by Susan Lewis
Paul took Marian’s hand, and turning so the others couldn’t see, he winked. ‘Nearly caught in the act,’ he said. ‘I told you to wait.’ He turned back to the others. ‘She can’t keep her hands off me for more than two minutes at a time,’ he said. ‘But then I can’t keep mine off her either.’ And before Marian could do a thing to stop him, he tumbled her onto the bed and covered her with his body.
Within seconds they heard the door close, and lifting himself onto his elbows he looked down into Marian’s face. Her expression made him burst out laughing; she hit him, then pushed him off the bed.
‘Can’t keep my hands off you indeed!’ she cried, her voice bubbling with mirth. ‘What’s everyone going to say?’
‘Do you care?’ he asked, looking up at her from the floor.
‘Not a jot!’
‘Keep up that sort of defiance and I’ll kiss you again,’ he warned, then laughed as she blushed. ‘Your cousin sure knows how to pick her moments,’ he said as he got up. ‘And there was me trying my damnedest to be romantic.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘But I meant what I said. And you must stop under-rating yourself, and very definitely stop feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘Sorry for myself!’ she cried indignantly.
‘Yes, and you know it. In fact I think you only did it to make me kiss you.’
Her mouth was opening and closing as sparks of affront and delight flashed from her eyes.
‘Yes, go on,’ he said, ‘what are you trying to say?’ and she collapsed against him, laughing.
‘I was thinking,’ she said later, while she dished a spoonful of beans onto a piece of toast, ‘how would you feel about moving in here with Madeleine and me? I mean, until you find somewhere else,’ she added hastily, in case he should think her forward. ‘You’d have to sleep on the sofa, but it’s better than the streets.’
She turned to look at him. He was spooning tea into the pot and her heart gave a flutter at the pleasure of their domesticity.
‘And what would Madeleine have to say to this very improper suggestion?’ he said. And when he looked up, their eyes locked for a moment before they burst out laughing.
‘What, shack up with you two!’ Madeleine stormed when Marian asked her. ‘Are you serious? Because if you are, you’d better get your brain fixed.’
‘It wouldn’t be for long,’ Marian pleaded. ‘And it’ll help with the rent. We’ve fallen behind again, and I’ve had a nasty letter from Barclaycard. That’s not to mention the other bills we can’t pay. We could do with the money, Maddy, and it would mean a lot to me if you said yes.’
‘I’ll bet it would. Well, I’m not going to, so don’t bother asking again.’
Marian didn’t then, but she wasn’t going to give in that easily. In fact, she was determined to win. And when Madeleine came home at half-past one in the morning, she was waiting up. ‘I want to talk to you again about Paul moving in,’ she said, as Madeleine flopped into a chair.
‘Oh good,’ Madeleine answered. She was smiling cheerfully and Marian’s hopes lifted. ‘I’ve been thinking about it too,’ Madeleine went on, ‘and you’re right. We could do with the money, so tell him it’s all right by me.’
‘Are you sure?’ Marian said, hardly able to believe her ears.
‘Of course I am,’ Madeleine answered. ‘In fact I’ve come to the conclusion I’ve been behaving very childishly over all this, and I want you to know that really, deep down, I’m happy for you. Anyone can see he’s head over heels in love with you, so who am I to stand in your way?’
Marian was amazed. ‘You mean, you really don’t mind about us any more?’
Madeleine shook her head, and Marian fell back into the sofa. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, thank God. I’ve been longing to talk to you about him, tell you all the things he says. I’ve missed you, Maddy, even though you’ve been here. Does this mean we can be friends again?’
‘I certainly hope so, because I’ve missed you too.’
‘Shall we have some cocoa to celebrate?’ Marian grinned.
‘No, we’ll have some wine. And then we’ll sit up half the night while you talk about him to your heart’s content.’
