by Nancy Carson
Tom missed Clover. He missed her warmth, her pleasantness, her love. It was possible that he was entirely wrong about this, that Ramona too was mistaken. What a fool he would be if he tossed aside the chance to have this girl, whom his first impressions told him was his ideal, on the mistaken word of somebody else.
He had to see Clover again.
He had to talk to her. He could not rest till he had settled it. So, when he got rid of his last customer at ten minutes to two he locked up and strode towards Cook’s, which was only four or five minutes walk away. Her dinner breaks were never constant, he knew that; they depended on how involved she was with serving a customer, who else was taking a break, how busy they were. But he might be lucky. He might just catch her coming out of Cook’s. On the other hand, he could just as easily go inside to see her and ask her to meet him later. One way or the other he would get it straightened out today.
High Street was heaving with folk and, as he turned into it, he found himself at once caught in the bustle, constantly side-stepping to avoid brushing and knocking people. He crossed the road to Cook’s, dodging a pony and trap, and looked around him before entering the store.
He caught sight of Clover leaving the Little Barrel opposite – but with Elijah. His heart went in his mouth. So there was truth in Ramona’s words and his own subsequent perceptions after all. An eternal amount of truth. Actions, as he had said, speak louder than words. As he tried to meld back into the crowd unseen he witnessed how she stood on tip-toe to plant a farewell kiss on his lips, and he knew. He knew finally that she was beyond his reach.
He walked on, devastated, to Stafford Street, and home.
Their meetings at the house in Brooke Street had evolved into a sort of game where, if Ramona arrived first, she would go straight to bed and wait for her Uncle Elijah. He would then arrive like a furtive lover and sneak into the house and into the bed to end up beside her. It was a game they both enjoyed even when their roles were reversed.
Not so today. Ramona remained alone in that old bed, in that big house, for too long. Elijah had realised the folly of his ways. It was time to fight shy of that little liaison and concentrate his time and effort on Dorcas, who was a more worthy cause. The only difficulty he foresaw was explaining to Ramona that it was all over between them without inducing her to do or say something stupid that would incriminate them both. That, however, was a minefield he would negotiate when he had to.
So, at the same time that Tom Doubleday was turning his back on Clover and Elijah – about two o’clock – Ramona Tandy gave up hope of enjoying her promised hour or two of horizontal pleasure and pushed back the bedclothes disconsolately. She threw on her clothes, pulled on her boots, donned her hat and made her way home, prodigiously irked that she should be so scorned.
With every step she grew more disgruntled. Never had she known anybody blow hot and cold like Elijah did. It was so confusing. Their last sexual encounter, on Wednesday, had been full of promise for the future. He couldn’t keep his hands off her then and she had naturally assumed it would be like that from then on. She had nurtured hopes of ousting Dorcas to become his only true love. Now, just a few days later, he couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Well, she would show him who was the more pleasurable in bed. She knew now what lit his wick. She knew it better than ever.
A means of stimulating his interest yet again began to take shape in her mind…A little more titillation was required, and she thought she saw a way of providing it.
Chapter 16
On the Monday afternoon, Ramona made her excuses and left the Jolly Collier with the express intention of calling upon Tom Doubleday at his studio. Having been told so much about it by Clover, and having seen photos that were taken there in what looked like a stately home, she was intrigued to see it. It must be really something.
The weather remained sunny but some ominous clouds loomed and, typical for late May, the winds were getting up strong. The May blossom, blown from the trees that flanked Dixon’s Green, eddied like confetti at the junction with Cross Guns Street at the Fountain Inn. There had been no opportunity to speak with Elijah, to ascertain why he had not shown up at the house on Saturday, when he knew as well as she did that their trysts there were due to be curtailed. She had tried to get close and say something on the Saturday evening just after tea, but he’d whispered, ‘Not now, Ramona,’ out of the side of his mouth and offered no word since. Well, he would be quick enough to talk to her soon.
