Deception and Desire (33 page)

He looked at her with love and indulgence in his eyes. She was such a child, so shy. He would teach her to enjoy lovemaking, to glory in the sight of his body and his enjoyment of hers, to watch the act and so appreciate it with every one of her senses. But it would take time. For now he would humour her and do it her way.

He crossed to the window and drew the curtains. They were thick, lined with heavy material, and they shut out almost all of the light. He went back to where she stood, arms wrapped protectively around her body. A moment's doubt assailed him.

‘Dinah … you are sure?'

She nodded. He could hear her breath, soft and uneven. As he reached for her, slipping his hands inside her blouse and unfastening the strap of her bra, she moved closer to him so that her body was entirely hidden from him, and again he wondered. Even now she was holding back, keeping within herself that very private place he could not reach. But he wanted her too much now to worry about it. She was shy, that was all, inexperienced and perhaps slightly ashamed of it.

‘Darling, relax!' he said, the endearment slipping easily off his tongue though he could never remember having used it to a woman before. ‘ I won't hurt you. Just let it happen.'

Her skirt was simple pink gingham trimmed with white broderie anglaise, full and gathered. When he unbuttoned the waistband it fell to the ground. Beneath it she was wearing a petticoat made of layers of stiffened net in rainbow colours; easy, too, to slip that down. It lay at her ankles in a sighing heap and he slid his hand behind her knees, lifting her out of it bodily and carrying her to the bed.

In the dim light he could see the curves of her body, a little more rounded than he had expected, as she lay on top of the covers. He undressed himself swiftly then knelt beside her, stroking and kissing her until he felt her beginning to respond again. Yet even in response she was curiously passive. Van was used to women who knew how to make love with the skills of a courtesan, who expressed their desire with positive actions, who were prepared even to take the initiative. Dinah did none of these things. Though he could sense the quivering need that was electrifying her body she lay almost completely still, waiting for him to call the shots, and he realised he liked it, that for him it was more arousing to be totally dominant than to be made love to, however skilfully.

He lay down on his side next to her, turning her so that they lay face to face. He kissed her again, holding her pressed close so that he probed her gently, and she gave a soft, low cry and arched against him. For a few moments more he moved rhythmically until he sensed both from the movements of her body and the rising urgency of her breath that she was in the upward spiral of excitement which leads to climax. Then and only then did he enter her.

Lying pressed into the pillows, Dinah felt she had moved into another dimension. The excruciating sweetness, the mounting desire, the brief moment of pain, the utter delight of having him fill her, move in her, possess her.

‘Please … oh please!' she whispered, but she did not know what it was she was begging for because already she had everything she could desire and it was wonderful … wonderful! Then: ‘Don't stop! Don't ever stop!' and she knew it was because she wanted this glory to go on forever, the sensation of body and mind and spirit all swirling upwards to the stars.

‘Come with me,' Van murmured, sliding his hands beneath her and raising her so that the tilt of her body brought them still closer together. And suddenly the sweetness was reaching screaming pitch, so sharp she could scarcely bear it and she knew this was the moment to hold on to,
this, this
.

Afterwards, subsiding into the warm rosy valley of contentment, she twined her arms around Van's broad back, holding him within her as long as she could. Only when he slipped from her did she allow that it really was over.

‘Oh Van, I love you,' she whispered.

He squeezed her gently but said nothing, rolling on to his side and taking her with him. She was becoming drowsy now; though it was still only late afternoon she felt her eyelids closing.

Beside her Van too relaxed in the afterglow, and a few moments later, still locked in one another's arms, they slept.

Something was wrong. Van knew it but could not for the life of him put his finger on what it was.

He had sensed it almost immediately after that first ecstatic lovemaking When they had woken Dinah had clung to him as if she could not bear to be parted from him for even an instant. At his suggestion she had run a bath, but whilst she was taking it she had locked the door, and when she emerged she looked slightly drawn, although the warmth of the water had raised a rosy flush in her cheeks.

‘Come here,' he said to her, and although she did as he asked he sensed that she had gone away from him again. Frustration made him irritable; he could not understand her withdrawal, the stiffness in every line of her body as he held her. Yet when he said a little coolly: ‘Perhaps we had better get dressed for dinner,' she clung to him, her tight closed eyes and puckered mouth suggesting she might be close to tears.

At dinner it was the same; she ate little and seemed preoccupied. She did not want a pudding; he went to the sweet trolley to choose from the impressive array of desserts and as he returned to their table he noticed that her face, in repose, was indescribably sad.

It was as if that shadow that lurked at her shoulder was back, he thought, only darker and more insistently threatening than before. He filled her glass, thinking it might help to relax her, but she drank little, only sipping at the good French wine he had selected.

Afterwards they went for a walk, down the hill to the sea front, and the burden went with them. Van's impatience grew. Was this how virgins behaved when they had just succumbed for the first time – wallowing in doubt, resenting the loss of their virginity? It was so long since he had made love to anyone but the most experienced of women and he could not recall ever having encountered such a reaction before, but he thought it must be that. He would have to be patient with her and teach her that there was no need for it to be this way, he decided.

He made no attempt to make love to her again that night, but next morning as she faced him across the breakfast table she reminded him a little of a piece of diamond-cut crystal, so sharply brittle was she. The cloud, he knew, was still there beneath the shining exterior. It had not gone away, it was simply hidden.

He drove her to Porlock. They sat by the weir, watching the fishing smacks in the bay, then they went on, up the steep toll road, back on to the moors, seeking out the villages where thatched cottages nestled together behind their gardens, bright with the old-fashioned flowers of summer – hollyhocks and delphiniums, phlox and snapdragons. They had lunch in a country pub and afterwards he headed for the spot she had said she most wanted to see – the Doone Valley.

