Araluen

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Would you turn the light off?’ she asked. Franklin paused for a moment, disappointed. He wanted to see her body. ‘Please, Franklin,’ Penelope insisted.

  He obliged and, as he did so, he found himself inwardly agreeing with her. It’s the way it should be, he told himself. It was the correct request from a woman of virtue on her wedding night. He must put aside the memory of his hot, passionate couplings with Millie, he told himself. For the moment anyway. Tonight he must be kind and gentle, there would be time later … He kissed her.

  Penelope had been a little apprehensive of their first night together but she’d looked forward to it nonetheless. After years of safe flirtation, she was about to discover the depths of her own sexuality. The memory of the couple in the garden remained vivid in her mind – most of all, the animal sounds the woman had made. The sounds which had both disgusted and excited Penelope.

  Now, in the dark, Franklin kissed her neck and fed his hand through the opening of her satin nightgown to gently caress her breasts. He was longing to lift the gown and run his other hand up her leg, over her belly, between her thighs. But, when he’d taken her into his embrace, he’d been aware that she’d flinched at the feel of him hard against her thigh.

  It was an instinctive reaction of Penelope’s to flinch at erections. She’d avoided so many on dance floors and in quiet corners while repaying a favour with a kiss and a discreet caress. But now she was married. Now it was fitting for her to discover such mysteries. In the dark, of course. She waited for Franklin to take off his pyjama trousers and to lift her nightgown so that she could feel their flesh together. Then, maybe, she would have the audacity to part her legs, just a little, as she wanted to do.

  But Franklin carefully avoided contact with any area of Penelope’s anatomy that he felt might be too confronting for her. As he did, his excitement mounted. The shadowy profile on the pillow before him. The woman he’d wanted for so long. The shape and warmth of her breast in his cupped hand. The feel of the satin nightgown through the open top of his pyjamas, rubbing silkily against his chest. He longed to rip their clothes off, to feel the full contact of their bodies against each other. But he daren’t. He must be gentle, he must …

  ‘Oh, God, Penelope … ‘He lost control so suddenly that he was barely aware of the ferocity with which he ripped away his pyjamas and dragged her nightgown up to her waist. Then he was fumbling between her legs, forcing her thighs apart.

  No, I don’t want it to be like this, Penelope thought, although she did nothing to halt him. Distasteful as she found it, it was, after all, his right. Any prudery she’d felt at the prospect of opening her legs disappeared. In his excitement he was aware of nothing but his pleasure and she was performing as every good wife should – where was the shame? As she felt him start to push his way inside her, any desire of her own disappeared. It hurt. Penelope felt as though she was being ripped apart, but she clenched her teeth, determined not to cry out.

  For a moment, Franklin seemed to realise his brutality and he slowed down. ‘I’m sorry, my darling, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.’ And he pulled back, trying to ease himself into her more slowly, more delicately. ‘That’s it,’ he whispered. ‘Gently, gently.’ But, considerate as Franklin was trying to be, each thrust, which was like a knife to Penelope, was driving him mad and within minutes he was forced to give in to his desire.

  The last few seconds as he pounded at her like a battering ram and growled with the torment of his desire was an agonising lifetime to Penelope, but still she didn’t cry out.

  When it was over, Franklin held her close against him and stroked her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I meant to be gentle.’

  ‘I know.’ There was a burning pain between Penelope’s legs.

  ‘It will get better.’ Franklin kissed her gently. ‘I promise.’

  ‘I know, Franklin.’ She returned his kiss and then awkwardly climbed out of the bed. ‘I’d better clean myself up.’

