Chapter 50. Pom Pom Pom
Walking towards the kitchen Scarlet found herself wondering at the joy she felt from Pom’s sheer presence, the lightness he imparted to her step. Quite the opposite of Ian whose mind seemed to have hardened into such an inscrutable wall and whose dry, dusty heart had been devoured by pride and greed . Her spirits literally hit the floor when he was around. Scarlet eerily felt that she and Pom seemed always to be thinking the same thoughts – she could literally feel his ideas quivering in the air, yearning for contact with her to make them visible to the world at large.
Miss Bottomley was drawing on her gloves, getting ready for her banking trip.
“It’s just my own things here,” she said, gesturing at her modest bedroom – more like a nun’s cell than anything the rest of the house contained. “And I like the kitchen furniture. So once again your idea was sound: just tell him anywhere but here – unless you’re attached to the furniture in your own room, of course. You can exempt anything you’d like to personally own.”
“I am fond of the desk in my room,” said Scarlet. “Thanks. You’ve been very generous.”
Mr. Crousam paid Pom and Scarlet no further attention as he wandered from room to room, making notes. They could spend the whole morning together.
“We’ll have to think up a new excuse after this,” said Pom and Scarlet laughed and squeezed his hand.
“How about those auctions Miss Bottomley is so eager to attend?”
“Good plan,” Pom agreed. “Do you think we could get away with one auction and one gallery visit per week?”
“Or perhaps two,” said Scarlet and Pom pulled her back behind a Coromandel screen and kissed her. Ecstasy!
“Oh, I wish you hadn’t done that,” Scarlet gasped huskily as she fell against him.
“Why’s that?” he murmured, playing with her hair.
“Because it changes everything.”
But Pom was kissing her face and Scarlet was kissing back. Time itself melted, goals melted, there was no future, only this eternal sense of glorious happiness – Pom loved her, she loved him, she was the luckiest girl in the world.
“Why are you crying?” he asked gently, wiping away tears with his lips.
“Because this is a disaster,” she cried, “I’m in the middle of a complicated divorce – if I have a lover – if I have a boyfriend – aren’t I as bad as Ian?”
“Surely not,” he said. “Your husband is rejecting love. We are finding it.” But he halted long enough to allow her to back away from him, straighten her clothing and question frantically, “Can’t we pretend this never happened?”
“But it’s the truth,” said Pom. “I love you and you love me. I want to shout it from the housetops.”
“Don’t you dare. It can’t happen if I want Ian to sign the divorce agreement I need, can’t you see? Let’s agree to put this on hold. No love talk –“ she gasped, “And no touching.”
He backed away, putting his hands up. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’ve waited thirty-three years to find you, I can wait a few more months.”
“It will go much faster than that if Ian sees he has no choice,” sighed Scarlet, then asked, “Thirty-three years?”
“That’s how old I am,” said Pom. “Are you appalled?”
“No,” said Scarlet. “I’m – hopeful. But I’m also frightened. Frightened.”
He held up his hands, kissed her forehead and left.
No sleep for Scarlet that night, as tossing and turning, she contemplated a divorce on Ian’s terms. She’d experienced marriage on his terms and it hadn’t been tolerable. She must not let him get the upper hand.
The new world Pom offered was spectacular, exciting and completely unexpected. In the moment of his warm erotic presence she had wanted him totally – they had been near a bed, she would have fallen into it. And she was certain the experience would have been wonderful, their attunement was so perfect. But she had also been looking forward to her job, her new life in Miss Bottomley’s house as a single woman and she didn’t want to forgo those exciting experiences either. No, it was just too soon with Pom. She hadn’t yet learned how to properly care for Nick or care for herself, and she had just acquired s new charge: Miss Bottomley. The only way forward was slowly, one thing at a time. But as her hand reached down to touch herself she couldn’t help but vibrate to the promise of joy she had experienced.
Alysse Aallyn 
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