by Nancy Carson
‘Don’t worry, I will.’
‘So where are you going to stay?’
‘Oh … up at Harry Whitehouse’s,’ he answered, trying to sound casual.
‘Then put some clean underwear on and a clean pair of socks.’
‘I’ve got clean stuff on. And I’ve had a good wash down.’
‘Well, don’t forget to take your toothbrush.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I won’t.’
‘But I thought you said Harry Whitehouse had got the influenza, our Algie. You don’t want to catch that, else you’ll be down with it next and pass it on to the rest of us, as sure as God made little apples.’
‘I called in to see him after work,’ he concocted. ‘It’s why I was late back. He wasn’t too bad at all. I don’t think he’s got the influenza. Just a chill. Anyway, he said he fancied a bit of company, and asked me to stay the night. He reckons they can put me up.’
‘Has he got a sister?’ Kate enquired mischievously.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Algie said, irritated at her inference.
Kate shrugged. ‘I just wondered if a girl was the attraction, that’s all.’
‘So it looks like me spending a night in, by myself again,’ Clara said. ‘Mind you, I don’t mind. Who in their right mind wants to go out this weather?’
Algie looked enquiringly at Kate. ‘You off out as well, then?’
‘Murdoch’s taking me to a magic lantern show.’
‘Your mother didn’t want to come, Algie,’ Murdoch felt obliged to explain. ‘It’s some pictures of Italy and a talk. I quite fancied it, and Kate said she wouldn’t mind coming as well, ha, Kate?’
Kate nodded.
‘So where’s it on at?’
‘Brierley Hill Town Hall,’ Murdoch answered. He turned to his wife. ‘Be sure to wait up for us, Clara. I don’t suppose we shall be late.’
‘Oh, I’ll be up. I’ll wait till you get back afore I have my tot of whisky. I wouldn’t miss my tot of whisky for anything. I swear, as soon as my head touches that pillow of a night I’m dead to the world. Best thing ever for getting you off to sleep, eh, Murdoch?’
‘Oh, I agree with you, my love.’
Algie glanced at Murdoch, then at his mother. Something did not add up. If his mother fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow – news which actually pleased him no end and which he had no reason to doubt – whose bed was creaking every night?
‘Did you drop off to sleep as soon as your head touched the pillow last night?’ he asked casually.
‘Two minutes and I was fast as a rock.’
Algie glanced at Kate, but her face was inscrutable, giving nothing away as usual. He recalled the creaking floorboards on the landing, the click of a door catch, the rhythmic squeaks of the bed which he could just about detect. Maybe Kate had met up with Reggie Hodgetts again and was letting him in the house at the dead of night, for her own disgusting pleasure. The swine would have the cheek to do it as well. No, it must be Clarence Froggatt she was harbouring. Yes, she said she’d seen him again. She said he was still interested. Denying he had any chance with her was just a red herring. Nothing about Kate surprised him anymore; she was capable of anything.
Algie decided it was a pity that he would not be home tonight after all; he could have discreetly found out who the culprit was. If he knew who it was he could confront Kate about it and get her to cease the nonsense. One thing seemed certain; she was going to get into trouble one way or another. She should have more respect for Murdoch’s home, for her mother’s feelings if ever she found out.
Algie and Aurelia had arranged to try and take the same tram into Dudley. He sat next to the window peering out, as the tram drew up at the stop nearest her home, through a hole he’d made in the film of haze that misted the glass. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her, carrying a small overnight case. Her face was again half-concealed with a scarf beneath her fashionable toque, revealing just her eyes, eyes that looked tantalising as he caught a glimpse of her looking up at him. She boarded the tram and Algie felt her press her shoulder against him as she took the seat beside him. They had agreed to pay each other no heed so close to her home, so as not to arouse any suspicion – not that you could say much privately with all that clatter going on; you had to shout to be heard over the din of it. But Algie turned to look at her, as he would any stranger who took a seat beside him, and it elicited just a spark of acknowledgement. He felt the warmth of her body penetrate the layers of clothing that separated them as he sat, and he ached for her.
