Daughter of Riches (28 page)

Paul had always felt somewhat in Nicky's shadow. Perhaps that is always the fate of the younger brother, continually running to try and keep up with the older sibling, the pace setter. And Nicky had always been such a golden boy, handsome and popular, good at everything he did. He had never shut Paul out, never tried to make him feel inferior, but the very niceness of his nature had compounded Paul's insecurity. He could never be like Nicky, never do so well, never have people like him as much. He had felt clumsy, hopelessly inept, charging through childhood and floundering through puberty.

It was only when Nicky had left that Paul had begun to come into his own. His own rapid growth to manhood had coincided with his elevation to being the only Carteret son in Jersey and for the first time in his life Paul had begun to feel a certain selfconfidence. He had experimented with it – and with the power he seemed to have suddenly over the girls he met. They crowded round, making eyes, begging for his favours, making it clear how attractive they found him, and Paul grew in stature with every conquest.

But Vivienne Moran was something else again. She was not in the least like the girls who ran after him. In Paul's eyes she was almost a goddess. He had admired her from afar when Nicky was dating her and she had further enhanced his brother in his eyes. Now he worshipped her. But it had simply never occurred to him that he might have her.

The first time he kissed her he was shaking inside with both terror and fierce longing. Mercifully he thought he had hidden it well – she had not known of his churning emotions. And to his utter amazement she seemed to want to kiss him again – not only kiss him either! In the darkness she would press her body against his until he thought he would go crazy with desire, and even encourage him to slide his hands up under her jumper. Touching the warm firm swell of her breasts Paul could think of nothing but what it would be like to make love to her. And afterwards there was always the thought that he was following in Nicky's footsteps to keep the glow burning brightly.

Soon Paul was totally obsessed with Viv. He thought of her constantly and dreamed of being alone with her – really truly alone. But he did not tell any of the family that he was seeing her. His guilty conscience always stopped him from doing that however much he wanted to boast of their relationship because he knew that his parents, and probably Sophia too, would think that he was cheating on Nicky. And when Viv casually mentioned one evening that her mother was going to be away from home that weekend and suggested Paul might come to stay he certainly did not tell them that. Though he was beside himself with excitement he managed to keep a totally straight face as he made an excuse about staying the night with a friend from the bank and to his relief they seemed to believe him.

Like the Carterets the Morans had been turned out of their home but they had been allowed to stay on in a cottage in the grounds which had been built for a housekeeper or gardener though it had never been used as such, and Loretta and Viv had continued to use their swimming pool and tennis courts, drawing a very fine line between fraternising with the German officers who occupied the house and antagonising them. There were those islanders who branded Loretta Moran a collaborator or even a Jerry Bag, as those women who were over-friendly with the Germans were called, but neither was strictly true. Loretta was a survivor – and still beautiful enough at the age of forty-five to be able to get her own way with men without actually giving anything in return.

She did however have a ‘friend' at Rozel – an artist who had been a frequent visitor to the house for the famed pool parties she and Adrian had thrown in the balmy days before the war. Now, separated from her husband by circumstances for three years, the friendship had blossomed and Loretta occasionally spent weekends at Rozel. This weekend was one of them.

By the time he arrived at Viv's home Paul was tight-strung with nervous anticipation. He knew very well what was going to happen and he was madly excited by the prospect of it but equally he was terrified that something would go wrong and he would disappoint Viv. In his pocket his perspiration-damp fingers curled around a precious packet of ‘French letters' he had managed to track down – quite a feat in itself since the shortages did not stop with fuel, food and clothes. Though buying them had been horribly embarrassing the knowledge that the packet was there in his pocket made him feel manly and his confidence rose. At least Viv couldn't accuse him of being careless! And if things didn't work out as he hoped, if he had misread her intentions, then she need never know he had them.

Paul had never been to Viv's home before and he was much impressed – and almost suffered another crisis of confidence! – when he saw the vast grounds which had been kept in trim by the Germans. Their own garden would have fitted into just a corner! But the cottage Viv and her mother had been allowed to live in was delightful – a small house in its own right, with bay windows and a log fire.

