Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  ‘Can I see the photograph?’

  He nodded, and rising from the sofa took down a silver frame from a shelf and handed it to her.

  ‘Your mother is lovely. A woman who looks at her baby like that wouldn’t have willingly abandoned him. You have the same shaped eyes as she does. I imagine they were blue like yours. Will you write to her when you find out where she lives?’

  ‘I’m still thinking about it, and have discussed it with my lawyer. I’m wondering if it’s worth the effort. It might not be a wise thing to do, since after all this time we’d be strangers to each other.’

  Julia’s eyes were getting damp. ‘But you’ve taken the first step, though.’

  He caught a tear on the tip of his finger, and smiled as it trembled there like a glittering dewdrop. ‘You’re not going to cry all over me, are you?’

  ‘Probably . . . oh, I know you’ve been ill, and you were injured and you’re not quite . . . well . . . you know . . . manly. But that doesn’t mean you can’t love somebody on a platonic level.’

  His eyes flew open. ‘Not manly? Platonic? What the devil are you talking about, Julia?’

  ‘Latham told me you’d been injured during the war. That’s why he doesn’t mind too much if I see you.’

  His smile was a cross between a grin and a grimace as he took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. Placing her arms around his neck he slid his hands under her buttocks.

  ‘Martin, what on earth are you doing?’

  He looked her straight in the eye. ‘So . . . you’re under the impression that I can’t function as a man should.’

  ‘Well, yes, but there’s no shame—’

  ‘I never thought I’d ever need to prove I can function as a man, but under the circumstances . . .?’ She was pulled against his body and his mouth took hers, tenderly at first, then with more passion as she responded. Julia knew what an aroused man felt like, especially one as close as this one was, and Martin was certainly not lacking in any manly qualities.

  She grinned at him when he pulled away and pulled him back again. ‘I got that wrong, didn’t I?’

  ‘With a vengeance,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve been crazy about you from the first time I set eyes on you. I was trying to keep you at a distance.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you made me feel more than I wanted to; and I didn’t know if I could handle it. I was going to wait until I was sure.’

  She hugged him tight. ‘You do realize that I’m in love with you, don’t you?’

  ‘I knew there was a connection between us and hoped it would progress to something more in time. When you married Latham Miller and I lost you I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘My father wanted me settled. He was in debt, and needed to know I was going to be looked after. I couldn’t bear seeing his distress. And Martin . . . you haven’t lost me . . . unless that’s what you really want.’

  Taking her face between his hands he gazed into her eyes. ‘What are you suggesting, Julia?’

  ‘You know what I’m suggesting.’

  ‘That we should become lovers? You’re my employer’s wife.’

  ‘The alternative is that we never see each other alone again. Latham won’t suspect anything while he believes what he does. Besides . . . he has a mistress . . . more than one, I suspect.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean—’

  ‘The marriage was a mistake. I’ve already told him I want a divorce.’

  ‘You know, Julia, I never thought I’d ever make love to another man’s wife.’

  ‘You haven’t made love to me yet,’ she pointed out, ‘so if you want to indulge in guilt, wait until you have.’

  She glanced at the window, which opened on to a terraced back garden. It was still light outside, but the sky had a faint, peachy bloom of dusk that would deepen before too long.

  ‘Can you stay the night?’

  ‘I have every intention of staying the weekend.’ She kissed a pale patch of skin where his hair curled darkly against his neck and sent her fingers running through his hair. He shivered, and she smiled.

  He took her hand and led her towards his bedroom. Once there, she began to unbutton his shirt.

  ‘Lift your arms,’ he said, and gently pulled her dress over her head when she complied.

  When she stood there in her lacy waist petticoat, camisole and drawers, he drew in a breath.

  ‘My turn.’ She pulled his shirt from his shoulders and threw it on to a chair.

  Her petticoat went next, leaving her in her drawers, camisole and stockings.

