Our Little Secret (28 page)

He puts his hand into the back of my hair as he kisses me.

‘Oh God, I can’t stand it,’ he whispers between kisses.

His words make my insides molten with a mixture of desire and triumph. He can’t resist this thing between us, just like I can’t. For all his declarations this afternoon, it’s taken just hours for him to crack.

I claw at his hair and he lifts me, my dressing gown falling open. He lifts me up, my legs wrapping around him, and he carries me to the bed, where we both flop down.

Edward laughs at the movement of the bed and somehow that breaks the tension. I stare into his face, stroking his cheeks. He’s here and with me, and the overwhelming ache I’ve been feeling all evening finally goes. The release is so powerful, I want to cry.

He kisses my neck, and I gasp as he takes my breasts in each hand and squeezes them against his face, as if he’ll never be able to have enough of them.

Then he’s moving down and kissing across my stomach.

‘All I could think about at dinner was this,’ he tells me, kissing the small mole on my hipbone. ‘This delicious, perfect mole of yours that I love.’

I feel my whole abdomen shaking and I strain up towards him. And then he’s between my legs. His thumbs circle my thighs again, but this time I know he’s not going to stop. I lie back, wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, gasping, as his tongue flicks across me, and he makes a low, guttural moan that sends goosebumps shooting over me.

He presses his mouth into me, as if he’s devouring a peach. And then there are his thumbs, still circling, upwards . . . upwards . . . like I told him drove me crazy in the sauna.

I gasp as he lifts me up by my hips, his fingers pulling apart my butt cheeks, and he licks me deliciously, pulling back to look at me.

‘I want all of you,’ he breathes. He licks me again. I shudder uncontrollably. I feel bared to him, like he’s making the most intimate study anyone has ever made. I get the feeling that there is no part of me he’ll leave undiscovered. And that’s just fine by me.

I feel his tongue inside me, pressing as far as it can go, then he sucks my lips, deliciously, and then he’s circling my clitoris, flicking across the erect nub, and it’s almost unbearably intense. My breath is ragged, every nerve ending on fire. He’s in control of me and he knows it. He knows
exactly
what he’s doing.

I feel him slowly press his finger inside me as he sucks on my nub and I’m so close now.

‘Come to me, baby,’ he whispers as I teeter on the edge.

Then I’m cascading down, shattering, thundering, plummeting . . .

63

Afterwards, I’m speechless. My legs shake uncontrollably as he places them on the bed. Then he tucks my dressing gown around me and I can’t help laughing. He can’t cover me up or tuck me away, like what just happened isn’t a massive deal.

He stretches and flops onto the bed beside me.

‘This is hopeless,’ he tells me. ‘A11 my resolve . . .’

I lean over and kiss him. ‘Don’t feel bad. I wanted you to come. I’m happy you did. Oh God, you don’t know how happy.’

‘But now, I have to go,’ he says, putting a finger on my eyebrow and tracing a line to the corner of my eye.

‘Don’t.’

‘I have to. Becca and Angelo are still here. They’re having nightcaps. I said I was getting a painting to show them. Marnie will be looking for me.’

The mention of Marnie makes me shudder. Our eyes meet. We both know how wrong this is. That our borrowed time is over.

‘Go then,’ I say, covering up the moment and half-teasing him. I push him off the bed and he falls on the floor, laughing.

‘What’s this?’ he asks me. He reaches under my bed and pulls out a black sequinned nipple-tassel.

I jolt upright, recognizing it.

He holds it in his hand. His look is dark. Not cross exactly, more confused.

I shift upwards in the bed and take it out of his hand.

‘Oh that,’ I say, as if it’s no big deal, but my heart is hammering. ‘Marnie gave it to me. She gave me some underwear.’

He seems to consider this for a moment. ‘Did she.’

It’s not a question, more a statement. Like he’s trying to figure out what happened. And I know then that I should come clean and tell him everything. I feel the secret of that evening, of my dance, of our embrace so forcefully I think he must be able to tell. I brace myself for his fury, but then Edward does something unexpected. He smiles.

‘I’d like to see you all dressed up one day,’ he says quietly. He strokes my cheek. ‘That would be something.’

As quickly as it came, the moment to tell him about Marnie – about Marnie and me – passes. He hasn’t suspected and I’m not going to tell him. I can’t risk anything coming between Edward and me. I can’t risk losing this.

