's governor, Muhammad Ali, not the U.S. heavyweight boxer,” he clarified with an indulgent smile, which caused her to stick her tongue out at him before he continued, trying not to laugh, “to collect antiquities, many of which were acquired by the British Museum. Salt employed excavators to remove sculptures, including the colossal bust of Ramesses II.”

She tried to act interested—she really did—but found it extremely difficult as Mark began a monologue about the ancient ship unearthed in Suffolk.

“In 1939, a landowner at Sutton Hoo asked an archaeologist to investigate the largest of several burial mounds on her property. Inside was one of the most incredible historical discoveries of all time. Under the mound was the imprint of a 27-metre-long ship. At the centre was a burial chamber packed with treasures: Byzantine silverware, gold and silver jewellery, a lavish feasting set, and, most famously, an ornate iron helmet. Dating to the early 600s, the burial clearly commemorated an influential figure of East Anglia, the local Anglo-Saxon kingdom, probably belonging to a king.

“It gives insight into early Anglo-Saxon England, revealing an era of exquisite craftsmanship and extensive global connections to Europe and beyond. It also showed that the world of the great halls, rich treasures and warriors described in poetry wasn’t a myth, as previously hypothesised. The landowner, Edith Pretty, donated the discovery to the British Museum in 1939, and they now form a beautiful centrepiece to the gallery.”

Suddenly, her wandering mind had deja vú as she thought back to Jude’s baby’s Christening when she was dancing to “Gangnam Style” as Fergus played DJ, and to her surprise, Mark asked her to go for a walk. She vaguely recalled that he had rambled on about Gangnam being a Seoul suburb and occupied as far back as the Paleolithic period. Maybe the historical reference from him had jogged this specific memory? She was initially confused at his non-sequitur, later realising that he had been nervous, by his admission, even asking her for a fag. It was that evening he had informed her of his impending divorce. Suddenly they were sharing a passionate snog and then went up to his room for some very vigorous shagging. She was surprised at how easily the barely controllable emotion between them reignited, feeling like they’d not been apart for over five years, or maybe it was due to having been apart for that long. At the memory of their night spent together a satisfied smile overcame her features, causing him to stop momentarily.

“Earth to Bridget. What are you thinking about? You look a hundred miles away.”

Smiling at being caught with her mind elsewhere, she focused on his words, seeing how genuinely excited he felt for their day at the museum. He had undoubtedly been a good sport yesterday at The London Eye, supporting her histrionics during the whole ordeal, even telling the young boys to stop bouncing in the pod. He’d also done most of the work of serving them dinner once they’d gotten home before he cleaned up after seeing how tired she was. She now found herself reminiscing what came later when they had gone to their room, the things he’d done to her, for her, once they were in bed, and her face lit up again. This time he outright laughed, telling her, “You are so very transparent, darling.”

There was no way that he knew what she was thinking. After all, he was the one who insisted that thought vibes were a figment of her imagination. Until he said, “The sooner we start our day, the sooner we can get back home and continue the honeymoon.” With that, he pulled her close, kissing her neck, moving his hands down to her arse, massaging softly.

“Mark Darcy! I was not thinking any such thing,” but she had difficulty keeping a straight face while telling him this blatant lie. “OK, I may have been reminiscing about the Christening and last night. But it’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes. Your fault. If you weren’t so bloody good at it, I’d have no trouble focusing on ancient Egyptians or Sutton whomever.”

Laughing at her reply, he said, “Thank you for the compliment, but I have the feeling that even if I were a dull and tedious lover, you’d still not be able to focus on ninety-nine per cent of the objects on display.”

She threw him a scathing look, waiting to hear more. When he didn’t continue, she asked, ”Well, what’s the one per cent I would like then?”

“I hear they have a Ben & Jerry’s shop inside.”

Forgetting she was mad at him for laughing at her lack of interest in history, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go then. May need to stop for ice cream first to ensure I have enough energy to make it through the day!”

..........

“Mark, where are we going?” She had not been paying attention to the drive up to that point, so she was surprised when he turned right on St. James instead of continuing on Piccadilly. He headed towards the Thames and away from The British Museum, eventually crossing Waterloo Bridge and merging onto Southwark St.

“It’s a surprise,” was all he would say as he looked over at her with a grin.

“What about the Museum?” she asked, genuinely concerned that he was missing out on something he wanted to do on their time off.

“I think we’ll enjoy this more. We can go to the Museum another time.” As he said this, they were fast approaching Borough Market, one of her favourite places, especially since she’d called it home for years. Once she deduced their destination, she leant over to kiss his cheek, causing him to smile smugly. “I hope you brought your appetite. Even though you’re not drinking, there’s plenty to keep you busy.”

“Thank you, and I love it. I haven’t been as a tourist in years. It was always home, so even though I was here every day, I never took the proper time to explore. What was all your talking this morning about the exhibits you wanted to see then?”

“Just throwing you off track. I really had you going, didn’t I? The far-away look in your eyes almost had me laughing so hard I gave my plan away.”

After circling the area several times to look for a car park, Bridget suggested he drive by her old flat. “You always seemed to find the best location when we dated; maybe you’ll have the same luck.” She spied an open space just down the street from her old building, and he immediately indicated and pulled in before the spot could be taken. Quickly going around the front of the car to help her, she took his hand as they crossed the street and entered the large open-air market.

“The smells are overpowering in the best way possible. Meats, pies, fish, cheeses, desserts - all coming together amazingly. I swear, I didn’t even notice when I lived here.”

“I seemed always to be hungry when I came over. Now I know why.” He didn’t think he should add he had also been hungry for other things when he went to her flat, especially when they’d first begun dating. Although, with her mind's direction this morning, she’d probably be chuffed to bits if he told her.

Strolling through the multitude of vendors, their eyes darted from one stall to the next, taking in the myriad offerings that were on display. The sights and sounds of the crowd, the many merchants and purveyors brought a smile to Bridget’s face, fondly recalling the never-ending activity of her old neighbourhood.

“Mark,” she caught his attention, smiling when spotting some cans stacked perfectly in a display. “Do we need some goose fat? It’s £3 or two for £5.”

“I'm pretty sure Rosario stocked our pantry with some. I was thinking of warming it up for dinner when we get home. I know it’s one of your favourites.” Her look of disgust caused him to laugh loudly.

She pulled on his hand, drawing him into a vegetable stall. “I’d like some aubergines. And maybe some of these mushrooms? ‘Shingled hedgehog’? I must try them, if only for their name.”

“Are you planning on cooking then?” he couldn’t help but needle.

“Nope, but I’m hoping you are. We can look at recipes together if you need ideas.”

Reminding her that they had just started their exploring and that she’d have to carry the vegetables with them the entire afternoon, she agreed to get them on their way out instead. “I knew there was a reason I liked having you around,” she laughed, acknowledging his pragmatism.

It seemed that everywhere they looked, there were free samples. Knowing Bridget’s propensity for not pacing herself, he suggested they start by sharing a small savoury pie from Mrs. King’s. She chose the Hereford beef, ale, marrowbone pie, and a Vimto to drink. Once paid, they quickly found a table to sit at and leisurely enjoy their food.

“This could be one the best things I’ve ever eaten,” said Bridget, after taking a large bite, slowly savouring the hot, flaky pastry crust, gravy and vegetables as she reluctantly pushed it across the table towards Mark to try. “Should we get another? It’s so good; this could be my lunch.”

Looking at her, he smiled. “Bridget, this is an adventure. I plan on trying everything that catches our eye, nose or stomach. We have all afternoon and I’ve set a budget for £20. Otherwise, we could spend a small fortune. Let’s see how many items we can get for that amount. And remember, we have Jude’s spagbol waiting at home for later.” Mark took a bite of the small pie, expounding on the flavours, “The marrowbone lends a collagen stickiness - and with the suet pastry holding it all together, it’s very good. Everything about it screams excess, from the rich beef, the meaty mushrooms, the glossy crust and the decorative beef design. If I knew there weren’t another hundred items to try, I’d say let’s have a second, too.”

“I told you so. And you realise you sound like a judge on The Great British Bake Off?”

Laughing at her comparison, he had to ask, “And does that mean that you’ve actually watched a cooking show?”

“Never!” she almost choked on her drink while replying, “But I’ve been at my parents, and it seems that’s all my mum has on. Drives my dad batty, but he never complains to her since he gets to try new food weekly.”

After discarding their plate and putting their can in the recycle bin, they slowly moved on, stopping to look inside stalls. At the same time, Bridget asked questions of the shopkeepers, showing her interest in their wares, amazing Mark at how quickly they opened up to her. After exiting a cheesemonger they had spent an inordinate amount of time in, having tried several samples of the best Comte he’d ever tasted, Mark couldn’t help but remark, “I thought they were going to ask us to Sunday lunch. I don’t know how you do it, but you certainly have a knack for making friends.”

Creasing up with genuine happiness, she replied, “I guess people just naturally warm to me.”

Her look of pleasure at his compliment made him bend down for a quick snog. He touched his lips to hers and said, “I definitely warm up to you. If it weren’t for the fact we’ve only spent £7 so far, I’d suggest we head home to continue the honeymoon sooner rather than later.”

Changing the subject, he commented, “I asked for the thinnest slice they could give me, and it still ended up being the most expensive thing in my budget at £3.90. But that cheese - I've never had anything that good before. Next time, we do this £20 experiment only with cheese.”

As they rounded the corner, Bridget squealed and buried her face against Mark’s jacket, muttering, “God, that’s disgusting!”

Looking over to see what had caused her reaction, he saw a mass of legs hanging in a temperature-controlled chamber and two skilled carvers, each working on a pig’s hind leg, hoof still attached, held tightly in a vice and extending over the table for the crowd to see.

Moving her right along, past the prosciutto, he felt vaguely remorseful that they couldn’t stop for a sample. She quickly spotted the next stand with something more appealing to her appetite, tugging his hand until he had bought them a green olive and cheese stick for £2.

After they finished the bread in record time, she told him, “I couldn't resist: big chunks of olives inside, and that melted cheese on the outside.”

“No need to explain. I quite enjoyed it, too.” Directly across from them was Richard Haward’s Oysters, and now it was his turn to ask her if she minded, “I don’t think pregnant women should eat them, but do you mind? It’s only £1.50.” He picked up the single-rock oyster and slurped it down with a little Tabasco and some white wine vinaigrette.

“Tasty,” was all he said, but the satisfied look on his face spoke volumes. “At this point in our budget, we’re already halfway through my £20 note. We should look for some bargains.”

Continuing walking and talking, Bridget spotted a booth with fried plantains. The sign showed £1.50 for three, and the young man handed her a bag of starchy fruit still hot from the fryer. “So worth it. I can’t believe I’m not full yet. This is so fun. I just hope I don’t regret it later.”

Mark couldn’t help but chuckle as she practically sprinted to a booth several metres ahead. The sign read ‘Handmade Traditional English Crumbly Fudge.’

She had ordered some of the sweets before he caught up to her and had just finished a bite as he approached.

“OK, my Borough Market regret: Not getting more fudge. I went for vanilla and chocolate, but I could've easily spent £40 trying every fudge on display.”

“You eat my share then,” he offered. “Now I don’t feel guilty about the oyster.”

Their meandering brought them to the end of the alley alongside the Market's interior in front of Boston Sausage. Their homemade Lincolnshire sausages were sold on sticks for £1.50, and they devoured one as they rested on a bench.

“I think I’m starting to get full,” she lamented, rubbing her stomach and stretching her legs. “Where are we at for funds?”

“We’ve just under £5 left. Let’s rest for fifteen minutes and see how we feel after. I don’t think we’ve eaten a lot of food; it’s more about the combination and the richness. But everything’s been small portions.”

They sat in a comfortable silence. Mark put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to lean against him. Eventually, she told him, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this. I don’t recall doing as many activities as we have this week in the entire time we dated. Your idea to stay home and explore was brilliant.”

“I agree.” He kissed her head, whispering, “Best week of my life. Not a bad way to start a marriage.”

She sighed softly at his words. Although a grand honeymoon destination may have been exciting, she found herself truly happy just spending time with him, without interruptions from the outside world, having him to herself for longer than she could ever remember doing.

Finally, she thought she’d best get up as her eyes had started to close in contentment. “Come on!” she cajoled as Mark acted put out when she stood. “That last £5 is burning a hole in my pocket.” Their final two stops were sweets, which suited her just fine. No matter how full she was, she always had a little more room for something sugary.

Heading back in the general direction of their car while finishing their latest treat, she sounded almost euphoric, “Forget everything I said before. Forget the pie, forget the cheese, forget the fudge - there isn’t anything here that even remotely compares to the gelato.”

They shared two small scoops: mint chocolate chip and a Kinder-flavored gelato. “Mark, this would've been enough. But they loaded the cone inside with Nutella from a Nutella fountain. A NUTELLA FOUNTAIN! And topped it off with a giant wafer. I have never handed over money as quickly as I handed over the money for that gelato.”

He couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t quite as giving with the gelato as she had been with any of the other items they’d shared. As she got to the last bite, she seemed to realise her selfishness, smiling up at him as she held it to his mouth, saying, “Oops, got carried away there.”

Taking it in his teeth, he swallowed quickly. “I would have stopped you but was afraid I may have lost a finger.”

They spotted a bakery near their point of entry and very near several stands to spend the last of the £20. Mark couldn’t fathom how her eyes could light up for another sweet, but she’d always had an affinity for croissants. This time, he ate the bulk of the small, orange-flavoured baked good, and both licked their sticky fingers once they’d finished.

“It seemed insane, almost disrespectful, to eat anything after that gelato,” she bemoaned. “But we set a goal of eating £20 of food, and I wasn't about to come up £1.30 short. The croissant was good, but if I'd had another 20 pence, I could've gotten one with chocolate filling. Oh well.”

“I’m going to get a bottled water for the road. Be right back,” said Mark. 

She gratefully dropped onto a comfortable bench, thinking for the second time in a few days that she might not need to eat again for a week.

Looking around, she noticed the place packed with schoolchildren, and it seemed that everywhere she glanced was another class of twenty-five students with a teacher and several chaperones. Before he left for the concession line, laughing as two young boys ran between them, causing them both to step back in haste, Mark asked drolly while smiling, “Is it a school trip day? I’ve never seen so many children in one place other than a playground.”

“Maybe it’s the universe’s way of showing us what we have in store soon,” she laughed.

The teacher’s voice explaining the maze of different foods to a class of six-year-olds caught her attention. Following the source of the sound with her eyes past another wild game stall with all sorts of animals hung out for purchase, she soon discovered why. She had almost married the man who was now speaking, and except for her difficulty in leaving her feelings for Mark in the past, she was sure she would have.

As he felt her eyes upon him, he stopped his presentation, quickly spoke to a woman at his side and started walking towards her. Her heart felt like it had jumped into her mouth at his approach. Bridget hadn’t seen him since they’d permanently split. He had made it clear to her that if she couldn’t go all in with him and move on from Mark, he couldn’t accept being second in her life. She’d explained to him that Mark was now married and that if he could be patient with her, she was confident she’d commit to him wholly. He had tried for a while, but they eventually agreed to move on separately. At this point, she’d become furious at herself for being unable to move forward as Mark had so obviously done.

“Bridget.” He hugged her tightly in greeting. “What are you doing here? On your way home?” His warm smile caught her off guard as she wasn’t sure how he had fared after their separation. He had made it clear she had broken his heart, and for her part, she would always feel that she had missed an opportunity for happiness. He took her hands, telling her, “You haven’t changed a bit. Still as lovely as I remember.”

As he let loose of her, he felt the wedding ring on her left hand. His eyes shot to her face in surprise. “You’ve married?” The hurt in his voice is evident in his expression. “Who’s the lucky man?”

At that moment, Mark joined them, handing her the bottle of water. He was clearly baffled by the emotion evident in the air between his wife and this man whom he’d never met.

With no other recourse, she introduced the two men. “Scott, this is my husband, Mark Darcy. Mark, this is Scott Wallaker.”

Chapter Text

Scott’s shock turned to disdain but was quickly covered with a well-masked expression of friendliness. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, putting his hand out to shake Mark’s. “I’ve heard plenty about you from Bridget.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark responded while accepting the handshake. He felt at a disadvantage since he and Bridget hadn’t discussed her and Scott’s relationship, except when she recently told him she had turned down Scott’s marriage proposal and the little he had gleaned from Jeremy during their break-up. He thought he'd gladly listen if she wanted to divulge any details to him, but as he was married then, he felt no right to demand explanations.

Surprising him, Bridget asked if she could have a moment alone with Scott. Telling them he’d be back shortly, he departed for the loo, his mind churning with questions. During the time that Mark was married, he had surreptitiously kept up on Bridget as he had recently discussed with her, either through Jude or Jeremy and Magda. As much as he was blindsided by their break up, he always assumed they’d get back together and eventually marry. When she then cut him completely out of her life, he turned to drinking entirely too much Scotch, recalling that it was often gone before the ice could melt. When that didn’t help, he had worked even longer hours, if possible. If he hadn’t taken up with Camilla, he couldn’t contemplate what may have happened to him, what he may have become in trying to forget Bridget and his life without her. Even if his love for Camilla wasn’t the same as he felt for Bridget, she had been there for him, helping him through the roughest patch of his life. If he had felt gutted at the betrayal of his first wife with Daniel, it was nothing to the depth of despair after Bridget left. But who was this man that she had almost married? Was she now regretful for something she had not been able to commit to, even as he had married someone else not very long after their break-up? He was feeling wrecked about his actions towards Bridget. Not only had he been the ultimate cause of their break-up, he had also been the cause of her not finding future happiness.

Once Mark left them alone, Scott glanced over at his class of children, seeing they were starting to get restless. The young mum serving as a chaperone was glancing in his direction with a slight look of terror.

