by Lily Hammond
Eliza turned and smiled at her. Put up her own hands, mimicking Clemency, and nodded at her through the frame of fingers and thumbs.
‘Yeah,’ Clemency said. ‘Like that.’
Eliza did a slow turn where she stood, squinting at the world through the frame she’d made with her hands, and tilting her head, first to one side and then the other as she strove to understand. It came easily, she discovered. All she had to do was carve the world up into pictures that pleased her.
Eliza turned and nodded at Clemency, wanting to tell her this was easy – she’d been doing it her whole life. She looked back through her frame and swivelled to look at the tree through her invented viewfinder. The branches made patterns between her hands and she moved around until they were like lace, green leaves, blue sky, stitched delicately together with light.
Clemency tucked her hands back into her pockets and watched Eliza, her shoulders relaxed in the warmth of the morning sun rising over them, turning Eliza’s skin a burnished gold. She breathed in and stood where she was in quiet delight, content with everything. Her body was pleasantly – very pleasantly – fatigued from another night’s lovemaking, and her thoughts were almost drowsy with the warm flush of satisfaction.
Eliza broke Clemency’s reverie, flinging her arms around her in excited exuberance, squeezing for a moment, then dancing away, spinning the silk skirt around her legs, arms wide, until she was dizzy and laughing. She collapsed down into an untidy pile on the grass and lay gazing up at the sky. How wide it was here, in this place. She narrowed her eyes, looked for Clemency.
Clemency saw her looking and sat next to her, spreading her legs out and wiggling her toes in the sunlight.
‘Happy?’ she asked Eliza, because Eliza was frowning.
Eliza nodded, and her brow cleared briefly, but then the frown was back.
‘What is it?’ Clemency asked.
But Eliza just sighed and put her head in Clemency’s lap. She could make Clemency understand some things, but she didn’t have the means of asking complicated questions. Or telling stories. She blinked up at the sky, then closed her eyes as Clemency stroked her hair.
It was all right, she decided. She had someone who spoke to her and listened to her more than she’d ever known before. Even her mum hadn’t paid too much attention to anything Eliza had tried to say.
She turned her head on the warmth of Clemency’s thighs and looked out to where the sky turned magically into sea, and breathed in deeply. Soon she would know how to take photographs, and then she would go everywhere and make pictures of everything she saw and thought about. And she and Clemency would learn to speak to each other with their hands, and all the things that had always been only inside her head would be let loose to fly like the sparrow she was named for.
A smile on her face, Eliza hooked her thumbs together and made a pair of wings with her fingers, that flew off through the air. She looked up at Clemency and did it again.
That is me, she said. I am learning to fly. I will be free.
Her sparrow wings came to rest nestled on her chest and she sighed in satisfaction.
Clemency gazed down at the face she was determined to learn every mood of. She touched a light finger to the warm, skin, seeing faint freckles that would soon darken and spread, kissing Eliza’s milk-white skin with summer. A cicada burred in the grass somewhere near and she moved her fingers to smooth down an eyebrow, then idly touched Eliza’s hair. It was long and thick, loose around her shoulders, and dark red against the emerald of Eliza’s dress. How Eliza’s eyes had widened the day when Clemency had taken this dress from the hanger and told her to go try it on. She’d stood there in the shop, her hands shaking as they touched the beautiful fabric, and she’d looked up at Clemency after a moment with an expression that wavered between fear and hope.
After that, Clemency had gone through the whole ready-to-wear department, the owner, Mrs Peacock, following along avidly, no doubt thinking of the delightful ringing up her till was soon to do, and Clemency had pulled from the racks everything and anything she’d fancied, holding it up against Eliza and nodding if she liked it, or shaking her head and putting it back if she didn’t. After a half hour, Eliza had lost her wide-eyed hesitation and abandoned herself to the pleasure of shopping – something Clemency was sure she’d never once been able to do before.