‘I’d love that, but how can we . . . I mean?’

He gets up, then leans over me. He holds my face and, bending down, stares into my eyes. ‘Promise me you’ll hold your nerve. Promise me you won’t say anything. To anyone. Ever.’

‘I promise.’

‘I don’t know, either . . . how any of this can work. We will just have to take it one minute at a time.’

‘OK.’

‘Mamie must never know.’

‘I know. I understand.’

‘She mustn’t even suspect, OK? It would break her.’

I nod. I feel bad, like the scarlet woman I am, but Edward forces me to look at him, searching out my eyes.

‘Can I trust you?’

‘Of course.’ I reach up and kiss him, my lips lingering on his soft lips. I want to kiss those lips forever. I can smell myself on him. I know it’s wrong, but there’s some primal monkey-like part of me that feels triumphant that I’ve claimed him. Marked him as my own.

64

I’m terrified the next morning about seeing Marnie and Edward together, but Marnie is alone in the hall when I sneak downstairs. I can hardly bring myself to smile when she waves at me and grins. I feel wretched about the lie my life has become.

Her husband wants me. And she has no idea.

She’s laughing on the phone. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to one of the boys.

‘OK, baby,’ she says. ‘She’s here now. Daddy took her sailing yesterday. Oh yes, he’s been licking her into shape.’ She raises her eyebrows at me, her eyes dancing, but her words have such a unintended double-meaning, I feel sick. ‘Yes, she’s a brilliant sailor, apparently. She’s desperate to meet you guys.’ She listens for a while and laughs, her eyes misty with affection. ‘OK, I understand. Tell Tobes it’ll be fine. Daddy and I are having the party at the weekend. So maybe after that? OK, OK, I’ll call her and organize it. You have fun.’ She blows lots of kisses. ‘Love you. Love you, too. Be careful,’ she stresses, but I get the impression that her son has already rung off. She presses the phone against her chest. ‘They are having a ball,’ she says. ‘But God, I miss them.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ I mumble, but after everything that happened yesterday, I realize that I’ve hardly thought about the boys. Seeing the force of her maternal bond only makes me realize that Edward must feel the same.

Marnie fixes me with one of her sympathetic stares. ‘Aw, poor Miss Henshaw. I know you are hanging around here like a spare part. But they’ll just be in the way if they’re home when we have this party at the weekend. I told you about the party, didn’t I?’

I shake my head.

‘Didn’t I?’ she says, as if she can’t believe it. As if we’ve talked and talked and it’s unbelievable there’s been such an omission. ‘Oh, well,’ she gushes on, ‘we’re throwing a little house-warming bash. Some of Ed’s investors are in town, so it’s one of those two-birds-with-one-stone things, you know?’

She looks at me, like I honestly might know. That I have these kind of social conundrums myself. I shrug, unsure how to respond. I wonder where Edward is. Edward, who made love to me all day yesterday. Edward, who came to me last night.

Edward, who is imprinted on my mind.

My lover.

Her husband.

‘Now Ed’s gone upstate on business until tomorrow, and Mrs Gundred’s away at the weekend. I’m going to tear my hair out organizing it, and then there’s the shoot today. Gah! Why does everything come at once? Thank God the boys aren’t here, too.’

But I hardly hear the last part of her sentence. Edward has
gone
? He’s gone upstate on business . . . just like that?

I think of him last night in my room. How I fell asleep with a stupid grin on my face. I wouldn’t have done if I knew I wouldn’t see him today. Or tonight.

I fight as hard as I can to hide the crushing sense of hurt and disappointment that threatens to swamp me. Why didn’t he tell me he was going? How could he leave me to face Marnie alone, after yesterday?

Suddenly, she looks up at me and frowns. ‘Are you OK, honey?’ she asks. She sounds so sweet. So innocent.

I make an incoherent sound in the affirmative, then cough. ‘I can help,’ I offer. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

I might as well. If I stay around here I’ll go out of my mind.

‘That’s sweet of you. I sure could do with an extra pair of hands, although I warn you, it’s going to be a long day.’

I smile at her and shove my hands in my pockets. ‘Just tell me what I need to do,’ I say, trying to sound reassuring.

65

‘OK, bring that forward. Two steps,’ Marnie calls to me.

