The Velvet Glove

by Mary Williams

  ‘Come along, darling,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter? Frightened?’ He laughed softly. ‘There’s no need to be any more. We’re together now, just you and me. No more prying eyes or good wishes and stupid jokes. There’s always a lot of bla-bla and back slapping at weddings. But you were wonderful. And you looked simply – gorgeous.’

  He caught his breath, feeling the urge swelling strong in his loins and whole body, hardly able to resist pulling the constricting chiffon dress and endless petticoats from her body – wanting – with the natural lust of any healthy young bridegroom for a young wife – to make her truly his with their flesh merging into the wild sweetness of pulsing consummation.

  She said nothing, simply stood staring wide-eyed at the luxurious interior, one slender hand pressed over a breast.

  ‘Cassie—’ Jon said in a low voice, ‘come on now—’ and when she still didn’t move, continued with a hint of impatience, ‘what’s the matter? Are you cold or something? Well, we’ll soon remedy that.’ A look of confusion crossed his face. He pulled her to the soft luxurious bed and sat upon it, bouncing up and down once or twice. ‘It’s soft and warm, feel it.’ He jerked her wrist. She resisted, then fell beside him.

  ‘Don’t Jon – please don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what? For Heaven’s sake. Are you – are you tiddly? Was the champagne too much for you? It shouldn’t have been. You hardly had any. Well? Well? Cassie – Cassie.’ He pulled her close, one hand reaching for the fastening at her waist, the other firm against the subtle curves of buttocks and thighs beneath the voluminous layers of soft material.

  There was a shrill cry of, ‘No – no. Don’t—’ as she resisted, struggling against him, and with a violent movement freed herself. Jon stared at her, shocked and outraged by the rigid young figure confronting him. Her cheeks were flaming, her eyes wide, blazing with something he couldn’t understand – a kind of cold terror like that of some wild creature in confrontation.

  ‘What the devil—’ He broke off as her breathing quickened and the colour gradually drained from her face leaving it pale and tremulous. Her under lip quivered; she lifted both hands, covering her eyes. There was the sound of a muffled sob and the glimmer of tears between the slim fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jon – oh – I’m sorry. It’s just—’

  Through outrage and frustration, a seed of pity stirred and pierced his desire. She looked so defenceless suddenly, like a confused child in her mass of finery with hair half tumbled to her shoulders. Sexual need withered and died in him like a flame gone cold and dead in a freezing wind.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘you’re tired and tense. I understand.’

  ‘Do you? Do you?’ But he doesn’t, she thought, how could he? She didn’t even understand herself, except for the shadowy terror from the past – the ‘thing’ that had always haunted her from her earliest youth – something only half formulated in the deepest recesses of memory, but that was always there, waiting to assume shape once the barriers in her brain collapsed. And then – she shivered. Why should it be now, of all times, when she so needed love and compassion from Jon of all people – the one person who’d rescued her from a dull existence to give happiness and meaning to her life?

  He reached for her hand, and said quietly, ‘I’m your husband, Cassie – there’s no need to be afraid. We’ll sort all things out later, when we’ve got to know each other – properly, I mean. If you like, I’ll sleep in the dressing-room tonight. Tomorrow it will be different. We’ll be away from here, in a new place meeting fresh people. Then, all in good time, I’ll be able to show you what it’s all about – marriage and loving. Smile now, dry your eyes.’

  She relaxed; her lips softened and tilted sweetly, tremulously, resurrecting the fragile beauty that had so enchanted him from the moment of their first meeting. He felt again a stiffening of sensual desire, and dropped her hand, saying gruffly, ‘I’ll leave you to it. The night’s your own. I can bed down on my own, but I’ll be back in the early hours so there’s no gossip.’

  He turned away from her, walked stiffly to the bed and took up his silk pyjamas laid out so carefully by her own gossamer night-dress.

  Very softly behind him, he heard her saying, ‘I do love you, Jon.’

  ‘Yes. Well – that’s all right. Don’t try to explain now. I guess we’re both tired. And words don’t help.’

