Whispers of Desire at Cliveden House - 4

Posted on: 21/11/2025

Chapter Four - Where The River Holds Its Breath.

The mist had begun to lift by late morning, drawing back like a stage curtain to reveal Cliveden’s grounds washed in a soft, winter dew.
I followed the gravel path skirting the Parterre, then descended the long flight of 172 stone steps toward the river.
My hands stayed buried in my coat pockets, as if holding them still might quiet the thoughts that refused to settle; Magda’s eyes across the breakfast room, the brief brush of her fingers against my arm, the lingering trace of her Chanel perfume that clung stubbornly to my memory. I wasn’t ready to let any of it go.
Had I meant to come this way?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Desire often disguises itself as coincidence.
It was midday when I reached the gentle curve in the river leading towards the boathouse. Its side door stood propped open, though curiously, at this time of day, no sound carried from within. Usually the clatter of tools and good-natured bickering of the old boatbuilders filled the air until 1 o'clock, but today the place seemed to be holding its breath.
I approached the opening and peered inside.
That was when I saw her.
Magda sat in the half-restored rowing boat resting in its timber cradles, facing the wide river beyond the open doorway. Her arms folded around herself, fingers gripping the thick cream knit she’d worn at breakfast. She looked stripped of her usual poise, fragile and untethered, like the quiet in the boathouse had peeled away the armour she wore beside her husband.
She must have slipped away.
No Max.
No grey suit.
No barked orders, no clipped remarks, no shadow pacing two steps behind her.
For a long moment, I watched her in silence, drawn toward her stillness.
My foot slid on a patch of moss-slick stone. The soft scrape shattered the hush.
She turned sharply. Sunlight broke through the grey clouds, spilled through the skylight illuminating her face, like a theatre stage super trooper focusing on the actor.
“John.”
She spoke my name like she’d been waiting to let it leave her mouth.
I stepped over the threshold, not even trying to hide the relief unfurling in my chest.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said quietly.
“I needed…” She paused, eyes drifting toward the river., then back to me. “Air."
"You're alone?" 
Magda nodded. Her smile was gentle, but underneath it trembled something raw, nerves too close to the surface.
“Where’s Max?” I asked, unsure if it was caution or courtesy driving the question.
“He’s on a conference call,” she said, brushing a curl from her cheek. “He won’t notice I’m gone.”
Resignation dulled her words, but beneath it, unmistakable, was the shadow of defiance.
She turned, looking out across the slipway toward the flat grey water.  A pair of rowers carved clean lines across the river, each stroke cutting a rhythm like a pulse racing toward the finish.
“I saw you earlier,” she murmured, "going down the steps. I guessed from the map, that you’d pass by here. Lucky for me, you're here now.”
“You seem… different,” I said.
She let out a breath that hovered between a sigh and a laugh.
“Out here, on my own.  Yes. I can breathe here.”
A gentle smile surfaced on my lips which Magda mirrored.
“You left quickly last night,” she said, her voice low.
“I thought it was safer.”
“For whom?”
“For both of us.”
She rose from the boat, stepping lightly onto the slipway. Instinctively, she reached out. I caught her hand. Steadied her. Held a moment too long before letting her fingers slip slowly from mine.
“I wasn’t imagining it, was I?” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “You weren’t.”
The truth hung between us, warm despite the cold air.
She stepped closer, just half a pace, but enough to erase the space between us. Her arms slid around me, drawing me in. Her breath warmed my cheek, and then Magda kissed me - deep, almost urgent, like someone who’d spent too long wanting, waiting, denying herself, and finally cracked.
But as quickly as her lips found mine, they slipped away.
Her eyes studied mine, as if trying to guess my true intentions.
“I don’t do this,” she breathed. “I don’t… seek out trouble.”
“And am I trouble?”
She let out a breath and a half laugh.
“You might be.”
She looked up, and the vulnerability in her eyes matched the spark I’d seen last night, bright, reckless, impossible to smother.
Before I could speak, a distant voice tore through the quiet.
“Magda?”
Her body stiffened.
Max.
She stepped back, not afraid, but bracing. The moment split like ice underweight.
“I have to go,” she whispered. “But… I want to see you again. Soon.”
She moved past me, her skin brushing mine for the briefest moment, and the jolt tore through me, sharp and electric. So soft, and gone too fast.
I turned just in time to catch her fleeing up the path, disappearing into the trees.
Then it was only me, and the empty boat, and the truth I’d been running from.
The way forward with Magda rose before me - crystal clear and impossible to ignore.
Yet the move I had to make… whether it would pull her closer or burn everything to ash… remained a secret I could barely face myself.