Women of Courage (116 page)

A long time later they paused for breath. She loosened his hands gently, saying: ‘There. Now I know how you kiss.’

He said: ‘My God. I don’t understand.’

‘No? And you a man of the world, too.’ Now we’ll see, she thought.
Oh, Sean, Sean
. Forget him.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘Stay there alone if you like.’

It was a long, lonely walk to the door. Catherine must have walked those ten yards across that room hundreds of times before in her life but this was the first time she could ever remember feeling self-conscious about every step. It’s not going to work, she thought, that was an utterly cheap and crazy thing to say, I’ll never be able to face him again, I must look a complete fool walking like this ...

‘Catherine.’

‘Yes?’ She turned, her hand on the doorknob.

He crossed the room, put his hands on her arms. ‘Do you know what you’re saying? Do you mean it?’

‘Of course.’

He bent forward and kissed her, more gently this time, almost reverently, as though she were a child. His moustache tickled, his breath smelt of brandy. The kiss ended and she stood in front of him, very cool and quizzical, trembling like a leaf inside.

‘Wait here, then. Come up in five minutes.’

Andrew had imagined several ways that it might happen but none of them had been like this. He had thought he might surprise her after a ride, all flushed and warm in the stable, and lay her on her back in the hay; he had thought he might go into her room when she was asleep in the middle of the night; he had considered getting her really drunk, and seducing her on the sofa in the big drawing room when all the servants had gone to bed.

It had never occurred to him that she might seduce him.

When he came into her room, it was lit by a soft oil lamp in the corner, and a wood and peat fire in the grate. It was a large room, with two pink armchairs near the fire, a carved dressing table and a screen in the corner, a vast wardrobe with a full-length mirror, and a four-poster bed with pale yellow curtains. At first he did not see her, then he saw she was leaning against the pillows in her bed, wearing a cream-coloured nightgown with buttons down the front. She smiled.

‘Hurry up. These sheets are cold. I need you to warm them.’ He took off his jacket and flung it over a chair. Then he hesitated. This was all too cool, too deliberate.

‘If you’re shy you can get undressed behind the screen. It’s over there.’

‘All right.’ He picked up his jacket and went behind it. I don’t think I’ve ever done it like this before, he thought. It’s all wrong.
I’m
supposed to be in charge, not her.

Her clothes were behind the screen too; a dress, a brassiere, soft silk camiknickers. He realized he would have to walk across the room towards her, quite erect and naked.

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him.

He was not used to being looked at. Since his face had been wounded he had been ashamed of his body. But there was no look of horror on her face; more of excitement, determination. She was right, the sheets were cold.

‘How many lords and ladies have been in this bed before us then, Miss O’Connell-Gort?’ he said.

‘Oh, dozens.’ It’s going to work, she thought. It’s really going to work. She held out her arms and drew him to her.

This time, the kiss was rougher, more passionate and insistent. She moaned and ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her neck and fumbled with the buttons of her nightdress.

‘It’s all right. I’ll take it off.’

She tugged it over her head and then gasped as he sucked her breasts - hard, much harder than Sean had ever done. It hurt, but it did something to her stomach as well and she felt her loins warm and moist. She parted her thighs and kissed him again, rubbing her hands down his back to press him on to her.

‘Oh yes, yes. Go on.’

And then he was thrusting into her and it was another man, she was really doing it with another man and it was all right, he was good and strong and she needed it so much and …

And it was all over.

She felt him go limp inside her and kissed his cheek gently and felt his arms and back with her hands and thought how heavy he was, smooth hard muscles under the skin. There was soft fur on his buttocks and the small of his back, and a ridged line like a scar on his left side.

He rolled off her and lay on his side with his head propped on his elbow, gazing at her. His face in the lamplight was shadowy, the expression hard to interpret.

‘I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you,’ he said.

‘Have you, Sir Galahad?’ She thought how strange his face was after Sean’s; older, rough, a cruel face to look at close to. The way he had thrust into her had been quite brutal. She felt aroused, annoyed that it had been so swift. She shouldn’t be thinking of Sean: the whole purpose was to forget him.