  She watched him with a sense of failure as he crossed the floor to the door of the small adjoining room, opened it, and went through, with his night clothes over his arm.

  There was the sound of a key being turned, and she was alone.

  The scent of flowers seemed everywhere – heavy, smothering and seductively sweet. Yet she knew that if he returned that evening everything would be the same. If he attempted to invade her privacy or touch her in a certain way she would scream.

  Perhaps, as he’d said, tomorrow would be different. Oh, she did hope and pray so, because it was true what she’d said – she did love him; he was her heroic symbol of a legendary knight in shining armour and would always remain so.

  That, perhaps, was the root of the trouble.

  Her knowledge of what real life could bring had been tarnished from the very beginning.

  3

  During the honeymoon Jon succeeded gently and tactfully in bringing his wife to a certain acceptance of her marital obligations. It wasn’t an easy process, but once her first initial objections were overcome she managed to assume a façade of pleasure in the dark, which did not fool him for a moment. Inwardly, he still felt thwarted with a sense of betrayal that was only diverted during the daytime by sight-seeing and touring the numerous cities and points of interest through Europe. Outwardly he managed a veneer of politeness and courtesy that completely deluded her. She enjoyed strolling by his side, white-gloved hand on his arm, through ornamental gardens, visiting galleries, and attending colourful operas and ballet, wearing the elegant outfits of her new wardrobe. She became well aware of her dainty charm, the admiring glances of other men and envy of women as they passed. This experience was exhilarating. When the time came to retire for nights at the expensive hotels where they stayed, she steeled herself for the enforced charade ahead, the interlude of acting a passion she did not feel. Had Jon been willing to caress her only, proximity would have been a comfort – because she did love him, she did, she did, she told herself frequently. But the rest – the physical intimacy was ugly, an acute pain to her.

  At intervals Jon succeeded in persuading himself that time must surely heal sexual chill. He had married her expecting a mutual flowering from their love. But in the bedroom as the days passed there was nothing natural about her until she fell asleep. Neither did it seem possible completely to penetrate her virginity

  The knowledge, whenever he faced it, not only humiliated but angered him. Some day, he determined, there’d have to be a down-to-earth confrontation or solution.

  But as spring turned towards young summer dappling the forest with the pale green and gold of growing things, misted with bluebells, everything between Cassandra and Jon was the same – outwardly.

  They lived then at the Dower House on the Charnbrook estate. It had been modernized and newly decorated and furnished for their return from the Continent. Through Walter’s generous wedding present no expense had been spared. Emily had been a little ironic when he’d made his intentions clear to her. ‘You’re treating her as though she was your own daughter,’ she once said critically. ‘Almost as well as Kate. Is that quite right, do you think? It isn’t as though we know Jon Wentworth that much – hardly at all. Only the money bags may be tempting him; you never know.’

  Walter wagged a finger at her. ‘It’s not like you to be uncharitable, love. Tell you the truth I’ve always felt sorry for that girl. Can’t have had much fun in life – pushed about from one place to another, then ending up with that stiff-necked cousin of mine and her “do-good” husband.’

  ‘She had a respectable upbringing,’ Emily
said primly, ‘and breaks with us at Beechlands.’

  ‘Just a few weeks a year,’ Walter reminded his wife, ‘and between you and me I don’t reckon our Kate’s been much help to her.’

  ‘So now you’re criticizing our own daughter.’

  Walter chuckled. ‘No, my dear. Just putting things into proportion, or trying to. You can’t deny that Kate’s likely to overshadow any other girl in her company.’

  ‘Well – she failed with Jon Wentworth, nevertheless,’ Emily retorted sharply. ‘I was pretty sure those two would end up together. Kate and Jon. A mother can sense these things, and at one time we do know Kate was infatuated.’

  ‘Until Ferris came along and snapped her up from under his nose.’

