Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  Adam took a step forward. ‘Back off, Adam, you fool. Robert used to be a boxer and he’ll break your nose with one punch.’

  Irene was an efficient and capable woman, and despite her appearance, an intelligent one. Even though he didn’t altogether approve of her, Latham liked her a lot. They’d always had fun together with no strings attached, and he doubted if she would hold this episode against him. He hoped not, for he didn’t want their relationship to end – not yet. If only she wasn’t so indiscriminate about her personal affairs . . .

  Latham was aware that he’d inherited a streak of Victorian working-class morality from his upbringing, despite employing double standards himself. He’d come from a poor background and his parents had been unable to think further than scraping by on the small amount of shillings they were offered as recompense for their labours.

  He remembered his mother offering his father’s employer the last piece of bread and butter in the larder to go with his cup of tea, when he’d called to explain why he couldn’t keep his father employed at the brickworks. As a consequence of his father losing his job they’d also had to vacate the house he’d rented from his employer. And to think his mother had humbly served him tea. Job and house had gone to a nephew.

  Latham had despised his parents’ acknowledgement of their lowly position, of the fact that they’d died in the workhouse accepting their lot. They’d left him to make his own way in the world at the age of thirteen, and in the best way he could. He’d sworn there and then that one day he’d be in the position of the master, rather than the servant. And now he was.

  Gazing down at the sleeping Julia, he smiled. How perfect a girl, and how helpless in his arms his little turquoise butterfly was – thank goodness he’d been in time to rescue her – that she hadn’t been ruined by Charles and his friends.

  Thank goodness indeed! It meant that the three men would remain in one piece a little bit longer. And he had yet to punish Irene for her part in the affair.

  He placed Julia gently in the back seat of the car and straightened up. ‘I believe it was you who doped her.’

  ‘It was just a bit of weed.’

  ‘She’s not used to it . . . she doesn’t dabble in drugs. How could you carry out such a vindictive act?’

  ‘Julia wanted to lose her virginity, ask her. We decided on Charles. He attracts so many women that I thought he must be good at it. How was I to know that his randy friends would be invited to help him debauch her.’ She laughed. ‘It’s typical of my brother. Stop taking it so seriously, Latham. You could do the deed while she’s out of it if you wanted. She wouldn’t know the difference.’

  It was a notion with some appeal, but he knew he still had enough decency left in him to ignore it.

  ‘I could come with you, and join in. We could be a threesome.’

  ‘Don’t be so cheap.’ He backhanded her then, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but enough to remind her who was in charge.

  ‘I was only joking,’ she said, sounding hurt.

  ‘So was I.’ He slid into the passenger seat. ‘Take us home, Robert.’

  Irene scrabbled at the window. ‘When will I see you again, Latham?’

  ‘Tomorrow at noon, when Charles brings you over to apologize to Julia.’

  ‘I won’t do that, and neither will Charles.’

  ‘Yes you will.’ He didn’t bother to look her way, but said, ‘Drive on, Robert.’

  The chauffeur put the car in motion and they purred off into the night.

  Six

  Julia woke with a headache. The room she was in was painted a restful shade of warm cream decorated with Japanese-style relief panels in pale fuchsia. A cream wardrobe with storks etched on the mirrors was built against a wall. The bed she was in was wonderfully comfortable, and a feather quilt was piled lightly on her body like a heap of warm fluffy snow.

  It was hard to move because her head was thumping so much. She groaned as she made the effort to sit up. Swinging her legs to the floor, her feet sank into the depths of a carpet of a colour to match the wall panels. She wriggled her toes into the luxury of it.

  She didn’t know where she was, but she did know she desperately needed a pee. She made her way to the door in the corner. Beyond it, a luxuriously appointed bathroom with bath, shower and pedestal was revealed.

  She made use of the facilities. Set out on a shelf was a new toothbrush and paste, mouthwash, shampoos and a hairbrush and comb. On the side of the bath stood several bottles of lotions and oils. Thick cream towels were piled high in an open-fronted set of shelves.

