PART
XXXVI
Wednesday
9th September
Aftermath
The
lovers
slept in and missed a communal breakfast, which avoided possible
embarrassment
and strained conversation. Neither was very hungry, but they made their
way to
the kitchen and brewed tea, helping themselves to chocolate biscuits
and
feeling naughty. “Mrs Ponsonby won’t mind, will she?” asked Catherine.
“I
don’t
think so,” said Matthew with a smile. “After all, they’re our biscuits!
And I
got the impression she liked us last time. I think she’ll be pleased to
hear of
our good fortune. Say, isn’t Mr Barry coming today to do some more
things?”
“Yes,
in
about an hour or so. Till then maybe we can walk about our estate! Oh,
love, I
can’t get over it! This beautiful place, that we can improve I suppose,
to suit
ourselves, though we could sell it and move to London, like Mr Barry
said, and
– and –”
“Listen, Catherine: you like
music, and I want
to learn about it. We are going to go to an opera, and a symphony
concert, and
you’re going to play me some Chopin, and we’ll get one of those
wireless sets,
and we’ll talk about books, and—”
She
laughed. “Oh Matthew! There’s so much we can do, and enjoy, now, with
no fear
or troubles. We can go back to Paris, maybe, and taste the intellectual
life
there. And we’ll go back to Vaulx and have long talks with our friends
there.
And we can help people, as we were talking about. Yes, my love, we are
going to
enjoy life, and part of that will be making life a bit easier for
some.”
He
looked
at her seriously. “It’s a sad thought, though, that it’ll never be
enough, we
can’t help everybody, no matter how rich we are. But those we know of,
those we
meet, we can make their existence just a bit sweeter. Yes, you’re
right. And
that means more planning. Oh goodness! We’re going to be occupied with
lots of
things! Anyway,” he said taking her hand, “let’s wander about and
admire the
garden, hm? Till Barry comes. Do you like hollyhocks?”
“As of
now,” said Mr Barry, “you can make free with the apartments Mrs
Grainger
occupied, for instance, using the bedrooms down here. There’s two
spares,
you’ll probably not want to use hers. But you can use the morning room
and the
drawing room, the breakfast nook, and so forth. It’s all yours, now.
And what
you’ll be doing down here: you’ll be going through her possessions and
making a
list or two. I mean an inventory, or series of such, detailing clothes,
decorations, books, yes, pictures, knick-knacks. And then in regard to
her
clothes, for instance, they can be laid out in the morning room, say,
preparatory to being parcelled up and dispatched to a worthy deserving
place.
The Salvation Army, for instance, there’s many a charity would be
pleased to
have them. Sisters of Mercy, although,” he added with a wry grin,
“Lydia was by
no means religiously inclined. Her family was, good pious Huguenots,
but she –”
he paused. “She took after her uncle Bernard, who actually raised her
after her
parents died, when she was eleven years old.”
“Oh
dear!”
said Catherine, “how awful for her!”
“I
know,”
he said, “I imagine it was terrible for her. It was in 1905, during the
yellow
fever outbreak in New Orleans, in Louisiana. She didn’t catch it, but
several
of her relatives did – they were visiting the family at the time –. So
you see,
Catherine, she was rather like yourself, an orphan, brought up by an
uncle,
which is why she interested herself in you. However, Bernard seems to
have
brought her up in a very free and easy way, no religion, no moral
imperative.
He was the black sheep of the family, and it was only inevitable I
suppose that
she’d marry into the Graingers. When she married he went off to New
Zealand, I
believe. He was independently wealthy, so he doesn’t feature in her
will.
Anyway, bear in mind that if there’s any money to be made from the
disposition
of her effects, it goes into what you can call the common fund. Which
will not
be totalled up for some time yet, for the estate duty. I foresee that
you’ll be
busy with the results of her death for at least a year.”
Catherine
looked aghast. “Oh dear!” she said, “that sort of ties us down.”
“No,
no,
my dear,” said the old lawyer, “it’s not all on your pretty shoulders.
There’s
the bailiff Mr Montmorency, there’s me and my dear acolyte, Jeremy,
who’s taken
a real shine to you, as they say, and has already worked long hours
with no
complaint. And there’s Mr Bryden of course. I’m not saying you can be
done
without, but you won’t be expected to carry all of the burden all the
time. I
want you to go away for a holiday, actually. I know you’ve recently had
a spell
in Vaulx, but I suspect that it was not entirely carefree, no? I
thought not.
Well, just as soon as you feel the need, and you’ve got things rolling
here,
take off for some relaxing place and forget Lydia Grainger for a while.
I
really mean it.” He smiled deprecatingly. “With or without a chaperone.
Then
come back to take up the reins again. Don’t you think that’s a good
idea?”
Matthew
smiled and said “Certainly, Mr Barry, and we’ll act on that. The main
thing is
not to let the problems arising from this debacle get the better of us.
As of
now though I’m going to take advantage of the suggestion and move my
few things
down here to a spare bedroom. You should do that too, Catherine. Your
pick. And
maybe we can have tea – and breakfast too – served in that nook, like
yesterday. Mr Barry, let me confess, I’m looking forward to a bit more
carefree
life than before. I’m trying not to feel guilty about accepting this
bounty
from Mrs Grainger—”
“My
dear
boy!” said Barry, “you have nothing to feel guilty about. Accept it,
you earned
it, really! This is your just reward for what was in a way a real
martyrdom.
The account is cleared –oh dear, I’m into metaphors again!”
Catherine
laughed. “It’s true, though,” she said, “I’m the same. I think it’ll be
a
little while before we come to terms with it. So anyway I’m going to
make lists
of things to be done, even obvious stuff like changing the curtains and
getting
rid of Mrs G’s bed!” They laughed and looked forward to an interesting
autumn.
Barry
looked at them with understanding. “I know it’s a bit like the
resolution of a
complicated play, like a deus ex machina
situation. You can’t really believe it, can you?”
“No,
sir,”
said Matthew, ‘it’s … I don’t know. Listen, this past long while since
I came
to Summerton, the whole thing has been like a horrific dream, a wet
dream,
really, you know? A wet nightmare. Sorry to be so … plain.” Barry
nodded.
“Anyway, I prayed to wake up from it. But now, I’m so relieved and
happy, I
feel like I’m dreaming, only a pleasant dream now, feeling safe and
secure and
… and I don’t want to wake. I know it’s just a dream. But I’m afraid to
wake up
to the sordid reality…. Does that make sense?”
He
looked
up at the lawyer and grimaced. Barry nodded thoughtfully. “I can see, I
can
appreciate, how all this has seemed, and seems now. But rest assured,
Matthew,
that it is the end of the play, when all is righted and Tartuffe
unmasked, the
long-lost child is found, Perdita’s dead mother is found alive. You’ve
been
through a Sophoclean catharsis, and now begins a new chapter with a
blank page.
Hah! I won’t continue the metaphor. Just accept your good fortune, and
think
about how you’ll deal with it. As for me, I’m going to give young
Jeremy a
substantial rise in his salary. The dear boy was instrumental in this
outcome.”
“But
Mr
Barry,” said Catherine, “I’ve just been thinking. If it hadn’t been for
Jeremy’s forced participation in my humiliation that time – and that,
his
presence, was accidental – he’d have had no reason to suggest it. If he
hadn’t
seen me at Summerton, there’d probably be nothing happened at Vaulx
either.”
“And,
Catherine,” Matthew added, “it was Mrs G who did that, in the first
place, got
you there to humiliate. So it’s her fault, really—”
“You
mean
we owe our happiness to Mrs Grainger! God, I suppose we do!”
Barry
looked from one to the other. “Yes,” he said, “it’s ironic but it’s
true. I
said as much to Jeremy the other day. She sowed the seeds, and so you
pair are
reaping the harvest. Oh dear, another metaphor!”
They laughed, and Bryden, who was just
entering, asked
the reason. “Oh, nothing, Bryden,” said the lawyer, “just my rhetorical
long-windedness. Listen: you and I must have a long talk, many long
talks, about
the future. About these two, and several other matters. For now,
though, let’s
just take a deep breath and set about picking up the pieces. Catherine
is in a
different position from Matthew, who has a family. She has none, and we
have to
decide what to do with her. You are going to be in
loco parentis.”
Catherine looked at the old butler shyly and
said “Mr
Bryden, listen, I want – I would like – please, I want to call you
Uncle Theo.”
The old man’s eyes glistened with tears, and he held out
his hands to her. “My dear, dear girl!” he said, “I’d like nothing
more.” They
embraced in a tight hug, and Catherine too showed unshed tears of joy.
Matthew
and Barry looked at the picture and then at each other with big smiles,
and
nodded as if to say Yes, a very satisfactory outcome.
Abigail
came into the room and stopped. She looked at the pair with an odd
expression
that had to mingle resentment and fear, and said “Well! I suppose I
should
curtsey, or something? You’ve got the upper hand now. All right. What
have you
got in mind for me?” She stared at them, her mouth twisting, and threw
back her
head.
Matthew
was the first to rouse himself to answer. “Abigail,” he said, “I don’t
want to
be vindictive. You’ve not been very kind to us, have you? You agreed
with Lydia
Grainger’s ideas and methods, and you gleefully joined in the project
of
putting us through all those humiliations. And for that I cannot
forgive you. I
can’t forget it either, and so it’s hard to see how we can stay under
the same
roof for any length of time. Catherine and I will be moving away, but
for now
it would be simpler if you took a long holiday.”
She
looked
at him in bewilderment. “You’re not sacking me?”
Catherine
rushed to explain. “No, Abigail, it isn’t like that. I suppose we’ve
inherited
you along with the estate, but Mr Barry said it wouldn’t be fair to
dismiss you
just because we don’t like you. You served Mrs G very well, he said, so
it
isn’t up to us to take revenge. Oh, Abigail,” she said, “but I’d like
to! I’d
like to see you squirm in shame as I did, I’d like to see you cry, like
I did,
I’d like to see you cower in despair as I did. But that pleasure will
be denied
me. As it is, though, maybe I can get some satisfaction in seeing you
humbled.
Matthew thinks you can take a long holiday. By the time it’s over, we
won’t be
here, and it’ll be new management at the estate, and you can deal with
them.”
“—Unless
you want to leave right now,” said Matthew, “with your bequest and a
first-class reference. Either way, I’d like to see you off the premises
by nightfall.
I can’t make you,” he added as she opened her mouth to speak or argue,
“but I’d
like you to. That’s all I have to say.” He stared her in the face, and
left the
room.
Abigail
took a deep breath and looked sullenly at Catherine. “All right,” she
said, “I
suppose it works out that way. A holiday? We’ll see. Resign? Why not.
I’m
getting two hundred pounds and a reference. All right.” And
at least, she thought, I’ve
got that pendant, and the pearls! She squared her shoulders
and looked at
the girl with a sort of smirk and said “So I might as well tell you
this. You
were an ideal victim, you know. You’re weak, you’re pliable, you’re
naïve and
so trusting! You’re so foolish actually. You couldn’t believe that so
much
could happen to you, with no redress or let-up. Well it did happen. We
put you
through the wringer, and it was great to watch you beating your hands
against
the cell-door, you daren’t complain, or you’d be back in Cumberland
being
thrashed by Mrs Grove. And you couldn’t complain because Matthew was at
risk,
your dear Matthew.” Her voice became scornful and savage. “Matthew! A
pretty
boy with not much spine – though of course he couldn’t fight either. It
worked
very nicely, you know. You couldn’t move on account of him, and he
couldn’t
move on account of you. Because you were infatuated with each other!”
Catherine
burst out, “You bitch, you used our love against us—”
“Love!”
shrieked Abigail. “Love! Is that what it was? You saw each other naked,
and got
the urge to fuck, but you couldn’t so you turned your lust to something
else.
And you enjoyed the excitement of being naked and felt up and gloated
over,
didn’t you? Admit it! God, you hypocrite, you Sunday school virgin!
Deep down
you were trembling with arousal, you were, you know, you dripped your
juice to
prove it. Just as your prince there was enjoying his erections and his
spending. But it was good to watch you blush, like a maiden who’d never
been
seen undressed, who’d never been felt, but who was suddenly stripped in
front
of young randy boys who were delighted to see you, feel you, make you
come.”
She stopped to take breath, then looked into Catherine’s eyes. “And
now, I
suspect, he is the only one privy to your privates. Isn’t he? He’s
fucking you,
isn’t he? I said at the very start you wanted that, he wanted that. So
now you
can, using Mrs G’s bed and reading those dirty books. Hah! You pair….”