  She exchanged the drawers for his vest. Martin’s body was lean, firm and muscular, and his arms were lightly tanned, as though he’d been gardening with his shirt off.

  ‘Sit on the bed,’ he said, voice gruff.

  When she did he knelt and took up one of her legs. He threw her shoe aside and began to roll down her stocking. When he kissed the arch of her foot, a riot of nerves made her body convulse and she giggled. ‘I have tickly feet.’

  ‘So I notice,’ and he laughed. Standing, he stripped naked, joined her on the bed and kissed her.

  ‘I still have some clothes on,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I was saving those until last.’ Her camisole was soon removed and she was left wearing one stocking.

  But Martin wasn’t looking at her charms, he was gazing down at her with a slight frown. ‘How did you get those bruises?’

  She avoided his eyes. She’d forgotten about the bruises. They were old, yellowing ones. Usually Latham slapped her, which didn’t leave any bruises. On a couple of occasions he’d lost control and used his fist. ‘I fell over.’

  She shivered when he leaned down and gently kissed the bruise on her breast, then his mouth grazed over her skin to her stomach, and kissed the second bruise. He murmured, ‘You must have fallen over twice, because one bruise is fresher than the other. And you must have fallen on the same thing because the bruise is the same shape . . . like a set of knuckles.’

  ‘I fell on the carved wooden bit on the arm of the chair. I tripped over the rug. It was an accident. I don’t want to talk about it, Martin.’

  ‘I could kill him,’ he said savagely.

  Her arms slid around him and she snuggled into his warm body. Making her voice as even as possible she lied, ‘There’s no need to . . . I told you, Martin, it was an accident. Now, let’s forget everyone else and just enjoy each other.’

  He gazed down at her then. ‘Are you sure?’

  Sure of what? That her bruises were caused by an accident? That she wanted him to make love to her? ‘I’m very sure that I’m in love with you, Martin. If we can only meet this once, then that will be a precious memory to keep you close to me, always.’

  ‘There’s that.’

  ‘I’m still wearing one stocking.’

  ‘I forgot it.’ He sat up and gazed at it. ‘You look sensual in one stocking . . . sort of dissolute and rumpled.’

  ‘Rumple me a bit more.’

  Martin obliged, his tongue running little circles over her skin. He took his time, his fingers working magic on her body, his kisses deep and loving. Julia caressed his silky skin until neither of them could contain the half-crazy sensation that sent any thought of caution fleeing from their heads.

  He was gentle, his touch sensual as his fingers absorbed every hurt Latham had imprinted on her body and left in its place a loving caress. Where she’d once been reluctant she was now eager to love and be loved.

  Soon, she was rising to meet his thrust, her legs anchoring him to her body as she discovered several new dimensions to the depths of her feelings.

  ‘Oh, hell, I’ve forgotten . . .’ Martin whispered, as if the thought of protection had suddenly occurred to him. But it was too late and his words were lost in an explosive, shuddering finish.

  ‘Don’t worry about anything,’ she murmured against his chest. ‘I’ve been to that Marie Stopes clinic and got one of those rubber cap things.’ She didn’t tell him i
t was still in the bottom drawer, where it had been since she’d bought it.

  Later, heart beating fast, Julia dared to open her eyes, to find his glance soft upon her face. He smiled at her, and she chuckled.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m frightfully forward.’

  ‘I think you’re lovely . . . I adore you, and I adore your belly button. It’s so neat and pretty. Can I kiss it?’

  She giggled when he did. ‘I’m glad, because I feel the same about you, and need to know you better. Tell me about yourself, Martin . . . What has prevented you from going back to your profession for all this time?’

  ‘You really want to know?’

  She pulled the sheet over them both and snuggled up to him. ‘Yes . . . tell me.’

