The Scent of Roses
There were roses on the mantle in Eric Finch's living room. He had not put them there; he had no touch for gardening. Their scent was subtle but pervasive, invading every room of the house like a ghost.
He'd know in his gut that the woman would be in his life from the moment she took his arm and asked if he liked music. Eric sipped his whiskey, watching out of the corner of his eye the woman sitting opposite him, reading quietly.
She simply hadn't let him go. He knew on some level that Evey thought of him as a very old man, had a habit of deferring to his opinions and then doing as she pleased. She took care of him, as though she truly believed he would curl up into a corner and starve if she didn't.
Somewhere along the line of time since that fifth of November, Eric had fallen in love with her, so that by now, her belief was probably the truth.
Did Evey love him? Gently, he imagined. Very quietly. Other than that, probably not. It was a strange coincidence of fate that Eric Finch had lost two women he loved to the same man.
Her mind for politics was sharper than his would ever be, but after a few years of helping England to rebuild, she'd stepped out of the limelight, preferring to work behind the scenes, through him. She hadn't grown disinterested, by any means... but she disliked publicity intensely. "Everyone gathers to witness the rebirth of the phoenix, not realizing that they will burn right along with it," she had said to him, the day she had relinquished her position in the newborn government. "They wanted this new world as badly as we did, they can work for it, too."
She was a richly feminine woman; with her shoulder-length hair and lovely old-fashioned dresses, she looked like a movie star from 1940s Hollywood. She kept his house and slept in his bed--she cooked very well--and generally made him very comfortable, and throughout it all, left Eric in no doubt as to whom she truly loved.
A tiny twitch of his muscles clenching around his tumbler, and Evey knew what he was thinking. She calmly got up and left the room before he could start that argument again.
And Eric Finch hated the scent of roses.