“Look, Bridget, how you ended up with him is beyond me. He was a married man, for God’s sake, not to mention what you went through after you split. I know you couldn’t get over him, but I didn’t see you as the type to break up a marriage. I wish you all the best.” He turned to get back to his students, but she grabbed his arm, hurt he would assume she had been the cause of Mark’s marriage to end, at least on purpose and knowingly.

“Scott, that’s unfair, and you know it!

“You’re right, it was. I know nothing about your situation, and I’m sorry to have bothered you.” The sadness in his voice showed in his eyes as he turned his back to her, heading towards his students.

She felt stunned and wounded at his reaction. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped at her face with the back of a hand, angry at herself for letting him get under her skin like he did. After all, he had chosen to end their relationship, even after she had asked him for more time.

“Are you all right?” Mark asked quietly, stepping close and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tight. He knew his wife had one of the kindest souls he’d ever known, but he had no clue how to comfort her or what words to say. Was she regretting marrying him? What had Scott said that upset her, or was it seeing him again that had her so distressed?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying to my husband about an ex-boyfriend.”

He pulled out a handkerchief, drying her eyes with it. Trying to lighten the situation in such a public venue, he said, “It’s not like we haven’t been here before,” referring to her ups and downs with Daniel when they had first met as adults, even before they had begun dating.

“Can we go home, please?” she asked.

They were quiet on the short walk to the car and the drive home. Bridget wanted to open up and tell him why Scott had upset her. But Mark had never asked about her past. He’d let her know he missed her and thought of her frequently, but maybe he didn’t want or need to know the details. She felt similar about Camilla and even Katherine to some extent. She wanted to know why he had married and what it was about her that had caused Mark to make that commitment again after the debacle of his first marriage and then their inability to take that final step to becoming husband and wife. He had told her why it didn’t last; that Camilla wasn’t her, but there had been enough between them initially to make him want to marry. With Katherine, she could see why Mark had dated her. She was beautiful, and they had similar interests and enjoyed the same music. What if she and Mark hadn’t run into one another at The Tate that evening? What if she hadn’t found the courage to ask him out? What would have happened if he and Kathryn had been further along in their relationship rather than only newly dating? Would he still be willing to see her again? Her mind was going down a path she didn’t like. She had honestly never been happier than she had these last few months with Mark. He’d done nothing to cause her to question his actions. Quite the opposite; he had continued to balance his professional and personal life as he said he would, never cancelling plans at the last minute, always working a typical week, and even sharing more of himself than she thought possible, opening up to her emotionally in ways that pleasantly surprised her every day.

Their dinner that evening was more subdued than earlier in the week. Bridget made noodles for Jude’s sauce. He prepared a salad and warmed a half loaf of Italian bread to accompany the meal. They talked of their day at Borough Market, laughing over hitting his £20 limit almost to the penny. “I’m almost embarrassed that I can eat anything after all those lovely treats this afternoon. But something substantive, along with a green salad, is perfect,” she commented as she and Mark cleared the table and did the washing up together. Almost as if by mutual agreement, both steered clear of any further discussion of that afternoon’s meeting with Scott, instead talking about more mundane things. Going up to bed, she announced, “I’m absolutely knackered after all the walking we did. We must have covered a few miles in our exploring. I think I’ll head upstairs. Care to join me?”

“I’ll be up shortly. I want to catch the football scores on television.”

Left alone with her thoughts, lying in bed, Bridget had trouble falling asleep. Why had seeing Scott upset her so much? She was wounded Scott thought she had purposely broken up Mark’s marriage. Having someone, anyone, think her capable of doing that was offensive if not downright insulting, but for Scott to think it made her wonder if he ever really knew her. Scott was her past. Mark was her present and future. Did this have to do more with her feelings for Mark?

When she had broken it off with Mark, the urge to reach out to him for comfort, knowing that she couldn’t because he was the reason for her pain, was constant. She wondered what she could have done differently or obsessed over what she had done when deciding to end it. The pain and regret she felt over their last words. The thoughts of, "What if?"

Despite what everyone had told her, there had been no unique formula to get over their break-up. Time just meant their shared past kept moving further away. She recalled that alcohol made her overly emotional, and new relationships left her feeling even more empty than before. After a few years, she even wept when she realised that the memory of the sound of his voice had begun to fade. Instead of healing as it should have, time kept betraying her with each new day.

Then, as she felt she had finally begun to move on, she'd met Scott after Mark had been married for several years. They had become close, talking of moving in together, even marriage. She didn’t take their relationship lightly, as he had two young boys to consider. She wanted things to work out with him, never contemplating that she and Mark would be together again. So it hurt her immensely when he couldn’t give her a little more time to leave Mark in the past once and for all.

———

Mark turned on the telly, not registering what was on. His thoughts wouldn’t turn off. He kept going over how upset Bridget was after running into Scott. Was he always to be plagued by another man where she was concerned? First, it had been Daniel, now Scott. He couldn’t have been wrong about Bridget’s feelings for him, and their recent time together had been the happiest he’d spent in a relationship. This was getting him nowhere. He had faith in her, in them, as he’d not had at any other time. He was not going to give in to this self-doubt. Quickly standing, he went upstairs to talk to his wife.

After washing up, he climbed into bed and asked softly, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” came her instant reply. She turned to face him, taking his hand between them.

“What upset you so much this afternoon when you ran into Scott? I understand if you don’t want to discuss it, but if you’re willing, I’d like to know.”

“He accused me of purposely breaking up your marriage.” The hurt in her voice registered to Mark immediately. He could tell how distraught she was.

“We both know that isn’t true. I had no earthly idea that we’d date again, much less get married. Do you...” He stopped talking then. Seemingly making up his mind, he continued, “I love you. I never want to be without you. I want you to know that, first and foremost. I have never been happier than I am right now.” He almost continued to ask her if she felt the same. But he trusted she did. He didn’t need to ask her for reassurance.

“Do you know that I almost married him? That I wanted to?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because he wasn’t you.” She could see him smile in the low light. He was being completely honest with her, telling her how he felt, without hiding behind a wall or a facade, secure in their love and their newfound trust.

“I‘m sorry you didn’t find happiness with someone after we split. But I’ve also never been more relieved. I may have been content with someone else—”

She interrupted, supplying him a name, “Kathryn,”

He laughed at her help before continuing, “But it would have been only a matter of time before the inevitable happened, before it became clear that it was you I needed, that I couldn’t live without. I wasn’t sincere when you asked why I married Camilla.”

“Oh?” she responded, surprise in her tone.

“I said it was due to our compatibility and shared work. And it was, partly. But the main reason I married was to get over you, to move on.”

“And, did it work?”

“At first. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if I hadn’t met Camilla, I shudder to think what I may have become. She helped me tremendously when I needed it most. She helped me breathe again when I thought of you with every breath I took. I could drive near Borough and not fall to pieces; I could hear your name and still fall asleep at night. For once, my world didn’t rotate around someone who wasn’t there.”

He could see the tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you or make you sad. Sometimes, it doesn’t work out between people, no matter how strong their love is. I know that; my heart didn’t.”

He had told her everything. Confessing that he wasn’t all right when they’d been apart. She knew that for someone whose natural behaviour was to endure pain, not divulge their feelings, these emotions were hard for him to discuss.

“Mark, I was so mad at you when I couldn’t accept Scott’s proposal. I told you I had broken it off so that I wouldn’t hate you, but at that moment, I did. I hated you and myself for not being able to function like a normal human being, especially after you’d married. That’s why I was so upset at seeing him today. It reminded me of that period when I was at my lowest. I'm certain we wouldn't still be standing together today if we didn't start so passionate. It wasn't easy, but it taught us so much and made us the strong partners we are now. I'm so thankful for our enduring love and ability to forgive.”

Chapter Text

Bridget woke when she heard Mark gently clearing his throat. Turning to face him, she was surprised to find he wasn’t beside her. Looking to the foot of the bed she saw him standing in boxers and a vest, holding a tray in his hands.

“My turn to make you breakfast. I have all your favourites.”

Once she sat up, he put the tray down over her lap, watching her eyes grow wide as she took in all the items he’d brought. A cappuccino to drink. A small bowl of fresh-cut fruit. A boiled egg. One of her favourite magazines rolled up and set to the side. “This is decadent. Love the lovely rose!” He carefully sat beside her, not spilling the drinks while she speared a piece of pineapple and fed it to him from her fork. He picked up his black coffee from the tray and took a small sip of the hot beverage. Eating quickly, she finished everything, even sharing a large portion of the fruit with him.

“Luckily that was fruit and not ice cream. I probably wouldn’t have gotten so much as a bite if it were,” he teased, thinking back to yesterday’s cone. “You still look hungry. Everything all right? Did you not enjoy it?” he asked very solicitously.

“Yes, it was perfect. But...”

“But...?” he prompted, a smile twitching at his lips.

“Well, you said all my favourites. I certainly don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I would have thought you’d remember a chocolate croissant is my absolute favourite,” Bridget complained ever so softly.

His expression registered shock when he responded. “Bridget, I never knew you liked croissants.” Reaching over the side of the bed to pick something up, he set a small plate on the tray with the most enormous, decadent-looking chocolate croissant she’d ever seen, replete with white icing sugar sprinkled all over.

“Mark!” she screamed, almost spilling their drinks onto the bed. Tearing off a large bite, she offered it to him first, stuffing it into her mouth when he shook his head no, laughing again at how easy it was to make her happy with a simple bakery item. After their talk last night, having made love with a passion and emotion that surprised them both, they slept soundly, content that they’d weathered a small yet significant event in their relationship.

She had one tiny bite left on the plate. “Oh my God in heaven, I’m stuffed!” Her head lolled back on the pillows as she moaned loudly.

“Good, then you won’t mind if I finish this last bit,” he said, popping it into his mouth before she could stop him. “And by the way, Rosario’s here, so you may want to wear some clothes downstairs. I’m sure she thought your scream and moaning were due to the baked good she brought, not that we’re still on honeymoon.”

Her look of mortification was priceless when he stood and took the tray.

———-

Mark was sitting at the kitchen counter, coffee in hand when Bridget joined him. “I saw Rosario upstairs.”

“Yes?” he asked, expecting there was more to it.

“I’m sure by her look that she thought we’d been shagging!” she whispered with a grin, in case the housekeeper was near.

Pulling her onto his lap, he kissed her face and neck, causing her to laugh louder, at the same time admonishing him to let her loose. “I’m just trying to help you prove her suspicions correct,” he said with a lusty grin. Finally getting away, she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him on a stool.

“Jeremy called,” he began, but she surprised him with an outburst before he could proceed.

“No! You are not going in to work today, Mark. I don’t know our plans, but it’s the last day of our week off and he can’t expect you to drop everything to go to Chambers.”

He smiled indulgently at her before saying, “He said Magda’s going crazy to see us, so I suggested they come for dinner tomorrow evening. I thought you might like to ask Jude, Sharon and Tom. It’s short notice, but I could make jambalaya, some French bread and—”

She was on his lap again, kissing him thoroughly this time, the happiness in her voice evident. “I’d love that! And you’re okay with it, you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded,” he said, smiling at her excitement. Rosario walked through the kitchen at that moment, averting her eyes from their snog, but not before Bridget saw a grin cross her face.

“Sorry that I assumed the worst,” she said by way of an apology. “Old habits die hard.” At least she had the wherewithal to look chastened.

“So, our last day of official honeymoon. What’s on our agenda?”

“You choose,” she replied. “The British Museum?” She secretly hoped he’d choose somewhere different and held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“Neal’s Yard,” he said.

After a sigh of relief, she replied, “Pardon?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it?” Mark asked, surprised he could surprise her with a location known for shopping and cafés. It wasn’t lost on him that she seemed relieved he hadn’t chosen the British Museum.

“Never. What is it?”

“Shopping and cafés in Covent Garden. I can’t believe you’ve not been.”

“When did you willingly go shopping and café hopping?”

“With my mother, several years ago. She’d heard of it from friends, and my father refused to traipse around with her, so she asked if I would. Every business is committed to sustainable and ethical commercial practices.”

“That’s only one of the many reasons I love you so,” she said, bestowing him with a broad smile, “and it sounds like the ideal spot for a human rights barrister’s wife to shop!”

————-

After finding the location on her phone map, Bridget suggested they take the Tube. The stop for Covent Garden was only a five-minute walk to Neal’s Yard. The Tube stop from their home was just two minutes. Mark was used to driving or being driven in the company car, so he was leery of taking the Tube until Bridget needled him for being too posh to take public transport.

“All right, you’ve shamed me into it. Let’s do it,” he said rather placidly.

On the ride over, Bridget continued studying the map, and she exclaimed, “That’s why it’s called Seven Dials!” 

“What was that?” he asked.

“Daniel took me to dinner at Hawksmoor Seven Dials to pitch the show after I did his interview. I had no idea where the ‘Seven Dials’ in the name came from. I think I know now,” she said smugly.

Looking at her expectantly, she continued, “On the map, I see seven roads leading into the sundial at the intersection of the streets.”

Changing the subject, he said, “I have a question. Daniel never made a pass at you when you did his interview and started the show together?” He seemed genuinely curious and not unreasonably jealous.

“No, he did not. I truly think he’s not only grown up some, but he seems smitten with Fiona. She won’t back down to him and gives it back as good as he dishes it out. It really keeps him on his feet. He used to think that meant too much work in his youth, but I think he enjoys it now.”

Exiting the Tube, they walked out into the bright sunshine.

It was a glorious day, with temperatures around 15°C and no clouds in the blue sky. They wore light jackets, and Bridget took Mark’s hand for the short walk to their destination. If they hadn’t consulted her phone map, they might have missed the alley altogether, even though Mark had been once. The tight space opened to a courtyard with quirky shopfronts painted bright yellow, red, and green, illuminated by the sun’s warm glow.

Looking up at the brick-fronted buildings, many covered in trailing ivy even without the cooler February temperature, Bridget exclaimed, “It’s delightful. I love the painted windows; the blue, pink, orange and oh! I think the green on the inside is my favourite.” She said this while pointing up at the red brick facade of a three-story shop. There were green flower boxes outside each window, and the second floor’s full-size windows were wide open, allowing the diners to enjoy the fresh air. The courtyard was already packed with people shopping or eating inside and out, and they couldn’t help but see the delicious food and savour the aromas floating around them.

Because they had just finished breakfast, they started by entering Neal’s Yard Remedies. The health and beauty store concentrated on all-natural and organic products, and the sign declared it was founded in 1981 as a tiny little store in a corner of London that was barely on the map, and now they were a global leader in the industry. It went on to say they were proud to be a family business that cared deeply for the planet – all of their products being cruelty-free, certified organic and 100% ethical. Bridget purchased several hand soaps for their house and as presents for friends. As they exited the store with her bag of goodies, headed to the coffee shop, and led there by Mark’s nose, she commented, “They smell divine. It's always nice to have a few gifts around. Never know when you’ll need one.”

After they’d ordered and sat in the small shop to enjoy their black coffee and decaf cappuccino, Bridget spotted a sign out the window advertising pedicures. She looked at Mark expectantly; he looked at the sign and immediately said, “No. Do not even think about it! Bridget, I am not going for a pedicure with you.” He laughed as he said it, though, so she pleaded, “Please, please, please! You know how much you enjoyed the massage, and you didn’t think you would.”

“Okay, okay,” he gave in less than gracefully, again thinking there wasn’t much he could deny her when she wanted something. But he felt a pedicure was truly pushing his limits.

Clapping her hands, she told him she’d be right back as she quickly ran to the woman outside the shop, then returned with a bright smile, telling him they had five minutes to finish their drinks before their allotted time.

When Mark walked in, he was slightly embarrassed. To her credit, the shop owner seemed to sense this and quickly put him at ease, letting him know she had lots of men who took advantage of the shop’s services for manis and pedis.

“I’ve always been quite standoffish when it comes to anyone touching my feet,” he told Bridget when they were alone for a moment.

“Could have fooled me. You love it when I rub your feet after a long day,” she reminded him.

“Ah, that’s different. I know you.”

“Shh! Here they come. Just relax and enjoy.”

He had no idea how much it would tingle when his feet soaked in ankle-deep warm water. The pleasant feeling of skilled hands carefully rubbing each foot. The throbbing tickle, like a feather carefully tracing between his toes, up arches, and heels, followed by stinging pain when his virgin soles were scrubbed with a pumice stone. Bridget looked at him several times, but Mark shut his eyes tight. She assumed that meant he was truly enjoying the experience. He was the only male in the shop, and this was his first pedicure.

When both girls left their feet to soak for a few moments, he said quietly so that none of the other patrons would hear, “I’ve lived a spectrum ranging from panic to intense pleasure punctuated by quick stabs of discomfort. It reminds me of the first time I had sex. I had no idea what to expect.”

“Mark!” she burst out, quickly lowering her voice as several women glanced in their direction, knowing smiles on their faces.

“At my core, I remain a narcissist. Confident from the ankles up, my Achilles heel is just that.” His decision to finally partake wasn't prompted by psychiatry, a newfound self-actualization, and it wasn't sexual.

“For years, my mother has suggested I try this for the simple health and aesthetic benefits. ‘You'll look better,’ she would say. ‘You'll feel better.’ Even Jeremy and Giles told me to go as they both schedule them regularly.”

At that moment, the beautician returned, causing Bridget to say, “No polish for him, just a regular pedicure.”

"You don't want any colours?" she asked, causing them to laugh and Mark to feel slightly left out of the fun.

He was unceremoniously pulled back to earth with the sharp pain that came from the beautician clipping off cuticles, snipping too close, and plucking live tissue. It hurt so much that he was writhing in the chair and, what was worse, the shop was filling up. A family, grandma to grandkids, the littlest of the bunch, a girl, maybe six or seven, sat beside him. When he looked over, she smiled, causing him to smile back while gritting his teeth, the pumice hard at work. He glanced over at his wife, always all charm and magic this last week; she now seemed slightly sinister, snapping away photos of him and even taking some video on her phone.

