“Look at you!” she exclaimed in delight. She had never seen a more adorable group of pink faces. They were dressed in their pajamas, their hair brushed with neat partings by Nanny.
“W-w-w-w-we’re thpying,” exclaimed Bouncy in a loud voice, his stammer more pronounced due to tiredness. She doubted he had ever stayed up so late.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Bouncy?” she replied, climbing the stairs to join them.
“It’s too noisy to sleep,” complained Wilfrid earnestly. “The tent is right below our window.”
“We want to watch the party!” said Harry.
“W-w-w-w-we’re thpying,” repeated Bouncy, his large brown eyes wide with excitement.
“Does Nanny know you’re here?”
“She’s not my nanny,” Harry corrected.
“Nor ours! She’s Bouncy’s,” agreed Sam.
“Can you hear the rain?” said Wilfrid. “It’s very loud.”
“Will it thunder?” Sam asked.
“I’m sure it will, and lightning, too. You’re not afraid of thunder and lightning, are you, Bouncy?” The little boy looked anxious. “Do you know what thunder is?” He put his finger in his mouth and nodded slowly. “It’s angry clouds having a jolly good fight. That’s all. Nothing to be frightened of.”
“I bet the rain will drown our traps,” said Harry despondently.
“It’ll drown all the rats if you’re lucky,” Celestria replied. “Then you can take them to Cyril and he’ll reward you handsomely.”
“Is the party fun?” asked Harry, a little enviously.
“Great fun. But this is the boring bit when Uncle Archie and Papa give speeches. Much more fun up here, I can promise you.” She ran her fingers through Bouncy’s thick hair. “As for you, young man, I think you should go to bed. It’s very late. What will Nanny say if she finds you?”
“Thee w-w-w-won’t find me, because I-I-I-I-I’ll hide,” he said with a naughty grin. Celestria smiled back. It was impossible not to smile at everything Bouncy said. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his rosy cheek.
“You run off now, darling. Good night.” She skipped down the stairs, holding up the skirt of her dress so it billowed about her legs like a parachute.
She waited on the sofa in the drawing room like a patient lioness for her lion, half listening to the drone of speeches as first Archie and then her father settled into their strides and clearly grew to relish the sound of their own voices amplified above the roar of the rain. She threw herself back against the cushions and dreamed of dancing with Rafferty.
Soames peered over. “Are you all right, Miss Celestria?”
“Just a severe case of boredom, Soames. Nothing a little music and dancing won’t cure.”
When at last the speeches were over, she hastened to the bathroom to check her appearance before embarking on a night of romance with her handsome new admirer.
Her hopes were dashed, however, by her cousin Melissa, whom she found in front of the mirror in a state of extreme excitement. “I’m in love!” she breathed, staring at her flushed face in the glass. Celestria noticed the slack jaw and reminded herself never to allow hers to fall so.
“With Rafferty?” she asked. It was too tiresome to have to feign ignorance.
“Do you know him?” she replied, surprised.
“I met him before dinner. He’s a friend of Dan’s.”
Her face brightened. “You like Dan, don’t you? Lotty said you did.”
“Not really,” Celestria replied breezily. “He’s very sweet, but not my type, after all.”
“Well, Rafferty has promised me the first dance,” she said hurriedly.
“Perhaps he’ll promise me the second,” Celestria replied, and her cousin’s face showed her mortification. She knew as well as anyone there simply wasn’t any point competing with Celestria.
“Oh, I can hear the music,” Melissa exclaimed, her voice almost a wail, and left the room in a flurry.
“What’s she crying about?” asked Pamela, rustling in to powder her nose and apply lipstick. “It must be a man. It’s always a man!”
“She’s in love with Rafferty.”
“Who?” her mother asked.
“He’s Irish and more handsome than you can imagine. Dan Wilmotte brought him.”
“He’s clearly not on her level of the food chain.” Pamela placed her little bag on the marble and pulled out her gold powder compact.