She rubbed both hands along his back, and said: ‘So what is your next ambition, then?’

Andrew was amazed; shocked even. Not even Elsie had been quite so brazen. He leaned forward and kissed the little brown nipples and she closed her eyes and moaned. He kissed them harder, feeling his erection return, and then her hands were all over him, clinging to him, pulling him down on to her. He didn’t like it. He felt used, exploited. I’ve got to show this girl who’s master, he thought. He remembered Elsie, and as he thrust inside her he caught her wrists and forced them down over her head so that she had to look up at him as he thrust slowly, deliberately.

‘What?’ She tried to clasp him to her with her thighs, drumming her heels hard against his buttocks. ‘Come on, Andrew.’

But he took his time, watching her, enjoying the moment of control. She was lithe and slim as he had imagined; the struggle excited him. The bedclothes fell on the floor, but he was too heavy for her. She could not throw him off, even if she wanted to. Then he began to thrust faster and faster and her eyes closed and she stopped struggling and began to move with him and he saw her gasp and cry out just before he did so himself.

Afterwards they lay quietly in each other’s arms.

She thought: I never thought it would be like that. He’s a brute and a pig but I’ve done it and I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t promise to marry him, I just wanted to do it with another man and that’s what I’ve done. There was no love here, only lust, but that’s all right. I like lust. You can do it just as well without love.
Oh God why do I feel so lonely?

She had a sudden disturbing picture of Sean, alone in his cell. But he seemed very distant now, tiny, a little man in a stone box that grew smaller and smaller and fell out of sight in her mind like a matchbox thrown into the sea.

Tears prickled in her eyes. She realized Andrew had fallen asleep. She got up quietly to blow out the oil lamp, crept back into bed, and lay on her back watching the flickering shadows on the roof of the bed, caused by the dying embers of the fire.

Andrew woke later while it was still dark. The wind outside was stronger, and gusts rattled rain against the windows. He listened to her breathing softly beside him, and stroked her smooth dark hair with his fingers. A log fell in the grate, and he raised himself on his elbow and watched the warm firelight bathe her face.

He thought: I am here but I have not mastered her. There is more courage and spirit in that slim soft face than in any woman I have ever met. He wondered if she dreamed of him at all, or if, like Elsie, she was far away. He wanted to stay with her for ever.

Then he remembered Michael Collins. A gust of wind blew smoke down the chimney and for the first time he was afraid. His skin was sensitive and tender all over as though he had just been born; he did not want to be hurt now. But it had to be risked. He looked at her with immense gratitude and then quietly got out of bed, collected his clothes, and went back to his room.

At first it was too cold to sleep there. For a long time he lay, watching the grey dawn light creep through the curtains, and thought of Ardmore. Tomorrow, he thought, before I go to Dublin I will ask her again. And then when Collins is dead I will have the money to rebuild Ardmore and we will sleep in my mother’s room together and she will bear my sons.

You and I are too much alike, Catherine O’Connell-Gort. I won’t let you back out now.

31. A Nasty Surprise

I
N THE morning Catherine woke up early and wondered for a moment where she was. The room was the same but there was something missing from it. Then she turned and saw the pillow crushed beside her own and remembered.

She got up, ran a bath, and brushed her hair in front of the decorated mirror in the bathroom. This is where I had my great idea, she thought. I look just the same. I am the same, really, it doesn’t touch you much inside if you don’t let it. All that’s a myth.

But although she smiled she felt like weeping and kept thinking of Sean. I’ve abandoned him, she thought. I’ve abandoned all that now.

She went downstairs to the breakfast room. There was no one there. She gazed out of the window at the rain sweeping in from the sea. Raindrops were splashing like smoke on the stone paths in the garden, and the wind was lashing the bent shrubs and bushes this way and that. But far out to sea a pale sun was shining on silvery-grey, white-capped waves, and she could see the edge of the dark clouds coming nearer. She thought she would go out for a ride later, when the storm had passed.