Catherine
eyed her coolly and replied as steadily as she could manage. “Yes,
Abigail,
he’s fucking me. I’m fucking him. We fuck together, and it is the most
glorious
thing I know. I love him, and I know he loves me, and we prove that
love, we
demonstrate it, together in bed. I admit it, it’s true, that we learned
this
here, we learned how to fuck here, but first we learned to love. And,”
she came
closer to add, “I should maybe thank you for helping the process along.
Mrs
Grainger didn’t know what she was doing in putting us together, and you
were an
accidental sort of matchmaker; but it happened, and so, for the record,
as it
were, I thank you. I’ve come to know an incredible happiness, and I
thank God,
in hindsight, that we came here to this dreadful place. But anyway, if
you can
see your way to getting out of our lives by dark, I’ll appreciate it.
Mr Barry
has already written a recommendation letter for you, and it’ll be on
the hall
table when you go. Rawlins will be able to drive you to the station.
Now
goodbye.”
Abigail
looked daggers at her and clenched her teeth, but said no more. With a
sort of
flounce she left the room. Catherine looked after her and let out a
shuddering
breath. That had been an awful interview. But now, there were no
obstacles to
her enjoyment of her new position. Hah,
she thought, position, status, oh, I
mustn’t ever get arrogant and proud of my money – after all I’m just a
middle-class girl who has been lucky. Remember the girl in Our Mutual
Friend,
and the father in Little Dorrit…. But dear Matthew will keep my feet on
the
ground. He’s sensible, with a good sense of humour, and … oh dear God,
what a
wonderful person he is! She ran out of the room and found him
in the
library. Going up to him, she grabbed his arms and pulled him into a
kiss,
making eager sounds and surprising him with her vehemence. She broke
the kiss
and breathlessly said “I just had to kiss you, Matthew, you dear, dear
darling,
because I love you and thank God we have each other. You’re so …
beautiful and
… loving ….” She found she was crying, and he looked dismayed. “Oh no,
love,”
she spluttered, “I’m not upset, it’s just that I’m soooo … haaapy …”
He
grinned
and said “I know, love, I know. Thank you for the kiss. I hope I can
kiss you
suddenly like that too, as the whim takes me. I get overwhelming urges
too, to
show you just how dear you are to me. And when we’re utterly alone in
our room
or bed or some cool grotto like the Cave of the Nymphs, we can show
each other
what we mean. – It’s because of Abigail, isn’t it?”
“Yes,”
she
said, sniffling, “I suddenly saw the difference, the incredible gulf
between us
and her. She can’t be happy, surely, so full of that malice and … envy
and …
spite ….”
“Catherine,
she has little to look forward to, I bet. In fact I’ll wager she has a
very
uncomfortable life in front of her, carrying that sort of … mental or
psychological furniture. But I mean it when I say: forget her. We’re
well rid
of her, so close the door.” His lover gave him a bright smile and went
off in a
better mood than she began the day with.
Later
that
day Abigail left in the Daimler with a bulky handbag and a thermos of
cocoa
provided by Liza and Laura, along with ham and cheese sandwiches from
Mrs
Ponsonby. Some of the girls waved her off, and she waved at them in a
condescending way, as if to say (Grace thought) I’m
well out of here, you poor things! Watch me! Matthew looked
out
the window to see her go, and somehow felt a great relief that suddenly
made
itself known. He couldn’t help wondering, however, what would happen to
her.
She was an efficient servant, no doubt about it, and the service market
in
London or Manchester, say, would be happy to have her, with a
recommendation
from Mrs Grainger. At least, he
thought, that’s the last we’ll hear of
her! And we’ll probably remind each other about her sadistic schemes
now and
then, and then bask in the comfort of being without her. Still, Raven,
try to
forget her, all right?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday
10th September
They
consulted with Bryden about a successor for Abigail, and he recommended
Marion,
the girl from Jamaica. They asked her and she was very pleased. Then
they went
to talk with Miss Birkett and a subdued Miss Cramond, who was
regretting her
treatment of Matthew. But he bore her little ill will, and was pleasant
to her,
reminding himself that he’d deduced she had had some awful experiences
with
men, perhaps a tyrant father, or a bullying husband, or maybe a cad
who’d
seduced her and abandoned her. It was he who suggested that the school
expand
into the living quarters, and rent it from the estate.
Miss
Birkett looked dismayed. “But we’ve not been paying rent before,” she
said,
“and the fees have mostly gone to Mrs Grainger. So do you mean that
we’ll be
sending you the fees, and … and paying rent on top of that?”
Miss
Cramond looked rebellious, but Matthew forestalled her.
“No,”
he
said, “I mean that I want you to be independent. This isn’t Mrs G’s
school any
more, and it’s not ours really. It’s yours. We’re going to go away, and
you
have a clear field to develop the place as you wish. You’re going to
have a
sports place, aren’t you? It’s all planned. And there was talk of a
swimming
pool, et cetera. You should be able to fund all that out of the fees.
And as
for the rent, I think –”
They
looked at him anxiously. Catherine couldn’t bear their expressions and
smiled
as she broke in.
“Ladies,”
she said, “don’t be afraid. We were thinking of a peppercorn.”
The
teachers looked amazed.
“Yes,”
said Matthew, with a grin of his own, “really that means a token rent.
If you
can’t find a spare peppercorn, let’s call it a fiver, hmm? You rent
Summerton
Manor for five pounds a year. The fees alone should keep your head
above water.
But the estate will be able to look after things for you – repairs to
the
plumbing or anything like that. Mr Montmorency will be in charge, and I
think
all should go well. What d’you think?”
They
gazed
at him with big eyes, and rose to embrace their benefactors. Miss
Birkett had
tears in her eyes, and the dour Scot kissed Matthew on the cheek as she
merely
murmured “Thank you, Matthew. We don’t deserve—”
“Not
another word,” he said. “It’s best this way. We couldn’t let the girls
down,
could we? You can make this a fine little school, you know.”
“It
was an
efficient place before we got here,” said Catherine, “and I’d only ask
you to
relax a little bit. You will I suppose have to answer to the governors,
but
don’t worry too much, that means Matthew and me and Mr Bryden, who are
going to
be fairly … permissive in giving you a free hand. Above all, ladies, I
enjoin
you to try to make the school experience an enjoyable one. Don’t make
it a
harsh environment for learning, get the girls to grab instruction
eagerly, not
avoid it as either a bore or a punishment. Let them be happy.”
Cramond
looked at her quietly, then nodded in acceptance. Miss Birkett put her
arm
round her colleague’s shoulders and looked at the new owners calmly.
“Right!”
she said, “I do believe this is a new beginning for us too. You won’t
regret
it.”
The
orphans left them making plans for the redesigned Academy, and went off
to tell
the old butler how it went.
Friday
11th September
A
confrontation
A
fancy
car drew up and a liveried chauffeur got out to knock on the door. Liza
answered, and after a few words opened the doors wide and allowed the
man and
his passenger to enter. The chauffeur was sent back to the car, having
got
instructions as to where to go, and Liza brought the gentleman in to
the
morning room and asked him to wait. What was his name?
She
ran
the lovers down in the kitchen, where they were enjoying a conversation
with
Mrs Ponsonby.
“There’s
a
gentleman come to see you,” she said, “both of you I expect. His name
is
Colonel Struthers, Irving Struthers, and I know he’s the Chief
Constable.”
“My
word!”
said Matthew. “I expect he’s come to pay his respects to the new
owners, hmm?
Well, we’d best go see. Come, love, we’ll entertain him for a bit. Oh,
Mrs P,
can you get us some sherry, maybe? I think that’s the standard thing.”
She
smiled and nodded, and they followed Liza out.
Struthers
stood and inclined his head as they entered the morning room. He was a
tall
man, though not very fleshy, and his handshake was firm. He asked to
see the
new proprietors of the old estate, and was obviously taken aback to see
a
couple of children.
“Actually,
sir,” said Catherine, “it’s Mr Bryden, the butler, who’s in charge, but
we are
the actual legal owners. Lydia Grainger left the property to us.”
“Hem!
Well, I, I must say it’s a bit of a surprise. I don’t know what to say.
Except
to congratulate you on your good fortune. This is a beautiful estate,
as I’m
sure you’ve seen. I don’t know whether you’re aware of it, but I’ve
been a
friend of the Graingers for many years. I—”
He
broke
off as Liza appeared with a little wagon of drinks, and they were able
to offer
the guest sherry, or something stronger? It was too early for the hard
stuff
evidently, and he opted for sherry, so Liza poured them all a little
glassful,
curtsied with a smile at Matthew, and left.
“Well!
Here’s health!”
They
echoed the toast and sat down. They spoke about the weather, and the
crops, and
the government, and there was one of those silences. Struthers fiddled
with his
glass for a moment before saying “There is one matter I want to talk
about,
particularly. It shouldn’t be any trouble. It’s just a formality
really. We’ll
be starting cubbing shortly, and all I’m doing is giving you notice
about it.
The actual season, the full hunt, isn’t until November as usual.”
He
sipped
his sherry and looked at them with a pleasant expression of
satisfaction.
Matthew frowned and looked at Catherine, who had a startled expression
on her
face, along with a faint flush. He put two and two together. “Oh
goodness! The
Hunt!”
“Why,
yes,” said the colonel, “And we start with the cubbing next week. When
we
introduce the little ones to the sport.”
“Sport!”
Catherine’s eyes flashed. “What—”
Matthew
interrupted. “But why are you telling us?”
“To
prepare you for our visits. Lydia never made a fuss, and I’m trusting
you’ll
allow the hunt on your land, that’s all.”
His
face
became worried. “Here, I say, you don’t object, do you? Lydia followed
the
Grainger custom, we’ve been coming through here every so often for two
hundred
years!”
Matthew
looked him in the eye. “Colonel,” he said, “I make no bones about it.
I’ve
heard the arguments, and I may as well tell you that no matter how
ancient the
‘sport’ is, and no matter how accommodating the Graingers were, or
Lydia, in my
opinion it’s an outmoded barbarism on a level with bear-baiting and
bull-fighting, and if I have a say in it, it won’t be allowed on our
land!”
Catherine
reached for his hand and squeezed it. In her turn she said “Yes,
Colonel, we
object. We object strongly. We can’t stop hunting, but by God we can
keep it
out of this estate. And let me tell you,” she said deliberately, “if
anyone
tries to ride roughshod through any of these grounds, with or without a
pack of
puppies, they’d better be ready for an action at law! Yes, we’ll sue
for
trespass! Wilde was right – the unspeakable, in pursuit of the
uneatable!”
Struthers
drank his dregs and stood up. His face was stony as he said “I might
have known
it was impossible to deal with ignorant children. I can see your minds
are made
up. I won’t attempt to convince you of the honourable tradition or the
support
it gives to the rural community, or…. All right. I need say no more. I
give you
good morning!”
Matthew
had rung for service, and Laura appeared just then.
“Laura,”
said
the master, “the Colonel is just leaving. See him out, will you?”
She
curtsied and led him away, then returned to ask what that was all
about. They
told her, and she giggled. “Oh my,” she said, “the girls will be glad
to know
that. Lydia was all for the hunt, ’cos Henry was for it, but it was
always a
bother. Congratulations on putting him in his place!”
Matthew put his arm round
his lover’s waist
and sighed dramatically. “I’ve got an awful feeling,” he said, “that
we’ve just
wrecked the estate’s relations with officialdom, and the police, et
cetera.
That old law about closing on Sunday, for instance, will be revived! Ah
well.
At least we’ve saved a few foxes, no?”
Saturday
12th September
“Catherine,
come and see this.”
She
looked
up from the magazine she was reading in the morning room and smiled.
“What?
Have you found something interesting in there?”
“Yes,”
he
said, “interesting is the word I suppose. I finally got round to
looking at
that cupboard in Lydia’s bedroom.”
Catherine
got up with an intrigued expression and came with him into that so
feminine
room that still bore a faint scent of its former occupant. The door of
the
corner cupboard was open and revealed shelves of books, and she sighed.
“Not
more obscene stuff, surely? Why isn’t it in the library? Is it worse?”
He
laughed
and said “Open one, tell me what you think.”
She
took
one out at random and looked at it. It was the size of a large novel,
with
maroon cloth covers, bearing a paper label on the spine with a
handwritten
“1915 – 2” on it. She opened it up and saw the pages covered in a neat
script.
“Oh no!” she gasped. “It’s not her diary, is it?”
He
laughed. “Yes, but it’s more of a real journal than a mere diary. She
takes
pages sometimes to describe something, and I’ll tell you, as I
expected, it’s
pretty hair-raising. Look at it.”
