Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  ‘I can’t believe that a girl so eager to dispose of her virginity would be a shrinking violet in bed. There was a logical approach to your plan, and I must admit that it surprised and pleased me. It’s a pity Charles turned out to be such a cur about it. You could do better than him.’

  ‘I imagine that by better, you mean yourself.’

  ‘I do mean that. Would you like my offer in writing?’

  She couldn’t quite stifle her giggle at that. ‘Certainly not. My father would have a fit.’

  ‘If you’d prefer, you could try before you buy. But I honestly don’t believe that’s your style. I’d guarantee that none of my friends would be invited to the party.’

  She began to laugh. ‘Stop teasing me, Latham. Somebody told me you were wicked, but I didn’t really believe that until now. If you mention my past indiscretion again I won’t speak to you for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Promise you’ll take my proposal seriously, and think about it.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good. Do you fancy a walk? We could take the dogs up to the copse. It’s dark and mysterious. Elves and fairies make their home there.’

  ‘I’d rather like to see a fairy.’

  ‘They’re hard to find in the winter, on account of them only having wings to keep them warm. We might see an elf, though the last one I ran into told me they sleep during the day.’

  She laughed at that. ‘How very convenient of them. My fur coat is a bit cumbersome to walk in.’

  ‘Oh, I daresay my housekeeper can lend you something more suitable.’

  Rising, he pulled her chair back for her, and when she turned, he said, ‘I didn’t get a New Year’s Day kiss.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  Her mouth dried when he took her face in his hands. She didn’t know whether she should get involved with him or not, but instinct made her turn her head to one side.

  ‘At least try it, my dear.’ He brought her face back, and because she’d enjoyed his company and he’d been good to her, she didn’t resist when his lips found hers.

  The tenderness of the kiss was surprising. His mouth was soft against hers, yet with just enough insistence to indicate his position where she was concerned. Instinct told her that now he’d staked his claim Latham would pursue her to the very end. She shivered.

  ‘Happy 1922 for both of us,’ he said.

  Julia borrowed a thick woollen coat with a black astrakhan collar, which smelled faintly of mothballs. They set off out, taking the Rolls and parking it on a dirt road at the edge of the copse in case it came on to rain. The dogs leapt from the car to hurry with noisy energy into the undergrowth, their tails thrashing about.

  ‘Well that’s frightened the wee folk off, I imagine,’ she said.

  He took his hand in hers and gave her a sideways glance. ‘I have something to confess; I lied about them.’

  ‘That’s too bad of you, Latham, when you sold yourself to me as a creature of perfection.’

  ‘Did I sell myself? I wonder . . .? This way, Julia; we’ll take the track to the left.’

  The day was cold. Frost lingered in the shade and turned the tough winter grasses into silvery blades. With a brittle brightness the sun came out to paint everything with a touch of sparkle before the frost crystals turned into wisps of steam. Julia could almost believe in his fairies and elves when they came across a bed of bright toadstools sheltered in a knoll at the base of a tree. A shaft of sunlight touched down through the bare branches above, where an icicle dripped.

  ‘Icicles hang where catkins follow,’ she murmured.

  He gazed an enquiry at her.

  ‘It was a poem called Winter. I wrote it at school when I was twelve. I won an encouragement award for it. I expect Daddy still has the certificate somewhere. He was always proud of me, though I wasn’t all that academic.’

  ‘It must have been nice to have a father who encouraged you. Recite the rest of the poem for me.’

  She screwed up her forehead, trying to recall it. ‘I can’t quite remember how it started . . . . Holly spikes impale the air and lie in wait for drafts to lair . . . talons scratch against the glass to mark the frosted hours that pass. The rhyme went a bit haywire after that, I recall. Firelight leans against the cold . . . the hibernation rarely stirs but icicles hang where catkins follow, dusted with pure gold.’

  ‘Not bad for twelve.’

  ‘Oh, I viewed the world through rose-coloured glasses then. My mother was still alive. I was lucky to be born to good parents, and adored both.’

  ‘And I hadn’t long been married then.’

