Ellie (71 page)

‘You lazy toad,’ Ellie said as Ray opened his door to her wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms. ‘Have you been in bed all day?’

Ray had the body of an adolescent, despite being over thirty. Not an ounce of muscle, a puny chest and long skinny legs, yet he was such a sexy man and part of his charm was this boyishness.

‘What was there to get up for?’ he laughed, pulling her into his arms and slamming the door behind her. ‘I did shave though, I didn’t want to rough up your tender parts. But why are you so late? I thought you’d be here hours ago!’

Ellie looked over his shoulder at the one big room. As always it was untidy and mucky, strewn from end to end with clothes, books and unwashed crockery, the unmade bed the centre-piece. Ellie sometimes cleaned and tidied it up for him, but within days it was just as bad again. She didn’t understand how he could bear to live like it.

‘I had tea with Edward,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell him about the tour.’

Ray unbuttoned her damp coat and pulled it off her shoulders, tossing it on to a chair. ‘Come into bed for a cuddle.’ He grinned lasciviously.

‘Your cuddles always lead to something more,’ Ellie said with a smile, but she let him take off her cardigan too. ‘And I hope you’ve got some supplies of you know what?’

‘I’ve got dozens.’ Ray slipped her dress off her shoulders and began kissing her neck, edging her backward towards the bed.

Since the first time Ray made love to her back in January, Ellie had discovered for herself just why Bonny was so addicted to sex. With Ray as an affectionate, enthusiastic and experienced teacher, all Ellie’s inhibitions had just floated away and now she often found herself thinking about sex, hardly able to wait for it.

Sometimes, late at night back in her digs, she felt a tiny stab of guilt at behaving with such abandon with a man she knew would never be her husband, but she would dismiss such thoughts by reminding herself that this was what Ray called her ‘working-class morality’.

‘What would you like me to do to you?’ Ray murmured after several long and sensual kisses.

‘Pretend you’re a doctor,’ Ellie giggled.

‘Well don’t giggle then,’ he said reprovingly, his blue-grey eyes twinkling naughtily.

He arranged her as if she were lying on a consulting room couch, then stood up beside the bed.

‘Well, Miss Forester, what seems to be the trouble?’

‘I’ve been having pains,’ she said, putting her hand low on her stomach.

‘Here?’ he said, placing his hand on her crutch.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘A kind of burning.’

‘I see.’ Ray’s face was very serious. ‘I shall have to examine you. Just remove your underwear.’

Ellie loved these games. It made her feel very wicked, especially stone-cold sober, in broad daylight. Ray had introduced her to them, but she was all too willing to participate. She wriggled out of her knickers, leaving just her stockings and suspenders under her dress.

‘Bend your knees and let them fall apart,’ he said. ‘This won’t hurt.’

His touch was every bit as gentle as a real doctor’s. He sat down on the bed beside her and probed into her.

‘You seem very hot there,’ he said, moving his fingers in and out. ‘How long have you had this trouble?’

Ellie was beginning to lose the script for this game. She closed her eyes, her breathing becoming heavy as her excitement grew. ‘For ages,’ she said weakly. ‘Can you do something about it?’

‘Let me see your breasts,’ Ray said, his spare hand opening the bodice of her dress and pulling her brassière down far enough for one to come free. He squeezed the nipple, at the same time continuing his gentle, erotic probing in her pussy. ‘Mm, as I thought, you need my special medicine.’

‘But, doctor,’ Ellie whispered as his head went down between her legs, ‘isn’t that a little unconventional?’

She was quivering now, arching her back and opening her legs wider.

‘Unconventional methods always work best with my lady patients,’ he murmured. ‘Just wait and see.’

Ellie floated off into another world as he used his tongue on her. The rain outside, her career, all her little worries were forgotten in sheer bliss. She could feel herself coming and she clutched at Ray’s hair, begging him to enter her.

‘Come inside me,’ she screamed at the point of orgasm. ‘Now.’

Ray ignored her pleas and continued to lap at her. Only when the spasmodic jerking of her body had stopped did he move to hold her. ‘I shan’t trust you visiting a doctor in future.’ He grinned, taking her hand and putting it round his hard penis. ‘Time for your punishment for being a naughty girl.’