To the inexperienced, of which he qualified, it was hard to describe the feeling of a rough volcanic rock rubbing against your skin. To him, it felt the way that running fingernails over chalkboard sounds. His skin crawled, and he had so much trouble sitting still that he chuckled so he wouldn't scream out loud. Has anyone ever yelled in a nail salon? Babylonian aristocrats, Chinese royalty, and Egyptian pharaohs all got pedicures. Did any of them yell out while doing so?

"Doesn't it feel good?" Bridget asked, her face reflecting the nirvana she was somehow experiencing.

"It's a little... rough…”

Then the girl to his left whispered gently. "It's OK, it'll all be OK."

She was having the same procedure done, and she seemed fine. Embarrassed, he nodded and closed his eyes once more. He knew Bridget was a big fan of reflexology, saying that the body stores poisons in the feet, and rubbing them out releases the toxins. Mark never believed her until now.

When he opened his eyes again, it was over. His feet and calves were massaged and moisturised but left red and inflamed. At that moment, he didn't want to put his shoes back on, suddenly understanding the situational benefits of flip-flops.

Meanwhile, Bridget showed him her fingers and toes, happily pulling out her credit card to pay.

Chapter Text

Walking into the courtyard, Bridget asked, “Why are you walking like that?” barely able to hide her amusement.

“I’m walking perfectly normal ,” he declared defensively. His soles were slightly tender. He suggested they try the cheese shop they had spotted earlier in their wanderings since they were feeling a little peckish.

Entering and looking around at the plethora of food, Bridget said, “Good cheese is basically proof that God truly exists.”

“I agree. Although I swore your tastes ran a little more to sweet baked goods,” Mark said. “Let’s find a table and order.” He wanted to get off his feet and let the tingling calm down, not that he’d ever let her know this.

The shop was thoroughly British, with a traditional French attitude to cheese retailing. Like an affineur, it purchased from small-scale dairies and farms in Britain and Ireland and matured the cheeses in its cellars until ready to sell in a peak state. Names such as Limburger, Stinking Bishop, and Suffolk Poacher were as indicative as the aromas in the small shop.

Looking at the shelves piled high with vast cylinders of cheese from the British Isles and beyond, Mark commented, “This smell will linger in my memory long after my visit.” Then he recalled their exploring the day prior, asking, “Is this the same shop we visited in Borough, where I had the comte?”

Bridget nodded, recognising one of the owners who had been so helpful at the other location. Spying them, the gentleman approached, happy to see return customers.

“Hello,” the man said upon greeting them. “Weren’t you at our Borough Market location just yesterday?” he put out his hand to shake each of theirs in turn. “Are you vacationing in London?”

“No, we’re locals,” replied Bridget. “We’re on our honeymoon this week, and finally enjoying some sights we’ve never found time to visit. We’ve done the Eye, Borough, and now Neal’s Yard,” she explained. She didn’t think it wise to bring up the pedicure they’d just had as she felt Mark wouldn’t appreciate her telling a stranger about his experience. However, she planned on showing Magda, Tom, Jude and Shaz the pictures she’d taken when she saw them for dinner on Saturday. If Mark was in a good mood, she may even bring out the video.

“If you’re hungry, may I suggest the cheese tasting? There’s a wide range of themes, like beer and cheese, mountain cheeses, and England v France. If it’s your first try, I suggest the ‘Modern Traditional’ with new interpretations of classic British cheeses – from Cheddar to Caerphilly to Stilton. It allows you to learn how cheese is made and, most importantly, to taste a whole load of it. Enough to serve as lunch.”

They both agreed to Sam's tasting suggestion and left to place their orders.

After he departed, Mark commented, “If I had to narrow down to a single favourite food, cheese is probably it. Whether a creamy goat’s cheese, a pungent Stilton, a runny Brie or a chunk of Cheddar melted on toast, with a bit of Marmite, my cheese on toast special ingredient; I love them all.”

When Sam returned with their beverages, a beer for Mark and a cola for Bridget, he pulled up a chair and gave them a brief history of his shop. “Our company was started in the 1970s in Neal’s Yard. The area was derelict then, and the rents were cheap after the food and veg market that dominated the area moved to south London. Nicholas Saunders set up the dairy in 1979, selling its yoghurts and cheeses, as well as those from wholesalers. However, not knowing much about these cheeses made it harder to sell them, so the focus became more on selling cheese from small-scale producers and getting to know them and their produce. We now stock cheeses from seventy cheesemakers across the UK and Ireland. I’ve worked in the cheese industry for over twenty years and know almost everything you could ever want to know about the stuff.” The pride in his voice as he spoke of his business was evident, and Bridget mentally filed it away to discuss with Daniel. Maybe they could somehow be worked into one of their future shows.

They started with the St. Tola goat’s cheese, then went on to the Camembert-style soft Tunworth, and then to a Caerphilly and Red Leicester. Sam explained, “Which brings me to my cheese fact number one - why is Red Leicester red?” Bridget and Mark looked at each other, neither knowing the answer. Bridget was surprised as she thought Mark might know why. “It’s dyed using Annatto, a tree seed which gives a bright orange colour. Originally, cheese produced in the high mountains on the continent in the summer had a brighter yellow colour and a better flavour than the paler winter cheeses. So, the winter cheesemakers used Annatto to fool their customers into thinking the cheese was made in summer. Very sneaky.”

The next one they tried was the Red Leicester they had just learned about, and then on to the Parmesan-style sheep’s milk cheese Berkswell, followed by a cheddar and two washed-rind cheeses. Somewhere around this time, they started to realise that even cheese-lovers have a limit on how much they can eat, “Apart from the guy at the next table over who valiantly stuffed his way through the whole plateful,” observed Bridget. The speed of eating at this point slowed to a snail’s pace, and they were left wishing they’d brought a box for leftovers.

Finishing up, Sam told them, “The British Cheese Board,” at which Mark and Bridget threw him a disbelieving look before he continued, “Seriously, it exists; once did a study into which cheeses cause which types of dreams. The soft Italian cheeses give me the strangest ones. I looked the study up, and they found Stilton gives you crazy dreams, Red Leicester makes one dream of childhood, and Cheshire stops you dreaming at all – though I’m not sure how scientific this study was.” His face showed he had trouble taking the study very seriously.

They thanked Sam for his time, the lovely food they’d eaten and the stories behind the cheese they’d had no idea of before their lunch. They left with a promise to come back soon and try a different version of cheeses, to Sam’s pleasure.

To Mark’s astonishment, his feet now seemed fine and invigorated. He’d have to let his mother know that he finally took her advice and had a pedicure. He was sure she’d be delighted he’d given in to Bridget’s request and enjoyed the experience. He even thought he’d be willing to join his wife at her next appointment.

It was only 2.30 when they left the shopping area to return to the Tube stop. They walked by the Novello Theatre and saw the iconic sign for the musical Mamma Mia ; Bridget commented, “I have a confession: I love ABBA. As a kid, I owned the ‘Best Of’ album, which I listened to as much as any record I had. I drove my mum and dad barmy. I knew and still know every word of every song, although sometimes not the actual words. I was quite young, and we all sang Chicken Tikka instead of Chiquitita,” she laughed. “Tell the truth, did you have any of their albums?”

Surprising her, he answered, “I may have had one or two. My mother even liked them, and we’d often have them playing in the background when I was home from school.”

“I have another confession: I’ve never seen Mamma Mia, Not the musical, not even the film. I know, right? I’ve had almost ten years, and there’s even a sequel, which I haven’t seen either.”

Mark took her hand and walked to the window, asking for two tickets to the 3.00 matinee. She was astounded. He continued to amaze her in ways that warmed her heart. Once they had taken their seats, she told him, “Mark, I thought the pedicure was the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me until this!” His pleased look told her how much he enjoyed catching her off guard, surprising her with actions that were so easy to do, even if it took him getting out of his comfort zone a bit.

Whispering into her ear so the other patrons couldn’t hear, he teased, “I thought you said what I did last night was the nicest thing I’d ever done for you.”

“Ooh! Forgot that. Yes, I stand corrected. Outside of the bedroom, this is the nicest thing. Having sat through a startlingly cringeworthy performance of Preacher Man – a musical based on the songs of Dusty Springfield, whose songs I am only passingly familiar with on account of being a bit young – I decided that musicals based around the songs of artists weren’t for me. Don’t get me wrong, the actors were fine – there was even someone from the X-Factor in the cast, I think - but Tom and I agreed that we could have come up with a far better and definitely less awkward storyline to narrate the songs together after spending an evening down at The Globe and stumbling home legless. And so, even with the promise of Pierce Brosnan singing to tempt us, we figured we’d give it a wide berth in case it destroyed everything we knew and loved about ABBA. Did you know they’re part of the reason Tom started singing in the first place?”

“I always wondered what started him on his musical journey. Too bad he wasn’t as prolific as ABBA.”

She laughed at his observation, saying, “Yes, Tom’s certainly rode his one hit as far as he could.”

The lights dimmed, conversations hushed, and all eyes turned expectantly towards the stage. Bridget whispered, “We shouldn't take this seriously; it’s been one of the longest-running shows in London, and there must be a reason. Let’s just have a good time!”

The atmosphere was taken to heights that seemed ridiculous without a deep love for Abba (and maybe a few glasses of alcohol, of which Mark had only had one beer). The entr’acte featured a light show that felt more stadium rock than musical theatre, and the curtain call lasted for three full songs, causing the audience to finally have the opportunity to sing and dance without restriction, including their neighbours on both sides. “Beware flailing hands,” shouted Bridget over the loud music as Mark had to duck to avoid being banged in the head by the man in front of them.

The ambiance wasn’t just a feature of the show; it was the point. The production, made for a London audience, was workmanlike, though clearly effective. The music was a connection to the past and a reason for audience members to forget their self-consciousness and sing along. It was service theatre, not letting the plot get in the way of remembering a lost love, dreamy ex-lovers, and laughing with friends until the wee hours.

They both had grins when they exited the theatre because the show was just plain fun. Mark commented to her as they walked the short distance to the Tube stop, “The music was brilliant, and it was all I could do not to sing along as I’m not sure that would have been appreciated. If I was being nit picky, I did think Donna’s former boyfriend Harry seemed a little stiff, and it’s very possible groom-to-be Sky had been picked more for his body than his acting, but the other cast members more than made up for this; Donna in particular was fantastic both at acting and singing.”

“The choreography for the full-cast numbers was exciting, and the encore had everybody in the theatre up and dancing in the aisles. Including you, Mark. So don’t try to act like you didn’t join in! I’ll have to let your mother know just how much you enjoyed the music of her favourite group.”

They discussed the show the entire ride home, including the short walk to their house, laughing as they recalled how the loose plot tied the songs in, sometimes not making much sense at all. As they entered through the front door together, Mark added, “It’s like listening to your old records or your parents’ music in the car. It reminds me of Eurovision parties, confetti, and wedding reception dance floors.”

“It wasn’t perfect. But it was a fun way to remember all the songs that shaped my musical memories and gave me a vocabulary for nights out, first love and even heartbreak,” Bridget said.

Chapter Text

Their Saturday began by waking up late. Late for Mark, but too early for Bridget’s liking on a weekend. Over coffee and croissants (Rosario had brought four on Friday), they made a list of items they’d need from Sainsbury’s for Mark to cook dinner, using the recipe as a guide. Before leaving, they did a little light cleaning and straightening for their evening guests. Light because Rosario had just cleaned the day prior. Although Mark had found himself putting away quite a few items that Bridget had lying about in the short time since she’d been there: magazines, several pairs of shoes, hair bands, her laptop, some mail that she’d opened but then set to the side, never getting back to. He didn’t chastise her; he just gathered the items and put them in their bedroom, on her side of the bed. When she found them, she gave him a look whilst he was brushing his teeth in the loo. He caught her eye in the mirror's reflection, trying to hide his smile at her irritation. They’d lived together in the past, and he certainly wasn’t unaware of her propensity for untidiness. It drove him mad, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d much rather tidy up after her than be with anyone else.

Once downstairs, he asked, “Are you ready to go?” while grabbing his jacket and walking towards the front door.

She just looked at him, more of a scowl, really, not answering, with a less than pleasant expression on her face.

“Bridget,” he exhaled in annoyance. She usually feigned illness or some other woe to get out of doing the shopping, but he knew she was perfectly well this morning. And, after all, he was doing the bulk of the work for the evening’s festivities.

“Okay. If I must,” Bridget replied, sighing. There was nothing she disliked more than grocery shopping. But since he was preparing the food, she felt it her civic duty to accompany him, even if under protest.

Once they were in the car and on their way, she asked, “Can we have lunch out after? I could murder for pizza. The new place by us is open for lunch on weekends. You said we could try it this week.” Her pleading look got him to smile again.

“After we take the groceries home. Let’s get our work done first.” He seemed slightly preoccupied, so she asked him outright, “Mark, is something bothering you? You seem a little... I don’t know, distracted... less relaxed than earlier this week.”

“I’m sorry. My mind’s now trying to get ready to go back to work. I briefly checked my email, and... well, needless to say, we’ve got our hands full with three journalists detained in Egypt. One in particular has an illness and, add to that a recent injury that requires immediate medical help. Christian is the lead, but I’m afraid I may have to do more than help him, as the stakes are very high now.” He turned to look at her when they stopped at the traffic signal.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were in the middle of such a dire case. You certainly hid it well the entire week. And thank you for that,” she reached for his free hand and held it, smiling understandingly at him.

“It’s actually just come up in the last few days. Our firm wasn’t involved until one of the journalist’s health deteriorated rather quickly and his current counsel felt the need to include us. I didn’t know the circumstances until right before our wedding, other than what I’d heard in the news. Christian was giving me a heads up on the situation so I wouldn’t be surprised on Monday, per Kate’s direction.”  Kate was the manager who reported to Mark and to whom Christian worked for. He squeezed her hand where she held his, “We’ve still got two days left of honeymoon, and he assures me that there’s nothing to be done now. I may put together a statement for the press tomorrow to have ready on Monday, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

Once they arrived at the supermarket, he grabbed a trolley, she grabbed a sale flyer, and they began their shopping in the produce section. Mark was very organised and pulled a list out of his trouser pocket. Looking over to see how many items they were shopping for, she snatched it from him, asking why the grocery items were grouped into particular sections, but not in any semblance she could determine.

“They’re categorised in order of the aisles. That way, I’m efficient and don’t miss anything.”

Handing his list back, her slightly exasperated look said that she thought him totally bonkers. Walking beside the trolley while he pushed, her head buried in the flyer, she suddenly exclaimed, “A free five-pack of jam doughnuts and right underneath they’re giving a complimentary type 2 diabetes check at the pharmacy. Now that’s truth in advertising!” Bridget held up the page in front of him, causing him to laugh with her.

After picking out several items that he needed for the French Creole dish he was making, they rounded the corner to find an entire section of empty shelves with a sign that read:

CUSTOMER NOTICE - Due to technical difficulties, we have no bananas. Sorry for any inconvenience. 

In complete seriousness, Mark commented, “I dread to think how they produce bananas if the lack of them is caused by technical difficulties.” Bridget giggled, relieved to see that he seemed to have put his work aside and was relaxed once more.

While he was picking out the green peppers, celery and onions needed for the dish, she returned to the cart with a tray of tangerines. Showing it to him, he read the label stuck to the top, “Broccoli - small but mighty, a great healthy snack.”  Stating the obvious, he said, “Bridget, that’s not broccoli, it’s tangerines.”

“ Right? ” she exclaimed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were in Asda, not posh Sainsbury’s.” A nearby shopper overheard the comment, laughing at her observation. Spotting something behind him, she asked, “Would you like some grapes to have around the house? They tend to keep me from reaching for the crisps so often.” Walking to the display, she read the sign standing in the middle of the arrangement, which stated:

Grapes: Please wrap your grapes in an additional bag. Grapes on the floor can cause accidents.

She grabbed two plastic bags, put one inside the other, and filled them with a large bunch of red fruit.

At his questioning look at her bagging method, Bridget pointed to the sign and said, “Mark, grapes kill! #grapesofwrath.”

At this point he rolled his eyes, trying not to grin too much at her comment. So far, having her accompany him while shopping was undoubtedly more fun than going alone. And they weren’t out of the produce section yet.

“I’m glad I chose to make such a light, healthy dish,” he said sarcastically. “I hope no one’s on a diet.” He said this after he had chosen chicken thighs, andouille sausage, bacon, shrimp and minced pork sausage from the meat department, throwing them all in the cart. Even the butcher asked what he was making before he saw the andouille and correctly guessed jambalaya. While he and Mark talked for several minutes, Bridget wandered over to the spice section, grabbing the thyme, bay leaves and smoked paprika from his list. The packaging of the items seemed to be for a small child as the first letter of each spice was giant, taking up the entire label. Turning to see Mark was still deep in discussion (how long could two men go on about jambalaya), she couldn’t help herself and rearranged several of the bottles to spell out “S-H-I-T-E”, beginning with Saffron and ending with Everything Bagel Blend. Smiling at her creation, she jumped when Mark cleared his throat behind her. “Bridget! What in arse are you up to now?”

Feigning innocence, she quickly walked away, trying to keep him from looking at what she’d done. Unfortunately, he had already observed the word. After she stepped away, he rearranged the bottles so that the word was now “S-H-A-G.” He had swapped the I and T out for All Spice and Ground Red Pepper and moved the E to another shelf. “Mark, you’re incorrigible!” Standing on tip toes, she walked up to him and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “And I love you even more for playing along.” His smug look of satisfaction was not missed as she returned to the shopping trolley and proceeded to the next aisle.

The section they now found themselves in was cleaning supplies. At least as far as Mark could tell. It seemed more of a mish-mosh, though. The descriptive sign for the aisle read “Feminine Care”. Directly below it was “Carpet Cleaner.” Bridget had her head down, so she was surprised when he began to laugh, causing her to glance at him in puzzlement. Until she looked up at where his eyes were focused, her face registering surprise as she read the placards, looking at him until he couldn’t hold his face straight any longer. “You’re the one that has my mind going in this direction. If you hadn’t started with the spices, I wouldn’t have blinked an eye.”