She
leafed
through it, and said “She seems to be in America. And oh, writes about
Henry. I
say, he must have died by this time. And what’s this?” She read out “We talked about the war, and Derek
said everybody in San Francisco, that is
everyone he knows, is all for Wilson to do something about it. On the
other
hand Herr Brandt was saying that while it’s very regrettable that so
many
civilians lost their lives, the Imperial Government was within its
legal rights
to fire that torpedo – and a lucky torpedo it was – for lots of
reasons. The
ship was in contravention of some agreed-upon rules, AND was carrying
some
munitions. Besides all that, there was that notice in the paper warning
about
sailing into a war zone. I agreed with him that the ship for many
reasons
turned out to be fair game, but it was a great pity, it was a beautiful
ship,
and very comfortable to sail in. – I expect she went over to
the States in
that ship, then. – Of course Britain
wants Wilson to declare war, and many criticise him for merely asking
for
apologies and reparations. Philip meanwhile was musing about the
possibility of
a call-up, what he calls a draught, or draft (how silly these spellings
are!)
to the military, and is already talking of going to Europe to sow his
wild
oats. I laughed and told him that we’d been sure they were well sowed
right
here in sunny Frisco, and the whole argument ended up in bed of course.
My,
those two lovely boys! You’d think at the age of 16 they’d be too shy
to even
contemplate going to bed with a girl five years older, a sophisticated
widow!
I’ll miss them both when I get back home, which can’t be long now, they
say the
war will be over very soon. Derek, with his snub nose and freckles, and
Philip,
with his aristocratic looks and pale skin – they’re so different and
yet so
similar in the games they play as well as the size of their cocks.”
She
stopped and gulped. “It’s … very interesting actually,” she said, “but
I must
say it does reveal a bit about Mrs G. I think she’s always been the
same, no?
And that ship—”
“It
was
the Lusitania,” said Matthew,
“which
was torpedoed near Ireland in May I think, in 1915. These journals will
be
rather fascinating as descriptions and comments on the last twenty-five
years.
Oh yes,” he said, seeing her surprise, “the first volume is dated 1900,
when
she’d be all of six.”
“Six!
My
goodness. Well, some time when I’ve nothing else to do I’ll browse
through
them.”
Her
eyes
fell on the page, and she flushed as she read “I
never imagined what a thrill it would be to be fucked at the same
time by two wonderful boys! Derek took me in my cunt, and Philip in my
arse,
and the extraordinary feeling it gave me was, well, indescribable. I
must do
this again….” She looked up at Matthew and half laughed. “Oh,
love,” she
said, “if they’re all like this they’ll be really steamy to read, as
good, or
as bad, as those things in the library! But let’s just put them back
for a
while. There’s other things we have to deal with. Mr Barry is coming
tomorrow,
remember, and we should be prepared to talk about the disposition of
Lydia’s
personal effects and the rubbish as well!”
He
smiled
and put the book back and closed the door. “Right, love,” he said,
“they’ll
keep! I’ll get back to my notes about what to retain and what to throw
away. When’s
Mr de Groot showing up?”
She
looked
at the clock. “Actually, any minute now. I’d better get the kettle on.”
He
laughed. “Catherine, my dear darling, you’re not used to it yet, are
you?” He
pulled the bell-rope and Amanda came in and looked a question.
“Amanda,” said
the proprietor amiably, “get us some tea, would you? That Dutch
gentleman’s
coming shortly, and we should be hospitable. I bet you there’s some
biscuits
and stuff in the pantry, hm? See what you can do.”
She
looked
at him and smiled. “Certainly. Ten minutes maybe? Right-oh.” Off she
went, and
Catherine laughed to see the affable interplay between the two former
servants,
now in a strangely different relationship something like friends.
De
Groot
greeted them warmly and said “Well now! We are near the end of this
marathon.
Today should finish the enumeration and evaluation, pro
tem., at least, of the collection. Let me tell you however
that
my rash appraisal as of now is in the region of one hundred and fifty
thousand
pounds.” He grinned at their expressions. “And that’s rather
conservative,” he
added, “because you never know how an auction will go. How high, I
mean. This
one will certainly not be on the low side. Let me remind you also of
several
fine tomes in the other collection. Not to mention, but I will mention,
the art
works that I’ve seen around the building. I’m no great expert, but I’d
say you
have some rather good things there. I’m pretty sure that portrait of a
horse we
saw in the attic is a Stubbs. You know him? Anyway, I think you’ll be
pleased
at their worth.”
“Yes,”
said Matthew, “I was mentioning that to Mr Barry. And in the other
attic too, I
found a great pile of things that look as if they haven’t been
disturbed for a
hundred years. We really should get someone to appraise them by
themselves. Can
you do it?”
“Oh
no,
Matthew. I could estimate things for you, roughly, but you really need
an
expert. I’ll recommend one if you like, I know a couple personally.”
“Fair
enough,” said Catherine. “Oh good, here’s the tea. Thank you, Amanda.”
Her
former
colleague smiled and said “You’re welcome. Shall I pour?”
“Good
Lord, no,” said the girl flushing, “we can do all that. Away you go and
have
your own.”
Amanda
grinned and nodded, and left.
De
Groot
looked amused. “I take it, Catherine, that you can’t quite accustom
yourself to
giving orders, or even requests, to someone you’ve been on a par with,
in a
house where you were nothing but an erotic plaything? You really will
become
inured to it, you know, although I venture to suggest you’ll always
have that
politeness and friendly gentility towards your servants. That girl,
now, and
her friends in the kitchen are rather a special case; but I foresee
that when
you’re in your own place you’ll be much the same with other servants
who never
knew you as an underling or an equal.”
Matthew
nodded, saying “Don’t make her blush with compliments, Adriaan! But
you’re
right. That’s one of the nice things about her. The many, many nice
things
about her.”
The
little
bookman laughed. “Before I feel I’m de
trop, instead of de Groot, let’s have our tea and talk about
the library,
yes?” They laughed and followed his lead.
“Adriaan,”
said Matthew, chewing on a biscuit, “there are some books that aren’t
erotic,
but which I myself will have no use for, being in Latin, for instance,
and they
should be sold as well. I’ve put all the ones I thought of like that
separately
in the dining room. Like that Polifio thing you showed me, for
instance, it’s a
beautiful book, but it’ll never be a favourite book for bedtime.”
“Aha,
Matthew,” said de Groot, “I hoped you would do something like that. The
book is
only slightly erotic, it’s in an amazing sort of Latinate Italian, or
vice
versa, its pictures are beautiful but maybe too mannered, too symbolic,
too
bizarre! Yes, I can’t see you enjoying it much. But oh,” he shrugged
his
shoulders in delight, “to the literary connoisseur, to the worshipper
of the
incunabula, it’s something like the Holy Grail. Yes, Matthew, sell it
separately
at Sotheby’s, and see how much it fetches. I guarantee you’ll be
astonished.
Our copy is not particularly handsome, in its binding, mind you. The
one in the
Earl Spencer collection, now, has a distinguished cover by Grolier,
which is
very fine – I think Dibdin, the bibliographer, said it was the finest
copy he’d
seen – but ours is clean and reasonable, and should fetch a very pretty
penny.”
Catherine
raised a finger. “I just thought of something. We don’t need those
books in
Latin and Greek, but maybe Elizabeth would like to have some of them?
Or
Eithne? What do you think?”
“Oh
goodness, I never thought of that,” said Matthew guiltily. “I say,
Adriaan,
you’ve seen them, do you think a Classics scholar might be pleased with
them?”
The
little
Dutchman nodded with a smile. “Very likely, Matthew! That is a very
good idea
you have there, Catherine! I seem to remember a copy of Mommsen the
historian
there, in German of course, and a copy of Martial, from Amsterdam,
1670. In
Greek we found the Suda Lexicon,
d’you remember, of 1705? Oh, Catherine, you weren’t there. It’s a
famous
dictionary from Byzantium, explaining words and quoting some
interesting stuff
otherwise lost. I think either of the ladies would love to have that.”
“Then
that’s
what we’ll do, we’ll tell them to come and choose things. Oh good,” she
went
on, “it’ll be so nice to give them presents!” The Dutchman grinned at
her
enthusiasm.
An
hour
later he put his pen in his pocket and closed his notebook. “That’s it,
my
friends,” he said. “The collection is catalogued and valued. It is now
up to
the owners to pick what they want out of it – you can do that in a day
or two,
Matthew – and we’ll get the remainder off to auction. Well!” He blew
out his
breath. “That was quite a job, I must say, but enjoyable nonetheless.
Now I
wish to celebrate. I’m inviting you two to dinner in Heighsham. Will
you come?”
They
stared at him with big smiles. “Oh Adriaan, thank you!” said Catherine.
“We’ll
come, won’t we, Matthew?”
“Of course,” he said. “Thank
you, Adriaan!
That finishes the task off in fine style. We’ll have a toast, maybe, to
the
generations of Graingers who put this awful library together, and
apologise to
their ghosts for breaking it up. As I suppose we will be doing?”
“Oh
yes,
Matthew, I don’t see any one bibliophile coming forward with a very
large
cheque. No, it’ll be sold in bits to the highest bidder. It’ll be
interesting
to see who buys them. Many will be discreetly anonymous of course. Ah—I
want to
ask you, the pair of you, a favour….”
They
looked at him and nodded. “Of course! Just say it.”
“Thank
you. It’s just that once this lot are off to the auction house, and you
have
the others all arranged, I would like to catalogue them. And value
them, for
insurance purposes.”
Matthew
smiled. “Why, certainly! And we’ll pay you for it of course.” De Groot
went
pink and made noises, but they overruled him and agreed it would be
only
proper. Besides, he would be sending the estate the bill for the
erotica
evaluation.
“I
think
you’ll end up with a very good library,” he said. “Apart from the fine
books,
the illustrated classics, the products of the special presses, like the
Doves
Press and Golden Cockerel books, there are what you can call the
run-of-the-mill things that every gentleman should have, like the
entire works
of Dickens and Carlyle, and the cheap general books, like the Bohn
Library,
that covers all kinds of things like history and nature. The Harvard
Classics,
too, Everyman’s Library, and encyclopaedias – you’ve got the grand Larousse of the Nineteenth Century
there. You’ve got the atlases and volumes of travels you were admiring
– Anson,
and the Hakluyt series. As well,” he added with a smile, “as the modern
stuff
that Mrs Grainger acquired in the last twenty years – those modern
novels, for
instance, like Dr Thorndyke’s crime stories, E.
Phillips Oppenheim, and those
poets, who are beginning
to make a stir, like Eliot and Pound – besides the French items, which
you will
I’m sure come to enjoy. I’m going to relish making that catalogue.”
They
saw
him off with a promise to be ready for their evening out at six p.m.,
and went
back to their rooms well pleased.
Sunday
13th September
Barry
comes to talk about LG’s personal effects.
The
lawyer
looked at the piles of things around them. “Well,” he said, “I see
you’ve made
a good start. Those clothes, as we said, can be bundled off to the
charities.
The jewellery````, now, I’m glad to see you’ve made an inventory. It’s
quite a
little collection, I must say, and that’s something else for appraisal.
There
may be some valuable stuff there, for the Graingers never threw
anything away,
and they were surely adorning their women with jewels for a century or
two!”
“Yes, sir,” said Catherine,
“there are some things
that look old and costly. Look at this.” She went into the large box to
produce
a smaller one, and opened it to show a necklace of coloured stones set
in
silver. “Isn’t that magnificent?”
Barry
looked at it in admiration and wonder. “I must say,” he said, “that
that at
least is beautiful and striking. It looks the sort of thing that ladies
wear. I
mean those with the title Lady! Yes, my dear, it’ll have to be
appraised with
other things, sold at auction, et cetera. Unless – oh my dear, forgive
me! Unless
you want to keep things yourself!”
She
smiled, and said “I must admit there’s a couple of nice things in there
I was
wondering about. Would you let me keep them? They’re—”
“Good
Heavens, Catherine, my child, of course you may keep them! You are the
heir to
all this. Matthew keeps his books, you keep the jewels, you both
inherit her
property and her wealth. I know you’re having a hard time digesting
this, but
try to accept it and just be thankful for it. And what about these
other
things?”
Matthew
pointed to the bookcases which were stuffed with volumes. “That’s the
lot that
were in here and sent from Paris. Half are in French. I want to keep
them,
they’re more modern, up-to-date, than the other ones upstairs. By the
way, as
soon as the erotic library goes off to Sotheby’s, I’ll transfer all the
other
ones down to those cases and set about arranging them. But you’ll
really have
to look at these.” He held out his hand to a table piled with
documents. “This
is all I’ve found, so far at least, of her private papers. You’ll have
to go
through it with us, don’t you think?”
Barry
pondered. “We’ll have to make it a joint endeavour,” he said slowly,
“and I’ll
have Jeremy along to make notes, another inventory in fact. And it
might be
advisable to have Montmorency along as well. Yes, we can start on that
next
Tuesday, I think. It might take a little time!”
