by Susan Lewis
He closed the door behind him. ‘On countless occasions,’ he said harshly, ‘I have had to speak to you about your clumsiness.’
Her lips parted and her chest began to heave as he took a step towards her, but she didn’t look up.
‘My shirt is ruined,’ he continued. ‘I could have you dismissed for such carelessness, you do realize that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then you know what must happen?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He walked past her, then picking up one of the chairs and placing it in front of the mirror, he said, ‘It gives me no pleasure to punish you, but you leave me no alternative. Come over here.’
Keeping her eyes lowered, Céline walked across the room. When she was standing beside him, he sat down on the chair, resting his hands on his knees. ‘Pull up your dress,’ he said.
Obediently Céline gathered the skirts of her short Molyneux evening dress and pulled them to her waist. Over her white lace suspender-belt she was wearing a pair of pink satin French knickers.
‘All right,’ he said, watching her reflection in the mirror. ‘Have you anything to say for yourself before I begin?’
‘Only that I am very sorry, sir. And that I will try not to do it again.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to see that you don’t,’ he said, and lifting a hand, he pulled her across his lap. Then arranging her dress so that the hem fell around her shoulders, he slipped his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and pulled them down over her thighs.
By now Céline’s breathing was so rapid that she was beginning to shake. As she cast her eyes towards the mirror she could see the reflection of her naked buttocks and the grim determination on Beavis’ face. Then, as his hand rose, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the first blow. When it came, the pain that shot through her body was almost unbearable, but she sank her teeth into her lips to stop from crying out. He lifted his hand again, but this time, as the sharp, stinging slap hit her naked flesh, she could do nothing to stop the moan of pure ecstasy.
He spanked her again and again, until she was bound in a knot of such overpowering arousal she could no longer breathe. But the exquisite torture continued as his long, gentle fingers started to soothe her smarting skin, moving in gentle circles over her buttocks and thighs, caressing and stroking. Then at last, just as she thought she could bear it no longer, his hand came down in one final excruciating slap.
‘Mon Dieu,’ she choked.
He caught her about the waist and pushed her back to her feet. Her dress fell around her knees and her knickers slipped to her ankles. ‘Now let that be a lesson to you,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured, as she stooped to retrieve her knickers.
‘Did I give you permission to do that?’ he barked.
‘No, sir.’
‘Then leave them where they are.’
She let her knickers go, and allowed her arms to hang loosely at her sides as she stood before him.
At last he stood up, and putting his hands on his hips he said in a dark voice, ‘Unfasten my trousers.’
As she fumbled with his fly, her hands were shaking so badly that in the end he pushed her away. ‘Take off your dress,’ he said, tugging at his tie.
‘But, sir …’
‘I said take it off!’
Obediently she peeled the ruched bodice from her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor. Now she was wearing only her white lace brassière, suspender-belt and pale silk stockings.
‘Turn round and face the bed,’ he told her.
As she did as she was told, he ran two fingers down the crease in her buttocks, then pushing them between her legs, he buried them deep inside her. ‘In future,’ he said, rotating his fingers as he bent her over, ‘you will make it your business never to come into my presence unless you are dressed as you are now.’ And withdrawing his fingers, he lowered his trousers and undershorts.
As he entered her, she cried out at the unendurable excitement of it, and clutched the edge of the bed as he tore at the lace holding her breasts. ‘Now tell me you spilt the wine purposely,’ he growled, as he pulled and squeezed her nipples, while grinding hard against her. ‘Tell me that you did it because you knew this would happen.’
‘Yes. Oh yes, sir. I wanted you, sir. I wanted you inside me like this, sir.’
‘That’s it,’ he breathed. And as he ran his hands over the insides of her thighs, he lifted her from the floor.
‘Oh my God,’ she cried, as she felt him push even deeper inside her. Then suddenly she knew she couldn’t hold on any longer. ‘Please!’ she cried. ‘Now, please!’
Putting her back to the floor he quickly moved his fingers between her legs, and holding her to him as he expertly stroked and teased her, he slammed into her with long, urgent strokes until he too passed the point of control. As the orgasms shuddered through their bodies, Céline’s knees began to give way, but he caught her about the waist and held her up until with one final thrust, the last of his semen leapt from his body.
Both were drenched in sweat, and both were breathing too heavily to speak. He was still inside her, and could feel her muscles clenching him in the dying throes of her climax.
‘Ah, Beavis,’ she murmured at last, pulling herself upright and leaning back against him. She tilted her head to look up at him, and as he bent to kiss her he wrapped his arms around her, taking her small breasts in his hands.
Eventually he eased himself away, and she moaned softly as he withdrew from her. Then she turned to sit on the bed, and looking at him, she started to laugh.
Bemused, he stared down at himself, then he too began to laugh. His shirt and jacket were open, revealing the hard muscles of his chest and his trousers and undershorts were round his ankles, well below the suspenders that held his socks.
‘What do you look like, chérie!’ she giggled.