“You’re demented!” She grinned while saying it, not trying to hide her amusement. They rounded the next corner, going through the aisle of cleaning supplies, when she read the end cap, “A Night In, For Less.” The four shelves under the sign were full of spray bottles of cleaners and disinfectants. “Oh, my lord. I have to speak to the manager of this store. God help his wife if this is his idea of ‘a night in’.”

Playing along and just to be contrary, Mark rebutted her statement with a laugh, “How do you know the manager’s male? Maybe she’s female and likes to clean.”

“Right. And I expect you’d find her extremely sexy, then? You’re a clean freak.”

“And yet, I love you with all my heart,” he said, kissing her quickly. “Come on, we have to concentrate. There are still a few items left, and if you want lunch out, we need to stop faffing about it.”

They made it through the next several aisles without incident, picking up crushed tomatoes, rice and chicken stock in quick order. Heading to the bakery for a loaf of French bread and passing by the health section, they both read the product label and simultaneously saw the massive Durex display in the Advanced Nutrition section. “Well, that’s excellent product placement, Sainsbury’s. When Durex are clearly an important part of an athlete’s diet.”

“PSA - do not eat condoms,” added Mark. “I wonder if they stock your dolphin-friendly type?”

At his comments, she gave an admiring look, loving that he was joining in, thus making the tedious chore of shopping a little more enjoyable.  

Stopping in the aisle while he was busy perusing razor blades, Bridget told him, “I’ll be right back. I may need something sweet for the back-to-work week.”

After picking up her treat, she found him waiting near check-out, “And? What did you settle on?” he asked.

Holding out a small, wrapped package from the bakery, she didn’t say a word, just watched as he read the description, “‘Welsh Lady Ass Fudge. £1.99.’  Bridget, you can’t find all these on your own. Do I need to ask what ‘ass fudge’ is? Do I even want to know?”

“You have such a vulgar mind, Mark. It’s short for assorted because the package has different types of fudge. What would your mother say?” She maintained her solemn demeanour for as long as it took him to look genuinely distressed by her answer, honestly thinking that his mother would bollocks him for being rude to his wife. When the smile fell from his face, she felt contrite for teasing him so much and bringing her mother-in-law, whom she loved dearly, into the conversation. He turned away to enter the checkout line, so she pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Mark, I’m sorry for winding you up. I thought you’d know I was joking.” When he turned back to face her, his face was slightly flushed from holding his laughter, and a smile played at his mouth. “You... you’re laughing at me! I thought I’d offended you with that remark about your mum. Ooh, wait til I get you back. And when you least expect!” She immediately thought of the video and photos she’d taken during his pedi and smiled wickedly, causing him to wonder what was up her sleeve.

Unloading the last of their items onto the belt, they stood and waited while the shopper in front of them finished her transaction. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, reading from the sign staring them in the face, “I’m so glad that Sainsbury’s is helping us ‘make healthy little changes’ by only offering Dentastix, Rodeo and Jumbones for their sweet-free checkout.”

“Lucky you brought your wife and left your dog home. I feel slightly cheated that I only got fudge. Fido has much better choices.”

Once they’d paid for the food and while loading it into the boot of the car, as she handed him the last bag, he told her, “Thank you for coming with me. I’ve honestly not had that much fun grocery shopping ever. You realise, though, that I’ll never be persuaded to go solo again? You’re now an indispensable part of my shopping experience.”

In the car, Mark turned the ignition on just as Bridget leant over, kissed his cheek, and, with all seriousness, told him, “I actually had fun and look forward to many more years of grocery shopping with you, especially with our baby.”

Since there was still considerable prep work for eight dinner guests, he suggested she ring for pizza on her mobile, and they picked it up on their way home. That would give him more leeway to prep the time-consuming dish, clean up, and get salads ready.

“I’ll make the salads. I can do that part. And I can do the washing up as you cook. That way, there won’t be a big mess to clean when you’re done.”

At that moment he could only think of the absolute disaster the kitchen was after she’d made pancakes. Hopefully, making salads wouldn’t compare to actually preparing and cooking a meal, nor would it need hoovering once it was done.

———

With their friends around the dining table in their new home, Mark’s lovely dish served, and wine poured after everyone had enjoyed her salad, Bridget couldn’t help but reminisce about past dinners with these same people: confidants, workmates and uni mates of both of them.

Lifting her glass in a toast, she told them sincerely, “Thank you all for being such true friends. We loved the dinners you made for us. Even though I guessed every one incorrectly, and Mark had them all right. Seems like he knows you better than I do.” She turned to her oldest friend from uni. “Magda, for being here for our furniture so we could enjoy our time together and not spend it waiting on a delivery. And mostly, thank you all for letting us back in as a couple, with no questions asked, for knowing our love for each other is incessant.” She looked at Mark with moist eyes, reaching over for his hand as she did so. “For forgiving us for any hurt we may have caused the other. We shall always be grateful to you.” 

Jude led the group in response, “We wouldn’t have it any other way, and we’ve all been rooting for you since you first met. It was so plain to see the love you had... have for one another.”

Tom added, with not a little emotion in his voice, “You two aren’t the 'perfect couple'”, Bridget’s eyes flew wide, and she cocked her head as if to say, ‘What the fuck?’, until he finished, “You’re an imperfect couple that’s finally learnt to enjoy their differences.”

Mark surprised them all, but none more than his wife. He looked at her reverently, holding her gaze, before saying, “We try our hardest to make it great each day. We both put the other first and value all the small things we do for one another. She does laundry because she knows I detest it. And I make dinner every night because, well, I'm just better at it.”

“If you cook like this nightly, I’m coming back tomorrow,” added Jeremy. “What are we having for Sunday lunch, and what time do you want Magda and I?”

After much laughter and clinking of glasses, the conversation turned to work-related discussions, children, and mums.

Jeremy, maybe due to the third glass of delicious French wine, said, “During my first year of law school, a divorce lawyer told us about a well-to-do couple that spent months and months and tens of thousands of pounds fighting over every single thing, all the way down to a single ceramic ashtray. Even after they'd decided on everything else, they spent an additional £100,000 fighting over this ashtray... After a court hearing, the wife finally won the ashtray, and she promptly strode out to the white courthouse steps and smashed it, leaving the pieces for the husband to see on his way out."

“That’s nothing,” exclaimed Fergus, slightly pissed too. “My aunt left my uncle a note. It was written on the brown paper wrapping of a pork roast, and it read, 'I’m leaving you for Deb.' My uncle wasn’t sure what to be more confused about: that she divorced him via pork steak missive or that she was a lesbian." Shazzer made an apologetic face to the group, although she laughed the loudest of all. Whenever she heard the story of her husband’s poor uncle, which happened to be about as often as Fergus had too much to drink, she found herself unable to hide her amusement.

The conversations turned more intimate as the women cleared the table and helped move all the dishes to the kitchen.

Mark, Jeremy, Fergus, Tom and Eduardo moved to the lounge. Magda brought them more wine (for Jeremy and Eduardo), Bailey’s over ice for Mark and Fergus and Kahlua and cream for Tom.

Mark was discussing a recent situation involving his team with Jeremy. “The refugee was on a bus to Mosul, and ISIS shot the two bus drivers, saying, ‘Anybody who wants to go to college, we will shoot them.' He survived and came to England. He got through all the checks, and we collectively thought, ‘Listen, we have your back. Do you want to get an education and move your life forward? This is something we can do.’ He is currently attending college in London. He works full time to support his day-to-day living needs, and the team agreed to pay his university costs.” Bridget brought him another Bailey’s, sitting on her husband’s knee and kissing him when she heard him tell the story of Baher. This man had become a family friend since moving to the U.K. She was very proud of Mark and his team’s involvement in helping him survive a situation that most people couldn’t comprehend and support his pursuit of an education. When Mark first told her of Behar’s story, she remembered breaking down and crying, feeling so terrible for what he had endured in his home country and the friends and family he’d lost.

Mark’s revelation touched Tom and Eduardo very much. Eduardo had dealt with similar circumstances while growing up in El Salvador. The son he and Tom adopted had come from a gang-ravaged Central American country. So, seeing the help others were willing to give touched them both.

Jeremy spoke about the case in which Mark and Christian were involved. “Three Al Jazeera journalists, Wadah Khanfar, Josh Fisher, an Australian National, and Ayman Ragah, are behind bars in a court in Cairo, arrested more than 300 days ago and sentenced in December to seven years in prison for aiding terrorists, doctoring footage and conspiring against the Egyptian State. All three have maintained their innocence and argue that their imprisonment is part of a larger, ongoing feud between the Egyptian government and Qatar, which backs the Al Jazeera network.”

“Mark, what can you do that his current counsel hasn’t? Will it make a difference at this point?” asked Bridget, sliding down next to him on the oversized chair they were in and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“We’ll call on the Egyptian government to release Khanfar and call the trial against him fundamentally unfair and his imprisonment a travesty of justice.”

“Mark’s no stranger to the Egyptian judiciary, having published a report citing the flaws in Egypt's legal system last year,” said Jeremy, proud of his co-worker’s efforts covering such a high-profile and consequential petition.

“Khanfar’s friends and family have previously complained about the lawyers hired by Al Jazeera to represent him and that Al Jazeera executives have been unhelpful and have caused damage to the case. So, it seems we have an uphill battle. Christian and I will meet with Maurice and Kate early Monday to discuss strategy,” Mark said.

Magda felt Bridget and Mark could use a subject change on the last Saturday night of their time off. “Now, let’s speak of decidedly more upbeat topics, like how any woman with a child eventually turns into their mum. Bridget, Mark, I’m warning you now.” She looked at Mark with a glint, “I hope you like Pam. Your wife will soon start acting like your mother-in-law, which won’t be her fault. Children do that to the best of us.” Mark’s look of dismay caused Bridget to giggle, telling him, “If it’s any consolation, I take after my father in every way. And I thank my lucky stars every time I’m home to visit.”

“You and me both,” came out of Mark’s mouth before he could censor it. Bridget leant back to look at him properly, a crestfallen expression on her face. All four couples stared at them, wondering what would come next. Mark had never spoken ill of either of his in-laws in all the years he’d known them, even though Bridget’s mum had undoubtedly earned her share of his chagrin. His mother had brought him up too well to allow that to happen.

Mark felt terrible that he had let slip that he had anything but the utmost love and respect for both her parents. He had joked about her mum before, but that was only in private, not in front of friends.

“Mark,” she said quietly but with a wicked grin. “Do you remember when I said I’d get you back this afternoon?”

Smiling at her, he now knew what she had up her sleeve. He was honestly surprised she hadn’t brought it up earlier. Feeling he should take his medicine like a grown-up, he retrieved her mobile from the table where she’d left it. Handing it to her, he turned to the group and confessed, before she could beat him to it, “Jeremy, Fergus, Tom, Eduardo,” his face was slightly flushed with embarrassment, “Girls,” he turned to look at Jude, Magda and Sharon, “I had my first pedi yesterday.” At this point, he was trying hard to stop himself from laughing as he watched Bridget grinning like a Cheshire Cat, going through her photos frantically, trying to pull up the shots she’d taken while the nail technician worked on him and his feet. When she passed her phone around, going into details on each shot, their friends couldn’t stop laughing at the expressions on Mark’s face, from intense pain to absolute pleasure. However, no one laughed harder than Jeremy until Magda reminded him of his monthly pedicure appointments and how much he extolled their virtues.

“Jeremy, knowing how highly you endorse them is why I decided to try it out. Between you and Giles at work, you almost shamed me into one. With that and my mother constantly in my ear, I felt it was time to give in. Oh, and Bridget asked very nicely,” he said, then pulled her close to him. “Wait until Bedfordshire, darling. Need I remind you how extremely ticklish you are?”

Before she could answer him, Tom said, “Mark, welcome to the brotherhood. Eduardo and I go every few weeks.”

When Jude’s husband Giles and then Fergus admitted to going regularly, Mark confessed that he immensely enjoyed the ritual and would definitely go again.

When their guests finally left, very late, as it was after midnight, and they had finished putting the dishes away, Bridget tried to think of a way to stop Mark from tickling her once they went upstairs. She could only think of one thing, and that was to sidetrack him so that he wouldn’t want to.

After she’d brushed her teeth and washed up, she put on her sexiest negligee and joined him in bed. He had been reading and put his book aside when she crawled in beside him. “Would you like me to put my glasses back on?” he asked very seriously after he had set them on top of his book.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as she thought. She nodded yes, watching Mark pick the glasses up and place the spectacles on his face. She moved over on top of him, pulling the skimpy nightgown over her head to toss it aside. Leaning over, she kissed him soundly, feeling herself become aroused almost immediately. His right hand's fingers went under her arm, moving lightly and causing her to giggle. “Mark!” she reprimanded, figuring out what he was up to when his other hand started tickling her waist, making her scream in a fit of laughter, yelling, “Stop IT NOW!” but he could barely understand her following words as he continued to move both hands over her sensitive spots, causing peals of laughter to emanate as she tried in vain to escape the hands that held her tight. Laughing so hard she found it difficult to breathe; she begged him to please stop, tears coming from her eyes. He stopped as suddenly as he’d begun, leaving her trying to catch her breath, still laughing even though he wasn’t touching her anymore. Just the thought of his hands made her start all over again.

“Bridget?”

“Yes?” she answered, finally taking in air close to normal again.

Leaning over, he kissed her, running his hands down her sides again. Only this time, she had no inclination whatsoever to laugh.

Chapter Text

Mark woke at six on Sunday morning, unable to relax or fall asleep after using the loo. His mind wouldn’t settle until he had written the gist of the firm’s statement on Khanfar. Walking quickly to his office downstairs, he sat at his desk to pen a missive, capturing his thoughts on paper. Maybe if he accomplished this, he could join Bridget and enjoy the last of their time off.

Writing furiously, his mind in full gear, he finished within the hour. After carefully editing his work, he completed the statement. He would ask Maurice, Kate, and Christian for feedback to ensure he had their full support and agreement. From his experience with these cases, he knew that Kate and Christian would have to leave immediately for Cairo to have any hope of advocating for their client in the expeditious manner required. 

PRESS STATEMENT

10 FEBRUARY 2017

Today marks 310 days in detention for Al Jazeera journalists Wadah Khanfar, Josh Fisher and Ayman Ragah. Mr. Khanfar’s trial was elementally unjust, and his incarceration a travesty of justice. It also happens that today, in Geneva, Egypt’s human rights record is being reviewed.

The accusations against Mr. Khanfar centre on allegations he is a member of the Government banned Muslim Brotherhood. However, Mr. Khanfar marched in the 30 June revolution that led to President Morsi’s removal and put the current President in control. He also criticised Morsi’s regime during his questioning by authorities about his political stance. During his trial, there was no evidence that Mr. Khanfar was affiliated with the Morsi regime or the Muslim Brotherhood. He is now serving a seven-year term for reporting the news, essentially for doing his job as a journalist.

The absurdity of the case has been recognised both within Egypt and outside its borders. The Secretary General of the United Nations has denounced the verdicts. At the time of the trial, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights deduced that the prosecution was “rife with procedural irregularities in breach of international human rights law.” She has urged Egyptian authorities to immediately release all journalists imprisoned for legitimate news coverage, including Mr. Khanfar. Current Egyptian President Sisi has himself expressed regret about the damaging consequences of the trial for Egypt.

Egypt’s highest court now has the opportunity to set the record straight and release Mr. Khanfar. Along with his Egyptian lawyer, Mohamed Abadi, we are barristers representing him in the case. We recently petitioned the Egyptian Court of Cassation on international human rights law to support the appeal previously filed by Mr. Abadi. In the past, the Court overturned the decisions of lower courts' influential cases that protected individuals' key rights. It can do so again upon review of this appeal.

During this tedious process, Mr. Khanfar’s health has deteriorated due to his detention. He suffers from Hepatitis C, a disease of the liver that can prove fatal and requires special medication and care, which he is not privy to while incarcerated. He has also suffered a permanent disability to his left shoulder, which has worsened during his detention. Any hope of recovery will require a gruelling series of correctional bone surgeries, including physical therapy, both of which are not available while imprisoned. Under Egypt’s Code of Criminal Procedure, the prosecutor can grant compassionate release on health grounds. Mr. Khanfar awaits this decision.

Our client, Mr. Khanfar, has not committed a crime. Al Jazeera English, his employer, should take steps to facilitate his bid for freedom and refrain from activity that could undermine his cause. The Supreme Court of Egypt should overturn his conviction and release him upon review of the appeal. In the meantime, due to the aforementioned circumstances regarding Mr. Khanfar’s health, authorities should grant him a temporary release to receive the medical treatment he so urgently requires.

Mark Darcy

Christian Gardner

Counsel for Wadah Khanfar

END OF STATEMENT

Mark heard his wife enter the office and sleepily ask, “How long have you been up?”

Standing up, he replied, “About an hour. Did I wake you, love?”

Shaking her head, she saw the paper he was holding and asked if she could read it.

“Yes, I was just bringing it up to you. I thought if I could take care of this early, we could enjoy our last day of honeymoon together.”

After finishing the letter, Bridget faced him with tears in her eyes.

“You have to go if you can help save this man’s life.”

Pulling her to him, he hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair. “I’m afraid to go,” he said emotionally.

Scared by his admission, she pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “Why? You’ve never been afraid.”

“I’m terrified to contemplate what would become of you and our child if something occurred, if I didn’t come home; what would happen if I couldn’t be here to watch them grow? I can’t lose you again. You’ve said my constant travel to foreign countries was too much for our relationship. I’ve taken that out of the equation. My priority is you, our family.” He was almost pleading for her to understand and know it wasn’t something he took lightly, that he genuinely put her above all else.

