Capital Sins (13 page)

'I can take
care of myself, and my loneliness,' he said brutally, resorting to bluntness so
that she would understand. 'There's no point in doing all that for me – you'd
be in my way and it wouldn't solve anything.'

She bit her
lip, not wanting to push too far, afraid she might lose him altogether.

'There has
to be a way round it, there's got to be,' he muttered.

'Give me a
chance and I'll prove that I love you,' she pleaded.

'I don't
doubt it, Sheila,' he said simply. 'But if twenty desirable and sexy women
haven't stirred me, what hope can you possibly have? It's getting so that I'm
almost scared to try again.'

He looked
at her as she sat there. Even dressed in just a bathrobe, knowing she wasn't
wearing anything underneath, he didn't find her appealing or sensual, even
though he liked her. Now if it had been
Constance ...

Her lips
had tightened at his remark and she dropped her hands into her lap and sat
there with bowed head. 'I understand why you're being cruel,' she said finally.
'You're hurt and frustrated, because such a thing should happen to you, the
great Samuel Jessop, but it's still no reason to be quite so unkind.'

He leaned
towards her in contrition and placed his hand over hers.

'I'm sorry,
but I wouldn't want to ruin what relationship we enjoy at the moment if I took
you to bed and you were unable to excite me. You'd despise me afterwards, like
all the others have. It would just serve to make you feel inadequate, make me
feel guilty and ashamed – and there's no reason why we should both suffer
unnecessarily.'

She raised
her face sharply. She knew she shouldn't argue further, but couldn't help
herself. 'Do you think I want you just for sex? That I'm so shallow a woman?
Sam, I love you. I've loved only once before and this time I won't let it
escape me, I won't!' Her voice rose passionately. 'I know I'm being a fool,
taking a chance that it'll be you who'll not want to know me afterwards but ...
but I can't help it. Whatever happens, I'll go on worshipping you, and always
be around for you to talk to. I'll even offer my shoulder to cry on if that's
what you'd prefer, but don't deny me this chance! I swear that I won't change,
and you'll have lost nothing!'

'What a
touching and noble gesture,' he said dryly.

'Don't be
cynical, not when I've just said I'd do anything for you!' She gripped his hand
tightly. 'You'd be surprised what a woman in love could do and I'm not
completely inexperienced. Let me try to arouse you, please!'

'God, it's
all so goddamned clinical, this. So bloody functional! It's like being a guinea
pig for an experiment in a doctor's lab. I haven't even pretended to go through
the rudiments of seduction
... '

She stifled
a groan. Couldn't he see what he was doing to her? She willed him to meet her
eyes, then raised her lips and closed her eyes. 'Kiss me, darling,' she
whispered. 'Please.'

He obeyed
and their mouths .fused. Still with her lips against his, she wriggled the top
half of her body until the robe fell off her shoulders. With one hand around
the back of his head, she reached for his right hand and guided it to her
breast. He cupped it, then massaged gently, and the nipple hardened and rose
under his palm in response.

'Take me
into the bedroom,' she said, breathing quickly.

He stood
and, scooping her slight figure from the couch, carried her into his room and
set her on the bed. Lying beside her, he kissed her fiercely and she returned
his kisses with equal fervour, willing his passion to rouse even more. As if
exhausted, he fell back against the pillows and Sheila crouched over him.
'Leave it to me,' she said huskily and bent her head to him.

They lay
side by side in the darkened room and the only sound was her uneven breathing
as the storm within her slowly abated. She wondered if he were asleep,
then
felt him stir restlessly. She saw his dark outline as
he sat up and reached over to the bedside table for cigarettes. The flare of
his lighter illuminated his face briefly: his lips were compressed and his
expression was bitter.

He blew
smoke into the air and, crossing one arm behind his head for support, rested
against the pillows.

'Well, you
tried,' he said as he sensed her eyes upon him.

