simbelmyne

Disclaimer: I don't own Orlando Bloom or any living person depicted in the story. They deserve my utmost respect.

--------------- CHAPTER FIFTEEN ------------

"Be good, Chip. Behave, be very polite to Mrs. Bloom and do everything that Orlando and Sam tell you to. Brush your teeth every night and call me, will you?" said Verena while she hugged Zoë at the entrance of the hotel.

Orlando and Sam were driving to Kent, and true to Orlando's and Verena's promises, Zoë was going with him.

Zoë hugged her mother's neck tightly. "Can't you come too, Mamma? You would meet Orlando's mom and Maude and see his school where he went when he was a child. Please, Mamma, won't you come too?"

Verena smiled at her daughter's effort to convince her. She smoothed Zoë's bangs away from her little face and explained, "I can't, Chip. I have a lot of work to do, and I think you will have a blast of a time. It is only for three days, love, and when you come back maybe we can go to the Zoo together. Be good, honey, I love you to the moon and back."

"I love you too, Mamma. I promise I'll be good. And Orli will take good care of me, won't you, Orli?" said Zoë, looking up at Orlando, who was standing nearby and watching with mixed emotions the exchange between Verena and the child.

He was fighting with himself not to interrupt and try to convince Verena to drive with them to Kent. But he stayed silent while they said goodbye, because he wanted to would be true to his promise to Zoë and also respect his agreement with V. Still, he wanted to bash some sense into Verena's thick skull, for the whole ordeal she was putting them all through. So he smiled brightly at Zoë and answered, "Of course, munchkin; I will take the best care of you. Are you ready to go?"

Zoë hugged her mother once again and they walked together to the car, where Orlando secured her in a borrowed car-seat. Verena kissed her daughter's forehead and closed the car door.

Orlando was still standing next to her.

"We will be back on Friday evening, V. Zoë will call you every night, and you have the number as well. Will you be alright?"

"Sure, Orlando, don't worry. I'll be fine. I have lots of work waiting for me. Enjoy the three days, and take good care of her. You know I trust you," Verena said.

He laid a hand on her forearm before she turned away. "Do you really?"

Verena's eyes met Orlando's, not even blinking. "You know I do. It was never a matter of trust. Else you wouldn't be traveling anywhere with the most precious person in the world to me."

Her voice softened a little as she continued, "Please drive safely and call me when you have arrived at your mother's house, will you?"

"I promise l will. Bye, Verena," he said. His hand traveled from her forearm to her hand, and, lacing his fingers with hers, he lifted it to his face and brushed his lips against her knuckles. She did not pull away but loosened her fingers slowly from his and caressed his cheek. "Bye, Orlando."

He walked to the car, got in, started the engine, and pulled out into the traffic. Verena stood on the sidewalk waving after them until she couldn't see their car anymore.

**********

Sir Jeffrey Thornton-Summers was totally outraged.

Since he had managed to make his way to the Director’s seat of the London Times' Office for Foreign Correspondents, nobody had shown showed him due respect for his noble station, many years of study, and half a dozen degrees in Journalism. The whole staff of weathered, experienced and maniac correspondents of the London Times over the five continents had their share of laughs about Sir Jeffrey. For the only minor detail he hadn't bothered to achieve for his résumé was field-experience.

`A bloody bunch of savages, each one a great professional flying high above bureaucracy and details like deadlines or form-letters,' Sir Jeffrey thought. They had their own leader, the dean-in-exercise, who was the most experienced and respected of the correspondents and treated HIM, the actual Director of the Office with utmost disrespect, bordering on contempt.

But he would win their trust and respect. He had now patiently organized the Tribute to Photojournalism in the Chechnyan War. It would give him the recognition he needed among the correspondents. Sir Jeffrey had even managed to restore the lost photographic material of one of the main journalists of from the London Times during that campaign, Stephen Alexander. What he needed to have the perfect event was the presence of Alexander's partner during the Chechnya War, the elusive Miss Verena Devereaux. Trouble was, he had only twenty-four hours until the tribute and he still hadn't found her.

Sir Jeffrey felt the rage rise in him again. He had played by the book, contacting her manager in LA, but Georgina Hammond's secretary had told him that Miss Devereaux didn't work in war areas anymore and that Miss Hammond was out of the office. After a whole quarter of an hour, he had been put through to Verena's assistant, Spencer Harris.