‘How do you manage to get the fuel?' he asked Viv, thinking of the sawdust and chippings his family were reduced to burning.

‘Oh, the Jerry officers get it for us,' she replied airily. ‘They feel they owe it to us because they are living in our house, I suppose.'

She was looking especially beautiful tonight in a creamy sweater and wide legged pyjama style trousers in tobacco brown. Unlike most of the islanders the privations of the war seemed to have passed her by – another point which made people glance knowingly at one another as she passed. But again the suspicion was totally unfounded. Viv was almost exactly the same size as her mother and Loretta's extensive wardrobe would easily have kept both of them well dressed for a dozen years.

‘I've made supper,' Viv said. ‘But perhaps I should warn you I'm not much of a cook.'

There was a little tremor in her voice and suddenly Paul found himself wondering if she was nervous too. He found it hard to believe but one never knew. After all, he was a nervous jelly inside and he was managing to cover it up. But Viv … it was impossible to see her as anything but totally self-confident.

He followed her into the kitchen, though eating was the last thing on his mind. A pan was simmering on the stove; Viv lifted the lid and prodded at the vegetables inside with a fork.

‘Why do turnips take so long to cook?' she asked, and again the edge of nervous tension was there in her voice. ‘The potatoes are done – look!' As if on cue a potato split apart and disintegrated into a gooey mess. ‘Oh God!' she moaned. ‘What a disaster! I told you I'm no good in the kitchen.'

‘I think you're wonderful anywhere,' Paul said, amazed at his own daring.

‘Oh Paul.' Her green eyes were sharp and bright suddenly, her face embued with softness. Paul felt his stomach churn.

‘Come here,' he said roughly.

She came, still holding the fork. He took it from her, putting it down on the table, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her. He felt the pressure of her body against his, the yielding eagerness of her lips, and began to forget his nervousness in an all-consuming rush of desire.

God, but she was beautiful, and he wanted her so much! As her body moulded to his he slid his hands beneath the creamy cashmere of her sweater and realised with another thrill of excitement that she was not wearing a brassiere tonight. So many girls seemed to encase themselves in acres of rigid elastic and rubber but Viv was wearing nothing but a silky camisole. He massaged her breasts, feeling the nipples, which were already hard and erect, rise even more beneath the touch of his fingers. She moaned, arching her back and pressing her thighs against his and he slid his hand inside her loosely cut trousers. For a moment he was puzzled; the cami top was longer than he had expected, covering her stomach and buttocks and meeting between her legs in a loose fold of silk but he was relieved to find there was still no restrictive corsetry.

Carefully, his heart beating so hard with the fear that she might still stop him that he could scarcely breathe, he slipped his fingers beneath the silk, inching across her smooth skin until they encountered the soft bush of pubic hair and the firm but yielding mound beneath. He probed gently into the moist folds and the excitement of it made his own body throb unbearably. Then, just when he thought he might climax there and then she eased away from him. Her cheeks were flushed now, her eyes still very bright. He tried to pull her back into his arms but she took him by the hand, leading him into the small cosy living room. There she took the cushions from the sofa and chairs, tossing them down in front of the fire. He tried to grab her and pull her down but she wriggled free, crossing her arms and lifting the sweater over her head. He gasped aloud as he saw her breasts for the first time, full and creamy in the flickering firelight, with the dark aureoles and thrusting nipples. He did not think he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

She slipped out of her trousers, letting them and the silk cami fall to the floor, and stood there before him totally nude. Paul stood mesmerised, taking in every curve of her body, desire held for the moment in abeyance by sheer wonder. She reached for him, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding her hands inside. As her nails scratched lightly against his skin he buried his head in her breasts, kissing and sucking, scarcely aware that she was continuing to undress him until he too was naked.

