A Mortal Sin (5 page)

“I haven’t got anything for you to eat. You needn’t laugh, Paul I’m sure he understood every word.”

They crossed over a creek, jumping from stone to stone until they reached the other side where giant tree ferns grew. It felt cool and damp, and they were alone, so when Paul drew her into his arms she made no protest. His lips were warm and firm against her trembling mouth.

“You’re beautiful.” With a hand gently cupping her face, he lifted her head and gazed into her eyes. “You’re as lovely as the flower bearing your name,” he whispered.

He held her hand as they strolled back the way they had come, and once out of the shade, the sun burned fiercely. If she wasn’t careful she would end up as red as a lobster.

They lunched at a guesthouse, on a trellised verandah overlooking neatly trimmed lawns. Beds of roses and camellias surrounded the tennis court and private swimming pool. Daphne sighed enviously. If only she was rich, this would be a delightful place to stay for a few days.

“Tired?” he asked.

“No. I was thinking what a beautiful place this would be for a weekend. “Thank you for bringing me here.” She smiled at the waiter who handed over the menu and tried not to ooh and ah too much over the exotic food. For once she wouldn’t even worry about the expense. Paul was wealthy. There had not been even a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he examined the menu.

“I’ll have crayfish, thank you,” she decided suddenly feeling reckless.

“Roast suckling pig for our main course,” he suggested. “We’ll have a bottle of your best wine too, please.”

She was so different from his usual female companions. He smiled indulgently at the almost nervous way her eyes darted everywhere, like a child frightened it might miss out on some special treat.

“Thank you, I enjoyed that, Paul.”

He watched the way her dimples came and went, the dainty way she used her table napkin. Working class, maybe, but Daphne was a lady.

“More wine?”

“No, thank you. I’ve drunk too much already.”

“Would you care to come to a party with me tonight,” he invited impulsively.

“I don’t know. What kind of party?”

“Just a party. There’ll be a band, the house backs on to the YarraRiver, should be fun.”

“Thank you, it sounds nice.”

“It’s three o’clock. We’d better head back. I’ll call for you about eight.”

He drove fast, his hands firm and confident on the wheel, and Daphne leaned back. Hopefully she was enjoying this unaccustomed luxury.

* * *

Daphne dressed for the party in the only long evening gown she possessed, a gathered jersey in japonica pink. She waited in nervous anticipation, wondering whether she had been too heavy-handed with the face powder. Was her lipstick too bright? She didn’t want to look cheap.

It was eight-thirty before Paul arrived.

“I thought you’d changed your mind and didn’t want to take me out.”

“Darling, I’m sorry for being late.”

For some reason it hurt when the endearment fell so carelessly from his lips.

“I got held up. You look beautiful.” He surveyed her from head to foot, and from the way his eyes darkened, she knew he meant it.

“Thanks, you look extremely dashing, too.” She had trouble forcing the words out past a lump in her throat. In a tailored dark evening suit with a pristine white dress shirt, he could have been a movie star.

Outside, Daphne caught her breath in surprise on seeing a dark colored Rolls Royce, driven by a uniformed chauffeur.

“Is this yours?” she squeaked.

“It belongs to the business.”

“I’ll feel like royalty driving along in this. If you’re trying to impress me, you have.”

Laughing, he dropped a kiss on her head. She blushed, but the chauffeur’s features remained impassive. Paul sat close enough for their thighs to touch, and she felt a tingling, excited sensation through the whole of her body every time he moved. You’re an ordinary working girl. When he returns to England it will be back to buses and walking. Forget that at your peril.

“You’re rather quiet.”

“Am I?” She laughed, what was the harm in enjoying this kind of pampering for once? “I’m reminding myself not to become used to such luxury.”

“I can’t ever recall meeting anyone as sweet and honest as you, Daphne.”

“Honesty is important to me.”

“What about love?”

“Without honesty, there couldn’t be sincere love. Oh, we are silly talking like this.” She touched his arm, a feather light caress.

“What’s your favorite city, Paul?”

“Paris, I think.”

“I thought you might have said London.”