At the Market Place, he waited for her to stand up, ready to alight, then followed her after a second or two onto the pavement opposite the grand marble fountain that was frozen up still. He caught her up, and she casually took his arm and gave it a squeeze.
‘Shall we go straight there?’ he asked. ‘Or do you fancy something to eat or drink elsewhere first?’
‘I already ate,’ she answered with a smile. ‘We agreed we would, don’t you remember? Not that I had much. I didn’t really feel like eating, I was too churned up inside. No, let’s go straight there.’
‘You’re sure you still want to go through with this?’ He felt obliged to allow her this escape, if she needed it.
‘Of course. Don’t you?’ She, in turn, was suddenly fearful that his heart was no longer in it.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ he said.
‘You’re quite sure?’
‘Course.’ His tone convinced her.
The town was quieter now the shoppers had gone. The gas street lamps and the reflected light from shop windows lit their way. A carriage trundled past, to the rumble of wheels and the clopping of the horse’s hoofs. A man who had been roasting chestnuts most of the day was gingerly loading his still hot oven onto a cart while his horse nuzzled steamily into a nosebag. A group of men wearing greatcoats, who had congregated round the door of a public house known as Lester’s, after the family who owned and ran it, disappeared inside one by one.
They reached the Eagle Hotel.
‘I’ll go in first and get the key to the room,’ Algie said, his heart thumping as the magnitude of what they were doing dawned on him.
‘I’ll wait here,’ she agreed softly, feeling conspicuous and self-conscious.
He went in. Folk were dining as he entered, engrossed in their dinners and the company they were keeping. Nobody seemed to notice Algie. He spotted the same man they’d seen at dinnertime at the far end of the room. Algie reckoned he must be Mr Powell, the owner.
‘Excuse me, my … er, wife and me have a room booked for tonight.’
The man looked at him enquiringly. ‘Oh, yes, sir? What name?’
‘Stokes.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember. Room number four. Up the stairs here, and turn right at the top. Nice room. It overlooks the High Street.’ He handed him the key, a smooth, well-worn article made of iron.
‘I’ll call the missus then,’ Algie said.
‘Have you got a match to light the gas mantle?’
‘No, I don’t carry matches. I don’t smoke.’
‘Never mind. There’s a fire lit ready, and you’ll find spills on the mantelpiece.’
He went back outside. Aurelia was standing in the shadows close to the wall, her scarf concealing her face again. He called her name softly and she turned to him.
‘It’s all ready. We have to go through the dining room, though.’
She kept the scarf around her face as they passed through, and they looked for all the world what they were; clandestine lovers on a secret assignation. Mr Powell smiled to himself as he watched them head for the stairs.
Algie found the room already unlocked when he tried the door handle. Inside, it was warm and welcoming, the walls alive with the light from the flames dancing over the coals in the small grate.
‘Thank goodness there’s a fire,’ Aurelia commented.
Algie shut the door behind them, put the key in the lock and turned
it. His heart was hammering hard. He was alone in a strange hotel room with Aurelia Sampson, his gaffer’s wife, and it was for one reason only. He put his bag down on the floor alongside hers, and found a spill on the mantelpiece as Mr Powell had promised. He stooped down to light it in the fire.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to light the lamp.’
‘Oh, please don’t,’ she whispered. ‘There’s enough light already from the fire and from outside. It’s much cosier like this. Much more romantic.’
He put the wax spill back on the mantelshelf as Aurelia removed her hat. She stood before him, their bodies almost touching, and looked into his eyes. Never had he seen her eyes so beautiful, glistening by the fire’s yellow flickering flames. His hands went to her waist; her arms went around his shoulders.
‘We should take our topcoats off,’ he suggested. ‘It’s warm in here.’
‘Yes.’ She let go of him and unfastened her mantle.