It had been an adventure for both of them, and they’d laughed their way to the fitting room, their arms full, Mrs Peacock clucking behind them, wanting to censor such odd, wanton behaviour, but secretly salivating at the thought of how much all this was going to cost Miss Westerly. Her shopkeeper’s nature had won out, of course, and she’d not said a word out loud about the smiling pair, deigning not to notice the way their hands sometimes lingered upon the arm or shoulder of the other, in a way that was not quite…appropriate.
The green dress was Clemency’s favourite. Cut in the most modern way, its bias-cut drapery flattered Eliza’s figure in a way that charmed Clemency completely and had her wanting to slide a hand under the green skirt to touch the warm satin of Eliza’s skin.
She didn’t want to do anything but laze here in the sun with Eliza, and then wander into the house to find something for lunch, and then perhaps a lesson in the studio – maybe putting together a still-life – or perhaps a lesson in the bed. She didn’t think they’d quite learned every which way around each other yet.
Eliza caught the sigh and put a finger to Clemency’s lip, then her chest, her eyebrows asking the question.
Clemency caught up Eliza’s hand and kissed each finger in turn, watching the blue of her eyes deepen in sudden arousal as she did it. The moment stretched out between them, silken and tightening, so that Clemency thought that she would almost be able to touch it, and she could hear Eliza’s breath hitching in her throat, and her own heart thudding in her chest. She licked her lips, and Eliza copied the gesture.
With an effort, Clemency breathed in and put Eliza’s hand down, trying not to glide her own over the frothy fabric that felt so thin over the heat of Eliza’s skin.
‘We have to go out,’ she said.
Eliza blinked, and propped herself up on an elbow.
‘The studio in town is not going to run itself, and with Libby gone, there is only us to do it,’ Clemency explained, giving in and pressing a palm to Eliza’s warm skin while a good part of her mind roamed around Eliza’s glorious, sun-heated body. ‘There are two appointments for this afternoon.’ She leaned back on the grass and sighed. ‘I can’t decide what to do with the place, Eliza,’ she said. ‘I either need to be there every day – to take telephone calls as well as photographs, or I need to employ someone to take the telephone calls, and just do the photography, or I should contact one of the men who applied for the job to manage the place.’ She let her hand fall away from Eliza’s thigh and stared up at the latticework of the tree’s branches against the sky. ‘Or I could sell the business,’ she mused, then looked at Eliza. ‘It depends what we want to do,’ she said.
Eliza sat up on her knees, and leaned towards Clemency, her face intent. She indicated herself and then pointed at Clemency, nodding her head.
‘Yes,’ Clemency agreed. ‘I said we. You can be my assistant in the studio today – if you like?’
Eliza sat back in satisfaction and nodded.
‘Good,’ Clemency said, and she gave Eliza a wide smile. ‘I’ll introduce you to the cameras, and you can help me with the sets and the lighting, and learn on the job, so to speak. I’ll teach you how to develop the film too, of course.’ She stretched and sighed with pleasure. Around her, the air was thick and warm with the sun. Everything was very fine.
Eliza grabbed Clemency’s hand and leaned over, kissing her on the lips, a wild elation overtaking her heart so that she sighed in pleasure against Clemency’s mouth. Clemency tasted of coffee and something else, something sweeter that was just Clemency herself, and it made Eliza hungry for more. Her body responded on its own accord, and the silk of the dress wa
s suddenly a caress against tightening nipples, and her skin flushed with ripeness and desire.
Clemency shook her head, the movement costing her everything she had. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I want you so badly, but we don’t have time to bathe again, and we would have to.’ She spoke with her lips against Eliza’s cheek, the woman somehow in her lap, so that Clemency could feel the heat of Eliza’s sex against her thighs. She groaned and one hand cupped itself around the curve of Eliza’s buttock, inadvertently tucking her closer against herself and holding her there.
Eliza made a breathless sigh and straightened in Clemency’s lap, pressing herself against Clemency’s belly, feeling herself swell with arousal, and the flimsy material of her new panties and dress grow wet with the sudden flood of her juices. In a haze of erotic need, she swiped at the shoulder of her dress, pushing the fabric down over one breast so that Clemency could take it into her mouth.