"Hello, Jeff. How are you? Is that right? You are in charge of the foreign Times correspondents now? Congratulations! What can I do for you?"

Sir Jeffrey loathed being called Jeff. But then, he needed something from Spencer so he played along.

"Actually, Spencer, I am tracking down Verena. Where can I find her? Does she have a cell phone now?" he inquired.

"Jeff, Verena is pretty private about her cell phone number. What do you need her for?" Spencer asked suspiciously.

"I am organizing this gala, a tribute to the journalists of the Chechnyan War. I recovered Stephen and Verena's material and it would be the greatest coup if she could attend …" Sir Jeffrey was explaining when he was rudely interrupted.

"No," was Spencer's glacial response. There was a short, awkward pause, and Spencer continued. "Listen, Jeffrey, Verena has been out of the correspondent’s league for years now. She is out of the country on assignment, and I don't think she would attend your gala. I am afraid you will have to do your tribute thing without her. Talk to you some other time, bye!" And the line went dead.

Sir Jeffrey looked at the phone in disbelief. Who the fuck did that Spencer Harris think he was dealing with? He took a couple of steadying breaths and called his secretary, to bring him a cup of tea. He was fuming.

Sidney, his secretary, was a quiet bright young girl who believed Sir Jeffrey was the most intelligent man on earth. When she saw her boss being that upset, she felt she had to at least offer him her assistance.

"Is there something I could do for you, Sir Jeffrey?" Sidney asked.

He was still upset enough to make say a sarcastic remark to his secretary. "Unless you can find Verena Devereaux right here in London right now, there is nothing you can do, Miss Daltrey."

Sidney became pensive and left her boss's office, wondering where she had heard that name before. She was sure she had read it somewhere.

Half an hour later, Sidney entered Sir Jeffrey's office. His bad mood hadn't improved so far. So as she shyly addressed him, he was quite disgusting.

"What is it, Miss Daltrey? I think I gave you express instructions not to be disturbed."

"Sir, I think I found Miss Devereaux," Sidney replied.

"What?" said Sir Jeffrey and almost fell from his seat.
She gave him a scan of a tabloid, with a picture on it. It showed a young man clad in sweatpants, a hooded jumper, and sunglasses. He was talking to a dark haired woman who walked by his side.

It had been a long time, but Sir Jeffrey's photographic memory paid off. He recognized Verena in a second. The caption under the picture read, 'Orlando Bloom on the set of The Calcium Kid, with his PR-agent Verena Devereaux. Do not fret, girls, Miss Devereaux is just working with the most sought after British Elf until the release of The Two Towers next December. He is still available.'

After reading that, Sir Jeffrey looked up to Sidney's face and noticed she blushed again. "Are you a fan of this actor, Miss Daltrey?"

She swallowed nervously, before answering. "Yes, Sir. I am. I just happened to remember …"

"Where is the set of the Calcium Kid?" he interrupted.

"Right here in London, sir," said Sidney.

"So I suppose that you may be able to find out where Miss Devereaux lives?" he asked her.

Sidney lifted her chin proudly. " Of course, sir."

"Then go about it, Miss Daltrey. And thank you for your effort. You are an efficient assistant," he told the girl, already scheming how he would get Verena Devereaux to do what he wanted.

**************

Orlando, Samantha and Mrs. Bloom were sitting in the garden, watching Zoë play with Maude. The old dog seemed to be tired from running around, but she stayed close to the child as Zoë sat down on the grass and began braiding daisies together as a crown for Maude.

"Don't you want some lemonade, Zoë?" Orlando called over to the child.

"No thanks, Orli. Maude and I will come over when we are done and she is Princess Maude of Kent," Zoë replied, and petted the dog lovingly.

"She should have a dog. Zoë is much too lonely among adults," Orlando
commented to his sister and mother, his eyes fixed on the girl.

The two women observed his caring and sad expression.

"Zoë is a lovely, kind, little girl, Orlando. I am sure that you will be able to see her now and then when her mother and you aren't working together anymore. Don't you think so?" Mrs. Bloom asked her son.

"It isn't likely, Mom. Verena and I have a complicated friendship, and V has quite a demanding life when she works in her profession. I will miss Zoë very much. Hell, I already miss her now," he said.

"How long is it since Verena and Zoë moved out, Orli?" asked Sam.