  ‘What was your wife like?’

  ‘The original pushy American with a heart as gold as your catkins,’ he said with a laugh. ‘She liked to organize people, and I needed to be organized then.’

  ‘I understand that she lost her life when the Titanic went down.’

  ‘Yes . . . We were both booked on it, but at the last minute I couldn’t go because I was in the middle of a deal that had begun to go stale.’

  She squeezed his hand, feeling a moment of empathy. ‘I’m sorry you lost her, but I’m glad you didn’t go with her, Latham.’

  ‘So am I . . . now. It took a while for me to think that way, though.’

  They fell silent, each with their own thoughts. After a while Latham whistled to the dogs and they returned to mill around, hot and doggy smelling, panting out steam from lolling tongues and in obvious need of a fuss as they leaned against Latham’s legs – as though they’d performed some feat that required lavish praise.

  ‘I wonder why dogs feel the need to pee on every tree,’ she remarked as they pushed on ahead.

  He started to laugh. ‘They’re marking their territory.’

  ‘Thank goodness we don’t have to.’

  ‘But we do; we build walls and fences. We put up signs saying Private Property, Keep Out, or Trespassers will be Prosecuted.’

  ‘I suppose that makes us appear more civilized.’

  ‘Only in our own eyes. Dogs wouldn’t mind if we peed on trees. They’d think it was normal behaviour.’ He slid her a sideways glance, his amusement plain to see. ‘You’re good at making conversation about nothing. What’s the point?’

  Laughter huffed from her. ‘I’d hate to be a tree and have a dog pee on me, I guess.’

  His arm went round her and he pulled her against his side, as though they were lovers out for a stroll. Only she didn’t feel as though Latham was a lover or a friend. He presented a slightly intimidating figure to her, more like a teacher. She didn’t like to pull away, but neither did she want to give him false hope by sliding her own arm around him. So they stayed that way, she walking stiffly with an uneven gait until they reached the car and she was released.

  The walk had given her an appetite. After they reached his home, she tidied herself and went down for a luncheon of leek and potato soup garnished with bacon and croutons, and served with crisp, home-made rolls. Salad with paper-thin curls of smoked salmon followed. Julia wasn’t very fond of smoked salmon. She ate it anyway, because she knew Latham would tell Mrs Finnigan to prepare something else, and she didn’t want to put the woman to any trouble. Tea was brought in, accompanied by a plate of almond biscuits.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Finnigan. Miss Howard will pour it for us, won’t you, Julia?’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’ She busied herself with the teapot.

  Mrs Finnigan handed Latham an embossed card. He read it and nodded. ‘Ask them to wait in the sitting room until we’ve finished lunch.’

  ‘Shall I take them some refreshment, sir?’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Mrs Finnigan.’

  Another half an hour passed before Latham dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rose. ‘Shall we go into the sitting room?’

  ‘I thought you had guests waiting.’

  ‘It’s you who is my guest, Julia,’ and he held out his hand to her. ‘Come on.’

  When they entered the sitting ro
om she was surprised to see Irene, and Charles, who was standing by the window, looking out.

  He turned when they went in. ‘It’s really too bad of you to keep us waiting this long, Latham.’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, Charlie, what did you expect?’ Irene looked haggard. ‘Are you all right, Julia?’

  Latham smiled at her. ‘Of course she’s all right. Did you imagine you might see Julia’s body hanging from the rafters?’

  Irene’s expression was bleak. ‘It wouldn’t have surprised me, since you’re totally unpredictable when you’re in a temper.’

  Latham ignored her comment. ‘I believe the pair of you have something to say to Julia.’

  Charles shrugged and sucked in a breath. ‘I’m sorry for what happened, old thing. I didn’t mean it to go that far . . . it was just a prank.’

  Julia felt uncomfortable. ‘Oh, you have no need to do this, Charles. It was partly my fault. I just want to forget about it.’

  ‘It was reprehensible of me to turn what should have been a private encounter between us into common knowledge. I shouldn’t have involved others. Can you forgive me?’ he said with great charm.