Which she did. There was no helping herself. On the edge of the orchard, the garden and house behind them, the steep hill down to the harbour before them, she took Eliza’s nipple in her mouth and moaned around it as Eliza rocked on top of her, rubbing her heat against her. Clemency closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment, her mouth full, sucking, her body afire with sensation, feeling Eliza’s growing urgency and holding onto her with both hands now, pressing her down against her as she moved, and when Eliza came in a sudden explosion of breath, a sudden tightening of her thighs around Clemency, it was as though she’d come too, and she cried out into the wide blue and green of sky and sea.
Chapter Fifty-Four
‘Thank goodness for Mrs. Harper,’ Clemency said. She stared around at her studio in town in dismay. ‘I’ve been neglecting things. If not for Mrs Harper – she comes in twice a week and cleans – this place would look a disgrace.’ Clemency shook her head. Although the studio was clean and tidy enough, it had a faint air of disuse. How long had it been since Clemency had been here to work? Too long, obviously.
Eliza sidled up to her, no longer in the green dress, but radiant all the same, in a skirt and blouse, her voluptuous hair in its thick plait. She touched Clemency’s arm and smiled, eyebrows raised at Clemency’s frowning face.
Clemency patted Eliza’s hand and smiled back at her. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, watching Eliza’s eyes widen in attention. ‘We have a solid two weeks appointments booked and we’ll use that time to give you an intensive introduction to photography – how’s that?’
That was very good indeed, Eliza thought and clapped her hands together in excitement, which made Clemency laugh.
‘And while we’re doing that,’ Clemency continued, ‘we’ll decide upon some other things.’
Suddenly, Eliza’s body tensed. She looked dubiously across at Clemency. What other things?
‘In another week, Maxine is coming home with the new baby,’ Clemency said, ticking it off on a finger. ‘Which means we have to make sure Hahana’s rooms are ready in the Hall of Residence, and also that Ruth has everything she needs.’ Clemency’s face softened in pleasure.
The tension drained from Eliza’s shoulders. The other things were just that – things. Good things, like Ruth’s new baby, that was a wonderful thing. Not bad things such as getting sent off to Greymouth. Clemency had already promised there would be no Greymouth, but life had tripped Eliza up before, and there was a very small part of her that worried it would do it again. That things were too good to be true. Her mother had said something about that – if something seemed too good to be true, then likely it was.
This, this wonderful thing that had happened to Eliza – was that too good to be true? she wondered. She had thought that with loving Clemency and being loved in return, the world inside her head would become a calmer place, but Eliza had discovered that this was not quite the case. Most of the time – yes. But on odd occasions, too many of them, fear crept inside her head and roosted there. She thought if she allowed it, that fear would make itself quite a nest, settling down and dropping dirty thought feathers all around.
She was afraid of losing everything. Afraid of losing Clemency. It was all so important to her. This made no sense to her, but she had to pull herself back from clinging to Clemency, from digging her fingers in and holding onto her with grim determination. She knew this was not the way to go about it all, and always she managed to take a deep breath. Sometimes though, she thought that deep breath might just catch in her throat and get stuck there beside her useless vocal cords. It made her feel shaky and cold. Most of the time, she basked in the heady swirl of her love for Clemency, and Clemency was everything Eliza had known she would be – but sometimes, when she woke up at night and the sky was a vast deep blue outside the window and somewhere an owl cried out like a cat, she would shiver and gaze down at Clemency’s face, Clemency’s dear, dear face, and she would worry that something would happen and all this would be just a dream. She had lost everyone; she was afraid of losing Clemency too.
‘What else?’ Clemency snapped her fingers together, thinking, knowing there were several things on the list in her head. ‘Ah,’ she pounced. ‘I must make some telephone calls, organise for you to see the doctor.’
Eliza’s eyes widened in alarm.
‘It’s all right, my darling,’ Clemency said. ‘I have a good friend who will look at you. She’s very gentle. You never said if you’d seen a doctor before; do you remember ever seeing one about not being able to speak?’
Eliza remembered it very well indeed and grimaced. She nodded in reply to Clemency.
