Kitty Little (11 page)

Show me,’ she whispered. ‘I want to
know!’

‘I’m not the man for you. I’d ruin your life.’ His protests were weak and she suddenly the all-knowing, all-powerful woman, recognised them as such.
 

‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’ She laughed as she straddled him, and, arching her back, placed his hand upon one breast, rubbing it gently back and forth over the rosebud nipple. ‘Is this what I’m supposed to do? Tell me. Teach me how to be a woman. You always said life was for living, Archie, that only friendship mattered. Well, you’re my very best friend, so who better to teach me how to make love?’

‘I hope you’re sure, Kitty-Cat. This could all be a terrible mistake.’

He half mumbled the words, his mouth moving to suckle her breast, making her cry out with pleasure. She lost all control after that. His hands and mouth seemed to develop a life of their own, moving and caressing every secret part of her, stroking, teasing, tantalising, awakening sensations in her she hadn’t known possible. Just to experience the demanding pressure of his lips against hers, the roughness of his skin bruising her breasts, and the weight of his body upon hers, squeezing the breath from her lungs as he entered her, stirred a desire in her so deeply profound, so sweetly insistent, that Kitty could hardly believe the sensations rioting through her. It was as if this great and overpowering need had been present inside her all along, just waiting to be fanned into life by his touch.

Kitty was the first to wake. She stirred with reluctance, so comfortable and safe was she, wallowing in a sense of warmth and well-being. She drew her feet up beneath the blankets and the thought came to her through a haze of sleep, that she could lie here all day, so cosy, so safe, so...

And then she remembered.

Her eyes flew open and went straight to Archie’s supine figure, fast asleep beside her.
What had she done?
What had she been thinking of? A wave of embarrassment washed over, filling her with an overwhelming instinct to flee.

Very quietly, so as not to wake him, she slid from the bed, snatched up her night-gown and crept swiftly from the room, praying she would not bump into their landlady as she fled naked along the landing. Collecting her wash bag she locked herself in the bathroom, since thankfully no one else in the house seemed to be up at this early hour. She ran a deep bath guessing Mrs Stokes would be furious with her for taking all the hot water, but they’d be leaving straight after breakfast, so what did it matter?

What did anything matter? Last night she’d lost her virginity. No, not lost it - given it away with gladness and joy. Kitty could feel her cheeks burn with shame at the memory.

Had she completely lost her reason? She’d slept with Archie Emerson - her dearest friend who, up until last night she’d thought of as a surrogate brother, had even passed him off as such.

What would he think of her now? How could she ever face him again? Kitty felt utterly appalled by her own wantonness. Why had she done it? Out of revenge to Frank? Surely not. Why would she risk spoiling a perfect friendship for such a shallow reason? Kitty lay back in the hot water, going over their lovemaking, step by blissful step, remembering the mounting tension, the breathless excitement, the touch of lips and fingers and the glorious intensity of fulfilment. Surely all of that emotion must have a deeper purpose than simply physical. Whatever Kitty may lack in practice, she was certainly fully conversant with the theory of sex, thanks to Clara’s open approach to the subject. She understood that men could enjoy it without love. Besides, hadn’t she been given ample proof of that fact already, from her own fiancé?

But could a woman? ‘A woman’s needs are different.’ Clara had told her so a dozen times or more. ‘Except for harlots.’

So what did last night make her?

Why, a woman in love of course. What else could those marvellous feelings mean?

The water had gone quite cold by the time Kitty stepped out to rub herself down briskly with the towel. She did not examine her vulnerability or naivety now. Kitty gave no credence to the insecurities she’d felt so sharply in the fragile hours of the night. In the time it took her to climb back into her clothes and tidy her hair ready for breakfast, she was perfectly convinced that not only was she head over heels in love with Archie Emerson but that having given herself to him, she must marry him. Kitty, in her innocence, could think of no other reason to explain such behaviour.

The only question which remained was - did Archie feel the same way about her?

