When they finally rose the next morning, they were both famished. After a drowsy embrace, Camilla offered to make them both coffee and fix breakfast. She slid out of bed and retrieved her ornately patterned silk gown from the chair in her room. Tying it closed, she looked at Christian expectantly.
“I don’t have anything to wear!” he said, anticipating her question.
“You have a smile, don’t you?” she mocked.
“Well, if you insist …”
Christian made a show of preparing to heave off the doona, revealing all, when Camilla stopped him. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point! Geez.” She walked out of the bedroom and returned a moment later, throwing his shirt at him. “Just cover up, why don’t you? I think I’ve seen enough.”
Over breakfast, they talked about nothing. Christian commented on the apartment’s location and decor while he silently picked out little details, like Camilla’s taste in books and music. It was while he was examining and commenting on her CD collection that Camilla changed the subject.
“I have a favour to ask.” She said nervously. “Can we please not tell anyone about last night?”
Christian knew how these things go, so the question was not entirely unexpected. “Okay. If that is what you want, I will do that for you.”
“Thank you. It’s just this place. Not the place, but the culture … at work. I don’t know if I want to stay here and do this forever, and I have to decide soon about my future. It is just that if I decide to stay, then ‘this’ could be a problem. Not you, but more that this happened when it did. Others don’t know our history and they would judge … me. Politics is a dirty game and there are always people who would use ‘this’ to hurt me. They’d file it in a deep, dark place and bring it out one day when I least expected it.”
“I understand.”
Relaxing, Camilla smiled at him and sipped her coffee. “Thank you. I knew you would.”
Still wearing just his shirt, Christian rose. “I had a lovely time,” he said. Walking over to where Camilla stood, he kissed her and said, “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
He finished his coffee and put it down on its saucer. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can.” He turned and started scanning the room for his discarded clothing.
Puzzled, Camilla asked, “What are you doing?”
“Just trying to find my shoes?”
“Why?”
“So I can walk home?”
“Are you leaving?”
“Aren’t I?”
Camilla put down her coffee, then walked over and kissed him. “What do you think?” She turned away and walked toward the bathroom. Pausing at the door, she untied her robe and let it drop to the floor. Turning, she leant against the doorframe; her right arm reaching up high as she could while she curled her right leg under her. Looking for all the world like a photographer’s model; she beckoned him to her with her left index finger saying, “Come and get it, cowboy!”
After their shower, Camilla allowed Christian to leave on the promise that he’d return that night. When he did, he had changed his clothes and brought an overnight bag. He’d also found his wallet with some cash and bought takeaway and more wine. As Camilla unpacked the food, Christian pulled out some CDs and placed one in the stereo. The first song was one that Camilla thought familiar but couldn’t quite place…
“Sailin’ away on the crest of a wave
It’s like magic.”
She brought the food to the lounge while Christian poured the wine. Sitting, they clinked glasses, and he raised a toast. “Happy Saturday!”
“Happy Sunday,” she proposed.
“I’ll drink to that!”
After a few bites, Camilla suggested that if they were going to keep seeing each other, then they had to be very careful. No toothbrushes, hairdryers or spare undies left at either house. They would have to be highly professional to the point of rudeness when Christian returned to the office. No looks or coffees together or laughter. The most dangerous places were where work people frequented, Kingston and Manuka mostly, but at the airport as well.
As Christian knew Canberra, he said that finding fun outside of the Inner-South wasn’t a problem. There was plenty to do and places to eat just ten minutes’ drive away.
“Don’t tell anyone at work about the cool Canberra places,” he implored her.
“As if they’d believe me!”
After talking out different scenarios for compromise, they both agreed on the rules and vowed to keep them.
“It will be tough not to jump your bones at every opportunity,” Camilla reassured him. “It will be harder for me because I’ll be the one trying not to stare at your pants all day.”
“Well, if you wear no underwear either, we’ll be in the same boat.”
“Deal!”
When they finish their meal, Camilla thanked him again for agreeing to keep her secret. “Are you going to be ok keeping it quiet? You will have to lead a double life for me.”
“I think I can keep a secret.”
Camilla unconsciously looked down at his shorts, then said, “Okay, fine. Maybe just a toothbrush.”
Christian spent the night and most of the next day at her apartment; Camilla only reluctantly letting him go Sunday afternoon so she could prepare herself for work the next day. That night, she found it difficult to focus on her usual mundane tasks of washing and cleaning. But she forced herself to go through her routine and at least prepare her clothing for the next morning.
As usual, after deciding what to wear to work the next day-smart skirt, jacket, heels, stockings and underwear-and laying it out on her bed, she looked at. She stood staring at it for a minute, feeling that even though it was what she usually wore, something about her choices this time was not right. She checked her mental checklist over a few times but still could not see what was wrong with her outfit.
Confused, Camilla eventually walked away and went to brush her teeth before bed. Returning to her bedroom, she pulled out her nightie and laid it on the bed and undressed. She stood there naked, staring at the nightie and then back to her work clothes. Something still wasn’t right. The cool of the air-conditioned air caused her skin to tingle and tense. Putting the nightie back in its drawer, she removed the bra and panties from her ensemble and hung the rest on its stand in preparation for the morning. She climbed into bed and switched off the light.
“Fuck it,” she said as the room went dark, “more nude!”
[1] See Ghost of Timor
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