Ray didn’t take much in life seriously, except love-making. Not for him the quick snack, he made every session a feast. Long, slow strokes, his mouth hungry on hers, stopping now and then to cool himself down before starting again, and after each pause the temperature rising another few degrees.

Ellie was swept along with it, moving beneath him in a delirium of passion, their bodies sticking together with sweat.

‘I’m coming,’ he groaned, his fingers digging into her bottom. ‘It’s wonderful!’

He lay on top of her, his breath hot on her neck until the shuddering in his body subsided. But his silence was a reminder of what was missing. She knew in a moment he would get up, remove the sheath and make a cup of tea. What she longed for was some emotion, whispered endearments and tenderness.

‘We’d better get moving.’ Ray crammed the last of a slice of bread and jam into his mouth and gulped down his tea. ‘We’ll have to run to get to the theatre on time.’

Ellie was dressing. She turned to look at him.

His hair was tousled, he had jam round his mouth and his trousers hadn’t been cleaned or pressed for months. He was still a little boy at heart, who didn’t act or think like most men, who would probably never conform.

‘Do you ever wish for something more?’ she asked.

‘More sex! Haven’t you had enough?’ He made a mock-horrified face.

‘I didn’t mean sex,’ Ellie said weakly.

He went over to the grimy mirror above the mantelpiece, wiped the jam from his mouth and looked back at her in the mirror. He had an odd expression on his face, bafflement, irritation and amusement all mixed together. ‘You aren’t talking about all that soppy stuff, like in films, the “I’ll love you till I die” business are you?’ he said.

‘Not exactly.’ Her voice was faint and she suddenly felt like crying. ‘Don’t make a joke of it. Ray. There is something missing, isn’t there?’

He shrugged his shoulders and began to tie his tie. ‘What’s brought this on, Ellie? Are you waiting for me to beg you not to go away?’

‘No. But it would be nice if you told me how you feel about it.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ he said, turning back to her. His face was serious now, his eyes as warm as ever, but without any sadness. ‘We’ve had nine months of fun together and it won’t be the same without you. Is that what you want to hear?’

Ellie sighed. She knew she was being unreasonable. She felt no more than that herself. If he were suddenly to swear undying love she wouldn’t be able to reciprocate truthfully. But she still felt sad.

To her surprise, he came to her then and put his arms round her, holding her close against his shoulder.

‘We’ve given each other some very good memories,’ he said softly. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Harder, Edward, fuck me harder!’ Marcia screamed out. She was bent over an armchair, supporting herself on the arms, wearing nothing but a garter-belt, a half-cup push-up brassière and black stockings. Edward held on to her waist, still fully dressed aside from his jacket and his opened flies, entering her from the rear.

‘Tell me how much you like it, bitch!’ he hissed digging his nails into her flesh. ‘Is it good?’

‘It’s the best, it’s wonderful, no one can fuck like you,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

Edward closed his eyes and drove himself even harder into her. This was the best part of it, the few seconds before he ejaculated when he felt all-powerful, every nerve in his body throbbing. He could forget he was a third-rate actor, only a passable pianist, or that he only got sexual satisfaction from tarts like Marcia. For a few brief moments he was a real man.

‘Ohhh!’ Marcia’s high-pitched voice brought Edward back to reality. He looked down at her narrow back and eyed with distaste the blotchiness of her skin, the yellow-headed spots on her shoulder. She was still bucking against him, almost as if she hadn’t realised it was over.

He withdrew quickly and made straight for the bathroom. He hated the smell after sex and hoped she’d got the lavender soap he liked.

‘Would you like a cuppa?’ she called out only seconds later, her voice high and nasal.

‘No, I’ll have to hurry,’ he called back, wincing at his appearance in the mirror. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and his skin seemed to have a yellowish tinge. He needed a holiday.

He washed his cock very carefully, then his hands. Marcia had got the lavender soap, but the bathroom was as mucky as her mind. There was a ring round the bath-tub, the wash-basin had traces of toothpaste stuck to it, and the lavatory stunk.

‘You are a slut,’ Edward said as he came out, doing up his flies and adjusting his braces before putting on his coat. ‘Don’t you ever clean up?’

Marcia’s flat was a basement in Camden Town. It was gloomy, it smelt musty and there was a rough Irish family living upstairs who sat out on the front steps in good weather.

