Onwards Flows the River

by Caroline Windsor

  “Her name’s Isla. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  She nodded. “Does she model for you often?”

  “Not often enough for my liking. She’s an interpreter – spends a lot of time abroad.”

  So, the lady had brains as well. Hannah felt an unaccustomed frisson of jealousy and turned away.

  “You have no need to envy another woman her looks,” he observed quietly. “You’ve plenty enough of your own.”

  “I don’t envy her!” she exclaimed, stung. “Why on earth would I?”

  “I can’t imagine, but I sense that you do.”

  “That’s rubbish! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Feeling a slight pricking at the back of her eyes, she walked unsteadily over to the window and stood, arms folded, staring out at the night sky.

  Suddenly she was aware of him standing behind her. His hands slid over her shoulders, stroking them gently. Through the flimsy material of her blouse her skin tingled in response. Gradually he started to massage her more deeply, kneading the tension out of her taut muscles with firm circular strokes. A sigh of pleasure escaped her.

  “I’m probably more than twice your age, you know. I’ve spent twenty years enjoying the company of women – both naked and otherwise. Do you think I’ve lived so long without learning at least something about what makes them tick?”

  Hannah remained silent, not trusting herself to speak. The massage was doing strange things to her body, sending little arrows of desire darting down her spine. His hands slid down over her shoulders until they gently cupped her breasts. His body pressed hard against hers. She gasped with pleasure, rejoicing in the moment, her jealousy forgotten.

  He released her and she was aware of a momentary disappointment before she felt his hands on her shoulders again, turning her around. She looked up at him, and saw in his eyes an echo of her own desire. Her lips parted in invitation as he bent to kiss her, his hands sliding down over her back to draw her close.

  How long they stood there, locked together, she had no means of knowing, but suddenly, to her infinite regret, she felt her legs buckle beneath her. Seizing her in his arms he carried her over to the sofa, sat her down and seated himself beside her. Disappointment overwhelmed her.

  “I thought you were going to...”

  He smiled. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. But I make it a rule firstly never to make love to a woman the first time I meet her, and secondly never to do so when she’s had too much to drink. In my experience, which is not negligible, it causes nothing but trouble.”

  He watched her in silence for a few moments. “How would you feel about modelling for me yourself?”

  She gazed at him wide-eyed. The prospect of subjecting her less than skinny body to his critical gaze filled her with alarm.

  “Fine – no problem,” she assured him.

  “Good.” He smiled at her. “And in return perhaps you’d allow me to give you some help with your own painting. If you feel you need any help that is.”

  “That’d be great! Thanks.” She beamed at him.

  “That’s settled then. I’ll drop you a note the next time I’m having a session in the studio.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “And now I’m going to escort you to your room. What you need is a good night’s sleep.”

  o0o

  “I think I might ask Esme if I can use the spare studio in the attic,” Hannah announced nonchalantly the following morning as the three girls lingered over coffee in the kitchen. “It’s time I started to do some painting again.”

  Jo glanced at Kate and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Kate gave a faint shrug.

  “It’s the first time I’ve heard you mention it.”

  “It’s New Year’s Day, isn’t it? Well, this is my New Year’s resolution.” The defiance in Hannah’s voice was unmistakeable.

  “I suppose this wouldn’t have anything to do with Leigh Brennan, would it?”

  Hannah reddened. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Jo observed drily. “Except that you just happened to meet him last night for the first time. And, looking at that smug expression on your face this morning, I rather think something might have happened between you.”

  Hannah maintained a sulky silence.

  “If something has happened, Hannah,” Jo leaned across the table, “I think I ought to warn you. That man is dangerous.”

  “What do you mean – dangerous?” Hannah’s voice was full of scorn. “Just because he’s an artist it doesn’t mean he isn’t as moral, decent and upright as any other man.”

  Jo snorted rudely. “In his case it does, I’m afraid. I’ve been at Harrison House rather longer than you have and I’ve seen the procession of women who’ve emerged from his studio. He treats the place like a brothel.”

  “Rubbish! That’s such a typically bourgeois attitude! He’s an artist, Jo. Those women are his models!” Hannah’s eyes blazed.

  “I suspect he does rather more than paint them in that studio of his.”

  “And what on earth makes you think that?”

  “The expression on their faces when they come downstairs.” Jo’s eyes were scornful. “They look like women who’ve been well and truly...”

  Hannah leapt to her feet. “Don’t you dare accuse him of things like that when you’ve absolutely no proof whatsoever, except your own rather sordid imagination!”

  “Have it your own way then,” Jo said easily. “But don’t come running to me if you get your fingers burnt.” Collecting their mugs together, she carried them over to the sink.

  Kate watched her friend as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Is he really as bad as you made out?”

