His hand moved up from my waist to my left breast underneath my blouse (how did that come adrift?), moving my nipple between finger and thumb through the cloth of my petticoat and brassiere. The other hand firmly in the centre of my back, steadying me, then moving down to my right buttock, squeezing gently, and a sticky wetness in my knickers (but I’ve just been to the toilet and anyway it’s not coming from there), and I was lost in the desire to melt and mould to him and never let go.
Pulling back a little James said, smiling tenderly down at me, ‘Pat, there’s something I want to ask you.’
But it was sensation, not conversation, I wanted, aware that the afternoon was retreating and not knowing when I would see him again, or whether he would even come back from his next dog fight. I reached up, pulling his head down, and kissed him again, hard, demanding, revelling in the moment, his tongue and lips sending waves of sensation to the pit of my stomach, my arms entwining around his neck, my fingers furrowing through the stubble of his hair. James groaned again, and, with a swiftness and strength that caught me unawares, lifted me up, deposited me on the bed, unbuttoned my blouse and, pulling my breasts over the top of my petticoat and brassiere, buried his face in them, his mouth closing on my right nipple, his right hand working my left breast.
I stiffened, shocked, looking down at the top of his head, a small voice at the back of my mind saying, stop this, stop this, you mustn’t, you mustn’t, another voice saying, he’s done this before, he knows what to do, my God, what’s happening to me, more flooding wetness, floating sweetness enveloping me, and when his other hand fumbled at the buttons of my skirt, mine moved against my will to assist. Knickers followed and he raised his head, shrugging off his shirt, scrambling out of his clothes, kissing me while freeing me from the tangle of jacket, blouse, petticoat and brassiere, leaving me in just my best and only silk stockings and suspenders.
Smiling, glancing down, James ran a hand up and down my thigh, outside first and then inside, and back upwards. Suddenly realising the object of his explorations, I pushed briefly at his shoulders, but his fingers remained firmly entrenched while his mouth was on my breast again, his remaining hand on my other, and I felt a falling sensation, emitting mewing whimpers as my breasts and groin met in a series of tremors.
James raised his head and spoke softly. ‘I love you, Pat,’ and the rest of his words were lost in the roaring in my ears as I breathed, ‘Oh, yes, oh yes, that’s lovely,’ and the little niggling voices rose shrilly again, and I started saying, ‘but we really mustn’t…’ and my protest was lost, James shifting suddenly and entering me, thrusting in part of the way, first slowly and, as I began to struggle to stop him, moving into a gentle rhythm. Waves of sweet sensations washing over me, I relaxed into their depths.
I became aware of James lifting himself slightly, fumbling for his trousers and extracting a small package. Withdrawing from me, ah, no, no, don’t stop. I looked down my body at him kneeling between my legs and saw his penis huge, erect, purple headed, disappearing into a covering sheath. Looking up and smiling, he lay gently back down onto me and into me, resuming, faster, now penetrating deeply, filling me, and for several minutes I jerked in rhythm, a burning, tearing, throbbing sensation far inside, my breasts flapping against his raised chest, my nipples rubbing, hard and erect, his eyes above me sapphires glinting in the autumn afternoon gloom, his lips compressed, then he was nuzzling my neck and I wept as I thought, I mustn’t do this but I like this, it hurts, but I like this, my God, I’m lost, lost forever… James reared up and, arching his back, swooped down, enveloping my left nipple and aurora in his mouth, raking my nipple with his teeth. My inner being shot into the air, spasming, and I heard myself shriek briefly from afar.
Quick and urgent now and with a final groan James speared me deepest, shuddering and collapsing slightly to my left side, his contorted face smoothing out as he turned his head towards me.
I don’t know how long we lay together, hearts thudding, perspiration mingling, breaths tickling. We smiled at each other, his arm resting around my waist, my hand limp against his chest. I slowly returned to reality. James reached up, wiping the traces of mascara streaks from my tears with his fingers, cupping my face in his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘A little, but it was beautiful.’
‘As you are.’
