by Hyland, Tara
Elizabeth waited politely for Magnus to make a pass at her. But as the days dragged on and nothing happened, she began to grow impatient. Had she misinterpreted the signals? She was sure he was attracted to her. With the vacation nearing an end, she knew that if she didn’t make something happen soon, then it never would.
It was the last day of the holiday. There was no question that Magnus and Elizabeth would spend the day together. At Elizabeth’s suggestion, they took the boat out early, the best time to be on the lake. They sailed across to the town of Menaggio and spent the morning hiking up the mountainside, admiring the pretty villages that dotted the way. By midday, the blazing sun was high in the sky. They found a shady spot under the leafy boughs of a giant redwood to eat the picnic Elizabeth had brought along: homemade salami, polenta, pecorino, and perfectly ripened tomatoes grown on the estate, all washed down with a bottle of the somewhat average red wine that seemed to be characteristic of the Lombardy region.
Back on the boat, neither of them was eager to head home to the villa, as though they knew that would signal the end of the vacation. Instead they sailed toward a deserted cove, where they anchored the boat and went for a swim to cool off after the morning’s excursion.
Magnus was the first to get out of the water. Elizabeth watched as he hauled himself onto the deck, his strong arms rippling under his body weight. She stayed in for a little longer, happy to show off, aware of his eyes on her as he stood on the deck drying himself. She splashed around, floating on her back, swimming back and forth from the boat, knowing her bronzed body looked at its best slicing through the clear water. She dove under, peering down into the depths of the lake, then finally surfaced, pushing her wet hair back from her face and effortlessly treading water with her strong legs. She was pleased to see he was still watching her.
Finally, when she’d shown off enough, she hoisted herself gracefully out of the water.
“Wow, Lizzie, where do you get the energy?” Magnus joked, as she toweled off. “I felt exhausted just watching you in there.”
“Anything to keep in shape,” she said, deliberately drawing attention to her long, lean body. He swallowed hard and quickly looked away.
By mutual agreement, they decided to laze in the sun until they’d dried off. Magnus stretched out on his beach towel, one hand shading his eyes from the glare of the midafternoon sun reflecting off the water. Elizabeth flopped down next to him.
They lay in silence. The only sounds punctuating the quiet were shouts of laughter coming from other boats crisscrossing the lake. After a while, Elizabeth rolled onto her side, so she was propped up on one elbow, looking down at Magnus. His eyes were still closed. It was now or never . . . After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and trailed her fingers across the flat of his stomach. Her touch was feather-light, almost a question. She waited a moment to see if he was going to turn away, signal to stop. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed very still, as though he hadn’t felt anything at all.
Feeling braver now, she repeated the action, brushing her fingers back and forth across his firm belly. She heard his breathing deepen. Slowly, deliberately, her thumb circled his belly button, once, then twice, before boldly following the spattering of sun-bleached hair that trailed down, down into his trunks.
When she reached the waistband she paused tantalizingly and then pressed on his warm flesh to allow her hand to slip beneath the elastic. As she found the hollow of his hipbone, he gave a little contented sigh, almost a moan deep in the back of his throat. They both heard it and froze. They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them moving. All that could be heard was their breathing and the waves gently lapping against the edge of the boat. Elizabeth knew she needed to do something, and do it quickly, if she didn’t want the moment to slip away. So she leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth.
There was nothing platonic about this kiss, she made sure of that; no mistaking what she wanted to happen. Even if she made a fool of herself, it would be worth it, just to know how he felt.
But the risk paid off. Because Magnus was kissing her back. He reached up, pulling her down on top of him. Then his lips skillfully parted her own, his tongue moving gently, probingly against hers. It wasn’t the first time Elizabeth had been kissed, but it was by far the best. A kiss full of experience.
They rolled over on the beach towel, sun-warmed limbs tangled together. Somewhere along the way Elizabeth felt the strings of her bikini top fall away. Not that it mattered. In their swimsuits, they were already practically naked. It would have been impossible for Magnus to pretend he wasn’t interested. She’d spent the last ten days imagining this moment, and she was eager now to get on with it. She hooked her fingers into the sides of her bikini bottoms, ready to wriggle out of them. But before she could do so, he reached out and grabbed her wrists, stopping her.
“Don’t,” he said.
He pulled away from her and sat up abruptly. She stayed lying on the beach towel, unsure what was happening. He took a moment to compose himself, before turning back to look at her.
“God, Elizabeth. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She grinned up at him. “I was having fun.”
He laughed a little. “I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “So was I. But . . . well, you’re a kid and I’m forty-four. And I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You wouldn’t be.” She meant it, too. Having sex for the first time didn’t scare Elizabeth. Once she’d made up her mind about something, she wasn’t the type to turn around and regret it later.
He gave her a wry smile, before growing serious. “You say that now, but I’d hate to think you’d regret it later on.” He paused. “I care too much about you, Lizzie.”
