‘‘What was your childhood like?’ Best keep the limelight away from me.
‘If I told you that my father was a vicar and my mother a teacher, would you believe me that I had a perfect childhood?’
‘I think so,’ surprised, I laughed. ‘What was perfect about it?’
‘Everything,’ he shrugged. ‘My mother is still very much alive and lively. I’ve also got an older sister. When the three of us meet up we just laugh all the time. Even when my father was around no one was taking life too seriously. Dad’s parishioners loved him because he never threatened anyone with brimstone and fire. We were not rich, not even particularly well off. If it were down to the family income my sister and I would have never got the indecently expensive private education that we had. But, several generations ago, there was a great uncle, my mother’s great uncle, who believed in education. Now, there’s the funny thing. In his will he said that he wanted future generations to have as much good schooling as their minds can take. At family gatherings and graduations he was always mentioned as an amazingly enlightened and broadminded person for his generation. And then, a few years ago Eva, that’s my sister, Eva said to the tableful of grateful and appreciative relatives, that the old man probably wasn’t broadminded at all and that we should probably be grateful to the forward-thinking trustees instead. ‘It probably never even occurred to him that girls may have wanted to go to school or that there would be a school that’d take them. That’s why he never mentioned boys specifically. He took it for granted that only boys would be in need of scholarship.’
Hugh laughed and I laughed with him.
‘That was the last time that I ever heard the old boy mentioned at all. I’m just hoping that he won’t come back to haunt her for ruining his reputation.’
‘Why flying? How did you decide to become a pilot?’
‘A long story.’
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. Just tell me to shut up when I overstep the line.’ I felt rebuked.
‘No, Nat, no...’ Hugh brought my palm to his lips and kissed it. ‘It’s nothing like that. I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know. The question itself is innocuous enough. However, the answer has been burdened with a lot of luggage since I took to the skies. Secrets that are not mine to tell.’
‘Don’t answer it, then. It really doesn’t matter. I’m too happy to spoil what we’ve got for the sake of curiosity.’
Hugh buried his face into my palm. ‘Ignore me. As you’re bound to find out, I tend to become overemotional over certain subjects. There’s nothing emotional about my choice of career. Only what happened later, and that doesn’t involve me. I’ll tell you, but isn’t it time to go and be kind to animals?’
‘High time. By the way, don’t look surprised if a fluffy middle-aged lady in floral crimplene who answers to the name of Mrs Brackett tells you that she holds RAF in high regard.’
* * *
It wasn’t Mrs Brackett’s day in the Sanctuary. She was replaced by an elderly man that reminded me of a gherkin. He put us on the swan duty. Someone else, a young man of about twenty or so, explained what that entailed. It wasn’t much more to it than to portion off their daily food rations and make sure that the stronger ones didn’t steal from the weaker among them.
‘No extras, please,’ he warned sternly. ‘The food is a perfect mix of freeze dried aquatic plants, crustaceans, small fish and the like. Excess food would be certain to put their convalescence in jeopardy.’
‘It doesn’t seem that anyone’s told the swans that they’re convalescing. Nor has anyone explained the link between their diet and rate of recovery.’ Hugh was fighting off three feathered and beaked alpha males prepared to feed on human flesh in the absence of krill. ‘RAF? Why RAF?’
‘Never mind why. On these premises you’re a squadron leader in the RAF.’
‘More socially acceptable than a high altitude chauffeur?’
‘It’s not about you or your acceptability. No one here knows you from Adam. My grandparents have to live with these people. Mrs. Brackett and her friends are unlikely to take kindly to copulation outside marriage at the age of seventeen. This way you’re a national treasure who puts his life on the line in defence of our freedom. No Mrs. Brackett of this world would have the gall to pass judgment on someone of that standing.’ The truth was that when I’d mutely accepted Mrs. Brackett’s assumption I didn’t even think how would that affect Hugh. Of course he was hurt.
‘Sorry,’ I added. ‘That’s the God’s honest truth. I was only thinking of the Bowens. Not you or me.’