Later
that
morning Matthew was told he had a visitor, and it turned out to be
Dulcie, who
reminded him about wanting to walk in the woods. “Now that they belong
to you,”
she said with something of a flush, “I’m asking you again. Would you
let me …
us … em, perhaps a friend and I …”
“Oh,
goodness,” he said amiably, “of course you may! Sit in the little
gazebo,
maybe. You don’t need to ask, Dulcie, just come, and enjoy.” She
coloured for
some reason and smiled her thanks. When she’d gone he wondered who the
friend
would be. She’d always given him the impression of being a solitary
sort, a
swot (as those girls called her) with few close friends. She meanwhile
was
laying plans for an assignation with the boy she couldn’t get enough
of. Thank
goodness he was taking his holidays now! And here in the woods, a
perfect place
to meet and hug and …everything else….
Monday
14th September
A
visitor
from the past
Grace
knocked and entered the drawing room, where Matthew was standing
looking at a
large pile of clothes laid out on the furniture. “Matthew,” she said,
“there’s
someone to see Mr Bryden. Is he in?”
“Actually
I think he went off for a walk, Grace,” Matthew said. “Show him in,
though. We
can give him a cup of tea maybe.”
She
ushered in a young girl, who looked strangely familiar.
“Hello,”
she said. “I’m—” She broke off and looked at him closely. “Haven’t we
met
before?” she said. “Oh God, it’s you!” She blushed and put her hand to
her
mouth.
He
meantime had searched his memory and exclaimed “Lord, it’s you, the boy
at the
stables!” He went red himself, remembering that he’d been pissing when
the other
came in, dressed as a boy.
“I’m
sorry,” said the girl, “I was dressed like a boy at the time, and I …
needed to
go badly. I’m sorry to embarrass you.”
He
grimaced and said “I am embarrassed, but it was ages ago. And a lot
more has
happened in the meantime. I’m Matthew Raven, by the way. I’ve been here
for a
few months. You wanted to see Mr Bryden?”
“Yes,”
she
said, “he’s an old friend. I’m Sally Crawford. I used to be here
myself.”
“Oh!”
he
exclaimed. “I’m pleased to meet you. Mr B has been talking about you.
He was
very fond of you I think.”
She
beamed, and said “That’s nice to hear. I came because I saw that Mrs
Grainger
had died, and to tell the truth I took the chance to see him now the
coast is
clear. I hope I’m not upsetting you—”
“Oh
no,
not a bit. Listen, if I understand Mr Bryden, you had some terrible
experiences
here, and you ran away.”
“That’s
right. May I ask if you’ve had any?”
He
laughed
bitterly. “Any! God, if I told you—no, maybe we can leave our
reminiscences to
later. Just accept that I have. And my friend Catherine as well. You’ll
have to
meet her. She’s a wonderful girl, and she has been tormented as well.
Let me
get tea.”
Just
then
Grace came in with the tea trolley, and smiled at his surprise. “You
did
mention tea, you know. Did you want me to see if Catherine’s around?”
“Yes,
please, Grace,” he said. “Thanks for the tea. That’s my favourite kind
of
biscuits.” She flashed him a smile and left.
“I
remember that girl,” said the visitor. “Grace Cunningham. I never did
get to
know the girls very well, I was here such a short time. Is Abigail
still here?”
He
took a
breath and said “No, she’s not here. She left several days ago.”
“Thank
God,” said the girl. “I couldn’t stand her. Anyway, can we have tea?”
“Oh,
yes,
sorry. Sit down, and we can talk.”
“Let
me
tell you, Matthew, a little bit about me. I’m 16 past, last June, and I
suppose
you can call me a vagrant. I ran away from home in Nottingham a year
and a half
ago.” Seeing his questioning look, she explained, with something of a
flush.
“My dad beat me when he was drunk, and … used me when he was sober.”
She saw a
horror on his face, and quickly added “Please don’t be upset. I know
it’s awful
to think about, but it’s all behind me now. Anyway, my mother couldn’t
control
him, he beat her as well, and she couldn’t care about me. So I ran
away, living
on the streets and in the fields, a sort of gypsy life. I enjoyed it,
to tell
the truth. And I saw a lot of the country. But one day I was sheltering
from
the rain feeling miserable when up comes this big car, and Lydia
Grainger came
out, bundled me up and brought me here. I was so grateful! I worshipped
the
fine lady….” She trailed off and looked at him. Sighing, she lifted her
tea and
sipped it, looking back. “Of course that didn’t last. I soon found that
she’d
taken a fancy to me not as a child or a waif or even a lover, but a
pet, to
amuse her with tricks. A pet she didn’t like very much either. Do you
want to
hear?”
“I’d
like
to, Sally, but I think you could save it till my friend Catherine comes
here.
Your stories are very alike. For now, maybe I can tell you how I came
to be
here.” She nodded and chewed a biscuit. “My life was very ordinary till
only a
few months ago. I was a footman in a big house, with a pretty secure
job, a
father working in the stables and a young sister there as a maid. We
were
happy, till my mother died last year, in childbirth. The baby died too.
My
father was utterly devastated, as we all were of course, but we were
getting
over it when Lydia Grainger came to tea.”
“Ah,”
said
Sally, “and—don’t tell me—she took a fancy to you.”
“Yes,”
he
said with a wry laugh, “but as you can guess it was only to have
another pet. I
had the disadvantage of being a boy in a female world here, and she
encouraged
the girls to tease me. You can imagine maybe.”
She
nodded
and invited him to go into details, and he told some of his story
without too
much of a flush, ending up with the latest developments.
Sally
drew
a deep breath and said “Well! I can only say life plays funny tricks. I
needn’t
tell you I’m happy things have worked out so well. I won’t talk about
retribution or anything. But anyway, I’ll be glad to see dear Mr B
again. He was
a real shelter from the storm, as you may have found. I’m glad he
remembered
me.”
“I’m
sure
he’ll be pleased you came to look him up. I understand how you’d be
reluctant
to show up until Mrs G was out of the picture.”
“I
only
found out by accident actually, a paragraph in a paper left on a bus.
So I took
a chance on Mr B being here still. After all, he’s retired. I used to
go along
to his room and he’d play me his music and we’d talk about things – I’d
cry and
tell him the latest shame she’d put me through, and he’d comfort me,
hug me,
make me forget for a while. He’s a dear, dear man.”
Grace
popped her head in. “Matthew, Mr Bryden’s back. I’ll send him in, shall
I?”
“Oh
yes,
thanks, Grace. Maybe we should get some more tea.”
“Sure
thing!”
Sally
laughed. “She’s a bit more open with you than with Mrs G! I’m glad you
get on
with the girls. It must have been a bit nervous-making to begin with?”
“It
was,
and Catherine and I had no idea how they’d take it. But they accepted
it, and
peculiarly enough the fact that we were all exposed together made us
more like
companions, colleagues, friends, than employer and employee. Let me
tell you
about this dinner—”
Just
then
Mr Bryden came in looking perplexed, and when he saw the girl he
stopped dead.
“Sally!”
he cried, “Oh, Sally, my dear!” She rose and went into his arms.
Matthew looked
at the scene with delight, smiling broadly and feeling a little
sentimental
tear in his eye. Soon they were sitting at their tea and exchanging
news, but
they’d hardly started when Catherine came in, and Matthew introduced
them.
“No!”
said
Catherine. “It is! You’re the girl in the picture! ‘Thinking’, wasn’t
it? Lady
Ethel painted you!”
“Yes,”
she
said. “Let me tell you how it happened. When I ran away from here I
lived for a
while like the vagrant I’d been before, before Mrs Grainger found me. I
hitched
rides in cars, although that can be dangerous, and I did have some
narrow
squeaks, I’ll tell you. Anyway this time a fine car stopped and the
lady in the
back looked me over and said ‘Hop in.’ As we rode she told me she was
an
artist, and thought my face was nice-looking and my body was a nice
shape to
paint. Then she looked at me closely and said ‘By God, you’re not a
boy, are
you? You’re a girl! Well I’ll be damned,’ and she went on about my
shape and
all, and finally I told her I was willing to pose for her but she’d
have to
feed me. I was in that house for four months I think, and she treated
me very
well. I wondered about her sometimes, whether she wanted me in her bed,
I mean,
and to tell the truth I’d have gone along, though she was a bit
unprepossessing. You’ve met her, have you?”
“Yes,”
said Catherine. “She painted me too. I saw your picture, called
‘Thinking’, at
someone else’s house. It was very good.”
“Oh,
she’s
a pretty fair artist, that’s true. But of course I couldn’t stay for
ever. She
got a lot of drawings out of me and gave me a knapsack for clothes and
food and
a fifty-pound note. Then she thought a bit and saw that I’d have
difficulty
cashing it so she gave me ten five-pound notes. I went on my way,
dressed like
a boy once more, and that’s when you saw me, Matthew.”
“Hah!”
he
said, “that explains things. But now you’re here. Listen, you’ve got a
lot of
catching-up to do. When we’re finished tea, why don’t you go with Mr
Bryden,
and talk over things, and maybe we can lay on a little dinner, later?
Hm?” They
agreed, and after the last cup the reunited pair went off.
Catherine
looked at Matthew and said “That’s interesting. I’m glad that she
didn’t come
to harm when she ran away. That reminds me; is there any way we can
begin to
look for that Naomi girl, who was here a year ago? What do you think
would
happen to her?”
“I get
the
feeling you want to do something for her, do you, out of the estate?
It’d be
nice to do that. Listen, if Bryden has no ideas, and Mr Barry doesn’t
know,
we’ll probably find something in Lydia’s papers. Her diary will maybe
give us a
clue.”
“Good
idea!” said Catherine. “That’s good to think about. All right, I think
I’ll go
to the kitchen and see what repast we can supply.”
“Found
it!
Look at this.” Matthew showed Catherine a volume of the diary, which
had an
entry dated two weeks after a long-drawn-out account of that notorious
party.
She prepared for nasty revelations and studied the neat writing.
When I told
the Cohen girl her
services were no longer required, she burst into tears of course, which
I
couldn’t stand, so I told her I’d give her a good reference and a five
pound
note, and she cheered up a little. She’s a sturdy girl so she can
easily walk
to town, and there’s trains and buses and passing cars to hail, and I’m
sure
she’ll be able to get anywhere she likes. She did mention York when she
came,
where her family used to live, so she’ll probably end up there. Lord
Patrick
was pleased to hear of her dismissal, partly because he doesn’t like
Jews, I
suppose, so I didn’t tell him I’d been wanting to cut the staff for
some time.
Anyway he was satisfied, though he did say he wouldn’t be attending any
dinners
for a while. Still, as I wrote at the time, she was a good reason for
demonstrating our punishments. Oh, how she screamed! And of course her
arse was
red and raw, pretty much, for a week. But during the remainder of the
evening I
was interested to see some of the guests, like Maude and Phoebe,
deliberately
stroking her arse cheeks, pinching them and smacking them, so that from
time to
time she was punished again, and I saw her quietly sobbing in a corner.
So that
reminds me to get a replacement, who’ll be expected to change the
sheets and so
forth, but who’ll mostly be a subject for experiment. A girl in her
mid-teens,
I’d say, no more, to be shown to several groups in as great a state of
undress
as possible. There’s always the town, of course; and the boys’ schools,
and
even here – I think it might be amusing to ask some of the young boys
in the
stables or the garage to take some part in a bath for her. Yes, that’s
a
thought. Tomorrow will be a new day.
“So
then
she started looking, and found Sally by the roadside. And she started
on those
humiliations. But when Sally ran away she maybe gave the idea a rest
for a
while.”
“Or
maybe,” said Catherine, “Christmas interfered, she went off for
holidays maybe.
Maybe she wintered in some sunny spot. For all we know she went back to
San
Francisco or Florida, to meet up with those youngsters who fucked her
simultaneously!”
“I
haven’t
looked that up yet,” said Matthew, “and in a way I don’t want to know
every little
peccadillo she got going, though I suppose I will eventually. Anyway,
the main
thing is we start enquiries in York, mm? Among the Jewish community I
suppose.
Mr Barry can help. We’ll ask Jeremy perhaps to go and knock on doors.
Isn’t he
coming to see us soon?”
“Tomorrow,”
said Catherine. “He’s going to have something for Mr Bryden to sign, I
think.”
“I’m
glad
it’s Bryden who’s bothered by all these legalities and not us! But in
the
meantime I’ve written to my father and explained things, and he’s got
to write
back soon. I asked him to consider giving notice to Mr Crossley, but
he’d
better not do that till we’re settled, where we’re going to live I
mean. Of
course they could always put up at a hotel, and to tell the truth I’m a
bit
dubious about them coming here. Still, we’ll see. Tomorrow, as Lydia
says, will
be a new day. – I think she got that from Don Quixote.”
