Kristin Hardy - Sealed With A Kiss

Wrapping herself in one of the hotel’s thick terry robes, she wandered over to the window to look out over the water. Beyond, in a pastel fantasy, lay the island of Gamla Stan, the oldest part of Stockholm. It beckoned to her from across the water. Forget about the room, however gorgeous it was. She wanted to be out there, exploring.

In time with her thoughts, there was a rattling at the door and Bax came in.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She jammed her hands deep in the pockets of her robe. “I thought maybe you’d headed out for the day.”

For a moment, he looked taken aback. “I was downstairs having coffee. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry, I should have left a note.”

It was awkward, she thought. They’d become lovers without warning. Now, they were essentially living together as intimate strangers. She knew how to make Bax shudder with arousal but couldn’t name his favorite color. They still hadn’t found their rhythm with one another, they didn’t know what to expect.

At least not out of bed.

“Well, I’m up and around now,” she told him, sitting down on the bed. “Hey, is anything important going on today? The guide book mentioned a postal museum on Gamla Stan. I thought it might have some useful information for us. You know, stamps and stuff.”

“Sure.” He walked restlessly over to the windows to peer out. “By the way, I saw something in the paper about a stamp auction later on this week. The preauction viewing and reception are tomorrow night.”

“So?”

“So Silverhielm will very likely be there. It might be a good opportunity to make his acquaintance.”

“Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Joss said, watching Bax. He was tense enough that he was making her tense. Too many more days like this and they’d be crawling the walls. It was definitely time to do something about it.

She reached for the sash of her robe. “Well, if we’re going to be meeting Silverhielm, we should probably get prepared.”

“I think I told you, we’re going to get a briefing.”

“I mean you and I should get prepared,” she said, sliding her robe off her shoulders.

“Get prepared how?” Bax turned away from the window to look at her.

Joss gave him a wicked smile. “If you’ll just come into the shower with me, I’d be happy to explain.”

THE NARROW cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan wound between the high gabled buildings, the air still echoing with the past. Tourists and Stockholmers sat at the sidewalk cafés drinking coffee in the warm afternoon. The whole scene held the feeling of a gentler age.

Inside the postal museum, history permeated the air. All around them were displays with stamps from other eras, other places. They walked past the prize holdings of the stamp world. At least, that was Joss’s assumption. Given that all the signs and labels were in Swedish, and her current vocabulary consisted of “hello,” “goodbye,” “please” and “thank you,” it was hard to be sure.

Context was everything, Joss thought with a sigh. Otherwise, the stamps were just colored squares of paper. “I don’t suppose you could translate for me, could you?” she asked Bax.

He gave her a calculating look. “I suppose, but it’ll cost you.”

Joss frowned. “Wait a minute, I thought you were supposed to be my devoted lover. Wasn’t that what we were just talking about?”

“Well, I’m not sure that includes translation services beyond la langue d’amour .” He stuck his tongue in his cheek.

Joss raised her eyebrows. “ La langue d’amour? ”

“I was raised in Europe,” he said blandly.

“I see.” This was a new Bax. She’d never seen him be playful before. It was something she could get used to. “Well, if I could talk you into translating, I’d be happy to discuss some sort of compensation for your efforts.”

“What do you have in mind?” He looked at her speculatively.

“Perhaps we could take it out in trade.”

“I can work with that. Let’s see,” he squinted at the label. “Well, what you’re looking at here is a stamp on a letter.”

Joss crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway to the display case. “You don’t say.”

“It’s true. If you want to hear more, I’ll need a deposit.”

It took her away, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his arms around her. It didn’t matter that they’d just spent a couple of hours making love. She wanted more, and more wouldn’t be enough.

Sounds echoed into the exhibits area from the next room, the voices of children in a school tour. Hurriedly, they broke apart.

“I trust you found that sufficient?” Joss pressed her lips together.

Bax grinned. “Well, we do have a minimum deposit, but I suppose under the circumstances I can waive it.”

“You’re so kind.”

They worked their way slowly through the museum, past rare stamps and printing presses, past relics of ages gone by. In the next room, Bax drifted past her to look at a perforating machine with its pointy-toothed wheels. Just inside the doorway sat a small safe on a pedestal, its thick, black door swung wide. Inside, on even tinier pedestals stood a pair of stamps.

Joss took a look and blinked.

One blue, one reddish orange. A white profile of a queen wearing a circlet around upswept hair showed on each; the words Post Office ran along the left-hand margin in white block letters and Mauritius on the right. The indigo stamp was twin to the one they’d installed in a bank vault earlier that day.

“Bax,” Joss said softly.

He was on the other side of the room.

“Bax,” she said again.

“What?” He walked over to stand at her side.

She pointed to the safe. “It’s them. The Post Office Mauritius pair.”

He studied them. “The queen doesn’t look the same on the orange one. Her hair’s different. They look more like sisters than the same person. Look, the one on the Blue Mauritius almost looks like she’s smiling.”

“So, what are the chances that we’d stumble across them here?” Joss commented.

“Not necessarily that surprising, when you think about it. Maybe seeing them here is what whetted Silverhielm’s appetite to have his own.”

“Maybe.” She continued to stare at the little squares of color, still vivid after all these years. So small, so fragile to have caused such grief. “I thought it would be a different color. More yellow, from what Gwen described.”

“Didn’t you ever see your grandfather’s copy?”

She shook her head. “It was always in the vault. The only reason I’ve seen the Blue Mauritius is because we brought it here.”

The two stamps sat on their little pedestals under the lights, the plump-jowled images of the monarch looking serenely off to the left.

“Hard to believe that people are willing to pay so much money for something like this, isn’t it?” Bax said.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a bit like owning a piece of history, isn’t it? A little bit of immortality. I think that’s what my grandfather finds so magical about them.” She stroked her finger down the glass protecting the contents of the safe.

“We’ll get it back,” Bax whispered. “One way or another, we’ll get it back.” He kissed her forehead.

First playful, now nice. Joss blinked back the sudden stinging in her eyes and blew out a breath. “Well, I think we’ve seen everything we need to here. You want to stop and get something to drink somewhere? Maybe that café we passed?”

He tangled his fingers in hers. “I’ve got a better idea.”

SLUSSEN, just across from Gamla Stan on the island of Södermalm, was a whirlwind of motion. Cars and buses converged on the transportation hub from a dozen directions. Ferries lined the waterfront, poised for journeys to the archipelago and beyond. After the charm of old town, Slussen seemed garishly modern, but even here there was the beauty of the water, the green of trees, the aged loveliness of historic buildings.