  ‘Put simply, there was too much blood and gore in my life . . . too many appalling injuries that couldn’t be repaired . . . too many casualties who couldn’t be saved. Everything became too much for me. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My hands began to shake every time I saw blood, and I couldn’t trust myself. I began to believe I was killing more people than I was saving.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  ‘It wasn’t true, of course. I became depressed and spent some time in a mental institution, and two years seeing a psychiatrist trying to come to terms with myself. I magnified things out of all proportion.’

  She slid her arms around him. ‘Oh, Martin . . . how awful for you.’

  ‘I’m almost better now . . . though I do suffer from bad dreams at times. I can cope with those. Your father helped me to believe in myself by offering me employment.’

  ‘Will you go back to doctoring eventually?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think about it, though I’ll have to be passed as fit first. I doubt if I’ll ever perform general surgery again, but I might enter some other branch of medicine.’

  ‘If you’re attracted to belly buttons perhaps you could deliver babies. Bringing new life into the world might compensate for those people you tried to save, and lost.’

  How simple the solution was to her, yet there was a certain amount of merit in her suggestion since he’d thought about studying obstetrics before the war had intervened in his training.

  So he held her close and smiled as he murmured, ‘Now there’s a thought . . .’

  Twelve

  Julia took the afternoon train home. She’d barely closed the door behind her when the telephone rang.

  It was Latham. ‘Where were you last night when I called, Julia?’

  ‘I was in London. I did leave a message with Mrs Finnigan.’

  ‘Yes, I received it. For what reason did you need to go to London?’

  ‘Do I need one? Actually, I had a hair appointment.’

  ‘Surely you could get your hair done at that place in the village.’

  She laughed. ‘The woman who runs it shears sheep in her spare time. I prefer to see my own hairdresser. I also bought a dress I liked.’

  ‘Where did you stay?’

  ‘In a cosy little hotel in Kensington. Goodness, Latham, why the interrogation?’

  ‘The name of it?’

  ‘Clements, I think it was called. It’s perfectly decent. In fact, it only caters for respectable unescorted women. Does it matter?’

  ‘Why didn’t you use the London house?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a little too grand.’ Besides which the staff would report everything back to him. ‘The hotel was rather homely, and it’s not far from the hairdresser.’

  ‘Next time, stay at the house, please; then I’ll know where you are.’

  ‘Where were you last night, Latham?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. If I’m expected to account for my every movement then you must do the same . . . and why did you have those rose bushes planted on my parents’ graves without telling me? I wanted to choose them myself.’

  ‘Now you’re being childish. When I get back we’ll see about getting you a maid who knows how to dress hair then you won’t have to dash up to London every time you need a haircut. As for the rose bushes, I thought I’d save you the trouble.’

  Now he’d mentioned a maid it wouldn’t hurt to mention that Ellen was looking for a new position. ‘There’s a maid who works at the hall who’s looking for another position. Her name is Ellen.’

  ‘Ellen? The name’s familiar.’

  Julia heard a frantically whispered conversation in the background, and Latham making shushing noises. She smiled to herself. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll remember Ellen, Latham. She’s Irene’s maid when she’s at home in the country, and was there when you rescued me from the big bad wolves.’

  ‘I doubt if Irene will want to part with her.’

  ‘Oh . . . she will. Irene doesn’t like Ellen because she tells tales to her mother. Shall I interview her?’

  ‘That can wait until I get back.’

  She felt like provoking him. After all, he couldn’t hurt her on the telephone. ‘Nonsense . . . you’re too busy to bother with domestic matters. I’m perfectly capable of interviewing her myself, then the next time I feel like going to London in your absence I shall take her with me so you won’t have to worry.’

  ‘Julia. You’re to stay home. Do you understand?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s you who should learn to understand something, Latham . . . I have a mind of my own and will do as I think fit. If I want to go to London, then I will. In fact, I’ll catch the train in the morning and stay there for a whole week.’

  He lost his temper and shouted, ‘Julia, you will stay where you are until I get back.’

  She felt strangely reckless and said, ‘I certainly will not. Give my best wishes to Irene.’ She hung up on him.