Mamie is standing next to the photographer, Marshall O’Kieffe, in the middle of her studio in Manhattan. I know that Marshall is famous and the absolute best in his field, as his three assistants, Tara, Lee and MacKenzie, have each whispered the news in revered tones.

Marnie doesn’t look at me as she ushers me closer. Her concentration is intense and I’m careful to do the right thing. I’m carrying a large silver reflector, which I’m angling in the lights, so that the light falls on the model in front of me. My legs are screaming. I’m desperate to sit down. It’s been non-stop since Marnie and I arrived at the studio this morning, and I’ve lost track of time.

It’s been fun chatting to the models, most of whom are younger than me and have already worked all over the world.

I can’t help feeling smug, though. I feel my secret lighting me up from the inside.

Edward.

His name chimes through me like a bell.

Every few seconds my mind goes back to the yacht . . . To Edward’s hands. To how his body felt against – inside – mine. With time giving me perspective, I expected the experience to fade, but my retrospection only makes it more amazing and more profound.

I wish I had some means of calling him, but I don’t have his cellphone number and I have no idea where he is. I hope Marnie is telling the truth and he is away on business, and not back at the house waiting for me, when I’m here.

There’s still so much I don’t know about his life: where he goes, what he’s working on, who he sees. But I guess I will soon enough. My mind loop-the-loops on all the possible scenarios of what will happen next. Edward said we’d just have to take it second-by-second. But with each second that passes I just want him more, not less.

Is it the same for him, I wonder?

And how exactly will it be when we’re back at the house? Will he come to me in the night, like he did last night? And what will happen when the boys are there? What if we get found out? What then?

I can’t think about what then. It’s too dangerous, when everything is at stake.

As Marnie flits around the studio in a blur of action, I watch her from my still poses and see how amazing she is, and the thought of hurting her feels terrible. Like a physical sting.

Of course I know how the facts look. That I’m cheating with her husband, behind her back, but somehow what has happened between me and Edward feels as if it has nothing to do with her. Just as their marriage has nothing to do with me. I know that.

I also know that I’m trying to justify my behaviour to myself, but no matter what the risks, I have still crossed a line and I can’t stop now. I can’t call it off, or pretend it isn’t happening. It’s too big for that.

And that’s why this affair I’ve started with Edward has to stay a secret forever. It will be locked away and will be private. But knowing that, and keeping it to myself, just makes the facts of the secret even bigger, even more amazing. I’m surprised nobody can tell. It feels like I’m bursting with it. And, annoyingly, the one person I really want to tell is the one person I can’t.

‘Come forward,’ Marshall calls and I realize, jolting out of my reverie, that he means me. I carry the reflector forward, closer to the bed.

Since I was here the other day Marnie’s studio has been transformed into what can only be described as a hall of decadence for her lingerie shoot. It’s how I imagine an opulent opera set might look. There are red velvet drapes and chandeliers, as well as an antique iron bed. Music thumps out and the patient, half-naked models, with their flawless make-up and stunning hair creations, courtesy of Roberta and her team, hang around on the edges, drinking black coffee out of Styrofoam cups.

I’m so used to seeing everyone in lingerie now, it has become normal. I’ve also got a brand-new kind of respect for models. I’ve been amazed by how much work there is to do to get the shots right, and it’s not helped by the fact that both Marshall and Marnie are utter perfectionists. Each shot has taken an age to set up and this one, the most complicated of the lot, is still in the process of being created.

I look up at the model as I step closer. Her name is Karen, and I see her eyes flick down towards me and she winks. She keeps her pose still, though. I try not to stare at her, but it’s difficult not to. She’s got the most beautiful pale skin and she’s dressed in a rose-lace bra and thong from Marnie’s collection. I can see the muscles on her stomach and the downy skin of her thighs, and the dark, dusky pink of her nipples through the lace.

Karen isn’t the only model waiting in an uncomfortable pose for the lighting to be perfect. Marshall’s three assistants fuss round in the background, whilst Xanda, the make-up assistant, comes in for touch-ups.

I glance behind Karen to the iron bed, where a male and female model lie semi-naked in a sleepy-looking embrace, although they’re both wide awake and fully posed. Behind them, in silhouette, are three more models at the edge of the set, in various combinations of Marnie’s underwear.