Sleeping Cruelty

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Miss Chalmers,’ he stuttered, and her back arched like a cat’s. ‘It’s Max,’ he added softly, and wondered if perhaps he should turn back but she beckoned him to join her. Max stepped closer, a little afraid as she was so close to the cliff-edge, but she patted the space beside her for him to sit. He hesitated, edging closer, then got to his knees for safety and crawled up to her.

  ‘You know, if you watch the sun rise close to someone, you are bound together for ever by its rays.’ Her voice was a soft whisper. Max could think of no answer. He was close enough now to feel the warmth of her body beside him. They remained silent, waiting, as the amber glow spread before them.

  ‘Here it comes, wait, wait … It’s coming any second now,’ she gasped. He held his breath and she reached out for his hand. ‘No one but us will ever have this moment … no one but us.’

  She tilted her head to catch the rays as they grew stronger, before the golden globe appeared in front of them, bathing them both in its brilliance. But Max had eyes only for the woman beside him. For him, the sun was a pale star beside her, this magical mirage, her blonde hair shimmering like a halo.

  Nothing could have prepared him for this moment, nothing in his wildest dreams. She eased her body down to lie on the warming rock, holding out her arms for him to lie beside her. Without a word, he obeyed.

  The kiss took his breath away. It was sweet, but it was hungry, and he felt such a surge of emotion that his body shook. She stroked his face, planting delicate kisses on his cheek and neck, her lips tracing his ears, till he felt such ecstasy he let out a moan. Max would never have considered approaching this girl-woman, he was far too shy. But, wrapped in her arms, it was as if he had always known her. He wanted the moment never to end. But it did, as abruptly as it had begun.

  ‘I must go back,’ she announced suddenly, and rolled away from him. She was up and running before he could reach out to stop her. All he could do was watch her disappear from his sight. Then he started to cry. He didn’t know why: it had just been too much for him.

  Max saw her fleetingly again that morning, first at breakfast then down by the jetty. He flushed deeply every time she passed within touching range, afraid she would discover he was following her. His legs shook and his heart beat so rapidly he felt sick. But he thought he had managed to appear in control of himself. After lunch they spoke again. Laura had dropped a hair slide as she passed him on her way to the pool. At first Max had simply wanted to keep it as a reminder of her, but then he plucked up courage to approach her. Just the touch of her fingers against his hand, as she thanked him, rendered him incapable of saying a word. She did not refer to the sunrise and he could not bring himself to mention it. She was, after all, Sir William Benedict’s fiancée. He even questioned whether it had happened at all. But he knew it had, and now, speechless before her, it was all that filled his mind.

  ‘You have beautiful clear eyes,’ she said softly. He wanted to say something poetic in return, but she walked on.

  There were four or five more fleeting meetings that day. At last he stuttered that he had hoped she didn’t feel he was stalking her. She leaned closer. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, as his breath caught in his chest. To his astonishment and consuming delight, she suggested they walk a while. They went down to the jetty, and twice her shoulder brushed against his. There was one glorious moment when she asked him to hold her hand as she slipped off one of her sandals to shake out the sand. Her closeness made him break out in a sweat and her hand felt cool and soft, like silk.

  Over the next few nights, Max could not sleep. All he could think of was Laura, but she did not appear again to greet the sunrise. The dining-room meals became the focus of his day because he knew he would see her there. He tried hard to not make his adoration obvious, but he could hardly contain himself, glancing clumsily in her direction. He started to make elaborate plans for accidentally meeting her and what he would say. But, try as he might, he could never pin down her whereabouts. She never dined at the same time in the evenings, never swam or walked at any specific time. He spent hours hovering round the places he hoped she might be, sometimes sitting in the dining room for hours. Mostly she didn’t appear to notice him.