He nodded and grinned in his usual devil-may-care way. ‘In other words, you came here uninvited.’
‘I’m on the run from my parents. No, not from my parents. From my father. If I told my grandparents in advance, they’d have thought it their duty to talk to my mother about it, and then, if Father asked, she couldn’t claim that she didn’t know where I was.’
‘Sounds serious. What sort of trouble have you got yourself in?’
I picked the tray with swans’ feed and took it over to the feeding enclosure. I watched them eat, one by one, until I had no more excuse to linger about.
‘Not of my making, I promise you. I’ve never caused any trouble to my parents. Not from choice, of course. Given half a chance I would have probably wallowed in as many tantrums and outrageous exploits as any other teenager. But, how much trouble can you cause when there’s always someone breathing down your neck, watching and supervising your every move? How’s this for humiliation and control? There’s a sad gynaecologist who is planning to examine me for virginity shortly, as he has been doing every three months since I was thirteen.’ I wasn’t planning on sinking into self-pity. All the same, it washed over me. I was sobbing like a three-year old.
Silently, Hugh took me in his arms.
Eventually, I calmed down. ‘My tears smell of wet bird feathers on you,’ I tried a smile and felt better.
Hugh looked at his watch. ‘Are we allowed a coffee break?’
‘There isn’t much left to do now.’
We fed the last batch of swans and secured the locks of their enclosures against any rebellious action of their powerful beaks.
Then we called it a day.
To save on time, on the way to the bungalow we picked up two portions of tuna bake and two pieces of apple and blackberry crumble at the Sanctuary’s coffee shop. As an afterthought, Hugh turned back at the door and bought a large tray of strawberries. Back at the bungalow we ate the tuna bake cold sitting on the top step of the porch. Afterwards, stripping along the way, Hugh won the race to the downstairs shower. I climbed upstairs to luxuriate in the life-restoring power of steaming hot water. There was an outsized T-shirt on the hanger in a mostly empty wardrobe. It hung down well below my knees when I pulled it on. I gave another energetic rub to my hair and quickly removed the crumbling nail polish of my toenails.
With only a wine-coloured bath towel around his waist, Hugh was carrying a large wooden tray to the orangery. Hidden in between tall grasses and a cordon of cherries was a low bamboo table, a green velvet sofa and two rattan armchairs. I plonked myself in the middle of the sofa and inspected the tray. A cafetière, two porcelain cups, a basket of freshly washed strawberries, a milk jug, two small dishes one filled with chocolate melting over a small gas burner, the other one filled with clotted cream.
‘Is this comfort food or is this comfort food?’ he grinned.
‘Ten out of ten. You’re a keeper.’ I kissed what was closest to me, his upper arm.
‘I’m wonderful, me. Now tell me all about this running away from home business.’ Hugh sat next to me, poured us a cup of coffee each, then, holding it by the stalk, he dipped the strawberry into the melted chocolate, waited for the excess to drip off, added a small amount of cream on top. It was an absolute work of art.
‘Very nice. Thank you.’ I snatched it from his fingers and bit in. I was in heaven. Almost.
‘You’re no better than the
swan’s, you little strawberry snatcher. What don’t I already know about Sonata Ganis, then?’
‘No, you first. Why aren’t you a squadron leader in the RAF?’
‘I’m not in any kind of force because I don’t do discipline and hierarchy. Xango, my best mate at school, was having flying lessons, and being from the family that owns a large aircraft leasing business, he asked me to join him. I was very excited and very grateful, but to be honest, that was no more to him than asking someone to a fish supper would be to mere mortals. We were both doing very well and in my heart I wished that I could turn it into a profession. But, again, flying for an airline company, to an ever repetitive schedule and on someone else’s orders didn’t seem any more fun than applying for a place at Cranwell. After Eaton, we both went to Cambridge, he was doing some kind of a business and politics course, I opted for Diving and Marine Biology.,.’
I just opened my mouth when he stopped me, ‘No, I don’t know why either,’ he smiled. ‘Maybe if I went for History or Biochemistry, Emily would be still alive...’ he brought the cup to his lips and sipped at it slowly.