“And
look,” said Catherine, “she mentions ‘Maude’, who was tormenting the
poor girl,
hurting her sore bum. I think that must be your Mrs Crossley.”
He
looked
upset. “I suppose it is. I know she has a bit of a cruel streak in her.
I bet
you she knew exactly what she was sending me into last May. The bitch!
Anyway,
that’s over with. We have to talk it over with Jeremy and plan
something. Now
tell me what’s for dinner.”
“Sally,
I’ve made up a bed for you on the second floor up there. I hope you’ll
be
comfy.”
“Thank
you, Catherine, that’s fine. It may be the same one I had. Anyway, I’d
better
go and find it. I’m a bit tired out with travel and talking. I don’t
intend to
stay long,” she added, “I didn’t mean to spend the night, you know.
But—”
“You
silly
thing,” said Matthew, “you’re welcome to stay just as long as you like!
Really!
One more mouth to feed isn’t a problem, and we’ve lost Abigail anyway.
By the
way, Catherine,” he said, “Amelia says she wants to leave and go back
to her
folks in Doncaster. So we can get her her reference tomorrow, hm? She’d
be
going at the end of the week.”
She
looked
at him and smiled naughtily. “You won’t miss her, my love,” she said,
“but
she’ll certainly miss you!”
He
turned
to Sally and said with a wry look, “Because she was very keen to see me
naked,
and I couldn’t do anything about it at the time. I admit I’m a bit
uncomfortable with her now.”
“I
dare
say,” said Sally. “Anyhow, I’d better get to bed. Which room is it?”
“Let
me
come with you, I’ll show you,” said Catherine.
“Goodnight
then, Sally,” said Matthew.
“Goodnight,
my dear,” said the butler.
“Night,”
she said with a yawn, and went out with Catherine.
“Well!”
said Matthew, “that was an unexpected thing! I’m awfully pleased to
meet her,
Mr B, and I can see why you were so taken with her. She’s a very nice
girl. I
hope she stays for quite a bit. Actually I think there’s a lot more she
could
tell us about her adventures if she cared. Or dared, maybe. I wonder if
she’d
like to help us, winding up the estate? Packing things, for instance,
going
through stuff to jettison or store – there’s a lot she could help us
with.”
“Good
idea, Matthew,” said the old man. “We can broach that tomorrow. Young
Crowther
is coming in the morning I think?”
“Yes,
he
telephoned to say he’d get here by eleven or so. He’ll get a bite of
lunch, of
course, and we can have a long powwow in the afternoon.”
“Fine!
Then I’ll be off. See you tomorrow. Give my goodnight to Catherine. You
do
know, don’t you, what an absolute treasure you’ve got there? Of course
you do.
Give her a kiss for me. Goodnight.”
The
butler
shuffled off to his domain and Matthew looked after him, saying
“Treasure? Oh,
Bryden, you silly old man, I’ve known from the first time I saw her how
wonderful she is. Her naked beauty, her innocence, her … God, some
utter
magnetism or something. It’s just as if we’re those two halves they
spoke about,
and we have to cleave together. Cleave together!”
When
Catherine returned he took her in his arms and gave her Bryden’s kiss,
then
another of his own, then another French kiss, then another – and she
laughed
and said “All right, you amorous fool. Let’s get to bed. Let’s get
tired
together.” He smiled and hugged her.
“The
best
of all ways to lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the
night, my
dear. And it’s best, I’ve no doubt, to tire oneself out By making sweet
love to
your boy, my dear.”
She
laughed fondly and tousled his hair. “Oh Matthew!” she said, “You are
my boy,
my dear lovely boy. Let’s to bed.” Arm in arm they made their way to
the
bedroom and closed the door on the world.
==============================================================
Tuesday
15th September
Barry
arrives, with Jeremy, to talk to Bryden, introduced to Sally, and J is
smitten.
“Oh
dear
God,” said Matthew, “more stuff from Paris! Just as we were getting
round to
dealing with the other things.” They looked at the pile of parcels,
some quite
large, that had been delivered by a groaning postman from a packed van.
There
was another ring at the door and Barry and Jeremy were admitted. They
looked at
the pile and Barry said “Don’t tell me. This is the rest of the things
that
Lydia bought in her last days. I haven’t told you yet what I heard
about that.”
They looked at him and made questioning stares.
As he
took
off his hat and overcoat, he explained. “She didn’t know, of course,
that her
days were going to be so short. But she knew she was dying. Evidently
she
didn’t tell Bauvais, though he thought that something was up. He told
the police,
and it was confirmed by the concierge and so on, that she spent those
last days
in a whirl of activity, buying things, spending money on night clubs
and
dancing and drinking, ‘like a madwoman’, he said. She got drugs, and
they got
thoroughly intoxicated, and then that last lot turned out to be
contaminated
somehow. He wasn’t clear about what happened, but he himself got some
terrifying delusions and trying to ward off some attack, he attacked
her. There
was another person there at the time….”
He sat
down
and continued his horrific tale, and they hung on to his words with
wide eyes.
“They
had
evidently arranged to have a … threesome, I mean a sexual party with
three
people.”
“Oh yes,” said Matthew, “I
know she did things
like that.”
Barry
looked sourly at him and went on. “This other person was a young
gigolo, I
suppose you’d call him, a … professional escort for lonely ladies.”
Catherine
started to speak but held her peace. “Anyway,” said Barry, going
slightly pink,
“they were all in bed together, it seems, when the full effect of the
drugs
came in and Bauvais ‘went off his head’, completely paranoid, shouting
and
tearing the apartment up, then seized some knife or other and attacked
Lydia.
The other fellow dashed out, completely naked, they say, and roused
another
neighbour, and they got the ambulance and so forth. That’s how it
happened. So
you see these things here must be the stuff she was buying, ordering,
those
last days. Look, that’s another gallery label. And these will be books
from
Shakespeare & Co., that delightful shop run by Sylvia Beach. Ah
well, we’ll
add them to the rest. I must say, children, you’re going to have quite
an
interesting library what with one thing and another.”
“Not
only
that, Mr Barry,” said Catherine. “We had a letter from that nice Mr
Russell in
London. He says he wants to turn over a lot of things from the farm,
pictures,
and uncle’s library, which I remember with fondness. My childhood
books. Oh
yes, we’ll have a good library!”
Just
then
Sally came in, and was introduced to Barry, and then to Jeremy. The
youngsters
shook hands, and said “How d’you do?” at the same time. Then “Very
well, thank
you,” simultaneously, and burst into laughter. Matthew thought it was a
good
ice-breaking way to meet, and could see by the way they grinned at each
other
that they were pleased at the meeting. In fact, when he looked at them
as they
chatted, he was sure he detected not just affability but what had to be
an
attraction, on both sides. The mad idea came into his head that he’d
try
playing matchmaker to the pair, and he looked at Catherine, gesturing
with a
nod and his eyes towards them. She looked mystified, then broke into a
delighted smile. Yes, why not?
* *
*
She
had
another idea. “Matthew! I want to give a party.”
He
understood
her. “You mean a nice party like the Radcliffes’? With the singers you
mentioned, Vivian and Camille and so on. Certainly. And we’ll have
Jeremy—”
“Who
can
be Sally’s partner! Oh yes. And maybe those nice boys, Colin and
Nicholas.”
“And
Mr
Whiston! And his friend Tadeusz, and his
friend – lover – Damian Collins. I say, it’s a bit top-heavy with men.
Maybe we
can ask them to bring guests, of the opposite sex I mean? There’s
Elizabeth,
though, and Eithne.”
And what about
Alice? Or Justine, come to that?
“Anyway,
we can certainly throw a party. Hey, there’s Gregory Maine. You could
play
duets! ‘Chopsticks’, and things. Hey, didn’t you tell me you could play
‘The
Bluebells of Scotland’ and ‘Humoresque’ at the same time, eh? Oh yes.
It should
be fun!”
Summerton
Tuesday
15th September
Dear
Mr
Russell:
Thank
you
so much for allowing Mr Bryden to come to your farm and take away some
things
that belonged to me before my uncle died. I did miss them when I was
sent away
to Cumberland. And thank you for the offer of my uncle’s library and
other
things. Listen, you seem to be a jolly approachable person, who’s kind
and
willing to help people. Now that my affairs have taken an upward turn,
and the
lawyer who sold the farm has been arrested, I want to thank you for
being so
friendly. If you’re ever in the neighbourhood of Summerton Manor please
come
and visit. I’d really like to meet you and thank you personally for
listening
to a strange enquiry. You sent me your regards – now I send you mine.
Yours
gratefully
Catherine
Hammond
Wednesday
16th September
Dear
Mamie:
How
are
you? I hope you’re in good trim down there in South Africa. Here we are
in fine
form, and I have wonderful news. Thank you for answering Mr Bryden’s
letter so
promptly – he was able to set about helping me, and the upshot is that
the
lawyer who told us there was no money was lying! I was glad you got
your
bequest, but I had no time to complain before I was whisked off, and
no-one had
time to think about things or question what was happening. But Mr
Bryden looked
into things, and was helped by the family lawyer, a Mr Barry, and now
they’ve
exposed Mr Bigby of malfeasance or something, so the estate money
(apart from
the farm I mean) is to be repaid, and all the bequests will be
honoured. I
myself will have a little money and I won’t have to go back to that
awful place
in Cumberland. In fact Mr Barry says I should be able to come and visit
you!
I have
been living at this Summerton estate for a few months and had some
painful
things happen, but all’s well now, and I’ve come into some more money.
I’ll write
and tell you more but for now all I want to say is that I have met some
really
fine people, and made new friends. All in all, I’m very happy. I want
you to be
happy for me.
Lots
of
love
Catherine
===================================================================
“Matthew,
dearest!”
He
turned
to her and smiled. “I like it when you call me that.”
“Listen!
Mr Barry said we’d have enough to take a trip, maybe two or three! And
I
thought we might go, together I mean, to South Africa, to visit my old
governess, Mamie Gray. What do you think?”
“That
sounds fine,” he said. “On a boat, I suppose? It’s slower than an
aeroplane,
but—”
“Oh
yes,”
she said, “a nice slow boat, that can call in at various places. Wait!
Why not
go overland as well? Take a circuitous sort of route, through France –
and
Paris, and Provence! And Italy and Greece—”
“Can
we
take Eliz—”
“No,
silly, she’ll be teaching. And don’t interrupt Eithne’s last year.
Still, I’d
like to see Egypt. It seems to be a favourite sort of place these days,
for the
upper classes at least. And for the nouveau riche, like us! Maybe
because of
Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb, I think. Hop over to Arabia,
maybe?
Though it seems a bit unsettled. Meet a sheikh!” She smiled lecherously.
“We
can do
a lot of things, my love,” he said affectionately. “We can afford to
take our
time actually and make it a leisurely sort of trip, a grand Grand Tour,
and
wind up in Durban or wherever in a month or two. Mr Bryden’s moneybag
isn’t
bottomless, but there’s enough in there to take care of a nice long
trip. I’m
sure Miss Gray will be pleased to see you, and pleased, too, at your
good
fortune.
“You
know,
it’s funny how things work out. If you’d been warned about the
orphanage and
Mrs Grainger, you’d probably have refused to accept such an experience,
if you
could! And I, well, I said to Abigail not long ago that I’d have tried
to
refuse to come to Summerton if I’d known what awaited me. Yet there it
is, we
had all those awful things to bear, with no relief in sight! I was
going to be
sent back to the Crossleys, and lose you! I couldn’t bear the thought—”
“And
I,
Matthew, knew my heart would break if we separated, as we were bound to
in the
end. But now—”
“Now,
my
dearest love! Now we can be together. And we got here by coming through
those
trials. As if they were a testing, an initiation sort of, that we had
to
undergo before coming to our reward. Is that silly?”
“Maybe.
It
reminds me of the testing that Pamina and Tamino get in The
Magic Flute…. But the main thing is that we did all that,
suffered all that, and now it’s behind us. We have some money now, to
make our
lives a bit easier. And to do some good with too. I’m so glad we can
give some
more money to some people. And maybe give some of a minding to others,
like
young Nicholas Ransome.”
“Oh,
because he was abused by Bradley?”
“Yes,
twice over. I got the impression he was bullied quite a bit, and he
wasn’t at
all happy there. And he was really a sweet boy. I don’t think I told
you about
that sex class, the second one, did I?”
“Well,”
he
said hesitantly, “no, you didn’t. Let me guess. He was in that class,
and he …
what did he do?”
She
described the business with the condom, and he responded by detailing
his own
with the hygiene class.