"Eight days. And yes, I am counting," Orlando said, his frustration showing in the nerveless way he drove his fingers through his hair.

"And why did she move out?" asked Sam again, knowing he had
been avoiding the subject so far, especially not wanting to not talk
about it when Zoë was near.

Orlando didn't look at his mother or sister but kept his eyes fixed on Zoë while he searched in his head for a way to explain the situation in a way they would understand. But it was very difficult. He hadn't figured out for himself what the situation was all about.

"Verena thought it would be better for our work if we had separate spaces for living. That's why she moved out." That sounded lame, even to him.

"But you seemed to have coordinated work and living space quite nicely when I came over for dinner," insisted Sam, under the questioning gaze of her mother.

Orlando looked at his sister in shock. Why couldn't she just drop the subject? His mother was there and he wasn't ready to talk about it.

Mrs. Bloom observed her children and acting on instinct, she decided to go along with Sam. "From all you have told me, Verena seems to be a most interesting and fine woman. Are you having problems working with her, son?"

Orlando knew he was trapped and neither woman would let him off the hook until he had spoken all that was on his mind. He took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts.

"As I said, V has a demanding life. Her work with me is just a temporary arrangement. And … well, we are attracted to one another and have grown quite close and used to one another in the last few months. There were circumstances that could have lead to a radical change in our relationship and Verena didn't want to jeopardize our work. That's why she moved out," he explained.

"Oh my, Orli, you didn't sleep with her, did you?" blurted out Sam, forgetting for a second that her mother was sitting next to her.

"Fuck, Sam, keep it down!" said Orlando looking over to where Zoë was still playing with Maude. As he felt his mother's eyes settle on him and recalled the last part of the conversation he blushed to the roots of his hair and mumbled. "We shouldn't be discussing this."

Mrs. Bloom leant over to Orlando and brushed a hand over his hair, the same way she had when he was a child.

"Orli, this matter is upsetting you very much, I see it. And if it helps, we should discuss it. If you are uncomfortable, we can talk another time about you and Zoë and Verena. But I think maybe three heads think better than one. It is up to you, dear."

Orlando looked up knowing he had to work the whole confusion out in his head.

There was no one else on earth he trusted more than his family.

"I really don't know where to start …" he said.

"Then, start at the beginning," said Sam with a big encouraging smile. He sighed and began telling his and Verena's story from day one.

*****************

After the first 32 straight hours working on her laptop, Verena felt that her eyes were not able to recognize her own name on the screen and the huge quantities of coffee she had been consuming were affecting her.

She was trying to ignore the fact that she felt dreadfully lonely and missed Zoë and Orlando like crazy. V rationalized that even though it was natural that she longed to be with her daughter it wasn't possible that she would miss him as much as she did. It must be that she got used to having him around. Just that.

Her head was killing her, but she was almost through with her work and dreading the next whole 30 hours until they returned. She shouldn't have drunk all that coffee; she knew it was hell on her migraine. But still, she had to stay awake and not dream.

When Verena had dozed off about ten hours ago, the dreams had haunted her, old and new dreams, about Orlando, about herself, and about fire, death, and killing.

She had decided to take a walk to clear her head and try to escape the ghosts of the past and the future. Her headache was worsening by the minute, so Verena had searched in her nightstand and retrieved a painkiller, taking it before leaving the hotel suite.

The pill was starting to affect her as she reached the lobby and someone approached her. Verena focused on the face of the man and managed to fit it into her memory.

"Jeffrey Thornton-Summers?" she asked the smiling face in front of her.

If Sir Jeffrey was piqued by the fact that she didn't use his peerage title, he didn't show it. He drank in the sight of Verena Devereaux; it had been 8 whole years since he had last seen her. She was a splendid woman, though Verena wasn't his type: too dominant, too independent, too sure of herself for his taste.

"Verena Devereaux! What a coincidence! It has been much too long since we last met. You haven't been to London much in the last couple of years, have you?"

Verena forced herself to smile while she waded through the fog in her head, recalling all information she knew about this man. London Times. Foreign correspondents. A pompous ass.

But right now, as a freelance photographer she still had to keep all her contacts active. Who knew whom she would have to work for in the future.

"Actually, Jeffrey, I haven't. I have been off the war correspondents' circuit for many years now. How have you been?" she inquired with a friendly smile.