She entered the anteroom of Tom’s studio, knocked on the counter and waited for him to appear. Some beautiful photographs were on display and she pored over them. A couple were of children, several of self-conscious young women posing with wide eyes and coy smiles, including one of Clover. Men, too, had their pictures taken if this gallery was anything to go by and Ramona inspected them closely to ascertain whether she fancied any of them.
Presently, the door to the studio opened and Tom led out a very pretty girl and another woman, evidently her mother. ‘Ramona. Fancy seeing you,’ he greeted. Then he turned to the women who were just leaving. ‘Thank you Mrs Foley, Miss Foley. I’ll have the photos ready to collect by Friday. Thank you very much indeed.’ He turned back to Ramona. ‘Well, Ramona. How’s this? Come inside, into the studio.’
She followed him in and looked about her, surprised at how very light it was in there; far lighter than she’d imagined. The whole wall to the outside was glazed, as was part of the roof above it, yet it was not overlooked from outside. She recognised the stately home section that provided the background in Clover’s photos and was disappointed to see it was merely painted onto the back wall. She saw the various tables and whatnots and the chaise-longue and smiled to herself when she spotted the bearskin rug that Clover claimed they lay on when they made love…Well…If only it could talk…
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Ramona?’
‘Oh, no, Tom, thank you.’ She smiled pertly. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. If you’re not in a rush, I’m certainly not. I’ve nobody coming now till after four.’
‘Coffee then please…If you’ve got some.’
‘I’ve got a bottle of Camp. I’ll only be a minute. Make yourself comfortable.’
She sat on the chaise-longue while he went out into his room at the back where she heard him fiddling about. When he re-emerged she said, ‘I haven’t see you lately, Tom. And I venture to say that as far as I can make out, I don’t think Clover’s seen you either, has she?’
He smiled wistfully and collected together some photographic plates that were cluttering a work table. ‘You’re right, Ramona. I think ours must be the shortest engagement on record.’
‘I’m ever so sorry, Tom.’
‘No, no…’ He waved away her apology. ‘I have you to thank, Ramona. If it hadn’t been for your warnings I…Well, it’s a good job you had the courage to tell me what was going on. It must have taken some courage. It’s been hard to swallow but I’m in no doubt as to the truth of it. Especially after Saturday.’
‘Oh? So what happened Saturday?’
‘I saw them together. Clover and Elijah.’ He shrugged, revealing his despondency. ‘They’d just left the Little Barrel in High Street. About two o’clock I suppose it was. He must have arranged to meet her for a drink in her dinner break.’
‘Fancy,’ Ramona replied. The catch in her voice could have given away her resentment but Tom didn’t hear it. She concealed well her annoyance that whilst she was languishing in bed, waiting for Elijah, Clover had already commandeered his attention in the Little Barrel. The realisation did not sit well with her. It made her even more determined to win him.
Tom tilted his head towards the door of his darkroom. ‘I can hear the kettle boiling…How much sugar?’
‘One teaspoon, please.’
He disappeared into the darkroom with his photographic plates and she looked about her once more. His business must be lucrative if he had paid for all thi
s. Photographic equipment was expensive and not limited to just a camera, even she understood that. There were enlargers, chemicals, plates and special papers to pay for, and God knows what else. And Tom always dressed well – he always looked so…
He reappeared carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.
‘Here we are then…’ He handed her a mug and she took it. ‘So…’ He sipped his own then looked at her with his professional smile. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the lovely Ramona?’
‘I’d like you to take some photos of me, Tom.’
‘Well, that’s easy, and it’ll be a pleasure. Did you have anything special in mind?’
She sipped her coffee and as she tilted her head forward, the brim of her hat shielded her face from his eyes. ‘I’d like some nude photos done, Tom, to tell you the truth,’ she said and looked up into his eyes directly, challengingly.
He nearly dropped his mug. ‘Nude?’
‘Yes. Does that…Does it trouble you?’