“He’s a lion,” Celestria replied proudly.
Pamela dusted her nose. “Now I understand the tears. Poor Missy, she shouldn’t aim so high; she’ll only get bruised when she falls. I suppose you like him.”
“He’s been making eyes at me all evening.”
“How presumptuous of him.”
“I’ve been encouraging him, Mama.”
“Is that wise? You know nothing about him.”
“He’s gorgeous and charming.”
Her mother sighed and replaced the little powder puff in its case, closing it with a snap. “That doesn’t mean he’s got the qualities that make him worthy of you.”
“If you mean money, I don’t know.”
“I’m not entirely shallow, darling. I mean, is he kind? Loyal? Has he got integrity? Does he respect you? Or is he just after a little tumble in the flower beds?”
“Really, Mama. He’s not like that at all. At least, I don’t think he is.” She recalled Humphrey’s hot hand on her thigh and decided to tell her mother.
“Humphrey! How ghastly!” Pamela replied, suitably appalled. “He’s a dirty old man. You see, Celestria, men are all the same. They all want a little flesh. You just have to decide whether or not you want to give it to them.”
“Not Papa!”
“Yes, Papa. That’s why I have to keep myself looking beautiful—so I don’t lose him to some lovely young thing.”
Celestria was horrified. She had never heard her mother talk about her father like that. “I’d hate to think of Papa being as fresh as Humphrey.”
“Of course he’s nothing like Humphrey. Good Lord, no! Your father’s far too well mannered and decent. He’d never flirt so coarsely with a girl his daughter’s age, though your father does like to flirt.” Celestria noticed an edge of bitterness in her mother’s voice. She swayed a little in front of the mirror, tidying her hair with her hand. She was tipsy. Celestria was startled; it was so unlike her mother. “Your father gave me this when he made his first fortune,” she said, tracing her hand across the diamond brooch that was pinned to her dress. “He said he had to find stars big enough to outshine the stars in my eyes. So typical of Monty.” She laughed, the brittleness now softened by the warmth of her memories. “I told him even my father couldn’t have chosen better, and he was so proud. I know he felt the pressure of marrying an heiress. He wanted to make his own money, to stand on his own two feet. He accepted nothing from my father, only me! Well, he made money all on his own. My father’s very proud of him, though he’s never told him so. Men! They’re not very good at being sentimental.” Celestria watched the two interwoven stars glitter in the yellow light. That was how she saw her parents, interwoven with glitter. “Wouldn’t life be wonderful if one could freeze it before one falls off the peak and sinks onto a less satisfactory plateau?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not a bed of roses, even with your father. Marriage has to be worked at, and work of any sort doesn’t suit me.” She took a tissue and dabbed the corner of her eye with a trembling hand. In a small voice she added, “I’ll give it a try. Your father’s worth the effort, don’t you agree? I just wish he was around more. He’s growing into a stranger.”
“He just works too hard. Perhaps if you talked to him—”
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Papa’s not dull.”
“His absence is making my life dull, darling. After the war we had to get to know each other again. Now I feel we’re going backwards, but there’s no war to g
ive it a veneer of acceptability. It’s all very well being off all the time if you’re fighting to save your country. Making money doesn’t cut it. Not anymore.”
Celestria placed her hand on top of her mother’s. It wasn’t easy discussing her father like that. She had placed him so high on a pedestal she was barely able to see him, let alone know him. She wasn’t ready to accept that he had flaws.
They returned to the tent as the first rumble of thunder vibrated through the air. The band had begun to play Frank Sinatra and couples were already dancing, led by the birthday boy himself and Julia. She saw Rafferty and Melissa pressed up against each other and was sure the Irishman was just being polite. After all, Melissa was no looker.
“May I?” came a voice behind her.
“Dan!” Pamela exclaimed. “How lovely to see you. Who’s this very dashing friend you’ve brought with you?”
“Rafferty O’Grady, Mrs. Montague.”
“Is he as charming as they all say?”
