‘As I hardly know the meaning of either word, I don’t think I’ll bother. You’re a seriously clever girl, aren’t you? Do you ever feel miffed that you had a college education and yet, because you’re a woman, apart from whizzing through household ledgers in the blink of an eye, you can’t use your gifts to earn a living?’
‘If I’m honest, of course I do. But Papa simply won’t allow a daughter of his to work. I guess it’s just the way things are.’
‘Well now, isn’t that ironic? All I want to do is to be left alone to think of the perfect words to put into a poem and dream my days away, rather than learning the ropes of running the estate – and ploughing through the ledgers, of course,’ he grinned at her. ‘And here’s you, who could do all that with alacrity, yet you’re denied the chance because you’re female.’
‘Life is never fair, and I guess we just have to accept it. I mean, we’re both very privileged, Julius. You will one day inherit all this land and the house, and I will get to live a comfortable life as a wife and mother. Neither of us are living in poverty, are we?’
‘We’re certainly not, no, but the question is, Miss Huntley-Morgan,’ he said as he eyed her, ‘does money bring one happiness? I mean, are you happy? Am I?’
At this moment, I’m as happy as I’ve ever felt, thought Cecily.
‘I’m good right now actually,’ she said out loud.
‘But what brings true happiness, do you think?’
‘Well . . . love, I guess,’ Cecily said, thinking that even if a blush was spreading across her cheeks, her face was probably already pink from the whisky.
‘Absolutely right!’ Julius thumped the arm of his chair. ‘So, you do have a poetic soul somewhere underneath all that logic.’
‘Everyone knows love is what makes you happy.’
‘But it also has the capacity to bring the most acute pain, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I would, yes.’ It was Cecily’s turn to drain the tooth mug. Her head was spinning from lack of food and the liquor, but she didn’t care. This was the most deliciously truthful conversation she’d ever had with a man.
‘You really are the most awfully interesting female, but given my aunt is due back any second from one of her endless meetings, I must leave you.’ Julius stood up, as did Cecily. ‘Shall we go riding again tomorrow?’ he asked as he stepped towards her. ‘That is, if you’re better, of course.’ Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Before she had time to protest, his mouth was on hers and she was kissing him back more passionately than she’d ever kissed Jack. Even when one of his hands slid down her front to caress her breast and the other pulled her so close that she was aware of his excitement, she didn’t stop him.
‘My God, you’re gorgeous,’ he breathed into her ear.
Only when one of the hands started searching for a way inside her blouse did she – with effort – pull away.
‘Julius, we shouldn’t . . .’
‘I know, we shouldn’t,’ he said, his erstwhile wandering hand moving to her cheek and caressing it gently. ‘My apologies, Cecily. You are just . . . irresistible. And before I am tempted further, I will take my leave. Goodnight.’ He kissed her once more on the lips, before sweeping out of the room with his barely touched supper tray.
Cecily definitely had felt well enough to go riding with Julius the morning after ‘The Kiss’; in fact, she’d thought, as she had lain on a smelly horse blanket in his arms two days later, she had never felt healthier in her life. Once they’d seen the sunrise on the Downs, he had recommended that they tethered their horses so he could show her the folly – a strange square building standing in the middle of nowhere, far away from the prying eyes of the house. Inside, it had smelt dark and damp, but the minute the door was closed behind them, she had fallen into his arms. All sense had left her as she let him pass second base. And then the following day, third base . . .
‘What am I doing?’ she moaned as she looked out of her bedroom window after a near miss of the dreaded ‘fourth base’ earlier that morning. ‘I have two days left before I go to Kenya. I don’t want to go to Kenya,’ she whispered as tears came to her eyes. ‘I want to stay here with Julius . . .’
Cecily walked disconsolately back towards her bed and lay down on it, closing her eyes. She was exhausted from a run of sleepless nights, her heart palpitating every time she thought of being in his arms. Yet she was also euphoric, with more energy than she’d ever had – at least when it came to being with him.