Momentarily fear leaped in him again – fear of going too fast and grasping too greedily at this paradise within his reach, fear that he might hurt her, and the nagging realisation that somehow he must get out the French letters and put one on without either appearing foolish or spoiling the mood. In that instant he was once again the fumbling younger brother without Nicky's experience or expertise. Then she released him, lying down on the cushions before the fire, and holding out her arms to him, and his rush of sudden urgent desire made it all easy. Nicky faded into the shadows, there was only Viv and his own insistent need.

All too quickly it was over. Even before the after-shocks had subsided he knew that in the end he
had
rushed it – he had simply not been able to hold back. Beneath him Viv still writhed and moaned and he continued to move in her though he knew his erection had faded, praying it would be over for her soon too while the French letter was still in place. With inspiration born of desperation he withdrew, working in her instead with his finger, and felt her body arch, felt the deep spasms begin. He was sweating, perspiration pouring down his face, but his excitement had transmuted from the throes of his own demanding need to the triumphant mastery that came from knowing he was giving her pleasure. As she reached her climax, her nails raking his back, one leg fastened around the hard muscle of his thigh, she cried out, an unintelligible strangled sound. He felt her begin to relax and rolled away, clutching at the French letter. Suddenly it seemed terribly important not to make a mess on the light-coloured carpet though a few moments ago the thought would not have so much as occurred to him.

‘Where is the bathroom?' he asked, feeling clumsy and anxious again, as if the glories of the last minutes had never been.

She told him. Her voice was still thick with what he imagined was passion. He reached for his shirt, taking it with him. For some reason he was embarrassed now by his nakedness and he put it on in the bathroom before returning.

Viv was lying where he had left her, her lovely body still illuminated by the firelight. He knelt down beside her, leaning over to kiss her, but she turned her face away.

‘Viv?' he said tentatively. And saw the tears glistening wetly on her cheeks.

Tenderness filled him then and the strength came flooding back.

‘It's all right,' he said, stroking her hair away from her face. ‘It was all right, honestly. It didn't come off.'

She did not answer, just gulped deep in her throat. Another thought occurred to him.

‘I didn't hurt you, did I?'

Still no answer. Just that stillness, the tears, and an occasional long shiver running through her body.

‘You'd better get dressed,' he said. ‘You'll get cold.'

Somehow his words seemed to release her frozen control. The tears burst in her throat and she rocked from side to side, sobbing.

‘Viv!' he said, frightened. ‘ What is it? What's the matter?'

At first he could not make out her words. They were nothing but a low whisper, lost in her tears.

‘How could I? How could I do it? Oh God, forgive me!'

‘Viv, don't!' he begged. ‘We wanted it, didn't we, both of us? And you enjoyed it. Viv …'

She sat up suddenly, her eyes blazing through her tears.

‘You don't understand, do you? You don't understand what I did.'

‘You made love to me. Is that so wrong?'

‘Yes. Yes!'

‘But why?' He was bewildered, hurt. ‘Why was it wrong?'

‘Oh Paul!' She buried her face in her hands. ‘You just don't understand, do you?'

‘Understand what?'

‘It wasn't you I was making love to. It was Nicky.'

He went cold. He felt suddenly as if the ground had opened up beneath him and he was falling, falling, into a pit so deep, so dark, that he would never be able to get out of it again.

‘Don't you see?' Viv was sobbing. ‘I thought I could have it again, the way it was with him. I've betrayed you both. Oh Paul, I'm so sorry – don't look like that, please!'

‘I thought you wanted me,' he said woodenly.

‘I did. I did! Only … oh, it was all mixed up in my mind. You and Nicky – you're so much like him.'

‘You mean you didn't want me at all,' Paul said in that same flat voice.

She looked up at him through her tears. ‘ No, that's not true. I
did
want you … I think. Only …'

‘When it came to it I'm not Nicky.' His pain was intense. He wanted to hit out, to hurt Viv as she had hurt him. But somehow he couldn't do it, even now. He loved her too much.