Interlude
"It seems we stood and talked like this before. We looked at each other in the same way then, but I can't remember where or when."
Tristan awoke slowly, alone in the unfamiliar bed. He lay without moving or opening his eyes, knowing Robin would break off the song he was quietly singing. He had been humming it since dinner the previous evening. The inn's dining room had been almost empty of guests. As a result, the music, which would have been unobtrusive other evenings, had been easy to hear.
"The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore. The smile you are smiling you were smiling then, but I can't remember where or when."
He had first heard Robin sing at Christmas when he himself lay abed with the putrid cold that had kept them at home instead of driving to his parents. Robin had thought he was asleep, and had first hummed then sung along with the carol service on the radio as he wrapped their last few gifts. When Tristan appeared in the doorway, the soft, pure tenor stopped.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Robin said, focusing all his attention on rewrapping the ribbons around their spools.
Dropping onto the couch, Tristan dragged the rug over himself. "You didn't, darling. I think I've slept long enough, don't you?"
"You should sleep as much as you can," Robin reminded him.
"Which I did, but now I'm tired of being in bed while you're out here."
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Robin offered. "I was about to make one."
As he passed Tristan, he paused to put a cool hand to his forehead. Tristan captured the hand. "I love hearing you sing, Robbie."
Blushing, Robin would have pulled away, but Tristan kept hold. Robin did not accept compliments well, and it was something they were working on. "Robin," he said quietly.
Robin stopped pulling, his colour only increasing "Sorry," he mumbled then took a deep breath. "Thank you."
The singing had increased in its frequency, and Tristan treasured hearing his partner, even if it were more often than not from another room. Now, in the half-light that heralded a second day of snow, he opened his eyes and located Robin standing by the window, his gaze focused on something in the garden below the window. He wore a t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms, and he had wrapped his arms around himself to stay warm.
"…And so it seems that we have met before, and laughed before, and loved before, but who knows where or when."
This weekend holiday had been Robin's idea, heralded by an envelope slipped into Tristan's briefcase. Tristan had found the envelope as he prepared for his first meeting of the day and smiled at the shy words of invitation. Glancing at the clock, he realised he had only seconds before a client was due to arrive, and that Robin had already left for a meeting with his editor.
At half past eleven, Sarah had appeared in his doorway and announced the arrival of his next appointment, and he had looked at her in surprise before glancing at his calendar. He was certain he had no one scheduled in for the rest of the day. Before he could say as much, she stepped back, and Robin had appeared in the doorway with the slightly worried look he always wore when visiting Tristan at work.
"Is it all right that I'm here?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"It's fine, darling," Tristan assured him as he bent to kiss him. Robin gave him a quick kiss in return then stepped away.
"D-did you…" He gestured toward Tristan's briefcase.
"Find an invitation for a romantic weekend away?" Tristan finished. "By the time I found it, you'd already left. I thought you and Chris would have lunch, so I was planning to call you this afternoon."
"So it's all right?" Robin asked.
"Darling, it's brilliant!"
And it had been. They had left London early on Saturday and had lunch along the way. By the time they had arrived at the inn Robin had chosen, the grey sky had changed from merely threatening snow to delivering it.
They had checked in and been given a large south-facing room with what Robin assured him was a spectacular view — when it was not obliterated by rapidly falling flakes.
"Look," he had said, grabbing a worn brochure from the front pocket of his bag, "it's right here, Tris."
Tris had taken the paper, admired the pictured view and then proceeded to remove all thoughts of scenery, historic inns and weather from his partner's thoughts. When they had finally revived enough to bathe, dress and appear for dinner, the server told them that the lane to inn was virtually impassable.
"No one's going home tonight," she said, gesturing around the dining room at the few members of the serving staff who had fought their way in. "They're putting us up here, and we'll stay through. The forecast said the storm wouldn't end until late tomorrow night."
Robin looked at Tristan, a slow, wide grin lighting his face.
"And Lord only knows when we'll get out. Could be Tuesday."