‘You have? Did the doctor give you a reason why you couldn’t speak?’
Eliza shook her head. He’d wanted her to go to the hospital and stay there so they could look down her throat some more, but her parents had taken her home again instead. They said they didn’t have the money for a hospital stay, and Eliza hadn’t cared. The doctor smelled funny, and she didn’t mind so much not being able to talk then, because the cows and ducks and rabbits at the farm hadn’t even noticed that she couldn’t tell them their stories out loud.
‘Right.’ Clemency took Eliza in her arms and kissed her on the cheek before looking seriously into her eyes. ‘Will you see my doctor friend?’ she asked. ‘Elspeth is a very nice lady, and there might be a reason you can’t speak that we can do something about. Is that all right?’
When she was in Clemency’s arms, everything was all right, Eliza thought, and nodded. She’d go to see this doctor friend of Clemency’s as long as Clemency came with her. She took a deep breath and it didn’t stick in her throat and so she nodded again.
‘Good,’ Clemency said, and rested her chin on Eliza’s head, closing her eyes and just enjoying the moment. That was enough of her list for the moment. ‘We’d better get ready for our first client, then, what do you say?’
Eliza stood up and looked around. Then sent an enquiring glance at Clemency.
With a smile, Clemency rubbed her hands together. ‘Let’s do the lighting,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll introduce you to Bertha.’
A frown knotted Eliza’s brow. Who was Bertha?
But Clemency just laughed. ‘Bertha is my main camera – look, I’ll show you.’
When they emerged from the studio and into the early evening to walked down George Street to where Clemency had parked the motor car, Eliza stared around herself in a daze. She felt both awake and asleep. The people hurrying by weren’t real; she barely noticed them, or their curious stares as they had to step around her. She walked down the road, trailing after Clemency, most of her senses shut off because of the roaring in her head.
Inside her head, she was more alive than she’d ever felt before. It was electric in there. Everything was bright and her thoughts were a swirling jumble, bubbles that kept rising to the surface of her mind to pop in great bursts of happiness. Clemency looked back and smiled at her, and Eliza stared at her in bemusement.
‘You look done in, poor thing,’ Clemency said, glancing at Eliza before bending over to stick t
he key in the motor car’s door and twisting it to unlock it. ‘I was going to take us out to a cafe for dinner, to celebrate your extremely successful first day – but you look absolutely wiped out.’ She opened the passenger’s door and eased Eliza in.
In the driver’s seat, Clemency looked over at Eliza, whose eyes had a wide, dazed look, and whose lips were slightly parted. Clemency wanted to kiss them, wanted to lean over and kiss them, pressing her own lips to that warm, buttery mouth. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. They were parked in public. People streamed past them. Someone would see if she gave into impulse and turned to taste Eliza’s beautiful mouth.
When they were home, then.
‘Let’s go home,’ she said. ‘Riley likely has something delicious planned for our dinner anyway, and it’s only been a week or so since you weren’t well.’ Clemency nodded at Eliza, then started the motor car and turned it for the Port.
Eliza looked down at the photographs she held clutched in her lap. Gently, she smoothed them out and stared at them, unable to take her eyes from them. Because she had taken them. With Bertha, Clemency’s big camera, so big it had to be screwed to a stand, and to take a photograph, you stood behind the stand. She had taken the photographs, arranging a series of objects she’d found in the studio until she’d been pleased with them, and manoeuvring the curtains and white sheets under Clemency’s directions until the light fell upon them just so.
It had been like performing magic, Eliza thought. Once, when she’d been very young, before her father had lost the farm, and well before he’d come to New Zealand looking for work and she and her mother had gone to work at the laundry, he had taken her and her mother to the country fair. What a day it had been! Eliza had been allowed to have candy floss on a stick, and they’d looked at everything. All the animals in their stalls with their blue ribbons and their red ribbons and their soft noses pressing between the planks of their pens. All the stalls too, with their games you could win things from playing. Her father had won her a soft blue teddy bear. It was only made of cloth, but she’d loved it as soon as the man had taken it down from the shelf and presented it to her.