Darkest Longings (22 page)

the wedding to collect her maid proves it, doesn’t it? But

he’ll quite ruin her if he insists on indulging her every

whim.’

‘He’s a jolly lucky chap,’ Freddy remarked in a dull voice.

Monique sighed, and allowed her head to fall against the

back of the seat. ‘I do so envy them being so much in love,

don’t you, chert?’

He took some time to think about that, then with heartfelt

solemnity he said, ‘Love can be a very painful experience at

times.’

‘Oh, but it can!’ she cried in surprise, but instantly

warming to the subject.

He turned to look at her, her lips looked so inviting that

he felt his own begin to tremble. For a moment he gazed

longingly into her wide amber eyes, but then he turned

quickly away, ashamed at the droughts that were trespassing

across his mind. How crude she would think him if she

knew the true extent of the passion that beat in his heart,

that drummed through his loins and set his blood on fire

with ignoble lust. How he longed to hold her, to smother her

with kisses and fill her with the rapture she instilled in him!

But he had only to look at her to be reminded of what a

callow youth he was. A youth whom she had excused the

presumption of his adoration, and whose poems she smiled

upon in her benevolence.

Swallowing her impatience, Monique looked out of the

window. She didn’t have much longer to wait, she reminded

herself, and one didn’t actually expire from a want of kisses,

even if just at that moment one felt one might…

‘Are we going to the village?’ Freddy asked a few minutes

later as they passed the gates of the Chateau de Lorvoire.

She nodded. ‘I have a message for Liliane St Jacques

from Maman. Then we shall walk together, and you shall

read me your poem, out?

‘Out,’ he smiled, and his limpid brown eyes misted with

adoration.

They left the car at the edge of the village and tramped

over the cobbles, strolling up the steps at the centre of the

main street to the old well, where each evening the men

heaved up the bucket and splashed themselves with water to

rinse away the dust of the fields. Now, in the middle of the

afternoon, the village with its grey stone cottages and drab

street signs was almost deserted. Monique was a little sorry

that there weren’t more people to see her with this tall,

handsome youth, with his unruly mop of hair, ruddy cheeks

and lean, awkward body.

Before his arrival at Montvisse it had never occurred to

Monique that she might find a man so much younger than

herself attractive, much less fall in love with him, but almost

from the moment she had laid eyes on Freddy Prendergast

she had felt herself coming to life in a way she hadn’t

experienced for a long time. She knew, from the poems he

wrote her, that he shared her feelings, but she also knew that

he was too diffident to presume any further. In a subtle way

she had done all she could to encourage him, but so far she

had been unable to break through the barrier of his timidity.

But she was determined, and after some thought she had

decided to bring him to a particular clearing in the forest

behind the St Jacques’ house.

It was known as the waterfall table, a small oval of flat land

with a tiny lake at the centre, filled from a waterfall which

flowed through the trees and then down behind the village

into the Vienne. Clustered around the lake, protecting it

from view, were the roots of the huge forest trees which

grew up over the hillside. It was a perfect setting for love,

and already Monique’s heart was fluttering with the

anticipation of what she had resolved to accomplish there.

A few minutes later they rounded the wall of the chapel

and climbed the grassy slope to Liliane’s house. Freddy

waited outside, but Monique was gone only a short time,

and soon she and Liliane came out together. The old lady,

with her toothless smile, waved to him, then called something

after Monique as she came over and took his arm.

‘What did she say?’ he asked, as they started up through

the vineyards towards the forest.

‘She was telling me to be sure that Claudine goes to see

her the minute she returns.’ Then, after a pause, ‘It was

odd, you know, but she said that Armand saw Claudine’s car

the morning after the wedding, and that Claudine was

driving it. Of course I told her that Armand must have been

mistaken, but she absolutely insisted.’

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and

saw how troubled he looked. Yes, she was almost sure now

that, just as she’d suspected, Claudine had returned to

Montvisse the morning after her wedding. And the only

conclusion to be drawn from that was that Claudine had run

away from Francois. Which meant, of course, that things

were already going badly between them. However, instead

of the satisfaction that might have given her a week ago,

Monique felt only sadness. Now that she was on the brink of

finding love herself, she no longer resented it in others.

‘Come on,’ she said to Freddy. ‘What I want now is to listen

to your poem.’ And she ran on up the hill ahead of him.

Relieved to be let off the hook, as he always had found it

hellishly difficult to keep a secret, Freddy started after her,

and taking the hand she held out to him, climbed up through

the vines with her and into the woods.

‘Here,’ he said, stopping her as he stooped to pick a

flower.

She waited as he tucked it into her hair, then picking one

herself, she put it behind his ear and stood back to admire

him. ‘To es tres beau,’ she murmured as she gazed into his

eyes. Then she stood on tip-toe to brush her lips gently over

his before taking his hand and running with him through the

trees to the clearing. When they reached it, she stopped and

looked up into his face, and with a flutter of joy she saw that

his reaction was all she had hoped for.

‘Sit here,’ she whispered, pulling him down onto the

grass beside her. ‘Sit here and listen to the waterfall.’

He sat, his eyes transfixed by the beauty of the lake; the

way the beams of sunlight streamed through the trees in

ephemeral lines of silvery mist that exploded in a glittering

mass of light as they touched the water. The way the

gnarled, leafy branches drooped to their reflections, and

the lily pads floated in the current. After a while Monique

pulled him back so that he was lying with his head in her

lap. He looked up at her, but she ran her fingers over his

eyes, closing them. ‘Be still, cheri,’ she murmured.