‘I never felt this way about Jack, never,’ she told the top of the four-poster bed, remembering the fumblings that she’d endured rather than enjoyed when Jack had kissed her goodnight. ‘Goodness, what am I to do?’
They hadn’t really talked about the future. In fact, they hadn’t talked about anything much because Julius’s lips had been mostly sealed on hers when they were alone together. But he’d told her over and over how she was the most beautiful girl in the world, that he’d never met anyone quite like her, and even that he thought he may be in love with her . . .
‘Well, I sure love him,’ she said, more tears springing to her eyes at the thought of leaving. Still, there were two days left, two days in which he could still ask her to stay . . .
That evening, after dinner with Audrey, Cecily feigned a headache and excused herself. The pain of watching Julius across the table making small talk, knowing that every precious minute that went by was wasted when she was not in his arms, was simply too much for her. Slipping between the sheets, she turned the light out, praying for her mind to still and let her sleep. She was just dozing off when she heard a tap on the door.
‘Cecily, darling, are you asleep?’
Before she knew it, he was there beside her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her.
‘Julius, what are you doing? What about your aunt? I—’
‘She’s retired for the night. And besides, she sleeps right at the other end of the corridor. Now hush, and let me kiss you.’
First the covers, and then her nightgown, were peeled off her body.
‘No! We can’t, we mustn’t! I’m off to Kenya soon . . .’
‘But doesn’t it feel wonderful, my darling? Naked for the first time, skin touching skin . . .’ He took her hand and laid it on the satin-smooth skin of his neck, then guided it downwards and she felt the slight bristle of hair on his chest, then the muscles of his stomach, and then . . .
‘No! Please, I can’t. We’re not even an official couple.’
‘Oh, we very much are. A couple bound up in a passionate love affair. I do love you, Cecily. I love you so much . . .’
‘And I love you,’ she murmured as her hand was released so his own could travel across her breasts, before journeying further down her body.
‘Will you wait until I’m back?’ she breathed.
‘Wait for what?’ he said as he rolled on top of her and she felt his hardness pressing against her.
‘Me, of course,’ she whispered, her mental faculties anaesthetised by the wonderful sensations her body was experiencing.
‘Of course I will, my darling, of course.’
It was only as he started to ease himself inside her that her brain finally overran her body.
‘No, Julius! I might get pregnant. I can’t, please.’
‘Don’t worry, darling, I won’t let that happen, I promise. I’ll pull out before. Now just relax and trust me.’
‘But we’re not even engaged, Julius!’
‘Then we’ll get engaged,’ he said as he began to thrust into her. ‘This was just meant to be, darling Cecily, wasn’t it?’
For a fleeting moment, she thought how thrilled Dorothea would be if she one day became the chatelaine of Woodhead Hall. Surely, even her father might forgive her for tonight if that was the prize.
‘Yes,’ she said.
Cecily awoke late the next morning, looked at the travel clock sitting by her bed and saw it was past nine o’clock. She lay there, still sleepy from last night�
�s exertions, her mind flitting from the wrongness of what she had done – immediately comforting herself with the thought that there had been a number of girls at Vassar who had lost their virginity during their college years – to thoughts of how and when they would announce their engagement. Julius hadn’t actually said that he would marry her, or when – perhaps when she came back from Africa. Of course, there was also the threat of war . . .
Eventually, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her whole body aching in places she didn’t know could ache. As she stood up to ring the call bell, she saw a small smudge of blood on the under-sheet. ‘Surely it’s not time for my monthly?’ she muttered to herself, confused, then remembered the whispered conversations overheard in the common room at Vassar and realised what the blood might be. Blushing at the thought of Doris noticing it, she pulled the top sheet and eiderdown across it before she rang the bell. Then she noticed an envelope which had been pushed under her door. Hurrying to pick it up before Doris arrived with her tea, she sat down on the bed and opened it.
