by Nancy Carson
‘Does she know about this place?’
‘No. I’ve never told her anything.’
‘So she doesn’t know you rent out rooms to the gentry for their sordid frolics with their mistresses?’
‘Why should she?’
‘It’s just something else you’re not being straight about. Maybe it’s time you made a clean breast of it and admitted all your business activities. Involve her more. That way you would take her into your confidence and win her trust again.’
‘We’ll see … So who else did we have here yesterday, besides Alex Gibson?’
‘It’s in the book … Here … That Mr Oliver, the churchwarden, met his fancy piece here – she’s keen – she was here well before him. That James Mundy from the Union offices and his woman, though what he sees in her God only knows. We had a new chap in with his girl – I had the feeling they were a courting couple and couldn’t find anywhere for a bit of privacy. Oh, and a very smart, well-dressed woman of about thirty called – gave her name as Mrs Owen but I doubt if it’s her real name – wanted to know how much a room was during the day. She seemed desperate, she was anxious that we’d be discreet if she called with her friend. I told her, we specialise in discretion.’ Fanny took another sip from her glass. ‘Don’t you feel sorry for all these poor souls who have to sneak out of house and home to get their pleasures?’
‘My heart bleeds,’ Lawson replied sarcastically. ‘Just don’t let them leave here without taking their money. Is there anybody here now?’
‘Yes. We’ve got that Dr Scott in number three with his fancy woman. He’s been here since nine.’
‘Then let’s hope he’s got no patients languishing, eh? She’s a tasty morsel, though, as I recall. There’s a spy hole into that room from the one next door. I think I’ll go up to have a peep. I shall be as bawdy as a fiddler’s bitch watching her – send your new maid up to me. You can spare her for an hour or two.’
‘You mean Caitlin?’
‘You know very well I mean Caitlin … You know, Fanny, I feel much brighter now, having talked to you.’
‘By the way, Daisy, I had a letter today from Thomas Miller McLean in the Haymarket,’ John said as he applied a series of brush strokes to his canvas. ‘They’ve accepted all those paintings we sent. Two have already been sold – one for seventy-five guineas.’
‘Seventy-five guineas?’ Daisy repeated, incredulous. ‘That’s beyond belief. I’m so pleased. Which picture was it?’
‘The Sweet Siesta of a Summer Day. Very Tadema-esque, but so what? They’ve sent me a cheque already. Minus their commission, of course.’
‘You see? It was worth my writing.’
‘I’m delighted, of course. We’ll celebrate. You must let me take you out to dinner.’
‘Oh, if only we could. But I daren’t be seen out with you. Perhaps we could celebrate here one evening. I could cook us a lovely dinner.’
‘That would do grand,’ he said. ‘If you can arrange it.’
‘I’ll try … Do you need me to pose any more?’
‘No, not today.’ He put his brush down and stood back to inspect his work. ‘It’s all background painting from now on.’
‘Then I’ll go up and change …’
Daisy went upstairs to doff the grey-green Grecian dress and put on her normal day dress. She undid the bodice straps and pulled it over her head. She had already fallen into the habit of wearing nothing beneath it following the first time, and today was no different. As she removed the garment, she was aware that John had come into the bedroom and was looking at her.
‘Oh, I didn’t hear you,’ she said, trying to excuse her nakedness, and sat on the bed to protect her modesty.
‘Are you bashful of my seeing you like this?’ he asked, his voice gentle.
‘Not you, John.’ She smiled trustingly.
‘You really are beautiful. More beautiful than a Botticelli.’
‘I bet you say that to every model who poses for you,’ she teased, self-consciously.
He shook his head. ‘No … I said it to Fernanda,’ he answered honestly. ‘She was deserving of a compliment, but she was no more lovely than you.’
Daisy held out her hand to him and looked into his brown eyes. ‘Will you hold me?’ she whispered. ‘Please? I feel very vulnerable … I need to feel affection. I need to feel loved …’
‘Oh, Daisy, I do love you.’ He sat next to her. ‘With all my heart and soul I love you.’