  She could feel a blush creeping under her skin. ‘Of course I can.’

  The smile he gave her in return was irrepressible. ‘Then perhaps we could try it again sometime.’

  Even though Latham grinned his eyes were cold when he said, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, Charles?’

  Irene stared hard at him. ‘Who appointed you in loco parentis?’

  Unblinking, Latham gazed back at her.

  Air hissed between Charles’ teeth. ‘For God’s sake, Irene, why do you have to be so confrontational? Do what we came to do and let’s get home. We have guests.’

  It was Irene who finally dropped her gaze, but it was an unfriendly one when turned towards Julia. She bit out, ‘I’m sorry. We were all as pissed as ponies. I knew you didn’t smoke reefers, which is why I put some weed in the vol-au-vents. It was only to loosen you up a bit. I didn’t imagine you’d pass out on it.’

  ‘Irene, it’s all right, really. I’m sorry I was such a wet blanket. To be honest, I can’t remember a thing.’

  ‘Nothing happened to remember. You’re still intact . . . at least, you were when you left with Latham.’

  ‘And she still is.’ Latham crossed to the bell pull and gave it a tug.

  Julia was heartily sick of her virgin state being discussed by all and sundry. ‘As far as I’m concerned this subject is now closed.’

  ‘Not quite, my dear. I think they ought to be told that I’ve proposed marriage to you.’

  Irene’s eyes widened and she made a strangled sound. ‘I thought—’

  ‘What did you think, Irene?’

  Her lips tightened. ‘Nothing . . . and nothing is what I got.’

  Latham gazed from one to the other, his smile bland, his eyes guarded. ‘Julia has promised to seriously consider it. In other words, she’s off limits from now on. Do you understand, Charles?’

  How dare he stake a claim on her in such a manner? ‘I’ll decide that for myself,’ she murmured mutinously, but nobody seemed to hear.

  A knock came at the door and he opened it. ‘Ah Mrs Finnigan . . . good. Show my visitors out, please.’

  Irene’s look told Julia that she felt like strangling her as she went by, but she said nothing.

  Charles managed a tight grin. ‘Well, well, well! Who would have thought an intact hymen would win the bloody jackpot? Good luck, my little honeypot, you’ll need it.’ Gently, he kissed her cheek.

  After they’d gone she rounded on Latham. ‘That was outrageous!’

  His smile was conciliatory. ‘Yes, it was . . . I stepped over the line. I’m sorry if I offended you. I just don’t like the idea of you associating with that pair. Neither does your father.’

  ‘Oh, neither of you need to worry, I doubt if they’ll want to associate with me after this debacle, do you?’

  He looked genuinely distressed. ‘I really am sorry. I’m used to taking charge of situations . . . not that it’s any excuse. How can I make it up to you?’

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t.’ She would be the laughing stock, and probably dropped by all her friends once the gossip got going. Still, that wasn’t his fault, it was her own for getting herself into the situation in the first place. Intuition told her that Latham had been deliberately cruel to Irene, but how and why escaped her. She remembered her manners and sighed. ‘You’ve been very kind to me, Latham, and I’m not ungrateful, but I’d like to go home, please.’

  He nodded. ‘I was going back in the morning, but if you can’t stand my company any longer I’ll have Robert bring the car round. I’ll ask Mrs Finnigan to pack your things.’

  ‘No . . . don’t put her to any trouble . . . tomorrow will be fine.’

  For the rest of the time they spent together, Latham went out of his way to keep her amused, and she enjoyed his companionship.

  The next morning Latham conveyed her to London. When they drew up outside her home, he opened the car door for her. Gently he kissed her on the forehead, obviously having no intention of going up to see her father. ‘Thank you for your company; I enjoyed the time we spent together. Give my regards to your father.’

  Her lovely green eyes were suddenly anxious. ‘I don’t want him to worry. You won’t tell him what happened, will you?’

  ‘No, my dear, off you go now; it’s coming on to rain.’

  Latham watched the doorman open the door for her, thinking that he wouldn’t have to tell Benjamin Howard anything, because sooner or later her little escapade was bound to reach his ears.