He’d seemed to find pleasure in her too thin, too tall body, Kitty reasoned as she buttoned up her boots. But if men truly were different, then how could one ever know for certain what they felt? It was most perplexing. Yet surely Archie was not like other men. Archie was her special friend and would never take advantage.

Having boosted her leaking self-confidence, Kitty smoothed down her skirt and viewed herself in the spotted mirror over the bathroom sink. The scrubbed, shining face that looked back at her still wore the mantle of youth but in the eyes she detected a new excitement, a knowledge that hadn’t been there before. She was quite certain that when she walked into the dining room for breakfast, everyone would know what had taken place the previous night. They would witness the love emanating from them both.
 

Archie could hardly bring himself to get out of bed. He’d been aware of her slipping out and been thankful for it. The postponement before he must face her would give him time to think, to work out a way to handle this tricky situation for he was consumed by guilt.

He would have liked to blame Kitty for what had happened, blame anyone but himself for that matter, but how could he? He was the mature adult. He should have shown better control instead of his usual display of selfish need.

She was a young girl, a virgin for God’s sake, wounded and hurt, who had turned to him for comfort and succour. And what had he done? Had he picked her up and taken her back to her own bed? Indeed not. Had he reassured her that she was perfectly lovely and would one day meet the kind of young man she deserved, that she should be grateful to Clara for saving her from the odious Frank Cussins? No, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d shamelessly taken advantage of her naivety.

What excuse could he possibly offer for such behaviour? He made no bones of the fact that he’d wanted her for months; had relished the care and attention she gave so unstintingly. But not for a moment had he considered making such a rash move.

It wasn’t that he even loved her. No, he corrected himself. That wasn’t strictly true. Of course he loved her. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Kitty, for hadn’t he known her since she was sixteen? But that didn’t necessarily make him the right man for her. He loved her as he would a younger sister. No, that couldn’t be true either, or he wouldn’t have been capable of what he’d done last night. Oh God, was he completely debauched?

Archie cut himself shaving, had to stick a piece of tissue paper on the wound to stop it from bleeding. The breakfast gong sounded and he braced himself for a painful confrontation. He could only hope that she’d be grown up enough to pretend it had never happened and go on being friends. That would by far be the best way.

The two sat in silence at the check-clothed table in the tiny dining room, each in a straight-backed chair, eating a substantial breakfast the likes of which had never been seen at Hope View throughout its entire existence. Archie spoke not a word, hadn’t even ventured a good morning. Nor, for that matter had Kitty. She could tell by the way he was avoiding her eye that he was embarrassed.

A wall of silence rose stolidly between them, thickening and growing while inside she felt a sickening realisation unfurl.
He wasn’t even going to mention it
! Disappointment bit deep, souring the taste of food in her mouth, making it seem like sawdust. She set the breakfast aside, half eaten.

‘Don’t you want it?’ Kitty shook her head and Archie said something about it being a shame to waste good food as he helped himself to a slice of her bacon and two of her sausages.

How could he eat so heartily when her own stomach churned with nerves, quite robbing her of appetite?

Finally he laid down his knife and fork with a replete sigh, drained a second cup of tea and addressed her in his usual bright and cheery voice. ‘I say old thing, you’re a bit quiet this morning. Sleep all right?’ Just as if she’d spent the night down the landing in her own room, and not curled up beside him.

She flashed him a wavering smile but, anxious not to let him see how his careless tone hurt her, responded equally brightly, ‘Like a log.’

Another silence during which Archie finished off three slices of toast and marmalade. She felt the absence of emotion like a slap in the face. He gave no sign of the tender love which had been so prevalent during the night. Could Clara have been right after all? Sex, to the male of the species, as Frank and now Archie so clearly demonstrated, was of no consequence to them at all. Well then, it was certainly of no consequence to her either. ‘And you? Did you sleep well?’ Kitty politely enquired, with a desperate brightness.

‘Like a top.’

‘Good.’

He set down his cup. ‘We’d best be on our way then.’