‘Sorry,’ he started eventually, ‘I hope you don’t think...’
‘I don’t, Hugh. Honestly, I’d hate to think that you’ve forgotten her or that you need to pretend to me that you’ve forgotten her. What happened then?’
‘What happened was that Emily died and Xango fell ill. That’s the bit that I can’t cope with. I still can’t accept that out of two people who were most important to me at the time, one died, the other one succumbed to a disease... Anyway, after Emily, I needed a change of direction, he...well, it’s difficult to explain... he went on a mission of some kind. To be honest with you, I’ve never quite understood his conversion.’
‘Don’t people often get born again and that kind of thing in times of crisis?’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. Xango’s always been a top bloke, generous to a fault, full of fun and energy. But after his illness, he became fanatical, only I’ve never quite worked out what he was fanatical about. Anyway, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. His company leased me enough of a range to start a small charter business with interest free lease payments deferred by twenty four months. I’m just about to start paying the regular lease charges plus of course the deferred instalments. But those are spread over ten years and by now I can well afford them.’
‘That was exceptionally generous.’ I had a bad feeling about that. I know I was painfully young, but one tends to learn a lot about the game by watching it from the sidelines. ‘You must be very close.’
‘But not close enough to share his burden, it seems.’ A muscle was twitching in his cheek, but with a wave of the hand he banished the cloud. ‘As you say, the offer was incredibly generous. And it didn’t stop there. Setting up in that sort of business is very expensive. Marketing alone... never mind, there’s no reason to bore you with that kind of detail. I had to sell the property in Surrey to keep me going in between occasional flying jobs for other charter companies. Xango’s tenants at the penthouse had given him notice and he offered it to me until another reliable, paying tenant turned up. In the meantime, the place was mine for the price of overheads.’
He was still very thoughtful. Troubled. Troubled didn’t suit him. It was grating against his nature.
‘Is it troubling you that you owe him so much or that he’s not well and you can’t be of as much use to him as he was, still is, to you?’ Hoping to lighten the mood I packed yet another chocolate strawberry into my mouth.
‘All of the above,’ he smiled. ‘You’re a very clever little girl. Xango wants us to meet tomorrow morning at Upper Fold. It wasn’t anything that he said, but I’ve got a feeling that it’s not good news.’
‘Take the car.’ My super-practical mind decided that Hugh didn’t want me around for the meeting. Nor was I too keen to meet Xango. He sounded like too much of a muchness.
‘Thanks. I’ve just remembered,’ Hugh was up on his feet, ‘I’ve got myself a present in France. Wait a minute, I’ll show you.’
A couple of minutes later he was back with a slim, buff coloured portfolio in his hands. ‘Originally, this was meant to be a present for you, but that would have been silly...’
‘Great!’ I harrumphed. ‘I’m not wildly ecstatic about your notions of gifting...’
‘Wait till you see it.’
What he pulled out was an unframed watercolour. The painting was of me in semi-profile, sitting in my bikini bottoms at the edge of the swimming pool. My chin was resting on one lifted knee that barred the view of my bare breasts. My hair was scrunched up, heavy with water that was dripping down my shoulders. Achieved with an amazing economy of lines, the likeness was incredible.
‘This requires an explanation, wouldn’t you say?’ I refused to show how impressed I was.
‘Yes, I would. The first time I tried to pay you a return visit you had a little poolside party for your friends. I took lots of photos.’
‘Perv!’
He lifted his eyebrows and I collapsed into laughter. ‘All right, all right. But my perving was strictly for educational purposes.’ I stretched out on the sofa using his back to give me the shade I needed to see the picture more clearly. ‘What happened then?’
‘I printed out a few of the photos and took them to a pavement artist by the Seine in Paris. His fame is spreading rapidly. I’ve caught him while he’s still selling at pavement rates...’
‘Gee, Hugh, I feel really special now.’ My attempt at an American accent petered out before the sentence was out.