‘God, no.’ He slurped his coffee and put down the mug. ‘It’s just that…Well, to be frank, I don’t get many requests for nude photographs. Not bona fide ones at any rate. And you’re the last person…I mean to say…don’t you think it would be more seemly to have such photos taken with somebody here to chaperone you?’
‘Why would I need a chaperone?’ she asked disarmingly. ‘I’m safe enough with you, aren’t I?’
‘Well…yes…Naturally…’
‘So let’s get on with it, Tom.’
‘You mean right now?’
She nodded, smiling at his incredulity and his innate reserve.
‘If you’re certain?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, you said there’s nobody else coming till four. There’s no time like the present. And the light seems good.’
He coughed and looked at the uncertain sky through the roof lights. ‘Well, yes. The light’s fine…’
He was suddenly more nervous than she was. It had taken some neck for her to come here and request this but, now she’d got this far, typically forcing herself to be bold, the worst was over. And it was just a customer-client relationship after all…Still, it would be interesting to see his reaction when she stripped off.
‘Maybe I should lock the door from the lobby,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, maybe that would be a good idea.’ She took a drink from her mug while he did it. When he sat down again they talked more, about nothing in particular. Eventually, he asked her why she wanted some nude photos taken.
‘It’s a birthday present to myself,’ she said convincingly. ‘I’ll be nineteen on Thursday—’
‘Damn, I’d forgotten it was your birthday, Ramona.’
She smiled warmly. ‘I want to satisfy my own curiosity as to how I really look as well,’ she continued to explain, to justify her unusual request. ‘And something to look back on in my old age.’ She finished her coffee, put down her mug and got up from the chaise-longue. ‘Where should I undress?’
‘Oh…The screen. Here…’ There was a screen at one end of the room. He went to it and opened it up. ‘Please…Behind here.’
She smiled coyly at him as she disappeared.
He watched her hat appear on top of the screen as he fiddled with his plate camera, setting it up; then her coat, her skirt, her blouse, her underwear, her stockings…A minute or two later she emerged at the side of the screen looking surprisingly unabashed.
‘I’m ready.’
He looked up. Oh, God! Oh, God! He gulped and attempted a friendly smile to put her at her ease, but realised he was the more nervous of the two and needed putting at ease more than she did. He tried not to allow his eyes to linger on her but it was impossible.
‘Shall we try the chaise-longue?’ he asked awkwardly. Realising it sounded rather suggestive, he tried to disguise his question and uttered: ‘Or… or would you prefer some pictures standing, first?’
‘Standing, if you like,’ she answered easily. ‘Where do you want me?’
God! Now she was at it. ‘Er…over here, eh? Let’s try this whatnot as a foil, shall we?’
‘How should I stand?’
He shrugged. ‘How do you want to look? Bashful? Brazen?’
She laughed. ‘I suppose I’ll end up looking bashful, trying to be brazen. I think you’d better come and show me what to do with my arms. How best to pose.’
He approached her, his heart thumping like a drum. She had the most exquisite figure, petite but in perfect proportion. He had never realised. Her breasts perked up deliciously and her skin looked as smooth as cream. Her legs were slender and unblemished with delightful feminine curves, and the gentle arc of her narrow hips drew his eye inwards, inevitably, to the pretty tuft of curly hair that flourished below the flat of her stomach. He gulped.
‘Try putting your weight on your left leg to thrust your right hip out…’ His throat was as dry as hell, his tongue furry. ‘That’s good. Now lean slightly back and raise your arm above your head…Yes, that looks very attractive, Ramona. Hold that and I’ll focus you.’
She held the pose like a professional artiste. He focused, inserted a plate and squeezed the shutter release.
‘That should be good.’
‘I’ll turn around for the next one. You can photograph my bum.’ She chuckled at that as she turned around.
He laughed with her. ‘Why not?…If you don’t mind me saying so, you have a very pretty bum, Ramona.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled to herself. He always said that, Elijah. Maybe there was some truth in it.
