Act of Will

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  He took hold of her wrist quickly, firmly, pulled her down onto the floor with him. Impatiently, he kicked off his pyjama bottoms, stretched out next to her on the carpet, wrapped his body around hers, held her close to him. Wanting to possess her though he was, he wished to prolong their loving for a short while.

  Lifting himself up on one elbow, he glanced down. Their eyes locked in a gaze so filled with passion, so intense, so searching in its depth of feeling it seemed to sear them both. Vincent thought he was seeing into her very soul. Her face overflowed with her abiding love for him and her yearning. And looking into those clear green eyes, Audra saw the burning desire in them, and the wonderment, and the glitter of bright tears, and her heart clenched as she reached up to touch his face.

  It was Vincent who finally broke the contact. He found it unbearable, suddenly, to look at her in this manner, so moved was he by her and so choked up with feeling.

  Now his glance swept over her body stretched out before him.

  How pale and translucent she looked in the moonlight streaming in through the open window. She resembled a piece of perfectly sculpted marble, except that no cold stone was she. He sighed. She was warm and desirable flesh and blood. How lovely her breasts were, pearlytinted, rounded and smooth, and her nipples were upright and hard like little bursting May buds, deep rose in colour.

  ‘Oh Audra,’ he breathed. ‘My Audra. You’re so beautiful.’

  She half smiled, lifted her hand, smoothed one finger along his lips, then traced an outline around his mouth in the shape of a bow.

  He caught hold of her hand, kissed the palm, then bent over her, brought his mouth to the cleft between her breasts and kissed her, enjoying the fragrant smell of her young sweet skin. Presently, he cupped his hand around her breast, began to fondle the nipple. It sprang up, grew more taut and erect than ever under his caressing fingers. Audra let out a little gasp of joy as his mouth came down on her other breast.

  She cleaved to him, ran her hands over his back, then up onto his neck, and she twined her fingers in his crisp dark hair.

  ‘Oh Vincent, Vincent, I love you so much,’ she whispered.

  On hearing his name, this endearment, he pulled away from her, moved rapidly. He braced himself above her on his hands.

  There was no reason to wait now. He could not wait.

  He took her urgently, needing to be joined to her, needing to make them as one. He shafted deeper and deeper, luxuriating in her total embrace, one that enfolded him in warmth and love and made him feel complete in a way that he had never felt except with her.

  Oh yes, how he did love her… this lovely girl he held in his arms… his beautiful wife. She was his. They were made for each other, belonged together. And oh, how he fitted into her so well.

  Slipping his hands under her body, he lifted her closer to him, clasping her tightly, plunging in and out. And she thrust herself up to meet his long and thrusting strokes. Her arms clung to him and she matched his fervent loving with an urgency of her own.

  He cried out in his rapture, called her name over and over, all the time clutching her to him as though never to let her go. He knew he could not control himself much longer, that he was on the verge of exploding. He thought he might be blacking out. He seemed to be pitching forward from a great height… falling, falling, falling.

  ‘Oh, I’m ready,’ he gasped against her burning cheek. ‘Oh Audra. Take all of me. Now.’

  ‘Oh Vincent!’

  She arched her body towards his, meeting his passion, accepting it with love, offering him her passion in return, showing no restraint.

  Wave upon wave of pure joy washed over her and she thought she was drowning in her pleasure and his. Suddenly she was gripped by an uncontrollable trembling and she crested up on the soaring waves and as she did she felt an immense shuddering pass through him, and they were united in their shattering release. And then he fell against her, lay exhausted in her arms and she stroked his hair, rested her head on his, feeling exhausted too, and overwhelmed by her emotions.

  ***

  Eventually Vincent roused himself. ‘I’m too heavy,’ he murmured against her throat.

  ‘No, it’s all right. Anyway, I like to feel the weight of you on me,’ she whispered. Then she shook her head. ‘Why on earth am I whispering?’ she wondered out loud, speaking in her normal voice.

