He lay down beside her again, but he wasn't smiling. She looked at him uncertainly. She reached out a tentative hand and stroked his chest until she felt him begin to relax.
'Still pals, Alan?' she whispered coaxingly.
'Dunno,' he said gruffly, but she could see he was softening.
She began to touch herself, moving her body tantalisingly under her own manipulations. As she sensed his eyes on her and his breathing grow quicker, she played with her nipples until they hardened. Then she moved her hand down between her legs.
'Let me,' he said urgently. She let him take over.
She stroked his thick hair as he bit her nipples. 'Gently ... not so rough.' She could feel him getting excited again. 'Alan, I didn't mean to laugh at you.' It was important to her that he should forgive her.
'Forget it.' He didn't even raise his head.
'I ... I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. I ... really like you.' She had to make him understand why she was letting him make love to her.
'OK, OK.'
'Do you ... think you could ... learn to love me, Alan?'
'Can't you stop your yakking?'
She felt hurt. What was so wrong in exchanging words of love? They were making love after all, weren't they? She stirred as he pushed her legs apart. Connie made a small sound of protest, and he looked up at her.
'What is it now?'
She cringed at the note of impatience in his voice. 'Can't... can't we go a bit slower?'
'Slower?'
'Yes, I mean, do you have to rush so much? Can't we ... talk a bit?'
'What the hell do you want to talk for? Don't be so stupid!' He rolled her over on to her front as if she were a sack of potatoes.
Tears sprang to Connie's eyes, but she bit her lip. This wasn't how she wanted it to be, wasn't how she'd imagined it. There was no love, no warmth. It was just an act of sex without mutual understanding between them. She felt him spread her buttocks and raised herself on her elbows to look around at him.
'Don't ... '
He ignored her.
She felt he was treating her like an object, as if she had no feelings. She didn't want to be used like this. It shouldn't be so brutal – it was degrading and humiliating. Cruelly he held her down and used her to satisfy his desires, ignoring her pleas.
'Alan. Stop!' There was a note of hysteria in her voice now, but either he didn't hear or chose not to listen. He penetrated her from behind. Happily, she blacked out.
She didn't know how much later it was when she recovered her senses. She was alone, with only the tangled and stained counterpane to show he had been there. Connie ached all over but, with an effort, hauled herself over to the mirror. Her hair hung dishevelled over her shoulder, her face was streaked with tears and make-up, the skin red and blotchy. Bruises were on her upper arms. It hurt to walk, but she crossed the room and wrenched open the door. Not caring who heard now, she pounded on Tilly's door and didn't stop until it opened to show Tilly in her nightdress.
She yawned. 'What's up, kid?'
'Is Alan here?'
'Here? Nah. I s'pose he left when Gary did. Why, what's up?' She had noticed Connie's state. Her mouth dropped open. 'Gawd, what went on in there?'
Connie felt unbearably weary. 'Doesn't matter.' She turned to go but Tilly clutched hold of her.
'Tell me!'
Her anger flared. 'Shove it, Tilly! Just leave me alone, will you?'
Tilly's hand dropped smartly as if she'd been burnt. 'Sure, but I was only trying to 'elp.'
'Do us both a favour and don't! I don't need help, certainly not yours!'
Connie turned on her heel and dragged herself back into her room. Alone again, her anger drained away, to be replaced by a frozen numbness and shock. Steeling herself, she shrugged off her dress and crept between the bed covers to lie there, trembling. She didn't think she would sleep but eventually, tired and miserable, she did.
In the morning, looking pale and drawn, Connie crept downstairs, only to be waylaid by the landlady at the bottom.
'And where do you think you're going, young lady? We've words to say, you and I!'
Connie's hands fluttered to her forehead. 'I ... I've got a headache. I'm just on my way to work ... '
'Headache indeed!' the woman said scornfully. 'After last night's rumpus I should think you would have more than a headache!'
'Please, I'll be late, Mrs Withers. Can't this wait until I come home this evening?'
'I want this cleared up now, Missy, because tonight this isn't going to be your home!' She folded her arms, a righteous expression on her face.