He changed the plate and clicked the shutter. ‘I’d like to get in a bit closer, Ramona. There are marks in your thighs where your garters have been, and I can crop them out of the frame,’ he explained. ‘There are marks around your waist as well where your underwear’s been clipping you. We could wait till they disappear but it could take an hour or more. By which time…’
‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed. ‘I never thought.’
‘It doesn’t matter. We can hide them with something – an ostrich feather, for instance…’ Several stood in an urn on the floor and he reached over, picked one out and handed it to her.
She took it and positioned it in front of her provocatively, but it worked and hid the garment impressions in her skin. ‘There. How’s that?’ she asked, posing in profile now.
‘Have you done this before?’ he commented. ‘You’re very good.’
‘Never for photographs,’ she said with a suggestive gleam in her eye.
He clicked the shutter for another photo as casually as he knew how and laughed as if he were a man of the world and unshockable. ‘How many pictures do you want? That’s three.’
‘Another couple? she said. ‘I’d like one of me lying on the chaise-longue.’
‘Fine by me. I’ll need to move the camera.’
Gracefully, she glided over to the chaise-longue and sat on it, reclining. ‘Will this end panel go down, Tom?’
‘’Fraid not. But that’s fine. You look very relaxed…and very sensual, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
It was exactly what she wanted to hear. She smiled to herself and said, ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Shall I hold the pose?’
He nodded and felt himself getting hotter with the exertion of working with this naked young woman with as fine a figure as he’d ever imagined – who was not in the least bashful in his presence. He hid his head under the black cloth and focused the camera, then inserted a new plate. ‘Right. Hold that, Ramona.’ He pressed the shutter release.
‘Can I have one taken on the bearskin rug now, d’you think? A last one. That should be enough then.’
‘As you wish, Ramona…’
She got up from the chaise-longue and crept over to the bearskin rug like a lithe young cat. She lay on it, on her side, facing him, her arm propping up her head.
‘How does this look?’ she asked, deliberately fishing for another compliment.
‘No, not on your s
ide, Ramona. That doesn’t show you at your best.’ He went over to her and stooped down beside her. ‘On your back…Right, now raise the top half of your body…Prop yourself up by your arms…That’s it, elbows on the rug, but behind you. Now arch your back and throw your head back…Oh, that’s classical, Ramona!’ Her long fair hair cascaded down behind her appealingly. ‘You look gorgeous. You should see how that emphasises the line of your neck relative to your breasts and…’ He knew he was breathing harder but tried hard to keep it under control. This young woman was, after all, a client. ‘Just bend your leg, the one furthest from me…Yes…toes pointing downwards…that’s fine. Can you hold that?’
He returned to his camera, hotter than ever. It would have been so easy to touch her, to feel her smooth skin. But he could never allow himself to. She was his client…He could have made it appear accidental, a professional tweaking of her pose, but what if she’d been suspicious of his motive? What if she took exception? Besides, he could never take advantage of a girl in this position without a chaperone. That would be too unprofessional, too ungentlemanly. He checked his focus again in the ground glass screen at the back of his camera and savoured secretly the sight of her naked body and the thought of running his hands over her. Did she realised how desirable she really was, the effect she was having on him? He popped in a new plate. ‘Ready now, Ramona.’ He squeezed the shutter release.
‘There. That’s it.’ He removed the plate and placed it with the rest.
She got up and headed for the screen. ‘Thank you, Tom. I’ll get dressed now…’ She disappeared behind the screen and he saw her clothes being removed from it, in reverse order to which they had arrived there. ‘How soon can you let me have the prints?’ she called, her arms momentarily visible over the top of the screen as she put on her blouse.
‘Oh, I can get them done in a couple of days. End of the week at the latest. Would you like me to bring them to the pub for you? Discreetly, of course.’
‘If you like. I’ll pay you for them now, though, Tom.’
‘As you wish.’