  Ten minutes later the phone rang again. She approached it with caution. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Julia. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘Since we’re married, I suppose I shall have to.’

  ‘Listen to me, my dear. If you want to go to London I won’t stop you, but I want you to stay at the house so I won’t have to worry about you. I’ll tell my secretary to get you some theatre tickets, and I’ll ring Lee-Trafford and ask him to escort you to the theatre.’

  She wanted to laugh with the childish glee that surged through her. Instead, she said, and in a rather off-hand manner because she didn’t want to sound too eager, ‘Martin Lee-Trafford has a life of his own, I imagine.’

  ‘Not while his salary is being paid by me, he hasn’t. As for the maid, allow me to sort that out. I’ll need to get a reference from the girl’s employer.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t suppose that will take you very long,’ she said. ‘And I’ll give you a reference, since she did my hair perfectly. In fact, she’ll suit me, and I want her in my employ.’

  ‘Why Ellen in particular? There are other maids.’

  ‘Truthfully . . .’ and she grinned, because she knew that this he’d understand. ‘It’s because it will piss Irene off.’

  She knew she’d won when he began to laugh.

  ‘Goodnight, Latham,’ she said, and hung up.

  Martin rang her half an hour later. ‘Latham called me.’

  ‘Yes . . . he said he would. How are you, my darling?’

  ‘The same as I was when you left this morning . . . except I feel more alive.’

  ‘I’m coming back up tonight.’

  ‘You can’t, there’s no train.’

  ‘I have my father’s Morris. They’re not expecting me at the house until tomorrow, so we’ll have all night together.’

  ‘You’re taking a risk.’

  ‘I know . . . but I happen to think you’re worth it.’

  ‘I love you . . . You do know that, don’t you, Julia? I don’t want you to think that I’m using you.’

  ‘Yes, I do know,’ and she wanted to cry because she’d been too hasty when it had come to planning her future, and her father would never have pushed her into marriage with Latham if he hadn’t been desperate. Her poor father who was barely cold in his
grave would be resting uneasily if he knew what she’d been up to – and was prepared to continue with.

  The trip back to London was uneventful. She remembered to pack the pregnancy preventative device she’d bought from the clinic – something she’d practised setting into place, but had never used.

  If Agnes Finnigan was surprised she was leaving again so soon, she didn’t show it, but merely said, ‘Enjoy the play, Mrs Miller.’

  ‘Oh, I will. I’m staying at a friend’s house tonight.’

  When she got to London she went straight to Finsbury Park and threw herself into Martin’s arms when he opened the door. He laughed and twirled her around when she said, ‘I missed you too much to stay away.’

  The night they spent together was perfect. The next morning she presented herself to Latham’s London House, and she gave a wry grin at the notion that she thought of it as her husband’s house rather than hers.

  Latham’s clerk, who had a little office at the back of the house attached to Latham’s study, was taken aback when he saw the car. ‘We expected you to arrive by train, Madam, and have sent the lad to the station to fetch you.’

  ‘Then he won’t find me.’ She handed the keys to the man and scrambled through her memory for his name. ‘Perhaps he’d like to take care of my car when he comes back, Mr Allan.’

  The clerk looked gratified that she’d remembered his name. ‘At Mr Miller’s request I’ve acquired some theatre tickets for Phi Phi, which is on at the Pavilion Theatre. He thought you’d find the play amusing.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Lee-Trafford will be calling for me about seven.’

  ‘So I’m given to understand, Madam. At Mr Miller’s request I’ve taken the liberty of booking a table for supper at the restaurant across from the theatre. He has an account there.’

  ‘Did my husband order our supper by any chance?’ she couldn’t resist saying and the man looked surprised.

  ‘Why, no, Madam.’

  ‘Ah, here is Mrs James,’ and Julia smiled at the housekeeper, even though she was furious with Latham for arranging her night out so thoroughly. ‘I’m tired after the drive; I’m going to take a bath and rest until lunchtime.’