Charity (37 page)

John put one hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re dying to see more of it. Why don’t you have a bath and change? Then we’ll go out and have a few drinks before dinner.’

Charity’s nervousness grew while she was in the bathroom, very aware of John just the other side of the door. She gulped down the glass of Bacardi and Coke he’d poured for her, hoping she could quickly acquire the taste as it might make her feel calmer.

Dot and Rita would be green with envy, she said to herself as she got dressed again. They had both been quite shocked when she’d finally told them about this holiday. Although they’d agreed that they’d jump at the opportunity, Charity got the impression they thought she’d been a bit hasty. Now she wished she’d asked for some advice about how to handle it. Did John want her? He hadn’t so much as held her hand so far. What would happen when they got back tonight after dinner?

Charity’s nervousness was replaced by enchantment as they strolled through the streets an hour later. One moment they were in dark, narrow alleyways, the next plunged into brightly lit shopping streets packed with people and noise. Listening to Italians speaking was like hearing music. Tiny delicatessens festooned with strange-looking sausages on big hooks and different kinds of pasta displayed in huge trays vied with chic shoe shops and tiny boutiques for her attention. So many restaurants and bars, all so much more colourful than anything she’d seen in England. She had to keep stopping John to let her look.

They shared a bottle of wine in the Piazza del Duomo, sitting outside a café so she could watch the people passing through the busy square beside the magnificent green and white cathedral.

‘It’s so warm,’ Charity remarked, unable to believe anyone would sit outside at night in February, even if they were wearing coats. ‘And so exciting. I can’t wait to see everything.’

John looked at her rapt face, felt her excitement and knew he’d been right to bring her here.

‘Come on,’ he said, taking a few lire notes and leaving them on the table. ‘I know just the thing for you.’

He didn’t let go of her hand, but led her round the cathedral towards a row of horse-drawn carriages.

‘Are we going in one of those?’ she gasped. Many of the horses wore bells on their reins and the carriages had red leather upholstery.

John just grinned and broke into a volley of Italian to the driver.

‘I’ve never been in one before either,’ he admitted as the driver flicked his reins and the horse lurched the carriage forward. ‘It’s one of those romantic things you only do with a special lady.’

Charity felt as if she was in heaven. It wasn’t just the jogging along the narrow streets, like a queen, but John’s words and his hand still holding hers.

He pointed out many important places as they passed and seemed to know every art treasure in every building. She had lost all sense of direction soon after they left the hotel, and this ride confused her still further, but she was only too happy to sit back in comfort and enjoy the experience.

The carriage stopped at the Ponte Vecchio. John got out first, holding out his hand to help her down. He paid the driver, then slipped one arm round her, drawing her on to the bridge.

Charity was spellbound. The bridge was packed with tiny glittering jewellers’ shops on both sides. The combination of the night sky above, the brilliance of the shop lights and the dazzling jewels on display was like stepping into Aladdin’s cave, or a Christmas grotto.

She pressed her nose up against the windows, excitedly pointing out first one thing, then another, then moved on to the next shop.

‘Do you like that?’ John pointed out a small gold bow brooch studded with tiny diamonds.

‘Umm, it’s lovely,’ Charity agreed, too enthralled to notice that the question had some significance.

She was so engrossed in the window displays she wasn’t aware that he’d disappeared, but as she turned to show something to him, she found he was gone.

The bridge was crowded with people, but it didn’t feel frightening in any way. She stood still, waiting, then she saw him come out of a shop.

‘I thought you’d abandoned me,’ she joked, rushing up to him. ‘Did you buy something?’

‘Yes, for you,’ he said. Reaching into his coat pocket he brought out a small black velvet box.

It was the bow brooch.

‘Oh John,’ she gasped. ‘You shouldn’t have.’

He took it from the box and bent to pin it to the lapel of her coat. ‘I want to shower you with presents,’ he said softly. ‘You make me feel so young and happy.’