He gently removed her scarf. ‘You won’t need this in here.’ He pushed her mantle from her shoulders, took it and hung it on a nail at the back of the door. Beneath the mantle she was wearing a pale chiffon blouse that fastened demurely at her throat with a cameo brooch, forming a narrow ruff. Her hair was swept up onto the top of her head, enhancing the set of her neck, which he longed to kiss. He doffed his own coat and hung it next to hers.
She turned to him, pressing herself against him once more, her arms around his neck. ‘You must have thought me the most forward woman imaginable for suggesting we spend the night here,’ she said softly, her forehead against his chest as if in shame. ‘I hope you don’t think too badly of me, Algie. I bet you think I’m a proper strumpet.’ She looked up into his eyes again and smiled. ‘I think I am, to tell you the truth … It must be in my blood.’
‘If you hadn’t done it, I doubt if I would’ve either. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to suggest it.’
‘That’s what I thought. You’re too much of a gentleman. Yet it’s what I perceived we both wanted. Women are not expected to express themselves quite so liberally, nor are respectable married women expected to be quite so brazen … I’m sorry if I don’t conform to your notions of how a woman should behave, Algie, but I thought, “What have I to lose, only him?”.’
‘And it’s not a bad room,’ he said inadequately. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, but it’s not a bad room at all, is it?’
‘As third-rate hotels go it’s quite passable, I suspect.’
‘You’ve got experience of third-rate hotels then?’ he asked, and Clarence Froggatt sprang to mind.
‘Me? No. Benjamin will only ever stay at somewhere swanky if we are ever away from home.’
He was watching her lips as she spoke. They were round and full, moist and naturally pouting, and extremely kissable. He focused on them longingly.
‘I want to kiss you.’
‘You have my full permission,’ she breathed.
So their lips met, gently, tentatively, each exploring the other’s softness with a suppressed enthusiasm at first.
‘I like the way you kiss,’ he whispered.
‘Then why stop?’
He kissed her again and lingered, fuelling the mutual passion that had been pent up for so long.
Even if nothing more came of this affair, they had to experience this night. There was an intense bond of physical attraction between them which must have its head at all costs. If it all ended in disappointment, then so be it. But for each to live their lives without giving it the chance to run its course was not an option now. Each would regret having never followed their hearts to the ultimate when the chance arose, however confined they were to the rigid conventions that ruled their lives, but which especially ruled Aurelia’s as a married woman.
‘I want you, Aurelia.’
She smiled at him then lowered her eyes, making no reply. Of course she wanted him too. She had already made that plain.
‘Shall we get into bed?’
‘Yes …’ She smiled again tenderly. ‘Which side do you want?’
‘The middle … With you …’
She laughed at that. ‘It’d be better to get undressed first, though, I think.’
‘Yes …’ He began taking off his boots. ‘Can you remember your honeymoon with Benjamin?’
‘Please!’ She was already removing her blouse. ‘Let’s not talk about that. It’s such a pleasure to be away from him and his house. I don’t want to be reminded of him. Not while I’m with you.’
‘Nor do I, really,’ Algie admitted. He loosened his necktie and pulled it through his collar.
‘And especially not the honeymoon. It was a disaster …’
‘I suppose, in a way, this is our honeymoon, eh, Aurelia?’
She laughed while she unfastened her skirt and allowed it to fall to the floor around her feet. ‘You are funny, Algie. It’s no wonder I’m so mad about you. You’re such a romantic.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Only you could’ve translated this into a honeymoon.’
‘But it is in a way. Except that we aren’t wed.’
She pulled her chemise over her head, revealing her nakedness to her waist. Her breasts were full and round, yet not at all ponderous. Her waist was slender, her stomach all but flat, accentuating the delightful feminine curve of her hips.
‘I wondered whether you wore a corset,’ he commented conversationally, sitting on the bed to remove his trousers from round his ankles.
