Did she feel it too? For a moment he was convinced she must, convinced by the sensuality of her caress, by her closed, fluttering lashes, the soft, partly open mouth, the distinct rise and fall of her breasts. She seemed as deep in thrall as he was himself. And then as desire mounted overwhelmingly, as the fire in his loins became more pain than joy, he thought no, she can’t be aware of this, it’s impossible. If she did she would stop, withdraw this instant before we fall on each other without a care for who or what surrounds us...
But even as he moved to slip an arm around her shoulders and draw her close to him, on an indrawn breath Georgina pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head, like one bemused or waking from a dream.
Paralysed, he watched her rise abruptly and push her way out down an empty row of seats.
The encore came to an end. The soubrette bowed to a storm of applause and stamping of feet. Galvanized into action, Liam grabbed jacket and mackintosh and followed at a run for the side exit. Coming out into the dismal street, he saw her hurrying away, heading not for the main thoroughfare, but into the side-streets of Soho.
‘Georgina!’
He ran, his heart pounding, catching at her arm as he came up with her; but she would not stop. He pulled her round, quite roughly, to face him. Trembling still, she kept her eyes averted. At a loss for words, he knew, with heart-stopping certainty, that her emotions, her desires, echoed his. In the dark warmth of the theatre, that thought had been exciting; here, in the cold and foggy daylight, it seemed a huge, terrible knowledge, as though on discovering he could swim, he found himself faced with the sea from the top of a cliff.
Instantly sobered, murmuring inadequate apologies, he slipped the mackintosh around her shoulders. ‘Let me take you home.’
Twenty-five
Although she protested, it was in a vague, half-hearted way. Liam had no difficulty in guiding her towards the main thoroughfare and finding a motor-taxi to take them to Queen’s Gate. Leaning back into the corner with her eyes closed, she said nothing all the way there. He held her hand in a comforting fashion, feeling both anxious and chronically guilty every time he looked at her.
His intentions were to drop her at the door and make his way back to Wandsworth, but even as he paid the taxi and prepared to say goodbye, Georgina asked him to come up to the flat. ‘I think it’s time we talked, don’t you? Have you time?’
He looked at his watch. ‘A couple of hours.’
She smiled slightly at that, a wan, resigned sort of smile that seemed bleaker than the afternoon. ‘Time for a cup of tea, at least.’
While she searched for her key he glanced down the broad, tree-lined avenue to where it disappeared into driving mist, finding its elegance as daunting as the moment. On a deep breath he mounted the steps, following her into a wide, marble-floored hall. The broad staircase was carpeted, but she lifted a finger to her lips as they began to climb the first of several flights to the Duncannons’ door. In the small lobby she took his hat and sheepskin jacket and laid them across a chair, and without raising her eyes led the way into a large, comfortably furnished room which obviously answered several different functions.
There was a fine dining table and chairs before the windows, and in one alcove a large mahogany desk; a tall bookcase graced the far side of the chimney breast, while a large leather sofa and chairs faced the fire. It was a room with a masculine air, and a faint smell of cigars; the colours, mainly dark greens and golds, were restful, and the sofa well-used. Nevertheless, Liam sat down gingerly, very much aware in those initial seconds that this was Robert Duncannon’s home.
But it was also Georgina’s and she was his first priority. With an effort he forced himself to ignore his surroundings and to concentrate on her. Setting a match to the neatly laid fire, she asked him to tend it while she went into the kitchen to make some tea. He wanted to say that tea was not important, but she seemed to need the bustle and the movement. Nursing the fire into reluctant life, he wondered what it was she wanted to say, and dreaded being told that they must not see each other again.
And yet if she said that – and she would, she was bound to say it – Liam knew he could not disagree. With regard to this afternoon, the most he could say in his own defence was that it was a miracle it had not happened before. Wanting her was hell, nevertheless he knew he would promise anything just to be able to go on seeing her.
He went and stood by the window, staring out at the plane trees, their soot-stained yellow leaves hanging limply from blackened boughs. Below, he could see the dark hood of an old hansom cab waiting by the kerb, and less clearly, across the street, a line of forecourt railings; but the light-coloured buildings were becoming difficult to make out. Twilight was deepening with the encroaching fog, and he was anxious, suddenly, about making his way back to Wandsworth. In mounting desperation, he went through into the kitchen. She was setting a tray. Hesitantly, very much afraid that she would flinch or back away, he laid a gentle hand on her arm.
‘Please, Georgina, come and sit down. I can’t bear this – I need to talk to you, but I don’t know what to say...’
She was silent for a moment, very still. Looking down at her bowed head, he sighed and touched a loose strand of hair, smoothing it back from her face. It was fine and soft between his fingers, like silk; he would have liked to loosen the thick coil, see it fall around her shoulders, but did not dare. He let his hand rest against the warmth of her neck. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you...’
With a sudden shiver she turned towards him, bending her head to his chest; hardly daring to breathe, he held her very lightly, his whispered plea for forgiveness barely more than a sigh.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ The words did not come easily, he could tell that, there was a certain bitterness about them, as though she had conducted battles of her own, and this surrender went against every principle.
