A Mortal Sin (9 page)

“Dad, please. Paul, this is my father.”

They were close, he noticed immediately and he felt a twinge of envy, their relationship was so different to the one he had with his father.

“How are you, Mr. Clarke?”

“Frank, please. I’m happy to meet you, Paul. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

“Thank you for putting me up.”

“Daphne’s welcome to bring any of her friends around,” Frank said.

“Never brought a man friend before, though,” Rob chipped in with a grin. “Always silly, giggling girls.”

He neatly fielded the cushion his sister threw at him.

“At least my friends aren’t grubby like yours.”

Paul enjoyed their light hearted banter.

“I’ll go and give Mum a hand,” Daphne said as she left the room.

“Go on, Dad, ask him his intentions.”

“All right, son, you’ve said enough. Do you follow the cricket, Paul?”

“Yes.” They chatted in a desultory manner about the cricket and soccer.

“What do you think of this Adolf Hitler fellow?” Frank asked.

“He looks like Charlie Chaplin with that stupid little moustache.” Rob got up and goose-stepped around the room.

“It’s no joking matter, son. The man is a bigoted maniac. I read where he has forbidden German children to even speak to Jewish ones.”

“I’m not sure what to make of it but my father is convinced there’s going to be a war.” Paul grimace. “He doesn’t agree with England and France’s policy of appeasement at all costs. Reckons you can’t trust the Germans.”

“I agree with him, I had enough of them in the war, fanatics some of them. Still…” Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your Prime Minister might be trying to buy England some time to prepare for war.”

“Well, before I left England I did hear that the government have started building air-raid shelters, and school children have been issued with gas masks as a precautionary measure. Paul knew he was being summed up, yet it was done in such a skilful way as to be inoffensive.

“Tom will be home either tonight or tomorrow. Can never tell when he will breeze in, but he knows how much Christmas and the family mean to his mother, so he won’t let us down. He’s rather a rolling stone, always wanting to try something new.”

Paul got up to inspect the pictures on the mantel. His eyes were drawn to a large colored photograph of Daphne when she was about eight, sitting between two boys; the small one would be Rob, the older, fair boy probably Tom. Another photo showed Daphne as a toddler, and in the corner stood a sepia photograph of two young men in army uniform.

The women returning with a fresh pot of tea interrupted his inspection.

“You’ll have another cup, Paul?” Daphne smiled into his eyes. “Stop eating all the cake, there won’t be any left for Dad,” she scolded her brother.

“Nothing to eat thanks, Princess I’ll spoil my dinner.”

Paul refused the cake also, not Rob, he devoured it like a starving man. Paul drained his cup and stood up.

“If you would excuse us, come on, Daphne?”

“Well, what do you think?” She asked as they strolled hand in hand towards the back of the house.

“They’re nice, I like all three of them.”

“I’m glad.” She rubbed her cheek against his bare arm. “Mum thinks you’re very English.”

“Oh.” He nearly told her he was in fact born in Australia, but stopped himself in time. He was too scared of the ramifications of illegitimacy to risk unburdening himself right now.

The apricot trees in the orchard were loaded with plump, ripe fruit. He lifted Daphne up and sat her on the top rail of a wooden fence, bringing her face on a level with his own. They fed each other plump, ripe apricot halves.

“Love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too.”

“I’ll speak with your parents as soon as I can about us, but I suppose they must guess something is in the wind.”

“Mum does anyway.”

Seeing the shadows in Daphne’s eyes he knew that even now, she felt unsure of his love. He couldn’t find the words to reassure her, so he held her close. “I’ll never hurt you, Sunshine. You have to believe me. I only wish we could go away and get married straight away.”

“Wait until after Christmas to talk with Dad.”

“I planned to say something tonight when we got your parents alone.”

“It’s only a couple of days. Speak to Dad on Boxing Day. I always feel flat then. Mum says there’s a Christmas Eve dance at the North Wang hall.”

He grimaced.

“If you don’t want to go, we won’t, but I’d like to show you off to all my friends. We could go the midnight service afterwards.”

“Midnight service?”