  While she was washing the blood from her nightgown, Franklin lay back, contented. Penelope had been a virgin and now she was his wife. There would be plenty of time for them to explore each other sexually. He would teach her the tricks that Millie had taught him. The tricks that pleasured a woman. Everything was perfect, Franklin thought.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Penelope

  NEW YEAR 1938 came and went and still Penelope wasn't pregnant, despite the fact that she'd been married for nearly eighteen months. Franklin decided he wasn't going to let it worry him. A visit to the doctor proved there was nothing inherently wrong with either of them. ‘These things take time,’ the doctor said comfortingly and Franklin had to be satisfied with that. Besides, he was far too busy to be preoccupied with something which was beyond his control.

  Franklin had never been so busy. In fact, he'd appointed a manager, one recommended by Gustave Lumet, to take over the running of The Colony House. Apart from refurbishing his suite there upon Penelope's insistence, Franklin had very little to do with The Colony House these days.

  The expansion of Franklin's business had started in the spring of '36. That was when Solly had insisted upon taking Zofia to Poland.

  ‘I must meet your family, ma petite,’ he stipulated, ‘it is only right.’ Gustave Lumet had once jokingly referred to the buxom Zofia as ‘ma petite Sophie’ and Solly had adopted it as his personal term of endearment ever since. She was his little treasure. It seemed to escape Solly's attention that the young, healthy peasant girl from Central Poland was as big as he was and had the strength of a horse.

  Zofia didn't care whether she saw her parents or not. When she and her elder brother had emigrated to Australia five years earlier it had been a relief to all concerned. Her background, like Solly's, had been one of poverty – too many children and not enough money.

  She didn't confess to Solly that she also didn't care whether she ever saw Poland again. Zofia realised that Solly was using the excuse of meeting her parents in order to visit his beloved homeland so she meekly agreed.

  ‘Yes, Solly, it is only right,’ she said and she kissed him.

  The trip brought out the wanderlust in Solly and they travelled throughout Europe, returning to Sydney in the autumn of 1937. Solly couldn't wait to tell Franklin everything he'd seen.

  ‘This man is evil, Boss. This man is mad. He incites the people. They call him “the Fuhrer”. This man is going to want more than Germany. More than Europe even. This man is going to want the world!’

  Solly was pacing about the smoking lounge of The Colony House in such a state of excitement that he'd forgotten his large glass of iced vodka on the corner table. The several guests who were quietly relaxing kept giving him odd looks.

  ‘And he is going to want the world his way -his people only. You see what happen at the Berlin Olympics?’

  Franklin nodded. He had seen the newsreels of Hitler leaving the stadium during the gold medal presentation to the black athlete Jessie Owens.

  ‘And Germany,’ Solly continued. ‘You should see Germany! She is a war machine, Boss, I tell you!’

  ‘Relax, Solly,’ Franklin said finally. ‘Sit down. Have your vodka.’ Solly drew breath, looked about, noticed the curious glances and sat down to attend to his vodka.

  Franklin sat quietly for several moments. Then he said, ‘We must expand.’

  Two months later, Franklin bought a cannery and began preparing it for the production of tinned beef. Army rations. It would only be a matter of time before the military would be heavily demanding ‘bully beef.

  He also expanded the small leathergoods factory that he and Solly had acquired shortly after his return from America. Their army contract had not yet included the supply of boots. But it would shortly. Franklin would make sure of that.

  Then he travelled north to Mandinulla for discussions with Kevin Never-Never Everard. An offer was made, and accepted, for the adjoining property. ‘We must expand, Never-Never,’ he said. ‘We must expand.’

  Despite the excitem
ent of expansion, Franklin had not forgotten his commitment to Penelope and, while he was conducting his business transactions, he extended his bank credit yet further to include the funding of a mid-budget feature-length film which, given the limited overseas distribution available to Australian producers, would hopefully help launch its star, Penelope Greenway.

  By 1938 there was certainly no time to ponder the fact that his marriage was not yet fruitful. Penelope was, after all, only twenty-four, time was on his side. And, although she wasn't as voracious or as adventurous as Millie had been, their sex life was good. In fact, Franklin was convinced that a preoccupation with sex dissipated one's energies and that he was accomplishing far more with Penelope by his side than he ever would have with someone like Millie. It was the correct relationship for a man to have with his wife and, on the occasions when they did make love, always in the dark, Penelope certainly seemed to be satisfied.