  The meeting that changed everything was when she asked him to help her open a sunshade. They were on the lower beach. He fixed it, then fetched an armful of towels and laid them out along a sun-bed. Laura was wearing a white cotton kaftan, and at certain angles the sunlight shone straight through it to outline her body like a soft shadow. He wanted to kneel at her feet, to kiss each toe, to tell her he was her slave. At one point their eyes met and he was sure she was going to say something to him. With an encouraging smile, she patted the towel beside her. But as she lay back against the cushions, his mother appeared. ‘Hello, darling. Get me some towels, would you? And move a bed into the sun for me. Is there a bar down here? I’m so thirsty.’

  Max fetched and carried for his mother, who kept up a constant embarrassing chatter about why he wasn’t swimming or waterskiing. ‘Take your shirt off, darling, you need some sun. Your back hasn’t broken out in spots again, has it?’

  He wanted to die and he shook his head, trying to make the Baroness change the subject, but it got worse as she continued her conversation to Laura with her eyes closed. ‘Poor boy, he’s got such delicate skin. But, then, they all have acne at that age, don’t they? It’s ever since he started shaving. At least his face has cleared up. He used to get terrible boils and—’

  ‘Mother!’ hissed Max, his face crimson.

  Laura got up suddenly, and excused himself, saying she had forgotten her book.

  ‘Are you coming back?’ Max asked. He had sounded so desperate and what made it worse was she didn’t look at him, just continued walking towards the path.

  ‘Not very friendly, is she?’ his mother said, plastering herself in oil.

  Before Max could hurry after Laura she insisted he did her back. He hated doing this. She took off her bikini top and lay face-down on the towels for him to spread the oil over her.

  ‘She’s really rather rude,’ the Baroness continued.

  ‘There’s her book under the sunlounger,’ Max said, with delight. His mother looked up as he bent down to retrieve it. It was a volume of children’s poems. He wanted to kiss it. ‘I’ll take it to her.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother, darling, leave it. I’ll take it back to the house.’

  But Max was already hurrying after Laura. Out of sight of his mother, he opened the book. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that a note was tucked into the first page with his name on it. At first he was sure it was a joke, but why would she do that? Then he wanted to weep when he understood that she had suggested they meet by the waterfall. It had to be real.

  Max waited for more than an hour past the appointed time. He had almost given up when she came into sight. His heart lurched. The note had said lunchtime, which he had taken as twelve, but she clearly thought lunch was at two. Laura was welcome to take lunch at whatever time she pleased.

  Max stepped behind the rushing curtain of water to hide as she approached. She wore a wide straw hat, the same long, white kaftan, and she had threaded flowers through her toes.

  ‘Max,’ she said softly, ‘I know you’re here.’ She removed the hat and her hair tumbled down. Slowly, she began to raise her skirt, lifting it to her knees, then her thighs. Hardly able to breathe, Max watched as the white robe inched slowly up her body. Beneath it, she was naked. Like a nymph, she stepped into the cascade of water, holding out her arms to catch the stream, her head tilted back and the water rushing off her. ‘Take off your clothes and come and join me. Don’t be shy. No one will see us here.’

  Max hastily tore off his clothes and walked towards her into the clear, thundering water. Slowly her hand reached out for him. She drew him into the recess cut into the rock behind the screen of spray, and cupped his face in her hands to look into his wide, fearful eyes. �
�It’s all right,’ she whispered.

  His fear evaporated as their bodies inched closer. ‘I love you,’ he said, aching to kiss her.

  His look of adoration frightened Laura: he reminded her of Justin as a boy. She searched his face, trying to fathom whether he was lying to her, but she saw there only innocence.

  To her surprise, when their lips touched she was not thinking of anything or anyone but him. The experience confused her, and she broke away. Then her eyes concentrated on his lips, which she kissed again, as if to make sure the moment between them was real. After kissing him three times she broke away. Max was overcome with emotion and began to cry. She licked his tears as they mingled with the mist from the waterfall, and thought she too might weep. It puzzled her. This was a job, but it felt like something else. She had teased the boy for days, drawing him behind her like a puppy. She had meant to arouse him, play with him then withdraw. But something inexplicable had stopped her. She had never felt this for anyone except Justin. Was that why his kisses felt so nice? They were like Justin’s, but they weren’t. The feel of them made her want to continue kissing, but she wanted to kiss him as a boy, not as a man.