He put his right arm around her and she let her head rest luxuriously on his shoulder. He was wearing an old shirt, back to front to protect his clothes from paint. It was daubed with every colour imaginable and she put her hand to it lovingly, savouring its linseed smell. He placed his own hand over hers and when their eyes met again there was no doubting their mutual desire. She offered her mouth to him. Immediately they were in a passionate embrace. Gently, he eased her backwards and she lay down willingly on the counterpane. Their lips joined and she tasted him with delight as she hugged him. His left hand explored her, eliciting little sighs of pleasure as his cool fingers glided over her skin.
‘You have such smooth skin,’ he breathed. ‘I can scarcely believe how lovely you are to the touch.’
‘If you get undressed I can feel your skin.’
He chuckled, half at her surprising forwardness, half with embarrassment. ‘A capital idea. Please don’t run away. I won’t be a minute.’
Hurriedly, he undressed and resumed lying beside her. They continued where they had left off, their desire for each other increasing immeasurably. Daisy felt far more at ease with John than ever she had felt with Lawson. Absolute sincerity and devotion seemed to exude from him, filling her with the trust and confidence that had always been lacking with her husband. Only now was she aware of it, now she had this kind and moderate man to compare him with. John’s fingers gently probed her, half apologetically, and she parted her legs to allow him easier access. She was aware of her own sweet moistness and longed to feel him inside her. As he eased himself onto her, it struck her how, just a few short weeks ago, she could never have imagined that she would be making love with any man other than Lawson. How times and emotions had changed. How they had changed her. She welcomed John’s easy weight on her and he bent his head to kiss her again.
‘Oh, my love, I’ve wanted you so much,’ he breathed.
‘And now I’m yours.’
She gasped with joy at the loveliness of having him inside her. Slowly he moved, and she savoured every supple, erotic motion. Before long, deep in the pit of her stomach, she began to feel a tingling glow that seemed to wax brighter with his steady rhythm. Her eyes were closed but inside her head a lamp was alight, the flame of which grew more vivid as the exotic sensation in her groin increased. At last, there was an explosion of brilliance in both places simultaneously. She squealed, squirming at the exquisite and bewildering pleasure consuming her. She wanted this internal commotion to go on and on and on … Then John gave a great bellow of release and, after a minute or two, floundered, for the time being, spent.
They held each other unspeaking for some time after, still joined, loath to uncouple. Her thoughts were focused on how much she loved him, on the extreme pleasure they had given each other. She ran her slender fingers gently down his back, over the smooth, firm flesh of his small backside.
‘I never knew it could be like that,’ she whispered at last. There was a smile on her face and she sighed as he began moving inside her again, rekindling the light that had not entirely extinguished.
Lawson went home and asked Emma to fill him a hot bath. Whilst he waited for her to climb the stairs with pails of hot water, he drank plenty of cold water and, by five o’clock when he had finished his bathing, he was relatively sober. As he dressed, he mulled over the events of the day and smiled to himself. What fun Caitlin was in bed. Nothing was beyond her, nothing seemed too bawdy for her tastes. But it was obvious what should be done with her. The time was right. There were plenty more where she cam
e from …
He heard voices downstairs and realised that Daisy had finally returned. Some minutes passed and, whilst he was attaching a collar to his shirt, Emma tapped on the door to say that she would empty the bath.
‘I take it my wife is back, Emma.’
‘Yes, sir. She’s taking a bath as well before dinner.’
‘Did you tell her there was water already in it, that she could have bathed in this room?’
‘I axed her already, sir, but she says she wants clean water. She says she don’t like to go into anybody’s dirty bath water.’
‘Did she now?’
‘She did, sir.’
He heard the rustle of Daisy’s skirts as she climbed the stairs, her muffled footsteps on the carpet and the click of the catch as she closed the door to her room. Emma continued in a state of high activity until, eventually, the bath was empty and she dragged it across the landing into Daisy’s room. Lawson went downstairs to the lounge and, seeing the world with a clarity that offended him, he poured himself a whisky. He sat for ages, eyes transfixed on the tall windows, contemplating Fanny, Caitlin and a host of other women he’d had over the years. One by one they entered and exited his mind in a voluptuous procession.