While she waited for Marian to fetch some glasses from the kitchen, Madeleine was mulling over what her friend Jackie had said earlier. ‘You’re mad for saying no,’ she’d told Madeleine. ‘If he’s there, under the same roof, then you’ll have no problem pulling him. And what’s more, if you get Marian to tell you everything he likes and doesn’t like, and all that sort of thing, then you can make use of it yourself, and he’ll be eating out of your hand inside a month. In fact, if he isn’t laying her, two weeks in your company and he’ll be begging you for it.’
‘Do you think so?’ Madeleine said.
‘I know so. But just in case, be nice to Marian. That’ll show him what a wonderful person you can be, and hey presto, he’ll be in your knickers before you can say fuck me.’
Jackie was right, of course; in fact thinking about it now, Madeleine couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen it for herself.
– 3 –
Paul glanced up from his typewriter and looked across the table at Marian. She was staring at the diamond-patterned wallpaper and tapping a pen against her teeth, obviously engrossed in thought. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ he asked after a minute or two.
‘Trying to think of a ten word slogan for this competition,’ she answered cheerfully.
He shook his head, and leaning his elbows on the keyboard said, ‘What might you win?’
‘A car. Which I can then sell and pay off all our debts.’
‘I see.’ Then after a pause, ‘How about a cup of coffee?’
Immediately Marian put down her pen.
‘No, no, no,’ he protested, as she started to get up. ‘I meant, I’ll make you one. After all, it’s pretty serious business you’re up to there, so far be it from me to interrupt.’
She grabbed her pen and threw it at him as he disappeared into the kitchen. ‘Can I read what you’ve written this morning?’ she called after him.
‘Go ahead.’
She leaned across the table and wound the sheet of paper out of his typewriter, and by the time he came in with the coffee she’d read the four paragraphs at least half a dozen times.
‘Thanks,’ she said as he put a cup down in front of her. Then with her head on one side she watched him as he sank into the armchair and picked up the newspaper.
He’d been living with them for almost two weeks now, but the more she got to know him, the more of a mystery he became. She was as jealous of his past as she had been of the time he spent at his typewriter – until he’d sensed how she was feeling. Now he shared his work, asking her opinion, arguing through her ideas, and even asking her to write down her thoughts and feelings so he could use them. The main characters in his latest story were based on her and Madeleine, and there was a great deal of hilarity and cushion-throwing when she read his deliberate misinterpretations of something one of them had said or done. There were uncomfortable moments, too, when he wanted to explore the depth of her feelings for him. On that she always held back, and though he didn’t push her, he generally wrote what he thought, then asked if he’d guessed right. He usually had, but her answer was always the same: ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ Of course she was in love with him, and it wasn’t that she minded him knowing, she just wanted him to be the first to say it.
Now she shifted in her chair, disturbed by the line her thoughts had taken. Despite the fact that on one level they were closer than she’d ever dreamed possible, on another – on the matter of love – there was a distance between them which was only made worse by his casual dismissal of the questions she couldn’t stop herself asking.
‘Does it really matter how many girlfriends I’ve had?’ he would say. ‘Or who they were, what they looked like, or where they are now?’
‘Yes,’ she answered once, ‘it does matter. I don’t know why, but it d
oes.’
‘It doesn’t. And you’re falling into the typical female trap: of convincing yourself I’m hiding something, when all I’m doing is protecting you from things that you don’t need to know. Of course there have been other women, but I’m with you now, and not one of them ever meant half as much to me as you do.’
She knew it was the kind of answer that should satisfy her – but perhaps if he showed some inclination to do more than kiss her, the torturous images of him with other women might disappear. Perhaps if she didn’t have a cousin like Madeleine, their lack of sex-life might not seem so odd or so important – but a hungry worm of doubt wriggled away inside her, demanding the food of reassurance.
‘A very pensive face,’ he said, looking up from the paper. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘You,’ she admitted.
‘What about me?’
‘I’d like you to tell me about Florence.’
‘Haven’t you just read that bit?’
