Those Wicked Pleasures (39 page)

She knocked at the bathroom door. He opened it, standing naked except for a towel wrapped around him. Remnants of lather were still on his face. The light that came into his eyes on seeing her told her all she needed to know. He loved her. The night before was not going to lapse into a fantastic one-night stand. She knew that in her heart long before she tapped on the door, but nevertheless she relished the confirmation. She wanted to say something clever, but clever seemed wrong. He smiled at her and bent down, kissed her lovingly on the lips and stroked her arm. That seemed enough.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, Evan.’ It was that simple and simple seemed right.

He swept her off her feet and sat her down on the marble top that served as a surround for the sink he was using. With his finger he removed a stripe of shaving-cream from her upper lip. Then with the corner of a white hand-towel he dried the spot. The gaze that passed between them had its own wordless eloquence. It was he who finally sighed and turned his gaze towards his reflection in the mirror. He cleaned his straight razor in the bowl of still-steaming hot water and finished shaving.

Lara watched him. She felt such overpowering love and admiration for him. Her body ached for more sexual pleasure with him, and it was not for herself alone that she craved more sex. As if reading her mind, he dropped the razor in the hot water, and then, placing his hands around her waist, pushed her back on the marble shelf until her back was against the mirrored wall. He untied the cream-coloured satin sash around her waist and opened the dressing-gown of black lace to gaze lovingly at her body for some time before sliding the gown off her shoulders, and arms. It fell in soft folds all round her.

‘That’s better,’ he told her, and faced the mirror once again. He bent over the bowl and splashed water over his face until it was clean. Taking a fresh towel, he dried his face and his hands.

‘I like watching you shave.’

He placed the towel on the side of the bowl and stroked Lara’s thigh. She had to close her eyes for a second so electric was his touch. He placed an affectionate kiss on her knee and then raised her leg. Bending her knee back he set her foot squarely on the marble. He kissed the top of it and repeated the gesture with the other foot. With his hands on her knees he pushed her legs far, far apart. She slid forward down the wall just enough to be sitting still upright with her genitals exposed for him to view at his leisure.

He looked at her not in a lascivious, hungry way, but with pure pleasure. It was a loving gaze, filled with admiration and affection. When had a man ever looked at her like that, been humbled by passion and love of her? The answer, of course, was never. She too felt humbled by love, in the very same way she felt humbled by the love her children had for her. Only this was not a child’s love but that of a man for a woman. She reached out. Her hand was inside the top of the towel he had wrapped around his hips. She pulled and it fell to the floor. She grazed his naked hip with the palm of her hand. They smiled at each other. There was a declaration in that smile that made words unnecessary.

He broke the gaze when he turned his attention back to his ablutions. She watched him pat on an aftershave that smelt of fresh lemons and made her think of sunshine. Then he stepped towards her and lowered his head between her open limbs. When finally he raised it, he told her, ‘I kiss you good morning, my love.’ When he smiled at her and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, she could still feel the stunning sensation of his lips upon her cunt lips, his tongue licking between them. Such exquisite pleasure caused her to tremble. He dressed her once again in the black lace dressing-gown and tied the sash. Then he helped her from the black and gold slab of marble.

Evan had already drawn his bath. Swirls of steam were still rising from it when he climbed in. She heard the faint sound of a knock at the bedroom door. ‘I’ve ordered us tea and the morning papers.’

Lara felt quite dazed by her sense of contentment, the ease with which she and Evan had become a part of each other’s lives. In his presence she had no sense of her past or thoughts of the future, only of the present. She brought him a cup of tea and left him to his bath. Lara
poured a cup for herself and climbed back into bed to drink it. She felt something she had rarely felt before. It was a strange sensation, like being in limbo. She sipped her tea. She was at that special place where all thinking stops, all desire is quiescent: contentment.

The bathroom door opened. He poured himself a second cup of tea and sat on the bed next to her to drink it.

‘About last night …’

Was it embarrassment or shyness she saw in his face? She placed her cup and saucer on the table next to her. Sliding out from beneath the bed-covers on to her knees, she sat on her haunches behind him. She placed her arms through his and around his middle and hugged herself against him. She rested her head against his back. He felt the warmth of her body against his, her lips in an affectionate kiss. He was not unaware that she was making it easier for him. He cleared his throat and covered her caressing hands with his. ‘I want you to know about last night.’ He faltered, seemed unable to put his feelings into words. She understood that he was not the sort of man to whom expressing emotion came easy. She rode to his rescue.

