Sunset

by Christopher Nicole

  'Someone has to, Tommy. Or it will be very painful.' She realized it was something she had wanted to experience since Richard's birth. 'Please.'

  He hesitated, then slowly lowered his head to suck the oozing milk.

  'And touch me, sweetheart. Touch me,' she whispered. She felt his hand on her knee and sliding up the inside of her thigh. 'Meg...'

  'Don't stop sweetheart. And don't talk. Just touch me.' Fingers. Not so expert as Cleave's certainly. But yet, sufficiently practised. Tommy Claymond was a man about town, and if he classed all ladies as feelingless lumps of propriety, he had surely encountered sufficient of their more fortunate sisters.

  She spread her legs, wider and wider. She wanted to tear herself apart, with slowly building desire. Her knee bumped into him, and he got up to make room. For a moment his hands were gone, and she reached down in frantic endeavour. But he had merely replaced his fingers with his lips, and she could drive her fingers into his hair, while her legs suddenly wanted to come back together, and had to be prevented by his own hands, parting her thighs.

  And now the passion had built into a physical force, almost separating her groin from the rest of her body, but yet sending out thrusts of the most utter delight, reaching up into her belly and thence her heart and her throat and her mind, streaking down to affect even her toes, a climactic eruption of everything she had wanted for two years, a final exorcism of the last memory of Oriole, a final obliteration of her hazy recollection of the night in the mountains.

  His head raised, and he gazed at her in alarm. 'Meg?'

  'What did I say?'

  'You screamed,' he said. 'Meg, did I hurt you?'

  'No,' she said. 'No, you have not hurt me. Now, Tommy. Now, now, now.'

  She could look at it now, slowly lowering to touch her. She knew that its touch alone would restore the ecstasy, and there it was, stroking gently over her flesh as he sought an entry, and then plunging downwards, reawakening every quivering nerve-end, every jangling desire.

  He rose and fell and rose and fell, each surge a joy. She wanted to make it last for ever, but already his movements were slackening, and his mouth was gasping beside her ear. But it had been good. So very good. And there would be others, so many others. It seemed that all of her life she had been waiting for just this moment. But how strange, after all that had happened, to find it with Tommy Claymond.

  'Now,' she whispered. 'Instead of just my back, you can wash me all over.'

  Meg listened to the cock crow, settled herself more comfortably into her bed, reached out a hand to find the man, and discovered she was alone.

  She rolled on her back, gazed at the ceiling. Her head hurt. They had drunk too much champagne with their dinner, and afterwards... afterwards they had lain together on this bed, their bodies seething against each other, until they had both fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  Who would have supposed it. Tommy Claymond. The man she had been in such haste to reject in London. How foolish could one be. And she should have known, from the way in which he reacted to her quite preposterous demands.

  And yet, now it was done, she would have changed none of it. She had been very, very lucky, in meeting him again. But it had not been luck, because he had come to find her. That could not be luck. And having it happen this way meant he was hers, free of the guidance and encumbrance of Oriole. Just hers. In her own way. In their own way.

  She rolled her head to find him, and saw him in the window.

  'Admiring a Jamaica sunrise?'

  'Well, it is quite magnificent, don't you know?' He turned, came back to the bed, sat beside her, took her in his arms, kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her chin, her mouth, lowered his head to bury it in her breasts, while she hugged him closer, enclosing him in those magnificent mounds of flesh. And then slipped her hands down to make sure he was ready, and lay down, bringing him on top of her. She wanted no more passion, for the moment. She just wanted to feel him inside her, to know he was there. And yet, the passion was there as well. It lurked even beneath the cocoon of exhaustion, and within seconds she was moaning her ecstasy and rocking her body.

  'Meg. If only ...'

  'Ssssh,' She waited for him to roll off her. 'Never "if only". We have met again, sweetheart, and that is sufficient.' She raised herself on her elbow, kissed him on the nose. 'Now, you spend the morning here, just lying in bed. She kissed him again as she smiled. 'I wish you fully restored to strength by this evening.'

  'What will you do?'

  ‘I will go out to Hilltop, and get some clothes. I will also have to make arrangements for a wet nurse for my child. But I will be back by this evening.'

  'But Meg ...'