I felt an astonished wonderment that he saw me so.
I sensed a shrinking inside me and James raised himself, kissing my left breast and, fumbling at his groin, dropped the sheath with a splat onto the carpet. He leaned down the bed, emitting an exclamation of concern.
‘Darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. If I had I would’ve been gentler.’
I sat up and saw watery bloody streaks on the inside of my thighs. Scrambling up, my face crimson, I said, ‘Oh no, my period’s come early. It’s not due ’til next week,’ embarrassed at mentioning such an intimate matter. Absurd in view of what we’d just done.
‘Perhaps it’s not that,’ James tried to reassure me. ‘You were so passionate. So ready. I just didn’t realise,’ he repeated.
‘Realise what?’
‘That you were a virgin.’
I blinked, my eyes stinging a little from the mascara. ‘What else did you think?’ The air felt suddenly chill and I started scrambling for my clothes. ‘I’m not a good time girl. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never met anyone like you. Fending off Bill’s advances last winter was awful. I’d never dream of doing this with him or anyone else.’
‘Bill?’
‘A childhood friend who wanted me to be his girl. I turned him down.’ What would Bill think of me if he saw me now? I flushed crimson and fled for the bathroom where I washed myself clean as well as I could from the bath tap using one of the flannels laid out.
‘Sorry, Pat, I need a pee,’ James called through the door. I scrambled out, too embarrassed to meet his eye as he passed me, becoming aware of him urinating behind me, the door open. I dressed, trembling, in the bedroom, my knickers still damp, but at least the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
James emerged and I averted my eyes, then peeked back at him, fascinated by a real live specimen of the naked male body. Now I can make sense of the pictures I’ve seen of Michelangelo’s David, I thought. I’d wondered how recumbent appendages could transform into the male part described in Fifth Form biology class. James caught my glance as he bent down to retrieve his clothes, his mouth quirking with amusement.
‘I’ll call down for some tea,’ he said, shrugging on his clothes and moving to the telephone beside the bed into which he spoke briefly while I returned to the bathroom to repair my make-up.
Emerging I caught sight of a small case on the floor beside the wardrobe. James was no longer in the room and I crept to the wardrobe and, opening the door, found men’s clothes hanging there and underwear and socks laid out on shelves. This was his billet last night, I suddenly realised, and will be again tonight.
I found James in the dining room beside the chaise longue clutching his jacket.
‘While we’re waiting there’s something I want to ask you.’
‘You said that before.’
‘Before I was so delightfully interrupted,’ he laughed.
He guided me to the chaise longue. Seating himself beside me he said, ‘There was somewhere else I went yesterday afternoon that has a bearing on today.’ He dipped his left hand into his jacket’s side pocket and produced a small jewellery box. Suddenly Douglas’ cryptic remark earlier made sense and I thought, oh no, he’s not going to, please God, no, I’m not ready for this, and he said, ‘I love you and I want to marry you, Pat. Please will you marry me. Please say yes.’
Now he had started, the words tumbled out.
‘What I said about you being on the home front, and me the front line, you know anything can happen any time and I don’t want to risk losing you or going myself without first enjoying life with you as my wife. I know this
is probably not a good time for you as I’m sure it’s not easy to walk away from a teaching job, but if you’d agree then maybe you could ask for a few days off in the circumstances. Or just leave the job. I can support you, that’s not a problem. I can find somewhere for you to live close to me at Croydon and we can sort out something if I’m posted elsewhere. My leave doesn’t end ’til Friday so we could fit in a coupla days’ honeymoon and when this war’s over I can take you anywhere you want to go for a proper one. Anywhere in the world.’
He was in full flow now and I could only look at him with widening eyes. Teaching job? Leave the job?
‘I know,’ he said, ‘you’re probably wondering how we can get married so quickly. I applied for a special kind of licence ahead and picked it up yesterday afternoon.’ He patted his jacket.
I sat stunned and speechless.
‘You’re not saying anything? Can I take that as a yes?’