‘All morning I have been trying to find the right words to tell you what last night meant to me. How much I love you. How my life has suddenly become complete since you entered it. And I can’t. And I understand if you can’t either. You don’t have to tell me, Evan. I see it in the way you look at me, I feel it in the way you touch me.’

He turned on the bed to face her, pulled her roughly into his arms and across his lap. His strength had surprised her the night before, and it did again. He held her tight and she draped her arms loosely around his neck, resting her head against his still bare chest. She could hear the beat of his heart. Overwhelming, the power of this
man’s presence. She could only think how much poorer her life would have been had she not met him. He released her, and she slid from his lap to sit next to him. She watched him while he dressed.

‘Are you thinking, “How old he is”?’

‘No. But you must be thinking how young I am, to mention it.’

‘Touché. People will think you are my daughter.’

‘No, they won’t, Evan. Have no illusions about that. The way you look at me, the way we are together, they’ll know that we are lovers. They will think only one thing: that you are a sexy old rake having yet another fling. I can live with that, if you can.’

He laughed. ‘Another reason for us to lead a very secret life. For who would believe that old staid Evan Harper Valentine could possibly be – in your none too subtle description of me – “an old rake”.’

‘You forgot sexy.’

He laughed again. ‘You think that? And we’ve only just begun!’

‘You have also forgotten the “Sir”, my Nobel lord.’

The pun made him smile. ‘When I am with you I forget everything else in the world except us. I intend to keep it that way. Do you think you too can manage that?’

‘I agreed to that while flying over the Atlantic, remember? I made my commitment to you without reservation, and while that lofty Newtonian mind was still trying to come to terms with falling in love with me. I will not change my tiny, unscientific mind.’

The gaze that passed between them brought a faint smile of acceptance to his mouth. He changed the subject rather quickly. Emotions were coming into play that he could not cope with. ‘Breakfast?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m famished.’

‘Downstairs in the dining room?’

That surprised her. She had thought breakfast at the Connaught too indiscreet for him. ‘Oh, yes please. A huge English breakfast sounds about right to me. I won’t be long.’

When she came out of the bathroom, he was fully dressed and seated in the window scanning the morning paper. She was taken aback by the stature of the man, the fierce intelligence, the formidable presence he exuded, dressed and separate from her. She would have to get used to the idea that this remarkable man she saw reading the newspaper belonged to her as to no other person on earth. She knew she could make him happy.

This was a different man than the lover of the night before, than even the man she had watched shaving. He had been so right on the aeroplane to tell her they should lead two separate lives, one together and one apart. There should be no overlap, or their relationship would never survive. She could not but admire the measures he had taken in response to falling in love with her. He had abandoned a conservative life-style, shed a life-long sexual reserve, and fallen in love with a young and libidinous woman. And against his will, was coping with being in love and leading an adulterous existence. She would never let him down: that resolution came easy to her.

She nearly made a mistake that would have affected their entire future. Impressed with his eminent scientific life, of which she knew she could never be a part, she had tried to strike an attitude by her choice of dress, wanting to declare: I, too, can fit into science and academia, that special world of yours that until now has governed your life.

It was a moment of insecurity, of enforced acceptance of her isolation from the rest of his life. She caught herself just in time. That selfish impulse to have all of him all of the time flared up, but was extinguished. He had fallen
in love with Lara Stanton and all she was, had been and would always be. There was no need for her to create a false image of herself. She avoided the mistake.

She chose a Chanel suit of camel hair, trimmed and cuffed in chocolate-brown braid and with a half-dozen gold buttons on each sleeve, and four to close the jacket. Under it a chocolate brown, see-through, silk chiffon blouse with a soft bow at the neck. High-heeled brown and black Chanel calfskin shoes and pale ivory-coloured stockings. The camel colour, not quite beige, not quite white, was perfect to offset the long blonde hair she was wearing down today straight and combed off her face. She looked young, fresh-faced and provocative when she presented herself to Evan while slipping her arms into the jacket. She caught his look of surprise and delight at her appearance. There was no missing the firm but heavy bare breasts under the transparent chiffon. She adjusted the jacket so that it covered her.