“I like London, but there’s something special about Paris. Sophisticated, yet, well romantic I suppose.”

“Do you go there often?”

“Every couple of months or so.”

She hated herself for wondering whether he had a pretty little French girl tucked away in some chateau over there.

Within a short time they arrived in Hawthorn. The double storey mansion at the end of a tree-lined street appeared to be built of painted white brick. She tried to contain her awe as they walked up several marble steps to an impressive portico entrance.

A uniformed manservant ushered them indoors. A young maid took her wrap, then Paul slipped his arm through hers and they entered the ballroom. Chandeliers, Louis XV settees and chairs, Daphne’s legs shook. The dress she had thought beautiful looked cheap compared with the Parisian creations here.

“Paul, darling. How good of you to come,” gushed their hostess.

“Pleased to be here, Angie. You haven’t met Daphne yet. Angie Fairbrother, Daphne Clarke.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Fairbrother.” Daphne immediately noticed an enormous diamond ring on the woman’s left hand.

“Angie, please, darling. I’m between husbands at the moment. Now tell me, Paul. Where’s Kitty?”

“She’ll be along in a while, I should imagine.”

“You naughty boy.” Angie tapped his cheek with a long, red nailed finger. “She’ll sulk for weeks now because you weren’t her escort.” She glanced at Daphne and sniffed slightly.

“Those people over there are waving to you,” Daphne said.

“So they are.” He raised his hand in acknowledgement. When the orchestra started up, Paul swept her into his arms and she forgot everything except the wonderful feeling of being held against his hard, warm body.

The party seemed to be awash with Champagne. There were biscuits covered in caviar, wafer thin shrimp sandwiches and little creams of foie gras. It must have cost a fortune. Sinful when so many working men had lost their jobs due to the depression, and their families were on the verge of starvation because of the pittance the government paid them in sustenance.

The ‘susso’ was not enough to live on, it kept families one step ahead of destitution, and the people here spent money with reckless abandonment. The voices around her sounded overloud, greatly affected, and the gushiness of several women over Paul became nauseating.

Daphne recognized Kitty the moment she swept into the room, dressed in a black velvet gown. The high back was countered by the low V showing a large portion of her creamy white breasts. The skirt was bunched up into a bustle effect at the back. She looked sensational. Her pictures in the society pages didn’t do her justice.

“How are you? Daisy, isn’t it?” Kitty removed a long cigarette holder from her mouth, and languidly blew a cloud of smoke into Daphne’s face. “Darling, I hope you aren’t taking too seriously anything this Casanova tells you.”

Paul’s eyes hardened as he drawled, “I’m not all that bad am I, darling?”

He sounded as insincere as ninety-five percent of the other people here Daphne thought with a pang. The music started to become over loud, people more boisterous and, like a trapped animal, she searched for a place to flee. Paul stood chatting with Kitty and a group of other people. Several men gave her bold, speculative stares, but Kitty’s eyes burned with hostility.

Glancing up Paul saw Daphne sitting alone, as out of place as a rose in the desert. He cursed himself for bringing her to a turn like this. He should have known that a compassionate person like her would have nothing in common with these selfish artificial people.

“You’re English, what do you think of the Munich Accord?” a man asked Paul as he was about to escape from Kitty’s clutches. “If France and England aren’t prepared to fight the Germans over Czechoslovakia, what about….

“I’m not into politics,” Paul cut him off. “Excuse me. I should be getting back to Daphne.”

“She’s a pretty little thing, old boy, not your type though. Start anything with her and Daddy would insist on marriage.”

Paul gave Ralph Hughes a look of utter distaste. Without replying, he turned on his heel and strode off.

After Angie waylaid him, it took another five minutes before he could extricate himself, by then Daphne had disappeared.

“Excuse me, the young lady in pink, did you see where she went?” he asked a hovering waiter.

“Through the French doors, Sir.”

It felt cool in the garden. Daphne hurried to a section well away from the house and rested her hot cheek against the smooth trunk of a weeping willow tree. Paul was right in saying the property backed on to the YarraRiver. She had acted like an idiot by rushing off, but couldn’t stand to be near such selfish people.