'Sorry,'
she answered dully. 'But, for a while there I thought... I thought ... ' She
turned her face away but he heard sobs muffled by the sheets.

Samuel rose
on one elbow and stared down, trying to see in the gloom.

'Don't,
Sheila,' he whispered, jostling her shoulder. 'Don't cry.'

Checking
her tears, Sheila rolled on to her back. His arms went around her, pressing her
to him as he gently stroked her hair.

'It wasn't
your fault. You're not to blame,' he told her, speaking in a low tone.

'I'm not
crying for me.' She let a deep, heavy breath escape and rubbed her eyes with
her knuckles, the way a child would. Then she clung to him. 'Oh, Sam, what are
you going to do?'

His chest
heaved beneath her breasts. 'I don't know, love. I'm tired of thinking about
it.'

'Maybe
thinking so hard doesn't help anyway,' she said reflectively. 'Maybe if you
weren't so desperate, things might be easier for you.'

They lay
silent for a while, her head on his chest, her hand stroking the thick hair
there.

'There
really isn't anything that I can do that I haven't already tried.
and
with a problem like mine, one doesn't go round talking
about it. I suppose one day I'll come to my senses and realise that I must get
married to save face, and adopt a son, but it will be as a last resort, and
it'd take a special sort of person to live my life my way. I'll only do that
when I feel that things have become hopeless, but it physically hurts to
believe that now. I want to pretend just a while longer.'

She didn't
interrupt him, just moved closer for reassurance
..

She
reckoned she had pushed herself on him far enough. He bent and kissed her nose
lightly.

'Thanks,'
he said.

'For what?'

'For caring.'

'I mistimed
it. I should have approached you in a year or so when your defences were down.'

'You're
quite something, you know that? I'm just sorry I

couldn't
respond like I should, like a normal man would ... '

She placed
a finger across his lips, silencing him. 'Don't talk about that now, darling.'

He nuzzled
his chin against her hair, and sighed. 'You don't know how badly I want a son;
a boy to carry on after me. I guess I'll have to learn to live with my inadequacy.
Ah, what's the use of talking about it?' He looked down and saw that the girl's
eyes were closed. He touched her cheek gently and felt that it was wet.

'Sheila?'

There was
no reply. She was fast asleep. Samuel Jessop smiled to himself a little sadly
in the darkness and closed his eyes.

Connie
arrived home from the office the next day and ran herself a hot bath. While she
was soaking in the sudsy water, she thought about her day. Sheila hadn't turned
up until about eleven o'clock and looked as if she had recently been crying.
Connie hadn't asked why, it was none of her business, she told herself, even if
Sheila was a friend. Sheila had been very subdued the whole day, and when at
last Connie had gone to ask if there were any letters she wanted to dictate,
the older girl had looked at her blankly at first. When the few memos and
letters had been typed, Connie waited by the desk as Sheila signed them,
wishing, as she looked at the bowed head, that the girl would get whatever was
biting her off her chest. And yet, Connie thought, there isn't really anyone
but me Sheila can talk to. She had cleared her throat deliberately, but the
look in Sheila's eye intimidated her and she bit back the words that had come
to her lips.

Samuel
Jessop had arrived late afternoon. Connie noticed that he looked strained, but
there again he often seemed tired. When he had said hello to them, Connie
intercepted the odd glance Sheila threw in his direction. He had retired to his
office and hadn't reappeared when Connie had left. Sheila kept disappearing
into his room for long periods but Connie was too preoccupied with her own
thoughts to give either of them more than a passing thought, for she was going
out that evening with
Tilly
.

Connie
forgot about Sheila Delaney and Samuel Jessop as she rose from the bath and
flung a towel around her nakedness. Slipping on a pair of old mules, she
flip-flapped down the
linoed
hallway to her room.
Briskly, she rubbed herself dry, puffed on talcum powder and sprayed on
cologne, resolving to buy some really good perfume when she could afford it.
Connie set her pink and glistening body before the dressing-table mirror and
scrutinised herself carefully, looking for blemishes, None at all: a perfect,
flawless skin, at which she nodded in satisfaction. She thought of how Mrs
Withers had looked at her when she had come in that evening and seen the
landlady talking with a friend.
Tilly
and Connie
often laughed to each other about Mrs Withers' so-called friends. What a
hypocrite that woman was!