  Seven

  It was raining when Latham made his way through the dismal London streets. He stopped at a door set into a recess, and let himself into a small pied-à-terre tucked into a side street not far from Portman Square.

  The wireless was playing and his nose twitched as he smelled the stale remnants of reefer smoke.

  ‘Irene?’

  ‘It’s a foul night and you’re late,’ she said sulkily from the bedroom.

  She was lying on the bed dressed in silk pyjamas. The ashtray was overflowing. Wrinkling his nose he moved it to the dressing table, along with half a bottle of wine that stood next to it.

  ‘Do you have to be so fastidious?’

  ‘Do you have to be so slovenly?’ he countered.

  ‘It’s only ash. Must we argue, when we’re here for a different purpose altogether?’

  She was right. ‘Sorry, my dear. I was held up.’

  ‘By darling Julia, I suppose.’

  ‘You suppose wrong. In actual fact I dined at my club with Alec Mailer from the ministry. We had business to discuss.’

  He began to undress, folding his dinner suit carefully over the back of a chair.

  She left the bed, turned the wireless up and began to shimmy to some jazz music. Her hips were a blur and her pyjama bottoms gradually slid down her legs to her ankles. Moving out of them she unfastened the buttons on her top, then lifting her arms she began to prance around the floor, the bare cheeks of her bum quivering. The front opening revealed a dark tuft of hair cheekily trimmed into a heart shape.

  Dropping his trousers and underwear to the floor he reached out for her.

  She gave a little squeal as his hands closed around her waist, wriggling away from him. ‘Your hands are freezing.’

  ‘I’m going to warm them on you.’ Grabbing her up he tossed her on to the bed and joined her, spreading her wide. Her pupils were enlarged and dreamy, and there was a sweet smell lingering in her hair. ‘Have you been smoking opium as well?’

  ‘Just a little, Latham. I was upset after last weekend. Rupert gave me some. I only smoked a little. It calms me.’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t like to see you doped up, like this. You know opium is highly addictive.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a craze . . . everyone smokes it . . . or pretends that they, do.’

  ‘Where’s the
pipe? I’m taking it with me.’

  ‘Latham, don’t be such a crosspatch. I won’t touch it again, I promise. Kiss me.’ She closed her eyes when he leaned forward and when he kissed her tiny breasts he reared against her stomach.

  She laughed, bringing her legs up around him and making sensuous little movements while they wrestled into position. ‘You’re the only man I know who prefers small breasts.’

  ‘Shameless hussy, you’ve known too many men,’ he said, and drove into her.

  With no make-up on she looked older than she actually was, and there were faint traces of a white powder around her nostrils. Fast living would probably kill her, and he had a twinge of remorse as he began to explore what was on offer. Irene definitely knew how to use her body to advantage them both.

  When they had satisfied the first urgent frenzy, she sat astride his stomach, pulled the quilt around her shoulders and gazed down at him. She traced a finger over his chest. ‘You’re not serious about marrying Julia, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am . . . I want children.’

  ‘Then marry me. I could give you a child.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not the marrying kind, Irene, and you’re too irresponsible to be a mother.’

  ‘How do you know? I love you, you know. Besides, look how good in bed we are together.’

  He pushed her aside, sat on the edge of her bed and began to pull on his socks. ‘I need a wife who will run my house, and who I can introduce to my friends without having to wonder how many of them she’s fucked. I want any children I have to be able to look up to their mother as a shining example. Is that a description of you, Irene? I think not.’

  ‘I can change.’

  He shrugged. ‘You can’t change the past. Let’s not argue. You are what you are, and you’ll never change that.’

  ‘Oh, fidelity is all in the mind. Julia was quite happy to be initiated by Charles, and was looking forward to it. You spoiled it for her, and didn’t even give her one that night to make up for it. What if she turns you down?’

  He turned to gaze flatly at her. ‘She won’t, because I’ll find the right opportunity . . . failing that, I’ll create one. I love and respect Julia, and I won’t have you talking about her like this. We’re through if you do. If that’s what you want, just say so.’