  “Worse probably. But Hannah won’t be told.” Jo gave her a grim smile. “I think we should prepare ourselves for a rocky ride ahead.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jo finished wiping down the kitchen surfaces and headed upstairs. Half-running down the corridor towards her room, she tripped over the frayed edge of the carpet and would have fallen headlong had not an unexpected hand reached out to save her.

  “Steady on – you’ll do yourself an injury if you don’t slow down a bit!” Leigh Brennan hauled her upright.

  “Get your hands off me!”

  He held up his arms in mock surrender. “That’s not exactly the response I was expecting. A little bit of gratitude wouldn’t have gone amiss.”

  Jo glared at him. “Well, you won’t get any thanks from me. And another thing – leave Hannah alone! God knows you’ve got enough women traipsing up the stairs to your studio without adding yet another notch to your belt.”

  He frowned. “Hannah’s life is her own business. I don’t think she’d thank you for interfering.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. But I’ve got a vested interest. I’m the one who’s going to have to pick up the pieces when you eventually cast her aside for the next floozy who takes your fancy. And besides – she’s got a perfectly good boyfriend of her own in Devon.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I have no aspirations to be Hannah’s ‘boyfriend’ as you so quaintly put it. I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “Then stop flirting with her.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I can assure you, my dear Jo, that the boot last night was entirely on the other foot.”

  “She was half drunk – she didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “On the contrary,” his eyes gleamed, “she knew exactly what she was doing. And however wonderful this boyfriend of hers might be, there’s at least one area in their relationship which seems to be sadly lacking.”

  o0o

  Hannah had been like a cat on hot bricks all day. She had awoken from a deep sleep to find that a note had been slipped under her door. It
was from Leigh. He would, it seemed, be busy painting all day, but if she felt like slipping up to the studio around six for a modelling session, he would be delighted to see her. Her initial disappointment had been replaced by relief. At least she had all day to prepare herself.

  Never had a day gone so slowly. She had risen, had a bath and dressed. She had changed her clothes not once – but four times – tried to settle to a book and failed. Then she had gone out for a walk. A hundred yards down the road, the heavens had opened and she had beaten a hasty retreat. The rain having reduced her flowing tresses to a depressing frizz, she had then felt obliged to have another bath and wash her hair. Since then she had changed her clothes twice more and spent a gloomy half-hour twisting this way and that in front of the mirror in search of cellulite.

  By half past five her nerves were threatening to get the better of her and she poured herself a stiff brandy from the bottle which she kept for medical emergencies in the back of her wardrobe. Posing in the nude, she told herself, most definitely counted as an emergency. Remembering Leigh’s disapproval of her drinking habits, she cleaned her teeth vigorously and sucked a couple of peppermints just to be on the safe side. It would never do for him to smell alcohol on her breath.

  As the clock on St Andrew’s Church tower struck six, she made a bolt for the door, galloped up the stairs to the attic and stood hesitating on the threshold of the studio.

  The door flew open.

  “Punctuality is a virtue much to be admired.” Leigh gave her an amused look. “I hope you’re feeling a bit less wobbly today.”

  Hannah nodded. The sight of him in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, faded jeans and paint-stained overall, looking every inch the successful metropolitan artist, had rendered her speechless.

  “Come in – make yourself at home.”

  She followed him into the studio. The smell of paint was strangely erotic and she sniffed appreciatively.

  “I’m looking forward to painting you, Hannah – I’ve never had a model with your colouring before. That wonderful hair, those freckles … it’ll be quite a challenge.”

  It’d be quite a challenge for her too, Hannah reflected nervously. She folded her arms across her chest in an unconscious attempt to protect her body from his critical gaze.

  Leigh gave her an encouraging smile. “There’s a screen over there for you to undress behind. You’ll find some material on the couch to cover yourself with.”

  “Fine.” She edged behind the screen and removed her clothes. She could hear Leigh moving around, then the gentle strains of a piano concerto filled the room. Picking up the length of cream-coloured silk, she draped one end hesitantly over her left shoulder and wound the rest in layers around her torso. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a cross between an Egyptian mummy and a Roman centurion. She lay down on the couch and arranged herself into what she hoped was a fetching pose.

  “Ready,” she called.

  Leigh folded the screen, propped it against the wall, and moved his easel into position. He stood behind it for a moment, regarding her.

  “You’re beginning to look extremely red in the face – you’re not holding your breath by any chance?”

  Hannah let out her breath with a gasp.

  “Just let your body relax. Having a rounded tummy is nothing to be ashamed of – think of all those buxom women Rubens used to paint.”

  She nodded, forcing herself to let go of the tension in her muscles.

  “One of the joys of being an artist is learning to appreciate just how beautiful the human body is – in all its various manifestations.” Leigh took a step backwards to observe her pose from a different angle.

  “Now if you could stretch your right leg out a bit… and prop yourself up on your left elbow.”

