Charity (38 page)

John stirred and Charity held her breath as his fingers moved sleepily on her. He cupped his hand round her breast and nuzzled into the back of her neck.

She knew he was awake now by his breathing, and slowly he began to caress her, rolling her hardened nipple between his fingers.

Charity feigned sleep as his hand slid down her body on to her thigh and then slipped under her nightie, but as his hand smoothed over the bare skin on her belly, she sighed involuntarily.

His touch was so sensuous she had to turn towards him, offering her lips without even opening her eyes, pulling him closer to her, and pressing her body against his.

That kiss went on and on, slowly growing in passion as his hands caressed her gently. Slowly he moved her on to her back and, lifting her nightdress up, he pulled it over her head then moved down to her breasts.

He showed no haste this time, licking, sucking and squeezing until she found herself writhing against him and throwing her arms out wide.

‘Such perfect little breasts,’ he murmured. ‘So sweet and delicious.’

She had never felt anything as thrilling as this with Hugh. Although she was aware no man could be such a skilful lover without vast experience, John made her feel as if he was doing all this for the first time. His gasps of pleasure as he probed inside her, the endearments he murmured and the sweetness of his kisses, moved her almost to tears.

It felt so right being loved by him. The warmth of his hard body, the tenderness in his caresses, drove out all thoughts of what had gone before. There was nothing dirty or shameful in the way he made her feel, no reminders of the past, only ecstasy and a deep need for fulfilment.

When he moved down her body to kiss her inner thighs she stiffened momentarily.

‘Let me kiss you there,’ he whispered, his fingers parting her vagina lips in a way that made her feel shocked, apprehensive yet thrilled all at once. ‘I want to taste you, to show you how beautiful it can be. Trust me, darling.’

Never before had she felt anything so overpoweringly wonderful as his tongue flitted over her. Wave after wave of intense pleasure that made her toss from side to side and call out his name and clutch his head closer to her. The intensity increased with such ferocity she lost all sense of time or place and finally it erupted in an orgasm.

Her body was still shuddering as he moved back to enfold her in his arms. She wanted to gasp out that she’d never felt anything like that before, to ask what she could do to him that would make him feel as wonderful.

Was it just because he was more mature? Hugh had never managed to make anything like that happen. Is that what Rita meant when she said her older lover made her weak at the knees?

‘I want you,’ John whispered hoarsely and only then was she aware he still had his pyjama trousers on and that his need was as great as hers had been seconds before. ‘Can you bear it?’

‘Of course.’ She giggled softly, touched by his sensitivity. ‘I want you too.’

He didn’t let go of her for an instant, yet somehow he managed to strip off his pyjamas and rip open a packet of Durex while still murmuring endearments. Her hands reached out to help him eagerly, loving him still more for not making this moment coarse as Hugh had often done.

‘It’s so hot and wet in there,’ John gasped as he slipped into her, his lips reaching for hers with sweet sensuality. ‘Oh my darling, you are wonderful.’

His shuddering moan as he came moved her to a second climax and as they clung together wordlessly, she felt reborn, as if her life was just starting and all the pain and sadness of her childhood was washed away.

It was nearly eight when they woke again. John drew the curtains back so the weak sunshine spilled over the bed. Below in the street they could hear traffic and Charity had never felt more at peace as she lay in his arms.

‘I’m starving,’ John said. ‘I think I’ll ring and ask them for our breakfast in bed.’

‘I’d be embarrassed if they brought breakfast in,’ she said, torn between hunger and the need to stay in bed. ‘They’d know what we’d been up to.’

‘Who cares,’ John laughed. ‘You can hide in the bathroom anyway. I’ll even put my pyjamas on and make it look respectable.’

Charity scooted away when the waiter brought the tray, but the moment he’d gone she came leaping in again to join John in bed.

‘Croissants and jam.’ John rolled his eyes in blissful delight as he buttered one for her. ‘This is heaven!’

They ate every last thing on the tray, even the salami and ham they’d turned their noses up at before in the dining room.

‘Now for a bath,’ John said once the last crumb had gone. ‘And then I’m going to start all over again.’

