Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs

by Clayton, Victoria

  I heard these words with such an unpleasant sense of shock that the blood rushed to my face. Rafe observed it.

  ‘You’re feeling shy. I understand. Just a minute.’ He lifted my legs up onto the bed so that I was lying with my head on the pillow. ‘Relax. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’ He went to the window and drew the curtains, throwing the room into semi-darkness. ‘There. That’s better isn’t it?’

  ‘Much,’ I said to the head-shaped shadow that loomed over me. As he climbed on to the bed beside me accompanied by a violent creaking of springs, I was thinking furiously. What on earth had given him the impression that I was a virgin? Then I remembered that he had asked me quite recently after we had become reacquainted if I had ever been in love. I had said no. Being a respectable, properly brought-up man used to respectable, properly brought-up girls, he must have assumed that I would only give my body where my heart had gone before. It behoved me to disillusion him as soon as I could. But he had his tongue in my mouth and was kissing me – rather expertly too, quite firmly and without dribbling.

  ‘Rafe,’ I said the moment he removed it, ‘I’d hate you to get the wrong idea—’

  ‘Don’t worry, my sweet,’ he interrupted. ‘I know just what you’re thinking. Of course I’m not going to respect you less for letting me make love to you. I just feel so proud that I’m the first one. You can’t imagine how precious this moment is to me. I feel like a king. Oooh, what a lucky, lucky man I am!’

  He folded me in his arms and held me so tightly that I had no breath to speak. Perhaps it would be better not to disillusion him until afterwards if it was as important as all that.

  ‘Of course, there have been women in my life,’ he continued. ‘You mustn’t mind. Men are different from women. They can love a woman physically without getting emotionally involved. Besides, I’m thirty-one. You wouldn’t expect me to have remained celibate.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And that experience means I’m better equipped to give you pleasure.’

  ‘Oh yes. I assure you I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘You’re an extraordinary girl, Marigold. So innocent, and yet in some ways so wise.’

  I blushed harder and was thankful for obscurity. Rafe unzipped my skirt and pulled it down so that I was naked but for my bra and pants and those terribly unsexy socks which I hoped he wouldn’t notice in the dark. He started to stroke and kiss my body. His hands and mouth were light and it was soothing and delightful. When I attempted to stroke him back, he murmured, ‘No, wait. I don’t want to get too excited and rush you. Just relax and think how much I love you.’

  So I lay back feeling warm and comfortable, listening to the twitter of birds outside and the springs that squeaked with the slightest movement like a family of vociferous mice. He continued to caress my stomach and thighs and then undid my bra and kissed my breasts very gently. What with the darkness and the heat given off by the fires and the long walk after three months without exercise and the sedative effect of being stroked all over, my thoughts began to ramble. I tried to drag them back to Rafe’s hitherto unsuspected passion for me, but the squeaks of the springs reminded me of the visit to Bavaria when Lizzie and I had taken a rowing boat on to the Alpsee and everywhere had been absolutely peaceful and still with barely a ripple on the water or a sound except for the noises oars make in rowlocks, a rhythmical creaky noise. ERRK, errk, ERRK, errk. The mountains had been majestic with their hoary peaks and green skirts … I seemed to be floating on my back on the surface of the lake, surrounded by swans, dipping their heads and shaking their graceful necks. The king of the swans – the one wearing the tiny gold crown – began to nibble my breasts with his hard wet beak and it was not entirely pleasant. I tried to splash with my hands and feet to get away and then woke with a cry of pain as my foot touched the brass bedpost, which was red-hot from the blazing electric fires …

  ‘Ow-how!’

  ‘Marigold! My angel!’