Brophy brought her bacon and eggs, and she ate hungrily, scanning the headlines of the
Irish Times,
which he had laid out in front of her. She had glanced at him anxiously when he brought it, but it was all right, he was his usual avuncular, cheerful self. There was no hint of shock or disapproval in his eyes.

It’s all fine, Catherine thought, it’s all right. My body isn’t hurt and my mind is clear and everything is straightforward now. He made love to me and it was coarse and brutal, like the pig of a man he is. But in its way it was thrilling too, in a quite different way than with Sean. Like riding a new skittish hunter for the first time and being thrown; frightening but compulsive too, so you want to do it again and control it. Perhaps I was like that for Sean.
Forget Sean
. I was right – it’s a medical thing like an inoculation in reverse. The second man immunizes you against an obsession with the first and brings health. I can do it with Andrew again if I like, whenever I like, or not at all if I don’t want to. It’s my life again, I’m free and in control.

She realized Andrew would probably ask her about marriage again, and she wondered if every night would be like that, or whether she could tame him. She had led him to her bed, after all; now she knew what to expect. But anyway there was no hurry; it didn’t seem an important problem at the moment.

The rain was easing off. Andrew seems to be sleeping late, she thought, with a secret smile. He must be tired. She poured herself some tea, buttered some toast, and scanned the newspaper idly. A headline caught her eye.

SINN FEINER CHARGED WITH RADFORD’S MURDER

TRIAL LIKELY IN TWO WEEKS

A sick, fluttery feeling invaded her stomach. She bent her head closer to read.

Dublin Castle confirmed yesterday that a man has been charged with the murder of Assistant Commissioner Radford of the DMP, who was murdered in Harcourt Street last week. The accused man was named last night as Sean Brennan, aged 20, a medical student at University College, Dublin. It is understood he was arrested in Merrion Square last week, and is currently being held in Mountjoy Prison.

The government is anxious to bring the case to court as soon as possible, and the trial is scheduled to take place within the next two weeks. Assistant Commissioner Radford was shot at point-blank range in Harcourt Street, and eye-witnesses at the time reported that two armed men ran off into a side street ....

There followed details of what little was known of the murder, but Catherine did not read them. She was too shocked. She put the paper down, her hand shaking. Sean must have been charged yesterday, perhaps while she was lying in her bath thinking of seducing Andrew. They probably tortured him, beat him until he confessed. Perhaps last night, while Andrew and I were …

And if they find him guilty, he’ll hang.

‘Ah, there you are! Good morning.’ It was Andrew. He came in, walked round to her side of the table, and kissed her neck.

She shrank away. ‘No. Please don’t.’

‘Why not?’ His hands stroked her shoulders softly. A few minutes ago she might have liked it. Now it seemed a violation.

‘Leave me alone, please.’

‘What’s the matter?’ This was worse than he had thought.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. Just something I read in the paper, that’s all.’

‘Really? What is it? Show me.’ He sat down facing her across a corner of the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.

‘It’s none of your business.’

He drank the tea thoughtfully, and stared at her. More monkey tricks. He had thought at least this morning she would be pleased, happy as he was. Instead, here was the old arrogance back again. Did she think she could summon him to her room at night, and then slap him in the face the next morning?

He said, mildly enough: ‘You say there’s something printed in the paper and yet it’s none of my business?’

‘Yes. Oh, to hell with it. Look there then, if you must.’

She flung the newspaper across, pointing to the article. He read it. ‘So?’

‘So?’ She pushed her chair back and walked to the window, running her hands distractedly through her hair. ‘So Sean Brennan was my lover and now he’s going to hang.’

‘Oh.’ Andrew couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt ill, wasted, as though his blood had turned to ashes. As he had felt the day after Ardmore had burnt, when he had gone back to stare at the smoking ruins. And, just like then, something small began to smoulder within himself, and he knew that later, when he had recovered, the anger would flare and consume him.

He said, stupidly: ‘He was your lover? When?’

‘In Dublin. We were students at UCD together.’