Consequences

by Nancy Carson

  ‘I don’t think I do. Tell me…’

  ‘Well…this young Lottie…I’ve not known her long, but Jesus, she’s hot stuff. Afraid she detained me somewhat.’ He laughed, rolled his eyes, and Benjamin thought how indelicate it was to divulge such information when he’d only known him a couple of minutes. Was he boasting, was it sheer bravado, or was this run-of-the-mill talk in theatrical circles? ‘Amazing, she is, amazing body,’ Philip blithely continued. ‘Wait till you see her. Of all the showgirls I’ve known ever since I’ve been a theatre critic, Lottie is just about the cream. Everybody’s in this business for romance, you understand, Ben, and by romance I mean bed. Most of the girls are hot for it – but that little Lottie…Phew!…And you know what? I can’t keep my hands off her.’

  ‘She sounds like the ideal woman,’ Benjamin commented with real envy.

  ‘She tells me I’m the best, you know – lover, that is.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘God only knows how many men she’s had before me to form such a comparison, and she’s only seventeen. All beginners, must’ve been. Rot me, but you’ll have your work cut out too, with her ladyship, or my name ain’t Philip Cornbow.’

  Benjamin’s heart leapt into his throat, and simultaneously he felt an involuntary twitching inside his trousers. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he replied.

  ‘A handsome chap like you, well presented? I’d stake money on it. Unless she’s indisposed, of course. But I rather suspect not, as she’s agreed to a tryst with you tonight.’

  ‘But Kate’s a married woman.’

  ‘Do you think that makes a difference?’ Philip scoffed.

  ‘While the cat’s away, you mean?’

  ‘My dear chap, you’re in London now. More specifically, you’re in theatreland. You obviously haven’t spent much time around theatre folk – actresses, chorus girls. Where’ve you been all your life? I think you need educating.’

  It seemed that what this man didn’t know about the world of theatre was not worth knowing.

  ‘So you’ve…you’ve known a lot of actresses and chorus girls.’

  ‘Can’t avoid it, old man, I’m happy to say. In my work I get to meet ’em all. More choosy than prostitutes, so inevitably cleaner. Cheaper too, and more glamorous. I make it my business to get to know ’em all personally. And I do mean personally. The ones I take a fancy to anyway.’

  ‘So, Kate?’ There was a questioning look in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, don’t expect me to be that indiscreet, old man.’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s as you say, I’m not used to the theatre and its quirks, or its showgirls.’

  ‘You seem a decent chap, Ben, I must say. I like you. Nevertheless, I think you’re a bit green. Take your lead from me.’ The heavy drapes at the entrance to the box parted with a swish. ‘Ah, Lottie, there you are, my poppet.’ He stood to greet her. ‘This is Ben Sampson, a friend of Kate Stokes.’

  Benjamin stood up as well, casting his eyes over Lottie. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss—’

  ‘Lottie to you, Mr Sampson,’ Lottie greeted in her small voice and with an alluring smile. ‘When Philip said we were meeting somebody I wondered what you’d be like. So did he, for that matter.’

  She had a London accent, as far as Benjamin could determine such, but she was so very young. Seventeen, Philip had said, but she might have been only fifteen; he found it impossible to judge. She was lusciously pretty, petite, with a delightfully narrow waist and pert young bosom. She wore a black outfit with a tight bodice, low neckline, puffed sleeves and fashionable narrow skirt. Oh, and of course, she was said to be hot…Very hot…For certain, she was eminently beddable. No wonder this Philip chap couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  * * *

  ‘I believe Kate expects us to go to the green room,’ Philip said when the show had ended, the applause had died down and the audience was drifting away. ‘She’ll meet us there once she’s ready.’

  Benjamin imagined the green room was a private club close by, unfamiliar as he was with the theatre. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait in the auditorium?’ he questioned, recalling the previous time he’d waited for her.

  Philip laughed as he rose from his seat. ‘The green room is backstage, my dear chap, reserved for artistes and special guests.’ He took Lottie’s hand and she rose at the prompt. ‘You’ve not been backstage at the Gaiety, have you my pet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she answered, as if fully expecting to as a God-given right, but in a professional capacity at some future time.