‘Oh, I think it was,’ he said manfully, preparing himself for the worst. ‘After all, I…’
‘Liam, stop. Listen to me.’ She looked up, searching his face with those bleak, hurt eyes. Her arms came up around his neck, and she stroked the soft hair at his nape. ‘I love you.’ But she frowned as she said it, and he knew the admission pained her, even while it set his own heart aflame with joy. ‘I know it’s wrong and so do you — but I can’t bear it...’
His arms went round her then, fiercely, possessively, and he held her hard because he thought he might weep with relief at not having to pretend any longer. He told her that he loved her too, that he had always loved her; that through all the beauty and tenderness of these last weeks he had been longing to tell her so, and that it was for love and love alone that he tried so hard not to touch her nor to give any cause for regret.
The words came out brokenly, a jumbled mix of past and present that miraculously she seemed to understand. ‘I know, I know,’ she said over and over while her hands touched his face and caressed his shoulders, and her lips returned those tender, hesitant kisses.
‘I missed you so much – all those years I missed you, and longed to hear from you. It was so cruel of you to leave like that, without a word – I thought you hated me.’
‘I did, I did,’ he whispered against her hair, ‘but only for a little while and only because I loved you so much, because you knew and I didn’t, and you didn’t tell me…’
‘I wanted to – oh, my darling, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, I…’
‘Hush now, it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t matter...’
And in the joy of her, the bliss of her slender, pliant body pressed so passionately to his, Liam let go of the past, forgetting all the things that should have been remembered, all the things that until now had kept them so carefully apart. He was lost in the scent of her hair and skin, in the soft pressure of her breasts and the touch of her fingers against his cheek. She moved even as he moved, turning her face, her mouth, to meet his. He tasted salt on her lips, and in those spent tears seemed to rest so much love, more than
he ever expected, far more than he deserved. With the warmth and passion of her response, all restraint vanished; she set fire to the hunger in him, and he sensed no reservation, no withholding, but rather an eager taking of every caress, and a need to respond in kind.
In his inexperience, Liam might have hesitated, but she seemed to understand so much, to know his body as well as he did; and when he pressed his lips to her throat, she unfastened his shirt and ran her fingers beneath it, sending shivers of delight with every touch. After that, with his hand welcome at her breast, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to release a few tiny buttons, to push back flimsy straps and know the rapture of her firm and naked breasts against his skin.
With senses reeling they clung together, searching, exploring, gasping at each unexpected discovery, at the escalating riot of need. Wanting to be part of her, to quench his desire in the warmth and softness of her most secret place, he was conscious only of its necessity, of that strange act of fusion which would both release and make them one. Lifting her up, he carried her through into the other room, laying her down before the hearth. With her eyes half-closed she took him to her, making no defence of her virginity. But her virginity was, in part, its own defence: he was too reluctant to force that tender place, and in the end movement brought its own release. Too soon to bring joy, but too soon, mercifully, to cause lasting regret.
In those seconds which followed, before remorse or apology or thought could take hold, the telephone rang, startling them both with its loud, insistent ringing. Tense, horrified, still as statues they held each other, conscious of half-nakedness, the terrible intimacy of what had just occurred. It was as shocking as though someone had walked into the room.
Georgina recovered first, scrambling to her feet, pulling at her open blouse and the crumpled folds of her skirt. Almost staggering as she crossed the room, she left open the door to the lobby, and Liam saw her stand for a moment before picking up the jangling instrument.
Then she looked at him, straight at him as she was speaking, alarm in her eyes, her strained voice struggling for clarity. ‘No, Tisha, he’s still in Ireland... I’m not very well at the moment, nursing a cold... yes it is a nasty one, you wouldn’t want to share it...’ Liam cringed. ‘In fact I’ve just woken up, I’ve been sleeping most of the afternoon... No, Father won’t be back for another ten days or so, you must have misunderstood...’
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, as Georgina answered questions about Robert Duncannon’s trip to Ireland, Liam went into the kitchen to rescue his cigarettes. As she finished the call at last, he caught hold of her, supporting her across the room to the sofa.
Holding her close in the crook of his arm, he lit a cigarette and expelled a great cloud of blue smoke, aware that all he wanted to do was find a bed and take her to it, and just go on holding her.
‘Did she want to come and see you?’
‘Not me particularly – she was simply hoping someone might be at home. I managed to put her off.’
‘Thank God for that.’
He held her close and stroked her hair, no longer bound in its neat coil. Releasing the last of the pins, he smoothed it as best he could, kissing her all the time. Gradually, her trembling subsided, but his nerves were still raw from reaction, his mind just beginning to grasp the full implications of what had taken place between them. He did not know whether to apologize for attempting to make love to her, or for failing so abysmally; in the end he confessed to severe fright.
‘But I wanted you to,’ she admitted in a very small voice.
‘I know. That frightens me too.’ He hugged her closer, kissing the crown of her head as she pressed her face inside his open shirt.
‘I love you, Liam.’
‘And I love you,’ he whispered, caught again by the torment of their situation. ‘What are we going to do?’