"Tuesday," Tristan said, using the girl's distraction and the cover of the tablecloth to rub one hand along the length of Robin's thigh.
"Not to worry, there's plenty of food and most of the fireplaces work. If we lose power, we'll still be comfortable. This inn's been through worse than this in the last three-hundred years."
Despite the girl's volubility, they had enjoyed a quiet meal. There were few diners at that hour, and it seemed many guests had been unable to reach the inn.
"Good morning, love," Tristan said as the song faded into silence.
"It's still snowing," Robin reported, coming to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Not as hard, though."
"I think we'll be here until tomorrow, at least," Tristan said through a yawn. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"If you're hungry, too?"
"I might even use the coffee service to make a cup while you're in the shower."
Robin started to stand up, but stopped. His teeth worried his bottom lip before he spoke. "Tris, there's something I've done, and I hope you'll be pleased about it, but I've done it without asking you so you may not be."
"Darling, you know you don't need my permission for everything you do."
"I know," Robin agreed. "It's to do with my father's money."
Tristan nodded encouragement. Robin had worked diligently since his father's funeral to disperse the inheritance the man had left him. Worried about the stress, Tristan had kept an eye on him at first, but the weekly meetings with Miles Davenport seemed to give Robin an outlet for the resentment he had felt at his father's bequest.
"I had Miles set up a trust for Catherine's son, remember? To take care of his education."
"I remember," Tristan replied.
"I — I, uh…" He took a deep breath. "I had Miles set up one for Gemma as well." He paused then charged on when Tristan did not speak. "I thought it might help. She's so bright — at least I think she is — and I wanted to make certain she'd have every advantage. Not that she couldn't win scholarships and such, but it might help if Meg and Will didn't have to worry about where she could. They could put her name in now for the schools they think might suit when she's older. Oh, and I put her name in at Cheveton —"
"Darling." Tristan finally found his voice and tried to stem the flow of nervous chatter. When it looked as if Robin would continue, he grabbed his hands and held them in his own. "Robin." This time more firmly.
"Are you very angry?" Robin whispered.
"I'm stunned."
Robin's eyebrows rose. Apparently, he had not considered this eventuality. He opened his mouth, thought, and then closed it.
"I wish you had confided in me," Tristan began and Robin's gaze fell to the blanket between them, "but that was a very kind and generous thing to do. I can't imagine what Meg and Will will say when you tell them."
"Me? No!" Robin exclaimed. "I thought you would!"
"It isn't my gift."
"But —"
Tristan laid back against the pillows, watching the consternation play over Robin's expressive face as he thought of and discarded reasons why Tristan should take on this particular task.
"You're — you're her uncle!" he managed at last.
Tristan simply shook his head and pointed a finger at Robin.
"It isn't fair," Robin protested.
"Darling, if you're going to do these things, you must be prepared for people's gratitude."
"But I don't want it! I didn't do this so they would thank me."
"Nevertheless they will — if they're not stunned into silence." He laughed at the hopeful expression on Robin's face. "I will warn you now that won't be the case with my brother."
Robin frowned. "Perhaps I should have Miles tell them it's an anonymous bequest."
"Darling, there's no way round this. We're going down at Easter, and you should tell them then."
Robin moaned, falling melodramatically back on the bed and covering his face with his hands. After a moment's pause for effect, he lowered his hands, raising his head to look at Tristan. "Please?" he tried.
"No."
He moaned again. "It isn't fair!"
Tristan waited until he dropped his head back on the bed, then dove onto him. "Of course it isn't!" he teased.
"Tris, I'm serious!" Robin maintained, trying to get away from Tristan's roaming mouth which was tracing the line of his jaw.
Rolling the two of them over so they were wrapped in a cocoon of bedclothes, Tristan paused in his assault. "So am I, darling. Very…" He kissed the spot behind Robin's ear which always made him shudder. "Very…" He nibbled on the lobe of his ear. "Serious."
"Tris —" but Robin's attempt at a protest was cut short by a determined assault on his mouth. He conceded defeat for the moment, turning his full attention to more pressing matters.