  ‘So it appears,’ Emily agreed. ‘But I shall never be quite easy in my mind about what happened there. It was something at the dance—’

  ‘Oh, you women,’ Walter retorted, ‘always ready to make a mystery of things. There’s no mystery there; the two got together – Ferris and Kate – and that was that. A good match if you ask me. He’s the means and strong character to keep her contented and in good order. And that’s what our girl needs. As for Cassie’ – he shrugged – ‘she’ll not let the Wentworths down. She’s a malleable shy little thing. They’ll soon have her shaped to what they want. So stop fussing and worrying, woman.’

  ‘Emily,’ came the reply sharply. ‘I’m not just your woman.’

  Walter grinned. ‘You are, always have been and always will be,’ he said affectionately, giving her a warm kiss on the cheek.

  Emily smiled.

  Any slight difference of opinion or argument they had usually ended that way. It had been the same from the beginning of their marriage when he was twenty and she only seventeen. But then, though humbly born, he was a natural charmer without having to resort to subtlety. You knew where you were with him. His goals in life might have been difficult but he’d gone straight for them, blunt and straightforward, with a genial twinkle in his eye, always ready to take the sting out of his victory when he won a point over a rival, socially or in business.

  ‘Rough soil may have bred him,’ a highly born member of Lynchester county council had once said when Walter won a seat on it, ‘but he’s a clever one – Walter Barrington. Better as a friend than an enemy.’

  Which was true.

  Emily recognized that his remarks concerning the suitability of Kate’s marriage to Rick were probably correct. Their daughter did need a strong man to guide and maybe control her if the occasion arose, but being a woman she also delved a little deeper, and sensed the hidden romantic streak still lurking somewhere unappeased beneath Kate’s bright façade. Still, if and when they had a child, maybe any previous yearnings for a fairytale, more sentimental, union would be erased. She’d be too occupied – hopefully – with the full-time business of motherhood.

  Kate herself was unsure of her feelings on the subject. She was not basically the passionately motherly type, and when she’d heard the doctor’s verdict – following an interview dealing with a number of minor ailments – that she was pregnant, her first reaction had been of mild shock. It was the natural outcome of lovemaking, of course, and she and Rick were both vital healthy individuals. But so soon! She’d looked forward to an immediate future of social events, travelling perhaps, and if Rick could tear himself away from his endless business and newspaper commitments – perhaps a season in London, theatre-going, and the opportunity of displaying her charm and beauty to the Press and important tycoons and people he mixed with.

  Instead she’d have to face a gradual thickening of her slim figure and restriction of certain physical activities she’d hitherto enjoyed. There’d be diet to consider, and people fussing about her health enforcing a limited existence that would have no fun in it any more. Once the baby was born of course she’d love it and take pride in showing it off to friends and acquaintances, provided it had charm and no defects. But giving birth was a chancy business. You never knew, did you? With her usual buoyancy she generally managed quickly to dismiss such a morbid trend of thought; and of course Rick was delighted by the news. ‘A son!’ he exclaimed jubilantly. ‘A boy to carry on the Ferris name. My darling, we must celebrate.’

  ‘And suppose it’s a girl?’ Kate queried a trifle tartly, irritated by Rick’s conventional reaction.

  ‘If it’s a girl she’ll be a joy, just the same. We could call her Gwenna or Marged. Welsh.’

  Kate pouted. ‘I’m not sure I like those. And anyway – it’s a long time ahead yet. Six months. A lot can happen before then.’

  A shadow crossed Rick’s face. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. Only you do take things so much for granted. It’s I who’ve got to go through it all. Men are so – so fatuous somehow, so self-centred—’

  ‘And how much do you know of men, my darling? In the plural?’ His voice was teasing. She managed to smile.

  ‘That’s better. That’s my Kate.’ He kissed her, and she relaxed. But inwardly there was a tiny seed of resentment.

  Shortly following this conversation Rick informed her he was going up to London for a week to meet an American tycoon who was on a visit to London for discussions including the future of the moving picture business currently sweeping the States and the possibilities of co-operation with Ferris in the publication of a weekly paper, Pictorial Review, to be bought on both sides of the Atlantic.