“Wild would be a more appropriate word, I think,” he replied with a chuckle, looking at Celestria. “The Irish are all wild.”
“In that case I’m happy to leave my only daughter in your capable hands.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say I told you so, then moved off, weaving unsteadily around the tables to find her husband. Celestria was intrigued. Dan was sweet and handsome, but Rafferty was dark and mysterious. The very idea of his being “wild” gave him greater allure.
They stepped onto the dance floor and took up positions, although Celestria didn’t feel inclined to press up against Dan as Melissa had so presumptuously done to poor Rafferty. The rain pelted down outside, and the thunder roared above them. She imagined the sea was roaring, too, those great big lion’s paws rising up in waves and pounding the shoreline. She wondered whether little Bouncy had gone off to bed like she’d told him to, or whether he was still sitting at the top of the stairs, afraid of the storm. Then Rafferty caught her eye and she ceased to wonder about anything else.
She pretended to be enjoying her dance with Dan. It wasn’t good for Rafferty to believe he had already won her, and, besides, a little chase would render the catch all the more enthralling. She danced on, and then, when she had grown bored of the game, she retreated to her table on Dan’s arm, grateful that the tedious old lecher had vacated his chair and disappeared into the throng. Dan refilled her glass with champagne. In order to cope with the agony of waiting for Rafferty, she took a large swig. “Darling, you don’t know how good that tastes. Why not fill it up again? After all, it’s Uncle Archie’s birthday, and he’d be most offended if I didn’t drink to his good health.” Dan did as he was told. For some reason, tonight she resented his attentiveness. She suddenly longed for him to tell her she was drinking too much, to take command, to put her in her place. They were all putty in her hands. So she took another swig. And another. Then another, until her glass was empty. “Just a little more. One mustn’t offend the birthday boy!” she insisted, aware that her head was beginning to spin. To her intense irritation, he kept pouring without a moment’s hesitation. She was on the point of telling him off for indulging her when Rafferty appeared with Melissa.
“May I ask the lady for a dance?” he said, his mouth twisted in amusement.
“If I can dance with your lady?” Dan replied, standing up. Celestria watched him take Melissa by the hand and lead her off towards the dance floor.
“Celestria?” said Rafferty, and her name had never sounded so lovely. She held out her hand, aware that she must have taken off her gloves and that she would feel his skin against hers. Their fingers touched, and that hot snake stirred at the foot of her spine. She suppressed a giggle, conscious of the champagne bubbles that tickled her belly. With an arrogant smile that she found devilishly seductive, he proceeded to lead her across the tent.
Once on the dance floor he swung her around and pulled her against him, pressing his cheek to hers. “Now I have you all to myself,” he murmured. “I’m where I’ve wanted to be all evening.” Celestria was flattered. They swayed to the music, and the more they swayed the more dizzy her head became. She couldn’t recall how many glasses of champagne she’d had, and she was too happy to care.
She saw her parents dancing, and, even through the hazy, alcohol-induced blur, she could tell that they were not happy. Her father was looking stern, while Pamela’s face was pinched and miserable. Celestria closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of Rafferty’s skin. Aroused by the proximity of their bodies, she began to rub herself against him in a sleepy rhythm, barely aware of what she was doing. It wasn’t long before she felt the hard evidence of his excitement. Unaware of the dangers of arousing a man, she was curious and a little careless with the power her beauty gave her. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered into her ear, and led her out of the tent.
As they hurried through the hall Celestria glanced up to the top of the stairs where the children had been hiding. They must have all gone to bed. “Where are you taking me?” she giggled, feigning resistance.
“Somewhere we can be alone,” he replied without glancing back. He opened the door to the little sitting room and crept inside. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. “It smells of wood smoke in here,” he said, closing the door behind her.
“I lit a fire this afternoon for Mama. She hates the cold.”
“I can’t see a thing. Damn, where’s the sofa?”
“Now it’s your turn to follow me.” She led him carefully around the coffee table, upon which Julia had stacked art books in neat piles, alongside a large bowl full of postcards collected over the years.