Charity covered her naked body with her hands as John came into the bathroom while she was testing the water. A glimpse of her boyish figure in the big gilt-framed mirror just seconds before John came in had wiped out her new-found confidence.

‘Don’t hide yourself from me,’ he said gently, taking her hands in his and drawing her into his arms.

‘I’m too skinny.’ She blushed scarlet as his eyes travelled down her.

He shook his head.

‘Tiny and exquisite, not skinny.’

Charity lay back in the deep water watching while John shaved. His back was deeply tanned, speckled with tiny freckles. His skin was as smooth as her own and her eyes travelled down over his taut buttocks to his muscular thighs and calves. He turned, perhaps sensing her watching and smiled, one half of his face still covered in shaving soap.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘What a nice shape you are,’ she said. ‘If you’d been fat I’d probably have left you on the hotel floor that night.’

In fact she had been considering his penis, though she couldn’t bring herself to admit that. She had expected men’s penises to be much the same size. John’s and Hugh’s while they were limp were similar, yet erect John’s was almost twice as big as Hugh’s.

John grinned and shook his head, turning back to finish shaving.

‘You need glasses,’ he joked.

‘Did you do this with your wife?’ Charity asked as she leaned back on John in the bath, while he played with her breasts.

‘Don’t ask me things about her,’ he said and although she couldn’t see his expression she felt it might be one of hurt.

‘I just hoped it might’ve been the first time you’d ever had a bath with a girl,’ she said in a small voice, jealousy creeping up on her unawares. ‘I didn’t want to know your secrets.’

‘Now is the only important thing.’ He nuzzled his lips against Charity’s neck. ‘And if you must know, there aren’t a great deal of young pretty girls queuing up to share a bath with me.’

Charity turned to face him, moving over on her stomach between his legs and resting her chin on his chest.

‘I don’t understand how any woman could resist you.’

His face was becoming increasingly dear to her; she wanted to photograph permanently in her mind every line. The way his lips curled slightly at the corners, each freckle, every tiny flaw. But the way he looked now, his curls damp, naked and boyish sent a stab of love through her heart.

‘What do you want from a woman?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he spoke he sounded very sad and hesitant to Charity’s ears.

‘I want a woman who desires me as much as I desire her. Someone who can be my friend, who makes me laugh and wants to share everything. A woman I don’t have to pretend with, who doesn’t give a toss about tomorrow, or even the world outside.’

‘Am I that person?’ Charity was terrified of the answer, but she had to ask.

‘Charity,’ John said softly. ‘It’s too soon to speak about those things and you’re so very young. Let’s just enjoy what we’ve got now.’

She felt a sudden chill, as abandoned and frightened for a second as she had when she listened to her father’s footsteps on the stairs.

They made love again later, even though they could hear the maids coming up the corridor to clean the rooms. Charity found she was losing all her inhibitions, wallowing in the sensual delights John introduced her to.

Later they got dressed and went out, but instead of taking her to the Uffizi Gallery as she’d expected, John led her to the smart shops in the Via de’ Calzaiuoli.

‘Don’t even think of protesting,’ he said as she looked wary. ‘I want to buy you some beautiful clothes and I won’t take no for an answer.’

He seemed to know as much about clothes as he did about everything else. In a volley of rapid Italian he had the elegant assistants jumping to it and bringing out one exquisite dress, jacket and skirt after another.

Back home she wouldn’t even have dared look in such shops, much less allow herself to be divested of her clothes and pushed into trying such wonderful things on. In the first shop he bought her a pale blue soft leather jacket that toned perfectly with a checked straight skirt and a silk shirt. In the next he bought a black chiffon cocktail dress with sequins round the high collar.

Charity was torn between delight and suspicion. Was he buying her things out of guilt because he didn’t feel the way she did about him?

‘But where will I wear it?’ she said helplessly as she stood in front of the mirror. Beneath the billowing sheer chiffon there was a slinky slip that clung to her like a second skin; as impractical as it was, she loved it.

‘Don’t worry,’ John grinned. ‘Girls who look like you always get the opportunities.’