“Mark, you have to go. I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t. If you had the chance to be the difference in his freedom, but...” She stopped, too overcome to continue. Of course she didn’t want him to travel to Cairo. But he had kept every promise he’d made her about his work and home life. She didn’t feel that because he went now he would fall back into the same pattern of choosing work over her, over them. She completely trusted his intentions.

“Maurice doesn’t expect me to travel. Kate will go with Christian. There’s—”

She cut him off firmly, “Tell Maurice we’ve discussed it. We made the choice together. Mark, please don’t make me regret this decision. I trust you. I know I’m, we’re your priority. But a person’s life is at stake. Do you think he’d have a better chance of being released if you went?”

He didn’t answer and instead sat down on the small sofa. Bridget walked over, stood between his legs, and wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders. “Would he have a better chance of being freed if you went?” she asked again.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “I’m the most experienced barrister in Chambers with this type of case.”

“You’re the best barrister in Chambers with this type of case,” she said in a supportive voice.

Chapter Text

Bridget and Mark spent the balance of their Sunday relaxing, getting ready for the work week and watching films, although they couldn’t seem to agree on one they both liked. He wanted to watch a documentary on The French Revolution that he’d recently seen an advertisement for, while she wanted an old rom-com. “Bridget, you’ve seen that film at least five times,” he laughed after they watched his show and queued hers next. She let it be known she only watched his so he would reciprocate and watch the one of her choosing, but she had still fallen asleep halfway through the documentary, leaning against his shoulder, breathing softly.

While her show was on, she held him tighter than usual; at least, it felt that way. He wouldn’t be speaking to Maurice, Kate, and Christian until tomorrow, but after lunch, he emailed them the press release he’d completed so they could review it and provide input. When Maurice responded a short time later, he thought a trip to Cairo would be forthcoming, if not on Monday, then by Tuesday. Responding to him only, Mark suggested he be the one to accompany Christian, or he and Kate go due to their tenure. Mark’s mobile immediately rang. Picking it up, Bridget immediately handed it to him.

“Maurice, good afternoon. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday with an email—”

She couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation but gleaned most of what Maurice said from Mark’s responses.

“Thank you. I’m glad it’s to your liking. I want to get Christian and Kate’s feedback and we can release it to the media immediately.”

Mark was silent for a few minutes, obviously listening to Maurice, before he said, “I appreciate that, but we’ve discussed it, and both feel I should go in person. It’s the first trip I’ll have done in at least nine months, and Bridget’s the one who suggested it. She said I can’t make a habit of it,” he squeezed her hand, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

After several more minutes of discussion, Mark rang off, laying his phone on the side table as she looked at him expectantly. “Maurice sends his regards. He had no thought of my travelling but agreed my presence would certainly send a message to the Egyptian government. He thinks we should give it twenty-four hours after the release, and if there isn’t immediate action, then request an in-person meeting with President Sisi. Whether we’d get one remains to be seen, but it sends a clear message that we’re moving quickly and publicly.”

Later, on the last evening of their honeymoon week, they enjoyed a quiet dinner at home. After watching the evening news, Mark began organising his clothes for the anticipated trip. He wasn’t sure whether he’d need to travel but thought he best be prepared for all contingencies. Bridget lay on the bed, watching and keeping him company.

“You do realise there are two types of people in this world?” she asked.

“Pardon?” he replied, not understanding her comment.

“Yes, those that pack a week before their trip and those that wake up the day of and realise they need to do laundry and pack with their clothes still damp. And they always marry each other. You’re usually the first type, but I’m unsure this time. And, of course, I’m the latter. By the way, I’m surprised you said I do the laundry because you hate to. I only do it when you’ve left it over a week. Otherwise, you do a brilliant job.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he laughed. “If I had known more than a day or two out, I would have packed sooner. I’m definitely out of practice, not having travelled in some months. Also, I leave the laundry so long because I hate it.” He joined her on the bed, sitting next to where she lay. “Assuming I’ll be travelling in the next day or so, I’ll miss you terribly. Will you care for yourself and the baby, eat only healthy meals and go to bed at a decent hour?”

It wasn’t what he asked, but how. His voice was emotional, which for Mark was akin to shedding tears. This trip would be as difficult for him as it was for her. He’d only be gone a few days at most. To her, though, it felt different than his previous travel. He’d been gone so often for his work in the past she thought she had an entirely separate life, a different support system of friends back then. But this time, it was the two of them, soon to be three. She’d never felt closer to him than these last few months and, indeed, this last week, a week they’d spent entirely together. She still had her friends, their friends really, and both her parents and his, but with their recent marriage and a baby on the way, it was the most fulfilled and content she’d felt in her life. Mark had echoed the same feelings to her this last week while lying in bed after making love, when he held her tight, or upon waking in the morning, pulling her close as he told her how much he adored her, was looking forward to their baby and the new chapter it would bring to their lives. Even after a week of non-stop time spent together, Bridget would never tire of hearing him say this to her, showing her in so many ways what she meant to him, nor had she become bored of the passion and intimacy they now shared.

————

Returning home from work on Monday evening, Mark arrived before Bridget. Quickly changing out of his suit, he greeted her at the door with a sombre look, kissing her cheek and helping her carry in some bags, setting them on the kitchen island. Turning to face her, he said, “The Egyptian government hasn’t responded satisfactorily. Unless something changes, we’ll make the final call tomorrow morning and leave in the afternoon. Maurice left me to decide who would be joining the trip. Due to the danger of travel to Egypt and a heightened threat of terrorist attacks globally against UK interests and British nationals, we agreed Kate would be safer to stay in London. She wasn’t exactly happy about it but certainly understood our concerns.”

Bridget knew that Egypt was under a travel advisory. That afternoon, from the studio, she had Googled recent events in Cairo, finding that the Foreign & Commonwealth Office (FCO) advised against all but essential international travel for the whole of Egypt.

“Mark, will you both be safe?”

Hearing the fear in her voice, he reassured, “There hasn’t been an incident in Cairo in over six months. Most attacks affect Egyptian security forces, religious sites, large public gatherings, and places visited by foreigners or centres around religious festivals, such as Ramadan and Christmas. I’m avoiding all of these, and we’ll be in and out in three to four days.” When he finished, she wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne, of him, indescribable and distinct, wanting it consigned to memory until he returned from this trip.

Hugging her back, he said, “Whether or not you subscribe to your friend Salman Rushdie’s dictum that the way to defeat terrorism is not to be terrorised, I won’t feel whole or safe again until I’m back here with you.” 

“Well, that certainly sounds like sage advice, especially from a man who had a fatwa put on him by the ayatollah, and until you’re home with us, I’ll remain fearful, too.” She included the baby by saying ‘us,’ knowing he felt he was leaving them both.

After they’d eaten dinner, he completed his packing and laid out his suit for the next day. They decided to make an early night of it, with both of them working tomorrow and assuming he would leave for Cairo directly from Chambers. Once they were in bed, Bridget wrapped her body around his. Since she felt he was needed for this case and believed his expertise in these situations would be invaluable to secure the release of Mr. Khanfar, she didn’t second guess their decision. But now that this was their last time in the same bed for several nights, she was suddenly melancholy. He’d been on many trips just like this one, to much more dangerous locations, and had been unscathed. Was she worrying for nothing? Was it due to hormones, to being pregnant with their first child? Bridget wasn’t sure what was driving her pensive feelings but was determined not to have him catch on, to know that she was worried for his safety. Especially after he had confessed the same to her about travelling again.

“Mark?” she asked quietly.

“Hmm?” He, too, was unsettled by this trip. There had been a time when leaving her for a week or more didn’t phase him; his work always eclipsed the rest of his life, at least in time spent, if not in his heart. But now, as much as he felt his job necessary, that he was needed in his capacity as a human rights barrister to free a man wrongly accused, he was torn at leaving his pregnant wife.

He held her tight, burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck. He never wanted to let go of her or move from this bed, feeling that he would want for nothing if he could only stay here with her in his arms.

Bridget moved back to meet his gaze. She had tears in her eyes and wasn’t sure why. She told herself that this was what she had asked: for him to do the job he had gone to university for, trained for, excelled at, and spent his lifetime dedicated to.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I’ll miss you,” she answered truthfully. To cover her anxiety, she continued, “I’m sad our week together is over, that I won’t have you all to myself again until our week in Paris.” At his surprised look, she smiled, “Daniel and Steven both acted half-arsed when I brought up the need for another week off for Paris in April. But then they started offering their advice for what we absolutely couldn’t miss and, specifically from Daniel, which restaurants and bars we must try. When I reminded him I won’t be drinking, he asked if we’d considered rescheduling until after the baby’s born.”

Smiling at his old mate’s not-unexpected advice, he told her, “Je t’aime, ma femme.”

“Mark, I have no idea what you just said, but please continue. You’re so sexy when speaking French. I got the ‘I love you’ part, but I'm unsure what you called me.”

“My wife,” he responded, pleased she was smiling again, taking her mind off his departure. He continued, “Je veux faire l’amour avec toi, mon chou,” he smiled as he finished. “Tu es belle.”

She was now on top of him, kissing his face and neck while he continued translating, “I said, ‘I want to make love to you, my sweet.’” He turned them gently so that he was now on top. “And ‘you’re beautiful.’” He said this last while looking down, then kissed her. Very thoroughly and slowly. Pulling away, he moved his mouth down, tongue on her neck, trailing lower. Bridget ran her fingers through his hair as his mouth continued to tease. After a moment, his kisses moved lower, swirling circles in her bellybutton, causing her to moan. “Fais-moi l’amour.”

“What was that?” Mark asked, stopping momentarily, sure he’d misheard her.

She’d been studying French using a podcast on her commute and her iPad but had wanted to surprise him in Paris. Of course, she had started her lessons with phrases she thought might be helpful, like ‘Make love to me’. It only seemed appropriate, considering they would be on honeymoon in the most romantic city in the world. If she weren’t pregnant, her priority would have been how to order a glass of wine, but that was currently off the table.

He recalled that she’d complained over the years of her less than stellar marks in French class at uni, so to say she surprised him with her phrase was an understatement. Laughing, he told her, “In a moment, mon amour.” At that point, he began kissing her stomach as he continued to move lower, sweeping his tongue in and out, maddeningly slow, driving her frantic with desire, until she finally stuttered, “Mon Dieu, Mark! Je vous en prie!”

She didn’t beg often, but he loved when he could make her do so. With a final tease, he retraced his steps, moving slowly up, stopping again at her belly button. Her breathing was now ragged, and when he lightly nipped her nipple, she felt a jolt of electricity run through her. She had run out of memorised phrases, except for a last one.

Now face to face with his weight on his elbows, he said, “You know you have beautiful eyes?”

“Tell me in French,” she requested of him. At his look, she added quickly, “S'il te plaît.”

“Tu as de beaux yeux.”

Hoping she had the accent and pronunciation right, she said, “Je t'adore et t’aime de tout mon couer.” She said it slowly, so every word was correct.

“I adore and love you with all my heart,” he repeated.

She had shut her eyes at the feel of him over her, opening them when she reached up to touch his face, overcome with emotion. Pulling him down into a kiss, she felt his hand on her leg, moving up her thigh, caressing and stroking, causing her to catch her breath as she broke their kiss, throwing her head back, crying out his name. His hand moved aside so he could join her, causing him to moan as he drove forward fervently. Running her hands down his back, she pulled him into her, caressing him with her fingers. For each thrust, she met him with her own, moving upward until she felt she couldn’t hold back. Briefly, it flitted through her mind to hide her climax so he would continue with his movements, continue to make her feel as she did at this moment. Until she yelled out with a strength that startled him; at her cry, he increased his rhythm until he, too, let out a moan that rivalled hers in its intensity, collapsing beside her. As emotional as she felt at that moment, she didn’t want Mark to believe her anything other than satisfied and fulfilled by their lovemaking, and she didn’t want him to think she was upset on his last night at home. Regaining her breath to a regular tempo, she threw an arm over him, smiling as his chest rose and fell with his efforts to slow his breathing back to a regular level. Bridget pulled the blanket over them, snuggling into his side. He leaned over and kissed her just before she heard his regular breathing, knowing he had fallen asleep. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t shake her anxiety, not letting go of his hand or finding sleep until several hours later.

——

Cairo was only one hour ahead of London, so catching up at the end of the workday wasn't too tricky. On his third night there, Bridget sent Mark a picture of herself. She had been painting her toenails on the sink in the bathroom when she received a text he was in the hotel lobby, waiting for Christian to come down so they could go for dinner. He didn’t expect to be out late, so he would call when he returned. She couldn’t help but laugh as she took the selfie, showing him the pink nail polish and spaghetti strap negligee he loved, smiling mischievously into the camera.

Her phone rang immediately. “Bridget, why would you send me that picture?” His voice sounded pained as if he were slightly irritated. Then he continued, “You realise what that does to me? Only one more day, although I’m not sure I can make it.”

She smiled at his obvious passion, knowing full well the effect the photo would have. “I got your flowers at work today. Thank you. I love them.” He had sent a large basket of red, pink, yellow and orange gerbera daisies, knowing they were one of her favourites.

“I’m glad you received them. The woman who took the order told me they’re a classic symbol of beauty, and the gerbera variety is specifically known for cheerfulness.”

“Are you coming home tomorrow or Saturday? Do you know yet?”

Before he could answer, the deafening sound of an explosion reverberated through the phone, followed by rapid machine gun fire, then voices and screaming. “Mark!” she cried several times, but instead of an answer, the line disconnected, leaving an ominous silence.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. In the past, when Mark was routinely in dangerous countries for work, she’d tried to prepare herself for this possibility, for this moment, but she wasn’t ready. Bridget found herself sobbing uncontrollably, shaking so much she dropped her mobile onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

Chapter Text

Christian stepped out of the elevator, looked around, and spotted Mark talking on his mobile in one of the large lobby chairs. Walking towards him, he heard laughter and assumed Mark was speaking with his wife, especially after noticing the smile on his face. Mark had told Christian he and Bridget were expecting their first child and had even asked his advice, as he was a recent first-time father. Sitting across from him, he set his mobile on the low coffee table and bent to tie his shoe, waiting for the call to end. Mark held up one finger, letting him know the call would only last a minute more. It was the last thing he remembered.

Mark felt the blast's power knock him forward, sending his mobile flying. He must have been unconscious for some time before waking. He regained consciousness to the sound of sirens, screaming, and a loud buzzing seemed to be approaching him from all directions. Smelling the charcoal-like whiff of gunpowder mixed with blood and burnt flesh, he could taste it in his mouth, thick and bitter; it seemed to overpower everything.

Enveloped in debris, he found himself on top of an unmoving body, pushing up to see that it was his co-worker. And blood. Blood seemed to be everywhere. He was covered in it, as was Christian. He wasn’t sure whose it was as he didn’t feel injured, other than the throbbing in his head, comparable to his most vicious hangover. Looking down again, Mark saw his colleague’s eyes were closed. Then, he saw the source of the blood. Half of Christian’s arm was gone from the elbow down. Fighting nausea, he looked again, this time seeing that his lower arm and hand were still attached, but only by the barest of threads, bone and sinew mixing with the most blood Mark had ever seen, causing him to wonder how someone could still be alive whilst bleeding so profusely. Mark tore off his tie, wrapping it tightly around Christian’s upper arm, trying to stop the blood loss with a makeshift tourniquet. When he did this, pulling tight, Christian’s eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t move. You’ve been injured,” Mark said much more calmly than he felt. Christian’s eyes immediately rolled back into his head.  “Fuck!” Mark muttered to no one, not knowing if he had passed out from blood loss or possibly worse.  

Stopping to look about, he saw dozens of injured people, some walking around dazedly, many lying still, covered in more blood. The entire world seemed to be a wet, sticky red. He motioned for a medic, but it registered that the man was occupied with a screaming woman, herself holding a small child that appeared lifeless. He had to get help, fast. He tried to stand but almost fell back onto Christian. Steadying himself, he bent to lift him, supporting what remained of his left arm.  Struggling with the man’s weight, Mark picked his way through broken furniture, bodies and luggage haphazardly thrown by the blast. It seemed to him that there wasn’t a clear spot to set a foot down as he tried to make it outside to find help for his friend; every inch of the floor was covered in some detritus. The shortest path seemed to be to his right. He didn’t remember a door in that part of the building. Still, as all the floor-to-ceiling windows were missing, he took the path of least resistance and walked out onto the sidewalk using the vast, now empty opening, carefully avoiding the still-hanging shards of glass.

Once outside, instead of gunpowder and chemicals, the bitter smell of blood seemed more substantial now. A person in the street was on fire. He tried to get up, but someone patted him to extinguish the flames. Then he saw the bomber for the first time. He was missing his waist and his legs. His upper body hugged the hotel logo beside the door. The blood was dripping and black.

Mark felt his strength waning but was terrified that if he dropped him or, worse yet, fell, it could cause even more injury. He stumbled, catching himself before he looked up, noting the plume of black smoke spiralling skyward. He vaguely recognised that two medics were running towards him, grabbing Christian’s body, before he, too, lost consciousness again.

——-

Bridget stared at her mobile on the bathroom floor. She forced herself to breathe big gulps of air. She had to pull herself together and find out what happened. Bending, she picked it up, walking quickly to the kitchen to sit on a bar stool. Who could she ring? She tried Mark’s number first, but it went directly to voice mail. Magda and Jeremy. She dialled their number with shaking fingers, praying they’d pick up.

“Hi!” answered her friend, a smile in her voice.

“Magda, where’s Jeremy?” Her tone was slightly hysterical, even as she tried to remain calm.

“Bridget, what’s wrong? He’s right here, I’ll get him.”  

“Mark—” was all that came out before she stopped herself. She wasn’t sure what had happened. How could she describe what she had heard, the terror she felt?

“Bridget, it’s Jeremy. What’s happened to Mark?” His voice was assured and calming.

