Tara

by Lesley Pearse

  It was hard not to touch him in London, but here, with no-one to cast disapproving glances, it was impossible. So many times they stopped to kiss, so wrapped up in one another they barely noticed the odd passing tractor or a child on a bicycle.

  Amy had visions of washing drying from the sun, a baby kicking its fat brown legs in a pram beneath an apple tree, and a kitchen with hot water and a gas stove.

  Bill had mentioned a spot with a magnificent view on their journey down, and it was here they ate their lunch of pork pie, apples and two lumps of bread pudding, bought in the village shop.

  The softly rolling fields ended sharply at an escarpment where they sat with pine trees behind them. Below them was marsh, stretching for perhaps fifteen miles to the distant sea. A few cottages and stunted trees were scattered here and there, and the whole area was criss-crossed by streams and small rivers. Amy preferred more picturesque scenes; old churches, half-timbered houses, rivers and ponds. Yet she understood why Bill liked it here so much. It was wild and natural, land snatched back from the sea as it had retreated over centuries, the home of birds and flowers.

  'I get scared in London,' Bill admitted suddenly. 'Afraid I'll get drawn into something. Know what I mean?'

  Amy knew all right. In Grafton Buildings few people were blameless. Stealing wasn't a crime in their book, just a way of life. She guessed his old childhood friends were trying to draw him back into the fold and that every day they lingered in Limehouse, so the pressure to conform grew greater.

  She sensed he felt she was the bridge between his world and the one he'd glimpsed from afar. She loved this sensitive, gentle Bill far more than the strutting, aggressive man his mother was so attached to.

  'Can't we find a place today?' she urged him. 'Chuck everything and move here?'

  'What would we do for money?' He squeezed her tightly. 'Finding a job down here ain't going to be easy.'

  'Couldn't you work on a farm?'

  'I don't know nothing about that.' He grinned. 'Only motors and driving. What we need is a little nest-egg first.'

  Later on, he led her through a broken fence, into a private estate.

  'Don't worry.' He laughed at her anxious face. 'No-one lives here and we aren't doing any harm.'

  The house was a palace to Amy, a great, grand place, the kind she'd only ever seen in films. She half expected a carriage to come rolling up the gravel drive, and a liveried footman to jump down and ring the bell on the huge front door.

  'I found it when I was based at Shomrncliffe, near Folkestone,' Bill explained. 'I don't think anyone's lived here for years, they just use it for meetings and stuff. Someone told me an oil company owns it.'

  It was beautiful yet mysterious. A swimming pool lay empty, though old urns were filled with flowers. Hedges were shaped meticulously around a manicured rose garden, but the woods behind the house, shielding it from the road, seemed almost to pervade the lower rooms. Amy felt a stab of anger that someone owned this lovely place yet had abandoned it, while they couldn't even get a couple of rooms to live in.

  'It doesn't seem right,' she said indignantly. 'You fought in the War, but I bet whoever owns this did nothing.'

  'He was probably an officer tucked safely behind a desk.' Bill shrugged his shoulders. 'But no-one ever said life was fair, darlin'!'

  There was a tall horse-shoe shaped hedge round the lawn. Twelve statues of naked ladies in different positions, bigger than Amy, stood around it, half hidden by foliage. Amy studied them wistfully.

  'Fancy having enough money to spend just on things to look at in a garden,' she said.

  Bill put his arms round her and held her tightly.

  'I can't promise a place as grand as this,' he said. 'But our kids won't ever see a rat or a bomb-site, don't you worry.'

  As he led her into a lawned area concealed by privet hedges, Amy knew that this was the testing time. The sun was hot, the grass strewn with buttercups. There wasn't a living soul for miles, just the cries of curlews from the marsh below.

  'I love you, Amy.' His voice shook with emotion as he drew her down beside him on the grass. 'I want you so much I can hardly bear it.'

  His body fitted against hers, hot and hard, making her arch against him. Her nipples seemed to be prickling through the thin cotton dress, her belly thrusting itself into his instinctively. His lips were on hers, tongue teasing and probing, making her shake with desire.