Connie gave her a piteous look. 'Wha... what have I done wrong?'
'Hah! Don't come the Miss Innocent with me, it won't wash! You know full well what I'm talking about, so don't you pretend! I wasn't born yesterday!I heard you all upstairs, drinking and larking around, and then you screaming afterwards! What my neighbours will think, I don't know, but I saw them sailors nipping out very sharpish, so don't you try and fool me.' She smiled triumphantly.
'I promise it won't ever happen again ... '
'You're too darned right it won't, I'm making sure of that, because tonight you'll pack your bags. I'm not doing that for you, however much I want you out right now.'
Connie looked troubled. 'But I've nowhere to go!' she said desperately.
'That's your concern, not mine! I'm sure you'll find somewhere – perhaps you could shack up on a ship, you'd like it there, wouldn't you!'
'I'm no tramp,' Connie shouted, stung into defence.
The woman ignored that. 'And I've given your pal Tilly Liner the boot as well. It'll be good to be rid of both of you, giving this house a bad name!'
'Tilly gone? Where to?'
'I didn't bloody ask her, and I don't give a damn either! I'm telling you all this now from the kindness of my heart, because I can afford to be generous and you can start while you're at work looking around for a new place!'
'Please, can't you give me another chance?'
'Not bloody likely!' And with that, Mrs Withers turned and marched into her room, banging the door victoriously behind her.
Connie wished she could go back to bed to curl up and die, but youthful resilience asserted itself against her wishes and Connie struggled to Jessop House.
The lift attendant frowned when Connie didn't answer his hello, but seeing her wan face and dead-looking eyes. didn't say anything. When she passed Miss Jacks in the corridor, the woman paused on seeing the girl.
'My goodness, Constance, you look as if you've a bad hangover.'
She forced a smile. 'I have,' Connie replied.
'Black coffee's the trick,' the woman said briskly as she walked off.
Sheila Delaney was writing when Connie entered.
'Heavens, lovey, what is it?' Sheila asked in consternation as the girl came closer and she was able to see her face. Connie stood before her, an abject and forlorn figure. Then her hand bag banged against her knees as her resolve gave way, and her blonde hair flopped over her face as sobs racked her.
'Connie, come and sit down!' She put an arm around the girl's shoulders and led her to a couch. 'Now tell me all about it,' she said when they were seated.
From her pocket, Connie took out a tissue, and blew her nose, then looked across at Sheila from puffy eyes. 'It's all gone wrong!'
'What has?'
'I've been thrown out of my room ... '
' ... You told me you didn't like your landlady anyway. But don't worry, we'll find you somewhere else.'
'I've got to leave tonight. There's just no time ... '
'You can stay with me until you get fixed up, no trouble. But why should she do such a thing all of a sudden ... ?'
Connie hung her head. 'Tilly and I met two men last night, and they came back with us. It ... it's because of them that we're having to leave, but there's more, Sheila. It's worse than what I've just told you ... '
'I thought it might be,' Sheila said gently, looking at the g
irl's distraught face.
'Oh, I don't care about them, about him, I never want to see him again! He ... Alan, one of the men, well, he ... raped me.' She ended in a whisper, not daring to see the effect of her words on Sheila.
Hand clapped to mouth, Sheila stared in horror. 'Oh, Connie!' Her mouth worked as she tried to find words of comfort, something that might alleviate the shock. 'We'll find him, he's got to be punished ... Where does he work?'
'He's ... an officer on a ship.'
'What's the name of his ship?'
Connie shook her head dully. 'I don't know. He didn't say.'
'Well, what's his name? We'll soon find out by phoning ... '
' ... No! Please, Sheila, don't!' Connie gripped her hand so hard it made the other girl wince. 'I don't want anything more to do with him; I just want to forget it ever happened!'
There followed a silence, which Sheila broke hesitantly. She chose her words with care. 'Connie, did you . . . did you take precautions?'
Connie shook her head, then raised her face quickly. 'Don't worry, it'll be all right ... '
A wave of anger shot through Sheila, not for the girl's foolishness, but for the unknown man who was getting away scot-free. One look at Connie's pitifully white face, and the anger was replaced by sympathy, tenderness.