  She gazed down at herself – at a pair of blue silk pyjamas she’d never seen before. They were too big – men’s pyjamas! She turned the cuffs back and rolled the legs up before she turned on the tap.

  Water spouted out of the mouth of a golden dolphin. Despite her mystification she was beginning to enjoy the luxury of this place. She poured a fragrant oil into the running water, and it began to bubble and foam.

  She gazed at the modern design of a bottle of perfume on the shelf. It was Chanel number five, a perfume fairly new to the market, and Irene’s favourite as she recalled. Julia used Emeraude, which she loved. It was cheaper, and made by Coty.

  She lay back in the bath, relaxed and feeling pampered, thinking of nothing in particular and bordering on sleep. A knock came at the door.

  Who was it? She wondered if she’d locked the door. More to the point, where was she? She remembered seeing two naked men and her eyes widened. She’d lost her virginity! It was an occasion she should be able to remember. Had she really? She couldn’t even recall a moment of the event. How disappointing.

  The knock came again and a woman’s voice said quietly, ‘Miss Howard, are you all right.’

  ‘Yes, I’m in the bath. What’s your name?’

  ‘Agnes Finnigan. I’m the housekeeper. I’ve laid your clothes out for you and there’s a tea tray on the table. The master expects you to join him for breakfast in half an hour. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Finnigan.’

  ‘What’s your master’s name?’ she thought to add a few moments later, but the woman must have left because there was no answer. Just as well really, else she might have got the wrong impression. Mrs Finnigan had sounded like an Irish woman. Was she in Ireland? Charles Curruthers had an aeroplane; he might have flown her there. ‘Oh, my God! What if I’m with that horrid leech, Rupert something?’ she said in alarm.

  Drying herself she pulled on a white towelling robe and went through to the bedroom. The curtains had been pulled back, revealing the view. Sweeps of earth were captured by hedges and combed into brown crumbly furrows in the fields. Mist hovered thinly above the ground, like ghosts without a home to go to. The trees were stark black bones. Beyond the fields, the distance revealed a glitter of cold grey water. A steamer smudged a charcoal line from its stack along a yellow and grey streak of horizon. She could be anywhere.

  Somewhere a dog gave a high-pitched yelp, answered by the deeper tone of another dog.

  Her bed had been made, and the change of clothing she’d brought with her was free of creases. Somebody had pressed it. Her combinations had been washed and dried overnight. She pulled them on, followed by warm brown slacks and a high-necked cashmere jumper. Over the top went a long cardigan of berry-red cable knit that matched her socks. Slipping her feet into loafers, she tidied her hair, wondering whether to apply make-up. She decided against it.

  The hallway outside her door led her past other doors to a circular flight of stairs. At the bottom she found the front hall. The house was furnished predominately in the same warm shade of cream as the room she’d slept in, only with vibrant colours added to bring it to life. The sound of muted voices guided her footsteps through a lounge room furnished with warm rich reds, and into a dining room of cool blue shades.

  A black Labrador thrust its snout into her hand, nudging at it for attention. Whilst she patted it a terrier came to sniff
at her ankles, its tail a whipping blur.

  A man came in from the room beyond, and smiled at her. ‘Leave my guest alone you two. Go back to the kitchen.’

  They went off obediently, collecting a pat from their master as they went past him.

  ‘Good morning, Julia, and a Happy New Year.’ He kissed her on the forehead before pulling out a chair for her.

  ‘Mr Miller, thank goodness it’s you,’ she said with some relief.

  ‘I think it’s about time you called me by my first name.’ His unfathomable dark eyes lit on her. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’

  She shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure where I was. I went to Irene’s party . . . I don’t even know how I got here.’

  ‘You were unwell and you fell asleep. The party was rowdy and getting out of hand so I brought you here, where you wouldn’t be disturbed. How do you feel this morning?’

  ‘Fine, but a little muddled, and my head pounds. I can’t remember much. I must apologize to my hosts. Where’s here, Mr Miller?’