  'That is the only way to do it, my sweet. My husband, as I told you, will not easily give up being the Master of Hilltop. I must be so open, so flagrant about my adultery, that he will have to divorce me. And then ...'

  'My ship leaves tomorrow.'

  'Well, cancel it. You'll have to put up with this place for a little while, my darling, but as soon as I can get Billy moved out, you may move into Hilltop. You do want to do that?'

  'It sounds delightful. But, Meg, the scandal...'

  'Are you afraid of scandal?'

  'Of course ... well, not, I mean, not if you aren't'

  She kissed him again. 'All Hiltons live scandalous lives. You wouldn't have me a changeling, would you ? Anyway, this is Jamaica. People have to accept scandal as a way of life. The island is too small.' She kissed him again. 'They are too anxious to be invited to Hilltop.'

  'But, Meg, I can't stay on Hilltop. I have ...'

  'Of course you have your responsibilities, your own life, my darling. I never supposed you would really want to sit down and plant. But I must It is my life. Hilltop is my life. But you'll see. After we are married it will not matter. We will spend part of each year on Hilltop, and part of each year in England, or Scotland, or wherever it is you wish. Isn't that fair?'

  'After we are married ?' He spoke slowly.

  She kissed him again. 'And I won't even ask you to change your name to Hilton. There is a Hilton now. My son Richard. Besides ...' She kissed his nose. 'I think I have grown up a little.'

  Strangely, he licked his lips. 'Meg ...'

  'So now I had better get dressed.' She got out of bed, attempted to smooth her hair with her fingers. But did it matter what she looked like ? The fact that she had spent the night in this hotel bedroom, with Lord Claymond, would be common knowledge by now.

  'Meg ...' He had raised himself on his elbow. 'I can't marry you, Meg.'

  She turned, slowly, her habit already in her hand.

  Tommy sat up, once again licking his lips. 'The fact is, well ...' He hesitated, gazing at her, hoping for one of her interruptions. Meg slowly stepped into the habit, pulled it up to her shoulders, inserted her arms into the sleeves. She did not wish to think at this moment. There was nothing to think about at this moment.

  'You see, even if you persuaded your husband to divorce you, well... I'm Lord Claymond now, you see,'

  She gazed at him, reaching behind her to fasten her buttons.

  'You see, I have my duties, and ... well, the court, and, well ... Her Majesty does not believe in divorce. She will not receive divorcees at court.'

  Meg sat down, pulled her skirt to the thighs, began to put on her stockings. From the corners of her eye she could see him gazing at her legs. How he wanted to possess those legs all over again; that was obvious. But he dared not. The world was full of men who dared not.

  'You do understand, Meg,' he said. 'I mean, you see, well, the Claymonds, well ... they ... ah, we ... have a position. My sister Honor, well, and her fiance, and my aunts, well, you do understand, Meg? The mistress of the family could not possibly be a divorcee.'

  Meg put on her first boot. The Claymonds, she wanted to shout. Who in the name of God are the Claymonds? I am Margaret Hilton. Don't you understand that, you gibbering aristocratic ape? I am Meg Hilton. My family created this empir
e of which you are a peer, of which you are so proud.

  Instead she said, very quietly, 'I can understand why you wish to catch that boat.'

  'Meg ...' He leaned forward, held her arm. 'Yesterday, last night, you did say you'd be my mistress.'

  "That was yesterday,' she said. She shrugged her arm free, pulled on her second boot. 'Perhaps, incredible as it may seem, Lord Claymond, I discovered last night that I might possibly be able to love you. After all, I suppose. I have not grown up so very much.' She stood up. 'Well, I know you have a lot to do.' She put on her hat, turned to look at him. ‘I should say, thank you very much for a most enjoyable night. I hope you can say the same.'

  'Meg ...' He made to get up, and then thought better of it. 'Meg, that money you need. I wrote the cheque. It's there on the table.'

  She looked down at it. Which makes me quite firmly a whore, she thought, should I take it. And possibly even a lady again, were I to tear it up and throw the pieces in his face.

  But I am neither a whore nor a lady, she reminded herself. I am Meg Hilton, and the only stupid thing I have done was even to think of giving up that name, that individuality. So what does it matter what he thinks of me? It matters nothing more than whatever anyone else thinks of me.

