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Sybil poured two cups of tea from her teapot and handed one across to Havelock, who took it without looking at it.
“Is that a dragon…?” he murmured, distractedly.
Sybil followed his gaze, which was still fixed on the teapot. It was new, and it was her pride and joy.
“Oh, yes!” she beamed. “Beatrice’s daughter took up pottery last year; she made it for me. Isn’t it delightful?”
Havelock raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”
Sybil ignored his lukewarm response, and stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup. “It’s modelled after Errol. You remember, the little chap who saved the city during that horrid business a few years back?”
“Indeed?” Havelock said. “How fascinating. I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.” He took a careful sip of his tea, and set the cup back in the saucer with the softest clink.
“Of course; you were otherwise engaged, as I recall.” She gave him a bright smile. “I think Sam was rather startled to find you talking to rats in the dungeon. He mentions it occasionally, still.”
“He does…?” Havelock raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes. I think he found the whole thing rather fascinating.”
“Fascinating?”
“Yes. I think before that he had only ever seen you as some sort of distant authority figure. It did him good to spend some proper time with you.”
Havelock raised an eyebrow. “In a dungeon.”
“Well, yes. You learn a lot about people when you see them in challenging circumstances.” Sybil hesitated for a moment, before ploughing on. “Actually, Havelock, that does rather bring me onto a somewhat tricky subject that I have been meaning to speak to you about for some time, now.”
The patrician frowned at her. “You don’t usually avoid difficult conversations. Even when I would prefer that you did.”
She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “I usually subscribe to the belief that things are better off out in the open. However, so far I’ve held off because this involves Sam.”
Vetinari narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Is this going to be one of those conversations I will come to regret not nipping in the bud at this point?”
“Perhaps.” She smiled faintly. “But the fact is, Sam speaks of you rather often. Noticeably so.”
There was a pause that Sybil – who had honed a keen understanding of Havelock’s various types of silences, over the years – determined to be of the guarded variety.
Sybil resisted the urge to fill it.
“In what manner?” Havelock said, finally.
“In various manners. He tells me what you’ve been up to, and the rumours he hears about you…and the things you say when he reports to you…and the things you say to other people in the guild meetings…all sorts of things, really. Two nights ago he told me you had picked a piece of lint off his shoulder at the reception for the Klatchians.” She took a sip of her tea, and watched him internalise this. “It’s rather sweet,” she added, lightly.
Havelock's expression had solidified like the crust on the Ankh in high summer.
“Ah?” he said.
“Yes.” She inclined her head at him. “You appear to have ground to a halt, Havelock, dear. Is everything alright?”
He blinked, and frowned. “Of course. I am just wondering why you might consider it…sweet.”
“Because – happily – I am not the jealous type.”
Havelock seemed to have forgotten he was holding a cup of tea; it sat neglected in its saucer as he tried to formulate a response. “I will confess I am confused,” he murmured after a minute. “What is there to be jealous about, precisely?”
“Why, you and him, of course.” She picked up a biscuit from the plate on the table between them, and dipped it daintily into her tea before nibbling on it.
Havelock drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I’m afraid I still don’t follow. It sounds like you are insinuating there is a relationship between your husband and I that does not, in fact, exist.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting you are doing anything about it. Sam is loyal to a fault, I know that.” She sighed. “But I can see what is in front of my face, Havelock. I’ve known you long enough by now to recognise when you are trying to convince yourself you aren’t having some of those eternally bothersome feelings.”
His eyes widened a fraction. “I…”
“Please don’t try to deny it; I would be very insulted.”
Havelock closed his mouth and stared at her, and she gave him a vaguely reassuring smile in return. “It’s alright, you know,” she continued. “I haven’t said anything to Sam yet; I wanted to speak to you first about it all.”
The fingers continued to drum on the chair. “Why…?”
Sybil felt her tummy flip a little, now that he was no longer outrightly denying it. “Because I needed to decide for myself whether I was willing to permit you both to pursue it. And I wanted to be sure that you weren’t likely to hurt him if I did.” She glanced down at his lap. “Your tea is getting cold, dear.”
Havelock looked down at the cup and saucer, and moved them carefully to the small table before turning his attention back to her.
"You knew," he mused, quietly. “How long have you known…?”
“About you? Oh; since the first time I saw you try to cover a smile when he insulted some poor dignitary. Your whole demeanor is different when he is around, I’m afraid.” She chuckled at his stricken expression. “And him…well. I feel I might be overstepping if I were to say. But some time now.” She finished her tea and set her own cup down. “I don’t believe he will ever say anything about it, though. Not without some encouragement.”
Havelock frowned. “You said you were deciding whether to permit us to pursue it. What gives you the impression that I would be keen to do so?”