  Hannah obliged.

  “That’s better. Now shake your hair so that it falls over your left shoulder… that’s the idea.”

  He set to work. Hannah, soothed by the music, relaxed into the pose and let her mind wander.

  o0o

  She woke to find Leigh kneeling beside her.

  “You dozed off.” He looked at her quizzically. “I hope your dreams were pleasant ones – you did cry out at one point, but it sounded like a cry of pleasure rather than pain, so I didn’t wake you.”

  Hannah blushed, recalling the dream.“I dreamed you were making love to me.”

  “Did you indeed? And was it an enjoyable experience?”

  She nodded. “It’s a pity it was only a dream.”

  He traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. “I’d be happy to make the dream come true, Hannah – but only if you’re absolutely sure it’s what you want.”

  “I’m sure.” Stretching out her hand, she undid the top button of his shirt.

  “I’m an artist, Hannah. My life revolves around my work. I have no intention of ever getting married – and nothing that happens between us is going to change that.”

  She nodded again, her fingers straying down to the second button. “I understand.”

  He reached over, slowly unravelling the silky drape which covered her body. He cupped her breasts gently in his hands, stroking the nipples.

  “Is that nice?”

  “Mm.”

  “And this?” He pushed her legs gently apart.

  “Oh God, yes.” She closed her eyes, focussing on the pleasurable sensations rippling through her body. When she opened them again she saw that he had removed his clothes. He slid onto the couch beside her. The stroking continued.

  Suddenly a worrying thought struck her. Was she meant to be an active or a passive participant in all this? She realised she hadn’t a clue. Should she stroke him as well, and if so, where? Or would their hands just get muddled up with one another? She glanced at him through her lashes. He was intent upon his self-appointed task of arousing her and he seemed to be doing very nicely thank you all on his own. She sighed with relief. The phrase ‘Lie back and think of England’ came unbidden to her mind and she relaxed back onto the couch.

  His arousal of her now was concentrated into one tiny area and she felt her body arch in response.

  “Ah...” A small cry escaped her. “Oh, ah, oh, ah...”

  Suddenly he rolled on top of her and before she knew what was happening a searing pain shot through her.

  “Ouch!”

  Her scream hung in the air like a violation.

  He withdrew hastily and rolled over breathing deeply.

  Hannah turned away from him onto her side, her legs drawn up beneath her. The pain was still throbbing through her, but worse still was the bitter sense of failure which accompanied it. This was supposed to have been the most momentous day of her life – and she’d made a mess of it. The tears coursed silently down her cheek.

  “You lied to me. You were a virgin after all.”

  The words were quietly spoken, but she could hear the anger behind them. What was it he had said? Something about boarding schools churning out desperately repressed virgins.

  “You seemed so scornful about them,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t face telling you.”

  He rolled over, curving his body so that it lay alongside hers like two spoons in a drawer. His arms enfolded her. Though he said nothing, she knew that he was trying to comfort her. Somehow that only succeeded in making her feel even more humiliated.

  “I’d better go now.” She wriggled away from him.

  “Oh no you don’t! You’re not leaving in a state like this.”

  “I want to be alone.” She struggled to free herself.

  He laughed. “So did Greta Garbo, but she didn’t always mean it.”

  Her tear-stained face glared up at him.

  “Now you listen to me for a minute. If you don’t like what I say, then you can go, OK?
But hear me out first.”

  She nodded reluctantly. He relaxed his hold.

  “If you leave now, you’ll spend the rest of the night in tears and it’ll probably be months if not years before you dare to risk another sexual experiment. Am I right?”

  “Possibly.”

  He ignored the sulky tone in her voice.

  “If you stay here and let me try to educate you, at least a little, in the art of lovemaking, you’d stand a chance of turning your somewhat painful experience this evening into a more pleasurable one.”

  “I’m still hurting,” she said morosely. “I can’t see how anything you could do to me would be pleasurable this evening.”

  She saw the flicker of impatience which crossed his face.

  “You told me you weren’t a virgin and I believed you. If you’re in pain, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

  “You could have been more gentle.”

  “Hannah, I’ve probably deflowered more virgins than you’ve had glasses of wine. None of the others has ever complained. Then again, none of them was stupid enough to lie to me. Making love to a woman for the first time is something I regard as a great privilege – I do my best to make it a memorable experience.”

  “I’ll remember this all right,” she muttered.

  His patience finally ran out.

  “Look at it this way, Hannah. Imagine a man driving a juggernaut quite fast down a main road. Suddenly, as he rounds the corner, he finds that someone has placed a hedge – quite unexpectedly – right across the carriageway. It’s too late to stop, so he drives straight through it. Needless to state, the hedge comes off worst. Had he known that the hedge was there in the first place, he would, of course, have slowed down. Do I make my point?”

  She burst out laughing.