“So
you
see, Matthew, he couldn’t help himself really. Yes, he fucked me in the
bum,
but he had mixed feelings about it. I bet you he enjoyed himself
actually, as
one does when one copulates, but he was acutely conscious of my own
shame, and
he apologised, and asked if he could kiss me. I bet he had a crush on
me.”
“I’m
not
surprised, Catherine, I’ve had a crush on you for months. So I’ll
forgive him
myself. So you feel obligated, somehow? You want to make his life a bit
sweeter? With money? I don’t know how he can spend it though. Hey,
listen. It
might be easier to help him sideways. We can get hold of Mr Whiston,
who should
be able to do something for him, like getting him a scholarship
perhaps, to a
better school, I would hope. Hmm? Could we do that?”
“Oh
Matthew,” she said, “that’s just perfect. And maybe there’s others we
can help.
Maybe that nice young Colin, who was upset to see Liza’s forfeit that
time.” And was an unwilling witness to that
skirt
fitting, but I’d better not mention that. “Liza herself, as
well. As a sort
of compensation for Abigail’s awful trick. And….”
He
smiled
at her. “It was a good thought, Catherine, about Mrs Ponsonby, and Mr
Pascau
and Mireio, as Mr Barry said. And now you’ve got other good thoughts.
You’re
really a nice person, do you know that?”
She
blushed and made to strike him playfully. “Oh Matthew,” she said, “and
do you
know, do you realise, what a nice person you are?”
He
laughed
and seized her round the waist. “Actually I think we’re both pretty
nice, and
complement each other nicely. We fit each other very well.”
He
looked
meaningfully at her, and she blushed again as she nodded, saying “Yes,
we fit
together, don’t we?” Still in their hug, they made their way to the
bedroom,
and quickly disrobed. Then they held each other’s hands and gazed in
satisfaction into the eyes that sparkled with desire.
“Now!”
said Catherine, and laughing they fell on the bed, to snuggle up to
each other
and smooth eager hands over eager skin. Soon they were writhing in a
delicious
passion, mouth on mouth, tongue on tongue, hand on breast and hand on
arse,
tickling pubic hair, relishing a smooth cunny, seeking the moist
harbour with
the fingers and then with the proud erection. Then moving gradually
from small
to great, torsos meeting, bellies smacking, his pelvis against hers,
her
breasts against his, her eyes shining into his, the dear one, the
lover, the
only one, the sole boy to ever thrust his wonderful cock into her
vulva, the
one she had wanted to fuck her, her fucking hero, Matthew, Matthew….
=================================================================
Thursday
17th September
As
they
crawled into bed that night Catherine looked at him with a question in
her
eyes.
“Matthew,”
she said a little hesitantly, “I was thinking that … we could try some
different things….” She looked at him with something of a flush. “Oh
hell, I
mean maybe we could experiment a bit with making love.”
He
looked
surprised, and then reddened himself. “Oh, love,” he said in a rush,
“I’m
sorry, I haven’t thought of you, what you want! I’ll go along with
whatever you
like, after all it’s you who should be satisfied, I think, not just me,
it’s
selfish. I’m so sorry—”
She
broke
into laughter. “No, my darling, no! I’m not complaining about your
sexual
prowess or your boring position. We’re fine, we’re marvellous in fact.
No, I
was just wondering about some other things we might try. To vary the
monotony,
maybe, I admit, but it might be exciting and give a little more
pleasure to the
act, an extra frisson or
something.”
He
smiled.
“Then I’m all for it. You remember the dinner, when they were
discussing things
like that? The way they made me spend in between your thighs. Looking
back on
it, it was truly thrilling. My cock under your dear bum – I didn’t like
the
beating, but pushing my cock along your perineum was a tremendous
sensation.
Then there’s the other places.”
She
remembered Mr Walters. “There’s the groin, the armpit, the mouth –” She
stopped, remembering Jeremy’s service on the lawn, and her sucking off
of awful
Andrew, while he flashed back to Barbara taking him in her mouth, and
they both
were thinking of Michael Brent being sucked off by Mabel at the dinner.
“Then
there’s the bum,” he said diffidently. “I don’t know if it’s as good an
experience for you. I do know from those boys at Vaulx that it’s an
incredible
erotic experience, but I don’t know if any of these other … places give
you the
same pleasure as the vagina does. And that has to be at least half the
purpose,
doesn’t it?”
“Oh
Matthew,” she said with a deepening of her blush, “believe me, when
Nicholas
was … fucking me like that, I felt a sexual thrill. When you do it, I’m
sure it
can only be greater… and remember Mrs G writing that she was fucked
both fore
and aft, shall we say, and enjoyed it. It’s a pity you only have one
cock!”
She
trilled with laughter, and he smiled and said merely “Well, my
foul-mouthed
hussy, maybe we’ll just see how you like it in the arse!” He seized her
and
turned her over, admiring once again the sight of her bare bum, so
smooth, so
tight, so inviting! Then he was fondling her nates, running his fingers
up and
down her cleft, feeling underneath the curves of her arse for the neat
little
sphincter.
“When
I
was putting on that ointment,” he said, “I enjoyed the feel of your
behind, and
especially maybe touching your delicate hole right there,”
and he pressed his fingers to it, “and I admit the thought
was in my mind, maybe subconsciously but there, about what it would be
like to
fuck you in the bum. I do know that it can hurt, and I’ll tell you I
was
terrified of it happening at the dinner, to you first, and then me, and
when
you told me about Nicholas the other night I was upset more by the
thought of
him hurting you than him actually sodomising you. But you seem to have
survived
it.”
She
looked
over her shoulder at him. “I was well lubricated, for one thing, and he
was
gentle. However gentle you are, love, I think we’ll have to use the
Vaseline.”
“What
will
we do without it?” he laughed, and looked in the drawer by the bed.
“Here it
is. Hey, we should do this jointly, or whatever. You grease me, I
grease you,
so there’ll be no mistake.”
“Fine,”
she said. “Me first, I mean me doing you. Give it here.”
She
got
the jelly on her hands and knelt to face him, looking down at his cock,
which
was already looking stiff. “Ah, Matthew,” she murmured, “your prick,
your
pintle, your pego, your tail-piece! There’s lots of names for it, which
shows
how admired it is, in all the languages. Now to anoint it.” She put her
hands
to his member and rubbed him up and down, at which it perked up to full
erection and seemed to strain at the leash. “Look,” she said, “how
eager he is!
All right, that’s that bit. Now the other bit. The sheath for the
sword, so to
speak.”
She
turned
to present her buttocks and he got the jelly on his hands, then smeared
it
liberally on her anus. She gave little murmurs of pleasure, and he
grinned.
Then his fingers were inside her and spreading the Vaseline in the
vestibule of
her bowel. “Ready, love?” he said, “Here I come.”
He
grasped
her round the waist and presented his lubricated glans at her
sphincter,
pushing shyly at it and then in, to slide in several inches, as she
gave a
slight squeal.
“Love!”
he
cried, “I— ”
“No,
no,
Matthew! It’s fine! Just rest there a bit and let’s get used to it.
There. Now,
sir, do your worst! My maidenly cunt is forbidden you, so you may do as
you
please with my arse! Hahaha!”
She giggled, and he said
“You’ll really have
to stop reading those dirty books, you know. But anyway, love, here I
go.”
He
pushed
in another inch or so, then withdrew nearly to the end of his shaft,
then
gently pushed in again, further, till his pubic hair was right against
her bum.
Then out a little, then in, then out a little, then in, and he began to
feel
that gathering pressure in his loins as he felt her clenching her
muscles
against his cock. She was pushing herself back against him, as he
pushed forward
to drive into her, and it wasn’t long before the slow movements became
a rapid
frenzied thrusting, and they were gasping in delight. She came before
he did,
but still pushed back to please him as he pushed, pushed, went in as
far as his
body would let him, and gushed his sperm into her backside with a
shuddering
cry of her name.
After
a
while they separated and kissed, and she said “Well, love, how was it?”
He
laughed
and said “It was different, of course, it had to be, but I suppose it’s
fundamentally (excuse the pun) the same. The feel, for one thing, of
your
internal muscles, and their action, they’re different, I mean you
clench your
bum in a different way to the way you tighten up in the vagina. And of
course
outside, it’s a funny feeling up against your bum, as opposed to your
mount of
Venus. And is it better? I truthfully don’t know. We’ll have to try it
a bit
oftener, don’t you think?”
She
laughed and kissed him. “Certainly. And now goodnight.”
“But
don’t
you want to tell me what it was like for you, on the receiving end?”
“It
was
different,” she said, “oh yes. In some way or other, maybe, it was
better, but
that’s not quite it. And there’s always the … the lack of your face, to
look
into, to kiss. Maybe we can think of how to do it that way.” He
remembered
Damian’s cry at the party.
“Yes,
Catherine, I think we can. But for now, goodnight.” They kissed and
snuggled
down together, companionable and secure.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday
20th September
Raymond
Lazenby, a pal of Colin’s, who had been at the school concert, drove
him down
to visit Liza, and over tea he related a sight he saw in a London
station a
week or so previously.
“It
was
the damnedest thing – this young woman was trying to get out of a
carriage
while some were trying to get in. Then something happened and they all
started
back. She seemed to give a sort of scream and clutched herself – I mean
at her
crotch – and she sort of waddled out, her dress stained with what
looked like
piss. I wondered if she was having a period, or something. And then we
all saw
she was shitting herself. She flapped about, dropped her purse, didn’t
know
what to do – seemed to appeal for help to the crowd around her – who by
this
time were holding their noses, some laughing, and some scolding her in
outrage.
They sent for the station master, who shooed her away around a corner,
and then
came back to look at the damage – a ruined compartment and shit on the
platform. He got some porters to clean up and then disappeared, wanting
nothing
more to do with it. But she came back hysterical, yelling that she’d
been
robbed – her purse had disappeared, she’d lost her pearls, her jewels,
or
something. So there she was, evidently penniless and filthy, standing
on the
platform, avoided by everyone – she stank, obviously. I don’t know what
happened next to the poor girl. My train left, and that was that.”
Liza
looked intently at him. “What was she like?” she asked.
“To
look
at? Quite good-looking, really, a buxom girl about five foot ten I
suppose,
ginger hair in ringlets, a straw hat, what else can I say?”
“You
hadn’t seen her before?”
“No,
not
that I know of. How could I? Hey! Wait a second! I have seen her. Here.
By
gosh, she was at the concert!”
Liza
smiled evilly. “I thought so. Well, by God, there’s retribution for
you! Don’t
you see, Catherine, it was Abigail! She drank the cocoa we gave her and
it made
her shit herself. And she lost her purse, which maybe had her money and
character in it. Ha! I’m paid back, you’re paid back. And don’t look
like that,
don’t feel sorry! She deserved every bit of that humiliation. God! I’ll
sleep well
tonight!”
Colin
looked at her and raised his eyebrows. She blushed and said “Well, most
of the
time.”
Matthew
grinned and glanced at Catherine, who was smiling herself. She knew
that Liza
would be stealing downstairs to Colin’s room at some point in the
night, and
wished them well.
“All
right,” Lazenby said, putting out his cigarette. “I’ll be off now.
Thanks for
the tea. I’ll be back tomorrow around noon, is that all right?”
“Oh
yes,”
said Liza, “we’ll be up by then.”
“Fine,
see
you.” He nodded to them all and went out, and soon they heard the
start-up
noises of his car.
Catherine
looked at Matthew. “I can’t get over it,” she said. “I wanted something
dreadful to happen to her, and now it has. But I’m not sure about how I
feel, I
mean the poor thing shamed and robbed – what’ll happen to her?”
He
sighed
and said “She’ll be all right, I shouldn’t wonder. Apart from that
incident,
surely she’s got family somewhere? They’ll look after her, won’t they?”
“Not
if
they don’t like her, they won’t!” said Liza. “No, Catherine, don’t
waste your
pity, and I’m not regretting fixing her cocoa. If she survives (and she
seems
the survivor type) she’ll be all right, and if not, well, she can reap
her own
harvest.”
“As Mr
Barry would say! Wait, wait, what was that about pearls? Listen – I
wonder if
she’d helped herself to some of Mrs G’s things? Remember that nice
pearl
necklace she’d on at the dinner? Well, I didn’t see it in her jewel
box. And
now I think of it, she was acting rather oddly the day we heard about
Mrs G.”
“She
stole
things, knowing she’d never be caught?” said Matthew. “I wouldn’t put
it past
her at all.”
“Anyway,”
said Catherine, “you pair. Why don’t you wander around the place.
Colin, you
haven’t seen all of it. Liza, take him on a tour. Matthew and I have
some
things to do. See you later!”
On her
way
to the door Liza pressed Catherine’s hand and murmured “Thank you,
Catherine,
for understanding about Colin and me, and helping us see each other,
and … make
love.”