  All those nights she'd lain awake at Grafton Buildings, thinking of his hands exploring her body, were nothing to the reality. Just one finger sliding down her neck produced a raging fire in her belly, every nerve-ending twitching as her tongue found its way into his mouth. He held her so tightly, rolling with her, consuming her. A hard lump in his trousers pressed against her groin and he groaned in ecstasy. He had touched her breasts before, but never like this. Now he caught hold of one tightly, squeezing the nipple and bending his head to bite it, making blood rush to her head and an involuntary moan of pleasure rush from her lips.

  Buttons came undone without her even noticing and suddenly her naked chest was burning to meet his. Feverishly she pulled out his shirt, gasping at the touch of his flesh against her fingers.

  'Oh, Amy,' he whispered. 'I want you!'

  He moved down until his face rested between her small naked breasts, holding them against his face, moving from one to the other, squeezing, licking and sucking until she felt she would explode inside. His back under her fingers was smooth and silky and as she caressed him she felt tremors from within him matching her own. A hand slid under her dress but she was powerless to stop him, caught in a need so strong it drove all thought but him from her mind.

  Feelings she never knew existed erupted as his fingers found their way inside her and she cried out in bliss.

  'Tell me where it's best,' he whispered, as his mouth closed over hers.

  How could she single out one particular sensation when her whole body was singing with strange thrills? The deep probing, the soft, delicate strokes to her vagina lips, all so delicious, made her pant and throw her legs wider apart, undulating under him.

  Amy could hardly believe she was fumbling to undo the buttons on his trousers, it was unthinkable. Yet her fingers wanted to hold him, to make him feel the way she did. His penis was far longer and thicker than she'd imagined, but her hand closed round it, and she moved her belly closer. She opened her eyes for a moment to watch him as they lay on their sides, touching each other intimately. His eyes were shut, dark lashes like brushes on his tanned cheeks, his mouth curved into a tender smile.

  He made no attempt to get inside her and, although she had always been nervous of just that, now she wanted it. His fingers weren't enough, she wanted all of him.

  'No, darlin',' he whispered, moving away slightly as she guided him towards her. 'We mustn't.'

  His reluctance surprised and yet stimulated her still further. She pressed his fingers into her, feeling the hot stickiness of herself and the burning need for more.

  'Please,' she whispered. 'Please, Bill? I love you!'

  Despite her ignorance of sex, she sensed when he moved against her he was holding back, not intending to go right in. But as his penis touched her hot flesh, she caught him tightly, thrusting herself upwards, giving him no time to withdraw.

  It hurt momentarily, but the sensation of holding him completely overrode the pain. His face was buried in her neck, his breath hot on her skin. He called out wildly, then suddenly he was still, lying heavily on her, panting by her ear.

  'Oh, baby, I didn't mean that to happen,' he whispered breathlessly. 'I meant to stop.'

  Amy was still writhing beneath him, lips searching for his, wanting more. She was wet, sticky and a sad feeling washed over her, as if she'd been cheated, but she didn't know why.

  'Was it OK?'

  She opened her eyes and found he was leaning up on his elbows, still straddling her, a look of profound anxiety in his eyes.

  'Yes,' she whispered, knowing that wasn't all
he hoped to hear, but too ignorant to understand the real question.

  He sat up and buttoned his trousers, then turned to her and pulled her dress down over her knees. He said nothing, just sat there, turned aside from her, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

  In profile his face was exquisite perfection. She put her hand out tentatively to his strong chin, letting her index finger touch the small cleft.

  'Bill!' she whispered. 'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing,' he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to her. 'Come on.'

  Her knickers lay on the grass. Somehow the act of putting them on in front of him seemed more vulgar than anything. She hastily picked them up and slipped them in her pocket, buttoning up the bodice of her dress.

  Had she done something wrong? Why wasn't he speaking as he took her hand and led her down through the grounds and out through another bit of broken fence?