  She picked up the cheque, folded it, placed it in her reticule. 'Thank you very much, my lord. I can only hope I was worth that much money.'

  'Meg,' he said. 'Oh, my darling Meg. I shall always love you, Meg. I shall always dream of you. And perhaps, Meg, one day, perhaps . ..'

  Meg closed the door behind her.

  She walked Candy up the street; it was still early, and Reynolds and Son was closed. She turned the mare down a side street, into the residential area of the city, and saw Billy's horse tethered at the foot of his father's front steps. She had expected nothing less.

  'Good morning, Mrs Hilton. Man, but you up early.' Raleigh was the Reynolds' gardener. As if he didn't already know where she'd been.

  'It's the best time of the day, Raleigh.' She dismounted, gave him the reins. 'I shan't be long.'

  No, she thought as she climbed the stairs. I won't be long. To be long would be to give way to the tears which were lurking immediately behind her consciousness. She had to be alone, and soon.

  The front door opened as she approached it; Clark, the Reynolds' butler, had seen her coming. 'Man, good morning, mistress. But it is good to see you in town. You ride all the way in from Hilltop?'

  His gaze flickered over her habit; his practised eye was able to establish that she was wearing nothing underneath.

  'I spent the night in town, Clark. Is your master up yet ?'

  'Oh, yes'm, mistress. And Mr Hilton does be here too. You knowing that?'

  'I saw his horse. Would you tell them I'm here ?' She took off her hat. The lounge was gloomy, with the blinds drawn. But this was a gloomy house in any event, with its dark mahogany furniture and its silver-plated frames with their faded photographs.

  'But, you ain't going up, mistress?'

  'Thank you, no Clark. I will wait here.' The sight of Billy and his father in pyjamas and dressing gowns would be too much for her, she suspected.

  She sat down, by the door. What this house needed was a woman. Although even that said nothing for Walter Reynolds; the bungalow at Hilltop had lacked a woman for a similar length of time, just about, and it had never been gloomy.

  She realized Clark was still there. 'Well, go on.'

  'Yes'm. You going have a cup of coffee?'

  'After you have asked Mr Reynolds to come down. And Mr Hilton as well.'

  'Yes'm.' He hurried for the staircase, and paused at the foot.

  'Clark ?' It was Billy, and Meg's heart sank. He was wearing a dressing gown. 'Who is down there ?' 'Well sir, it is the mistress.'

  'Meg?' Billy completed the staircase at a run. 'Where in the name of God have you been ?' 'At Bladings' Hotel.'

  'But...' He remained standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at her. 'You told no one. I have been half out of my mind with worry.'

  'Indeed? I had supposed you quite occupied.'

  'But... Richard. You left little Richard without any supper.'

  'And he cried himself to sleep, and kept you awake,' she said. 'Oh, I am a terrible mother. I am nearly as bad a mother as you are a husband. Good morning, Walter.'

  Walter Reynolds was also wearing a dressing gown. 'Meg?' He peered at her. 'Where did you spend the night?'

  'At the hotel,' Billy said, uneasily.

  Meg got up. 'Oh, you may as well know the truth. Everyone else will, soon enough. I spent the night at the hotel with a man.'

  They goggled at her.

  'His name is Lord Thomas Claymond, and he once asked me to marry him. Rather foolishly I refused, so when he turned up I thought the least I could do would be to makeup for my mistake.'

  'Good God,' Billy sat down.

  'You ...' Walter Reynolds' face was purple. 'You have the effrontery to come here, straight from another man's bed, and ...'

  'Just as Billy has had the effrontery to chase into town, straight from another woman's cane patch, claiming to be worried about me? I think the whole thing is rather amusing.'

  'You can't prove that,' Billy snapped. 'There are no witnesses.'

  'Oh, indeed not,' she agreed. 'Save for an entire weeding gang.' 'They'll.. 'Not testify?'

  'No court will take the evidence of a gang of East Indian coolies,' Walter Reynolds declared. 'Whereas ...'

  'Of course,' she said. 'I slept at the hotel in full view of all Kingston, so to speak. You are quite right, my dear Walter. You will not lack for witnesses. So, then, are you going to divorce me, Billy?'