‘Yes, why not?’ and thrusting back her chair, almost knocking it over, Kitty went in search of the landlady to settle their bill.

As the bus left the small town behind, Kitty forgot their discord as she caught her first glimpse of the breathtaking beauty of the mountains. Their brooding splendour backlit by a brilliant haze of light, the silver sheet of water that was Lake Windermere rippling at their feet, could well have been stage managed by Mother Nature entirely for her benefit. The glorious view acted like a balm to her sore heart and bruised pride. Kitty resolved not to worry about what had taken place between them, but to behave in a mature fashion, as if it were of no account. She was a woman after all, not a child.

The bus branched left by the steamer pier and Archie informed her that the remains of a Roman camp known as Galava lay beneath the green meadow. They were heading towards Clappersgate, Skelwith Bridge and ultimately Carreckwater, the hills she could see now were apparently the Langdales. Kitty could barely take it all in, but gazed about her in wonder as they drove down a maze of winding lanes, up hill and down dale, so entranced was she by the beauty of it all. It all felt quite extraordinary, just as if she were coming home.

And then in what seemed the middle of nowhere, Archie asked the driver to stop and they climbed down to stand in the empty lane watching as it drove away, leaving a swirl of dust in its wake. Without a word Archie set off along a wide dirt track, Kitty trudging alongside dragging her battered old suitcase, and the moment she saw the house Kitty knew that the adventure had begun.

It stood four-square in the centre of a small gravelled courtyard, rather like an oversized doll’s house, the paint work faded and cracked. It possessed no Ionic columns, no porticoes or gothic additions of any sort, not even a porch; simply a solid oak door and eight sash windows all shuttered against the sun. Clumps of grass and thistles grew up here and there through the gravel, a gate swung off its hinges, creaking eerily in the wind and the fallen branch of a tree had smashed down part of what might have been a stable.

Nevertheless the house possessed undoubted charm and at right angles to it stood a cluster of barns and outbuildings, the whole surrounded by a dry-stone wall. Beyond these lay satin green meadows, tall beech and oak trees, a flag-stoned packhorse bridge over a babbling beck which led in turn down to the edge of a lake, glittering and still in the morning sun. And towering over this bucolic scene, as if keeping guard, reared the mountains, now no longer blue-grey and distant but close at hand, revealing every scar of rock, every patch of bracken, as if she could reach out and touch them. Their awesome grandeur took her breath away as they soared endlessly upward, their topmost peaks veiled by wreaths of mist, like a shy bride. After Ealing, it seemed like a little piece of heaven had fallen from the sky.

‘This is yours?’ Kitty was utterly incredulous.

Archie merely signified his assent by a casual flicker of his eyebrows.

Kitty wanted to ask why, if he owned even a fraction of this glorious beauty, he’d chosen to live at wretched Hope View
.
Instead, leaving her suitcase on the gravel path since she hadn’t the strength to drag it another inch, she obediently followed him along an overgrown path which led around the side of the house, fighting her way through stinging nettles and clinging ivy.

‘Sorry about this, but we never use the front door these days.’

Excitement was sharp in her. What would they find inside this intriguing mansion? Kitty couldn’t wait to explore.

Pushing open the kitchen door, Archie marched straight into a bright sunny kitchen, throwing the two surprised occupants into first a stunned disbelief, and then a dervish of excitement. There were squeals of delight and great hugs of welcome. He was lifting and swinging each of them around in turn, head thrown back, laughing like a delighted school boy.

Only when it was over, tears wiped, laughter and joy subsiding did he manage to extricate himself and turn to her.

Kitty had remained standing by the kitchen door throughout, startled by the very presence, let alone the effusive warmth of the greeting from these two strangers. It made her feel like an outsider, though she’d no right to complain for that was indeed what she was. Archie was introducing her now as ‘Little Kitty, my very best friend and adopted sister,’ a glint of wicked mischief shining in his dark blue eyes, for who but he had ever dubbed her as ‘little’ despite her tallness?