  ‘My home is situated near the village of Tynehill, which is not far from Brighton.’

  A thin woman of about fifty, who Julia took to be Mrs Finnigan, came in. ‘Is there anything else you need, sir?’

  ‘Some aspirin for Miss Howard, please.’

  She was back in a few minutes with the tablets and a glass of water.

  ‘That will be all for now, thank you, Mrs Finnigan.’

  ‘I imagine it was something you ate,’ Latham said when the woman left. ‘As for your hosts, don’t bother about apologizing. They know where you are, and why, and no doubt your memory will return in time.’ This was said rather wryly, so she was immediately put on alert.

  ‘Did I make a fool of myself, Latham?’

  ‘Just a little. We’ll talk about it after breakfast. Now, take your aspirin so you can get rid of that headache. What will you have to eat?’

  ‘I’m not really hungry,’ she said, swallowing two pills down with a shudder.

  He began to lift the covers off the dishes. ‘The best way to get rid of a hangover is to have something solid in your stomach. Let me see if I can tempt you. How about some puréed apples on a little oatmeal?’

  She made a face.

  ‘Just a small portion . . . for me.’ He placed a small amount of oatmeal into a dish and spooned apple purée on to it.

  It wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined it would be, and the apples added a tart flavour that freshened her mouth and tongue. At his coaxing, she followed that up with some scrambled egg on a piece of toast, garnished with a slice of lean bacon. Latham ate the same, only in larger amounts.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  It had been ages since she’d eaten a good breakfast. ‘It was delicious. And my headache has nearly gone.’

  ‘Coffee or tea?’

  ‘Coffee would be nice. You have a lovely home.’

  ‘I like it. I like to think I designed it myself, but I had a lot of help from the architect who drew up the plans. He told me what would work and what wouldn’t.’

  ‘And the decoration and furnishing?’

  ‘Mostly mine.’

  ‘You’re very talented.’

  ‘I like living in pleasant surroundings and I don’t mind paying for objects that have value. I came from nothing, and they remind me that I’ve made a success of my life. You looked lovely last night, you know, as pretty as a butterfly – too innocent and exquisite to spoil.’

  ‘Can we stop creeping around the subject, please Latham! What did I do last night? Don’t spare my feelings.’

  ‘If you want to hear the truth, my dear, you shall. When I found you, you were lying on Charles’ bed. Rupert Gyesworth and Adam Oldham were in the room too. They were both naked, and Charles was tossing a coin to see who was to take a turn at you after he’d broken you in.’

  She hadn’t expected him to be quite that blunt, and the colour drained from her face. ‘Oh . . . I see.’

  ‘Take a sip of your coffee, Julia. No harm was done, I imagine, since you still had all your clothes on. Irene told me you were trying to lose your virginity.’

  Heat rushed into her cheeks now, so she was forced to press her hands against them. ‘Well, yes . . . I suppose I was. I’m so ashamed. I can’t remember anything now. Did I . . . well, you know?’

  ‘Succeed? I’m assured that you didn’t. Irene said it was your idea, and that it had been arranged for Charles—’

  ‘That’s probably true. I can’t remember whether it was my idea or not. It just seemed a good idea at the time and I got carried along with it.’ Julia couldn’t believe she was talking to a man like this, but there was something solid about Latham that reminded her of a favourite uncle, and encouraged her confidence. ‘I suppose you think I’m stupid.’

  ‘No. I fully understand that women have their needs as well as men. However, you should be a little more discriminating. Men like Charles and his friends are fun, but they live to satisfy their own needs and don’t give a damn about anyone else. No man worth his salt would use a woman as sport. As for Irene, be careful. She’s just as lacking in character as her brother. She chopped up some marijuana and added it to the filling of those vol-au-vents you ate, so she was probably in on it.’

  ‘Irene did that?’ Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. ‘How could she when she said she was my friend?’

  ‘Irene is inclined towards spur-of-the-moment actions, just for the hell of it.’