  It sounded exciting.

  ‘Take me with you,’ said Kate quickly. ‘Oh, please Rick, I should so enjoy it—’

  She broke off as he shook his head, ‘I’m afraid not this time. I shall be putting up at my club. It will be a strictly business affair. No pleasure jaunts or gadding around.’

  ‘We needn’t gad at all,’ Kate said stubbornly. ‘And I wouldn’t interfere with your – business whatever it is. I should be perfectly happy to wander about London a bit on my own. We could stay at some quiet hotel, and in the mornings—’

  Rick interrupted with a negative gesture of his hand and a sharp ‘No.’

  ‘But—’

  His jaws tightened determinedly. ‘I mean what I say. Some other time. I promise you, we’ll go up to town together and have a few days, although it’s not so long since we were there, is it?’ He smiled reminiscently.

  ‘The honeymoon? That was different. It’s mean of you, Rick. Especially now – when I’ve – when—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When I’ve just told you about the baby. You were pleased about that; it isn’t much to ask in return.’

  ‘Kate, there’s no point in arguing. I’d have no time with you at all, and I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to get into mischief by yourself while I was cooped up discussing facts and figures and plans with this American who could play an extremely important part in our future. So please be reasonable and take that glum look off your face. It doesn’t suit you; another thing, I should have thought you’d have wanted a bit of peace yourself at such a time. It’s April now – the weather’s good – just right to laze about a bit and from what I’ve heard most women who are expecting’ – he gave a grin – ‘pardon me – enceinte – like the chance of being alone to dream and pamper themselves.’

  Kate flounced and turned away. ‘Oh, bother being “enceinte” – such a stupid expression anyway. And I think it’s perfectly horrid of you. Unfair.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed blandly. ‘If you want to see it that way, do so. It won’t make a scrap of difference. As far as I’m concerned the matter’s finished, I’m going to town on male business for a week and you’re staying here.’

  ‘You say male business. Does that include Mrs Linda Wade?’

  ‘If her advice is needed. But I rather think not. In any case, dear heart, you won’t have to endure her company.’

  Kate bit her lip and succeeded in stifling a sudden show of irrational jealousy.

  And there presumably the matter ended.

  Rick went to London, and Kate sta
yed at Woodgate.

  Feeling bored, slightly disorientated and frustrated, she took a wander one day in a vague direction towards Cassandra’s retreat and round a bend of a lane saw a scarlet two-seater car parked by a gate leading into a field. She paused, wondering if it was Jon’s and whether or not to turn back. Before she’d decided, he cut from the woods, and walked towards her. He was casually dressed, and hatless. The pale sunlight lit his fair hair, and emphasized the easy swing of his athletic body through the lacy thin shadows of the trees. In spite of her determination to show nothing but cold politeness, Kate’s heart gave a lurch. He looked so handsome and so young.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said, hand outstretched. ‘Good to see you Kate.’

  She offered the tips of her fingers answering, and his own were strong round her palm. She noticed then, at close quarters, he did not appear quite so young as she’d at first thought. His mouth was somehow slightly strained and his blue eyes looked tired.

  She’d meant merely to say ‘Good morning, Jon,’ affecting indifferent recognition, but instead just answered, ‘Yes. Hullo.’

  ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Only once since the – the wedding – that day in Woodgate. You were with Rick. Remember?’

  She nodded. ‘Rick asked you in for a drink, but you refused.’

  ‘I had to get back. I’d promised Cass.’

  ‘How is Cassandra?’ The question came out with difficulty.

  ‘Oh, fine – fine – as far as I know. I mean she’s not complained of anything wrong – except for her painting, of course.’ His voice held a bitter note.

  ‘That? But she loves it.’

  ‘I know. That’s the point; she never has enough time for it. First thing every morning and she’s off to that place. I’ve dropped her there now. She’s in the middle of some imaginative thing that I just can’t fathom. But maybe you’ll be able to make it out. I take it that’s where you’re going now?’