I started to tremble, feeling an urgent need for another cigarette.
‘Oh, James, I don’t know where to begin.’ I swallowed.
‘We get on well,’ he continued, ‘and we’ve been together for months. I feel I know you through your letters and we now know our bodies are happy together.’ I blushed. ‘I have never, ever, felt this way about anyone. The last thing I imagined when I came over here was that I would fall in love with an English girl. But I know you’re the one for me. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at my feet and picked you up off the floor. I want to be the only one for you.’
James sat back a little, arm resting along the top of the chaise longue back, waiting for my response and, as I sat mute with mounting horror and embarrassment, added, ‘We could announce our engagement today and get married on Monday. I hope your family can be there. Douglas would be my best man and Tony and Stuart would stand for me too. I checked they’ll still be around. Oh, and there’s your grandmother and her new husband you’ve told me about. And anyone else you want. It wouldn’t be a big wedding, I know, and I don’t want you to be too disappointed. But I can hire a restaurant, your parents wouldn’t have to worry about the cost, or I’m sure we can find some catering help, maybe through the Beaver Club. Here,’ he added, opening the box and holding it out towards me. A solitaire diamond winked at me, its gold ring base gleaming. Behind it, in similar pose, stood a gold band wedding ring.
‘If they don’t quite fit we can go back now or first thing on Monday and get them fixed.’
I thought, if I really loved him more than anything else in the world I think I would give up all my hopes and ambitions, all that I’ve fought for and endured for, in order to be with him. But I don’t exactly feel ready to do that. I like him immensely and I love being with him and he does astonishing things to my body but I’ve led him on, letting him make up to me. My God, WHAT HAVE I DONE? I’m only sixteen. I don’t want to get married. A vision of Janet, pregnant and married, tied to domesticity, missing out on the chance to complete her education and support herself, assailed me. My God, I could be pregnant. No, he used something, I may be alright. My God, IT’S ALL MY FAULT. I should never have agreed to write to him or see him. How could I have been such a fool not to see this would happen? My mother was right.
I said tentatively, ‘James, I like you awfully and if I was ten years older I’m sure I’d say yes like a shot. But I can’t say yes, not right now, I’m so, so sorry.’ I drew in a shaky breath as James shot me a puzzled look and placed one hand on my arm.
‘Ten years older? I don’t want you ten years older. You’d be older than me!’
‘I mean,’ and it all came gushing out, a little incoherently.
‘I want to teach, I’ve always wanted to teach for as far back as I can remember. I’m fighting my mother over this. She wants me to be a secretary and snare a rich boss, but I don’t want that, I want to achieve things my way. So I have to do it, for myself, which means sticking with the sixth form, there’s still nearly two years to go, of course, then there’s teacher training and that’s usually three years but if the war’s still on they’ll truncate it to two which means working through the holidays and the college I want to go to has been evacuated to Doncaster, so I’d be away tied up with that, then I want to give teaching a fair crack of the whip, for what’s the point of training me if I don’t justify all that my parents will have sacrificed for me to do it? So maybe if I was ten years older I’d say I’m ready for this, and maybe in ten years’ time women teachers won’t lose their jobs when they marry, but I can’t ask you to wait that long…’
James’ eyes grew ever-wider and his face grew ever more horrified as I spoke and he drew his hand away from my arm.
‘Pat,’ he said urgently, ‘How old are you?’
I blinked. ‘Sixteen, of course.’
He stared at me, stunned, for several moments. He spoke slowly, shaking his head, as if trying to deny my revelation, ‘I thought you were twenty one when we met and had your twenty second birthday in June. I thought you were a teacher at the school evacuated to Leatherhead. I must have misunderstood something you wrote or something your sister said …’
‘My sister?!’ I exclaimed. ‘I don’t have a sister, I’m an only child.’ Comprehension dawned. ‘Do you mean my mother?’
