by Nancy Carson
So how much of Neville’s scheming and passing himself off as Will had been driven by a perverse desire for revenge? Just how deep and sincere was his confession of love that afternoon in the shade of the trees on the approach to the golf course?
Now he’d taken his revenge, if revenge it was. But Billy Witts wasn’t suffering because of it; Eunice wasn’t grieving either, or certainly didn’t seem to be. Henzey herself wasn’t tormented emotionally. She was directly affected, but for her the outcome had been positive: she was expecting a child; Neville’s, yes, but a child she’d yearned for these long months. It would be an illegitimate child but nobody else would know that. The only person to be adversely affected, though thank God he was blissfully ignorant of it, was Will himself. Who, therefore, was being punished?
Nobody.
So Henzey dismissed the notion and took a leisurely bath. As she lay in its soothing warmth she realised with some surprise the ease with which she had accepted her lot and with which she found herself already deceiving the husband she loved – or thought she loved. The feelings of guilt had disappeared long since, the last mere traces dispersed in the late summer breezes of the south coast. She felt at peace with herself as she lay back in the soft, luxuriously warm water. She was eager to talk to Neville again, ready to be open and frank with him.
She gently prodded her wet belly. It was harder and slightly more rounded than normal, though of course, her condition would not be obvious to anyone else for some time. What was it about her, she wondered, that had driven Neville to such lengths to have her? Was it her looks, her figure, her voice, her demeanour? She had no wealth; it could not have been that. Fine looks, she had, and she was aware of it, but never had she consciously exploited them to lure a man. She had only ever been interested in one man at a time. More than one would have complicated life too much, as indeed it was doing now.
She realised Neville Worthington was totally occupying her thoughts. Just thinking about him brought a lump to her throat, made her yearn for him again. Oh, it was wrong, she knew; so recently against all her principles; but she no longer had control over what she felt.
She pulled the plug out of the bath, reached for her towel, stood up and dried herself. She pulled on her dressing gown and went into the bedroom where she sat in front of her own reflection in the mirror of the dressing table. If Neville did intend to come to her this must be the very last time. It must not be allowed to go on. But she could not forego such an opportunity today, under such ideally romantic circumstances. He had opened her eyes to lovemaking. One more encounter could do no further damage. The damage, if indeed it could be construed as such, had already been done.
So she readied herself for his arrival in a haze of sensual daydreaming. She applied her make-up with extra diligence and did her hair with extra care. She chose underwear that was alluring and a dress that, without being pretentious, showed her figure off beautifully. And, when she was ready, she awaited him in the living room.
At one o’ clock in the afternoon she decided she was hungry but decided to allow him another fifteen minutes, for if he intended to arrive for lunch she wanted an appetite so she could enjoy the food. But half past one rolled round and he had not arrived.
So she ate alone.
By half past four in the afternoon he still had not arrived and she was hungry again. It was too late to be taken out for afternoon tea, so she polished off a lemon curd tart with a cup of tea.
What if he did not come at all? What if he was going to London after all? She would feel a complete fool. But, thankfully, she would appear a fool only to herself. What if he was apprehensive of coming? What if it hadn’t even crossed his mind to come? She had not really pondered that. After all, they had not had the opportunity to discuss what had gone on so privately in their lives. He had no idea how she now craved to be with him; and indeed, he might be more than a little surprised to learn of it.
She tried to shove such negative thoughts to the back of her mind. Of course he would come. It was a heaven-sent opportunity, brilliantly engineered. He would not throw away such a chance; the first since those hot and lusty August nights. He would arrive in plenty of time to take her out to dinner. Most likely, he would already have reserved a table at a swish restaurant in Bognor Regis or Littlehampton, or even Worthing.
At seven o’ clock, he still had not arrived. Perhaps in another hour…Henzey inspected her dress. It was creased now from sitting about all day in it; hardly suitable for going out to dinner. So she went to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe to remind herself what other dresses she had brought with her. There was one which would do just nicely for dinner out. It was not an evening dress – she had not expected to be taken out to dinner – but it was a plain, navy-blue day dress with the hemline just above the ankle. It would have to suffice. So she took off the one she was wearing and put this fresh one on. Her heart jumped when she thought she heard a car, and she peered out of the bedroom window overlooking the road. But it turned out to be a motor boat chugging along the coast at the back of the cottage. She sighed with disappointment but adjusted the dress, her hair, and touched up her make-up.
By eight o’ clock she was ravenously hungry and still there was no sign of Neville. She would give him till half past eight and then she would have to eat. She went outside on the porch and breathed the seaside smells of the late summer twilight and felt an awful ache in her heart, which she knew was her longing for him.
She stayed on the porch till half past eight, caring not that she was growing colder, till hunger summoned her to the kitchen to make a ham and tomato sandwich with a smear of mustard. So the true, overwhelming affection that Neville had bestowed on her in his many masquerades was to be denied her this day in its unmasked guise. It was certain now that he would not come. Perhaps she had been over-confident that she still appealed to him. He had had his fun. He had achieved what he had set out to do. He had had her. His appetite had been sated. Why should he complicate matters? Why take further risks?
