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She goes back the next night, just as she did the time before. She does not know what she expects to happen, as much as anything it is her curiosity that makes her raise her hand and knock on the door. His call to come in is almost distracted, and she realises why, music swells into her ears as she opens the door and stays as she closes it behind herself. He has the gramophone on, listening to the record he played to try to calm Prentice. She takes in the sight of him the moment before he turns to see who it is. Leaning back against the small bookcase by the wall, in his shirtsleeves, his hand resting on his brow. And then he turned, saw it was her, and smiled.

"Hello, Grace," he murmured softly.

She smiled, and he did too, taking a step towards her. He looked tired, he had done all day, but that shouldn't be a surprise, God only knew, it wasn't as if either of them had had anything like a night's sleep. The day had been long, and the temptation to smile knowingly, to whisper something to him, or to brush her hand against his for a second or two had been strong. She wondered if it had been the same for him, and thought it must have been, a second later when his arms wrapped around her and engulfed her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, his hands held on to the small of her back, they came back together so naturally after a day at arm's length and the uncertainty it had held. She heard him exhale deeply.

"I wondered if you would come back," he admitted at last.

"What made you think I wouldn't?" she asked in reply.

He swayed a little, moving their bodies together, half-dancing to the slight crackles in the record.

"I don't know," he answered a moment later, "Fear, I suppose."

"You wanted me to come?" she asked him, needing to hear the confirmation.

"Of course I did," he breathed.

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were closed again. Moving her head gently, she surprised him with a chaste kiss on the lips. His eyes opened in surprise and he groaned a little, returning her kiss, touching the back of her hair softly.

Breaking apart, he rested his forehead against hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Grace, I need you," he whispered, "I'm hopelessly in love with you."

She brushed half a kiss against his lips, and whispered into them, "I love you too, Roland."

His hand stroked the back of her hair and he simply embraced her. Her arms wrapped around his back.

The record had come to a halt but neither of them noticed.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

"For how long?" she wanted to know.

"As long as you want to," he replied, "For an hour. For the night. For something longer."

"For an affair?" she asked, almost surprising herself with her own directness.

"If that's what you want," he told her, "For longer, if you want. I'm not going to turn away from you, Grace. Whatever you ask of me is yours."

She rested her head back against his chest.

"I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to," she whispered in reply.

"Oh, my darling," she heard him whisper, his lips brushing her hair, "Oh my love."

His voice was so tender, it made her want to cry, almost. She felt her body heave a shakey sigh. His lips brushed her forehead again, he was inhaling the scent of her hair, his arms held her tightly, the sensations were dizzying and-...

"Take me to bed," she murmured, "Please, Roland."

He smiled at her.

"I'll do that gladly," he told her in reply.

Her hand fell seemlessly into his and he began leading her towards the bedroom door.

And then the door to the office opened.

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