  It was Max who changed the tone. Max became a man then, kissed her strongly and searchingly. Laura allowed herself to be drawn to lie beside him on the cool, mossy earth, his hand clasping hers. She clung to him as if she was afraid to let go.

  ‘I love you,’ Max repeated, and she began to sob. She had never known such a powerful, explosive feeling in the pit of her belly. He whispered to her, ‘I don’t know if I’m dreaming this, if I am mad, or even if it’s real. I’m scared to close my eyes and lose you.’

  ‘Ssh!’ she said, cradling him in her arms, his head resting against her breasts. She loved his caring gentleness. She liked the way he had put his shirt beneath her head when they lay down, worried that the ground was damp. He didn’t paw her or force her hand down to touch him. Their roles had been reversed so unexpectedly and without any calculation on her part. She loved the smell and touch of his lean, young body. He was clean and untouched.

  When he asked if she could feel his heart leaping, he endeared himself to her more.

  ‘Do you want to make love to me?’ she asked.

  Max admitted that he was afraid his inexperience would make her ridicule him.

  She held him closer. She felt protective, almost motherly towards him. ‘I promise I would never tease you. You will be the best lover I have ever known.’ She meant it as a joke, but he gripped her tightly.

  She wanted to weep as his kisses on her neck made her thighs ache, and the even sweeter kisses on her lips made her want him to make love to her. But his fingers threaded through hers and rubbed her ring finger. Feeling the solitaire diamond, he released her. ‘We mustn’t do this, it’s wrong, it’s …’

  Laura sighed, and held up her hand. The diamond glittered. ‘Don’t you ever do anything wrong, Max?’ she asked.

  ‘Everyone does, but if you were to make love to me, with me, I couldn’t bear to see you with another man.’

  She let her hand drop to one side and he caught her fingers, pressing on the diamond with his thumb. ‘When are you getting married?’

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Again she sighed. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  He sprang to his feet and fetched his jeans, unembarrassed now by his nakedness.

  She propped herself on her elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I can’t stay. I can’t be with you like this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He zipped his fly, then looked around for his trainers. He sat on the edge of a rock as he slipped on one, then the other. He left the laces untied and looked over; she still lay on his shirt. Suddenly he felt strong, his mind clear.

  ‘We should go,’ he said, and moved towards her to pick up his shirt. The whore in Laura had abandoned her, slunk off to hide, unable to deal with the purity of emotion. She couldn’t speak. She let him ease away his shirt from behind her. But he didn’t put it on: instead, he draped it round her shoulders, as if to hide her breasts. She let him remove the diamond ring from her finger. He placed it carefully on the edge of a rock. ‘I want you to marry me.’

  She accepted his proposal, but he had no ring. ‘Give me your wedding finger,’ he said. She held it out tentatively. He took it and bit it until he drew blood. She touched it with the tip of her finger then licked it.

  ‘That will be our ring,’ he breathed. ‘Bite me now.’

  She bit harder and longer into his finger. It hurt like hell but he wouldn’t stop her. Eventually, she drew his head on to her lap. He was unsure what to do, so she told him how to use his tongue. Soon she was begging him to enter her, and as he came into her, she did what she always did: averted her face. Max noticed and withdrew. ‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell me you love me,’ she said.

  Max caught her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Right now, if you asked me to, I’d die for you, Laura, and I will kill anyone who takes you away from me. I want you to tell him.’

  ‘Well, I can’t straight away. He’s had to return to London.’

  ‘When he gets back?’

  ‘Yes … yes, I will.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  ‘Yes, if you promise to keep this a secret until I have told him.’ She leaned over him. ‘This is odd for me …’ She hesitated, then kissed his lips.