  Rafe tore off my knickers and before I could galvanize myself into enthusiastic action, everything was over much more quickly than he had originally proposed. Afterwards I lay in his arms, so steeped in guilt that I hated myself. Listening to his thundering heart, feeling the pressure of his hand caressing my elbow, registering a kiss on my parting, I told myself I was the meanest woman in the world. For the first time in my life I had been made love to by someone who had unselfishly devoted himself to my pleasure instead of greedily snatching his own and I had rewarded him by falling asleep. I put my arm across his broad chest and pressed myself against him, vowing silently to make it up to him at the next opportunity. Sebastian had taught me one or two little tricks that, according to him, could bring a man to the edge of swooning with pleasure. And of course dancers have splendid musculatures and can if necessary perform extraordinary contortions …

  ‘Darling,’ I whispered, ‘thank you for being so kind and considerate …’

  To my surprise he put his hand over my mouth. ‘Don’t. Don’t say another word. I’m not kind. Or considerate. I’m the most despicable …’ He groaned and broke off.

  I pushed away his hand. ‘Rafe?’ I sat up and leaned over him, wishing that I could see his face properly. ‘Why do you say that? It isn’t true.’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘I don’t need to know. Unless it would make you feel better to tell me.’ When he didn’t reply I went on, ‘But if you can’t undo whatever it is, what’s the point of making yourself miserable? I expect you’re exaggerating your guilt because you’re still recovering from shock. Isobel told me you risked your own life to save someone else’s. You ought to concentrate on that.’ Then when he remained silent I added, ‘We all do things we’re ashamed of.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve ever done anything to be ashamed of.’

  ‘Oh yes I have. And I’ve no intention of telling you what. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Well, then.’ He put up his hand to touch my face. ‘We’ll agree to put the past behind us, shall we?’

  ‘Let’s.’

  He pulled my head down, rolled me on to my back and kissed my mouth with a fierceness that seemed to border on desperation. His teeth pressed into my lower lip and really hurt. ‘Marigold,’ he murmured, ‘Marigold, Marigold, Marigold.’

  ‘Are you committing my name to memory?’

  He did not reply immediately and I regretted the little joke, for he was clearly not in the mood for levity. Just as I was beginning to wonder how I might tactfully suggest that we got dressed, he sighed heavily and said, ‘I promise, my darling, I’ll do everything in my power to try to make you happy and that you shall never suffer because I … through any behaviour of mine.’ I was about to tell him that no such promise was needed when he said words that made my heart do a grand jeté. ‘Marigold darling, you’re my salvation. Do you realize that? With you by my side I know I can kick these appalling fits of depression and become a rational man again. I don’t deserve you but I’m going to try to.’ His voice became eager. ‘I think we ought to get married as soon as possible. The expense of a huge wedding would be unfair to your father. And a terrible strain for Dimpsie. Why don’t we slip off to a register office and tell everyone about it afterwards?’

  For a moment I felt as though my veins had been injected with air. The most desirable man I had ever known, the demigod whom I had worshipped from childhood, who could have had any girl in the county merely by snapping his fingers, was asking me to marry him. I felt as though I might float up to the ceiling, except that his body was pinning me to the bed. It seemed like an impossible dream. Just a minute – I tasted blood on my lips – it was an impossible dream. ‘Rafe … let’s not go too fast. There are … obstacles.’

  ‘You mean my mother.’

  I was not thinking of Evelyn, though she counted as a very large one. ‘Yes,’ I said quickly. ‘She wouldn’t like it one bit. The daughter of the local GP isn’t good enough for her son. She sa
id so, though not in so many words.’

  ‘You mean you’ve talked about it? You told her you were in love with me? I’m so flattered. I really had no idea.’

  ‘Not quite. She was leaping to conclusions because you and I seemed to be getting on so well.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my sweet. You can safely leave my mother to me. I don’t want you to have a care in the world ever again. Of course I can’t put things right between your parents. But you’ll always be able to lean on me. I want to be your source of strength and comfort.’

  How tempting this sounded. No one had even offered to put me into a taxi or pick up my dry cleaning before, let alone be my source of strength and comfort.

  ‘I want to protect you. You’re so tiny and fragile. Quite, quite beautiful and … damn! That was the front door! They must be back from Newcastle already. Quick! Get your clothes on!’

  He sprang out of bed and flung back the curtains.

  I grabbed my skirt and zipped myself up. ‘Rafe, we’ve got to talk—’

  ‘Shh!’ He put his finger to his lips. ‘Wait till they’ve left the hall and then go downstairs and get in the car. If anyone sees you, pretend you’ve been to the lavatory. I’ll come down in a minute with a book I’ll say you were asking about. Wait a minute.’ He flung me a comb. ‘You’d better tidy your hair.’

