Chapter Text
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?
Why can't we give love that one more chance?
April 1939
It was one of those rarely quiet evenings at Skeldale House. One of those nights that allowed Audrey to dwell on things that the daily bustle of the house usually buried under layers of chores, the clatter of muddy boots, and grocery lists. But it was also one of those nights that revealed truths she was not yet prepared to face.
Audrey set the kettle on the range. She stood motionless before the iron stove, her eyes fixed on the dance of the flames, but her mind was miles away, lost in a labyrinth of silent calculations she shared with no one. She knew Siegfried was only a few yards away, retreated into the drawing room with his whisky and his habitual silences, but the mere thought of crossing the threshold and being alone with him produced a tightness in her chest that the night air could not relieve. She could not face him. Not yet.
The silence of the kitchen, shared only with Jess resting in her basket, suited her well. It was the space she needed to let her feelings, so pent-up during the day, finally breathe with clarity.
But suddenly, the sound of the back door and muffled laughter shattered the peace. James and Helen swept into the kitchen like a gust of fresh wind, their cheeks flushed from the April night air.
"Oh, Mrs H! You’re still up. We thought everyone would be in bed by now," James said, dropping his keys onto the table, while Helen beside him pulled off her jacket. The kitchen was warm in contrast to the cool evening breeze.
"Hello, Aud, it’s turned quite chilly out there," Helen added, rubbing her arms with a warm smile. "It seems spring hasn't quite decided to stay the night yet."
Audrey returned the smile over her shoulder. She watched them for a second with a mixture of tenderness and a pang of envy she couldn't help, before turning fully around. They were so young, so filled with that hope and new love that seemed to shield them against any ill in the world. The future for them looked bright and vast, a clear path that contrasted painfully with the shadows beginning to gather around her own.
"I shall be soon. I wanted a cup of tea before heading up," she replied, moving toward the cupboards to fetch more cups. "Shall I pour you one?"
"Yes, please," Helen nodded, draping her jacket over the back of a chair and stepping toward the stove, seeking that residual heat that always emanated from the heart of the kitchen. "And Siegfried?" she added, casting a curious glance toward the hallway door, surprised not to find them sharing the last chat of the day on this cold Friday night.
"In the sitting room, I believe," Audrey said, carefully taking up the teapot and beginning to pour the first cup. "He’s with that rat—you know I can’t abide the sight of it."
Helen smiled, shaking her head, while James pulled a chair out from the table and sat down with a sigh of relief; it had been an exhausting day.
"Are you out with Mr Hammond tomorrow?" James asked with casual curiosity, failing to notice how Audrey’s hand tensed a fraction of a millimetre over the handle of the teapot.
Audrey let out a soft chuckle to disguise the way her heart lurched at the mention of Gerald’s name. The memory of the kiss at Christmas was still there, like unfinished business she didn't quite know how to settle.
"What is this, an interrogation?" she teased, pouring the boiling water into her cup. "Yes, we are going to the cinema."
"Perfect," James nodded. "Siegfried won’t be in either, so Helen and I are going to Heston for dinner. Tristan’s already sent word he’ll be at the pub, so don’t worry about us. Enjoy your evening off in peace."
Audrey paused, the teapot suspended over the third cup, feeling a sudden chill that the steam from the boiling water could not combat.
"Oh... I didn't know he’d be out as well," she murmured, forcing her pulse to steady as she finished the task.
"Yes," Helen added, leaning against the counter and watching Audrey with a curiosity that was beginning to sharpen. "Apparently, he’s going out with Diana. They’re off to that charity dinner, or something of the sort."
The silence that followed felt eternal to Audrey. Siegfried with Diana. Herself with Gerald. It was what ought to happen. The natural order of things that both of them, in a tacit agreement of silences and avoided glances, had decided to maintain. It’s for the best, she had repeated to herself every night before the mirror. The best for everyone.
"Well," she said finally, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she handed the cup to Helen. "It shall be a fine Saturday for everyone then."
"Oh, a secret meeting without me?"
Siegfried’s voice resonated from the threshold, laden with genuine surprise. He had removed his tweed jacket and had his shirtsleeves slightly rolled up, wearing that air of restlessness that always accompanied him when he couldn't sleep. His eyes swept the scene: James at the table, Helen by the counter, and Audrey... Audrey standing there, holding a cup, wearing that smile he knew far too well—the one she used to hide that something was troubling her.
"Nothing secret, Siegfried," James replied, receiving his cup from Audrey with a nod of thanks. "Just planning for Saturday. Mrs Hall says she’s off to the cinema with Mr Hammond. We’re going to Heston."
Siegfried stepped further into the kitchen and stopped by the table, only a few paces from Audrey. His gaze lingered on her a second longer than necessary; it was barely a blink, but to her, it felt like a full cross-examination.