‘Ludicrous, I should say!’ he chuckled. ‘But you and your erotic games are enough to make any man forget his dignity.’
‘What did you think of the maid?’ she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder and trailing her fingers over his thigh.
He looked down at her. ‘You have to ask?’
Laughing, she planted a kiss on his cheek, then set about unfastening her suspenders.
When they were both naked, Beavis turned out the lights and they got into bed. For some time they lay quietly in each other’s arms until finally Céline whispered, ‘What are you thinking?’
In the darkness Beavis frowned. ‘Probably the same as you.’
She sighed, and turned in his arms. ‘Do you still believe their marriage will work?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
They were quiet again then, and after a few minutes she heard the steady rhythm of his breathing. Assuming that he was asleep, she too closed her eyes.
But Beavis wasn’t asleep, it was just that he didn’t want to talk. He had hoped that by now the sense of foreboding that had started just before he and Céline left Lorvoire, would have disappeared. But even the delightful episode with Céline hadn’t managed to dispel it, and now it was worse than ever.
When he was certain that Céline was asleep, he got up from the bed and lit a cigarette. Even if François had told him the name of the hotel in Poitiers, the idea of telephoning in order to put his mind at rest was, of course, unthinkable. And if he just looked at it rationally for a moment, he would probably see himself for the over-solicitous parent he was. After all, what could possibly have happened to give him such a sense of disaster? If there had been an accident they would have been informed by now. And as for Claudine losing her virginity … Well, it had to happen sooner or later, whether he liked it or not.
He ground out his cigarette and walked back to the bed. Knowing he would be unable to sleep, he toyed with the idea of returning to his own room – but Céline would be offended if he did, so he pulled bac
k the sheets and got in beside her.
It was just after five in the morning when Claudine arrived at Montvisse. She hadn’t found a train, or a taxi, but a lorry driver who was travelling through the night from Angoulême to Tours had stopped when he saw her walking through the deserted streets of Poitiers in the early hours of the morning. She had hastily explained that she had to return home with the utmost urgency: could he direct her, or even take her, to the nearest railway station?
He laughed. ‘There won’t be any trains through here until at least seven in the morning,’ he said. ‘Where are you heading?’
‘Chinon. Near Chinon.’
‘Get in,’ the lorry driver said. ‘You’ll be far safer in here with me than out there walking the streets. I’m heading for Tours myself, so you won’t be much out of my way.’
Ordinarily Claudine would have balked at getting into a vehicle with a stranger, but this wasn’t ordinarily … All through the long drive she sat in the warmth of the small cab while the driver rambled gently on about his wife, his three sons and his seven grandchildren. He knew Claudine wasn’t listening, and wondered what lay behind this beautiful young woman’s need to get to Chinon with such haste. But he didn’t question her, and by the time he dropped her at the gates of Montvisse, he too had fallen silent. Claudine watched him go with an ache in heart, then turned into the avenue of limes and started to walk up the drive.
She found a side door that was open, and let herself into the silent château. Now she was so near her father, the resolve she had gathered in the lorry was beginning to fracture. But she was determined not to break down. No amount of anger or tears would change the situation, she kept telling herself; it could only be handled calmly, with reason and self-control.
She had decided that she must tell her father the whole truth – though now, as she climbed the stairs to Beavis’ room at the top of the tower, she was already faltering in her mind over the accusation of rape. But no matter what François thought, she told herself, no matter how her treacherous body had responded, she had not wanted him to make love to her … She hesitated as a burning wave of misery closed around her heart. But she had responded, neither she nor François could be in any doubt of it … The memory filled her with self-loathing; now, the very thought of those grotesque hands ever touching her body again repelled her.
She tapped gently on her father’s door, then let herself in. She was baffled at first by the bright light that flooded the room from the unshuttered windows, then, as she saw the empty bed, an unbearable despondency swept over her. He must have spent the night at Lorvoire; she had no choice but to go downstairs to Tante Céline.
There was no answer when she knocked on her aunt’s door, so she pushed it open and peeped in. The shutters were closed, but bright bands of light shone through the slats.
‘Tante Céline,’ she whispered, as she tip-toed across the room. ‘Taunte Céline?’
There was a movement in the bed. Claudine was on the point of speaking again when she froze.
Céline’s eyes as they looked up at her were as wide and disbelieving as her own, but Claudine wasn’t looking at her aunt. She was looking at her father, who after sleepless hours of worrying about his daughter, had finally fallen into a doze. Suddenly his eyes opened, and he looked straight at Claudine.
There was a moment of dreadful silence, then Claudine turned and ran from the room.
Outside the château, Claudine saw her car. The keys were in it and in a moment she was out of the gates and roaring along the narrow road that ran parallel to the Vienne. She didn’t think about where she was going, it didn’t matter – she wanted only to drive. And she did drive, furiously, for over half a hour, before she realized she had come dangerously close to running out of petrol and was miles from the nearest pump.