She regarded him for a long moment and decided he was serious. She suddenly felt very naked and very young. She sat up then, desperate now to find the T-shirt that she’d discarded earlier.
“Fine,” she said, trying to look as though this was no big deal. “I understand. You’re probably right.” She flicked her hair back nonchalantly. “Why don’t we head back to shore?”
Magnus opened his mouth as if to say something more. But then he seemed to change his mind.
“Of course,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”
Elizabeth would always be proud of the way she had acted that day. After she’d pulled her T-shirt on, she held out her hands for Magnus to help her up. Then, in a surprisingly neutral voice, she suggested stopping to get gelati in Bellagio before heading back to Villa Regina.
She managed to behave with quiet dignity until they parted at the airport the following morning. It was only when she was on a plane back to England that she admitted to herself how humiliated she felt. After years of being told she was mature for her age, someone had finally told her otherwise. While she might be academically ahead of the game, she still had a lot to learn before she would truly be a woman. And she was determined to do something about it.
She approached the matter of finding an appropriate partner to divest her of her burdensome virginity with the same calm logic that she applied to tackling physics problems. She knew she could have her pick from the boys at school, but Greycourt was an incestuous place. Whoever she chose would be bragging about nailing the uptight Melville heiress before she’d had time to pull her panties back up. No—she needed someone who valued discretion as much as she did.
Giles Butler, the school’s tennis coach, was the obvious answer. At thirty, he was by far the hottest member of the faculty. Each year, at least a dozen Greycourt girls tried to seduce him and failed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t tempted, but sleeping with a student would spell the end of his career. So he stuck to the bored housewives he tutored on weekends instead. But he hadn’t reckoned on Elizabeth Melville. Once she put her mind to something, she always got what she wanted.
Seducing him wasn’t difficult. As captain of the tennis team, she found it easy enough to make an appointment with him to discuss the team�
�s schedule. When she got to his office, she complained of a strained ligament in her right calf. If it had been any other girl, Giles might have been more wary about examining an injury in his private rooms. But sensible, trustworthy Elizabeth was the last person anyone would expect to behave inappropriately.
“It doesn’t seem swollen,” he said, his cool hands running the length of her lower leg. He was so busy searching for the problem that at first he didn’t notice her flexing her foot, burrowing it deep in his lap, softly massaging his groin with her toes . . .
He froze. “Elizabeth!” He sounded shocked, outraged even. But she noticed he still had hold of her calf and was making no effort to remove her foot, which was working away at his now semierect penis.
Slowly, she removed her leg from his grasp, got up and walked over to the door, flicking the lock. When she turned back, he was already removing his shirt.
Her first time was surprisingly easy. She even managed a small orgasm, although it was nothing compared to what she could achieve alone under the covers in her dorm room.
As the term wore on, they met at least twice a week in his office. The small folding cot was the scene of Elizabeth’s sexual education. As in every other aspect of her life, she was eager to learn. But by Christmas Giles was growing clingy, and she was getting bored.
“I don’t know how I’m going to stand a whole month without you,” he murmured, as they lay together the night before she was due to go home. His fingers traced the length of her bare spine, and it was all she could do not to shudder.
Later that night, he presented her with a beautifully wrapped Christmas present—which she neglected to take with her when she left Greycourt the next day. Nor did she bother returning his increasingly frantic calls to Aldringham during the holidays. When she got back to Greycourt in January she told him gently but firmly that it was over.
Giles was devastated. Elizabeth was not. She had already set her sights on the newest member of the staff, the far more aloof history teaching assistant, Tristan Foxworth. Freshly graduated from Bristol, he was passing the time teaching while pursuing a career in county cricket. She suspected he was seeing other girls but didn’t much care. She wasn’t in love with him and had no desire to make their relationship exclusive.
After Tristan, there were others. No one of any consequence.
She hadn’t seen Magnus since that humiliating day back in Italy over a year earlier. Now, with her newly acquired experience, she was ready to finish what they had started.
Having reconciled herself to not seeing her father for dinner, Elizabeth spent the evening reading in the first-floor living room at Eaton Square. When she heard the antique grandfather clock finally strike eleven, she put her physics textbook away, left the house, and headed up to Belgrave Road, where she easily caught a cab over to Brook Street.
Once at Claridge’s, she checked with reception: Magnus was still out. She left word for him to come to the bar when he returned. She was halfway through her cognac when Magnus appeared. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it.
“You’re lucky your father didn’t come back with me,” he said, as they waited for the lift.
Elizabeth gave him a cool look. “Actually, I think it’s you who were the lucky one. After all, Daddy would be more likely to blame the responsible adult—don’t you agree?”
Magnus was still laughing at that as the lift doors closed.
The next morning, Elizabeth woke early in the hotel. After a quick shower, she left Magnus asleep and headed over to Eaton Square. Her father still wasn’t up. She wrote him a brief note to say that she needed to get back to Greycourt immediately and would call him during the week to talk.