It seemed an unanswerable question. They talked for a while and Georgina made some tea. While she went to change her crumpled clothes, Liam coaxed the fire back to life and soon had it blazing merrily. He was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug when she returned in a blue velvet dressing gown, her hair brushed loosely in soft waves around her shoulders. Watching her in the firelight glow, Liam thought she looked like a princess in a fairytale, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. With no more pretence between them, she was softer, gentler, so infinitely giving that it seemed his love for her doubled each time they touched, each time his glance met hers.
Nevertheless, that sense of joy was not entirely unfettered. They talked about love and loving each other, about its beginnings and its heartbreaks and uncertainties; and they discussed – albeit with some constraint – that sudden, overwhelming culmination. Georgina said that the wrong of their situation was as nothing compared to what was going on across the Channel, which made Liam realize that she had been thinking about this for some time. His view, however, was more specific and personal. It was also very difficult for him to put into words. Concerned for her vulnerability rather than those abstract and relative concepts, he simply said that it must not happen again: he was prepared to exercise restraint if she was.
His bluntness made her smile. It was a soft, indulgent, admiring smile. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ she said.
The dark afternoon had closed in early with a thickening blanket of fog. Around six, when he should have been thinking of leaving, Liam went to the window to stare out at the murky darkness. Even the plane trees had disappeared. Beside him, echoing his thoughts, Georgina voiced the opinion that neither of them stood much chance of reaching their destinations tonight; trams and buses would be stopped, and it would be far more sensible to stay where they were.
‘Well,’ he smiled, ‘I can’t pretend I’m sorry. For a night with you, I’d happily be shot at dawn. But what about your matron? What will she say?’
‘What can she say? She can’t argue with the weather.’ Georgina patted his arm. ‘I’ll telephone, tell them I’m stuck here. And it might be as well for you to get in touch with Wandsworth, then they won’t be worrying about you. Say you’re staying with relatives.’
Laughing, Liam blessed the weather.
Georgina woke about six. For the first time in her life, however, she did not wake alone. In her soft feather bed, she and Liam were curled together like a pair of spoons, the length of his body pressed to her back, his arms, warm and heavy, around her. It was a strange but intensely pleasurable sensation, as though her very skin came alive in the instant of awareness, and as memory flooded back she had to stir, had to recapture the tingling thrill that came with every tiny movement against him. Last night she had been dizzy with it, as though intellect had ceased to exist, her only awareness being of him and with him, where his limbs touched hers, where hands and mouth aroused and explored, driving her to the edge of ecstasy and beyond. He had taken such delight in her, needing to look and touch, a little shy at first, unfamiliar with women, uncertain of what was and was not permitted. Inexperienced herself, Georgina had simply known, deep inside, that she wanted him to touch her in all the ways she longed to caress him.
There was advantage for her in that she knew men’s bodies, every basic function, each hidden sensitivity; and years of nursing had blunted neither her wonder nor her sense of respect. There was also an odd, half-realized feeling that in making love to him she was in some way expressing all the tenderness she had felt for other men, men who had passed into and out of her care, men who had recovered, or died, or simply returned to the Front without ever knowing a woman’s love. And in remembering them she also recalled the young doctor who had so surprised her with his bitterness, his accusation that she had no heart, no soul.
If only you knew, she thought then; and that thought repeated itself now, making her smile a little. But that man had frightened her with his vehemence, made her half-believe he was right. Afterwards she had thought too much about the curse of nursing, the fear that in seeking protection against suffering, the heart shrivelled, so that in the
end all feeling was gone. It happened to some.
Liam had saved her from that, proved to her that love and compassion were still there, that she was capable of happiness as well as pain.
After years in which even the acknowledgement of love had been suppressed, these recent weeks had been fraught with conflicting desires. Watching him recover in health and strength, the need to fuss and touch and bestow a thousand kisses had crept up inside like yeast fermenting in a stoppered jar. She had wanted him so much, and been so afraid of showing it.
If his kiss that evening in the car had loosened the lid, then the touch of his hand yesterday had released raw physical desire in such torrents that she had been appalled, unable to reconcile such intense physical need with the tender, romantic fantasies she had previously entertained. Knowing, bleakly, that their relationship could not go on in that false, frustrating manner, she had been aware of a need for honesty, a desire to put all cards on the table and say, however baldly, this is how I feel about you – what must I do?
Rights and wrongs that had kept her awake at night seemed suddenly immaterial; the one remaining fear was for the consequences. Yet even that — yes, even that, she repeated to her shocked other self – she had been prepared to risk for the joy of knowing his embrace. It was shocking, and in the warmth of his arms, Georgina felt she did not deserve the depth of his love, nor the extent of his consideration.
Turning, stretching out slowly, pressing her lips to the smooth muscle of his upper arm, she luxuriated in his presence, hearing him sigh, feeling him stir against her as he woke from sleep. She had switched off the lamp beside her bed hours ago, but the lobby light was still burning; by its dull glow through the open door she was able to see his face, the beginnings of a sensual smile touching his lips. He had changed, she thought, watching the curve of his mouth, just as their relationship had changed, all hesitancy gone in those hours of intimate exploration, hours in which they had discovered each other.
Liam's Story Page 47