Antigua Kiss (26 page)

When, presently, he moved upwards, covering her body with his, the exquisite ripples of pleasure were still coursing out to her nerve ends.

She arched her hips to receive him, and her slender arms twined round his neck.

It was not until later, when Ash had gone to have a shower, and she was alone with her hot face buried in the pillow, that she realised how refined a punishment he had inflicted upon her. Inhibited as she still was, the act which had given her such pleasure now caused her agonies of shame.

How could she have lain back and let him? How could she face him when he returned from the bathroom? And what other shameful delights did he mean to impose on her?

At four they set out for the suburb where she had lived.

Christie had telephoned Margaret before they left the apartment, and they went to Mrs Kelly's flat first. She was delighted with her presents, delighted to see Christie again, and doubly delighted at what she obviously took to be a whirlwind love match.

After spending some time in Christie's flat, they took Margaret out to dine at a good Italian restaurant before returning to the West End.

The next day Ash arranged for two international removal firms to come and give estimates of their charges. She spent the whole day sorting through her possessions, deciding what to have shipped and what could be given to Oxfam or some other charitable organisation.

That night, Ash took her to hear Kiri te Kanawa sing at the Royal Opera House. It had long been one of her ambitions to attend a performance by the singer whose face and figure were as beautiful as her voice. As they took their seats, Christie was aware of interested glances from people nearby. Unaccustomed to being stared at in that way, she wondered what was attracting their attention. Then she realised that she was unusual in having bare shoulders— she was wearing the dress Ash had given her—and being golden brown in January. Perhaps she was thought to be a member of the jet set. Little did they know, she thought amusedly.

Afterwards they dined at the Arlington, a quiet, spacious rose-coloured restaurant where people who had been to the theatre could order a meal until midnight. They began dinner with deep-fried mushrooms, followed by roast duck with fresh vegetables and a bottle of red Burgundy which Christie found rather dry. But obviously it suited her husband's palate, and he drank most of it.

It was the kind of luxurious evening which Christie had never experienced before, and the fact that she was dining with by far the most personable man in the restaurant, with whom she was in love, made it an almost perfect occasion.

The next day it was necessary to spend several hours at the flat. In the afternoon she called on former colleagues who were still on holiday.

They could not conceal their amazement at seeing her so greatly altered, accompanied by an attractive husband, and being driven about by a chauffeur.

Her final call was on the Principal, to apologise in person for deserting his staff so precipitately. To her relief, for her action had weighed on her conscience, his attitude was sympathetic rather than aggrieved.

'It's always inconvenient when a valued member of the staff has to be replaced, but I'm delighted that, after many misfortunes, your future promises to be much happier,' he told her kindly.

To Ash, he said, 'Unlike many bridegrooms, you won't have to suffer a period of burnt offerings and inexpert household management, Mr Lambard. I've long known that Christie has a disposition which greatly endeared her to her pupils, but I must confess—and I don't think she'll mind my admitting it—that I hadn't realised what a very good-looking young woman she is. Your enviable climate and the well-known glow imparted by falling in love have worked a remarkable transformation. I congratulate you, and wish you both every happiness.'

'Thank you, sir. I'm well aware of my good fortune,' was her husband's smooth reply.

It wrung her heart to hear him sound so sincere, as if theirs was a marriage made in Heaven, not a practical partnership leavened, but perhaps not for long, by his physical desire for her.

That night he took her to Boulestin's where the walls lined with apricot silk, the chandeliers and the eighteenth-century oil paintings turned her thoughts to the drawing-room at Heron's Sound. She wondered if the same colour might be a good choice there.

They began their dinner with quail mousse served :n hens' eggs, and followed by turbot cooked in a leaf of spinach with watercress sauce.

Throughout the meal, which ended with fruit brulee, they drank vintage Krug.

'I don't think you liked the wine I ordered last night. You should have said so,' Ash remarked, watching her take her first sip of the champagne.

'I know which wines are correct with which dishes, but that isn't to say I have an educated palate,' she answered.

'The "correct" wine is the one you like. Don't be fooled by people who pretend to be connoisseurs. Few of them are; they're practising winesmanship, and it can be very amusing. But nowadays not many people, unless they're professionally involved or have large expense accounts, can afford to educate their palates. The expense account has ruined many restaurants. They don't have to bother any more because the majority of their clientele don't know good food from mediocre food, or fine wines from moderately good ones.'

'This tastes delicious to me,' said Christie.

'Good. I want to give you pleasure.'

Ash raised his own glass and drank, watching her over the rim with a look which made her face flame.

The night before last, tired out by her wakeful night on the aircraft, she had been asleep before he had come out of the bathroom. Last night, seeing that she was weary after the long day sorting out the flat, Ash had not attempted to make love to her. But she guessed he would not allow a third night to pass without touching her, and perhaps he intended to repeat the thrilling caresses about which her feelings were still torn between shocked shyness and unwilling excitement.

On the way back to the flat, Ash announced that they were going to spend the weekend with friends in the country, and would leave London by road at eleven-o'clock the following morning.

'We're going to stay with Hugo and Emily Ffar- ington. I hope you'll like them. He's my oldest friend. We were at school together and it was his father, dead now, who taught me to sail when I spent several holidays with them,' he told her. 'There's to be a dinner party tomorrow night, so pack something suitable. It's an old house, but not a cold one.'

At the flat he switched on the television, explaining that earlier, while glancing through the evening's programmes, he had noticed a thirty-minute documentary which should be interesting.

'I think I'll go and do my nails,' said Christie.

It was not that the programme didn't appeal to her, but that she was glad of an opportunity to attend to aspects of her grooming which she didn't want to deal with in his presence. Since the wedding she hadn't had a chance to shave her legs or renew the pale pearl lacquer on her toenails.