She never bothered. She went off to Cambridge without the benefit of William’s input. It made no difference. At the end of three flawless interviews, she was confident that she would be accepted.
In all that time, Elizabeth hadn’t given Elliott and Caitlin another thought. But the following day, as she checked the ticket sales for the Snow Ball, she spotted Elliott’s name—and, in the adjacent column labeled “guest,” was Caitlin’s.
Elizabeth sat back and pondered this for a while. After her last conversation with Caitlin, her instinct was to stay out of it. But despite this, she couldn’t help feeling a certain responsibility for her half sister. Perhaps she needed to try harder to make the girl see sense.
She finally decided she would go to Caitlin’s room later, offer to take her shopping for a ball dress, and then, when they were out, she could tackle her on the subject of Elliott again.
10
_________
Caitlin stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the folds of her dress. It was the night of the Snow Ball, and all across the school, girls were styling hair, applying makeup, and making last-minute adjustments to their outfits.
Caitlin had ended up designing the dress herself after a disastrous shopping trip with Elizabeth the previous Saturday. The two girls had spent the morning in elegant boutiques, Caitlin trying on outfit after outfit. But everything was far too sophisticated for her tastes.
Elizabeth had been getting increasingly irritated when they happened to pass an art shop. In the window, Caitlin spotted a reproduction of her favorite painting, Edmund Blair Leighton’s The Accolade. It showed a maiden knighting a kneeling warrior. The maiden was clad in a medieval gown of flowing ivory silk with gold Celtic embroidery trimming the waist, neckline, and sleeves. It was a fairytale dress, capturing a long-forgotten age of chivalry and romance, and it gave Caitlin an idea. Dragging Elizabeth to a rundown haberdashery, she bought yards of cut-price material.
Making the gown wasn’t difficult. Her mother had been talented at dressmaking, and Caitlin had often helped her out. Mrs. Collins, Berrylands’ housemistress and head of home economics, allowed her to use the school sewing machines in the evenings. Now Caitlin stood in an almost exact copy of the dress in the painting. Swapping the pale silk for green velvet gave it a dramatic, wintry feel and flattered her pale skin. With her dark hair curling over one shoulder, she could have been Guinevere at Camelot.
“You look wonderful.” George stood behind Caitlin, smiling at her in the mirror.
“Thanks.” Caitlin reached up and touched her curls. “And thanks for your help.” George had spent hours taming her hair into pretty ringlets. Caitlin wanted to say more, apologize for neglecting her lately, but before she could, there was a knock at the door.
It was Elliott. He did a double take when he saw Caitlin.
“Wow,” he said, in case there was any doubt what he thought.
Caitlin smiled shyly up at him. She’d been worried he might not like her gown. She knew all the other girls would be competing to reveal as much flesh as possible, but skintight, skimpy clothes just didn’t suit her figure.
From behind his back, he produced a small bouquet of miniature roses. Elizabeth’s wrong about him, Caitlin thought. She frowned at the memory. When they’d gone shopping, Elizabeth had brought up Elliott again, saying all the same stuff as before: that he was using her, telling her how he’d treated Morgan. Caitlin had insisted he wasn’t like that; her sister had gotten angry with her for not listening, and they’d ended up driving back to Greycourt in silence.
Now, seeing how sweet Elliott was being, Caitlin knew she had been right to defend him. George took the flowers from her, saying she’d put them in water and urging them to be off. Even she had managed to put aside her dislike of Elliott this evening and smiled benevolently at the couple as they left for the ball. She had never seen Caitlin look so happy. She hoped her friend would have a wonderful evening. She deserved it.
Like everything else at Greycourt, the annual Snow Ball was the ultimate in sophistication and good taste. The boys wore dinner jackets that had been custom made, not bought or rented; the girls had shopped for their dresses in Selfridges, Liberty, and Harvey Nichols. The only hint of Moss Bros and Top Shop was among the scholarship students.
Elizabeth herself looked typically aristocratic in a strapless red crêpe gown, her hair swept up into a French twist and a string of pearls around her swanlike neck. She had stationed herself by the welcome drinks table, so she could greet everyone as they came in—as well as make sure each person only took their one allocated glass of champagne.
By eight, the seniors and their dates for the evening were all there. The dance floor was full. There was a line at the buffet table—everyone helping themselves to the delicate canapés supplied by Fortnum & Mason—and a crowd was gathered around the roulette table. Caitlin and Elliott were among the last to arrive. Caitlin was unaware of the stir they caused, walking into the tent arm-in-arm. Dressed in a tux, his dark hair still damp from the shower, Elliott looked every inch the upper-class cad. Caitlin, in contrast, was a curious mix of virginal and sexually ripe. But while they were undoubtedly the best-looking couple in the room, that wasn’t the reason everyone turned to stare at them. Word had gotten out about the bet. Most of the seniors—with the marked exception of Elizabeth Melville—knew tonight was the night for Caitlin and Elliott. It was all anyone was talking about.
Morgan’s clique stood huddled in a corner, watching their entrance.