One woman, however, had not acted and reacted like the others, and it puzzled him. That woman was, of course, Daisy. Oh, she’d been keen enough at first, infatuated like they all were, but she had gone cold on him. She had never even manifested any jealousy when she found out about Caitlin, as other women would. The opposite in fact. She had become indifferent. Sex never seemed to interest her greatly after her initial curiosity had been indulged, and that very perception inhibited him from performing at the pinnacle of his ability. Nothing inhibits a man more than perceiving that his ardent endeavours are being merely tolerated. It was easier on his ego to leave her be and endow some woman more grateful with the benefit of his sexual expertise. It was preferable to favour somebody who really appreciated it. He poured himself another whisky and wondered how long it might be before his dinner was served. He rang the bell and Emma, hot and flustered opened the door.
‘Tell Cook to hurry with the dinner, Emma. I’m hungry and I’m due to go out.’
‘Mrs Maddox has only just got out the bath, sir.’
‘Never mind Mrs Maddox. I’ll eat without her. What culinary delights can I expect?’
Emma looked at him in confusion.
‘I mean what’s for dinner, girl.’
‘Oh, beef and onion pie, sir. It smells lovely. I’ll tell cook you’m waiting for it. I’ll give you a shout, eh, sir?’
‘You mean you’ll come and tell me. Thank you.’
He sat down again, meditating. The door opened and Daisy appeared. Somehow she looked different but he could not determine how. She was simply more beautiful than he had ever seen her before; she radiated a serenity that had eluded her till that moment. Her liquid eyes shone with an indefinable softness. She seemed more sure of herself, her self-esteem raised and her poise more elegant in consequence. He watched her with increasing curiosity and a renewed longing for her as she glided through the room and sat in one of the plush armchairs in the huge bay window.
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ she said.
‘You’re going to join me in a drink?’ he queried with a smile that registered how pleasantly he was surprised. ‘There’s a novelty. What would you like?’
‘Oh, a glass of port or sherry …’
He got up from his chair and went over to the sideboard where a stash of half-empty bottles stood. There’s white port …’
‘Please.’
He poured her an ample measure and took it to her. She thanked him and sipped the liquid.
‘I take it you’re going to dine with me this evening?’
‘It depends, Lawson. I want to talk to you first. There are things we must discuss.’
‘Can’t it wait? I’m famished. Let’s enjoy dinner together. We can talk over dinner.’
‘I’d rather say what I’ve got to say first. But I want a rational discussion, Lawson. I don’t want you to go flying off in a huff if what I’m about to say doesn’t suit you.’
He returned to his chair, sat down and picked up his tumbler. ‘Is it about John Gibson?’
‘Partly …’
He rolled his eyes disapprovingly. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’
‘Promise you’ll hear me out.’
‘All right, I promise.’
‘Well … Ever since … During the weeks that I’ve been collecting rents for you, I’ve got to know John very well … and, as you discovered, I’ve been sitting for him—’
‘With no clothes on.’
‘That’s not true, Lawson. I know it’s what you think, but it’s not true. Of course I’ve had clothes on.’
‘But not your clothes.’
‘All right, not my clothes … But you’re veering from the point …’
‘Which is?’
‘Ever since I found out about you and Caitlin, I … I’ve felt more drawn to John. Whether, in the first place, it was for sympathy or for support, I don’t know. But as we talked we both realised that we … that we felt the same way about things, that we had so much in common—’
‘That you had an affinity,’ he suggested witheringly.
‘Yes, you could call it an affinity. It was much more than just an affinity though, Lawson. We began to realise that we were in love …’
‘Pah!’ He took a swig from his whisky. ‘Why is it that all women think they’re in love with whoever says he fancies them? Women are so damned gullible. And you’re evidently no different. I thought you were.’
‘You promised not to get angry, Lawson. You promised to listen and I haven’t finished yet.’