  Billy stared at her, his mouth opening and shutting.

  'I will admit all,' she said. 'I will even admit, and I can prove it, that Richard could not be your child. I do promise you that John Phillips will testify on my behalf. And your court will listen to him, Walter.'

  'You ... you'd be stoned in the street,' Walter Reynolds declared. 'Certainly you'd never be admitted to polite society again.'

  'Polite society,' she remarked. 'What a banishment that would be. Do you really mean I would never be forced to listen to Ann Holroyd's banalities again? My God, I shall go mad with suffering. But there is worse, isn't there, Walter? I shall never be forced to look at you again, very probably. My God, is there no end to my misery? But there will be compensations. I will have Hilltop. You cannot take it away from me, dear Walter. You may make life difficult for a year or two, but it is mine, mine, mine, and no one can gainsay that. I will also have Richard, because if you divorce me for adultery, Billy, you cannot possibly claim my child by yet another man.'

  Walter Reynolds sat down. 'Billy will have rights. He is your husband ...'

  'Oh, come now,' she said. 'You are clutching at straws.

  How can he have rights, when I have not yet even inherited ? You were very careful about that, Walter. What were you afraid of? That he'd fall under my spell ?'

  Walter Reynolds felt in his pocket for a handkerchief, found he had none, and instead wiped his brow with his sleeve.

  'You are an utter bitch,' Billy said.

  'I am an utter Hilton, Billy. You want to remember that, should you ever risk marriage again, you should discover something about your future bride's family and background, the sort of character she must have inherited. But of course, you cannot marry again, until you have divorced me. So, are you going to ?'

  She smiled at them, enjoying her triumph.

  'I'm sure,' Walter Reynolds said, 'that we can sit down like reasonable human beings and discuss this. After all, although you have behaved in a quite shocking, a quite disgusting manner, Meg, the fact is I am very conscious that Billy has, well... also let the side down, shall we say. I am also very conscious of my responsibilities as your guardian. I could not possibly betray the trust put in me by my dear friend Tony, and quarrel with you, no matter how outrageously you have behaved.'

  'My dear Walter,' sh
e said. 'You are sweet. But Papa did not only place me in your trust, did he ? He placed Hilltop in your care as well.'

  'Of course he did, and God knows I have done my best...'

  To run the plantation into the ground. Well, I propose to change all that. Once this crop is ground, we shall tear out all the stalks and turn Hilltop into a banana plantation.'

  'A banana plantation ?' Billy's voice was incredulous.

  'Now, Meg,' Walter Reynolds said soothingly. 'I know it makes some sense, economically, once you have your bananas growing. But as I explained to you yesterday, it is going to cost an awful amount of money. Money which we just do not have.'

  'I think you mentioned ten thousand pounds.'

  'Quite. It will certainly come close to that.'

  'Then we may have something to spare.' Meg took the cheque from her pocket, placed it on the table. 'Ten thousand pounds.'

  They gaped at her for a moment, then Billy leapt forward. 'My God.' He scrutinized the figures. 'It is ten thousand pounds. Thomas, Lord Claymond?' He raised his head. 'You ... you whore.'

  'If I am a whore, Billy, I must be the most successful one in all history. Why, I should go down in history. Ten thousand pounds, for one night. It is, by the way, only a loan. But a loan without repayment terms, so although I am determined that we shall repay it, we can do so from our profits once the bananas are ripe enough to be picked.'

  'But...' Walter Reynolds stared from the cheque to the girl in front of him. 'We cannot possibly accept this. Even supposing my lord has not already stopped payment. It is ... well...'

  'Oh, it is awfully dirty money. You may smell the semen on it,' Meg agreed. 'But is not all money fairly filthy? And I do promise you that Tommy will not stop payment. Ten thousand pounds, Walter, for the replanting of Hilltop.'

  Walter Reynolds gazed at his son.

  'Well, Father, as you said, it does make economical sense, and in view of the fact that, well...'

  'That by now everyone in Kingston, and by tomorrow everyone in Jamaica, will know that I spent the night with Lord Claymond,' Meg said, 'you may as well use the profit.'

  'My word,' said Walter Reynolds. 'What to do, eh? If only I knew what to do.'