Connie,
looking at her reflection, remembered how her landlady had stared enviously at
the new suit that Connie had bought especially for the office. She smiled at
herself in the mirror, thinking of Mrs Withers' floppy little breasts, like two
tiny lemons under the baggy shift she always wore. While her own legs were long
and shapely, Mrs Withers' were like match sticks, criss-crossed with varicose
veins. How awful to be like her, Connie shuddered. How pathetic to get to that
stage when one becomes jealous of all girls who are young and pretty. She
leaned forward over the dresser to inspect her face more closely. No wrinkles,
no disfigurement of any kind – not like Ma Withers, with her flesh like dried
orange peel, pitted and oily, on which she slapped thick, heavy brown foundation,
which didn't do a thing to disguise her bad skin.

Humming
softly, Connie sat down and prepared to make up. She dabbed on moisturiser but
decided against any foundation or cheek colouring, her cheeks being rosy
already from the heat of the bath water. Deftly having brushed violet
eyeshadow
around her eyes, she then artistically applied
the faintest rim of eye-liner.
That done, she spat on to a
mascara block and proceeded to lengthen her already absurdly long and curly
lashes.
Three coats, and it was done, and she sat back to admire the
effect. She didn't put on any lipstick. After all, what was the point when it
was likely to come off again during the evening – or so she hoped?

Now, should
she leave her hair down, just hanging loosely? It looked more elegant pinned
up, made her look older, more mature and worldly, but did she necessarily want
to look that way tonight – or merely just plain sexy? She left her hair alone
after giving it a good brush.

She stood
up and took out from a drawer a new pair of tights and a pair of freshly
laundered pants. She sat on the bed and rolled on the tights, careful not to
ladder them. It was worth buying expensive ones, she reflected, for her legs
appeared incredibly silky, in spite of just having shaved them. When the bottom
half of her was decently clad, she picked up a bra. Then she thought of what
Tilly
had told her, and didn't put it on.

' ...
Makes men wild to see boobs swing under a girl's dress,
Tilly
had said cheekily, 'and it's much more comfortable,
too.
Try it ... and anyway, it's quicker to get undressed, if
ya
see what I mean
... '

She took
out from her wardrobe a dress which was still new, bought just before she had
left the Home. It was simply styled and white, but Connie chose it because it
was the sort of dress one could wear to a party, a dance, or just if one
decided to go to the cinema.
Tilly
hadn't yet
informed
her what
they were going to do that evening;
she laid on the entertainments, so this number was just the job. The straps
were narrow and the neckline was heart-shaped, just dipping into her cleavage –
which made the goodies underneath even more interesting since imagination had
to work overtime when the eyes couldn't see. Connie thought the top of the
dress slightly old-fashioned, but the skirt, gently flaring from the waist and
stopping at her knees, was in the latest fashion. As a going-away present, the
matron had bought the girl a pair of shoes to accompany the dress, and these
she now brought out from their tissue wrapping in a box.

When she
had put them on, Connie danced around the room a couple of times. She looked
good, she knew it. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and her cheeks were still
flushed but she didn't care about the reason. All she knew was that she was
free.
young
and lovely, and was going to have herself
a ball!

She
snatched up a jacket, flung open the door and tripped lightly down the worn
stairs, her heels clattering on thin carpeting, long since worn away from much
tramping and little repair. As she got to the front door, the one on her left,
which led to the landlady's sitting room, opened and Mrs Withers came out. The
woman stopped short at sight of her, and seemed to be trying to bar the way and
sight of a man behind her sharp shoulder blades.