'All right, we'll do it your way,' she sighed. 'It's a shame you can't go home and rest ... '
'I'd much rather stay here, Sheila,' Connie put in quickly and, when the other nodded, went on: 'And I want you to know how grateful I am for your being so understanding about it all, and especially for the offer of a bed.'
'It'll be nice to have company. Now,' Sheila became business-like, 'we'll have a coffee, you take a couple of aspirins and, if you can, we'll get down to some work. I've got a busy schedule today but, as you say, some hard graft probably will be the best remedy for you.'
Later, when Sheila was attending a meeting, Connie didn't waste time, but got on with what she had been given. Now and then her mind wandered back, but she jerked herself back to attention sharply. Samuel Jessop called in after a while and, although he looked tired, with shadows under his eyes, he appeared his usual crisp and immaculate self.
'Morning, Miss Sands.'
'Mr Jessop.'
'Miss Delaney out?' He paused in his stride to look back at her.
'Yes, out,' she repeated. 'At a meeting.'
'Urn, yes. Is my mail sorted?'
'On your desk, sir.'
Just before his door closed; he said: 'Be a good girl and get me a coffee, will you?'
She finished the letter she had been typing, placed it neatly in the correspondence blotter, and went over to the small tab!e where the percolator was still bubbling hot. She poured out a cupful, added cream and sugar, then took it in to him.
'I've made out a list of calls that I'd like you to get,' Jessop said, handing her a sheet of paper, 'and I want you to make some appointments for me ... ' His eyes narrowed as he looked at her closely, and he didn't finish his sentence. 'Are you feeling all right?'
She shifted uneasily. 'Yes.' Then added a second later, 'thank you.'
'You look peaky to me.'
Her lips pressed together. 'I'm OK, Mr Jessop.'
He shrugged and dismissed her with an abrupt wave of his hand. Try as he might, it seemed that she didn't want to be friendly. Connie went out, softly shutting the door behind her and went to sit down at her desk. The slip of paper lay before her on the table ignored, and she didn't touch the telephone. She was remembering, and trying not to. She stared out of the window sightlessly, chewing her bottom lip, her mind filling with unwanted thoughts and images, feeling her body stirring curiously as his face materialised again and again. When the intercom buzzed a second time, sharp and demanding, she hastily flicked a switch.
'Yes, sir?'
'Are you getting my calls?' He sounded irritable.
'Right away, Mr Jessop.' Deliberately, she cleared her mind of everything but the present and plunged herself again into her work.
Samuel Jessop left the office for a luncheon appointment, but Connie stayed in to have a quick snack before continuing. Slowly, the day wore on, was relatively quiet and undisturbed, and soon all the letters were finished, forms were completed and photocopied, and there was nothing else to occupy her thoughts. When the silence and loneliness began to get unbearable, Connie took to sharpening all the pencils she could find, then tidied out drawers. Jessop, before he had left, had told her he wouldn't be back, so there wasn't even his presence to occupy her attention.
Her thoughts kept returning to Alan Ho, and hate welled up inside, almost choking her. She clenched her jaw and, with her fist, banged the desk: top repeatedly, as if it were his head she were pulverising. Bastard! bastard! she kept thinking, then paused, said it aloud, softly and curiously. So am I. She felt herself drowning in a sea of desolation and her heart ached with an intense longing for the mother she had never known.
Does she ever think of what's become of her baby? Connie wondered bleakly. Does she ever feel guilt or even sorrow for having abandoned me? Her throat ached and there seemed to be a deep pit in her stomach; she laid her head on her arms. But still the tears stayed inside; she couldn't cry.
She was still in that position when Sheila Delaney returned. Connie did not hear the door open, and Sheila looked at the girl's slumped attitude for a long while until instinct made Connie raise her face. Sheila pulled off her gloves and hurried over.
'Have you been crying?' She placed her hands fiat on the table and stared into Connie's face anxiously.