  'Are you cross with me?' she asked fearfully as he pulled her along behind him on an overgrown path which appeared to be leading towards a river.

  'Not you.' He stopped and pulled her to him, kissing her eyes gently. 'I'm angry with myself for not being prepared, for expecting you to fight me off, but not with you.'

  He had never looked more handsome than he did at that moment. His eyes were soft, red lips still swollen from kissing, and his black hair gleamed in the sunlight. Yet Amy felt awkward. She was wet and sticky, she wanted to wash herself. She dropped her eyes to the tow path, trying hard to find the words to explain.

  'Let's have a paddle,' he said unexpectedly as they reached the canal bank. 'Look, it's shallow here, almost like a bit of beach.'

  There was shingle just under the water's edge for three or four feet, and an obliging overhanging branch acted as a support.

  Bill had his socks and shoes off and his trousers rolled up within seconds, and he moved in to try the water.

  'Cold.' He grimaced, holding out his hand for Amy. 'But it's nice.'

  Amy entered cautiously, clutching on to him for support.

  'You wouldn't be much good in the jungle.' Bill laughed as she winced at the pebbles under her bare feet. 'How would you cope with leeches and water snakes?'

  "There aren't snakes here?' Amy's blue eyes flew open in alarm.

  'You really are a city girl.' He shook his head, eyes twinkling. 'I'm the most dangerous creature around ere.

  The sun had caught Bill's nose and cheeks, giving them the same golden blush she remembered from their first meeting eighteen months earlier. The cold water felt delightful and she leaned against his chest.

  'Let me wash you.' His lips slid across her ear. 'You must be sore.'

  She blushed, burying her face against him.

  'It's OK, I understand,' he said, holding her tight with one arm and pulling up her skirt and tucking it into her belt with the other. Then leaning over he cupped his hand, filled it with water and brought it up to her.

  She squealed, more from embarrassment than the cold. As she looked down she saw a smear of blood on her white thigh and she averted her face from his in shame.

  'Don't be shy,' he said softly. 'You've got a beautiful body and I love you, there's no shame in it.'

  He moved her over to the branch, pushed her gently back against it, then brought up more water in his cupped hands.

  Tears filled her eyes for no reason she could explain. Perhaps it was his hand touching her again, the tenderness in his eyes, or the way he leaned to kiss her again and the afternoon sun glinting on his hair.

  'Women can come, just like men,' he whispered, turning her face to kiss her. 'Let me make it happen for you.'

  As his fingers stroked her the feeling so recently interrupted all came back, this time twice as strong. She leaned against him, unbuttoning her bodice so he could suck at her breasts. The sensations grew stronger and she held his head tightly to her breasts, aware she was calling out his name, yet not caring if anyone heard. It felt like being inside a corkscrew, going round and round, closer and closer to something she didn't understand. She opened her eyes and watched as he stroked her, his cheek against her breast, a look of supreme tenderness and pleasure on his face, and only for a second did she wonder how he had learned such things about women when she didn't even know about them herself.

  Her feet were still in the cold river, the sun hot on her arms and head, and somewhere between the two sensations was this wild and beautiful emotion that lifted her into another sphere.

  Chapter 12

  Mabel stared out the kitchen window. Amy was in the sitting room sewing, Harry was out in the cowshed but she had no idea where Tara had gone to. That troubled her, for she knew her granddaughter had a crush on Harry and the sooner he left, the better. It wasn't that she didn't like him, she just wanted someone out of the top drawer for her granddaughter.

  But even as she thought this, she felt guilty, after all he'd done so much for them. He'd mended just about everything on the farm. The new porch, every window had been repaired and painted, countless jobs that would have cost her a fortune to get done by a builder. But it wasn't just his help around the farm she had to thank him for, his male presence appeared to be the catalyst that brought Amy back to health and sanity. She and Tara had leaned on him too, his jokes and masculine strength had pulled them all through.