  ‘I’ve no idea. And God knows why we’re lying here on the floor.’ He began to chuckle.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’

  ‘I am, love. For months and months all I could think about was making love to you in a nice comfy bed and now that we have one in the very next room I ignore it, choose the floor instead. Can you beat that!’ He pushed himself up on one elbow, moved a strand of hair away from her face. ‘Anyway, it’s all your fault.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re a little temptress, that’s why. There you were, standing by the window in the moonlight and my heart did somersaults. I couldn’t resist you. I had to have you. Right here on the floor, no less.’ He chuckled again. ‘There’s no two ways about it, you do get me going, make me feel hot, love.’

  Audra made no response, glanced away.

  Vincent sensed her sudden shyness, her embarrassment.

  That was the curious thing about her… she was a mass of contradictions, he had discovered. From the moment he had made her his on the first night of their honeymoon, she had been a generous and giving partner, questioning nothing, doing as he wished. Yet in the aftermath of their lovemaking she never wanted to discuss the pleasure they had just shared; nor did she like it when he made mention of it. He had noticed that she invariably fell into an extraordinary reticence. A veil went down, shutting him out. He supposed her attitude sprang from her upbringing, her breeding. It was all right to do it, but not to talk about doing it, when you were a lady. Well, no matter. Such things were not really very important in the long run. She was his and he did love her so.

  Pushing himself up off the floor, Vincent gave Audra his hand, hoisted her to her feet. After smothering her in a huge bear hug, he found her nightgown for her, slipped it on over her head, then pulled on his pyjamas.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished all of a sudden. Let’s have a picnic on that bowl of fruit.’ As he spoke he went over to the table and picked it up.

  ‘What a good idea,’ Audra agreed. ‘I’m a bit hungry myself.’

  Wrapping his other arm around her, Vincent walked her into the bedroom. They installed themselves in the middle of the large double bed, where they sat cross-legged, munching on big red juicy apples. A minute or two later, Vincent returned to the adjoining sitting room and retrieved the half-finished bottle of wine he had ordered from room service with their dinner. He carried it back to the bedroom with two glasses, which he filled. Handing one to Audra, he joined her on the bed once more.

  After propping a pillow behind his back, making himself comfortable, he lit a cigarette, said, ‘Tell me some more about High Cleugh, about when you were little.’

  ‘Goodness, you are insatiable, and my past is not especially interesting,’ she replied with a light laugh. ‘Besides, it’s your turn.’

  He made a face. ‘There’s not much left to tell… you know all about my boyish adventures with my friend Redvers Buller.’ He winked at her. ‘I can’t believe you want to hear about them again, and the scrapes we got into, the canings we got from Mr Alford, the headmaster. It’s boring stuff.’

  ‘But you’re such a good raconteur, Vincent.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that, love.’ He drew on his Woodbine, blew a smoke ring, flashed her one of his very cheeky boyish grins. His dancing green eyes glistened as he leaned forward, pinned them on her. He cajoled, ‘Go on, Audra, let’s hear about your mother and your Uncle Peter… the Beautiful Edith Kenton and the dashing army captain. I must admit, the two of them intrigue me.’

  ‘Aha, you’re a true romantic, Vincent Crowther.’

  ‘I am?’
He sounded doubtful.

  ‘Yes.’ Audra smiled. ‘I could tell you about the mystery of my mother’s vanishing sapphires, if you like?’

  ‘Your eyes are like sapphires, do you know that?’ He gave her a soulful look and blew her a kiss.

  ‘Do you want to hear this story or not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  As she began to speak he settled back, sipped his wine, listening to her attentively. Vincent was as fascinated and as impressed by Audra’s background and family as he was enamoured of her. And so not unnaturally he loved hearing about her childhood, and in particular he loved the sound of her melodious voice as she spoke of those days with such love.

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Audra said, ‘and keep them closed until I tell you to open them.’

  ‘Okay,’ Vincent said, promptly doing as he was told.

  Audra looked up at him adoringly, smiling to herself. Her happiness knew no bounds today and she was almost bursting with joy. She reached for her husband’s hand, drew him across the grass, saying, as she did, ‘It’s all right, there’s nothing in your way, just walk normally.’