‘I assume that you and he are lovers by now – that he’s bedded you,’ Lawson said, full of disdain.
Daisy sipped her port and looked at him challengingly. ‘Do I take it from your tone that it’s all right for a man to bed a woman other than his wife, but it’s not acceptable for the poor injured wife to be so bedded?’
‘Of course. There are other considerations than mere poking. What if the woman gets pregnant because of her affair? The implications for the husband are too great to ignore. Why should he be lumbered with some other man’s child, for instance?’
She could have argued but saw no profit in doing so. She could have queried the consequences of a husband making his mistress pregnant. She could have asked the consequences of the husband contracting one of the dreaded venereal diseases that were incurable and all too common, and passing it to his wife. Instead, she asked, ‘Isn’t divorce a remedy against such an event?’
‘If you can tolerate the stigma. If your skin is so thick … I take it you would like a divorce?’
‘That’s up to you, Lawson,’ Daisy answered with a sigh. ‘And it’s easier for you. Whether you divorce me or not, I intend to go on seeing John. I intend to spend as much time with him as I can.’
‘Then go and live with him. Save yourself the bother of a judicial separation from bed and board.’
‘I think I might.’
‘Good. Go and live with him and be the butt of every lewd joke for years to come. Go and live with him and try to cope with the scorn and contempt that people will pour on you for evermore. Go and live with him and see how everybody will ignore you, even cross over to the other side of the street to avoid you. Just do it and see how you fancy being treated like a pariah. Society doesn’t like women who cuckold their husbands.’
Emma came into the room and announced that dinner was ready.
‘We’ll be another five or ten minutes, Emma,’ Daisy informed her.
Emma curtsied with typical ungainliness and left the room.
‘So … you are recommending that I do not live with John Gibson?’ Daisy said, resuming the discussion.
‘I think you would be a candidate for the workhouse if you did. But … if you do – and I’ll not stop you – then y
ou wouldn’t get a penny from me, nor would I lift a finger to help you …’
‘I think I know that,’ she said quietly. ‘Nor would I expect it. You’ve always been very generous but I wouldn’t expect a thing from you if I left.’
‘You’ve apparently already considered all this?’
‘Our marriage is over, Lawson, and it was none of my doing. It was over the moment you took Caitlin.’
‘Then it was over even before it started,’ he answered. ‘I had Caitlin some time before I had you.’
Daisy rolled her eyes in disdain. ‘Why am I not surprised? Don’t you see? There’s nothing left in this marriage for me. No respect, no love, no tenderness, no nothing. Only boredom and indifference. Let me go, Lawson. You don’t need me. I can’t imagine why you married me in the first place.’
‘I married you because I loved you … And I still love you. Maybe more than you’ll ever know.’
‘You love yourself,’ Daisy said with a cynical laugh. ‘Far too much to leave room for anybody else.’
Daisy’s mouth was dry and she took a sip from her glass, briefly savouring the intensity and dryness of the port. She looked at Lawson as he projected a hurt expression, designed to elicit sympathy. But she was beyond giving him sympathy. He had hurt her beyond measure, yet always it was somebody else’s fault, never his.
‘I do believe it would be better for both of us if I left you,’ she said at last. ‘Whether or not I go to live with John directly. Maybe I should go and live with my mother and father for a while.’
‘Piffle! Of course you’ll go straight to live with him. Now you’ve got the fondness for his doodle. Do you think I was born yesterday?’
She shrugged. She could not gainsay it.
‘Meantime, do you think it fair that I should maintain your mother and father in a house I own – at my expense?’’
‘I was coming to that, Lawson … Would you just give me time to find them alternative accommodation? We could pay you rent at the going rate till we find somewhere else. Nobody would expect you to maintain them there in Paradise.’
‘It would be a fool’s Paradise if I did, but I’d be the one living in it. I’ll give you a month. No longer.’ He stood up and put his glass down. ‘Now I’m going in for my dinner. You’ll oblige me, Daisy, by eating elsewhere.’