All I Want Is You (9 page)

Suddenly Beatrice’s arm had tightened round my shoulder. She was gazing at me as if she’d not seen me before; her kohl-lined eyes were glittering with excitement. ‘Sophie. My God, all this shy innocence, and you want to learn, so badly. Do you know, I’ve just had the most wonderful idea.’

I couldn’t tell what was going on in her mind, I couldn’t tell at all, but I knew that the air was charged between us, as if a thunderstorm were about to break. She had pulled herself away then rose from the settee to look down at me. ‘Sophie,’ she said, ‘you’re pretty. Extremely pretty.’

No, I wasn’t. I’d never be beautiful like her, with her sophistication, her clothes from Paris. ‘I’m too thin,’ I shrugged. ‘Everybody says so.’

‘No. No. Modern girls are meant to be slim, it’s all the rage in London – look.’

I suddenly saw that she’d unpacked some new magazines, which she grabbed and pushed towards me. While I turned the pages, she was pulling out more gowns from her trunk: picking one in grey chiffon, she beckoned me to her and got to work. Off came my old white chemise; I shivered, but now she was moving too quickly for me to feel afraid of being naked in front of her. First came a lace-edged brassiere and French knickers, both in palest green. Then she helped me put on silk stockings and finally the gown, just like last time when she’d made me wear that dress of pink crepe de Chine. When she’d finished,
she pushed me to stand in front of the long cheval glass.

The dress I now wore was by Worth, she told me; it was sleeveless and drop-waisted, and my legs, in the nude silk stockings, looked shockingly sleek to me.

‘I was wrong, Sophie,’ Beatrice breathed. ‘You’re not pretty, you’re beautiful.’ Still bursting with energy, she found some shoes that fitted my small feet perfectly – they were of grey kid, with one-inch heels and buttoned straps – and we giggled together as I took some unsteady steps across the carpet, then collapsed into her arms. It was the cigarette I’d smoked, I told myself; it was the shoes; it was the sheer, incredible excitement of seeing what I could be.
What this could mean.

Whatever it takes
, I said again under my breath.
Whatever it takes
.

I was still leaning against Lady Beatrice. We were still both laughing, but our laughter died as we looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly she put me away from her, her expression intent. ‘We need to see to your make-up next. Sit there, at my dressing table.’

Carefully she pulled out a selection of the pots and tiny silver bottles that had always fascinated me, and she began to apply a little of each to my face: powder, a touch of rouge, a line of kohl painted around my eyes, then coral lipstick. I gazed into the mirror while she went to put on another record. I hardly recognised myself.

‘Your hair is wrong,’ she frowned. ‘It should be short, like mine. But for now…’ She quickly unpinned and brushed out my long fair hair, then picked up a pair of
scissors. I must have flinched, because she laughed and said, ‘Wait. Just wait, and see.’

I thought she might cut it all, but she trimmed only a small section so it fell across my forehead in a straight line above my eyebrows. Then she pulled back the rest of my still-long hair to the nape of my neck and pinned it into a smooth coil. She made me stand up and walk arm-in-arm with her to the cheval glass again; she held me tight as we looked at ourselves.
Oh my
. I was starting to look like her. Sophisticated. Modern. Elegant. My heart drummed with such excitement I could hardly breathe.

Her eyes too were glittering. ‘Look at us. One fair, one dark… Oh, Sophie, you’re so lovely.’ She was a little drunk, I thought. The lamp flickered and the record had stuck.
Love is the sweetest thing… Love is the sweetest thing…
Her arm tightened through mine. ‘Let’s dance, again Sophie. I want to dance.’

She glided to the gramophone to start the record again. She was intoxicating, I realised, as she drew me into her arms. Suddenly hot, I cast my eyelashes down, watching our feet as they moved and breathing in her scent, a spicy, exotic mix of patchouli and musk. I loved being near Beatrice. I loved what she had done for me.

Yet I wanted so much more.

Her scarlet-painted lips were against my ear as we danced. ‘Little Sophie, I know you want a new life and I’m going to help you. You’re so wise, not to have given yourself to some oaf of a man who doesn’t deserve you. And your innocence will be your greatest asset as we lay our plans…’

We
again.
My innocence.
Oh, God, what was she thinking of? What was she planning?