She could scarcely believe her own disappointment. It was as bitter as a bereavement. Her ardent desire to experience again what they had experienced before, and savour his love for what it was, was to be denied. It was criminal that he should avoid such a wonderful opportunity. And yet maybe it was no more than she deserved. No doubt it was for the best. She could ill afford to lose her head. It was important to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground. Will was still her husband; he still idolised her; and she him, in her own diminishing way.
If Neville had not arrived by nine o’ clock she would know for certain he was not about to. She would know by then that she’d been deluding herself. As the minute hand of the clock wound its way lethargically round its face, her hopes faded altogether. He would not come now. Definitely not. So she went back into the bedroom and undressed. When she had put on her dressing gown she went to the kitchen, poured a glass of sherry and sat sipping it till half past ten, attempting to read her book, absorbing only the odd paragraph, re-reading the parts she had not digested first time. Then, disconsolately, she retired to bed.
He was on her mind constantly and she doubted whether she would sleep. She panted for him, longing to be his. Her eyes were closed. Alone in the darkness, but warm in the big bed, she remembered those former nights, how happy and content she was while he was with her. She re-lived their lovemaking, vigorous, vocal; the sweat from their bodies running together in the exertion, mixing, infusing like some erotic cocktail. She ached for him intolerably. Why had he let her down when she was so sure he would come? If only he knew how much she wanted him now. If only he knew how high her emotions were running for him.
A sound woke her. She must have fallen asleep after all. It was a key turning in a lock. Suddenly she was wide awake. She sat bolt upright. What if it was a burglar? She heard the front door open and close, and her heart began thumping hard and fast like a bass drum beating out a tango as she heard his footsteps in the hall. She dared to smile to herself a
nd sighed with overpowering joy as she snuggled back down in the bed.
He was here. He had come to her at last; just like he had before. Of course, it had to be just like before, in the middle of the night.
The bedroom door opened and she pretended to be asleep. She heard him take off his jacket, his tie. He loosened his cuff-links and his collar, undid his shirt and his trousers, and she heard them all in their turn fall to the floor with a faint swish. Of course, she might yet be wrong, she knew. It might yet be Will returned. She would know soon enough.
He slid into bed alongside her and she sensed the chill from his body at her back. He must have been aware of it, too, since he lay still for a while, collecting her warmth, unwilling to allow his cold skin to touch her, for that would spoil the moment. Still feigning sleep, but eager to hold him, she tossed, turning towards him. He drew her naked body to him and she snuggled up to him as submissively as a kitten. Her heart was hammering hot blood through her veins, more pronounced than it had ever been before. With her eyes still closed she blindly turned her face up to his and felt the warmth of his breath as he bent his head to find her lips. Instinctively she opened her mouth and her tongue probed his with such urgency that he flinched in surprise. His leg parted her thighs and she savoured the bliss of contact as the whole length of their bodies touched. And then she knew; she knew for certain that this was not Will in the darkness. This was Neville, ardent as ever. Her arms were around him, her eyes were shut and her lips were smiling, though she was trembling, trembling all over.
She whispered aloud, pleading, ‘Oh, love me, my sweetheart. Love me with all your heart and soul.’
He responded by smothering her body for ages with sensual kisses, caressing her with clever fingers till she thought she must surely burst with desire. At last he settled upon her; and when she was actually weeping with longing, he entered her. Her hands gripped his buttocks and, as she pulled him hard into her with such sweet, deep relief, she whimpered at the absolute pleasure of it. And those little vocal sighs of bliss increased with the utter intensity of her lingering orgasm.
‘I knew you’d come to me,’ she said, wiping the smear of perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand.
Starlight penetrated the darkness through the open curtains.
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ he replied, his hands behind his head, as he lay back on the pillow. Then he drew her to him again, and she lay with her cheek against his shoulder, smiling to herself with utter contentment.
‘I didn’t know what time you’d get here, though…D’you know? I got all dressed up ready for dinner. I thought you’d take me out to dinner first. I fancied being wooed for once.’
They laughed together like conspirators.
‘Wooed?…You really are a kitten, Henzey…’
‘Yes, I fancied being wooed properly.’
‘If only I’d known. But do you know how long it takes to get down here? I left the office at six.’
‘Then I’m glad you didn’t leave it any later.’
‘So am I.’
She snuggled up to him again, her arm around his waist, still smiling to herself. Thank God he’d come. It had to be the very last time, but thank God for this opportunity. It would provide one more memory to add to her precious store. She hugged him and he hugged her in return.
‘This can’t go on, you know.’ The tone of her whisper was poignant. ‘You know it can’t go on, seeing each other like this.’
He laughed. ‘Actually, if you think about it, it can. It can go on just as long as we want it to. And I want it to.’
It was such a relief to hear him say it. She wanted to as well, of course, but how could they maintain this charade? It would be the ruin of both of them.
‘Well, I wonder just how long you’ll want to. Not so long as you think, I bet.’
‘Why do you say that? I’ll always want you.’
‘Not when my belly’s big. Not when I’m all fat and ugly and you can’t get near me.’