He took the painting out of my hands, replaced it carefully into its holder and stretched out next to me. ‘You ingrate, you.’
‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘I’m a disgrace.’ I turned my head to kiss him. ‘The picture is beautiful. Just beautiful. Thank you.’ I was talking through the kiss. ‘I could try to make it up to you,’ I suggested tentatively, sucking his tongue deeply into my mouth.
Hugh made a noise that sounded like agreement to me. His arm that I was lying on slipped lower down, the fingers entered the slit in between my buttocks, pulling me closer to him. The other hand enveloped my breast under the T-shirt, rolling it around with tantalising gentleness. Deliberately or not, but irritatingly, the flap of his towel sarong was securely pinned under his hip and thigh.
There were considerations of practical nature involved in the situation. Slowly and furtively, I detached my lips from his, reached over to the table, almost blindly grabbed a couple of ice cubes and quickly stuffed them in between my legs.
‘Got to do something,’ I grumbled. ‘At this rate, I’ll come three times before you even unpack that sarong.’ My plan failed from the start. The icy feel against the burning hot tissue of my pussy made me even randier.
‘Go on, then,’ Hugh chortled, ‘just keep coming. Might get us to a long, hard fuck at the end of it.’ He supported his suggestion with his hand making its way to the fast disappearing ice cubes. He held them in place with his palm, his two fingers sliding slyly inside me.
It wasn’t a matter of taking his advice. The moment his index finger travelled some two knuckles inside me and pressed upwards, and his thumb started to rub my clit at the same time, I convulsed violently into a spontaneous vibration. My fingernails dug into the skin on his back to help me catch some air into my lungs. I wanted to dive back in between his lips to get his tongue fuck my mouth, but he was already on my breast, his teeth clamped around the nipple, the sucking matching the rhythm of his fingers inside me. The only outlet left to me was to scream, with my entire pelvis jolting about, furiously seeking even more of what had overwhelmed me already.
‘Don’t stop. Never stop.’ My spine arched upwards so much that his teeth scraped against my nipple.
Terrified of causing his fingers to move away from the position of pure ecstasy, my rotations slowed down, letting me feel exactly what he was doing.
‘Ah... amah... a...a...Amah.’ It must
have sounded something like that. My sensors were jumping up and down wildly, until finally I calmed down and curled around his hand, stopping the fingers from leaving my insides.
‘Was it good?’ he whispered. ‘Shall I...’
‘No, you shall not...’ I didn’t need to say anything else. The second orgasm turned up unexpectedly, sending me into a foetal position. I was holding onto his hand with mine, pushing his fingers further inside, desperately rubbing my G-spot against them, shaking, panting and sobbing until my body gradually relaxed, sate and contented.
We stayed motionless for a few minutes. I could hear him mutter something soft and soothing into my hair. Eventually, the fear of getting detached from him subsided. I snuggled under his chin. ‘All right, Mr. Carrington, I’m ready for my long fuck.’
* * *
It didn’t happen immediately.
We were both parched and slippery with sweat. Even the hottest of passions cannot assuage prickly heat.
I slipped out of my borrowed top and pulled at Hugh’s towel. ‘My grandparent’s establishment doesn’t stretch to a swimming pool, but I’ve got an idea,’ I led the way to the centre of the orangery. The centre piece was a fountain, dormant at the moment. I remembered it in its full glory, water spouting out of five bronze chrysanthemums, up-lighted in the evenings from at least ten points secreted around the basin. The basin itself was full of water. Leading Hugh by the hand, I stepped inside up to my knees. ‘Oh, yes, this will do nicely.’
As ever, Hugh was laughing at me. ‘You’ve never been responsible for organising your own victuals, have you?’ He stopped at the edge. ‘Don’t wee into it while I’m gone.’
Weeing was a good idea.
I quickly jumped out, ran to the upstairs bathroom because he was probably using the downstairs one, weed, cleaned myself up and returned to the fountain, a picture of innocence. I simply couldn’t bring myself to own up to any bodily functions other than my newly found favourite.
The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet) Page 14