‘I don’t get much time, luv,’ she replied without a trace of hurt or embarrassment. She had slipped a red satin wrapper over her underwear and her hair looked like a blonde bird’s nest. She lit a cigarette and drew in deeply. ‘Most fellas don’t notice, but I suppose you’re different, being a toff an’ all.’

Edward glanced around him. Her flat reminded him of some of the worst digs he’d had: stained wallpaper, furniture fit only for firewood, the kind of fairground-type ornaments working-class people always seemed to go for. Everything had a film of dust on it, and there was inevitably washing drying in front of the fire. It looked seedy on arrival, but much worse after sex. If he glanced out of the grimy window the sight of the railings up on the street level made him think of prisons and reminded him that he was a prisoner of his warped sexuality.

He doubted Marcia had ever been pretty – her nose was too long and her lips too thin – but seen at the gaming tables in evening dress with her blonde hair swept back into a sleek chignon, she was steely glamour. Like all the women he was attracted to, she was tall and reed-slim and he overlooked the fact that she was thirty-five because she was grateful for his attention.

‘Just clean up before I come again,’ Edward said. He wanted to add that the roots of her hair needed retouching, but he didn’t dare go that far.

‘Can you leave me a few bob for the gas?’ she asked, blowing out some smoke towards the ceiling. Edward baffled her. He was such a nasty bastard sometimes, but he was generous, that made up for some of it. ‘I’m a bit short.’

Edward turned his back on her, withdrew a ten-shilling note from his wallet and put it down on the table. She wasn’t astute enough to become a real prostitute, even though she had the soul of one. The small amounts of money Edward left her and the occasional present appeased them both.

‘I’ll be off now,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ll phone you.’

Despite the heavy rain, Edward walked to Hampstead up through Chalk Farm, hoping to shake off his black mood before that evening’s performance. He couldn’t understand why other men were always in a good humour after sex; he just felt tainted.

‘It’s her,’ he said to himself. ‘She’s a tart and you know you shouldn’t be with her. That’s all it is.’

But a tiny voice was whispering to him that he was unnatural, that all the women he found were like Marcia, that he picked them specially because he really didn’t like women at all.

‘Except for Ellie,’ he reminded himself. ‘She’s special.’

Edward knew he’d missed good opportunities by trying to work with or near Ellie. He knew too it was unhealthy to adore a woman to whom he could never be more than a friend. But with Ellie he never felt second-rate or strange. Their friendship was the most important thing in his life.

While Ellie and Edward were both dwelling on their respective flawed love affairs, Bonny was concerned with embarking on a new one, in high hopes it would lead to marriage.

Magnus ending their affair had been the most terrible thing that had ever happened to her. All winter she had been trapped in utter despair, unable even to consider finding a replacement for him. Ellie was miles away in London, by all accounts having a wonderful time not only at the Little Theatre, but with a new man, and with Edward, as ever, on the sidelines.

After the new year, Bonny knew she couldn’t stay with her parents. Her mother nagged continually, suffocating her with unwanted attention. A visit to Aunt Lydia’s had proved to be almost as bad; there was nothing for Bonny in Amberley now that Jack wouldn’t speak to her. In desperation she had joined another dancing troupe, The Toppers, only to find that without Ellie beside her, the other girls treated her with suspicion and even antipathy. It was so dull, the same old routine night after night after night. She didn’t need to think about the dance steps. She felt like a clockwork toy: the music was like a key, and when she heard the opening bars she just performed automatically. It made no difference what town she was in, whether Canterbury, Winchester, Yeovil or Exeter: they were all equally boring.

Only John Norton had cheered her a little, with his many warm and interesting letters from America. When the summer finally came and the tour headed for the seaside towns of Ramsgate, Broadstairs and Margate, Bonny began to recover slightly, aided by John’s return to England.

His background was as impressive as Magnus’s, even if his family weren’t as rich. Lady Penelope Beauchamp was his godmother, a cousin of his had married a count, he himself served as an officer in the Guards during the war and he seemed to know half the socialites in London. On top of that he was a professional man, and he had a house in Somerset. It didn’t matter to her that John showed little interest in his more illustrious relations, or that he said the house in Somerset was a near ruin and right in the heart of the country. He looked like a good bet.