  Penelope was not satisfied, but she quickly discovered how to dissemble. All she had to do was recall the moans of the woman in the garden and imitate them – an edited, genteel form of her own. It not only discouraged Franklin from experimenting but it excited him to the point where he climaxed earlier and he seemed quite happy with her response.

  She didn't feel cheated. She too had decided that theirs was the correct marriage relationship and she told herself it would have been wrong of her to seek a greater excitement – that was for loose women.

  As usual, Penelope was managing, very successfully, to delude herself. It was convenient for her to play the proper woman, the respectable wife, and to ignore the urge deep down to feel what the woman in the garden had felt. There was no point in dwelling upon that, anyway. Franklin was fulfilling his promise to her and she was starring in her first feature film.

  They were exciting times for Penelope. The role of Ruth, a strong, independent career woman, was the perfect vehicle for her and she loved the script. She loved the script and she loved the director and she loved the writer and, above all, she loved being a star.

  Much of A Woman of Today was shot on location around Sydney. ‘Identifiable places only,’ Rick, the director, had insisted. ‘This film is for international release. We must have locations people recognise.’ Richard Lang was a very intense young man who desperately wanted to work in America. He'd directed meaningful, well-received documentaries and one successful low-budget film and this was his big chance for overseas recognition.

  So they filmed around the various tourist haunts. The Sydney Harbour Bridge, Bondi Beach, the ninety-foot cliff known as ‘The Gap’ at the south harbour headland, a favourite suicide spot. Penelope was in her element when the tourists gathered around to watch. There was something about a movie camera which attracted crowds and she basked in the constant attention.

  The writer wasn't too happy about the relentless glamour of the locations. ‘Ruth came from a working-class background. We have to have some squalid locations, for God's sake.’ But Rick and the producer didn't listen to him.

  The producer agreed to ban the writer from the set if he upset Richard any further. They had, after all, bought the script outright and allowing the writer any further input was only a courtesy.

  Franklin was in Queensland at Mandinulla during most of the filming. Penelope was so busy that she didn't really have time to miss him. But throughout the postproduction stage when she wasn't required, she felt lonely and restless and hoped fervently that he would be back in time for the premiere.

  He was. ‘As if I would miss your moment of triumph, my darling,’ he said and she loved him for it.

  So, on a Wednesday evening in early March, 1938, the Bentley pulled up outside the theatre and Penelope, radiantly beautiful, stepped out to acknowledge her newfound status in the film world. She was disappointed that there weren't crowds being held back in the streets but this was, after all, Australia. When the movie became a huge success in America things would be different.

  Franklin didn't like the film very much – he found it a little too posed and self-conscious. But at the party afterwards, when everyone was telling Penelope that her performance was nothing short of brilliant, he reminded himself that he knew nothing of film. And of course he had no intention of bursting her bubble.

  ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world,’ he said. It was a very safe comment. It satisfied her and he meant it.

  Penelope was on a giddy high. She could indeed have been the most beautiful woman in the world that night.

  They wined and dined and partied till nearly dawn and Penelope drank too much champagne, which was very unlike her. She always liked to be in command of the situation.

  Not tonight. When they arrived home her defences were well and truly down. Penny Green from Brighton-Le-Sands was loving being Penelope Greenway, star ...

  ‘That was the most glorious night of my life, Franklin,’ she said. ‘And you were the one who made it happen.’

  She was overwhelmed with love and gratitude. When Franklin kissed her tenderly and told her he was very proud of her as his hand caressed her thighs, she wanted him. She had never felt so desirable and she had never felt such desire. She even ignored the fact that the corner lamp was still on as he eased her back upon the bed and started gently to undress her.