He raised his head up from the pillow and rested it on his arm. The fingers of his free hand glided sensually across her stomach to her triangle of hair, arousing himself again and her. ‘You’ll always be beautiful to me, Henzey…and desirable.’
‘Oh, I bet.’
‘Anyway, if you’re saying you’re pregnant, I only have your word for it. I’m not so sure. I think we ought to make absolutely certain.’
He held her in his arms and their lips met again in the darkness. Instinctively she offered herself by drawing him onto her, and again they made love. Afterwards, both fell into deep, contented sleep.
Henzey awoke to the sound of somebody hammering the front door knocker. She opened her eyes and, to her surprise, discovered tears quivering on her long lashes. It was the dream she’d had of herself and Neville in an emotional parting, and the subsequent weeping. She knew that long after the snow falls of winter had been melted by the spring sunshine, long after the bluebell carpets of May had faded, long after the baby that was theirs had been born, they would still remember those nights and yearn for them again. Desire would seize them and there would be no greater pain than that which they would inevitably feel at having to deny it. But it would have to be endured.
She heard the knocking again and jumped out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown. Her heart was in her mouth. What the hell was the time? Surely it couldn’t be Will returned? Not this early? Even allowing for over-sleeping it could surely not be later than nine o’ clock? Please, God, don’t let it be Will. Not with Neville lying naked in her bed. Please, please, God, let it be anybody but Will.
Trembling, and yet strangely reconciled to an imminent showdown, she padded through the hall to the front door. The by-now familiar queasiness of morning sickness was urging her to vomit but she resisted it. She turned the catch and opened the door about four inches, ready to face whatever retribution fate was about to hurl at her.
‘Hello, our Henzey. Aren’t you dressed yet? You do look pale.’
‘Mother! Jesse! What on earth are you doing here? I…I…’
Lizzie smiled expectantly. ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask us in?’
Henzey wished desperately for a very large hole to open up in the floor and swallow her wholesale. She was well and truly compromised. What else could she do but open the door? ‘You’d better come in.’
‘You seem surprised to see us.’
‘I am a bit…’
‘Didn’t Will tell you we were coming?’
‘Not in as many words.’
‘That’s a nice, new car outside on the road,’ Jesse commented as he lugged a suitcase in with him. ‘You must be comin’ up in the world if you can afford a car like that.’
‘The car?’ Neither her mother nor Jesse noted any significance in the look of apprehension that clouded her face.
‘That maroon car. Beautiful motor-car. A Swallow SSI, or I’m a monkey’s uncle. You don’t see many o’ that colour about. Will said he fancied a Swallow, but I never thought…’
Henzey looked at him open-mouthed for what seemed an age, her mind racing but getting nowhere. A maroon Swallow? Neville had a black Swallow. Burning with curiosity she peered outside and saw the brand new maroon car parked on the road.
‘Put your things down here for a minute,’ she said, becoming increasingly confused by the second. ‘Mom, the kitchen’s through there. Put the kettle on, will you? I’ll just go and get dressed.’
A maroon Swallow…A maroon Swallow?…She scurried to her bedroom apprehensively and closed the door shut. The urge to vomit she’d felt only a minute ago had left her. Now she just felt hot and she was perspiring. She peered intently at the man lying in her bed just as he was rousing himself.
He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Good morning, Petal,’ he said brightly. ‘What got you up?’
She stared at him hard, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, hardly knowing whether to scream with relief or frustration, still doubting whether goo
d fortune could smile on her sufficiently benignly to make this person Will. She was still too confused to be absolutely certain who it was. ‘Oh, it was just somebody at the door,’ she said experimentally, endeavouring to sound unemotional.
‘At this time in the morning?…Ha! I didn’t think they’d get here this early.’ He rubbed his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. ‘They must have travelled down last night and took digs in a boarding house overnight.’
‘Who?’ Her level voice concealed the ferment inside her head. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Who do you think? Your mother and Jesse. We’re not expecting anybody else, are we?’
Tears stung her eyes. Impetuously, she picked up the pillow she’d been lying on and beat him over the head with it several times till she felt her strength draining from her. God, he deserved to be punished for the agony he’d put her through.
He was amused by her animated response and, laughing, he held his arms above his head to fend off the blows. ‘What’s the matter?’ he chuckled. ‘Didn’t you want them to come? I told you I had a surprise for you.’
But he was by far the greater surprise.
‘And the other surprise, I suppose, is that new maroon car outside?’ Another rain of blows from the pillow.
‘Ouch! Pack it in, Henzey,’ he chortled. ‘Have you seen it already then? Have you been outside to see it already? Neville got it for me. It’s a company car.’
She threw the pillow down onto the bed, her eyes glazed with tears, and slumped face down onto the mattress, trying to come to terms with this unexpected twist. Her breath was coming in gasps from the exertion of bashing him so vigorously. ‘Will Parish, you are an absolute swine,’ she sobbed. But she was laughing as well now and unable to stem the swirling torrent of criss-crossed emotions, as yet unable to grasp fully the implications of what was happening.