‘Yes, but that’s in a novel. You mentioned once that you used to go there every spring. Tell me about that.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really,’ he answered. ‘Except that I hated it. Being dragged from church to art gallery to palazzo wasn’t much fun for a little boy, but my mother was a fiend for Italian culture so my father took her to Florence every year; they even spent their honeymoon there, I believe.’ His eyes were laughing; he knew she’d pictured him there much more recently, and with another woman, and hadn’t missed the look of relief that she’d tried to hide. ‘But I have to confess I did love the ice-cream,’ he went on. ‘My mother had hundreds of photographs of me with the stuff plastered all over my face. Have you ever had real Italian ice-cream?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s beyond description. And one of these days, when a publishing house wises up and accepts my first book, I’ll take you there, sit you down in the Piazza Signoria and feed it to you on the end of a long spoon.’
As usual her heart leapt at any suggestion of a shared future.
‘Actually,’ he went on, ‘I’d rather take you to Rome than Florence. The food’s better, the culture is quite different, and I think you’d enjoy it more. Florence was a sluggish sort of place, I always felt, as if it’s snored its way through time since the quattrocento, whereas Rome is vibrant with its past. Much more exciting, and as alive to the twentieth century as it is to Caesar, Michelangelo and Puccini.’
‘I know what you mean,’ she said dreamily, her mind conjuring up a wondrously romantic image of them strolling through the cobbled streets together. ‘Madeleine and I were there last summer. We only stayed a few days but I loved it, though I didn’t get to see much beyond the Via Condotti. I would have stayed longer, but Madeleine wanted to go to the Greek islands and soak up the sun.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said in a dry tone. ‘Still, some day we’ll explore the city together.’
As if they were tangible things she held onto his words wanting more than anything that they should come true. It was a while before she let the fantasy go and asked, ‘Did you call the publisher again this morning?’
He nodded and sighed. ‘He’s now given the manuscript to someone else to read and says he’ll be back to me as soon as he has some news.’
‘At least it’s not a no,’ Marian said. Then seeing how despondent he looked, she went to sit in his lap. ‘I wish there was something I could do to cheer you up,’ she sighed.
‘Just having you here is enough,’ he smiled, and pushing her head back against his shoulder he kissed her.
‘You two love-birds at it again?’ Madeleine complained as she came in from the bedroom. She yawned and stretched as Paul and Marian looked up, then checking herself in the mirror, she dropped down onto the sofa. As she crossed her legs Marian winced at the glimpse of pubic hair. ‘God, what a night last night,’ Madeleine groaned, ‘I didn’t get in until gone three.’
‘Fancy some breakfast?’ Marian offered.
‘Do I? I could eat a horse, but I’ll settle for toast and coffee.’
‘No butter, I’m afraid,’ Paul said.
‘Not to worry, I’ll pop out for some,’ Marian said, getting to her feet.
When she’d gone Madeleine lifted her legs onto the sofa and lay down. ‘You comfortable enough sleeping on here?’ she asked Paul.
‘It’s fine,’ he answered, watching her with mild amusement.
Her mind was working fast. Her previous attempts at seducing him, by leaving the door open while she was in the bath, or coming home from work with very little on under her coat which she took off in the sitting-room – while Marian was safely tucked up in bed – had so far failed. She’d taken her problem to Jackie and Sharon, who had told her that the first thing she must do was get Marian out of the way. Perhaps a trip to the shops wasn’t quite what they’d had in mind, but Madeleine was ready to seize any opportunity. To steal Paul O’Connell from her cousin had now become more than a resolution, it was an obsession. He was the only man she’d ever come across who had been able to resist her, and that she just couldn’t accept. She gave no thought to the consequences of what she was trying to do; all that mattered was that she should get him into bed. Jackie’s advice was that she must somehow get him to admit he didn’t have sex with Marian, then once they were on the subject of sex and the fact that he wasn’t getting it, she could really go to work.
‘If you like,’ Madeleine said now, ‘Marian and I could push our beds together and you two could sleep in there. I wouldn’t mind the sofa.’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ he smiled. ‘Maybe you should ask Marian.’