"Oh, there is some catching up to do between us, my dear. Old friends should keep in touch. Do you have time right now? Join me for a cup of tea?" Sir Jeffrey asked, hoping she would fall for it.

V looked to the glass door and the street outside, longing to just get out to the fresh air and get a grip on her hurting, foggy head. She sighed and smiled at Sir Jeffrey again.

"Sure, why not. Let's go."

**************

"… and Maude is the most wonderful dog, Mamma! She is very, very intelligent and I think she only needs to talk and she would be a person. I hope sometime you can see her! And Mrs. Bloom made porridge for me and it was delicious and Orli wouldn't eat it, because he is a vegetarian you know, but his mom told him that he was tall and smart and good looking because he ate tons of porridge when he was a child. And Sam was laughing so hard she almost fell off her chair and Orli threw an orange at her and I thought it was very funny, while Maude was barking and jumping around the breakfast table and Mrs. Bloom was chiding Sam and Orli but she was laughing too and it was great. I think it might be nice to have a brother or a sister. And I was also wondering if I could maybe have a dog sometime?" Zoë's voice prattled from Verena's cell phone.

"We will see, Chip. Now tell me more about Orli's house and Maude." She had to smile, trying to register all the information her daughter was giving her in record time and imagining the scenery in her mind. Zoë was enjoying herself immensely and having a taste of what family could be like.

The combined thoughts of family and Orlando made Verena feel uneasy. Since they had moved out of his apartment, she had been was struggling to ignore the longing, regret, and emptiness she felt. Zoë had become more quiet and serious. and Verena was missing Orlando as well. All those little moments and details, both nice and annoying, she realized, had grown to be a part of their life, especially in the last couple of weeks. She tried to focus on Zoë's voice again.

"… and the most marvelous bright flowers, in every color, Mamma! And Mrs. Bloom told me that you and me may come to her house whenever we want to, because she would like to meet you and I could show you the tricks that Maude can do, and the flowers, and Orli's tree house. I went inside and it was great, Mamma. Can I have a tree house sometime too?" Zoë was telling her.

"Maybe, honey, we will see. Have you brushed your teeth?" she asked her child, craving for an indication that her daughter had missed her, even once. Verena felt selfish and stupid, but she blamed it on the fog in her mind. And she knew she was being too emotional.

"Of course Mamma, many times each day. Now I have to go to bed, but I will see you tomorrow, right Mamma?" Zoë said cheerfully.

"Yes, Chip, I'll be waiting for you. I just have an appointment, but as soon as you arrive in the city, call me, okay? Sweet dreams, my angel, I love you to the sun and back."

"Orli wants to talk to you, Mamma. Good night, I love you too, and I miss you very, very much. Good night, my dearest Mamma!" said Zoë and Verena couldn't help herself as a huge smile burst on her face. Her little star missed her.

Then Orlando's voice coming from her cell phone shook her to the core. Any voice with such a timbre and warmth should be outlawed.

"Hey V, how are you holding up on your own? Enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"Orlando dear, I am WORKING, but I see that Zoë and you are having a blast of a time. Please give my regards to your mother and Sam, and thank them for their patience and care for the munchkin," she paused. "You will be back tomorrow night, right?"

Orlando held his breath, listening to her voice on the phone. Did she have any idea of the effect she had on him? Probably not. Fuck, he missed Verena, the friend, the flat-mate, the woman.

"As promised, Verena dear," he replied mimicking her tone. "Do you miss us?" he ventured.

Verena blurted out. "Yes. I miss you, both." Then she changed the subject, "I actually have an appointment, which I let someone talk me into, but as soon as you reach the city, call the cell phone and I will get back to the hotel. I will be looking forward to your arrival. Drive safely and take care, will you?"

He was smiling goofily; she had admitted she missed Zoë and him.
That was good. After the talk with his family, he had made up his mind to work on Verena's stubbornness. She was worth it. And even a little hint like this made him feel that there was a flicker of hope.

"Of course I will, V. I will call you the moment we reach enter London. You
sound tired, are you okay?" he asked her.

"A bit of a migraine, nothing new. Don't worry, I will feel better once I am done with work and catch some sleep. See you tomorrow." She didn't want to tell him that she felt lousy.

"Take care, Verena. We do worry. And we will be back tomorrow. See
you then!"

Before he could cut the connection she quickly said, "Thank you, good night!" and hung up.