But I was reckless by then, you see, and we danced on together, laughing now. Yet this time, when the record stopped, she suddenly placed my hand against her breast – and my breath caught in my throat at the intimate warm feel of her there, at the slight peaking of her nipple under the silk of her gown.

She put her hands on either side of my face. ‘Do you sometimes feel, Sophie – ’ her voice was a mere murmur now – ‘that you can’t bear waiting any more? That you can’t bear being without a man, I mean?’

I shook my head, bashful again. ‘I’ve never been with a man. So I’ve no idea—’

‘But my dear,’ she broke in, ‘I know what you did with Margaret.’

My stomach lurched.
Margaret.
Oh, no. The things she’d said to me. The things she’d done to me.

Beatrice was still gazing at me. ‘Indeed,’ she said softly, ‘she was aware of my fondness for… playing games, you see. Especially with one as innocent and lovely as you. She used to tell me everything…’ Suddenly her eyes narrowed. ‘Though she made a bad mistake, not telling me straight away about Guy Fawcett. I don’t like being spied on. But what you did, with Margaret – it’s only a shadow of what it’s like, Sophie, to be with a man. And there are ways, as you know, to relieve the tension you must feel…’

Her hand had slipped round my waist. She was leading me, I realised, into her bedroom, where only one lamp flickered and the curtains were drawn. Slowly she
undressed herself except for her stockings, then put on a silk kimono; I tried not to look, but I glimpsed enough to be reminded that her body was beautiful, her breasts full and high. For I’d seen her naked before, with the American, and at the memory my blood heated anew.
Playing games.
She passed another silk robe to me with a knowing smile.

‘Here. Put this on,’ she said.

So I undressed, like her. I was afraid she was watching me, but then I realised she had gone across to a closet and brought out a lacquered case with a tiny gold key to unlock it. She put the case on her bed, then came back to me.

‘Sophie, I need you in my arms. Lie here like this with me, darling. That’s right.’ She put her arm around me, drew me with her onto her bed, snuggled herself close to me then sighed with happiness like a child. Her bright silk dressing robe had fallen apart and I saw with a jolt of shock that she had rouged her nipples. Excitement and a warning of danger made my pulse race at the sight of those creamy breasts with their scarlet tips. A dark, sweet tension unfurled in my womb.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispered. ‘Please, kiss me, Sophie.’

She lifted herself up on one elbow so she was hovering above me. Her lips touched mine, lightly, then with firmer pressure; her tongue darted into my mouth and my pulse began to pound. She toyed with my mouth for a while, licking my teeth and tongue, gently biting the inside of my lip; she pushed back my robe and her hands were on my naked shoulders as I tried to control the aching throb that had started inside me.

She lay back suddenly with a little sigh. I was afraid I had done something wrong. But then she turned her dark head to me and I saw her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes very bright.

‘Kiss me, there.’ She was pointing to her breast. I moved and tentatively put my lips to her nipple, but it felt so strange, the flesh was so stiff – I backed away, and she grabbed me. ‘Let me show you what to do, Sophie.’

Almost instantly she was there at my breast; like Margaret, only so much better.
Oh, my.
Her tongue was doing what her fingers had done earlier; she was sucking my breast into her mouth, and I cried out as delicious sensations shot through me. I felt my legs writhing; my secret place was hot and shamefully wet. She had slipped her thigh between mine, as her teeth gently bit my nipple. If she went on like this, I thought, I didn’t know what would happen; I was coiled tight, I was burning, I could not stand this, I wanted more…

She drew away. I moaned softly in disappointment and she smiled at me in the half-light. ‘The first lesson, Sophie,’ she breathed, ‘is to take your time. And learn to give as well as to receive.’

She’d reached for her lacquered box and drawn something out, but in the shadows I could not see it – until she put it in my hand. It was a thick, cool wand of ivory, several inches long.
Like – a phallus?
My insides throbbed with exquisite tension. Oh, sweet God, she could not – she would not…

She took it from me again, and pressed its length
against my tingling breast. I arched and moaned. ‘Let me show you,’ she breathed.