‘OK, I will,’ she said, not liking his answer much. ‘But what about you? I mean, don’t you want to sleep with her?’
‘When she’s ready.’
‘You could be waiting a long time,’ Madeleine scoffed. ‘I take it you know she’s a virgin?’
He nodded.
‘Ludicrous, isn’t it, at her age? Still, she’s never had much luck in finding a boyfriend. Until now, that is.’
‘I imagine she’s been rather overshadowed by her beautiful cousin,’ he ventured.
Madeleine allowed herself a few moments to bask in the compliment. This was much more like it. She pouted her lips and gave a little flutter of her eyelashes. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said coyly. ‘Well, I have to admit I’ve had a lot of boyfriends, but Marian’s pretty brainy, you know, some men go for that. The only trouble is, she’s not very street-wise. She doesn’t really know what’s what when it comes to men.’
‘Which you do, of course.’
Madeleine stretched her long limbs, then feigned modest surprise that her dressing-gown had fallen open. ‘I’ve got a fair idea,’ she answered, taking her time about pulling it together again.
‘I’m sure you have.’ He got to his feet and went back to his typewriter.
For a moment Madeleine was stymied. Their little chat had been shaping up nicely, so what was he winding paper into his bloody typewriter for? ‘It must be pretty frustrating for you,’ she said.
‘What must?’
‘Marian’s chastity.’
When he didn’t answer, she sat up. She looked at his profile, the long straight nose, the dark lashes and brows, the irresistible beauty of his mouth. His hands were bunched together under his chin, and her insides lurched at the imaginary sensation of those tapering fingers exploring her body. No man had ever turned her on like this before. Having sex was just something that came after someone had admired her body, a gift she could bestow should she feel so inclined. With Paul O’Connell it was different. She wanted him – on top of her, beneath her, inside her, all over her. Not in a million years would she admit to never having had an orgasm, but she wanted one as much as she wanted him, and a sixth sense told her that he could give it to her.
‘If you like,’ she said, wandering over to him, then running her fingers across his shoulders, ‘I could help you to . . .’
‘No thanks, Madeleine.’
‘No thanks! You don’t even know what I was going to say.’
‘I think I do.’
She pulled her hand away. ‘As a matter of fact, I was going to offer to let you make love to me.’
‘And I was trying to spare us both the embarrassment.’
For a moment Madeleine was rigid with shock. An ugly colour swept across her face and he smiled as, from the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers twitch. If she slapped him he’d slap her back, and then what might she do? But she didn’t, and he felt vaguely disappointed when she swept out of the room and slammed into the bedroom.
Turning back to his typewriter, he dismissed her from his mind. It wasn’t that he was unaffected by her offer. Quite the contrary; she had perhaps the most sensuous body he’d ever seen. But Marian, with her shy smile, quirky humour and obvious devotion to them both, had come to mean a lot to him, and he wasn’t prepared to jeopardise their relationship for a quick roll in the hay with Madeleine.
Madeleine flung herself down on her bed, beside herself with rage and humiliation. Seeing Marian’s bedside lamp – the one her mother had bought her for Christmas – she grabbed it, and was about to hurl it at the wall when she stopped herself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the bastard! He wanted it as much as she did, and he was just stringing her along so that she would go crawling to him on bended knee. Well, he could forget that, she didn’t beg anyone. If anything, they begged her. And as for his farce of a relationship with Marian, she’d soon put the mockers on that. She’d make damned sure they shared a bedroom now, then they’d see just how long it took him to get fed up with the pious little bitch.
Half an hour later she heard him moving about in the hall. When he knocked on the door she snapped for him to come in, then nonchalantly carried on with her make up.
She was sitting at the dressing table. Her sleek hair gleamed as she shook her head, and her tanned skin glistened in the wintry sunlight. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight polo neck sweater. She didn’t turn round, but she didn’t have to – he could see her face in the mirror. His own was inscrutable as he took a moment to wonder at the incredible beauty that was so at odds with the coarse, self-adulating person who inhabited it.