"Where Or When" by Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers
Tristan and Robin
Tristan awoke slowly, alone in the unfamiliar bed. He lay without moving or opening his eyes, knowing Robin would break off the song he was quietly singing. He had been humming it since dinner the previous evening. The inn's dining room had been almost empty of guests. As a result, the music, which would have been unobtrusive other evenings, had been easy to hear.
"The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore. The smile you are smiling you were smiling then, but I can't remember where or when."
He had first heard Robin sing at Christmas when he himself lay abed with the putrid cold that had kept them at home instead of driving to his parents. Robin had thought he was asleep, and had first hummed then sung along with the carol service on the radio as he wrapped their last few gifts. When Tristan appeared in the doorway, the soft, pure tenor stopped.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Robin said, focusing all his attention on rewrapping the ribbons around their spools.
Dropping onto the couch, Tristan dragged the rug over himself. "You didn't, darling. I think I've slept long enough, don't you?"
"You should sleep as much as you can," Robin reminded him.
"Which I did, but now I'm tired of being in bed while you're out here."
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Robin offered. "I was about to make one."
As he passed Tristan, he paused to put a cool hand to his forehead. Tristan captured the hand. "I love hearing you sing, Robbie."
Blushing, Robin would have pulled away, but Tristan kept hold. Robin did not accept compliments well, and it was something they were working on. "Robin," he said quietly.
Robin stopped pulling, his colour only increasing "Sorry," he mumbled then took a deep breath. "Thank you."
The singing had increased in its frequency, and Tristan treasured hearing his partner, even if it were more often than not from another room. Now, in the half-light that heralded a second day of snow, he opened his eyes and located Robin standing by the window, his gaze focused on something in the garden below the window. He wore a t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms, and he had wrapped his arms around himself to stay warm.
"…And so it seems that we have met before, and laughed before, and loved before, but who knows where or when."
This weekend holiday had been Robin's idea, heralded by an envelope slipped into Tristan's briefcase. Tristan had found the envelope as he prepared for his first meeting of the day and smiled at the shy words of invitation. Glancing at the clock, he realised he had only seconds before a client was due to arrive, and that Robin had already left for a meeting with his editor.
At half past eleven, Sarah had appeared in his doorway and announced the arrival of his next appointment, and he had looked at her in surprise before glancing at his calendar. He was certain he had no one scheduled in for the rest of the day. Before he could say as much, she stepped back, and Robin had appeared in the doorway with the slightly worried look he always wore when visiting Tristan at work.
"Is it all right that I'm here?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"It's fine, darling," Tristan assured him as he bent to kiss him. Robin gave him a quick kiss in return then stepped away.
"D-did you…" He gestured toward Tristan's briefcase.
"Find an invitation for a romantic weekend away?" Tristan finished. "By the time I found it, you'd already left. I thought you and Chris would have lunch, so I was planning to call you this afternoon."
"So it's all right?" Robin asked.
"Darling, it's brilliant!"
And it had been. They had left London early on Saturday and had lunch along the way. By the time they had arrived at the inn Robin had chosen, the grey sky had changed from merely threatening snow to delivering it.
They had checked in and been given a large south-facing room with what Robin assured him was a spectacular view — when it was not obliterated by rapidly falling flakes.
"Look," he had said, grabbing a worn brochure from the front pocket of his bag, "it's right here, Tris."
Tris had taken the paper, admired the pictured view and then proceeded to remove all thoughts of scenery, historic inns and weather from his partner's thoughts. When they had finally revived enough to bathe, dress and appear for dinner, the server told them that the lane to inn was virtually impassable.
"No one's going home tonight," she said, gesturing around the dining room at the few members of the serving staff who had fought their way in. "They're putting us up here, and we'll stay through. The forecast said the storm wouldn't end until late tomorrow night."
Robin looked at Tristan, a slow, wide grin lighting his face.
"And Lord only knows when we'll get out. Could be Tuesday."
"Tuesday," Tristan said, using the girl's distraction and the cover of the tablecloth to rub one hand along the length of Robin's thigh.