She parted her own legs and stroked the ivory shaft’s blunt tip up above her stockings, which she still wore beneath her silk robe. Her dark hair was trimmed there into a neat triangle; I could see the pink lips of her sex, the furls of moist flesh as she drew the tip of the phallus between them. My heart stopped.
I want it to be me. I want…

Still stroking the phallus up and down her sex she rasped, ‘Kiss me, Sophie. Kiss my breasts, as I kissed yours.’

I put my lips to her nipple. I sucked, I licked the hardened crest with my tongue until she groaned aloud. ‘Don’t stop. Sweet Sophie, don’t stop.’

She had raised her knees, and as she let them fall shockingly apart I saw her ease the blunt tip of the phallus into her sex. She was moaning and breathing harshly, and I felt myself becoming even more desperately hot and wet as she moved that ivory shaft in and out of herself; slowly at first, then harder, harder. Her parted thighs trembled frantically, she was lifting her hips in need, then as she drove it deep I bit on her nipple; almost instantly she exploded, thrashing in my arms, her hips pumping around the ivory wand.

I was on fire. I was burning with need myself. Slowly she pulled out the thick piece of ivory then leaned to press it against my mouth so I could taste her juices. I licked its smooth length desperately.

‘Sweet little Sophie,’ she murmured. ‘You want this so
much, don’t you? But we are going to save you. For Lord Ashley.’

And suddenly I was scrambling from the bed away from her.

For Lord Ashley –
no.
I was almost at the door but she was coming after me and pulling me back. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’

She was stronger than me and was pushing me firmly to the bed by keeping her hands on my shoulders. ‘Listen to me, Sophie,’ she said, as if explaining something simple to an obstinate child. ‘I want Lord Ashley. I want him badly. But men like him have their pick of the most beautiful, most sophisticated women in the world, so I need to show him that I can offer him what no one else can.’

Again I tried to break away but she grabbed my wrists. ‘
Listen.
In the kind of world the aristocrats live in, it’s considered an amusing trick to provide your male lover – or indeed your husband – with a small gift now and then. A pretty serving maid, for example, preferably an innocent, for him to enjoy while the donor of the gift looks on.’ Her hands tightened round me. ‘I’m going to offer him you and me, Sophie. Together.’

My heart stopped then started again, so jerkily that I felt sick. And as her words finally sunk in, I realised that the path she’d taken me on so far was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what lay ahead.

‘I’m being remarkably generous to you,’ Lady Beatrice went on. An edge of hardness had crept into her voice. ‘More than generous. My dear, had you hoped to choose someone yourself to take your precious virginity? Someone you imagined – ’ she laughed – ‘would
love
you?’ She’d got to her feet; she was prowling restlessly again. I think she’d realised I was shaking.

‘I admit it,’ she continued, ‘there’s a dark side to Ash. He’s successful and ruthless and he doesn’t give a fig what people say about him – which is as well, since he’s made powerful enemies. I can cope with all that. I can make him realise that he needs me, as his wife. And I’m going to show him that marriage to me will be a beginning, not an end.’

I’d risen to my feet again. I’d pulled the edges of my gown together and my blood ran cold. But I remember I said – calmly, I think – ‘What if I cannot –
will
not – do it?’

Her face was even harder then. ‘Use your senses. Do you think you would stand any chance at all of escaping from here without my help? If you do, you’re stupider than I thought. Most likely you’d end up like Nell in a few years – worn out by unwanted pregnancies and hard work. What do you want? What do you really want, Sophie, more than anything?’

I thought in despair of Mr Maldon, but I knew by then that I would never see him again. I lifted my head and met her eyes. ‘I want to dance on stage,’ I said. ‘In London.’

I expected her to laugh out loud, but instead she
began to smile. ‘That’s good. That’s very good, Sophie. Listen, then.’ She came closer and seized my hands. ‘Once you’ve helped me to persuade Ash that marriage to me will be an adventure and not a trap, then I’ll take you to London myself – I’ll even introduce you to the theatre managers I know. So what do you say?’

Shivering, I sat on the edge of the bed. The impossible was happening: Lady Beatrice was showing me a way out of my world of drudgery, possibly my only way out, but the price was high indeed. She was going to give me to Lord Ashley; offer him my virginity. And he sounded hateful to me. I imagined him as some muscular creature like Guy Fawcett, taking me almost frantically –
would it hurt? It must hurt, when the man is so powerful –
while Lady Beatrice perhaps tongued my breasts and watched my face darkly.