“At Holy Trinity,” she said.

“Oh.”

“It’s Church of England. You aren’t Roman Catholic are you, Paul?”

“No, I’m Church of England.”

“You don’t want to go to church with me?”

“If you want to go we will, but I thought I picked you up from a Methodist church.”

“I am a Methodist, but lots of my friends up here are Church of England, and I used to go with them sometimes. Mum’s Methodist, and Dad’s Church of England, but he never goes. He’s bitter about them for some reason, believes in God but not in churches.”

“I share his sentiments.”

“Paul.”

“Mm.” He nuzzled her throat.

“You’ve never told me much about your family.”

“There’s not much to tell. My mother,” his mouth twisted, “is a very social person. An utter snob in other words.”

“Paul!”

“It’s true. She’s never shown any interest in me. My father, well the old man’s not so bad. Ruthless as hell if you cross him, though. He got a knighthood a few years back.”

He watched fear darken her eyes, and her lips started trembling.

“It won’t make any difference to us,” he reassured.

“I’m frightened, our backgrounds are so...”

“Shh.” His lips cut her off. “We love each other. We won’t live with my parents. My grandfather left a half share of the business to me, held in trust until I came of age, so we can live without any financial support from my father.”

“They won’t approve of me. You know they won’t. They would expect you to marry someone from a similar background.”

“My father has already picked someone out for me to marry.” He felt the tremor passing through her, and tightened his hold. “I told him before I left England, I would only marry for love. Caroline Bowater is all right I suppose. She’s recently returned home from some Swiss finishing school. Her father’s a Lord.”

“Oh no.”

“I’ve never had any intentions of marrying her. I told the old man that. We had a hell of a row before I came out here. He’s not going to run my life, Daphne. I love you and we will get married. If he doesn’t like it, too bad. Once we present him with a grandson to carry on the name, things will be all right, wait and see.”

“I love you so much I’m frightened something might happen to spoil it.”

“Silly girl.” He tweaked a strand of chestnut hair. “I suppose we better go back inside or your parents will think I’ve spirited you away with lecherous intent.”

“Did you?” She laughed.

“Yes. Give me a kiss before I lift you down.”

Her lips were soft and warm as she shyly did as he asked, but his mouth soon took over, drawing from her all the sweetness of youthful ardency that he could not get enough of.

Regretfully he pulled away and lifted her down, and they started back towards the house. Pink-breasted galahs and brightly colored parrots covered the trees now. A roughly made scarecrow, flapping his arms limply in the slight breeze, proved to be useless against the greedy marauders.

“Shoo, shoo.” Daphne, dropping Paul’s hand, ran around waving her arms madly, and he watched her, drinking in every movement. What a lovely girl she was. He wanted to go away somewhere, just the two of them, so he wouldn’t have to share her with anyone else.

* * *

Paul enjoyed the lively discussion over the Clarke dinner table, although he did not agree with their politics. “It’s a disgrace,” Frank said. “Men who fought for this country can’t get a job. I know there has been a depression, but the government could do much more. We need a labor government to give the working man a fair go. The sustenance is a pittance; a man can’t even support his family on it.”

If only Sir Phillip could see him now, in this staunch socialist home.

“You’re not one of us?” Frank asked.

“Afraid not.” Paul grinned. “Politics doesn’t hold much interest for me, really.”

“What religion are you?”

Daphne’s fork clattered against her plate. “Dad!”

“I’m Church of England.”

“What do you do for a living?”

Paul glanced across at Mrs. Clarke, whose eyes danced with merriment. Something struck a chord in his memory, but it was so elusive he could not fathom it out. Had they met before? Of course they hadn’t.

“I work in my father’s business.”

“Business?”

“Wool, importing and exporting.”

“You’re from Yorkshire, I understand,” Frank said.

“Yes.” Something made him glance up. The laughter had disappeared from Mrs. Clarke’s eyes, her face turned ashen. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. He had a sudden inexplicable desire to rush over and comfort her, but forced himself to remain seated.

“Are you all right, dear?” Frank must have noticed also. “You’ve lost all your color.”