She explained what had happened and described what she heard while speaking with her husband.

“We’ll be right over. I’ll make some calls. Please stay calm. Are you ok?” He didn’t mention the baby, but his thoughts went there immediately, worried for his mate and unborn child.  

“We’re fine,” she answered, understanding his unasked question. “Please hurry.” The desperation in her tone alarmed him.

She thought to herself that they shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. If she didn’t do something, anything, she felt she’d go mad. Grabbing her iPad, she opened the BBC News app, hoping to find any news on Cairo, fearful of what she might read or see.

The first thing she saw upon launching the app was a live video that looked like a war zone. The female reporter was visibly shaken by the scene still unfolding behind her.

“The hooded attackers stopped traffic on bustling Corniche El Nil Road and opened fire. At least two of the assailants were armed with assault rifles, emptying their weapons into the crowd before running back to the van and disappearing in Cairo's tangled traffic. Security opened fire on a second vehicle driven close to the building, detonating a powerful bomb.

“Some of the victims died where they stood, while others staggered back into the lobby, bleeding from their wounds. Bullets shattered the windows of a bus parked at the hotel entrance and left deep cavities in the stone steps leading to the hotel's central doorway.

“Several witnesses said they believed one of the gunmen worked his way into the lobby during the attack, firing constant bursts from his rifle. Police are combing the blood-smeared lobby for evidence. Water bottles and travel bags, soaked with blood, litter the hotel's entryway. Shaken survivors are milling about the lobby awaiting word on loved ones or transport to local hospitals.”

Trying to hold back a sob, she continued searching, not knowing what she was looking for. If Mark was wounded or dead, would they post his name? Did they do that before notifying the family? Why didn’t she know these things?

Her phone rang loudly at her side. Bridget jumped, grabbed it and looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t Mark, but maybe it was someone with news?

“Hello?” she asked in desperation.

“Mrs. Darcy?”

Bridget wondered in frustration why someone was calling for Mark’s mother until she remembered Mark’s joke that he certainly didn’t think of his mum when he heard her new name. “Yes?” she replied, praying for good news.

“I’m from The Telegraph and we’d like to ask you for a statement on the terror attack in Cairo. We understand your husband and a colleague are in Egypt for business, defending a journalist. Have you heard if they’ve survived the blast? Have you had any contact with them?”

Bridget hung up instantly. She’d know if Mark were dead; she was positive she’d feel it. Feeling light-headed she put her head between her legs, breathing deeply. Or was this a way to stop you from becoming sick to your stomach? Where were Jeremy and Magda? How long until they got here? She picked her iPad back up, refusing to contemplate what the caller had intimated, reading a new article on the attack.

CAIRO - The Islamic State’s Egyptian branch claimed responsibility for an attack that killed dozens of victims in a hotel where judges overseeing a parliamentary election are staying.

A militant tried to drive a car bomb into the hotel when security forces began firing, causing the car to explode, the military and a witness said. A third man blew himself up while a militant entered the guest rooms area and killed a judge, they said. 

The same group has carried out other raids in the region as part of a bid to bring down the government in Cairo, saying two of its members are responsible. The Interior Ministry said there were two attackers, but the military spokesman and a witness said there were at least three. The contradiction was not immediately clarified. Two judges, four police officers, at least ten tourists and several civilians were dead, the Interior Ministry said. Multiple others were wounded, including two U.K. barristers representing one of the three Al Jazeera journalists currently being held in a Cairo prison. According to the Egyptian military, three militants were dead.

*****

She immediately stopped reading when she saw the reference to Mark and Christian and that they were only wounded. That had to be correct. The news wouldn’t print something without validation, would they? Bridget suddenly felt nauseous. Running to the loo, she barely made it before she became violently ill.

Jeremy and Magda knocked and let themselves in with Magda’s key. Not seeing Bridget immediately, Magda called out to her. Exiting the loo and seeing her friend and Mark’s law partner, Bridget sprinted to them, embracing Magda, trying not to cry but failing miserably. “Shh, Shh. Come sit down,” Magda said, leading Bridget to the sofa and sitting down to wrap her in a warm hug.

“Bridget, have you spoken to Mark since since the explosion?” Jeremy asked.

Shaking her head, no, tears began streaming down her face.

“I’ve contacted the British Embassy in Cairo. They’re aware of the explosion and know about Mark and Christian. I gave them the information you provided: they were in the lobby. Several servicemen are on the scene to help locate them and are also communicating with the local hospitals for any information.” As Jeremy was speaking, his mobile began to ring. He stepped away to answer, exiting through the front door in case the news was grim.

Returning after several minutes, Jeremy sat on the other side of Bridget and took her hand. “Bridget, Mark and Christian are alive. They’re in hospital—” Before he could finish his sentence, Bridget was hugging him tightly, sobbing tears of relief at his words. He had to tell her everything he’d learnt, all they’d told him. “Christian’s gravely injured, and Mark’s unconscious. That’s all they know at the moment.” He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten the information so quickly, as Egypt was notorious for red tape and not being forthcoming about foreigners. He suspected the British Embassy was behind the rapidly provided details.

Chapter Text

Jeremy held Bridget in a tight hug while his wife gently stroked her back, crying along with her friend at the relief they felt on hearing Mark and Christian were alive and in hospital. Extricating himself from the women, Jeremy stood and picked up his mobile, his mind going into overdrive, trying to figure out the logistics of getting Bridget and Christian’s wife to their husbands in the most expeditious fashion. His next step was to have someone from the Consulate see Mark and Christian in person, provide a detailed update on their condition and allow him to speak with their doctor, if not each of them directly, or at least Mark if he could. Then, Jeremy could convene with Maurice and the senior partners on how to proceed. He knew Bridget and Marion would need to be on the first available plane to Cairo, and as someone from their law practice would also make the trip, he’d like to be the one to go. It would take some clearing of his schedule, but he felt it could accomplished by rearranging his appointments.  

Jeremy suggested that Magda call Christian’s wife to ascertain her knowledge of the attack. It had only been three-quarters of an hour since the event had occurred, but it felt to him that days had passed. As much as he disliked having his wife be the bearer of bad news, she would undoubtedly be a more familiar voice to Marion than one of the attorneys from the office she had never met. Magda was already a friend of the younger woman and had attended her recent baby shower.

Bridget knew she must call Mark’s mum with news of his injury, and while Magda was contacting Marion, she rang her. “Elaine, it’s Bridget,” she began, willing herself to remain poised and not break down in tears while conveying news of the attack to her mother-in-law. But try as she did, her voice betrayed her emotional state.

Mark’s mum was making dinner, so she hadn’t seen coverage of the bombing. Her husband, Mark’s father, was at a local pub with friends and wasn’t expected home for an hour more. By Bridget’s tone, she immediately sensed something wrong; her son’s wife was continually upbeat whenever they spoke, and never more so since her and Mark’s recent reunion, marriage and happy pregnancy news. The first thought that ran through her head was it had something to do with the baby. She tried to steel herself for bad news, hoping in her thoughts that she was wrong.

Once Bridget explained the situation and what she knew so far, that Mark and his colleague Christian were injured, Elaine sat down hard, feeling as if she’d had the wind punched out of her.

“I am so sorry to tell you this with a call. I’m going to Cairo as soon as we can find a flight. Would you be able to...” She stopped momentarily to wipe tears from her eyes, gathering herself before continuing.

Knowing that Bridget needed her and wanting to be there with her son, she said, “I’ll be there in an hour and a half. What’s the earliest flight we can get?”

“I’m not sure—Jeremy’s checking. The firm has access to a private plane, which he’ll request. I don’t think there’s a commercial flight until morning. And thank you,” it came out as a sob; she couldn’t hide how grateful she was for the support of Mark’s mum.

——

They went directly to the hospital upon arriving late in Cairo, or early, as it was almost two AM local time. Elaine and Bridget felt immense empathy for Marion, talking to her on the five-hour flight and trying to keep her calm by discussing her new baby and the impending birth of Bridget’s child. The young mother told them her mum and dad could watch her son Jayson on short notice so she could make the trip. They had no idea how Christian’s health was, having heard from Jeremy just before take-off that he was still in surgery to try and save his arm. Bridget did learn that Mark was awake and alert, having suffered a concussion and head wound from the blast, although Jeremy could not speak to him directly as he’d hoped.

The hospital was huge and intimidating, and it felt somewhat mysterious upon their arrival. No sign was posted to direct them to find out what was happening or whom to approach for information. Being on foreign territory, literally and figuratively, was strange and disorienting. The hospital staff they spoke to were very brusque and used terms they didn’t understand, and although they spoke English, the language barrier was a constant hindrance. Bridget had never felt so glad to have Jeremy and Elaine with her. She was overwhelmed, and Marion was exhausted and on the verge of breaking.

Finally making it to the floor Mark was on, Jeremy had them sit in a waiting area while he went to find the Consulate representative. His first goal was to determine whatever he could about Christian’s surgery and health, then do the same for Mark.

While he was gone, Elaine went to the nurse's station, hoping she might find out any news she could of Marion’s husband. The place seemed like a madhouse as they were one of the closest hospitals to the bombing and were still handling numerous victims with varying degrees of injury.

Observing the organised chaos of the unit, she watched and tried to learn the pecking order, at least as far as she could tell, in a short time. She knew in London that hospitals were very bureaucratic, with layers of authority, and a teaching hospital such as this had even more layers of interns, residents and other students.

She found out the person in charge of the ICU at this hospital was called a "criticalist”; the doctor overseeing the ICU health care team or any of the critical care units. Knowing the appearance of the doctor was unpredictable, she felt approaching the nurses, on the other hand, who were there for the entire shift, may be the best bet for garnering any information. Upon engaging them, an older woman asked her if she could assist. Elaine noted the concern on the woman’s face and quickly explained her son and his colleague were injured in the bomb blast; they had come from England and only just arrived, turning to point to Bridget and Marion behind her. The woman checked a computer, asked for Christian’s name and took several minutes before looking up again. Her smile was sympathetic when she asked if Marion would like to see her husband. Elaine quickly retreated to the lounge area to get Marion and bring her over.

Bridget volunteered to remain behind and wait for Jeremy to return. She suggested that Elaine accompany the younger woman to see her husband, knowing she’d need someone to lean on no matter the outcome of his surgery. After hugging Bridget, they left with the nurse to find Christian.

While Bridget waited for Jeremy’s return, she felt her thoughts beating like a bird against a closed window. During the hours between that first call - hearing the blast and machine gun fire over the phone - and now being so near to him but still unable to see that he was safe, she felt her mind scuttling down a dark labyrinth of traumatic possibilities. What if Mark had a brain injury that precluded him from practising law? What if Mark had been killed instead of wounded in the blast, or Christian had died? She knew he’d never forgive himself if the younger man and new father were taken from his family. She had been the one to urge Mark to go to Cairo, and it had almost cost him his life. He would have missed seeing their child born. At this last thought, Bridget broke down in soul-crushing sobs, contemplating what her life would be like without Mark in it if he weren’t able to share with her this child they had created together, especially after finding one another again so recently. She suddenly wished Elaine was there with her and felt the need for human contact as her mind raced to a dark place. Bridget was physically and emotionally exhausted and wanted to see her husband. Feeling a hand on her back, she saw Jeremy and an older gentleman. The despair in her eyes caused Jeremy to sit beside her, taking her into his arms in a hug. “I’ve just spoken to Mark, and he desperately wants to see you.” At his words, she smiled before crying again into his shoulder, overcome with relief that Mark was coherent and asking for her.

Standing and taking her by the hand, Jeremy led her down a long hallway, introducing her as they walked to Brian Smythe, the British Consulate's liaison. Jeremy told her, “He’s had a nasty head wound and concussion and may look a little worse for wear,” trying to prepare Bridget for seeing Mark with stitches in his forehead and back of his head, hooked to an IV.  

Bridget looked at Brian and, stopping, gave him a heartfelt hug, thanking him for being there for her husband and Christian and keeping them apprised of their injuries. Taken back by her thoughtfulness, he returned the hug, glad to be of service and happy the news he shared with them was good and not the sort that would have devastated the two women.

After the long walk down hushed corridors, they arrived at Mark’s room. Jeremy preceded them in, with Brian following her. The moment she saw Mark, head partially shaved, stitches at his hairline, the start of a black eye forming and an IV drip in his arm, but most crucially, awake and alert, her breath caught in her throat. Running to his bed and crying in relief, she told him, “I love you,” feeling the words inadequate as she spoke them, as he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, hugging her as if he’d never let her go. They both heard the door close softly as the two men let themselves out, giving them privacy.

“I love you,” Mark whispered into her ear, tears running down his face as he realised he may never have seen his wife again or been there for the birth of their child. Bridget crawled onto the bed beside him, lying so they were face to face, being careful of his IV tube, feeling she couldn’t get close enough. “I am so, so, sorry,” she uttered, her voice shaking, “if I hadn’t told you —”

Mark cut her off immediately. “Bridget, stop. Please.” He took his hand and wiped the tears under her eyes, kissed her damp cheek and continued, “I can’t bear to think you blame yourself for any of this. I chose to go. This was in no way your fault.” He looked straight into her eyes as he told her this, letting her know he genuinely believed it and wouldn’t have her think otherwise. She didn’t know how she’d feel in the future, but when Mark said those words and looked at her so solemnly, she broke down, finally able to believe he would be coming home.

“Shh,” he whispered, hating to see her so angry at herself. Trying to direct her attention elsewhere, he asked, “Is Marion here? Jeremy said she and my mother accompanied you?”

“Oh, my God! Your mum will want to see you! She went with Marion to see Christian after his surgery. Let me see if Jeremy can find her and how Christian is coming along.” She gingerly climbed down from the bed, bending to kiss his lips quickly before leaving the room, hating to part with him for even a short time.

—————

Elaine and Marion were taken up one floor to the recovery unit. The nurse asked them to wait outside the room while she went in to check on the patient and ensure he could receive visitors. When she came out, she explained he was resting comfortably, although asleep. Leaving them with Christian, she said she would find the surgeon so Marion could speak with him about her husband’s prognosis.

“Dear, would you like a few moments alone with him?” Elaine asked, unsure how Marion felt, although she sensed she was at the end of her tether.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, taking a moment and drawing a deep breath before turning and walking through the open doorway. When she saw Christian with his eyes closed, it appeared he was in a peaceful sleep. Until she heard the beeping and saw the monitors he was connected to, the drip IV that wound its way into his right arm. Bending, she placed a kiss on his cheek, thankful that he was alive, not yet knowing how close he had come to dying. Marion saw a tear on his face, then realised it had come from her. She felt as if she couldn’t cry, as if she were so numb, so exhausted she didn’t have the energy to. Taking a ragged breath, it was as if a floodgate had opened, the tears starting in earnest, a sob wracking her body. “Hey,” she heard Christian murmur, his eyes cracking open. She was so surprised by his words that she jumped before doing everything she could to gather herself, to be strong for her husband so he wouldn’t have her to worry about on top of everything else.

“Hey,” she smiled down at him, taking his good hand and holding it, feeling him squeeze.

“Where’s Jayson?” he asked, always concerned for others before himself. His speech was a little loopy due to the heavy pain meds that he was on.

She explained that he was with her parents in London and that they would tend to him until they both returned. She didn’t tell him how long that would be as she hadn’t a clue and hadn’t yet spoken to his doctor. His eyes closed again, but a small smile reassured her more than anything he could have said.

A quick rap on the open door let her know someone had arrived. She looked up to see the surgeon, his name embroidered on his medical jacket: Ghoneim Eltarawy, MD. He was a short, stocky man with a black goatee and square spectacles. Marion immediately warmed to him, to the kindness in his eyes. Walking to greet him, she shook his hand, looking for moral support and comfort for Elaine. After the doctor looked in on Christian to ensure he was resting comfortably, the three walked over to a small lounge area, Marion sitting on a small couch, Elaine beside her, holding her hand.

Speaking impeccable English, he told them that the surgery had been successful and that with proper healing and rehabilitation, he should have the use of his hand back, if not to a full one hundred per cent, then to something very close to that. There was always the fear of infection, and the rehabilitation would be long and arduous, but he was very confident in his work.

Crying again, Marion turned to Elaine, hugging her in relief, before she leant over and did the same to the doctor. This caused the man to blush as he told her it was all in a day’s work, expressing his sorrow that Christian had such a tragedy befall him while in Cairo and defending Mr. Khanfar.

Elaine asked, “Dr. Eltarawy, what’s your estimate of when Christian can fly home? They have a newborn in London, and I’m sure they’d like to return as quickly as possible.”

“Of course. A commercial flight should be seven days to avoid DVT or deep vein thrombosis. I’m sorry it’s such a long time, but sitting for more than four hours can trigger a blood clot within the legs' deep veins due to prolonged inactivity. There are ways to combat this risk, and we’ll review them before you leave.” After a few more answers to their questions, he excused himself, saying he would follow up again tomorrow.  

Turning to Elaine, Marion looked shattered. “I didn’t realise he wouldn’t be allowed to come home for a week. I’m not complaining; at least he’s coming home, but...” She broke down again at that moment, exhaustion and worry finally getting the best of her. Elaine took the younger woman in her arms, rocking her gently, letting her cry, and doing her best to soothe her jagged nerves.  

“Human beings are built to survive,” she told her softly. “We’re resilient. I think inside every person is that pilot light of hope, of wanting to get better and heal, and it shines brighter in different people, and much of that is about your support system, and your family. From what you’ve said of your parents and Christian’s, of their strong support, I have every confidence in his complete recovery.”

Bridget and Jeremy approached the two women as they were hugging, causing them to share a glance, wondering if something untoward had occurred and Christian had taken a turn for the worse. As they got closer, though, Bridget could discern the relief in her tears and saw Elaine smile.

After they were updated on Christian, Bridget explained Mark’s injury, hugging his mum tightly as she cried in relief. Having held in her emotions for the sake of Bridget and Marion, she finally let go, trying not to entirely fall apart before seeing her son.