“Daphne, where are you?”

“Over by the big willow.”

“Is anything wrong?” he asked when he came up to her.

“No. Well, yes, I didn’t like the party over much, sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you here. They aren’t your type of people.”

“But they are yours,” she whispered sadly. “I’d like to go home please.”

“Let’s go for a walk along the river first.”

She hesitated.

“Please, darling,” he pressed.

The pain of his constant, careless use of the endearment became unbearable. “Don't call me that.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't mean it.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve said it to at least five different women tonight.”

“It’s merely a figure of speech.”

“Not to me it isn’t. It’s special, I’d only use it for someone I love.”

He slapped his forehead with an open hand. “You don’t like parties. You don’t drink or smoke. Are you a Quaker or something?”

“No, a Methodist.”

“Hell, I don’t want to talk.” He pulled her into his arms, and his mouth closed over hers. It was a gentle, restrained kiss at first, but as she shyly responded he molded her closer, his lips hungry, demanding. He coaxed her mouth open and excitement fluttered around in the pit of her stomach.

When his hand cupped her breast Daphne realized she had let him go too far. “Stop it, Paul.” She shoved him away. “I’m not a call girl.”

“I didn’t think you were?”

“Or a cheap pick up?”

“Of course not. I only wanted a few kisses.”

“Take me home please.”

He escorted her to the Rolls Royce. “I’ll let Angie know we’re leaving.”

“Comfortable Miss?” the chauffer asked after helping her into the back seat.

“Yes, thank you.” She wondered if he detected the huskiness in her voice. If he did, he gave no sign, and simply made his way to the driver’s side of the car and silently waited.

Even on such a warm night she felt icy cold. When Paul joined her he did not speak, and they drove along in a fraught, angry silence. On arrival at the boarding house, he saw her to the door, waiting without speaking until she stepped inside.

“Goodbye, Daphne.”

The darkness swallowed him up and she knew she would never see him again. It’s for the best she told herself fiercely. You’re not into casual affairs, and that’s all a wealthy, sophisticated man would ever want from an ordinary working girl.

Chapter Four

Sunday dawned, a scorcher of a day. Paul lounged against the Buick, which he parked right outside the church gates, so there was no way Daphne wouldn’t see him. His heart lifted as she came out of the church and waved to him.

He had spent half the night tossing and turning, thinking about her and the shabby way he had treated her. Ian was right, they were not suited, and he should do the decent thing and stay away from her. He made up his mind never to see her again, but come morning, he could not stay away. It was impossible, like trying to breathe without air.

“Hello Paul.” Daphne greeted him warily.

 In a simple white, lemon and green dress, and with a white straw hat perched at a jaunty angle on her bright hair, she made the radiance of the sun fade into insignificance, he thought.

“Hello, Daphne. I’m sorry about last night, I acted like a real bastard. Will you come out with me? I thought we could catch the ‘Weeroona’ to Queenscliff, I’ve brought along a picnic hamper.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I’d like that.”

“Do you need to get anything from home?”

“No, but I walked up with a friend, Fay.” She beckoned another girl over.

“Don’t worry about me, Daph.” Fay obviously overheard. “I don’t mind walking back on my own.”

“I can drop you off first, it isn’t far out of our way,” he said.

“No thanks, the walk will do me good. Have a nice time. Oh, will you be late getting back?”

“I don’t know.” Daphne glanced at Paul.

“Most probably.”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Rogers, so she can leave the door unlatched.” With a cheery wave Fay left them.

Paul saw Daphne into the car. Still bent over, he stared straight into her face. “After last night, I made up my mind not to see you again.”

Her gaze held his. “I know,” she whispered.

He stroked her smooth, soft cheek and inhaled the fresh sweet perfume of her skin. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

His eyes were dark and somnolent today, and she was frightened of the feelings he aroused in her, a rush of blood to her head, and swirling butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Why did he have to be so handsome and wealthy? Why were their backgrounds so different? Why couldn’t he just be an ordinary working man?” She fought to suppress a moan of anguish because they had no future together. Even if Adolf Hitler didn’t plunge Europe into another war, they only had now.