My dearest darling Cecily,
I have had to go up to London today on business for my uncle, but I hope to return to say goodbye to you before you leave. This week has been quite wonderful, don’t you think? In case I don’t return in time, safe travels, darling girl. And do write to me with your address in Kenya as soon as you can. We must keep in touch.
Julius x
Cecily had little time to ponder the subtext of the note before Doris bustled in with the tea tray.
‘Good morning, Miss Cecily, and ain’t it a beauty?’ she said, pulling back the curtains. ‘You slept in late for a change, but there ain’t no harm in that, ’specially as the cocktail party is tonight, and tomorrow you’re on that aeroplane from Southampton. Rather you than me,’ Doris said with a shudder as she poured Cecily’s tea. ‘I’d be saying me prayers, I would. You all right, miss? You don’t look quite yourself.’
Cecily, who had been gazing out of the window, turned to Doris and gave her a smile. ‘Maybe I’m a little nervous about the flight, that’s all.’
‘Well, you’ve got to leave bright and early, so how about we pack your trunk this afternoon? Then you can have a little rest before the party. Want me to style your hair again for tonight?’
‘Why not?’ Cecily smiled, desperate for the maid to leave the room so her mind could fully dissect the note Julius had left her. ‘Thank you, Doris. I’ll be down for breakfast shortly.’
‘All right, miss. Ring if you need me.’ Bobbing a curtsey, Doris left the room.
Cecily reread the note the minute the door had clicked shut. She couldn’t work out the sentiments behind it – or why on earth Julius hadn’t told her he was leaving for London this morning. Perhaps he had been in a rush – yes, that could account for the coolness that seemed to permeate his written words. It was such a contrast to what he had said to her last night.
He said he hoped to get back in time to say goodbye in person, she told herself as she sipped her tea. Perhaps this was just a note in case he didn’t . . .
Feeling very alone – Julius had been her playmate for most of the time she’d been here – Cecily then went for a walk in the park to clear her head. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she went over and over the words in his letter. People often wrote far more formally than they spoke, but on the other hand, Julius was a poet . . .
That afternoon, Cecily paced the bedroom while Doris folded her clothes neatly and stowed them away in the trunk; the maid talked so much that all Cecily needed to do was to add the odd ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ‘really?’ until Doris finally closed the lid.
‘There, all done, miss. Now you can relax and enjoy the party.’
‘Do you know if Julius is attending tonight?’
‘Don’t ask me, miss, he’s a law unto himself that one.’ Doris rolled her eyes to exaggerate her point. ‘He often stays overnight in London. That’s where his fiancée lives, see.’
‘His fiancée?’
‘Yes, Veronica she’s called. Real society girl – I’m always seeing her in the pages of some magazine or another. Gawd knows how she’ll cope when they’re married and she ’as to live ’ere in the middle of nowhere.’
Cecily sat down on the bed abruptly, wondering whether she would faint clean away with shock.
‘I see. I . . . How long have they been’ – Cecily swallowed hard – ‘engaged?’
‘Oh, just over six months, I’d reckon. The wedding’s all set for the summer.’
‘Lady Woodhead’s never mentioned it to me.’
‘No, well, maybe she wouldn’t, because I know she don’t approve. ’Er Ladyship thinks Veronica’s “fast” and not suitable to be the next lady of the ’ouse. Well, we’re only young once, ain’t we, miss, and I’m sure she’ll calm down when she’s married. Besides, I reckon she’s got ’er work cut out, being his wife, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ Cecily replied hoarsely. ‘Please explain.’
‘I’ve more than an inkling he sees other women, and so have the rest of the maids here. I know for certain there was a girl in the village he was after; me and Ellen are sure we saw her running from the ’ouse one morning a couple of months back when we was up at dawn lighting the fires. Men, eh? Sometimes I think I’d be better off spending me life on me own rather than trusting ’em. Right, I’ll leave you to have a little rest and I’ll be up to run your bath at five.’
