Gaius folded her hand into his, linking fingers. ‘You will tell me when you want to.’
‘That sounds as if you think you already know.’
‘So am I very conceited?’
‘Not really. Just a trained observer.’
Gaius had found the end of the blue ribbon; remarkably, its knot was still intact. Inevitably, he pulled it. He spread Lucilla’s shining hair, loosening it around her head, tenderly laying strands upon her shoulders.
‘Ironic,’ she concluded ruefully. ‘I devote my life to doing women’s hair, to make them attractive to their men — and all the time, what men really like best is hair worn long and loose, without adornment — ’
‘On a pillow!’ exclaimed Gaius enthusiastically.
‘So what happens now?’
‘Breakfast.’ Gaius pulled himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching what he must know was an impressive torso. ‘I have to get up. Traditionally, the boy in a family goes out for breakfast rolls.’
Are we a family? ‘I meant-’
‘I know.’ Gaius stopped her. ‘I am not letting you get away this time.’ He rolled back and hung over her. He knew how uncertain Lucilla’s life had been, and how determined he himself was to avoid any more stupid mistakes. ‘Let’s get it over with. You need to know I am a permanent fixture; I need to know that if I nip off for a pee, you won’t disappear on me.’
‘Tell me what you want, Gaius.’
‘What do you think, love? I’ve been mooning after you so long, it’s all pretty obvious to me.’
‘No guesswork. Too many of my clients have come to grief through relying on presumption.’
‘You want a written agreement?’ Lucilla was amused to hear he sounded as if, had he had a waxed tablet here in the bed, he would have jotted contract notes. ‘Whatever you will agree to,’ Gaius said. ‘Whatever you choose to call it. I won’t push my luck; you made it clear, you think I’m a bad bet for marriage and I don’t blame you.. Just be my girl, Lucilla. Be kind, and let me be loving to you. When work permits, we shall be together. One bed, one hearth, one table — one bloody dog, who already thinks he owns us both. One life, one set of dreams.’
Lucilla caressed his ruined cheek with her knuckle. ‘I notice you put the bed first.’
Gaius nibbled her finger affectionately. ‘No, the dreams come first. I am just frightened to admit that, in case you think I’m soft.’
‘So what are your dreams, Gaius?’
‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘Maybe I have to come to you to learn them… Give me a chance, girl. You know you want to.’
Lucilla smiled so sweetly her happiness was translucent. She shimmied to her knees and held him close, before despatching him to fetch their breakfast.
‘Shall I bring the dog up?’ They could hear Baby howling piteously in the salon downstairs. He knew he was missing something.
‘May as well. He has to get used to it.’
‘He either accepts it — or he goes!’
‘Gaius, as a pet-owner, you are ruthless… Do I have to do what you say, too?’
Gaius scoffed. ‘Oh no. I know my limits.’
The bakeries would be nearly sold out. He washed, pulled on his old tunic, and went out to find bread rolls. Lucilla heard him all the way down Plum Street, as he filled his lungs and, just like the blackbird earlier, sang his heart out.
Heads turned. Gaius Vinius knew it, and he did not care.
28
They would have five years as lovers in Plum Street. More than most lovers could hope for. In their city’s political history those were dreadful times, but people could, if they were careful, find normal human happiness. The apartment Lucilla and Gaius shared had always seemed isolated from the world’s troubles. Even though Lucilla worked there, once customers left it was domestic and private; for Gaius it had long been his secret refuge.
They saw each other regularly now. When they did, everything seemed quite natural. As other people noticed them as a couple, Lucilla was surprised how little they commented.
‘They all think we’ve been sleeping and living together for years,’ explained Gaius.
Lucilla was indignant. ‘Who says so? Who thinks that?’
‘Anyone who has ever seen us in the same room together, precious.’
The first time he came back after spending time at the Camp, Lucilla heard him fuss the dog and ask, ‘Where is she then?’ in a familiar way that brought a lump to her throat. He only kissed her quickly on the forehead, taking himself off to dump a parcel of shellfish then wash his hands before he really gave attention to her. When he did, his affection was unforced.
Despite all he promised, she had been torn between belief in his return and doubt. ‘Hey! I’m a soldier — don’t cry on me; you’ll break my heart… You knew I would come back.’
‘Yes.’
‘Better like it then, because I can’t keep away from you.’
She would not cry next time.
This was good. Gaius was a householder coming home with their supper, which he had chosen and which, she guessed, he would insist on cooking, since frying up a batch of prawns with garlic had to be man’s work. Lucilla would edge around him in the tiny kitchen, preparing other things for the meal, sharing the tasks without needing to consult. Now they were lovers they could squeeze in together, the more intimate the better. They touched all the time. It was more than reassurance; they liked to be in continual contact.
This was how life would be. Lucilla realised with a thump in the chest that overnight they had become one unit. They were friends, lovers, partners, co-conspirators against everyone else. They would eat together this evening, drink a little wine, talk, complain about others, enjoy the evening twilight, then tidy the house, walk the dog, chat to neighbours, return home, conduct ablutions, go to bed cheerfully, and turn to one another between the sheets with wonderful excitement.
Lucilla had decided to avoid having children. They discussed it once, when she knew Gaius had seen what she was doing. She did believe he would look after her, and love any child they conceived together, yet there were uncertainties in his own profession and she still remembered his warning after Lara died about how children would affect her work. Besides, who wanted to bring a baby into Domitian’s Rome? It was no place for innocents.
Gaius seemed to accept her decision. At least he said so. Men could be sentimentalists. Men wanted heirs to continue their line. But he applied no pressure. The other thing about men was that, if they were honest about it which none of them were, they wanted their women to themselves. Lucilla had learned that wisdom from her customers.
Crucially, they both now discussed everything together. A definition of Roman marriage said a wife was the one person with whom a man shared his most intimate thoughts, thoughts he would not divulge even to his close male advisers, his amici. In Gaius’ case, his amici were his two brothers, his old vigiles comrade Scorpus, and his predecessor Septimus; he was restrained with fellow-officers because in any organisation a good chief-of-staff trusts nobody. Gaius admitted, at least to himself, he had never shared much with his wives. By agreement he and Lucilla would not call themselves married. But he confided totally in her now, and she did the same with him. They discussed work, politics, society, their neighbourhood, family matters, friends, music and literature, absolutely everything. Many a conversation was held on their balcony, in the room with their reading couch, while out walking, in bed. Neither had been known for talking, but when they were together they talked to each other constantly.
Perhaps they talked too much. Where so much was said, if ever some topic was to be kept unmentioned the silence would be telling.
They laughed a great deal. Sometimes an outsider would be hard pushed to know why. Their amusement was based on a shared opinion that most of the world was ridiculous, but it also derived from the complex weave of their past conversations. Sometimes they just looked at each other and laughed, without needing to speak.