  But it was time he left, and let them get back to normal. Amy was improving in leaps and bounds and MacDonald hadn't turned up.

  A phone call with George revealed that the police were searching for Bill, as his fingerprints linked him decisively with Father Glynn's murder. His picture had been in the local papers, with a request for people who knew him to come forward. But he'd gone to ground, and after some discussion they'd decided it was safe for Harry to leave.

  Harry was pressing some putty into the glass in the cowshed when Tara looked in. She didn't let him know she was there for a moment but just stood deep in thought, watching his nimble fingers and his look of concentration.

  Setting aside Mabel's funny ways and the desire to see his mates and father again, he really liked the farm. It was good to work with his hands, to smell fresh air and see green fields rather than crowded markets and noisy pubs. There was no need here to keep up appearances, for acting tough. He had become really interested in farming, talking to all the old blokes down at the Pelican over a pint. He would miss that sweet exhaustion from a day well spent, the animals, but especially Tara.

  Tara didn't let him know she was there for a moment. She watched his nimble fingers pressing in the putty, the look of concentration on his face. Seen sideways on his eyelashes looked like black brushes, his tongue peeping out between his lips.

  She had watched him working many times over the past few weeks, noticed the silkiness of his skin when he took his shirt off, his slender hips, the tufts of black hair just above his navel and the width of his shoulders. Time and again she had wanted to run her fingers through his black hair, make him smile so she could see the curve of his lips and a hint of a dimple in his right cheek. She would sit in her room and draw his angular face, wishing she could capture that impish look and the depth of his dark blue eyes.

  He was planing a piece of wood out in the barn one day and as his finger caressed the grain she felt a tug inside her, wishing it was her leg, arm or even breast he was touching so reverently. But how could she make him see her as a sweetheart rather than a little sister? For the last couple of weeks she'd been wearing her best clothes, brushing her hair till it shone, even putting on lipstick and mascara, but his attitude to her remained stubbornly brotherly.

  'Gran says you're going home!'

  Harry looked over his shoulder in surprise. He had been so engrossed he hadn't heard her come up behind him.

  She looked so pretty in a new circular green skirt she'd made, with a tight knitted cotton top, but there was a frantic look in her eyes he couldn't quite identify.

  'Yeah, tomorrow.'

  'But why?' She was pouting, golden hair hanging down over thos
e delicious pert breasts. She had mastered this sexy pout since she'd seen a picture of Bridget Bardot doing it and Harry had to admit it turned him on.

  'Because you don't need me any more now.' He took a rag out of his overall pocket and wiped his hands on it. They smelled of linseed oil, and his fingernails needed cleaning.

  Harry leaned back against the rails of the stall. Any minute now Stan would bring the cows in for milking and the hosed-down cobbles would once again be a sea of muck.

  'I need you,' Tara blurted out. 'Please don't go, Harry. I can't bear it here without you.'

  Harry recognised the pleading tone, he'd heard it from girls before. All at once he realised who the smart clothes and the make-up were for.

  'You won't even miss me once you go back to school next week.' He felt awkward now, remembering how painful his own first crush had been. 'Anyway, what about my dad and Queenie? They've had to do all the work while I've bin down 'ere.'

  'I don't care about anyone but you,' she insisted. 'I love you, Harry.'

  At least thirty girls had told him they loved him since he was fourteen, but he hadn't expected this from Tara.

  He took a deep breath. He wanted to laugh it off but a prickle touched his own heart.

  'I love you, too.' He calmly went on rubbing his hands, eyes deliberately on the rag. 'You're like my sister.'

  'I didn't mean it like that.' She moved so fast he didn't have a chance to avoid her and suddenly her arms were round his neck. 'I mean like this!'

  It was an innocent's kiss, lips pressed hard against his because she hadn't yet learned the way adults did it, but somehow it was more moving than an experienced one.

  'Oh, Tara.' He didn't know what to do – he couldn't hold her at arm's length because his hands were dirty and it would show on her white jumper. 'You're too young for me.'