  ‘I’ll lead the way.’

  Benjamin followed Philip and Lottie, who were perpetually touching each other. Through a door at the side of the stage, they walked through a passage, dimly lit by gas, and climbed a flight of stairs, its iron handrail rubbed smooth through contact with thousands of hands. Along another passage on the next floor a door was open, and Benjamin’s reward was a glimpse of two slender girls in their teen years, stripped naked but for their brief drawers. As they sponged themselves down at a shared washbasin, their backs were towards him. The ambient mix of perfume, sweat and the visible sexuality of so many desirable women was a particular sensation he had not anticipated, and his pulse was racing. Another girl, whom he recognised from the show, came running towards them down the corridor covering her modesty with merely a shift held across her front. She acknowledged Philip with a bashful smile.

  Where indeed had he been all his life? He had only ever known two women – Aurelia and Maude – yet this world was full of fascinating, adorable, available and apparently willing girls.

  At last they entered a room, the green room, littered with two couches and two armchairs that had seen better days. Philip stuck his head out into the corridor again and Benjamin heard him say, ‘Ask Jarvis to bring us a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck and four glasses.’ Evidently, this Philip was aware of Kate’s favourite tipple; it was obvious they knew each other well, maybe spent much time together, else how would he know? Benjamin, on edge, instead of sitting down straight away, perused the photographs hanging around the walls of various celebrities that had graced the Gaiety’s stage. They included Nellie Farren, dressed as a principal boy in tights and gamely showing her legs up to her backside. There was Florence St John, Letty Lind, Jenny Dawson, Maria Jones, Blanche Massey and a dozen others, but no photograph of Kate Stokes as yet. He sat down and sighed, trying to be relaxed.

  The said Jarvis appeared with the champagne and glasses. Philip disentangled himself from Lottie and relieved him of his burden. He popped the cork, poured, and handed a glass each to Lottie and to Benjamin. Conversation resumed, with Philip enquiring about life in Brierley Hill, to which Benjamin replied that he was in the throes of divorce.

  ‘Then you must be in need of some sort of therapy,’ Philip remarked blithely.

  Eventually Kate appeared, looking radiant in her outdoor wear, and slightly flushed from her dancing and singing.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she announced. ‘Did you enjoy the show?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Benjamin responded.

  ‘Good. Shall we go then?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like some champagne first, dear?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  He poured her a glass and she downed it with extraordinary alacrity.

  ‘I needed that. I’m parched. Where are we going, Philip?’

  ‘Let’s go to the American Bar at the Savoy.’

  Nobody consulted Benjamin, but it seemed to be agreed between the three of them that that’s where they would go. He did not mind; perhaps he could lure Kate up to his room once Philip and Lottie had said goodnight. So they left the theatre and the girls shivered from the seasonal cold while Philip hailed a hackney carriage to convey them thence.

  In the American Bar they drank a series of expensive cocktails. Lottie was rapidly becoming tipsy, while Kate, to her credit, clung steadfastly to her first drink, merely sipping it.

  ‘You’re not drinking very much,’ Benjamin remarked. ‘That’s still your firs
t one.’

  ‘I have no intention of getting drunk,’ she replied. ‘I can’t think of anything more degrading for a woman. I like to stay in control of myself.’

  ‘I’m full of admiration,’ he replied, disheartened at what he believed she might be implying.

  She smiled radiantly. ‘You too. You’re not a heavy drinker.’

  ‘I like to remember what I’ve been doing – and with whom.’

  ‘You’re a man after my own heart,’ she said, and looked up at him from under lowered lids.

  ‘Come on, kids,’ Philip suddenly exclaimed. ‘We’ll go to my place. There’ll be a roaring fire and I have a bottle of rather expensive single malt I’m itching to try.’

  Benjamin looked questioningly at Kate. She nodded, indicating that they should all go. He was disappointed that his chance of luring her to his room had slipped away, but she was patently in control of herself.