Doris left, and Cecily sat where she was, hands folded in her lap, staring out of the window. She could still feel his presence inside her, the soreness at her core a physical reminder of how she had been duped. She had previously thought how very dumb some women were to believe the sweet nothings of a man when he wanted his way, yet now she had almost certainly joined their ranks.
Never once had he mentioned Veronica, or his forthcoming marriage . . .
Unless of course he was planning to call it off tonight and that’s why he’d gone to London . . .
‘No, Cecily,’ she whispered, hanging her head and moving it rhythmically from side to side. ‘Don’t be so naive, you know he’s doing nothing of the sort.’
A tear left one of her eyes but she brushed it away harshly. She wouldn’t allow any self-indulgence. This situation was of her own making. She had been so very stupid, despite all her supposed cleverness. So stupid that she deserved not one iota of sympathy.
After a while, she stood up, walked over to her trunk, turned the brass keys to lock it then sat down on the top.
All she knew for certain was that she would never trust any man ever again.
‘Welcome to Mundui House, darling girl!’ Kiki said as she jumped down from the passenger seat of the white Bugatti that had brought them on the three-hour journey from Nairobi, and which was now covered in a thick layer of reddish-brown dirt. Cecily had kept her eyes closed for most of the drive, partly due to the dust that had coiled up around the car like the smoke from Aladdin’s lamp and made them itch, but mostly because she was so completely and utterly exhausted that it was too much effort to keep them open.
‘Oh!’ said Kiki, raising her arms up to the heavens. ‘I am so very glad to be home. Come on, I want to show you around. You have to see everything and then we’ll have champagne to celebrate you being here – or maybe we’ll have it before the tour – and then I might call up some friends to come for cocktails later on so they can meet you.’
‘Kiki, I . . . well, after the journey, I can’t walk another step,’ Cecily said as she managed to haul herself out of the car and blink in the bright sunlight, which felt as if it was boring into her pupils. She closed her eyes against the solar onslaught, staggered a little and caught hold of the car door.
‘Of course. You poor thing.’ Kiki was by her side in seconds, steadying her. ‘Aleeki!’ she called. ‘Come help Miss Cecily into the house, she’s fit to drop. Put her in the Rose suite at the other end of the hallway to me – the one where Winston stayed.’
‘Yes, memsahib.’
A strong arm complete with fingers of steel was placed around her shoulders.
Cecily opened her eyes, expecting to see a great tall Negro, but instead she found herself staring into the quizzical brown eyes of an elderly birdlike man.
‘You lean on me, memsahib.’
And Cecily did so, horribly embarrassed that the man must be at least three times her age. All she noticed as he led her inside and up the staircase was the wonderful coolness after the stifling heat of the car journey.
‘This your room, memsahib.’
Cecily walked straight towards an easy chair placed in the corner and sat down before she fell where she stood. Aleeki proceeded to pull back the white sheet and eiderdown on the bed – why on earth was there an eiderdown when it was so darned hot? – then reached up and pulled the string on the ceiling fan, which whirred into life.
‘You want shutters closed, memsahib?’
‘Yes please.’
Cecily breathed a sigh of relief as the sun that had been streaming in through the large many-paned windows was banished from the room.
‘I bring you tea? Coffee?’
‘No, just water will do, thanks.’
‘Water there,’ he said, pointing to a flask by the bed. ‘More below.’ He indicated the cupboard underneath. ‘You want help with clothes? I can call the maid.’
‘No thanks, I just need to sleep.’
‘Okay, memsahib. Press bell for help, understand?’ He pointed to a button on the wall next to the bed.
‘I will, thank you.’
Finally, the door was shut. Cecily thought she might cry with relief as she walked the few paces to the large bed and sank onto the mattress. She should undress, of course – her clothes were filthy with dust from the journey – but . . .
Her eyes closed and, with the breeze from the fan gently cooling her hot cheeks, she slept.
‘My darling, it’s time to wake up. You’ll never sleep tonight if you don’t. Besides, I have some friends coming round to meet you in an hour.’
The Sun Sister Page 17