  ‘What is?’ he asked.

  ‘I feel such love for you. It is the first time I have felt like this for anyone.’

  ‘You’ve never made love to another man?’ he asked, sitting up.

  ‘I meant I have loved only one man before you, but he doesn’t count. Tell me again.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said simply.

  She laughed, hugging him, not wanting to let him go. ‘And I you.’

  Justin was furious. For one thing, Laura was not working up to speed: she had disappeared for the whole afternoon. For another he had not been able to capture on film anything that had taken place between her and Max because they had hidden behind the waterfall. Enraged, he confronted her. ‘You are so stupid at times. You know where all the microphones are! What the hell did you take him up there for? You must have known I couldn’t record you.’

  ‘Maybe I didn’t want you to see or hear me with him,’ Laura said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I should go. I don’t want to keep Angela waiting.’

  Justin pretended to pay attention to the dials on the console in front of him. ‘How are you going to work on her?’ he asked.

  ‘Dahlia is helping,’ Laura replied.

  ‘In what way?’ he snapped.

  Laura ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Angela and I share a predilection for lace lingerie, I’m told. Now, thanks to Dahlia “mixing things up in the wash”, she has a few pairs of my panties.’

  ‘Well, don’t fucking take her up to the waterfall to do it. Did you by the way?’ he asked moodily.

  ‘Did I what?’ she said, opening the door.

  ‘Screw him?’

  ‘Not yet,’ and she closed the door. She felt disturbed about lying to Justin, so to calm her nerves she slipped off the solitaire diamond and felt Max’s toothmarks on her finger. It kept him constantly in her mind. A secret.

  Angela heard the light tap on her door and removed the ice-pack from her head. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  Laura remained silent.

  Angela opened the door.

  ‘Apparently, and I don’t want to get her into any trouble which is why I came myself,’ said Laura, ‘Dahlia mixed some of my lingerie with yours.’ She held out a small parcel. ‘You have mine, I believe.’

  ‘Oh,’ Angela said, and opened the wrapping. She seemed embarrassed as she admitted that the panties and brassière were indeed hers. She went to her wardrobe and opened a drawer to find Laura’s. Laura followed her and stoo
d close … too close.

  Angela moved away. ‘You’re wearing a lovely perfume,’ she said, intent on searching the open drawer.

  ‘Thank you,’ Laura said, then leaned close to Angela, who was wearing some kind of gardenia cologne. ‘Yours is nice too.’

  Angela withdrew Laura’s panties from the drawer. ‘Oh, they are lovely, and …’ She took out a brassière and a gossamer-thin silk slip.

  ‘I have them made to my designs,’ Laura said, as she laid them on the bed, pressing tissue paper flat to wrap them. ‘I love packing,’ she said, and went on to explain how a nanny had taught her how to fold garments so they never creased. Eventually Laura looked up from her packing. She indicated the cross stitch Angela had left on the arm of the chair. ‘What lovely work,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Angela replied, then added hesitantly, ‘would you like me to teach you how to do it?’

  ‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’

  Angela walked over to an armchair and picked up her bag. She took out some silks then found a small design of a rose. Laura perched on a chair arm. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, as Angela showed her the soft colours, from pink to oyster.

  ‘I think these would be perfect for that rose.’ Angela laid out the silks in a row.

  ‘What delicate shades. And the stalk?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The stalk, the leaves and the thorns?’ Laura looked into Angela’s nervous hazel eyes.

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, I have some greens, but not so many shades to choose from.’ Laura leaned in close, her bare arm touching Angela’s as the other woman threaded a needle. ‘Now, it is imperative you make a good knot. It’s so tedious if it works loose.’ Angela was rather enjoying the beautiful girl’s avid attention. ‘Now, I’d begin with the outer, lower petal first. It’s very simple and quite therapeutic, but there’s an art in getting the stitches even. One tighter than the others leaps out conspicuously.’