Jeremy, Elaine, Bridget, Marion and Brian approached Mark’s open door and heard voices inside. Mark was smiling, speaking with the first responders stationed only 1,000 feet away who had listened to the attack unfold. The paramedics, Adom Khan and Maat Nair, initially explained they believed the sounds had come from firecrackers. But after several blood-curdling screams, the two sped toward the danger in their ambulance. They reached Christian in just over 60 seconds, with Mark carrying him onto the sidewalk. According to the regular protocol they were required to follow, the first ambulance on the scene must wait for a second to arrive in the case of a mass shooting or terrorist situation. The next ambulance was five minutes away, and Khan decided to break protocol and evacuate Christian immediately, likely saving his life.  He recalled getting to the two men just before Mark fell, taking Christian from his arms.

As Nair drove the vehicle, Khan administered lifesaving care to Christian, pumping liquids into his body to staunch the bleeding and earn him some time.

Nair also took heroic measures to save Christian’s life. Road construction would slow their passage to the hospital, so Nair called the authorities and pressured them to open a special security road to make the trip much faster, and they were granted access. This alternative route allowed a journey that usually took twenty-five minutes to be completed in slightly more than ten.

Christian was rushed into the operating room at the hospital and underwent radical surgery. Khan and Nair had been correct that he had no time to lose: The head of surgery conveyed that if he had arrived three or four minutes later, he would have suffered irreversible brain damage. Five minutes later, he would have been dead. Bridget put her arm around Marion’s shoulders as Elaine hugged her waist at this news. After introductions, all three women gratefully thanked the men for their efforts and for saving the lives of their husbands and son. Once they’d departed, with many hugs, Elaine approached Mark, not caring that she had a small audience. “You are a site for sore eyes!” she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face as she bent to kiss his cheek, brushing the hair back on his forehead, being careful around the stitches. Kissing him again, she said, “That one’s from your father.”

————

Mark and Bridget flew back to London on the same private jet the following day. Elaine generously offered to stay with Marion until they could all return several days later. Jeremy would stay with the women and Christian for another day, returning via commercial jet after feeling his colleague was out of the woods.

Once home, but before his return to work, as Bridget and Mark were still trying to get their lives back to a semblance of normal and lying in bed, Mark said, “Over more than 20 years, I’ve gained considerable experience dealing with stressful situations, but have never given much thought to how my job affected my family; specifically you. Cairo taught me that you’ve all paid a price for my choice of profession. Due to a bombing-related delay in communication, it was several hours before you and my parents were aware whether I was a victim or survivor, injured or whole.”

Looking at him, she felt tears forming.

“I will do my best to take the positive aspects of this experience and use them to become a better husband, father, and manager. I know I’ll always live with some negative images of Christian’s injury, but I’ll try to maintain perspective. I promise to dedicate myself to the principle that there’s nothing more important than taking care of my family, and at work, of my people, and I will do my best to live up to that.

“I want to listen more and talk less; be there for others, for you and our parents, especially during trying times. I will slow down, look around more and savour each moment. They can replace me at the office, but you can’t.”

Bridget smiled through tears, “It’s only been a little over a week, but I’ve discovered a depth of sadness and a breadth of anger I didn’t know I had. I’ve also learnt I can’t take away your pain, trauma, anger or sadness, but I can accompany you and be here whenever you need.”

Chapter Text

Several weeks after being home and attending regular, albeit brutal, physical therapy sessions, Christian returned to work part-time. Mark took him out to lunch on his first day back at Chambers, asking Jeremy to go along with them. The three men were seated at a restaurant very near their offices; after Christian enthusiastically suggested pizza as his preference, Jeremy proposed Leo’s again since he, Bridget, and Mark had enjoyed the restaurant when they’d been several months before.

Once ordered, as they were sipping their drinks and waiting on the food, Mark asked, “How’s your rehab coming?” He didn’t want to make Christian uncomfortable but was genuinely interested in his progress. He had been in constant communication with Christian’s wife, Marion, since their arrival back in London and with Christian as soon as he felt well enough to chat with Mark, first about his health and then about business matters. Christian’s arm was wrapped in an elasticised bandage and held in an arm sling.

“Not bad. It’s definitely garnering me some sympathy at home. I haven’t had to do the dishes in weeks,” he laughed, holding his left arm up. “Although I do miss holding Jayson. Marion’s afraid I’ll drop him with only the one good arm. Won’t let me near him by myself. Which does help with the nappies. Haven’t had to change him lately, so some good things came out of this.”

Once their food arrived, after Jeremy had served each of them a piece, they discussed the outcome of the case that they had travelled to Cairo for. Mark had finished the last of the work on his own. Kate had offered her help, and as much as he appreciated it, he felt the need to complete it himself. Mark wanted to do this for Christian, knowing he was disappointed and thought he had somehow let Mark and the Firm down. Mark called him more frequently at home once he had recovered sufficiently, wanting to keep him in the loop and ask his input, making sure that Marion was on board with her husband’s discussing the case, counting on her to inform him if he seemed to be pushing him too much. He genuinely liked the younger man and admired his principles and how much he enjoyed fatherhood, telling Mark in detail the joy he was experiencing with his new son.  And more so lately, when Mark saw how easily it could have been taken from him. He had Mark looking forward to the birth of his child, whether boy or girl, with even greater enthusiasm than before, if that were possible. Mark hoped to influence Christian, ensuring he put his family first, rehab and health next and career behind those first two priorities.  

As their dishes were cleared, Mark explained to Christian the timeline of what had occurred to secure the release of Khanfar. “About a month ago, Egypt released the Australian, Fisher, but the other two, including the Canadian Khanfar, remained in jail. A few weeks later, the Egyptian authorities announced the two would appear in court for a retrial. However, government officials had informed Khanfar’s Egyptian counsel that his release was imminent and to follow Fisher’s. This was to be expected, given that Mr. Khanfar had been the victim of the same injustice and was also the understanding you and I had before the attack.

“Soon thereafter, the Canadian ambassador to Egypt and I sent joint letters to the Egyptian President, Minister of Justice, Foreign Minister and Prosecutor-General seeking Khanfar’s release again. We also requested an agreement to discuss the actions to be taken by the government in the event of a guilty verdict. In the meetings, we received assurances that President Sisi would deliver on his promise to pardon the journalists if any guilty verdict were announced or else deport Khanfar to Canada as had been previously agreed.”

“Mark, I know I missed a lot while in hospital, but I thought our trip a success, and Khanfar would be released within days?”

“I thought so, too. It seems that when we were injured, the Egyptian Government felt us safely out of the way and evidently didn’t have to honour the agreement that had been made. Fortuitously for us, the case was pressed by the international community. The US Secretary of State called the trial of the journalists deeply disturbing, and the UN had stated their conviction was in breach of international human rights law.”

Jeremy added, “According to Reporters Without Borders, Egypt has the fourth highest number of journalists imprisoned worldwide, the country’s worst record since reporting began in 1990. The show trial for those three was simply an example of political score-settling between Egypt and Qatar, which funds Al Jazeera, unfortunately. Other journalists in Egypt have been given life sentences or held for years in prison without charge. President Sisi knew the world was watching the court’s verdict. The Time Magazine article certainly didn’t hurt either.”

Looking surprised, Christian glanced at Jeremy and then at Mark before asking, “ Time article? I know I was on medication, but I don’t recall mention of that.”

“Mark was interviewed once back in London, ostensibly about the trial, but I’m sure the terrorism aspect piqued the magazine’s interest.” He looked at Mark and continued, “I’m still surprised you spoke to them, but it certainly had the desired effect. Brilliant move, by the way.”

Smiling in a smug, knowing way, Mark said, “A little well-timed worldwide attention can sometimes do more good than months of legal wrangling. It wasn’t twenty-four hours later that Khanfar was pardoned and released.”

Christian recalled the story he had seen on the evening news as Mark left the courtroom, walking down the steps outside the imposing building, just before he was surrounded by cameras and journalists, the segment continuing with a video interview of Mark, “International counsel for Mr. Khanfar, Mark Darcy, stated: ‘I am positively thrilled that Wadah Khanfar and his colleague Ayman Ragah were pardoned today. It’s been a long ordeal, and we are grateful to President Sisi for exercising his power to pardon these journalists. This is an important and historic day in Egypt as the government has corrected a persistent injustice and set two innocent men free.’ Darcy and his law partner, Christian Gardner, were injured in a terror attack whilst in Egypt to meet with their client, with Gardner suffering a severe upper body injury that almost cost him his arm.” Christian’s wife had woken him from a short nap so that he could see the update, knowing how essential it was to him to know the final outcome of the case that he and Mark had put so much effort into.

After they returned to their office, Jeremy left the two men to talk in Mark’s office. Being his first day back, Mark would like Christian to become acclimated to being in a work setting again and greet his fellow employees who hadn’t seen him since the attack and injury. When they both stood to leave for the break room and a cup of coffee, Christian turned to Mark, stating with heartfelt gratitude, “I may have said this previously while under the influence of some fairly potent painkillers, but I’d like to say it now, with full use of my faculties; thank you for saving my life,” and he held out his hand to shake Mark’s. Accepting it, Mark smiled, knowing if the roles had been reversed, Christian would have done the same without hesitation. Mark pulled him into a hug, still careful of his injury, clapping him lightly on the back, overcome with emotion again at the close call they had lived through.

Mark was relieved Christian seemed no worse for wear after such a horrific event. He had garnered quite an audience of co-workers: fellow barristers, senior partners, and support staff. They all wanted an update on his rehab and warmly welcomed him back to the office, happy to see him in person after such a devastating injury.

Coffee in hand, Christian was regaling the group with details of his surgery. Mark hadn’t heard the specifics, as he had been in hospital at the time and was surprised as he heard what he had endured, listening as he told of the marathon surgery that orthopaedic surgeon Joseph Pinzur, plastic surgeon Jose Mendez, and vascular surgeon Benjamin Baker had worked as a team to reattach the limb. They sewed nerves, blood vessels, muscles and tendons together. They used plates and screws to reconnect his broken ulna (one of two lower arm bones). They took bone grafts from his hips and skin grafts from his leg and used a vein from his leg to replace a damaged artery in his arm.

“Many limb reattachments ultimately fail. The limb can die due to poor circulation, retain little or no movement or become so painful due to nerve damage that it must be amputated. But I haven’t experienced any of these problems. I’ll still need rehab to ensure I maintain the full movement that the surgeon’s promised, and I’ve still months of it left.” He said, “Sometimes in life, we don't appreciate something until we lose it, and then it's too late. It seems that dozens of times over the past few months, before the injury, I'd be playing with Jayson, picking him up high in the air with two good arms. How fortunate and thankful I am for this second chance suddenly hits me like a lightning bolt." As he finished this last sentence, he glanced at Mark, smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

____________

Upon his return home that evening, Mark walked into his house, slipped off his shoes, set his briefcase down, and greeted Bridget. Pulling her into a warm hug, he nuzzled his face in her neck, holding her tight for longer than he usually might have. Not saying a word, he breathed in the nutty, floral fragrance of her shampoo. His eyes closed as he thought again how close he had been to never experiencing this simple act.

Greeting him with a lingering snog before gladly folding into his embrace, she murmured, “Mmm, glad to see you too, Mr. Darcy.” Bridget knew Christian had returned to the office for the first time that day and guessed it had affected her husband tremendously. Reciprocating his emotion, she whispered, “No matter how much they try to change the ending, there’ll be no Peter losing Wendy. I’ll always be here for you.”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure you’re up for this?” Mark asked for what felt like the hundredth time on the short drive from their home in South Kensington to Bloomsbury. Bridget’s pregnancy was beginning to show, and she insisted there would be no trouble being on her feet most of the day.

Smiling patiently, she replied, “Positive. You endured The Eye, Mama Mia and Borough for me. It’s the least I can do.” She placed her hand on his in support, giving a slight squeeze.

What I really deserve is sex every night for the rest of my life after enduring a pedicure at Neal’s Yard, thought Mark, grimacing at the memory of his tormented feet.

Since their honeymoon Bridget hadn’t forgotten her husband’s wish to visit the British Museum, specifically the Sutton Hoo Exhibit. She had almost suggested they come back another time after realising the museum was packed if lack of available parking was any indication. The brilliant plan to surprise him by taking a day off mid-week to beat the crowds didn’t seem like such a great idea now.

“Lucky I booked online parking,” Mark exclaimed smugly upon spotting the two-story garage marked ‘Q-Park Pre-Paid Museum Parking Only’ in bold letters.

God, I hope our child is as organised as their father, Bridget thought with a pout, imagining herself running after her son or daughter on the first day of primary school, forgotten lunch pail in hand.

Mark looked up at the threatening sky when they exited the covered garage before stopping momentarily to pull a small brolly from his coat pocket. 

I am rubbish at museums; she couldn’t help think, a smile glued to her face as they hurried along the pavement toward the entrance, dodging raindrops under the shared umbrella.

She really had no idea why she always ended up going to museums. During her first month or so of living in London after finishing university she even had a museum-and-cake buddy. She had met her good friend Sharon in a coffee shop just outside her first real job in the city. They had made a pact to visit a new museum every weekend and have a cake afterwards. She secretly only looked forward to the cake but didn’t know Sharon well enough back then to admit that most museums bored her to no end. It was only later she found out her new friend’s sole interest in the endeavour was the hope of meeting “intellectual and slightly older men” who would ask them to dinner once they were overheard intelligently discussing a display or piece of art.

Sharon had even studied the subjects before their visit. “Around 1800, Lord Elgin, Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl,” she said theatrically, “plucked these relief carvings, called metopes, from an ancient Grecian temple. And it wasn’t any old temple packed in dirt and covered in dust. It was the Parthenon, the temple of the Goddess Athena, set high on the Acropolis in the heart of Athens. 

“He claimed to have permission to loot the treasures, but even then, removal of the artefacts was controversial. Famed British poet Lord Byron even weighed in, humiliating Elgin by name in his poem, ‘The Curse of Minerva.’

“Yet here the sculptures remain, 200 years later, and it’s a privilege to take them in, just like the ancient Greeks and their friends and foes did. Can you imagine them on the temple in 400 B.C., newly painted, shouting about the glory of Athena, Athens, and their empire?”

Bridget looked at Sharon as if she’d grown a second head, about to burst out in laughter at her grave, slightly condescending delivery.

“Shh…” Sharon hissed urgently before she could open her mouth. “There are two very fit men at ten o’clock,” indicating with her chin, grabbing at Bridget’s forearm in excitement.

To Sharon’s chagrin, Bridget immediately turned around to stare. “Oh. You mean those two?” she asked smugly. “The two holding hands?”

After that, they both realised pretty soon that their museum-and-cake meetups had transformed into anything other than a museum visit after a few weeks. This suited them both very well, and they became much better friends after visiting the many pubs located near museums rather than the museums themselves.

Standing with Mark in the enormous rotunda, she furrowed her brow in concentration. “You know I’ve visited here before,” she stated, feeling slightly overwhelmed in the world-famous museum, which housed more than 8 million artefacts from all over the world, including ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome, Africa, Asia, and the Americas. The collections that filled the building were so vast that it could take days to explore them all.

“Pardon?” His flabbergasted expression made her laugh out loud.

“Don’t give me that look! I was much younger and had just met Shaz, and she came up with the brilliant idea that we could meet more interesting men by hanging out in museums. During the first few attempts, I mostly just admired the structure of the building and the immensity of the place.”

“You went more than once, then, and with Sharon? But never saw Sutton Hoo? I thought you said if they didn’t serve alcohol, you wouldn’t go.”

“Mark. I honestly don’t recall anything we saw. Wait,” she said, raising her hand, “I vaguely remember the Elton Marbles.”

“Elgin,” he corrected with a smile.

“In 1798, Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin,” she said the word with emphasis,“visited Athens as an ambassador. The purpose of the visit was to document Greece’s sculptural program. While at the Parthenon, he saw many of the sculptures scattered on the ground, and in 1801, he decided to purchase them from the Sultan of Turkey, who ruled the Ottoman Empire and Greece. He bought sections of the frieze, pediments and metopes to bring to England and made casts of the ones he couldn’t. In order to make the pieces easier to ship, they were cut from the original blocks, which were very thick and had multiple feet of stone, and only a small amount of carved sculpture was needed anyway. This is why the frieze appears so thin now. After he purchased the marbles for our government, they were sold to the British Museum for display.” She spoke the words mechanically, barely stopping to breathe, then looked up in amazement.

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe I remembered that!” All of Shaz’s studying must have made an impression as she repeated one of her friend’s discourses almost verbatim.

Mark stared at her before sputtering, “What… How?”

“Don’t say what, say pardon, darling.” She reached up, put a finger under his chin and gently closed his mouth. “Come on. Can we start there since I am obviously an expert?” She grabbed his hand, took a moment to review the map he was holding between them, and set off for the famous display.

As they walked along, dodging other visitors, Mark began talking excitedly, clearly in his element. Bridget couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, chuffed to share this experience with him.

“The British Museum is the story of empire and conquest through its collection of spoils of war. As we appreciate the majesty and beauty of each artefact, we’re reminded that this museum was created at the absolute zenith of Britain’s power.

“Not only can we imagine Aztec, Persian, and Egyptian empires from hundreds or even thousands of years ago, but I also think of the very recent British Empire and how it changed the world forever. This entire collection only exists because of the Empire’s far-reaching boundaries, a supreme sense of superiority, and an appreciation of the beautiful.”

They were now standing in front of the Parthenon Sculptures in Room 18, part of a group of about 50 people. Bridget and Mark could hear a docent describing the sculptures to a small tour group several feet before them.

“In 1832, independent Greece regained control of Athens. After this, the government took action to regain many of the cultural treasures lost during the Ottoman Empire's reign. The government of Greece has been petitioning the British Museum since 1983 to regain ownership of the Elgin Marbles.”