‘Not tonight,’ she answered. ‘I think corsets must be the single most contributing factor to virtue in single girls and fidelity in married women. Corsets are enough to put off the most determined lover. When I was having my bath this afternoon I decided I wouldn’t wear one tonight.’
‘Because you didn’t know how I’d measure up in the determination department?’
‘Well, I didn’t want you to be put off. They take an age to unlace. Not quite the thing when you’re anxious to be out of them in a hurry. We women have to wear the most ridiculous clothes for the sake of fashion or convention, both of which can be stupid, to my mind.’
‘Will you promise never to wear a corset when you’re with me?’
‘Oh, I promise,’ she said. ‘Unreservedly.’
‘You do wear a corset sometimes, though?’
‘Well, they do give a woman shape.’
‘You have shape enough without,’ he said. She was standing before him entirely naked now, her slender body pale but exquisitely beautiful, and perfectly proportioned in the firelight. Her shimmering skin looked as smooth as polished ivory. He sighed at the wondrous sight, a sight he had imagined he would never be privy to. ‘You are beautiful, Aurelia,’ he said with the utmost sincerity as he slid between the sheets.
She shot him a winsome smile, and clambered across the bed, crouching on all fours.
‘I take it you haven’t brought a nightgown.’
She laughed. ‘I hoped I wouldn’t need one.’
He chuckled conspiratorially as she crept towards him with the grace of a young lioness. He received her in his arms and they kissed passionately. He ran his hands hungrily over her body, over the bare flesh of her bottom and down the backs of her smooth thighs. She was wearing a perfume that smelt divine and he could feel her warm breasts pressed against his chest, her belly against his. His heart was pumping hot blood through his veins with a vengeance.
As she lay on him, she could feel him hard against her belly and she sighed. She slithered her naked body slowly down his, kissing him lingeringly all over, teasing him with her tongue and her soft, full lips till he was aching with desire.
‘I’ve waited so long for you,’ she sighed, moving back up again so that she could kiss his lips, her breasts lightly skimming over his belly and his chest. ‘Yet I never thought that we could ever be together like this.’
‘Nor did I,’ he whispered. ‘Not in my wildest dreams.’
A shank of her dark hair had fallen loo
se, hanging incongruously down one side of her angelic face. The sight appealed to him.
‘Kiss me, Aurelia.’
Their lips met again for a few seconds, and then she broke off.
‘Do you want to be on top of me, Algie?’
‘No, I’m quite content with you on top. I like it. How about you?’
‘Oh, I’m perfectly content.’
He cupped one smooth breast in his hand and felt her nipple harden, then rolled over so that her back was on the bed and he was on top of her.
‘I thought you liked me on top,’ he whispered.
‘I do. I fancy I’ll like being on top of you just as much though. I thought I’d just give it a try. Would you rather we swapped back?’
‘No, I’m quite happy either way, Algie.’
He lowered his head and kissed her breasts, licking each nipple in turn to see how it hardened and extended in sensual response.
‘You have lovely breasts,’ he said, his voice muffled by the lovely example receiving his ardent attention.
‘Oh, you’re an expert on breasts, are you?’
‘Not particularly. But it’s hard to imagine you had a baby and suckled it, ’cause they’re still so firm.’
‘It’s because I had my baby young, Algie,’ she explained softly. ‘When it comes to having babies, the younger you are the better – within reason. I believe so anyway.’
The skin of her belly was taut, smooth and supple. How on earth could her husband not want her? She was lovely, divine, sweet-natured and compliant, if this was anything to go by; all that a man could wish for in a wife. But there again, her husband was a fool … and in more ways than one.
He nuzzled his face in the warm tuft of dark hair that met him at the base of her belly. She parted her thighs and arched her back as his tongue probed her deliciously. Her soft vocal sighs told him she was relishing it. She clenched his hair with urgency, and gently held him into her, thrusting herself forward more.
‘Oh, Algie …’ She was sighing, wriggling shamelessly. ‘God, this is beautiful … so beautiful …’