Catherine
smiled and waved her off. When they had gone she linked arms with her
own lover
and kissed him. He grinned and said “It’s a pleasant feeling, isn’t it,
playing
Cupid? I do wish them well.”
“Yes,”
she said, “I’m pleased. And I’m glad the spare bedroom is being used!
Now come
and see to these knick-knacks and stuff. The charity people are coming
tomorrow!”
Friday
25th September
Whiston
calls
“I
thought
I’d drop by,” he said, “just for a moment, to tell you about your
request. And
to personally congratulate you on your good fortune. I’m so pleased.
You know
the saying, ‘It couldn’t happen to a nicer person’ – well in this case
it’s
true. And I’m also pleased to be able to help you in your charitable
work. You
asked about this boy, Nicholas Ransome.”
“Yes,”
said Catherine, “have you found anything?”
He
smiled.
“I made some enquiries. I wasn’t familiar with the school, it hasn’t
made any
great reputation in the fifty years it’s been going, but the headmaster
has
acquired some … notoriety, I can say. About twenty years ago he was
arrested
for exposing himself to a party of schoolgirls on a beach in Wales.”
Matthew
snorted a laugh. “Did he go to gaol?”
“Evidently
not – an abject apology and a fine. He was misbehaving before that,
though.
He’s fifty-two years old, and he was thirty-odd at the time. When he
was
twenty-three, however, he was dismissed from his first teaching
appointment, at
a girls’ school, with very little said, but it seems he was rather apt
to peer
up (and down) dresses, be in the neighbourhood when they were swimming,
and so
on.”
Catherine
exclaimed “He’s always been like that, then. But what was he doing at a
girls’
school?”
“I suppose he seemed
the best man for the job, and with not many female graduates, he was an
obvious
choice. But he found another situation and kept his eyes to himself,
and found
a niche at St Vincent’s ten years ago. As for the boy, now.”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
“We wanted to do something for him. Catherine got the impression he was
bullied….”
Whiston frowned. “Let
me give you the background. The parents aren’t too well off, they’ve
had
reverses, as they say, and have made a lot of sacrifices to send the
boy to a
good school. What seemed a good school. He’s been there for three
years, and
they haven’t been too happy. I’ve established that he’s been picked on
by teachers
and pupils alike, punished for very little reason. There’s the tale
going round
– a school legend by now – of how he was being caned by Bradley, on the
bare
backside as usual, and he – messed himself. Shat himself.”
“Oh!” said Catherine.
“That David spoke about that. He thought it was funny.”
Matthew grimaced.
“Poor sod! What happened?”
“Well,” Whiston said,
pulling a face, “he was being caned for some minor misdemeanour, in the
presence of his class – as an awful example I suppose – and he’d hardly
got two
strokes when he let loose a fart and shat himself, messing up the
carpet and
all. Bradley was infuriated but had to stop. He made the poor boy clean
up, and
his classmates were laughing to wet themselves. He’s never lived it
down. They
call him ‘Handsome’, or ‘Hansom’ Ransome, though he’s had other more
obscene –
scatological – nicknames. ‘Shitless Nic’las’ and so forth. He doesn’t
have any
friends, it seems. But he is a clever child, good at his schoolwork,
and with
an amazing talent (at that age) for drawing. His pictures are displayed
at the
school. Jealousy and scorn have kept him from earning any prizes, or
even a
compliment, for any of that. So now the tide can turn.” They hung on
his words.
“I’ve arranged for an
art dealer to visit the school. He’ll be there today. He’s an Old Boy,
as it
happens, who attended there forty years ago (when it was actually a
good
respectable place). He is going to offer to buy a picture or two on
behalf of
an anonymous client, myself.”
Matthew looked
dubious. “Won’t that intensify the jealousy? Poor Nich—”
“It might, but not
for long. The client will be pleased and visit the school and have an
interview
with the artist. He will then offer the parents a scholarship to
another
school, leading to a scholarship to Slade.”
“Oh yes!” cried
Catherine, “the very thing! So—”
“So Nicholas leaves
St Vincent’s forever,” said Whiston with a smile, “and develops his
skills at a
real school, where he learns a lot about drawing, he’s encouraged and
accepted.
I’ve already spoken to one of the directors, who’s a friend of mine
from the
army actually, and he was most encouraging.”
Matthew patted the
old man’s shoulder. “Good for you, Mr Whiston! You’ve really come
through. All
you have to do is tell us how much to give for the pictures, and how
much the
scholarship will be. Oh, I’m happy to be a part of this!”
“And in time to come,
my love,” said Catherine, “we’ll see how his talent grows, as I’m sure
it
will.”
“And in the future,”
said Whiston, “there is the strong possibility of studying abroad;
certainly
travel to broaden his artistic education.”
“We can always invite
him to Vaulx!” said Matthew.
“Yes,” said Whiston,
“you’ve got the landscapes of the Impressionists, but I was thinking of
his
getting to see the Prado, the Louvre, taking him round the Uffizi –”
“Oh, you want to take
him yourself?”
“Yes, Matthew, I
would. If he wanted it, naturally. He doesn’t know me. We could all go
together, of course. I’ll pay my own way! But anyway, that’s in the
future.” He
rose from his seat. “That’s it, then. I’ll be off. No, no tea, thank
you. I’ll
keep you up to date on all the developments, by phone or letter, and
I’ll be
back in the flesh at some point. You may be happy about this, Matthew,
but I
also am mightily pleased to be able to help a deserving boy. I’m
looking
forward to meeting him! And,” he made a wry face, “meeting Mr Bradley
in
person. I wonder if anything can be done about him? Anyway, I’m off.
Goodbye to
you both.” ed shook
Matthew’s hand, and
as he held that of Catherine, he leaned forward to kiss hedr. She
smiled and
coloured, as he went pink and
He shook Matthew’s hand, and as he held that of
Catherine, he leaned
forward to kiss her. She smiled and coloured, as he went pink and took
his hat
to leave in confusion.
The
Old
Boy visits
“Good
morning, Mr Mészáros! Have I got it right?”
“Yes
indeed, sir. I do hope it’s not too much of a mouthful. Some of our
names are
rather difficult for an English speaker. It means ‘Butcher’, actually.”
The
tall greying man shook hands with Bradley and his face creased in a
smile. “My,
it’s good to be back! I must say, I enjoyed my stay here. That was in
eighty-five. I don’t think it’s changed that much – except for that new
wing—”
“Oh
sir,
it’s not so new! That went up about eight years ago. Still, settle your
things
there, and we can walk around, and you can tell me an anecdote or two
about
your time here.”
“Certainly!
And I’ll tell you some of the tricks we got up to!” The art dealer
accepted the
tour and spent a pleasant nostalgic hour.
“You’re
an
art dealer, you say,” said Bradley.
“Yes,”
said the other, “I have a small but, I hope, select gallery in London.
With
what you can call a branch office in Rome. You do have an art class
here, don’t
you?”
“Yes
indeed,” said Bradley. “I can show you some of the boys’ drawings, if
you like.
Look, that’s one there.” He pointed to a landscape done in charcoal on
the wall
of the corridor.
“My,”
said
Mészáros, “that’s not bad. It’s a view over Swadley’s Rise, isn’t it?
Yes,
please, Mr Bradley. I’ll be pleased to look at what you have.”
A
little
later he was examining drawings and paintings with a smile, passing
comments on
those that featured familiar local places. “Now, that one is very good,
exceptional!” he said, pausing at a picture of a young boy drawn in
pencil. “A
fellow-student, I suppose.”
“Yes,”
said Bradley. “That should have a date on it, around October last year,
I
think.”
“Yes,”
said the other. “And it’s signed ‘N.R.’ I must say he’s discreet! But
it’s very
well done. D’you have any others?”
“By
him?
Oh goodness,” said Bradley with some condescension, “we have indeed. In
fact, a
whole file here.” He produced a bulky portfolio and spread the contents
on a
table.
“Oho,”
said the dealer, “what’s this? A nude study?”
“Why
yes,”
said Bradley, who had forgotten they were there. “I gave the boys a
chance at
drawing a female nude, and thought it would be beneficial for their art
instruction as well as their anatomical information, with no false
modesty
involved….”
“Oh
yes,”
said Mészáros, “very proper.” He held it up to the light. “I like
this,” he
said judiciously. “I say, this young fellow has a real talent. What’s
his
name?”
“Nicholas
Ransome,” said the Head, with a curl of his lip. “He’s not a
particularly good
student, but I do say his drawings are rather good. Though I haven’t
told him
so,” he added with a sort of sneer, “lest I make him big-headed. You
know what
boys are like.”
Mészáros
nodded and went on looking through the pile of work, then threw down
the one he
was looking at and said abruptly “Look here, Mr Bradley. I think I have
a
market for some of these. I want to buy them from you, unless you would
care to
allow me to take away this portfolio to show to a particular client of
mine.”
Bradley’s
eyebrows shot up. “They’re that good?”
“I
believe
so. How about a combination of the ideas. I will take the portfolio and
leave
you a deposit on the sale.” Bradley licked his lips. Mészáros, smiling
inwardly, continued, “It doesn’t matter to me how you apportion the
money. He’s
the artist, but by any interpretation they’re yours. ‘Possession is
nine points
of the law,’ you know. What about it? Say twenty-five pounds?”
Bradley’s
eyes bulged “As a deposit….”
“Yes,
a
deposit, I mean about fifty per cent. I thoroughly believe I can
interest my
client in these to the tune of a hundred or so. Allow me my profit.”
Bradley
didn’t take any time to consider the windfall, and was calculating how
much he
could morally give to the boy – his family, of course, who he had heard
were in
rather shabby circumstances. Yes, it would do. And he knew which
pictures would
sell first, at good prices. Ransome had caught all the allure of
Catherine’s
bare limbs, yes! He smacked his lips. Yes, the London (and Rome!)
connoisseurs
of female flesh would be pleased!
Thursday
8th
October
The
collector calls
“Good
day!
Mr – Whiston, I believe?”
“Yes,
sir.
Mr Bradley, I presume!”
The
two
shook hands and appraised each other.
“Now,
sir,
how can I help you?”
Whiston
smiled and said “It’s about a pupil of yours, Nicholas Ransome.”
Bradley
frowned. “What’s he done now?”
“Oh
no,
it’s nothing like that. I’ve seen some of his drawings at the Mészáros
Gallery
in London, and I’m very taken with them. I’d like to meet him, if that
can be
arranged.”
Bradley’s
eyes popped in astonishment. “You’ve seen his drawings –”
“Yes,
and
between you and me,” Whiston winked lasciviously, “some of his things
are
rather good, if you know what I mean.” Bradley caught on and smiled
himself.
“Yes,”
said Whiston, “I won’t dissemble. I particularly like his nudes, the
girl and
the boy.”
“The
boy?”
exclaimed Bradley. “Oh, I forgot about that. It was a classmate that
time. We
drew him clothed and then nude, and it was very instructive. Yes.”
“Well
then,” said Whiston, “do you think I could meet him?”
“Oh
goodness, yes,” said the Head. “He’ll be in … the history class just
now. Hang
on.”
He
pressed
the bell on his desk to summon a boy who was told to fetch Ransome, and
who
left with an inexplicable malicious look on his face. The two continued
their
general chat till the boy arrived, in some trepidation, brought on by
the snide
expression of the messenger, who seemed to know that something dire
awaited the
butt of the school. He looked piteously at Bradley, expecting some
punishment
or other, though he couldn’t remember any misdeeds – not that that made
any
difference. He was cruelly accustomed to a caning for no particular
reason, and
was therefore pleasantly surprised to be introduced to an elderly
gentleman,
who wanted to talk to him.
The
two
left for a walk about the place, and Bradley looked after them with a
grim
sneer, wondering in a careless way what exactly the old boy wanted.
Ransome was
a handsome young fellow, and surely he was rather girlish, wasn’t he? A
soft
sort of boy. Watching the two go, Bradley found himself noticing the
supple
gait of the boy, a grace of movement, a litheness of his limbs – ha! Of
course.
Whiston was admiring more than his art. I’m
not surprised, he thought. Huh, a
fine pair!
Whiston
looked sideways at the youth. “Nicholas,” he said gently, “let me tell
you what
brought me here. I’ve seen some of your drawings, which an art dealer
in London
bought from Mr Bradley.” The boy’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“I am
very taken with them, and I think you have the makings of a fine
artist. No,
believe me, you’re very good already, at the age of what, fifteen?”
“Yes,
sir,” said Nicholas. “Thank you.”
“For
what?” asked the other.
“For
liking my pictures,” said the boy. “They don’t care about them here….”