“Mark, what’s repatriation? And why is it so controversial?” Bridget asked, captivated by the size and beauty of the stone carvings.

“It’s the act of returning stolen or looted items to the country of origin,” Mark whispered. “It’s also an ethical issue for many museums. Ethically, a museum should give back any looted or stolen items to the country of origin. Still, in doing so, the museum may get the short end of the stick, losing the money they used to purchase the items and receiving no compensation, and if they choose not to return the items, they can be hit with sanctions and criticisms, and often lose funding as well.”

After spending nearly an hour taking photos with her mobile and his compact camera, Mark suggested they move on to the Sutton Hoo Exhibit. Bridget had never heard of Sutton Hoo before Mark had mentioned it on their honeymoon.

“I bet when the archaeologists found the hill contained a ship burial with all those significant artefacts they squealed with delight, the way I do when someone brings me cakes.”

“Or like you did last night?” Mark teased, causing her to blush before lowering his head for a kiss.

Playfully slapping her husband, Bridget listened as he took her hand to walk around the large room, narrating enthusiastically.

“The burial, dating from 600 AD, consisted of a long wooden boat covered by a large mound of soil. At the ship's centre was a wood burial chamber hung with cloth and textiles. It surrounded a dead person and placed there with all his possessions: weapons, armour, gold coins, gold and garnet fittings, silver vessels, silver-mounted drinking horns and clothes, including a fur-trimmed cap. All the objects were chosen to reflect the person's high rank and were to be used in the afterlife.

“The ship burial mound was first excavated in 1939 when the objects now held by the British Museum were recovered and presented to the Museum by the landowner, Mrs Edith Pretty. Look at the bottom of the display.” Mark pointed to a small plaque she’d seen on almost all the cases, acknowledging the landowner’s generosity.

Stopping at the famous gold belt buckle, Mark began snapping photos with his camera, explaining in a hushed tone, “Most Anglo-Saxon men wore a waist belt fastened with a buckle, which was a way of expressing status: the more complicated the buckle, the more important the man wearing it. This is the most magnificent example known. It’s made of gold, weighs over 400 grams and is decorated with animals, including serpents, birds of prey and enigmatic four-legged creatures. It’s hollow, similar to a box and can be opened and closed using a hinge with a complex mechanism. It’s theorised to have stored a personal item, possibly a relic.”

At this point, Mark pulled Bridget close, calling her a stalker for tending to take snaps of him taking photos of the displays.

On the drive home, after lunch in The Pizzeria, coffee in the quaint shop offering a fantastic view of the iconic Reading Room, and a scoop of the promised Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, Bridget was looking at photos on her phone, laughing at the inordinate amount she had of Mark. “Stalking jokes aside, the collection is so fascinating now that I understand the importance of the artefacts. I read they were hailed by some as the most important archaeological site ever discovered in the UK. The pieces made with gold have such extraordinary craftsmanship, it leaves even non-artistically inclined people like me in awe.”

Once home, Bridget thought there was something about seeing Mark so excited about Sutton Hoo that it piqued her interest in the objects themselves. It was refreshing to admit she had no clue about what she was looking at and to have her husband willingly and knowledgeably explain why the items were so incredible. Sitting on the sofa after dinner with their laptop computer, Mark zoomed in on the picture he took of the shoulder clasps, pointing out how the intricate details of the glass are hard to replicate even at this age.

“Mark, I wouldn’t even have noticed these tiny details. Thank you for knowing my ignorance,” he gave her a harsh look at her self-deprecating words, “okay, initial lack of interest, and instead of judging me, sharing your fascination with me.”

Looking through her mobile again, Bridget felt like kicking herself for not snapping more photos of the artefacts. She even missed one of the exhibition's most essential elements—the Sutton Hoo helmet.

To make up for her mistake, she did a little sleuthing online and made a list of fascinating facts to share with Mark.

When he arrived home from work the following evening, just as they sat down to watch the telly, Bridget pulled out a yellow legal pad.

“With millions of things on display at the Museum, like the scary mummies, sometimes deciding where to spend your time can be a little daunting. With that in mind, I jotted down some facts about Sutton Hoo.

1. The treasure would never have ended up at the British Museum without the generosity of the landowner, Edith Pretty
2. She donated all her gold and treasures to the British Museum, thus becoming the museum's most significant donor ever.
3. Until the Sutton Hoo ship was found, the largest buried ship was 70 feet long in Norway.
4. Before the discovery of Sutton Hoo, humanity was thought to have slipped back into the state of “hopeless primitivism” during the Dark Ages. So these treasures, it seems to me, symbolise the hope that humans can advance, contrary to the thinking that some people have shown in recent years.
5. Basil Brown, the local archaeologist who first helped to dig the mound where the treasures were buried, did not get to open the treasure chamber itself. A bunch of snobbish-sounding university-educated archaeologists sadly replaced him, while Brown was relegated to carrying away earth in a wheelbarrow. He never set foot on the ship ever again.

“I think it comes down to the fact that I don’t understand much of art and history. But having the right company – someone who appreciates the artefacts way more than I do and was willing to patiently explain their background to me, made all the difference when visiting. Even though I’d been several times, I enjoyed this trip with you the most.”

Mark pulled Bridget into his arms, holding her tight. “Thank you for joining me. I couldn’t ask for a better museum mate. And if I had seen you with Sharon, even if you were talking utter bollocks, I would have asked you for dinner.”

Chapter Text

Bridget and Mark set the house alarm, locked their front door and walked to the car. It was early on a Friday morning in April, and they were heading to Cambridge for a much-anticipated visit with Mark’s college friend Ian and his wife, Nicola. The date had been settled upon several weeks after the old classmates ran into one another at the University and Bridget thought it prudent to go sooner rather than later due to her pregnancy.

Glancing at the side of the house where they kept the garbage bins, Mark said, “Shit,” through clenched teeth. The one containing household trash was on its side. “The fox broke into the bin again.” He personally ensured the lid was tightly fastened every evening, yet he found it upside down and empty every morning.

“Mark, is it really ‘breaking in’ when it knows how to unlock the lid by simply lifting the handle?” Bridget asked, trying not to laugh.

“Well, it’s empty now, and we’ll be away for two nights so the neighbour can deal with the animal.” Mark counted himself lucky after hearing the fox was found inside his neighbour’s garage last week. “My mobile says the drive should take about 2 hours with traffic via the A1,” he told Bridget as they fastened their seatbelts. Barely into the second trimester of her pregnancy, it was still relatively easy for her to wear the safety belt low over her hips.

“I swear I looked earlier and the app said it should only take an hour and forty-five minutes,” she replied, pulling her mobile out of her pocketbook to check again. “Now it says two and a half hours.”

“How is that possible? It’s the same app,” Mark said, looking from his mobile to hers.

“Wait, I have another app. Let me try it.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay. This app is saying only an hour and 38 minutes,” she said enthusiastically.

“Perfect. Let’s go with that one, and we’ll be early,” Mark said. “Five minutes early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

Bridget thought her husband’s punctuality was diabolical and often wondered if fate had played a cruel joke on her when they fell in love. However, by the same reasoning, the joke was usually on Mark whilst he waited impatiently for her. “I know who said that.”

“Pardon?”

“I know whose quote that is. You know, the person it’s attributed to,” she added at his befuddled look.

Mark waited. There was no way in the world Bridget knew it was the famous U.S. football coach of the Green Bay Packers that—

“Vince Lombardi,” she said smugly.

There was a stunned silence. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Saw it on Jeopardy! last week,” she said sweetly. “Speaking of, have you ever thought that answering trivia in the form of a question is bizarre? Good luck explaining it to anyone who hasn’t been watching Jeopardy! since they were preteens. In the episodes I watched last week, Stephen Fry had to reiterate the procedural twist to the contestants several times after they buzzed in without the proper phrasing. It might be instinctual to native members of Jeopardy! nation in the States, but can you really blame Brits for being turned off by, I don’t know, a baffling, free-associative sentence like, ‘What is isosceles triangle?’ And don’t get me started on the prizes. The pool’s been reduced into ridiculously piddly amounts. The cheapest answers score a pathetic £25, while the most difficult clues—worth $1,000 in America—register at £150. And then there’s the problem at the podium. Stephen is a man of asides. He hardly lets a clue go by without taking on some of his wonky commentary on every right and wrong answer. It’s absolute boring tripe with a crap presenter. If someone tuned in to the show for the first time, probably on an overcast Monday in beautiful Winchester or something, they’d think Jeopardy! is little more than Stephen Fry posing a slew of softball queries to three nerds. Can I get ‘Hell No’ for £150?”

Mark didn’t know what to think or say after her spiel. He supposed she was the expert in the family on television, seeing that she currently worked in the industry. “Well, it is a North American institution and was probably my favourite show of all time when I lived there. But it’s also, undoubtedly, filled with all sorts of maladaptive eccentricities ensconced in the rulebook years ago that were never removed for clarity. And these things can get lost in translation.”

Bridget nodded vigorously in agreement. “Oh, can you find a petrol station? I need to use the loo. And I’m a little hungry, too.” Mark had made her two eggs over easy with wholemeal toast for breakfast, which only seemed to have increased her appetite.

Laughing at her hunger after eating just over an hour ago, he said, “I’m getting off here,” before sailing over three lanes to the nearest exit. They had only been on the road for a half hour.

While Mark topped off the tank, Bridget visited the restroom before returning to the car with the largest bottle of water he’d ever seen and two bags of snack items.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I did an experiment driving to my parents and back? I kept it up for four visits and tracked my spending in my diary.”

“Were you calculating how many miles to the gallon you could get? I can see why that might be difficult since we buy petrol and diesel in litres, which is a metric unit. Still, we measure its efficiency in miles per gallon, or an imperial, and irritatingly British, unit.”

Bridget shook her head, staring at Mark uncomprehendingly before explaining,“My experiment was to use petrol stations as my only food option to see if I could eat well for an affordable price, but it ended up costing more than £50 on ready meals and snacks. My mum had mentioned I seemed to save my appetite for when I came home, and I was determined to prove her wrong. So then I thought I’d try it on my way back to London, too.

“I forked out £2.99 on a pack of McVitie's Hobnobs Milk Choc, but they sell for just £1.55 at Waitrose or £1 at Sainsbury’s. I pretty much expected I’d be shelling out more money for the food sold at a petrol station than buying at a supermarket, but I didn't expect it to be that much more.

“And some products cost over 50 per cent more than a regular supermarket. For example, I paid £6.95 for a single tin of John West red salmon - but the same product costs just £2.60 at Iceland or £3.75 at Tesco.

“On the return drive, I did try to follow some kind of meal plan, but as there weren’t any raw ingredients to make things from, I was forced to grab pre-made sarnies, crisps and chocolate bars, and ready meals because they were quick and easy. I struggled to find any fruit or vegetables - even though the selection of food and drink at petrol stations has improved in recent years.

“The closest I came to a healthy meal was a frozen chicken dinner that looked like aeroplane food, carrots and smoothies. I drove down on Fridays, and by the end of the experiment on Sunday night, when I got home, I felt yucky and bloated from all the sodium. But the one bright side was not having to do any actual cooking or washing up on Sunday after the drive.

“Even though I'm not the biggest fan of cooking,” Mark’s eyebrow shot up at her words, “I did actually miss making a hot meal and yearned for a supermarket with more options and lower prices. I didn't eat nearly as many vegetables as usual and no fruit unless you counted my smoothie.

"Overall, it was for research, but after that, I stuck to Lidl and Aldi for my bank balance, waistline and health in general."

“Don’t forget The Globe and Electra,” Mark muttered without thinking, then looked embarrassed. “And I never knew you to eat tinned seafood,” he added, attempting to distract her from his reminder of the pubs and nightclubs she had liked to frequent.

Back on the road again, Mark thought it would be fair to say he knew nothing about how satellite navigation software worked, and it was clear that neither of their phones did either.

“Well, we now know you simply can’t accept the best offer on a mobile. An hour in, and both apps have adjusted their estimates to one unfavourable arrival time that I’ll just call ‘late’. We seem to be driving straight into the pit of hell, and both advise us to leave the A1 immediately. What does the SatNav say?” Bridget asked.

Mark reached over and clicked on the car’s navigation system, but their one last hope only offered more despair as an alternative.

Now off the main highway, they took the first right in a roundabout and began picking their way north and east along roads with grass growing in the median. Bridget considered options as their arrival time moved further away.

“Sharp right coming up, after those trees,” she said. Mark turned the car onto a shady lane, heading up an incline as the thick bushes scraped both wing mirrors.

“Is this road for cars or horses?” he asked in alarm.

In the end, the drive was closer to two hours and forty minutes, which meant they arrived not just tired and frazzled but late.

Bridget felt much refreshed after Nicola served lunch and she had a short nap. Sometimes the benefits of being pregnant, such as friends and acquaintances being genuinely concerned for her welfare, picking out an entirely new wardrobe as her body expanded, the fact her hair became less knotted after a full night’s sleep, along with a lot of extra care and attention from friends, relatives, and even kind strangers, but especially Mark, were worth the uncomfortable side-effects including constipation, gas, bloating, itchy skin, and the newly discovered and horrid excess saliva.

On their first evening they had dinner at neon-lit Vanderlyle, a sleek venue with a dark facade, no signage, polished plaster walls, small plates to share, and natural wines. Bridget was even able to coax a sip from Mark’s glass. The restaurant was in a lively residential area called Mill Road, filled with charming, quiet streets of Victorian terraced houses, a 20-minute stroll across Parker’s Piece, the city’s main green space near Ian and Nicola’s home. They ordered wine, decided upon a few dishes to share before their meal, and settled in to watch the talented chefs in the spacious open kitchen packed with implements and exotic spices.

After dinner, they relaxed at the Bradshaw’s house, complete with a large and beautiful garden. The extensive area was lit beautifully with strategically placed floodlights and had a pond and lots of leafy trees to prevent nosy students from peering in or taking photos. The home was called The Lodge and located on Latham Road, between the Botanical Gardens and Granchester Meadows. Mark informed Bridget on the drive from London that Ian, as Vice-Chancellor, was the principal academic and administrative officer of the University, appointed for a period of up to 7 years, and chaired the Council of the University, the General Board of the Faculties and the Finance Committee of the Council.

“I can’t recall how much I liked – or didn’t like – sleepovers as a child. I suppose it depended on whose home it was and the other attendees. It isn’t something I recall having a strong opinion on. But I find staying at friends’ houses as an adult extremely pleasurable. In truth, I find staying anywhere rather exciting, and hospitality, in general, is such a lovely gift. I even have a friend that occasionally stays in fancy hotels in London just for a night, even though she lives there, to break up the monotony,” Bridget said.

At Mark’s questioning look, she clarified, “Jude and Giles. I think it allows them a break from the children.”

“On trips abroad, we love staying with locals. But there’s something satisfying and, more than that, comforting when staying with friends. I’m sure a large part is that I know several people with fancy houses in beautiful locations. I have friends with a stunning house in Oxford and mates with quaint cottages by the seaside,” Nicola said. “Another factor is that my friends generally have their lives together more than I do: a domestic goddess I am not. But the feeling of being invited into someone else’s space is a privilege. Friends are the family we choose.”

“What I enjoy best is the contrast between the warmth and familiarity of someone’s home and the subtleness of a twist on the ordinary, even if it’s only a different cereal than your own in the morning or a shower that works differently. Kitchen utensils you don’t own and can’t figure out what they’re used for. It’s like snooping in a National Trust house, but one lived in by people you know who aren’t prejudiced,” said Bridget. “Perhaps it’s that I feel safe and wanted. If someone’s willing to make up their spare bedroom for you and pops their head around the door in the morning to offer you a cuppa, they must hold you in some regard.”

“Don’t underestimate the impact visitors have either. We absolutely love company, but things that delight you and the sense of home you enjoy usually involve a lot of last-minute cleaning and sorting things out,” Nicola said.

“Don’t think we have our shit together any more than you. But your visit makes us get sorted, and for that, we’re extremely grateful,” a laughing Ian told Bridget and Mark, gently rubbing his wife’s shoulders.

“You can always tell how long it is since we’ve had guests by how minging our house is. Bridget’s more social than I tend to be, and her friends always say the house is immaculate,” Mark admitted.

“And I tell them no, Mark just cleans before you come, but they don’t believe me. We do not accept short-notice visitors,” laughed Bridget.

Sitting in the car at the end of their short stay, Mark and Bridget consulted their phones for the fastest return trip to London. Engaging the engine, he left the vehicle in park and leaned over the centre console to kiss her. “I enjoyed this getaway immensely,” he said earnestly. The expression of happiness on his face almost made her tear up. He was really such an easy person to please, and she adored him for it. She nodded tentatively at first, then more energetically, and found herself smiling quite without conscious thought; his expression of pure joy filled her heart. He placed a hand on her cheek and drew her into another tender, quick kiss.

“I did, too. Your friend Ian is lovely, and his wife is so down to earth. By the way, my app says two hours, 2 minutes,” Bridget said, for some reason feeling very emotional.

Mark glanced at his phone. “Mine says two hours 30.”

“Right,” said Bridget, smiling again. “Let’s go with mine.”

They split the difference. Two hours and 15 minutes later they were unloading the car at home. The bin was still on its side, undisturbed.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Mark asked the next-door neighbour as he was washing his car in the nearby drive.

“When I came outside this morning,” he said, “I found the cat by your front door playing with a squirrel with no head.”

“Oh my God,” Bridget exclaimed with disgust.

“A huge squirrel with no head.”

“Your cat couldn’t behead a squirrel,” Mark said. “It must have been the bloody fox.”

“Well, I hope the fox ate the head ‘cause I don’t want to find it anywhere,” he said.

“Did you get rid of it?” Mark asked warily.

“Yeah,” he said. “I had to wear bin liners on both hands.”

I’m glad we didn’t get home any earlier, thought Bridget, suddenly nauseous.