  ‘Do you want me to come?’ he asked quietly with a serious expression, doubting his worth.

  ‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘I’m not playing gooseberry to those two. Anyway, your room will still be here when you get back.’

  ‘Fine.’ He felt foolishly self-conscious for having hesitated.

  Outside, in the Savoy’s fold, a concierge hailed a carriage. When it drew up Philip gave the driver an address in Camden, and they boarded, Lottie giggling infectiously.

  The carriage eventually drew to a halt at a high wrought-iron gate, manned by a porter in livery, who opened it. The carriage drove through, halting again after a few yards.

  ‘Here we are,’ Philip proclaimed.

  The driver stepped down from his perch and opened the door. Philip was first out and he handed Lottie down, then Kate.

  As Benjamin stepped down he offered to pay for the cab, but Philip insisted on paying.

  ‘I gave instructions to James, my valet, not to wait up,’ he said, ‘so we’ll not be disturbed.’

  The house was set in a fine terrace of Georgian three-storey residences, and Benjamin was impressed, not just with the terrace, but that the whole street was gated to keep out ruffians. So maybe this Philip was moneyed, since it seemed unlikely that the salary of a journalist would allow him to live in such a place, and have a valet.

  Philip opened the front door, and held back while the others went in before him. A soft electric light greeted them, and the warmth inside embraced them. The opulence within further impressed Benjamin; certainly Holly Hall House could not compare, and it suddenly made him realise that his wife might have been right all along about its dowdy, overbearing décor. Philip took their coats and hats and the rest of their outdoor accoutrements and hung them on a coat stand, before ushering them into a spacious drawing room. He gestured them all to take a seat. On a table set against one wall, a tray was laid out with a full decanter, a jug of water and four whisky glasses, suggesting it had all been preordained. Philip poured a measure of whisky into each glass and handed them round.

  They all supped, engaging in small talk.

  ‘Anybody hungry?’ Philip asked at length.

  ‘Not me,’ said Benjamin.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Lottie replied. ‘Come on, Philip, show me what you’ve got, or I shall have to eat you.’ She rose unsteadily from her chair, and Philip put his arm around her small waist and escorted her from the room. Through the open door to the hallway they saw him lead her directly up the stairs.

  ‘That’s the last we shall see of them tonight,’ Kate remarked.

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ Benjamin said.

  An awkward silence intervened that lasted for several long seconds, while Benjamin sat as if transfixed in his chair, stumped for words and stumped for a clue as to what to do next.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to just sit there, Ben,’ Kate said. Her smile conveyed a hint of provocation as she shuffled closer to him. She took his arm and looked up at him appealingly, evidently offering her lips.

  His pulse started racing as he took the plunge and kissed her. Because she responded positively he kissed her again, lingeringly. Sheer bliss.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ she said when they broke off.

  He thought he caught her meaning and his heart started pounding harder. Then he remembered what Philip had said, ‘Take your lead from me, Ben.’ Was this what he meant?

  ‘I could be tempted if you were the dish,’ he replied.

  ‘Would you like me to show you what’s available?’

  ‘Yes, Kate, indeed I would.’ This was a very promising game they were playing.

  ‘Come on, then.’ She stood up and offered him both hands, which he took, and got to his feet. ‘Why don’t you bring your glass?’

  ‘If you’re taking yours.’

  ‘Course I am.’

  She led him out of the drawing room by the hand. At the bottom of the staircase she slipped off her dainty boots.

  ‘Will you carry my drink, please, Ben?’ she whispered.

  He duly accepted it, and she picked up her boots to carry them upstairs. When they reached the landing she put her forefinger to her pursed lips as a signal to be quiet, and he followed her. She pushed open the door to a bedroom with her backside, and the subdued light from an electric bedside lamp, already lit, spilled out onto the carpet.

  She entered.

  He followed, almost trembling with anticipation, and closed the door quietly behind him. He wanted to comment that evidently she must have been here before, that the lamp in this room was already alight because Philip expected somebody to use it. Just accept it, Ben, and be thankful.