Suddenly I was furious, leaping up and pacing the room. ‘She loves it when people think we’re sisters. They do it all the time. She’s always looked younger than her age.’ And since thirteen I’ve often been mistaken for an adult, the thought swept through me, and that bit I’ve sometimes hated and at other times secretly liked and now it’s tripped me up. Aloud I said, ‘So if you referred to me as her sister she wouldn’t have corrected you because it’s flattering for her.’
James shrugged. ‘Ladies always knock years off their age. Ironic that you just have. How do I know you’re only sixteen?’ he suddenly demanded, angrily, bitterly, standing up over me, ‘and not just fishing for an excuse?’
This was a side to him I hadn’t seen before and felt a little afraid of it. I floundered for a moment, then remembered and, retrieving my handbag, fished out my identity card. I held it out to him, turning it over. He took it and read it several times as if in disbelief. It was my original one, and I hadn’t got round to updating my later changes of addresses. I didn’t have to point out my father’s signature on the back, required of parents at the time the card was issued for a child under sixteen. He saw it straight away.
His face crumpled into the lines around his mouth and eyes and he slumped down onto a dining chair, one hand clutching the identity card, the other placing the open jewellery box on the table. He held my identity card out towards me and I took it back, feeling sick, trembling legs taking me to the other chair.
Leaning forward, putting his head in his hands, James said in a low voice,
‘I’m a fucking cradle snatcher. Dear God, I promise you I had no idea.’ He raised his head and looked at me, desolation, despair personified. ‘I can’t possibly expect you to marry me right now. I agree. Your life’s ahead of you. Live it. But give me hope, Pat. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Five years, ten years, darn it, for as long as you want. For eternity if needs be.’ Now it was his turn to spring up and pace, snatching up the box, clutching it hard.
‘Until I met you, flying was my whole life. I defied my father’s wishes and never regretted it. All the women I’ve ever met only want to talk about movie stars or some such ridiculously trivial stuff, but you’re fun and cultured and poised and interested in things I am. First place you took me was your “Nash Gal” and you told me about artists you like and concerts and plays you’ve been to and…’ His voice trailed off and he stopped, looking down at the open box cradled in his hand.
A knock on the door, a discreet opening, a waiter’s trolley piled with a teapot, milk jug, delicate sandwiches, cakes, accompanying crockery and cutlery, two glasses and a bottle of champagne projecting from an ice bucket like an obscene penis.
I caught the movement of the waiter hoveri
ng discreetly. This was humiliating for James and humiliating for me and I couldn’t bear it any longer. Muttering ‘I’m sorry, please excuse me,’ I stuffed my identity card into my bag, grabbed my overcoat, the hanger spinning to the floor, and fled the room to the Ladies downstairs where I cowered behind the cubicle door, balling my fist into my mouth and repeating, I will not cry, I will not cry. A seismic shift had occurred, a chasm opened up that could not be bridged. Since Easter, Bill and I had danced a fandango of filial affection, saving face in front of family, maintaining a social veneer. And Bill’s kissing had repelled me, not like James’. Bill had never been intimate with me, not like James. Now my innocence bubble had well and truly burst and my affectionate, friendly acquaintanceship with James that had ultimately been safe could not be stuck back together, not even superficially.
He’s gone to so much trouble and expense, I feel so stupid, how could I have let this happen? The Regent Palace Hotel, for God’s sake. Letting him think I was a sophisticated woman in her early twenties. Secretly wanting him to think that. Idiot! How can I ever see him again? After what we’ve done together. I’ll never forgive myself. Ever. Wait fifteen minutes until the coast is clear then go home and forget him.
I eventually emerged and as I sidled across the entrance foyer James detached himself from the reception clerk’s desk and hurried over to me. He handed me my beret and scarf.
‘I’ll see you safely to your tram.’
‘I’ll be fine, I know London like the back of my hand.’
But James insisted, walking beside me, not touching, not speaking, then as the tram hoved into view he pulled me back, kissing me hard, passionately, desperately, there in public, in front of the bystanders, and speaking into my ear, ‘Give me hope for the future, Pat. I love you. Please write.’
The Keeping of Secrets Page 16