A tingle ran down Charity’s spine and she raised one hand to stroke his cheek, overwhelmed not only by the unexpected and expensive gift but by the feelings he aroused in her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, letting her hand linger on him. ‘I’ll treasure it for ever.’

The intimacy increased as the evening wore on. They ate at a crowded trattoria close to their hotel, a gay, noisy place which was nevertheless romantically candlelit.

Charity was aware of people looking at them with interest, perhaps wondering about their relationship because of the huge age gap, but she didn’t care. Each time John’s hand brushed hers, or his knee met hers under the table, she found herself anticipating his first kiss which she was sure would come later.

It was after twelve when they left. A stillness had fallen on the city, just faint music from here and there and the odd passing car. The earlier crowds thronging the pavements had gone.

Charity’s heels sounded like castanets on the cobbled street and the wind had got up, ruffling her hair. She stopped to look down at the river, leaning forward on the wall.

The moon cut a silver swath across the dark water and the only lights on the Ponte Vecchio were dim street lamps. John stood very close to her, just touching and Charity hoped he would kiss her now.

She glanced round at him. He was looking into the distance as if deep in thought, his back straight, both hands on the wall in front of him.

‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked.

He smiled faintly.

‘Nothing much. Just about tomorrow and what to show you first. I hope you’ve got some sensible shoes with you. You can walk miles round all the galleries and museums.’

Her excitement fizzled out like a damp firework. She had expected him to say he was thinking of her, maybe even ask how she felt about him.

Charity stood at the window looking out at the river. Even though they’d been in Florence for two days, she felt she could never grow tired of the view. By day the water was dark green, busy with rowers scudding along at great speed, but at this time of night she liked it best, when it looked like black tar studded with diamonds.

The Hotel Berchielli was a very chic place to stay and John was very much at home amongst the stylish guests, conversing easily in Italian, French and German. Even so, he hadn’t left Charity out of anything, taking great pains to act as an interpreter for her and introducing her with pride, despite her youth and cheap clothes.

But though Charity admired his suave sophistication and appreciated his gentlemanly qualities, she was finding him increasingly baffling.

Why didn’t he attempt to kiss her? Didn’t he find her attractive?

All day long he took pictures of her. Sometimes as he tilted her face or smoothed back her hair, the urge to hold him was so intense she could barely control it.

On both previous nights he’d come into her room for a nightcap, and left ten minutes later after only a peck on the cheek, leaving her feeling let down and wanting him desperately.

But today there’d been moments when she was sure he felt as she did. They had gone to see the Palazzo Pitti, where the Medici family once lived. Several times when he wanted to show her something especially beautiful like one of the wonderful ceilings, he took her hand, often caressing her fingers.

This closeness had increased as the day wore on. Charity found herself forgetting how much older he was than her, leaning against him companionably, reaching out to touch his face, ruffling his hair, laughing with him about anything and everything.

But again tonight, even after another romantic and memorable meal at Roberto’s trattoria, he had disappeared to make a phone call. He would almost certainly come back into her room in a minute with another drink, but right now she felt she might cry if he didn’t take her in his arms tonight.

‘A penny for them?’ John’s deep voice surprised her. She hadn’t heard him come in.

‘I wonder if I’ll ever travel as much as you have,’ she said, still staring out the window. She could see John reflected in the glass, and was again moved by how distinguished he looked.

‘I hadn’t been anywhere much at your age,’ John said as he moved closer to her back. Her hair stopped short of the nape of her neck and the inch or two of vulnerable white flesh gave him an irresistible urge to kiss it.

She was wearing a pale blue cardigan back to front. He’d observed from other girls in London that this was the fashion. Either side of the row of small pearl buttons her shoulderblades stuck out like tiny wings. A broad black belt made her waist a mere hand span and the tight skirt accentuated the slender curve of her young buttocks.

His hand crept out to her shoulder, his thumb lightly touching skin. She didn’t flinch as he expected; in fact she leaned back towards him and he could feel goosepimples on her neck.

Still holding her shoulder he bent towards her and as his mouth touched her neck she sighed, leaning back into his arms.