"Ah, Gerald. The man of the hour," he remarked, in a tone that intended to be light but came out with a dash of his defensive irony. "I hope the film is worth the effort, Mrs Hall. They say this month’s listings are... mediocre."
"I’ve been told it’s very good, Mr Farnon," she retorted, keeping her chin up, holding his gaze. "And in any case, it’s the company that matters, don’t you think? James says you have plans with Diana as well."
Diana’s name floated between them like a gauntlet thrown to the floor. Siegfried tensed almost imperceptibly, thrusting his hands deep into his trouser pockets as he adverted his eyes toward the table.
"Quite so. A dinner. Diana insists I need a change of air," he shrugged, brushing it off, though his eyes sought Audrey’s once more. "It seems we are all in high demand this weekend."
"As it should be, surely?" James intervened, oblivious to the electric current crossing the room. "We all need a bit of distraction."
"Exactly," Audrey agreed.
She tried to take a sip of her tea to steady her nerves, but at that moment, her stomach gave a violent lurch. With Siegfried standing so near, the scent of whisky emanating from him suddenly became invasive, almost unbearable. She lowered her cup slowly, resting it on the table so as not to let the clink of porcelain betray her.
"Are you quite alright?" Siegfried asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
His tone changed instantly, losing every trace of sarcasm or irony. He took a step toward her, closing the distance, his face clouded with genuine alarm. He leaned in slightly, scrutinising her face, noting the sudden pallor that robbed the colour from her cheeks under the yellow glow of the kitchen light.
Audrey nodded with a rigid gesture.
"Yes... it must be fatigue." She forced a soft smile, compelling herself to hold his gaze for a second that felt like an eternity. "It’s been a long day. I think I shall head to bed. There’s plenty of tea in the pot; do help yourself if you’d like, Mr Farnon. Goodnight."
She brushed past Siegfried, trying not to touch him, but the kitchen felt too small and the space between them too narrow. For an instant, the heat of his body enveloped her, and Audrey felt the secret in her womb weigh a ton.
***
She cancelled her date with Gerald; it was the sensible thing to do. She knew that, but she hadn't expected Siegfried to have cancelled his with Diana as well. When Audrey came down from her room, her hair loose and her guard down, expecting to find a dark and silent kitchen to prepare a simple supper, she stopped dead at the sight of the light.
Siegfried was there, standing by the table, wearing an expression of bewilderment and holding an open tin of sardines. He looked like a shipwrecked man in his own kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, still processing the sight.
"It’s my house," he replied immediately, in that defensive tone he always used when caught doing something undignified. He held the tin as if it were an irrefutable argument.
"I know it’s your house, Mr Farnon," she retorted, finally entering the kitchen. "But you were supposed to be out with Diana. And I... well, I thought I’d have the kitchen to myself."
Siegfried lowered the tin slowly, letting his gaze travel over her from head to foot. It was a silent inspection that Audrey felt vibrating to her very fingertips.
"Diana had... other plans. Or perhaps it was I who hadn't the stomach for more talk of the country club," he lied with a lightness that convinced no one, least of all himself. "And you? Has Gerald run out of petrol halfway?"
Audrey approached the table, avoiding eye contact as she began to take some cheese and bread from the cupboard. The strong scent of the sardines mixed with Siegfried’s familiar aroma—that trace of the outdoors and shaving soap—was beginning to make her head spin.
It wasn't just the physical nausea that had haunted her for weeks, the kind that rose in her throat at any intense smell; it was a far more dangerous emotional agitation. It was the vulnerability of being alone with him in the absolute stillness of the night, without Tristan to jest or James to mediate. The kitchen now felt like a space far too small to house the secret she was trying to hide.
"I sent him a message. I wasn't feeling well," she said, concentrating all her attention on the knife as she sliced the bread with unnecessary meticulousness. "A headache. Nothing of importance."
Siegfried nodded in silence and stood watching how Audrey’s hands moved with their usual precision, though he noted a trace of rigidity in her shoulders that belied her words.
"Were you going to eat that standing in the middle of the kitchen?" she asked, casting a look of disapproval over her shoulder at the tin he still held in his hands.
"Yes," he confirmed with an almost childish stubbornness.
Audrey couldn't help but let a small, soft smile touch the corner of her lips. It was exasperating—a man capable of performing complex surgeries but unable to serve himself a decent supper if she wasn't nearby. But he was her Siegfried, and that thought hit her with more force than the dizziness.
"Would you like some?" he offered, extending the open tin toward her in a strangely vulnerable gesture, like a child offering to share a forbidden sweet.
"Certainly not," she replied with a smothered chuckle, shaking her head. "Sit down, Mr Farnon. For heaven’s sake, put that tin down and sit. I’ll prepare something that hasn't come encased in metal."
Siegfried obeyed without protest and sat in his usual place at the wooden table. He stayed there, motionless, simply watching her as she moved to and fro.