  She put her boots down on the carpet, took her glass of whisky from him and placed it on a tallboy, and then turned to him, smiling kittenishly. Her eyes met his and seemed to say, ‘Well, here we are in a warm and comfortable bedroom, so what are you going to do about it?’

  He took her in his arms, bent his head, and their lips met in another feverish kiss.

  ‘Would you like to unfasten the hook at the top of my dress?’ she breathed when they had broken off, her face still close to his. ‘And the little buttons?’

  ‘Delighted,’ he replied.

  She duly turned her back to him and leaned her head forward, simultaneously reaching for her glass. He kissed the back of her neck, which sent shivers down her spine. He fumbled, fingers all of a tremble, but managed to undo the hook and eye.

  ‘We could have used my room at the Savoy,’ he ventured softly, lost for any other comment.

  She sipped her drink. ‘Next time, maybe,’ she whispered, turning her head towards him momentarily.

  He undid the column of buttons, fumbling over one or two, and the top of the silver-grey dress fell away from her. She turned around, and her kiss tasted of the whisky, sweet and hot. While they still kissed, she unfastened her belt and let it fall to the floor. Her skirt also fell around her feet.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get undressed?’ she whispered. ‘While I get the rest of my things off?’

  ‘I can’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t.’

  She smiled. ‘Bet you I’ll be in bed before you.’

  ‘Ah, so it’s a race.’

  ‘But only as far as the bed.’ She removed a garter and slid one stocking down her leg, which looked creamy smooth and free of blemishes. ‘No racing once we’re between the sheets, eh? I don’t want you coming first. A dead heat would be so much nicer. Nice and steady, eh?’

  ‘Nothing too frantic,’ he agreed, which made her chuckle.

  While he undressed he watched her strip naked, unabashed, and cross the room to the bed where she pulled back the sheets. She lay there, bedclothes clasped about her for warmth, peering over them expectantly, waiting for him. At last, he pulled back the sheets on the vacant side and slid in beside her. Instantly they embraced, arms around each other, hands exploring, lips joined.

  Her skin was so smooth and silky, and he skimmed his hands down her back, over the cheeks of her perfect firm bottom and th
e tops of her perfect slender thighs, to appreciate her the more. She raised herself up, manoeuvred herself on top of him, and her perfect breasts brushed his chest tantalisingly. He took one and squeezed it gently. Whilst he was savouring its smooth sponginess she reached down for him.

  ‘He feels in prime condition,’ she sighed.

  ‘In appreciation of you, Kate.’

  She wriggled and he could sense that she had him lined up for entry. As he felt her delightful wetness against him, he allowed her to guide him into her, at her pace. Gently, he thrust into her, coaxing her closer by the cheeks of her backside, and she sighed with overwhelming pleasure as they settled into an easy rhythm, kissing ardently.

  So this was Kate Stokes, the pretty, but ordinary girl from Brierley Hill. This was also the delicious Lady Chesterton, the glamorous, sexually aware, sexually hungry actress, who had the men of London at her feet. And by God, did she feel good.

  He was aware from that moment that he was dealing with a woman who knew how to handle a man, who knew exactly what she wanted and expected from a man, who was experienced with men. How many men she had enjoyed – how many men had enjoyed her – he did not know. At that moment, it did not matter. He was also vaguely aware that, however this liaison progressed, she would never be exclusively his – there would always be somebody else, some other nameless figure, some obscure shadow, lurking tormentingly in the background. That perception he pushed to the back of his mind, ecstatic as he was with this gratifying conquest of a beautiful titled lady whom he had desired utterly; all that he felt with any certainty was that he was already entirely, dangerously infatuated.

  * * *

  Benjamin stayed in London until Sunday. Kate was his bed companion at the Savoy on both Friday and Saturday night, joining him there after the show.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  It had always been Algie Stokes’s ambition to lead a tranquil life, but tranquillity was seldom visible on his horizon. Nor was it visible now. The manufacture of his bicycles had all but come to a halt, in preparation for exiting the three dilapidated buildings, with their dirt floors and cracked, smutty window panes, that housed the hitherto burgeoning Ranger Cycles.