  ‘That’s what I am doing.’ He stopped suddenly, swung his head to her, opened his eyes and winked. Then he snapped them shut before she had a chance to admonish him. ‘All right, lead on, MacDuff!’ he cried, gaiety echoing in his voice.

  Audra smiled in amusement. ‘It’s just a few more steps,’ she said, guiding him forward. She gripped his hand a little tighter as she told him, ‘Turn your head towards me, to the left a bit more.’

  Vincent did as she said.

  ‘Now!’ Audra exclaimed.

  He lifted his lids, blinked for a second or two in the bright morning sunlight, then brought his hand up to shade his eyes. He squinted slightly against the brilliance, trying to focus.

  ‘Look, over there, near the trees… in that dell,’ Audra was saying.

  He followed the direction of her outstretched arm. His breath caught in his throat. ‘That’s High Cleugh,’ he said in the strangest of voices, and stared in astonishment at the old manor house.

  ‘Yes.’ Audra glanced up at him, frowning in concern. ‘You sound so surprised. Are you disappointed? Don’t you think it’s as beautiful as I made it sound, as I described it?’

  ‘Oh, I do, I do,’ he was quick to reassure her. ‘But it’s so big, Audra, and it looks ever so grand. I’d no idea. I mean I just never imagined it was that kind of house, you know, a mansion.’ He was unable to disguise the awe in his voice. It was obvious he was impressed.

  Audra squeezed his fingers. ‘It looks a lot larger than it actually is, Vincent.’

  ‘Maybe so, but it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever been used to, lass. And those gardens, Audra. Why, they fair take my breath away, they do that.’

  Audra beamed at him. ‘My mother planned and planted them, and those are her delphiniums down near the edge of the river. Whenever I see delphiniums I always think of her and of High Cleugh.’

  ‘I can certainly understand why, love.’

  ‘If you look down the river a little bit, over there to your right, you’ll see the stepping stones I told you about. That’s where we used to cross the river to come up here for our picnics… to the Memory Place. Of course, it wasn’t called that then. I only gave it that name afterwards—’ She broke off, glanced away and there was a hint of sadness in her voice as she finished, ‘You know, after they died, and after my brothers were sent away from me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulder comfortingly.

  She looked up into his face, gave him a small smile.

  He smiled back, all the while scrutinizing her closely, hoping that coming here had not upset her unduly. Days ago, when he had asked her to show him High Cleugh on their way back to Leeds from Robin Hood’s Bay, he had not stopped to think that this might stir up memories that would make her sorrowful. After all, she had agreed so readily, even eagerly. But now Vincent could not help wondering if his forcefulness had been misplaced; perhaps he had been thoughtless. Her vivid cornflower eyes looked suspiciously moist to him.

  Vincent cleared his throat. ‘Are you sure you want to have our picnic here, Audra love?’

  ‘That’s what I’d thought. It’s so pretty, and there’s such a lovely view for miles around. Don’t you want to stay?’ she asked, sounding worried, as always wishing to please him.

  ‘Yes. Anything you say is all right by me.’

  Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek, then strode over to the sycamore tree. A few minutes before he had deposited two brown-paper shopping bags under the spreading branches; he carried these back to the top of the slope above the River Ure, where Audra had remained standing. Taking a large tartan blanket out of one of them, he shook it out, spread it at her feet.

  And then, with a great flourish, pretending to take off a non-existent hat, he did a sweeping bow in front of her, bending low in the manner of an old-fashioned cavalier.

  ‘My cloak for your comfort, m’lady, and pray do be seated so that we can partake of our repast,’ he said, adopting an exaggerated upper-class accent.

  Laughing, her eyes sparkling with delight, Audra offered him a small curtsy in return. ‘Why, Sir Galahad, my grateful thanks indeed.’ She lowered herself onto the car rug with her usual grace of movement.

  Joining in her laughter, Vincent flopped down next to her and remarked, ‘I must say, it was nice of the hall porter at the Victoria Hotel to arrange this food for us, wasn’t it?’ As he spoke he began to take small packages out of the other shopping bag.