Audrey commanded that space; she knew every gap in the cupboard, every corner of the pantry, and every specific creak of the floorboards. Siegfried followed her with his eyes, fascinated by the way she made the Skeldale kitchen feel like the exact centre of the universe, oblivious to the wars threatening on the horizon and the lies being told in the light of day.
In a few minutes, Audrey improvised a platter of cold meats, cheese, and freshly sliced bread. She placed it in the centre of the table and sat opposite him. For a second, their eyes met in the still air of the kitchen, suspended in a familiarity that needed no words.
"Only you could manage something fantastic in a matter of minutes," he said, with a smile that softened his features.
"It’s only a bit of cold meat, Mr Farnon," she laughed, taking a piece of cheese to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks.
"I was going to have cold sardines from a tin; this is a feast," Siegfried countered, feeling suddenly lighter than he had in weeks.
The tin of sardines was still there, open on the table. Audrey looked at it and, suddenly, felt an irrational impulse, a physical need to eat them that she had never experienced before.
"Here... give me one," she asked, surprising herself.
Supper passed with a naturalness that ached for how perfect it felt. Surprisingly, it was Audrey who ended up eating the entire tin of sardines while Siegfried laughed at her, teasing her about her new and peculiar culinary tastes. They talked of the week, of difficult cases on the farms, and how the spring was still refusing to warm the fields. They talked as they always had, as they used to do before the world became too complicated. As they should do.
And while both avoided mentioning the wedding or any event related to that date, as if naming it would summon a ghost they weren't ready to see, when the last crust of bread vanished and the plates were empty, the silence of the house returned, turning heavy and dense. The warmth of the laughter evaporated in an instant, leaving only the raw reality floating between them.
"You haven't looked well lately, Mrs Hall," he said suddenly, breaking the truce. His voice had lost all irony; it was now low, almost a whisper, laden with a seriousness that made her skin crawl. "That headache... are you certain it’s only that?"
Audrey looked into his eyes and, for an instant, felt the air escape her lungs, leaving a burning void in her chest. Panic began to claw up her throat, like a cold tide threatening to pull her under.
"And what else could it be?" she asked lightly, with a small smile. She tried to make her voice sound carefree, as if she still had total control of the situation, as if she could simply stand up, wash the dishes, and call an end to the night. "It’s the spring, Siegfried. The pollen, the change in light... don’t be dramatic."
She made a move to stand, seeking the refuge of the scullery to end the evening, but his gaze pinned her to the chair. Siegfried did not flinch. His eyes, fixed and dark, did not stray from hers by a millimetre.
"I hear you..." He paused, and his voice trembled in a way Audrey had never heard. "I hear you being sick every morning, Audrey. Every blessed morning, before the rest of the house is awake."
The blow was physical. Audrey felt the secret—that immense weight she had tried to compress within her—press against her chest with unbearable force. For weeks she had convinced herself she could manage it alone, that she would find a way out, that the night of James and Helen’s wedding would remain buried. But to see Siegfried there, confessing that he had been listening to her pain in the silence, shattered her mask completely. She felt as though every nerve in her body were about to snap.
"I... I can't, Siegfried. Not here. Not like this," she stammered, feeling the kitchen walls closing in on her. The air was becoming scarce.
She tried to pull her hand from the table, needing to flee before the words suffocated her, but he was faster. Siegfried reached out, covered Audrey’s hand and squeezed it with a desperate strength, anchoring her to reality, preventing her from escaping the inevitable.
"You can trust me," he pleaded, his voice dropping the formality they usually wore like armour, reserved only for moments of absolute truth. "Please, Audrey. Don’t shut me out of this. I need you to tell me. I need to know."
Audrey remained silent. For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the metallic ticking of the wall clock and Siegfried’s ragged breathing. She lowered her gaze to his hand, which covered her own with a firmness that was, at once, a caress and an anchor. She felt the warmth of his skin and, suddenly, the absolute solitude in which she had lived these past weeks became unbearable. She could no longer hold up the sky on her own.
She felt a first tear, hot and heavy, slip down her cheek. She tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat was like a stone. She looked at Siegfried and saw in his eyes not just curiosity, but an anguish that mirrored her own. He already knew, deep down; he only needed her to give him permission to speak it.
Audrey’s mask cracked once and for all. Her shoulders slumped under the crushing weight of the truth.
"I…" her voice broke, barely a thread of air. "I am pregnant, Siegfried."
She let it out just like that, without adornment, feeling the words vibrate in the space between them. He did not pull his hand away; on the contrary, he gripped her fingers with more strength, as if fearing she might vanish. Audrey closed her eyes, letting the rest of her tears flow, stripped of all pride.
"And it’s yours," she added in a broken whisper, almost inaudible, yet it resonated like a peal of thunder in the stillness of the kitchen. "Of course it’s yours."