They stayed like that for a long time while she stroked his

hair, then his face, then his neck. Above them the birds were

rustling the trees, while the waterfall trickled and gurgled

down through the forest. It was cool, and blissfully calm. In

the end Freddy’s eyes fluttered open. Monique was resting

against the bole of a tree, and pulling himself up on one

elbow so that his face was very close to hers, he murmured,

‘ “Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the

bosom of the lake: So fold thy self, my dearest, thou, and slip

Into my bosom and be lost in me.” ‘

‘Oh, Freddy,’ she whispered. ‘Did you just think of it?’

He smiled. ‘Yes, but it was written a long time ago by

Tennyson.’

She moved towards him, but as her leg brushed against

the treacherous hardness of his body, he turned abruptly

away.

‘What is it?’ she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and

turning him back.

As he looked at her, his face was crimson and his eyes

flooded with pain. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, looking down at the

ground. ‘Nothing at all.’

Monique smiled, and understanding only too well what

was troubling him, her heart went out to him in such love

and pity that it was all she could do to stop herself taking him

in her arms. But she knew it would be wrong to touch him at

that moment, so lying back in the grass, she allowed several

minutes to tick silently by before she said, ‘Have you ever

made love to a woman, Freddy?’

He sat up, wrapped his arms about his knees and buried

his face.

‘Would you like to make love to me?’ she said softly.

She watched him, her heart thudding with dread as she

waited for the rejection. It was too soon, she had

frightened him, and now she would lose him … But then

his hand reached out for hers and his voice was muffled by

his sleeve as he said, ‘How can one subject you, the most

beautiful woman in the world, to such ignominy? One

cannot debase you with the lust one is unable to control.

You are sweet and perfect, and you touch one’s soul with

your kindness.’

Sitting up, she put an arm about his shoulders and

pressed her cheek against his. ‘Do I have to tell you, a poet,

the beauty of making love?’ she said. ‘You will not be

debasing me, cheri, not if you love me.’

‘Oh, Monique,’ he groaned, and clutching her to him, he

pressed his lips brutally to hers.

Gently she pushed him away, then holding his face in her

hands she said, ‘Let me show you,’ and parting her lips, she

pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him with a searing

tenderness.

When she let him go, he sobbed and threw himself back

in the grass. ‘One is so useless!’ he cried, flinging an arm

across his eyes. ‘I want you so much, Monique, but one

doesn’t know how… One has never …’

‘Ssh,’ she said, putting a finger over his lips. Then

pushing her hands beneath his pullover, she fanned her

fingers across his chest. His eyes were still covered by his

arm, but she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. ‘Look at

me,’ she murmured, as she lowered her hands to his waist

and began to tug his shirt from his trousers.

He opened his eyes, but she could see that he was too

overwhelmed to hold her gaze. Smiling, she took his hand

and placed it on her breast. His eyes closed again as he

moaned softly. Knowing that he would never have the

courage to do it himself, she unbuttoned her blouse, then

pulled it free of her skirt and slipped it over her shoulders.

‘Look at me,’ she said again.

When he saw the sharp points of her nipples pushing

against the silk camisole, his breath caught in his throat, but

before he could turn away she lifted his hands and kissed

them. ‘Touch me,’ she said. ‘Touch me here, Freddy,’ and

lowering his hands to her breasts, she pressed them against

her.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Monique, you

are so beautiful.’

She sat quietly as he tentatively Sifted her camisole over

her breasts and began to fondle her bare skin. Her nipples

ached for his lips, but then he took them between his fingers

and rolled them gently. She let her head fall back,

murmuring and showing him what pleasure he was giving

her. Then, when she judged the time right, she lifted a hand

and placed it over the front of his trousers.

He froze, then his hands fell to the ground and his head

rolled from side to side as he began to groan. Slowly she

began to unbutton his fly, watching him and pulling his hand

back to her breast.

‘When we are married we can do this all the time,’ she

told him, as she began to ease his trousers over his hips.

‘Yes, oh yes,’ he moaned, by now too enslaved by the

sensation of her fingers as they closed around him to think

beyond them.

With one hand she started gently to massage him, while

with the other she turned his face to hers. ‘Kiss me,’ she

said, leaning towards him. His lips parted, and as she

pushed her tongue between them, she tightened the grip on

his penis.

‘Oh my God!’ he spluttered. ‘Oh my God!’ The semen

was shuddering from his body in urgent, excruciating

spurts. ‘Oh no!’ he cried, pulling himself away from her.

‘No, no, no!’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, trying to turn him back. ‘Freddy, it doesn’t matter.’

But he had covered his face with his hands and raised his

leg so that she could no longer see his shame.

‘Freddy, I love you!’ she cried. ‘It doesn’t matter. Please,

let me hold you.’

‘Oh Monique,’ he sobbed, as he buried his face in her

neck. ‘Monique! What a child you must think me.’

‘No, you are a man, Freddy. A man who is finding love for

the first time.’

‘I am so ashamed.’

She smiled, and kissed and stroked his hair until finally

he pulled away.

‘Can we try again?’ he asked. Then, colouring, he added,

‘I don’t mean today. I mean, can we… ? Maybe tomorrow.

..’

‘Of course, cheri. But not tomorrow. I must go with Maman to Paris tomorrow. But I shall return next week. You will wait for me?’

‘Yes, oh yes!’ he gasped.

‘Oh, Freddy,’ she laughed. ‘You are so romantic!’

As they strolled back down the hill, hand in hand, she