But as she abandoned the Lagonda on the side of the hill and started to walk up over the brow, she didn’t care how she was to get back, or what she was going to do when she did. The drive had succeeded in calming her a little, but she still needed to think; she needed time to sort out in her mind the appalling events of the past twelve hours.
As she walked she took deep, calming breaths, but the shock of finding her father in bed with her aunt was still raw. Every time she thought of it she could see her mother’s face … How could they have done it? How could they, when Beavis had loved Antoinette so much he would have died for her? But it was Antoinette who had died, and wasn’t it just like Céline to be there with her own special kind of solace? Céline, who had as many lovers as she had dresses, who could have anyone she wanted, had seduced her sister’s husband. Perhaps she hadn’t even waited for her sister to die.
That thought was so terrible that Claudine buried her face in her hands, and at last, as she sank to her knees in the early morning dew, she allowed the tears to fall. Sobs racked her body, the pain and confusion seemed to tear her heart apart. She wanted her mother now as she had never wanted her before.
It was a long time before she lifted her head again, but when she did, gazing down into the valley of Lorvoire, she found that she felt a little steadier. She was sitting at the top of the hill on the far side of the valley, almost opposite the spot where she had stood with François the first day she met him. What a long time ago that seemed now – and she cringed as she remembered the childish way she had behaved at the fountain. But that was nothing to the way she had acted since.
She recalled the dreadful circumstances of François’ proposal, the way she had made herself so ridiculous in her determination to marry him. There was no denying now that she had made the greatest mistake of her life, and it didn’t help to know that she had only herself to blame. Everyone had warned her against him, but in her arrogance she had refused to listen, certain that she could be the one to change him. How badly she had needed to grow up! The whole world would know now that Claudine Rafferty had latched herself onto a man who didn’t love her, didn’t even want her. How they would laugh when they heard what had happened, and how they would pity her.
Engulfed in a wave of desperation, she fell back in the grass, beating her fists against the ground and screaming up at the sky. How could she have done this to herself? How could she have been so stupid and pig-headed?
She thought of the gypsy then, and gave a bitter laugh. Things aren’t always what they seem, the old woman had said. And she, like the fool she was, had applied that to François. A great love and a great danger, the gypsy had said. Well, there was no doubt in her mind now that François was the danger. She had only to remember what he had told her about Hortense to know that he was capable of any evil. How she was sickened now by her refusal to believe him! How simple she had been; how unspeakably obtuse …
By the time she pulled herself to her feet it was approaching midday, and yet despite her sleepless night she was feeling as though she had at last awoken from a state of stupefying somnambulance. Her mind was finally beginning to clear. One day, she knew, in the not too distant future, the anger and resentment she bore François would cease to exist. But for the moment she must live with it, and she must face him with it – for much as she blamed herself for what had happened, there was no reason on God’s earth why he should have treated her the way he had. Now she must face this last hurdle. She must confront him, prove that she could be dignified in defeat, and then she could put the whole thing behind her.
As she wandered back across the hilltop in her crumpled navy suit, she lifted a hand to her face and pressed gently against the bruises on her jaw. Then, as she glanced at the angry red marks that circled her wrists, she became aware, too, of the dull ache at the top of her thighs.
She tossed her head as again the flame of anger she had struggled to suppress suddenly flared. But she had reached her decision, she was going to give up the fight, and she must not allow herself to think of revenge: who could win against a man like François? An image of his naked body came unbidden to her mind then, and she faltered. But she pushed it away. Nothing, lea
st of all her treacherous bodily desire, was going to weaken her resolve to escape him.
She rounded the crest of the hill and looked down towards her car. Then her breath caught in her throat and she stopped dead. The Lagonda wasn’t the only car parked at the side of the road. Beside it was the black Citröen, and standing beside the Citröen, smoking a cigarette and staring right at her, was François. In the early morning sunlight she could see the silver snake of his scar glinting gruesomely. He was wearing the suit he had worn the night before, but now both the jacket and waistcoat were undone, and the collar of his shirt was missing. As she watched he threw away the cigarette and, folding his arms, leaned against the side of his car. His attitude was that of a weary parent waiting for a disobedient child.
A quick temper flashed in her lovely eyes, and she was on the point of turning and walking in the opposite direction when she realized that running away was not the answer. She must face him now, tell him what she had decided, then she could get on with the preparations for her return to England.
Cautiously she started down the hill, but she held her head high and her face set in determination. Nothing in the world would induce her to betray her real feelings – this would be the last time they met, and she would rather die than let him know how badly she still wanted him.
‘How did you find me?’ she said, when she was close enough for him to hear.
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ he answered, ‘It followed that you would run to your father.’
‘But he can’t have known where I was.’
‘No. But he did know you’d gone off in your car.’
‘Then why didn’t he come after me himself?’
‘He would have done, if I hadn’t arrived when I did. I pointed out that though I respect the fact that you are his daughter, you are also my wife.’