  She was crestfallen as she remembered her father. ‘Do you think my father will find out about it?’

  He came to where she sat, took her into his arms and stroked her hair. ‘Don’t fret, Julia my dear. If he does, I’ll tell him you were with me the whole time and someone was making mischief.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be worse? After all, you’re a man, even though you’re twice my age.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t find you attractive, and I’m not exactly ancient, only forty-three.’ He gave a little chuckle, and taking out a white handkerchief, shook it out of its starched creases and dried her tears. ‘In fact, I’m a little annoyed that you didn’t consider me for that particular little service you wanted done. Sometimes, experience is far better than the vigour of youth.’

  She blushed and grinned at the same time. ‘Is it? I must admit I’m sick of being innocent . . . or should I say ignorant about such matters. But I daresay Daddy was right, and I should keep myself tidy in case I meet a man who wants to marry me.’

  ‘You have met one. I’ll marry you if you’ll have me, then you can lose your virginity in a manner that would meet all your father’s expectations – in the marriage bed.’

  She was about to burst into laughter when she saw the seriousness of his expression. ‘Surely you don’t mean that?’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of proposing marriage to all and sundry. Of course I mean it.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘I realized at Christmas that I’d fallen in love with you.’

  The baldness of his statement nearly robbed her of breath. ‘What about Irene?’

  He gave a slight frown. ‘What about Irene?’

  ‘I thought . . . she said . . . I thought you and she were emotionally involved?’

  ‘That’s a rather quaint way of putting it, since my emotions have never been engaged with those belonging to Irene. Look, my dear, I’ve put my cards on the table, so you’ll know exactly where you stand in my estimation.’

  Julia found herself looking at Latham Miller as a man now, instead of an older man. Forty-three wasn’t exactly ancient. He was well muscled and upright, with an aura of power about him. He was not flamboyant. In the city he wore a dark suit, but here he dressed casually in grey flannel trousers and checked, double-breasted sports jacket over a grey knitted pullover, white shirt and tie. Well-worn brogues were a perfect fit on his feet, and a discreet gold signature ring decorated his little finger.

  ‘I’m honoured—’

  H
is chuckle stopped her in her tracks. ‘I was waiting for that. Before you add a rider starting with but all I’m asking you to do is think about it. I can give you everything you’ll ever want or need . . . including children.’

  ‘I hardly know you, Latham.’

  ‘You know me better than you did Charles. I can guarantee that I have all my own teeth. I’m also free of any disease usually attributed to those who make a habit of loose living. Do you love Charles?’

  She winced. ‘Of course I don’t love him. I mean . . . he’s all right and is good fun, but I didn’t want him for a husband or anything.’

  ‘Did you take the precaution of asking him if he was clean?’

  ‘Clean?’ She turned as red as a lobster when she realized what he meant. ‘Why . . . no.’

  ‘Then turning yourself into a slut to entertain him and his friends could have turned into a long-term tragedy. It’s not in your nature to be promiscuous, Julia.’

  She gasped at his plain speaking. If only he knew how promiscuous she felt at times. She told herself that being a woman alone didn’t seem natural, and here was a perfectly good man asking her to become his mate and bear his children.

  Deep inside her she detected a primitive response at the thought of those children being created. Perhaps she was a slut. She tried not to think about it. ‘I don’t know what my father would say to your proposal.’

  ‘Then ask him, by all means. I’ve already made it clear to him what my intentions are towards you.’

  Her eyes widened at that. ‘And he approved?’

  ‘Let’s say he didn’t disapprove. Quite rightly, he said that you’d have to make up your own mind. And that’s what I’m asking you to do. Not now and not even tomorrow. I’m a patient man. In the meantime, allow me to call on you and take you out so you can get to know me a little better.’

  He was persuasive, and she was weakening. ‘What if we don’t . . . suit?’

  ‘In what way?’ he said, but his eyes showed his amusement plainly.

  Her mouth twitched into a grin. He was playing with her, and she liked it. ‘You know damned well what I’m talking about.’