He went on and on. First one shop for sweaters, then another for a couple of day dresses and shoes. Only when the shops began to close for the afternoon did he seem satisfied.

They stopped for a bottle of wine and a pizza in an open-air café in the Piazza della Signoria. It was warm in the sunshine, like an early summer’s day at home and Charity found it hard to believe it was only February.

‘Shall we go back to the hotel now for a rest?’ John said, taking her hand in his and playing with her fingers.

‘Rest!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had more than that in mind.’

‘Sei una fica affamata,’ he smiled.

‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. ‘You have a hungry pussy.’

Charity giggled.

‘Very hungry,’ she agreed. ‘And if you don’t get me back there quickly it might claw you.’

They could hardly wait until the bedroom door was closed behind them before they were tearing each other’s clothes off.

‘Go easy on me,’ John protested at one point. ‘I told you I’m an old man. At this rate there’ll only be a husk of John Marshall escorting you home. They might have to put me in a wheelchair.’

Knowledge of each other made it sweeter still. Lingering caresses added a new dimension to their lovemaking, both feeling so much they wanted it to last and last.

‘I love you,’ Charity heard herself cry out at the moment of climax, but it was only later she realised he hadn’t reciprocated.

Yet as they lay in the afterglow, arms and legs wrapped around one another, Charity was sure he must feel the same. His eyes spoke of love even though his lips didn’t – surely no man could make love that way and not give his heart too?

Next day she broached the subject that had been on her mind. They were sitting in a sunny spot outside their favourite café in the Piazza della Signoria, sheltered from the breeze by bushes and Charity was tipsy enough after a bottle of wine not to mind being the initiator.

‘I’m falling in love with you,’ she said.

He smiled tenderly, brushing the back of his hand across her cheek.

‘It’s just this place,’ he said. ‘When we get back to England you’ll find it’s like a touch of flu. A few more sniffles, then it’ll be gone.’

‘I don’t believe that.’ Charity felt a desperate pang. ‘It doesn’t feel that way.’

‘Don’t talk about love,’ John said, looking away.

‘Why not?’ she asked, catching hold of his hand and holding it in both of hers. ‘Because I’m too young? Do you think I don’t know what I feel?’

She had to get up and run away then, hurtling through the piazza, startling a flock of pigeons.

John watched her running, but he made himself stay and finish his wine. Her hair swayed from side to side, a platinum pennant signalling rejection; her bottom wiggled with the effort of running in high-heeled shoes.

She was lying on the bed crying when he got back to the hotel.

Saying nothing, he just sat on the bed beside her and stroked her back.

‘I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded,’ he said eventually as her sobs subsided. ‘Don’t cry, Charity, please don’t cry.’

‘Don’t I mean anything to you at all?’ She lifted a tear-stained face to his.

‘I want you to see me, and all this –’ he waved one hand at the room – ‘as a wonderful experience, a stepping stone forward. You must learn from it, from good food, the nice clothes, aim to achieve something for yourself. You don’t want to be saddled with an old man.’

‘But I do,’ she whispered. ‘I want to be your love, to be that friend you spoke of, have your babies.’

He made love to her again, long and hard.

Later he looked down at Charity lying asleep in his arms. It was getting dark outside, but there was still light enough to see her clearly. Her hair was tousled, smears of mascara on her cheeks rosy from lovemaking, slightly squashed as she lay on his shoulder. One slender leg was thrown over his, her small buttocks very white and smooth as if carved from marble. One breast was pushed outwards on to his chest, the nipple soft again like a crushed raspberry, and her hand lay relaxed on his stomach.

He had the power to keep her. If he was to wake her now, tell her he loved her and ask her to marry him, he knew she would.

John sighed deeply because in his heart he knew it wouldn’t work. He must encourage her to find a good job, to make something of her own life, and wait and see how she felt then.

The days passed so quickly, yet in an indolent, lazy glow of sightseeing, shopping, drinking, eating and making love. Charity’s natural sensuality grew deeper every day. She no longer became embarrassed when he whispered erotic things to her, but flushed with excitement.

One evening they were coming back to the hotel from a restaurant, slipping through the narrow dark alleys, when Charity kissed him.