They parked on the road, looking down towards the church where Lorna had died, and glancing at Dinah he saw that her eyes were full of tears. In that moment irritation gave way to tenderness. He put his arm around her, turning her to face him.

‘What is it, darling? What is the matter?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.'

‘There must be something. You don't cry for no reason – nobody does.'

‘Oh – it's being here, I suppose.'

‘But you wanted to come.'

‘I know, but it's so sad! Love can be, can't it?'

‘Perhaps. But it's nothing to cry about.'

She sat silently staring down the valley.

‘It's not Lorna Doone and John Ridd you're crying about at all, is it?' he said. ‘You have been behaving strangely all day. Is it because of what happened last night? Because if it is, that's nothing to cry about either. You wanted it to happen, didn't you?'

‘Oh yes!' There was no mistaking the fervour of her tone.

‘And so did I. We've both wanted it for a very long time. So what is it? You're not worried that I might have made you pregnant, are you? Because if you are – forget it. I can promise you I didn't.'

He heard her gulp, deep in her throat. Then she said dully: ‘No, it's not that.'

‘What then?'

Tears were welling in her eyes and he felt a sudden bolt of jealousy.

‘Is there somebody else? Somebody you can't forget?'

‘No. No! Oh, please do stop going on at me! There's nothing wrong. I'm fine. I'm probably just tired – I didn't sleep much last night.'

And she would say no more.

They returned to the car and drove on, and gradually he sensed her mood lifting, returning to the forced elation of the morning as if she had made a conscious decision to put whatever it was that was troubling her behind her.

That night they made love again, this time in her room, and though she once again insisted that the lights should be out her response had that same feverish quality he had noticed in her all day. When it was over they lay side by side, his hand resting on that slightly rounded stomach and he was surprised when she took it and moved it higher, so it lay instead on her ribcage.

‘Do you want me to go?' he asked, though it was the last thing he wanted.

She curled herself around him.

‘No, please stay!'

It was some time during the dark reaches of the night that it came to him that he wanted to marry her. He had woken to feel her there beside him, heard her regular breathing and reached for the warm softness of her. She moved slightly, murmuring something he could not make out, and with the suddenness of an electric shock he realised he never wanted to leave her.

The thought startled him. Never before had it occurred to him to want to make one of his many relationships permanent. He enjoyed his freedom too much, enjoyed playing the field, taking his pleasures with no strings attached. He had seen himself as one of life's natural bachelors, wedded only to the ambition that would one day bring him all the prizes he desired. A wife had had no place in his plans. But then he had never before known a woman like Dinah, never before been in love.

The realisation that this had all changed frightened him a little. But even as he tried to tell himself that the madness would pass and he would get over it he knew he did not want to. Loving her made him vulnerable and Van did not like being vulnerable. Marry her, make her his, and he would be in control again, both of himself and of her.

But the desire was not only selfish. He wanted to give to her too, to make her happy, to teach her to trust and to banish forever whatever it was that clouded her horizon. He wanted her there to share the fruits of his success, wanted them to do things together, not just the lovemaking but also the adventures and the striving, even the sheer hard work, as they had shared the making and the trial of the new walking boots and the sandals that he thought of as the ‘Bible boots'.

The wonder of discovery filled him and he thought how odd it was that someone as ingenuous and childlike as Dinah should have reached his heart where more sophisticated women had failed. And yet at the same time it was not strange at all but absolutely right, for her very naivety filled a gap in him, making him feel strong and powerful whilst at the same time that unreachable core of her fascinated him and posed a challenge.

They had one day left, one day before they had to return to reality, to the factory and everyday life. He could no longer bear the thought of her sitting at her machine with the other workers, knew it would tear him apart to look through his office window and see her there, one of the least important of his father's employees, when he wanted her beside him. As for his other lady friends – it amused him to think how outraged they would be to know that they had been usurped by this little girl.

But how proud he would be! She was beautiful already – when she was dressed, with his money, in designer clothes, she would be stunning. And he would teach her everything she needed to know to fit into his world.

Tomorrow he would ask her to marry him, he decided. And in spite of all that had gone before, in spite of the doubts she inspired in him, it never occurred to him for one moment that she might refuse.

He took her to Tarr Steps, in the heart of Exmoor, and on the way back he detoured again to the Doone Valley.

Van was not a romantic but knowing how she felt about the place it seemed only right to him that it should be here that he asked her the question that had not left his mind since those sleepless hours last night.

‘Lorna never made it to the altar in the church,' he said, sitting on the ridge and holding her hand. ‘ Would you like to do it for her?'

She glanced up, puzzled, and he knew she had not understood.

‘Would you like to be married there?'

She laughed, a soft little intake of breath.

‘Would I … ? I don't know. What a funny question!'

‘It isn't meant to be funny. I don't even know if the church is used for services any more, let alone for weddings. But if it is, would you like to be married there … to me?'

She still looked puzzled, as if she half understood but was afraid she might be mistaken.

‘For goodness' sake!' he exploded. ‘ I'm asking you to marry me Dinah!'

‘Oh!' It was there again in her eyes before she quickly turned her head away, that shadow that had no substance, and for a moment he felt sick inside, as if she had hit him. He had made love to her, and the ghosts were still there. He had asked her to marry him, and the ghosts were still there. What could he do to drive them away? Though he was churning inside with unfamiliar emotions his voice was hard, almost expressionless.

‘I take it, then, that your answer is no?'

She turned back. He was reminded of a gazelle poised for flight.

‘Oh Van, there's nothing in the world I would like better than to marry you. Only …'

‘Only what?'

She hesitated, eyes distant. Then she lowered her lashes, shook her head.