  I made the best of myself as instructed and went out to the head of the stairs. I heard Evelyn say, ‘There you are, Spendlove. Some tea, please. And bring Mr Preston’s pills …’ her voice trailed away.

  I crept downstairs and out to the car. The temperature was falling fast with the onset of dusk. I sat and shivered for five minutes until Rafe joined me.

  ‘Sorry. I met my father in the hall. He was convinced he was at his club and that I was Lord Bledsoe. Poor old chap, it’s so sad to see him in that state.’ He started the engine and set off down the drive. ‘Never mind, darling. Now I’ve got you,’ he rested his hand on my knee, ‘I feel as though I could never be very depressed about anything ever again. Do you know, I haven’t felt as happy as this for years. Not since our crew won the boat race by half a length, in fact. If you were the only girl in the world,’ he smiled as he sang, ‘and I was the only boy …’

  ‘Rafe. Darling. Naturally I love you more than anyone in the world …’

  He smiled more broadly. ‘So I should hope.’

  ‘But I do just wonder if it’s a good idea to think about getting married actually straight away …’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we? If you’re worrying about Dimpsie, don’t. As a son-in-law I’d be in a much better position to help her. I’m very fond of her.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’

  ‘As for Evelyn, I’ve told you not to give it another thought. Once she sees my mind’s made up, she won’t stand in my way. How can she? I’m thirty-one years old and already running the estate. I know she can be difficult, but she’s devoted to her children.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I told myself that for once I must not be a silly little coward. I must make it clear to Rafe that I was on the point of leaving for London to resume my career and that I could not marry him this year or next. Perhaps never. I opened my mouth to do this, but instead out came a yell as Rafe jammed on the brakes to avoid a moped without rear lights and we went into a skid.

  ‘Are you all right, darling?’ he asked as he brought the car to a halt several yards further on. He had kept his head and saved us going over the edge of the hillside and down into the river. ‘Sorry, but I must go and make sure that idiot’s all right. Shan’t be a jiff.’ He got out of the car and disappeared into the gloom. Before my circulation had returned to its usual speed, he was back. ‘That was Jack Banks, son of our builder. He’s all right, thank the Lord. Just a bit shocked. And frightened that I might report him. I said I wouldn’t, provided he promised to get his rear light fixed in the morning. I’ll ring him tomorrow to make sure he has.’

  Rafe was a model of responsible, adult behaviour. I thought of the old lady and was filled with shame. So much so that I couldn’t say another word until we pulled up outside our house.

  ‘Goodbye, my darling.’ He leaned over to kiss me. ‘Sweet dreams. I know I shan’t be able to sleep for happiness, but I shall think of you and I shan’t mind a bit.’

  ‘Come in for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Couldn’t it wait? Naturally I want nothing more than to talk to you – apart from making love to you, that is – but I ought to get back and see to my father.’ When I looked at him pleadingly he said, ‘All right, dearest girl. Your slightest wish is my command.’ He turned off the engine, then sprang out to come round and open my door. ‘Do you know, it’s wicked of me, but I rather miss having to fetch those crutches. You were so deliciously dependent.’

  I found my latchkey and let us in. Glancing up at the long-case clock I saw the moon-face, its mouth drooping between fat pale cheeks, disconsolate in the dim light of the hall lantern. The radio was on in the kitchen. Someone was singing, ‘I don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky, Stormy Weather’ with melancholy pertinence.

  ‘Let’s go into the sitting room,’ I said.

  Rafe followed me in. Dimpsie was lying on the sofa as though asleep, the neck of a wine bottle in her relaxed grasp. She opened her eyes as I leaned over her and said, ‘Go to hell!’ Then she was horribly sick.

  21

  ‘Anyone’d think it was a royal command,’ grumbled Dimpsie as we set out the next morning to drive across the valley to Shottestone. ‘I’m not tidy enough for an audience. And did it have to be so early? My head is agony.’