'Trying to.' A nerve twitched under her eyes, and Connie flung back her hair which had fallen over her shoulders, and rubbed her face tiredly. 'I was just thinking,' she continued, 'but I've done everything you gave me to do.'
Sheila sat on the desk, crossed her legs, and picked up the correspondence blotter. Automatically, Connie handed her a pen and Sheila started to sign the letters.
'I've been to see your landlady,' Sheila began, eyes on the typed pages in her lap. 'I didn't think you'd want to go back there yourself so that she could gloat over you. She's really a thoroughly unpleasant individual.'
Connie didn't ask why Sheila should have gone there. All the letters signed, Sheila bounced to her feet.
'I packed your suitcase for you. Mrs Withers wasn't too keen to let me into your room at first, said you owed her some rent, but when I argued and paid up, she just handed me the key and let me get on with it.'
'I owed her nothing,' Connie flared.
Sheila grimaced. 'I didn't actually think you did, but the money doesn't matter. Anyway. I've taken your case over to my flat already so you can come straight back with me now and get settled in. I hope I managed to pack everything of yours.'
'It isn't time to go yet,' Connie began, but Sheila laughed.
'I'm your boss, and I say you're finished for the day. There's nothing to stay for, so don't object. Come along, Connie, you can have a hot bath, get something hot inside you, then straight to bed. You look worn out.'
'Are you sure I'll not be in your way?'
'Silly,' came the affectionate reply. 'You may stay with me as long as you like, there's bags of room and honestly, the divan is extremely comfortable. I've already made it up, with sheets and blankets, so you'll get a good night's sleep tonight.'
As Sheila picked up her gloves, Connie planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Sheila smiled, understanding, and the two left Jessop House.
To her surprise, the succeeding days flew by for Connie. The pain of the assault and the empty feeling faded, thanks in a large part to Sheila's sympathy and helpfulness. Samuel Jessop, on hearing about the arrangement, had expressed surprise that Sheila's young assistant was living with her, but he didn't pry or offer any comment. To himself he acknowledged that he was pleased, more than a little relieved that Sheila had found someone else to mother.
After a couple of weeks, Connie suggested moving to a place of her own. Sheila wouldn't hear o
f it, but Connie insisted over Sheila's objections in paying for her keep, overruling the objections with the argument that it would help to restore her shattered self-respect. Connie was happy with the arrangement because Sheila had the gift of making her feel that she was not a burden. So both were happy.
The warning signs arrived after about six weeks.
For a week or more, Connie had been feeling off-colour but had kept her fears to herself so that Sheila would not be alarmed. One Monday morning Connie woke with a headache and raced to the bathroom when a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. Sheila, laying the table for breakfast, looked up at Connie's pale face as she entered.
'Again?'
A weak nod.
Sheila took a deep breath. 'You know what's wrong, don't you.' It wasn't a question.
Connie licked her lips. 'I know. I missed my last period. I wanted to wait: wasn't sure at first, but there's no doubt about it now, I suppose.'
'Let me try and find that man, Connie. He's got to know,' Sheila pleaded.
Connie shook her head sharply. 'What good will that do? The ship must've sailed weeks ago, and he can't do anything now.'
'It's partly his responsibility.'
'No!' Another spasm shook her, and Sheila leapt to her feet.
'Let me get you a doctor, you look ghastly!'
'I'll be all right in a second.' Connie wiped her damp forehead with a tissue, and stretched her lips into a pathetic smile for Sheila's benefit. 'I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, Sheila. Not strong, though. Plenty of milk.'
Sheila scurried into the kitchen and busied herself. Connie bent double as her stomach heaved.
Sheila returned bearing a tray on which there was a cup of tea and some slices of bread and butter.
'Eat,' she pleaded, but Connie shook her head.
'Just this, thanks,' she said, taking the hot tea and sipping at it
warily.
Sheila sat down at the table and looked at Connie worriedly, ignoring the time. 'I don't like to leave you in this state.'
'Don't worry. I know you've got an important do this morning with all the top brass. Samuel Jessop'll be there, and you know him, he'll expect you to attend.'
'I can phone and cancel.'
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