Page 102 of Beyond Her Manner
“You’ve already faced the truth,” Viola said, her tone filled with quiet reassurance. “I’m here, and as you say… naked.” A playful glint flashed in her eyes before she continued. “It’s the final navigation into port you need to tackle, and I will be your tugboat.”
Gillian pulled Viola into her, stroking her skin and watching as goosebumps appeared on her arms. After savouring her comforting presence for a few minutes, Gillian gently pulled back, brushing a soft kiss against the top of Viola's head. "Shall I make us some tea? Or coffee?"
“Coffee, please. Have you got a spare toothbrush?”
“There should be a new one under the sink,” Gillian answered, knowing there would be.
She watched as Viola extracted herself from the sheets. The previous night’s events still felt like a dream; however, with Viola standing there, her bare skin bathed in the soft glow of the morning light, the reality of it all was undeniable. Every inch of her body was captivating, and Gillian couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Viola glanced over her shoulder as she left the room, her lips curling into a knowing smile. It was a smile that said she knew exactly what was going through Gillian’s mind and she knew the effect she had on her.
Gillian pulled on a silk slip hanging on the back of a chair and wrapped her dressing gown around her. She descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, turning the kettle on. The sound of the door knocking echoed through the house. Checking her dressing gown was sufficiently tightened, she headed towards it. Not one for opening her door in a state of undress, she recognised the knock as Bridget’s, and knowing she would only knock louder, rather than leave, she opened it.
“Happy birthday!”
“Thank you, Bridget,” Gillian said, taking a bunch of sunflowers and a box of champagne truffles from her and placing them on the hall table.
“Do you know where Viola is?” Bridget asked, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “The helicopter is on the lawn, and I checked the manor. She’s nowhere to be seen.”
Gillian could feel her throat tightening. She hadn’t even thought about what to say.
“Err. Yes, she stayed here last night, in the spare bedroom.”
“You don’t have a spare bedroom.”
“No, I don’t, do I?” Gillian admitted, feeling foolish for lying. Why hadn’t she said the sofa?
Bridget stepped towards her, reaching out and placing her hand on Gillian’s arm. “It’s okay, Gillian. I know. I’ve known for some time. We’ve been friends for nigh on thirty-five years. You might not speak much about yourself, but I know you. Plus, your eye has a habit of wandering. It wandered quite a bit in Viola’s direction.”
A sudden wave of panic washed over Gillian. She withdrew her arm and backed away, walking to the sitting room. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Her initial thoughts went into denial.
“I, I… don’t — ”
“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” Bridget interrupted as she followed behind. “There is nothing to be ashamed of; Elouise and Louisa have been together since the Second World War for pity’s sake.”
“What nonsense! They’re just good friends.”
“No one is ‘just good friends’, Gillian. You thought they were or refused to see it. Everyone else knows. It’s not like they even hide it, and why should they? You might have had your airs and graces, living in that big house, but you’re just another member of this community, and you always have been. Nothing is different about you, Gillian, except you’re finally being honest with yourself.”
A silence filled the room as Gillian stood speechless. Finding her voice she asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you didn’t,” Bridget replied. “I figured you’d bring it up if you ever wanted to talk about it. Then Viola left, and I knew I needed to step in.”
Understanding washed over Gillian. When they spoke about ‘living our truth’, Bridget knew. She’d always known and was trying to help, more than Gillian had realised at the time.
“Look, no one cares if you’re gay, Gillian, or whatever you are,” Bridget said, her voice edged with exasperation. “I assume you must have some feelings for men being married to one all those years, even if it wasn’t the easiest of marriages. We’re not in the eighteen hundreds now, you aren’t lady of the manor, and the village does not start and end with the Carmichaels. You are just another villager like the rest of us.” She took in a breath and sighed loudly before starting up again. “You’ve spent so much of your life acting a part in it; it’s time to take on the lead role and find some happiness for yourself,” she urged.
A noise in the hall caught their attention.
“I will leave you both to it,” Bridget said, heading to the door, where Viola stood holding two mugs, dressed in only her knickers and a T-shirt.
“Good morning, Viola,” Bridget said as she passed her, placing her hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you here.”
“Morning. It’s good to be here.”
“I’ve never seen her like that before,” Gillian said, taking a cup of tea from Viola to the echo of the front door shutting behind Bridget.
“Passionate?”