John slid his right hand round her waist and kept his lips on her neck, teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

‘That’s nice,’ she whispered, putting her hand on his just below her breast.

‘Oh Charity,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You make me feel I’m eighteen again.’

She turned to face him, running her thumbs down the deep lines in his cheeks.

His age was immaterial now. His soul was young. Fate had brought them together for some purpose and suddenly Charity knew they were going to become lovers.

‘I want you to kiss me,’ she whispered.

He crushed her into his arms but then drew back to lightly touch her lips with his. She was surprised to find that he was shaking.

Her lips parted under his, sweet and pliant, as her firm young body pressed into his.

‘Don’t you want me?’ She looked at him with those big sad eyes, fear of rejection written in them.

‘Of course I do,’ he said, forcing himself to smile when already he could feel stabs of tenderness he couldn’t control. ‘I’m just not sure you know what you’re doing.’

Her answer was to kiss him again. She closed her eyes and offered her lips and this time John couldn’t hold back. His arms went round her, drawing her tightly against him and as her tongue flickered into his mouth, passion flared up, blotting out all thought but to possess.

He could feel her breasts pushing into his chest, her belly moving unconsciously against his hardness. He wanted to rip off her clothes, to enter her immediately, but everything he knew about lovemaking said he must hold back and make certain this really was what she wanted.

‘It’s not too late to stop.’

‘It is,’ she murmured, arching her body against his.

John caught her up in his arms and carried her through the bathroom to his room.

Only the night before he had imagined this very scene. He’d mentally taken off each garment, kissing each piece of flesh as it became exposed. But he hadn’t imagined that he would be trembling, that just the sight of an inch of white skin above stocking tops would arouse him so much. He hadn’t expected either that Charity would claw at his shirt buttons so feverishly, that her mouth would suck at his so wantonly.

They rolled together, locked in a fierce embrace. It was she who flung off her belt and unzipped her tight skirt. But as he pulled it off and saw the curve of her belly beneath those white lacy panties, the thin garter belt defining her slender shape, frantic desire overtook him.

He pulled her sweater over her head, moving down to her breasts with such savagery that she cried out. His fingers fumbled to unclasp her bra, frustrated by being unable to control their shaking, and when finally it came loose in his hands he could only sink down on to her breasts, biting instead of stroking.

In the intensity of the moment, his head reeling with the smell, taste and feel of her young flesh, he didn’t feel the difference between an involuntary arching of her body and a wince of pain. It was only as he dragged down her panties and thrust his fingers into her that he sensed she was no longer responding and to his horror he found she was crying.

His erection vanished as speedily as it had come.

‘Oh Charity,’ he said, taking his hand away from her breast. ‘What have I done?’

She lay there naked apart from her garter belt and stockings, as small and vulnerable as a child.

‘It’s all right,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s my fault. It’s not you.’ She tried to form the words. ‘It’s something else …’ she stopped, unable to voice it.

John wiped away her tears with the edge of the sheet, then got up and slipped through the bathroom to her room, returning a minute later wearing pyjama trousers, with her nightie over his arm.

‘Put it on,’ he said gently. ‘I want you to stay here with me. Perhaps we can make it better.’

As John turned out the light and drew her into his arms, she fought back the desire to tell him the truth. Better to let him think she’d just panicked for a moment, or that she was reminded of Hugh and Daniel. A man as sensitive as John, still grieving for his own daughter, didn’t need her shameful childhood secrets thrust on to him.

She woke later to find John curled round her back, his hand on her hip. He was sound asleep, his breath warm on the back of her neck and it felt snug and comfortable. But as she lay there trying to go back to sleep she felt those prickles of desire for him again.

The hand on her hip was heavy. She moved it up till it was on her waist and pressed her back against him. She could feel the heat from his chest through her nightie; his thighs against the backs of hers were hard and hot. Moving gently against them sent shivers of pleasure down her spine and slowly she moved his hand up till it covered one breast. Instantly her nipple reacted, hardening against his fingers, even through the nylon of her nightie.