If Ash was going to watch television for half an hour, it would give her time to catch up with various feminine rituals and embark on the visit to his friends with the confidence that, whatever else they might find lacking in her, at least his friend's wife wouldn't be able to fault her grooming.

While she was shaving and doing her eyebrows, which luckily needed very little attention to keep them in shape, she kept the bathroom door locked. Afterwards she decided to have a shower and to use an after-bath lotion she had bought during the day and which was still in her tote bag.

When she went to fetch it, she could hear the voice of the television narrator coming from the other room. She wondered if Ash would watch whatever followed the documentary, or if he would switch off and join her.

If he did the latter, she would have to postpone painting her nails until the morning. Perhaps she wouldn't paint them at all. If the Ffaringtons lived in the country, and were sailing people, Emily might be the open-air type who didn't go in for cosmetics and varnished nails.

Christie herself, after four years of going without make-up or French scent, was thoroughly enjoying their use again. But she was very willing to modify her eye make-up and leave off coloured varnish if it would help her to establish a rapport with the wife of her husband's closest friend.

Returning to the bathroom, she didn't bother to lock the door a second time. A few moments later she was under the shower, slowly revolving to get herself thoroughly wet before turning the tap off while she soaped herself.

Working up from her feet, she was busily lathering her thighs when the shower curtain was swept aside, making her give a smothered exclamation of surprise.

'You sound happy tonight,' said her husband, appraising her wet brown form.

Until he spoke, she had not realised that she had been singing to herself.

He took the tablet of soap from her and turned her round to stand with her back to him. Then he rubbed the tablet over her upper back and spread the lather with his-other hand.

'Are you happy?' he asked.

'I . . . I'm not unhappy,' she conceded, sharply aware of the pressure of his long fingers sliding caressingly over her moist skin.

He had already undressed and was as naked as she. Did he mean to take another shower with her?

The last time he had had to keep her under the shower with him by force. She had not realised that she had fallen in love with him, and had still been consumed with rage at his breaking his promise not to make love to her.

Now, in spite of her protests and her continued resistance, she knew in her heart that he had been right to take her. If he hadn't, she would have spent the rest of her life convinced that she was frigid, never knowing the delicious sensations which were beginning, to course through her as his hand glided over her back.

Ash stepped over the side of the bath and pulled her backwards into his arms, holding her there with a strong arm clamped round her waist while he started to lather her front.

This time she did not squirm and struggle, but stood in motionless submission while he stroked her silky wet flesh.

'Is that the best you can say—that you're not unhappy?' he murmured, some moments later.

'What do you want me to say?' Her voice was breathless and uneven, betraying the disturbance within her.

He didn't answer, but his hands began to do things which made passive resistance impossible. Against her will, her head sank back on his shoulder and her body relaxed and responded to his skilful mastery of her senses.

He began to nibble her ear, softly biting the lobe with his teeth, and kissing the side of her neck. With one hand spread below her navel, he pressed her against him, making her feel his desire for her.

'I'm going to turn the shower on.' His voice was husky but steady.

The warm water, already mixed to a comfortable temperature, began like a light summer rain which became a tropical deluge as he turned the pressure to full. As it poured down on Christie's body, he resumed his slow, patient caresses. She was beginning to know that, with him, love was never a rush. However fiercely he wanted her, he would not unleash his own passion until she was trembling with pleasure, her inhibitions swept away.

'No, Ash ... no ... please,' she said faintly, feeling the tremors beginning.

But she didn't really want him to stop and, knowing that she didn't, he ignored her stammered protest and went on making love to her under the cascading water. Not until she was on the edge of ecstasy did he stop; but only to turn off the shower and wrap her in warmed white towels, and carry her through to the bedroom.

There, on the thick pile carpet, not once but again and again, he reduced her to rapturous shudders which swept away all her control.

When, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she mutely beseeched an embrace which included them both, he told her thickly, 'Not yet.'

Finally, when she felt exhausted with pleasure, he gave her a brief, bemused respite by drying her wet hair and gently towelling the rest of her until, incredibly, she found herself quivering and trembling.

All at once his self-control snapped. As delight zinged along her nerves, more piercing this time than before, he took her with a fierce, silent urgency.

Some time later she was dimly aware of being lifted, but although it woke her she did not open her eyes. As soon as she was placed on the bed she felt sleep enclosing her again, like a fog which had thinned for a moment, only to become even more dense.

The next time she woke, the room was no longer quite dark. It was very early in the morning, and the faint grey .light before sunrise was beginning to filter round the edges of the curtains.

Ash was lying close behind her, his arm heavy on her ribcage, his hand enclosing her left breast. At first she was only aware of being warm and snug, and at peace in a special kind of way. It was allied to a feeling she had occasionally experienced after vigorous exercise; a long, brisk winter's day walk, or a bracing spring swim in the sea off the south coast of England. All her muscles felt toned and relaxed, not a single tension left anywhere.

But as she remembered the reason for this agreeable sense of well-being, and how not one word of love had been exchanged, the peacefulness left her. She began to fret against the possessive intimacy of his hold on her, and to be ashamed of her abandonment the night before. She remembered, years ago, coming across a copy of the Victorian bestseller
Trilby
in which a Hungarian musician and hypnotist called Svengali had mesmerised an artist's model into becoming a famous singer. After his death the spell was broken. The girl lost her wonderful voice and died of a broken heart.

Christie was beginning to feel that, when Ash made love to her, he exercised the same kind of power which Svengali had had over Trilby.

Suddenly he stirred in his sleep, withdrawing the slack weight of his arm as he rolled over on to his back. Secure in his love for her, she would have turned and snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her arm on his smooth, sun-tanned chest. Instead she remained where she was; physically fulfilled, but emotionally as starved as she had ever been.