“Nicholas,
lad,” said Whiston, “tell me truthfully: are you enjoying your time
here?”
Nicholas
stopped and turned to the old man, looking into his eyes with a wild
sort of
despair.
“Sir,”
he
said, “oh sir! I—I can’t—I can’t—” All of a sudden his eyes filled with
tears,
and Whiston put a comforting arm round him. The boy clutched Whiston
and began
to sob into his chest.
Whiston
patted him on the back and muttered soothingly. “Nicholas, my dear
young
friend,” he said, “don’t tell me. I can guess. Here you’re despised and
ridiculed, punished for a trifle, sneered at by your fellows and picked
on by
your teachers. Listen to me. I am going to change all that. Everything
is going
to be all right, believe me.”
Nicholas
drew away a little and sniffed, looking at Whiston questioningly. The
old man
smiled.
“Just
be
patient a little longer. You are going to go to another school.” The
boy looked
startled. “Yes,” said Whiston, “I’m serious. Another school, where
you’ll be
among friends, who value art and respect talent. But say nothing now.
If
Bradley or your peers find out, I imagine they’d take out their
jealousy on
you, wouldn’t they? For the moment, though, I think your Headmaster may
relax
his regimen a little; you see, you are an asset to him. But anyway, I
will be
in touch with your parents, and very shortly they will be able to
withdraw you
from this Purgatory.”
Nicholas
looked at him in wonder, a smile of relief breaking on his face.
Whiston
grinned, looking forward to reporting to the orphans.
“Let’s
get
one thing clear, though,” he said, “and that is that I have no personal
motive
here. Let me be utterly candid: I don’t want anything from you, I don’t
expect
any favours from you, sexual or otherwise. You’re a fine-looking boy,
but I’m
not asking you to come to my bed.”
Nicholas
reddened. “Bradley of course will assume the worst – let him. You may
get some
fun from your classmates, but please put up with it just a little while
longer.
All right?”
Nicholas
swallowed, and stammered “M- Mr Whiston, I don’t know what to say.
Thank you—”
“It’s
all
right, my boy,” said his benefactor. “Believe me, I’m mightily pleased
to be
able to do this. It’s not just me that takes an interest in you. There
are one
or two others who care about you. Now come back to Bradley’s office,
and we’ll
tell him I’m going to buy another picture or two, and he can allow you
some
leisure to be creative, hmm?”
“—So
there
we are. I’ve spoken to the parents – they’re a delightful couple in the
late
forties, I suppose, and they were a bit suspicious to start with, but
they’ve
checked my credentials and agreed to remove Nicholas from Bradley’s
Dotheboys
Hall this week. He’ll be going home for a bit, then off to his new
place, next
month I suppose. I’ve let the Ransomes know, by the bye, that I’m doing
this as
part of a group of friends who have taken an interest in furthering his
talent.
Is that all right? I mean, your anonymity is still assured.”
“Oh
yes,”
said Catherine, “that’s fine. Actually I think he’ll be pleased to know
several
people recognise his gifts. Oh, it’s good to be able to do this!”
Whiston
smiled. “Yes,” he said, “it’s good. Believe me, children, there’s not
too much
I’ve done in life for the betterment of my fellow man, though my sins
are
mostly those of omission. Doing something like this, helping you
helping him,
is as great a pleasure as any I’ve known – seeing him released from
that place
– you should have seen the look on his face – hope and relief dawning –
it
warmed this old desiccated heart of mine. I thank you for asking me to
help.”
Matthew
smiled in his turn. “Thank you, Mr Whiston. I knew you’d want to do
this. At
that dinner you struck me as a reasonable sort of fellow who tried to
see the
good side of things, and you weren’t so awfully callous as the rest of
them. On
the Dover ferry you showed us how natural you were, not arrogant, not
snobbish,
and you treated us with humanity. I knew you’d be glad to help, and
it’s
working out very well.”
Whiston,
who had gone a little red at the catalogue of his virtues, made haste
to agree,
and turned to the parcel he had brought. “I’ve brought these,” he said,
“for
you to keep or destroy as you please.”
To
their
wide eyes he produced a number of pencil drawings, which Catherine
blushed to recognise
as the nude pictures Nicholas had drawn at the school. Matthew examined
them
carefully, making approving sounds, and Catherine wondered about
leaving in
confusion, but decided to brave it out.
She
had to
admit that the pictures of her beautiful nudity were finely done, and
sensed
the loving admiration of the artist. She looked at Whiston, who said
gently,
“Don’t be too embarrassed, Catherine. After all, I’ve seen you naked
already,
and can say that your body is quite lovely. In fact, if I may say so,
you
compare very favourably with those classical models we were discussing
at the
dinner, Galatea, Angelica, and the rest.”
Matthew
grinned at him and said “I told her that myself later. Don’t blush,
love, it’s
true! These pictures are really fine. Thanks, Mr Whiston. Where can we
put
them?”
Catherine
looked rather startled and was trying to frame a reply when Whiston
broke in.
“It’s all right, my dear! These should obviously go in your private
apartments,
to be appreciated by your loved one, no-one else. And there’s no reason
you
can’t admire them yourself, just as you might admire an Andromeda or an
Apollo
Belvedere.”
It was
her
turn to grin at Matthew, his turn to blush, as he recounted to a
sympathetic
but amused Whiston the exposure of his own nudity to the art classes.
“I don’t
suppose,” said the old man mischievously, “that we can see some of the
results
of those sessions, hm?”
Catherine
laughed. “We haven’t thought about it, have we? But you should, you
know,
Matthew, ask Miss Thorburn about that. She may want to prevent
embarrassment by
passing all of that over to you. And there may be some good things in
there.”
“Another
artist to encourage, hm? You might consider that,” said Whiston.
“Anyhow,
that’s my duty done. I’ll keep you informed, as I said, and at some
point I’ll
bring him here to meet you.”
“Yes!”
said Matthew, “the very thing!”
Tuesday
3rd
November
Nicholas
at Summerton
“Nicholas,”
she said slowly, licking her lips, “I – I want to give you a present.”
He
looked
at her and asked “Why? I mean, thank you, but what—”.
“It’s
your
birthday soon, isn’t that right? Well.” She held his gaze as she said
quite
deliberately, “In the sex class, you liked fucking me, in the arse,
didn’t
you?”
He
flushed
scarlet. “No, I mean, you—”
She
smiled. “You did, admit it! And when you kissed me, you thought about
doing it
again.”
He
swallowed, and looked at the ground. “Catherine, please, I saw you were
beautiful, I thought you felt something for me when Bradley caned me
naked,
after I’d come in front of everybody. Then I got to draw you, naked,
and you
were so beautiful … then, then you … you were naked in that class, I
wanted to
kiss you, and then oh God, Walters asked me to strip in front of you.”
His face
was fiery. “I got a, a hard-on, and then, you were naked and I got to
hold you,
and got to … to … fuck you in your … arse. I fucked you in the arse,
and oh God
it was so wonderful! I’m sorry, I wanted to do it again…. And that
awful time
last visit, when they stripped me and made me show myself to you – I
had the
silly notion they would let me fuck you like that. I’m sorry, I just
thought
they would. But you tossed me off instead, and, oh God, it was
incredible!”
She
drew
in her breath. “Well, Nicholas, I want to give you a present, for I
like you a
lot. So come, take your clothes off. Show me your naked self again.”
His eyes
bulged, and he gave a yelp as her hands went to his buttons. Then he
joined in
and began to undress, blinking and licking his lips in confusion. Soon
he was
naked, and she swiftly disrobed to stand before him, not hiding
herself. He was
shielding his erection, but took his hands away to let her gaze at his
arousal
with a smile. She took up a jar from the bedside table and liberally
smeared
his hot member, he panting and looking at her in wonder. Then she
offered the
jar to him.
“Your
turn,” she said. “Lubricate me up. Anoint my bum, and my bumhole. Put
your
fingers in and make me slick to receive you.” His eyes stared, but he
took the
jar and got a big glob of the jelly on his fingers. She turned her back
to him
and bent down. He hesitated only a moment, then with something like a
sob he
placed a hand on her waist and touched that delicate place again. She
was
breathing hard herself, and trembled as she felt his exploring fingers
inside
her, again.
Then
he
was stammering “Oh God, Catherine, I can’t help myself—” She drew in
her breath
sharply as he seized her waist and she felt his erection at her
sphincter. “But
there’s no condom! Oh—”
“I
know,”
she panted, “but you don’t need one. Go ahead, Nicholas, go!” He didn’t
reply,
but eased his member into her rectum with something like a sigh. Then
began
that exercise he’d learned in class. He pushed in, pulled back a
little, then
pushed in with more vigour, gradually building up the quickness and
force of
the lunges of his cock, while she tried to push back to accommodate
him,
feeling herself mounting towards an orgasm of her own. Then he was
thrusting totally
into her body, his pubic hair against her arse cheeks, moaning in a
long-desired ecstasy, and he came just after she did, tightening his
hold on
her body, pumping into her colon, spurting the seed in what seemed long
bursts,
finally clasping her round her body and gasping “Jesus, Catherine!”
before
easing out of her and collapsing on the bed.
She
leaned
over him to put her hand to his blazing cheek and say “Ah, Nicholas! I
hope
that was good for you. Thank you.” She kissed him on the lips, and he
returned
the salute, looking up into her smiling eyes, then smiled himself.
“No,
Catherine,” he said, “thank you. That’s the best present I ever got!”
She
laughed and gathered up her clothes, smiled at him again, and left. He
lay back
and took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe she had done that. What a
wonderful
girl! Matthew was a bloody lucky chap!
Saturday
5th
December
Another
cause
“Matthew,
look at this.”
Marion
held out a crumpled envelope. He took it and saw it had been addressed
simply
to “Mathew at Sumerton”, which had occasioned various annotations in
several
hands from those in the Post Office who had dealt with it, evidently
successfully.
“I
read
it, I’m sorry,” she said with a flush, “to see whether it really meant
you. I
apologise for intruding on your privacy—”
“That’s
all right,” he said, “I don’t suppose it’s got anything awful in it!”
She
flushed some more, and merely said “Sorry, anyhow. I’m sure it’s for
you. It
sounds … anyway, you have to deal with it now.”
She
nodded
her head and left, while he took out the letter from the envelope and
read what
the hopeful worshipper had written.
Dere
Mathew,
I hope
you
get this, I just know youre in a place called Sumerton. I want to tell
you
about madam who has got a poor boy from an orpanage and she was hitting
him on
the bum with a tawrs like you saw me last time and he was bare naked
and
crying. Please if you can do somthing to stop her please I think you
are the
only one. I love you Ellen Jacobs
He
blew
out a long breath and pondered. The postmark was dated a week before,
so had
the situation changed? All at once he realised he was going to do
something
about it, whatever it was. He frowned and scratched his cheek. What
could he
do? Well, not himself, surely. But by
God, he said to himself, I have a
little army of my own, haven’t I? Some troops to deploy. Yes!
***
Thursday 31st December
11.55 p.m. Naked
“So there we are, Catherine, everything is
moving
along nicely. My family are going to be at Thornton’s Hotel in a week
or so.
When we go there we’ll make some decisions about a permanent place.
Then we’re
going to rescue young Timothy from the Malvern clutches, and he and
Ellen are
just the servants to look after my father and Martha. We’ll see
Nicholas and we’ll
all see the things at the galleries and the British Museum. We promised
to look
up Mr Russell in Wimpole Street. When we hear about things from Miss
Gray we’ll
set about arranging that trip. What have I missed out?”
“Well, Matthew, we did ask Mr Whiston about
Bradley,
you remember.”
“Goodness, yes! I’ll telephone him and see how
that
scheme is progressing. Well! it’s amazing what a little money can do.
As I say,
everything is turning out pretty well so far.”
“And we’ve really only started. Oh Matthew,
we’re
going to have a marvellous time!”
Yes,
he said to himself as he drew her into an embrace, we
are indeed going to have a marvellous time. Being happy, doing jolly
things together, making other people happy. He felt a great
pang at his
heart to be doing these things, and realised it for what it was, a sort
of
crystallisation of happiness, a physical experience of joy. They kissed
and
smiled and kissed again.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Happy New Year!”
She laughed. “Happy New Year! Happy New Life!”
She accepted him into her with a shiver and
sigh of
contentment. Somehow – it just happened that way – they arrived at
their
ecstasy at precisely the same moment, when they kissed in the French
fashion,
with open eyes to look into the lover’s eyes, in an incredible feeling
of
unity, oneness, simultaneous sympathy, a true union of being. Then as
always a
goodnight kiss and an arrangement of their naked bodies into the
comradely
comfort of twining limbs, to seek rest from the labours of the day,
knowing
that the morrow was theirs.
The
End
(End of File)