  ‘Yes, most kind,’ Audra agreed, helping him in his task. ‘Oh look, the hotel chef put in some lovely Scotch eggs,’ she exclaimed, unwrapping the grease-proof paper.

  Vincent eyed them. ‘Well, they look as tasty as anything me mam could make,’ he said, his mouth watering. ‘And I’ve just come across a little bag of pickled onions and a slab of fine Wensleydale cheese.’ He flashed her a huge grin. ‘We might as well dig in, Audra. Oh, and here’s your bottle of milk, pet.’

  ‘Thank you, Vincent.’

  They were both hungry after their long drive from Robin Hood’s Bay on the East Coast, across the sprawling North Yorkshire Moors and down to Ripon. They said very little as they munched on the delicious tid-bits in the picnic lunch which had been provided by the hotel.

  It was an exceptional June day.

  The sky was bright blue and filled with sunshine. The lightest of balmy breezes rustled through the trees, but there were no other sounds except for the faint tinkle of running water, the occasional trilling of the wild birds and the rushing and fluttering of their wings as they flew up into the sparkling summer air.

  Neither Audra nor Vincent ever minded these silences which frequently fell between them. In fact, they found them companionable, enjoyed them as much as everything else they did together. They were content simply to be in each other’s company, knowing that they did not always have the need to talk, to make forced conversation. There was an ease between them; it had been thus since the beginning of their relationship in January.

  Audra studied him surreptitiously.

  It was the twelfth of June and he was twenty-five today. But he looked much younger to her. Perhaps this was because of his fresh complexion, the tan he had acquired in the last few days. Although they had been ensconced in the hotel suite for a good part of their honeymoon, the time they had spent outdoors had been put to good use. They had walked a lot, and when she had ventured up onto the precipitous cliffs to paint watercolours of Robin Hood’s Bay from that vantage point, he had insisted on accompanying her. He had read his newspaper, studied his racing form, and then stretched out next to her, sunning himself.

  Suddenly Audra wondered what Vincent would say if she told him that she had not enjoyed her wedding day very much. In point of fact, she would not have enjoyed it at all if he had not been present. Audra laughed under her breath at the ridiculousness of this thought. Obviously, without
Vincent Crowther there would have been no marriage in the first place.

  He had enjoyed his wedding, though. All aspects of it, too. Smiling, laughing, shaking hands, he had been at home with everyone. So much so, she had been struck quite strongly by his carefree manner. He was nonchalant; he might have been the lord of the manor at Calpher House. Not that his behaviour had been offensive to the Bells or anyone else for that matter—only enviable, as far as she was concerned. For she had experienced great unease most of the time, although she had tried to hide this behind a gracious demeanour, a bright smile carefully glued into place.

  From the outset, she had sensed strange undercurrents at the reception. Vincent had been unaware of them.

  To begin with, there had been a certain awkwardness between the Thorntons and the Crowthers, and she had watched this develop into veiled antipathy within the first hour. Her internal discomfort had spiralled into distress, and she had found herself growing quieter and quieter with everyone; Vincent, full of bonhomie, had simply grown more expansive.

  At one moment, she had gone into the Bells’ elegant dining room looking for Vincent. Here Mr Agiter, Cora and Dodie had been serving the breakfast buffet, a wonderful selection of good Yorkshire fare and other tempting delicacies from Mrs Jackson’s well stocked larder. Instantly, she had noticed Gwen and Charlie huddled in one corner, heads together, looking conspiratorial. Just as she was about to turn away she had observed them fasten their eyes on Vincent, who was on the far side of the room talking to Irène Bell. They had stared at him daggers drawn.

  If looks could kill he’d drop dead this very minute, Audra had thought, and gooseflesh had sprung up on her arms. Averting her face, she had hurried over to join her husband, taken hold of his arm almost protectively.

  After chatting with Mrs Bell for a moment or two, she had then excused them both to her former employer, explaining that she wanted Vincent to become better acquainted with Matron Lennox. Still holding onto his arm, she had led him out into the hall. She had felt sick inside. And dreadfully hurt.