  The truculence in her tone was explained by the residual alcohol in her bloodstream. When sober, nothing that Evelyn could demand of her was too much trouble. Once, when Mrs Capstick had burned her hand, Dimpsie had stayed up practically all night, poaching salmon and setting it in aspic and piping meringue baskets under Mrs Capstick’s direction. When Evelyn had complained that the aspic was too soft, the cucumbers too thickly sliced and the baskets too crooked, Dimpsie had taken the criticism without a murmur and had eagerly put on an apron to help serve the guests at the party to which she had not been invited.

  ‘Poor you,’ I said with less sympathy than usual. I was busy steeling myself to face the ordeal ahead. I was certain that the summons, issued to Dimpsie via the telephone while we were breakfasting without enjoyment on a boiled egg apiece, had to do with Rafe and me.

  ‘Oh, I know I’ve only myself to blame and I apologize more than I can say for making such an exhibition of myself in front of Rafe. It was weak and it was selfish and I’m thoroughly ashamed.’ I glanced sideways and saw that Dimpsie’s eyes were filling with tears once more. ‘Beastly bloody woman! I never thought I’d be wicked enough to wish anyone dead, but I’d really enjoy seeing her head on a spike.’

  I did not need to be told that she was not talking about Evelyn. Over the boiled egg, I had pieced together disconnected sentences between bursts of crying, and gathered that barely five minutes after Rafe and I had driven off for an afternoon of decorous swiving, Dimpsie had answered the front door to find Marcia Dane practically driving the bell push through the wall with her forefinger. She had been swaddled in furs, according to Dimpsie, and wearing enough lipstick to paint Newcastle red twice over.

  Marcia Dane had accused my mother of refusing to release my father from a marriage that was a hollow mockery. Furthermore, Marcia said she could afford to free Tom from the wearisome monotony of a GP’s existence so he could pursue a medical career better suited to his talents. Unless Dimpsie was a monster of unimaginable selfishness, she would instantly grant Tom the divorce he had several times requested.

  Dimpsie had replied that if he did ask her for a divorce she would agree to it, but so far he hadn’t and she didn’t believe he ever would. Marcia said that Tom had said Dimpsie was as exciting as cold porridge in bed but she was clearly a barefaced liar as well. Further hard words had been exchanged, which Dimpsie
could not perfectly remember, but the upshot had been that she had threatened to call the police if Marcia did not leave the house forthwith. Marcia had complied and Dimpsie, standing forlorn in a dusty, dirty, empty house that had once been a cosy domestic nest containing an adored, if not adoring, husband and happy little children, had to choose between the noose and the bottle. At this point in the narrative I had said with genuine feeling that I was heartily thankful she had chosen the latter and Dimpsie had done some more weeping in my arms. Then the call from Evelyn had come. When I asked my mother what sort of language and tone Evelyn had used, she had only been able to come up with the adjective ‘crisp’.

  ‘I wonder what could be so important that she wants to see both of us?’ mused Dimpsie.

  I was too distracted to reply. By the morning post had come a letter from Lizzie. She had quarrelled with her grandmother, and she hoped I didn’t mind but she had moved into my room in Maxwell Street while she looked for somewhere to live. Naturally she would leave the minute I returned but would pay the rent meanwhile. She told me about the US tour and brought me up to date on company gossip, which I found I had missed more than I knew. The last paragraph had worried me, though. When I got back from the States, rumours were flying around that you and Sebastian were engaged! I was able to tell them that it was complete poppycock, because of course you’d have told me if there was the remotest possibility of anything so wildly preposterous. And the rumours have died down now anyway, because Sebastian’s sleeping with a new girl who’s just joined the LBC. Her name’s Sylvia Starkey and she’s quite pretty but her dancing’s not a patch on yours. She says he makes her do horrible things – what, she wouldn’t say. I bet he’ll chuck her as soon as you come back, but I thought you ought to know how things stand so you can be on your guard against bitchy remarks from the other girls …

  Sylvia Starkey was welcome to Sebastian’s sexual predations, I thought, as we drove through Gaythwaite.. But did that mean that he would no longer give me the principal roles? I was so worried about this possibility that I allowed my mother to ramble on without listening much to what she was saying.