Orlando was left with a feeling of things unsaid. But he had decided he would tackle the matter straight on.

****************

The lobby of the Milton Hotel was brightly lit, and Sir Jeffrey Thornton-Summers arrived five minutes before the appointed time to pick up Verena. He was anxious, for her attendance at the tribute would be the cherry on top of the evening . It would give him the credibility of the Department of Foreign Correspondents of the Times.

She was still a renowned and respected colleague of the guild, after all.

Talking Verena into accompanying him to a Photojournalism event had been easy. She had seemed to be quite absentminded and had agreed to his invitation without much convincing on his part.

The fact that he hadn't actually told Verena the theme of the event didn't bother him in the least. He had instinctively avoided telling Verena based upon Spencer Harris' reaction on the phone. As long as things went like he had planned, he would not worry about the matter. She was a professional, for heaven's sake, and even if she had some problem with the Chechnyan campaign, Verena Devereaux would most likely handle the situation. He just wanted her to be seen at the tribute and so he could take the credit for it.

As Verena stepped out of the elevator, Sir Jeffrey thought the woman was exotic and stunning.

She wore a high-necked, Chinese style black crêpe dress that reached her knees. There were small flowers embroidered around the neck and the opening of the dress. She had slung a shawl over her shoulders and looked elegant and sober.

"You look ravishing, dear Verena. It is an honor and a pleasure to escort you anywhere," Sir Jeffrey said, lifting her hand to his lips and briefly kissing her knuckles.

His lips were cold and moist on her skin, and Verena fought the urge to flinch away.

"Can we go now? My daughter will be returning from the country tonight and I want to be back early," she explained. V was already regretting having accepted Sir Jeffrey's invitation, but he was an acquaintance of old and a member of the guild.

"Of course, my dear friend, this way …" he said, leading the way outside the hotel to a black BMW with a driver. Verena looked at her watch and checked the small purse at her wrist for her cell-phone. It was there.

She sat in the car and politely nodded and smiled at Sir Jeffrey. Her head was buzzing again. So much for the effect of her migraine pills.

She hadn't slept again last night, even after she had finished editing all the photographs Spencer had sent her for the next issue of Geo Magazine.

Well it wasn't as if she had never been awake for over 48 hours, but that was long ago, in another life. A life without a small child, thirty-something years on her account, and her mind blown away by Orlando Bloom.

"…actually, everybody in the guild was quite surprised when you disappeared six years ago. But you are still working freelance, aren't you, dear?" Sir Jeffrey was asking her.

Verena avoided the first part of the implied question. "I am working freelance for some magazines now. Mostly science and travel shots. It's safe and well paid."

"A pity, indeed. You are a great professional, and you won enough awards to make agencies beg for your work. But then, it is your choice, dear. Aaaaaaaaaah, excellent! We have arrived," he continued as the car pulled in front of the Four Seasons Hotel.

Verena closed her eyes at the bright light from the lobby of the hotel. The times she had stayed there she had thoroughly enjoyed the antique atmosphere of the place and the fact that it was in the middle of parkland.

She let Sir Jeffrey lead the way to one of the ballrooms and was surprised to see it had been turned into a gallery, a photography exhibition set up all around over the elegant room. The light was dim and only the photographs were lighted with directed spotlights.

And the moment she recognized the first photographs, her breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart start pounding loudly in her ears.

The images weren't pretty. Dirty, hungry orphans. Old women trying to harvest potatoes among the burnt carcasses of Russian tanks. Teenage boys armed with machine guns and proudly smiling into the camera.

She knew the pictures. She had never seen them developed, but she knew them. Because Verena had taken those photographs. She let go of Sir Jeffrey's arm and ignored his voice talking to her as she walked around the room and looked at the images from her past. She stood still in front of the last one of the series. It showed a man, good looking, in his forties, with brown hair and brown eyes, smiling and standing next to a young woman. The woman in the photo wasn't smiling, but she held in her hand the camera remote shutter release that had made it possible for both of them to be in the image. The journalist and the photographer. Stephen and Verena.

The moment her brain registered the picture, the humming that had been growing in her head turned into the angry buzzing of a million of bees and she couldn't breathe. Verena turned around and left the exhibition, running, escaping through the lobby and through the door out of the hotel to the street. She had to flee from the nausea, pain, and numbness overpowering her senses and her rational thinking.

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