  As she lay there, naked, watching him disrobe, there was the vague knowledge in the recesses of her mind that this was one of the nights when she should avoid sex. This was her fertile time and she had assiduously evaded Franklin's advances during her fertile times for the past eighteen months. Penelope didn't want to have a child. Not when her career was moving at such a pace. One day, she told herself. One day - but not yet.

  Tonight it didn't seem to matter. Tonight there was nothing but the feel of Franklin beside her. The first touch of their nakedness. Skin upon skin. Together.

  Penelope felt an indescribable ache between her legs and she desperately wanted him to touch her there. Her nipples responded eagerly to the caress of his fingertips and a quivering sensation went through her entire body. Then his hand was travelling down over her hip, her belly and she wanted to part her legs.

  ‘Yes, my darling, yes,’ Franklin murmured encouragingly. Her response was exciting him to fever pitch but he knew he had to retain control. He mustn't rush her. ‘You are truly beautiful, Penelope,’ he whispered as his hand finally sought between her thighs, 'truly beautiful.’ And she opened herself to him, gasping at his touch.

  When he slowly entered her, their bodies were both shuddering with an unbearable desire. She thrust herself back at him as Franklin, fighting to control his excitement, kept withdrawing, teasing her to an exquisite pain.

  Finally, when he felt she was ready, he drove himself into her steadily and rhythmically, their bodies responding in perfect unison.

  The scene in the garden flashed through Penelope's brain. The woman's moans, the man's pounding buttocks. But these weren't the woman's moans, these were her moans. Then the image disappeared and she was gasping, desperately.

  ‘I love you, Franklin. I love you, I love you, I love you,’ she said, over and over. And then another image. A cliff. She had to go over the cliff. She had to travel down the other side. ‘Yes,’ she cried out. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ Still Franklin managed to keep control. And, finally, the image of waves. Waves of sensation. No sound. Time stood still as she was engulfed in a sea of pleasure so intense she could no longer cry out.

  A groan from deep within Franklin's chest as he allowed himself the ultimate release. And then Penelope was airborne, fluttering. Fluttering over the other side of the cliff and she clung closely to him as they shared their final shudders of fulfilment.

  The first rays of the early morning sun knifed through the curtains of the french windows as they slept, exhausted, in each other's arms. It was midday before they awoke. Franklin rose on one elbow to look at Penelope curled up beside him, naked, vulnerable, and very lovely. She stirred, opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  ‘Good morning, my d
arling,’ he said and, brushing the hair from her face, he kissed her tenderly, his hand sliding down the long curve of her neck. Before it reached her breast, she sat up and pulled the sheet around herself.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Just after midday.’

  ‘Good heavens, I have a press interview in an hour. The publicist is picking me up at a quarter to one.’

  She obviously wanted to jump out of bed but he sensed that she was self-conscious about her nakedness. Franklin was briefly disappointed. She was behaving as though the night before had never happened. Surely everything had changed between them now. Surely the abandonment of last night had expelled her inhibitions.

  He chastised himself. It was only natural for her to be self-conscious in the cold light of day. There would be other nights and gradually her reserve would disappear and she would become at ease with her sexuality.

  Overnight, it would seem, Franklin had reassessed his views on sex dissipating one's energies. Now his whole body ached for her. But he knew he must be careful. He mustn't ask too much too soon.

  He got out of bed and gathered up his clothes. ‘I'll leave you to get ready then, my dear.’

  Penelope tried to avert her eyes from his naked body but it was difficult. She could plainly see his erection and it fascinated her. She felt that same slight ache between her legs and, as she watched him leave the room, she knew that she desired him. She wanted last night all over again, which appalled her. Was this the control Franklin was destined to have over her?

  As Penelope bathed herself, she looked down at her body and her hand lingered upon her genitals. No. No, she told herself, she was no one's slave. That moment of pleasure, exquisite as it might be, was not worth the price of domination. She must suppress her desire, she told herself. She must suppress her desire at all costs. She had her career to think of.