Rafferty wasted no time. He threw off his dinner jacket and fell back onto the cushions, pulling her with him so that she was squeezed between his body and the back of the sofa. Without another word he began to kiss her. The hot snake was wide awake by now and curling madly up her spine, causing her skin to tingle all over and a warm aching feeling to grow between her legs. The sound of rain tapping against the window enhanced the romance of it all, and her heart swelled with happiness.
His hands were warm as he caressed her face, tracing his fingers down her cheek and neck and onto the swell of her breasts, now barely contained beneath the bodice of her dress. She arched her back by way of encouragement. He pulled away a moment, and she could sense him smiling through the blackness. “You’re a dark horse, aren’t you, Celestria?” He ran his tongue across her lips. For a hideous moment she was reminded of Humphrey and his wandering hand.
She tried to push Humphrey’s sweaty face out of her mind and concentrate on Rafferty, now caressing her breasts and nuzzling into her neck. His bristle scratched her skin, his wet tongue slid over it, and the snake, having been cooled considerably by the thought of Humphrey, now grew hot again. Rafferty took her hand and pulled it down to where his own ardor was straining for attention. He placed it on the stiff rod between his legs and groaned as she touched it. So this was it. This insistent thing that fathered generations, ruined reputations, started wars, inspired heroism and adventure, discovery and conquest, but, more often than not, caused the downfall of many a brilliant man. This, which she now held in her hand, was it. She felt like Delilah with a pair of scissors. One snip and that would be the end of his power. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured urgently. She wanted to laugh at the way men lost themselves in the flesh of beautiful women. Aidan Cooney had been the same: the heavy breathing, sweating brow, writhing hips, urgent whisperings, as if driven mad by the rod that wouldn’t be quiet until satisfied.
Now his fingers found their way up beneath the skirt of her dress. With a gentle touch he traced along the silk top of her stocking until they lingered enticingly at the fastening of her suspender belt. “You like this, don’t you?” he breathed, lifting his head to look at her through the darkness. All she could see were two shiny pearls where the light from under the door reflected in his eyes. His fingers circled the flesh at the top of her thigh until they reached the lace of her knickers. She
remembered the delicious sensation of Aidan’s fingers and opened her legs a fraction to allow him access. “I could tell you like it from the moment I met you,” he continued, and his voice resonated with the same smugness as Humphrey’s. Furious at his comment, she clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand between them. He laughed, enjoying the game. “Don’t pretend you’re not excited. We’re the same, you and I.” He tried to wriggle his hand free, but her thighs remained firmly shut. “Come on, Celestria, let me in.” He hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t laughing.
She sat up. He withdrew his hand. “What’s the matter?”
“You’ve obviously misunderstood. I’m not that sort of girl. I’m a virgin, of course!” She smoothed down her dress.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He seemed genuinely mortified.
“You think I’m fast, don’t you?”
“It’s just a bit of fun.”
“That’s what Humphrey said!”
“Who’s Humphrey?”
“The disgusting old bore who had his hand on my knee the whole way through dinner. I think this has gone quite far enough!” she exclaimed angrily, climbing over him. Feeling frighteningly sober and as much out of love as a girl could possibly be, she stumbled towards the door.
“Was it something I said?” he stammered in bewilderment.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” she replied, fumbling for the handle. Then he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her hair.
“I didn’t mean to go so fast. I’m sorry, I just got carried away. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m just a hot-blooded Irishman. You make a man crazy!”
“I got carried away, too,” she said coldly, finding the handle and turning it. “But we’ve had our fun. Let’s go back to the party.”
A woman’s heart is a deep and complex thing, she thought with a sigh. Even she didn’t understand it. She left the sitting room more than a little disappointed at not, after all, being in love. But she couldn’t love a man who didn’t respect her. Rafferty wasn’t a lion after all; he was a dog in lion’s clothing.
Sea of Lost Love Page 6