Since we had left London, she had developed an added strength which one could only call serenity, and although she could on occasion lose her temper as furiously as I could, her foundations were now built on rock.
A lot of people in the film world, I knew, thought my wife unexciting and my home life a drag, and expected me to break out in blondes and redheads, like a rash. But I had very little in common with the sort of larger-than-life action man I played in film after film. The films were my work, and I worked hard at them, but I didn't take them home.
Charlie snuggled beside me under the duvet and put her head on my chest. I smoothed my hands over her bare skin, feeling the ripple deep in her abdomen and the faint tremble in her legs.
"O.K.?" I asked, kissing her hair.
We made love in the simple, ordinary way, as we always did; but because I had been away a month it was one of the best times, one of the breath-taking, fundamental, indescribable times which became a base to live from. Certainty begins here, I thought. With this, what else did one need?
From Smokescreen by Dick Francis