“Haven’t you thought about it?”
“Of course; I considered it, and dismissed it. I had no basis on which to believe he reciprocated, and if he had, I would still not have wished to cause you any pain.”
“And now I am telling you that neither of those things are an obstacle. So?”
“So that merely leaves all the remaining obstacles.”
“Such as?”
Havelock stared at her intently. “Such as the city. Our respective positions. The fact that we both have much more pressing priorities – our work, and your marriage, Sybil.”
Sybil waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, tosh.”
“Pardon?”
“Those are excuses, Havelock!” she laughed. “You are simply afraid of opening yourself up to something new; everything else is a distraction from that.”
Havelock closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between the tips of two slender fingers. “Sybil –” he started.
“What?” she interrupted. “You can hardly deny it. You’ve not had a relationship since the guild, and we all know how that one ended. But that is no reason to live a life of complete abstention.” She paused and scrutinised the man carefully; he looked faintly horrified to be having this conversation, she thought, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to finish it now she’d started. “My marriage is mine to worry about, and it will survive being opened to a dear friend. And the city will survive if its ruler takes a little time for himself. You may find it thrives, in fact; I’ve been telling you you need to take time to rest for years, otherwise you risk ending up like Snapcase.”
Havelock sighed. “If that happens, madam, I am quite sure your husband will be the one to resolve the matter; something that will only be harder for him to do should he and I be having some kind of affaire de coeur.”
“Havelock! You cannot seriously be telling me that you are planning to die alone and unfulfilled because of the infinitesimal chance that the man you love might one day need to execute you!”
The man opposite frowned. “I don’t believe I mentioned loving him.”
“You didn’t have to; the fact that I’ve even noticed this means it’s already gone beyond mere interest. And don’t change the subject.”
Havelock flicked his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Fine. Allow me to put it this way; your husband is part of the checks and balances that keep this city functioning. He is, in fact, the only man I trust with my life, and therefore the only man I trust to one day end it, if it becomes necessary.”
“I’m afraid I won’t ever let him do that.”
“You know as well as I do that if Sam Vimes believes it is needed to save the city, you will not be able to stop him, my lady. Nothing will.”
Sybil nibbled her bottom lip as she considered this, then finally she said, “No. You’re right.”
“Yes. So –”
“So it doesn’t matter if you and he are together, then, does it? If nothing will stop him, you may as well let yourself have this and worry about the imaginary consequences later.”
Havelock stared at her, and she smiled brightly at him. “He’ll be home soon; you can talk to him then.”
“Why exactly are you so determined to push me into a relationship with your husband, Sybil?”
“Because I love him. And despite your attempts at deflection, I believe you love him, too.” She thought about it, and added, “And Sam has had so little love in his life that it seems almost cruel to deprive him of having any more.”
For a long moment the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantle, until finally Havelock grimaced and sighed. “You are confident he reciprocates?”
“Yes. I know him.”
“Still, he may not desire what I have to offer.”
“Why might you think that?”
Havelock shifted uncomfortably. “To put it delicately, you and I are rather the opposite in terms of physical attributes.”
Sybil reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. “Based on some of the stories he’s told me about his past, I don’t believe that is likely to be a problem.”
“Oh,” Havelock said dryly, staring down at her hand. “Good.”
She snorted again and sat back, as from the front of the house came the sound of the door opening and Sam Vimes treading heavily down the hallway.
Havelock stared at the door to the parlour like a condemned man staring at the noose.
A moment later the door opened, and Vimes peered in around it. “Oh, sorry,” he muttered at the sight of the Tyrant of Ankh-Morpork sitting in his armchair. “Didn’t realise you had company, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Come in, Sam,” Sybil said, standing and smoothing down her dress. “Havelock has something he needs to discuss with you.”
Vimes narrowed his eyes, but came the rest of the way into the room. “What now, sir? If it's about that riot down at the market, I swear I had no idea Nobby was going to dress like that –”
Sybil gave Havelock a smile and then paused to peck her husband on the cheek. “Listen to me, Sam; everything Havelock is about to say is fine with me. Alright?”
Vimes looked at her suspiciously. “You two been conspiring behind my back again?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, dear. But it’s important you know that actually, this was my idea.” She smiled at him. “I’ll be in the dragon pens if you need me.”
Vimes frowned and turned back to Havelock, who pushed himself slowly up out of his chair.
“What’s going on?” Vimes asked flatly.
Sybil took a deep breath, and headed for the door. Once she reached it she paused with her hand on the knob and cast a furtive glance back over her shoulder; Havelock had taken another step towards her husband, bringing him within touching distance.
“Vimes…” he said, hesitantly. Then; “Sam.”
Sybil smiled to herself, opened the door, and crept quietly out.