“I’m fine. More custard, Paul?”

“No, thank you.”

“Rob and I can do the dishes for you, Allison.”

Paul’s spoon clattered against his plate. What a coincidence. Daphne’s mother was called Allison too.

“Fair go, Dad, men don’t do the dishes.”

“It’s all right, I can do them, maybe you could help me, Paul.” Daphne’s eyes twinkled.

“Certainly not. Paul can go to the sitting room with your father and Rob.”

Later in the evening, they all sat on the verandah listening to the nightlife, and Paul was glad to feel the caress of a cooling breeze. He still wasn’t acclimatized and up here it was even hotter than in Melbourne. The aroma of Frank’s pipe tobacco drifted into his nostrils. It was peaceful. Pinpricks of light a short distance away were obviously the town, yet further out he could see nothing except the black emptiness of the Australian bush.

“What would you like to do tomorrow?” Daphne asked.

“Let’s take a drive, we could have a picnic somewhere.”

“Sounds nice.” She sat on the step next to him but shifted closer to rest against his arm.

“Will you come for a walk with me now?” he asked softly so the others would not hear.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “What about Mum and Dad?”

“They would expect me to want a goodnight kiss. They’re not so old they would have forgotten what it is. I’m going to hate sleeping alone tonight.”

“You’ll have Rob.”

“I want you. I wish it were possible for us to spend a couple of days away from here, just the two of us.”

“I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, but a chap can’t help thinking about it. I’m mad for you.”

He stood up suddenly, bringing her with him. “Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, would you object if I took your daughter for a short walk?”

Silence.

“No, we don’t object, but don’t go too far,” Frank finally said.

“You’re forgetting they aren’t ten years old, Frank.” Allison reprimanded him with a smile.

“Daphne’s very young.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“We won’t be long.” Paul clasped Daphne’s hand. “It’s such a pleasant evening.”

They walked in the opposite direction to town, and the gravel along the roadside crunched loudly in the stillness. Within a short time they were out of the built-up area and concealed from the roadway by a clump of saplings.

He took her in his arms. His lips burned fiercely against hers and his tongue teased and stroked the inside of her mouth, darting, flicking, as he stoked the fires of his passion. Soon this wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste her flesh.

“Oh, Sunshine.” He worked frantically at her clothing, until his fingers felt the creamy fullness of her breasts. His tongue caressed the nipples into throbbing, sensitive peaks and she pressed herself closer to him. The top two buttons on his shirt came undone, and he felt her lips on the hot, damp skin of his throat.

Common decency forced him to let her go eventually. He could not take her here on the side of the road like some rutting animal, not with her parents less than a quarter of a mile away.

“We better get back.” He could not decide which was worse, not touching her at all, or suffering the agonies of not being fulfilled after kissing and caressing her. She was so beautiful, her unblemished loveliness drove him crazy with desire.

They ambled back, and once in the lighted area he checked to make sure her clothing was back in place.

“Did you have a nice stroll?” Frank casually asked from behind the evening paper.

“Yes, thank you.” They answered in unison. Daphne’s voice sounded low, almost husky. A slight redness flawed her cheeks from the roughness of his beard. Her lips were slightly swollen from his fierce kisses, and he wondered whether the Clarkes noticed or not.

Throughout the evening Mrs. Clarke had watched him when she thought herself unobserved, her blue eyes puzzled, almost bewildered, as they took in his every movement. Paul found himself watching her also. The way she walked, the almost nervous way she kept touching her hair. They were like two actors playing a part neither of them quite understood.

Chapter 7

Next morning Daphne woke early. It felt good being home in her own room, yet the single bed she had slept in since childhood seemed empty, over large because Paul wasn’t sharing it with her. It could not be wrong for them to have made love, even when they weren’t married, because they cared so deeply about each other. Yet her behavior went against everything she had ever been taught. Her parents would be devastated that she had forgotten the values they had instilled in her, and society would call her a fallen woman.

She stared into the mirror as she dragged the brush through her hair, hoping that the physical pain of untangling knots would ease her guilt.