"Not to worry, there's plenty of food and most of the fireplaces work. If we lose power, we'll still be comfortable. This inn's been through worse than this in the last three-hundred years."
Despite the girl's volubility, they had enjoyed a quiet meal. There were few diners at that hour, and it seemed many guests had been unable to reach the inn.
"Good morning, love," Tristan said as the song faded into silence.
"It's still snowing," Robin reported, coming to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Not as hard, though."
"I think we'll be here until tomorrow, at least," Tristan said through a yawn. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"If you're hungry, too?"
"I might even use the coffee service to make a cup while you're in the shower."
Robin started to stand up, but stopped. His teeth worried his bottom lip before he spoke. "Tris, there's something I've done, and I hope you'll be pleased about it, but I've done it without asking you so you may not be."
"Darling, you know you don't need my permission for everything you do."
"I know," Robin agreed. "It's to do with my father's money."
Tristan nodded encouragement. Robin had worked diligently since his father's funeral to disperse the inheritance the man had left him. Worried about the stress, Tristan had kept an eye on him at first, but the weekly meetings with Miles Davenport seemed to give Robin an outlet for the resentment he had felt at his father's bequest.
"I had Miles set up a trust for Catherine's son, remember? To take care of his education."
"I remember," Tristan replied.
"I — I, uh…" He took a deep breath. "I had Miles set up one for Gemma as well." He paused then charged on when Tristan did not speak. "I thought it might help. She's so bright — at least I think she is — and I wanted to make certain she'd have every advantage. Not that she couldn't win scholarships and such, but it might help if Meg and Will didn't have to worry about where she could. They could put her name in now for the schools they think might suit when she's older. Oh, and I put her name in at Cheveton —"
"Darling." Tristan finally found his voice and tried to stem the flow of nervous chatter. When it looked as if Robin would continue, he grabbed his hands and held them in his own. "Robin." This time more firmly.
"Are you very angry?" Robin whispered.
"I'm stunned."
Robin's eyebrows rose. Apparently, he had not considered this eventuality. He opened his mouth, thought, and then closed it.
"I wish you had confided in me," Tristan began and Robin's gaze fell to the blanket between them, "but that was a very kind and generous thing to do. I can't imagine what Meg and Will will say when you tell them."
"Me? No!" Robin exclaimed. "I thought you would!"
"It isn't my gift."
"But —"
Tristan laid back against the pillows, watching the consternation play over Robin's expressive face as he thought of and discarded reasons why Tristan should take on this particular task.
"You're — you're her uncle!" he managed at last.
Tristan simply shook his head and pointed a finger at Robin.
"It isn't fair," Robin protested.
"Darling, if you're going to do these things, you must be prepared for people's gratitude."
"But I don't want it! I didn't do this so they would thank me."
"Nevertheless they will — if they're not stunned into silence." He laughed at the hopeful expression on Robin's face. "I will warn you now that won't be the case with my brother."
Robin frowned. "Perhaps I should have Miles tell them it's an anonymous bequest."
"Darling, there's no way round this. We're going down at Easter, and you should tell them then."
Robin moaned, falling melodramatically back on the bed and covering his face with his hands. After a moment's pause for effect, he lowered his hands, raising his head to look at Tristan. "Please?" he tried.
"No."
He moaned again. "It isn't fair!"
Tristan waited until he dropped his head back on the bed, then dove onto him. "Of course it isn't!" he teased.
"Tris, I'm serious!" Robin maintained, trying to get away from Tristan's roaming mouth which was tracing the line of his jaw.
Rolling the two of them over so they were wrapped in a cocoon of bedclothes, Tristan paused in his assault. "So am I, darling. Very…" He kissed the spot behind Robin's ear which always made him shudder. "Very…" He nibbled on the lobe of his ear. "Serious."
"Tris —" but Robin's attempt at a protest was cut short by a determined assault on his mouth. He conceded defeat for the moment, turning his full attention to more pressing matters.
"Where Or When" by Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers
Tristan and Robin