‘You are a most seductive woman. You did that deliberately so that, over my
oeufs en cocotte
and parma ham, I could delight in knowing you are naked and ready for me. You will make me the envy of every man breakfasting in that room this morning.’

‘True.’

‘Might I expect that you intend to seduce me one way or another every day we are together?’ It was said with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Yes, I think you would be safe in assuming that.’

He laughed and then told her, ‘How delightful. Even my old heart skips a beat at the thought of what might be in store for me. I think I like being your sexual slave.’ He slipped his arm through hers and they left the bedroom.

In the lift, he whispered in her ear, ‘And under your skirt …?’

The lift door opened and they walked into the sedate reception-hall. She stopped and they looked at each other. She told him in a seductive voice, ‘Nothing. I intend never to wear anything with you. I like the idea of being naked – open and ready for you – so that you can take me when and where you like. Each other’s sexual slave might be nearer the truth about us.’

It was not one of those lingering romantic breakfasts women dream about, which was no bad thing, since they were parting. He to his gruelling schedule that had not included time for falling in love; she to carry on with her plans for shopping and seeing old friends, having lunch with her sister Elizabeth who was coming up from the country, a gallery visit if time permitted before her departure for the Alps and skiing.

Chapter 26

Lara had had a wonderful day. Contentment can do that to you, transform the least little thing to a happy experience. They would talk, that’s what they had planned, talk to each other whenever they could. She had a contact-number for him. He had the number where she was staying for the next two weeks, and then home. When would they meet again? Whenever they could. It was all so tenuous but it didn’t seem to matter. They would write to each other.

The phone kept ringing. At first she thought it was a dream. Finally she gave in to the incessant sound and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello.’

A long silence and then, ‘I’ve woken you.’

It was Evan. The sound of his voice banished sleep.

‘That doesn’t matter. Where are you?’

‘It’s six o’clock in the morning. I paced the floor for fifteen minutes thinking about waking you, but gave in to selfishness and wanting to hear your voice.’

‘I’d have done the same, worse maybe, to hear yours.’

He gave a light-hearted laugh. ‘That makes it better, but doesn’t do much to discourage me from feeling like a young buck in love. A week ago, if a man like myself had told me that, I would have thought him a senile old fool.’

‘Keep talking. I like to hear you declare yourself to me. But where are you?’

‘I’m waiting for a car to take me to Cambridge. I’m delivering a paper at the university.’

‘Oh. For a minute I thought you might be in the hotel. Wishful thinking.’

‘Nice if I were, but it’s impossible. This is the only time in the entire day I’ll get a chance to hear your voice so I grabbed it. How are you, Lara? And yesterday, after we parted, did you have a good day?’

‘I had a lovely day. And you?’

‘Mine was full, and periodically interrupted by thoughts of you and our first night together.’

‘Good.’

‘No, it’s not. No overlapping of lives – remember? Must practise what I preach.’

‘Forgive yourself, Evan. These are new beginnings. Enjoy me.’

‘You are a corrupting influence.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ she asked teasingly.

‘A bit of both, I fear.’

‘And?’

‘And long may it continue,’ he added, a sensuous warmth in the tone of his words.

‘How am I corrupting you?’

‘By setting me free sexually. But you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

‘My erotic fantasies are running wild.’

‘How wonderful for us. How lucky we are.’

‘Yes, that’s true. I think you may have unleashed something wild here.’

She laughed, a sensuous, seductive sound. ‘How
very
careless of me.’

‘Does nothing faze you?’

‘Certainly nothing about you and your sexual desires could faze me, only excite me.’ A new huskiness had come into his voice; she recognised it as desire. And she realised they were having their first erotic telephone conversation. ‘Evan, don’t hold back. Let’s live all your erotic fantasies.’

‘While racing from one meeting to another we went through Soho. I was actually looking for one of those vulgar sex-shops I have looked down upon all of my life. I wanted to buy erotic toys for us to play with. Things that would excite you, give you pleasure, drag you down into the darker side of sex where my fantasies seem to be. I want to be irresistibly sexual for you. For you to want me that way all the time. See what you have done to me? You have woken the sleeping beast.’

‘Giant,’ she corrected.

Now it was he who laughed. ‘I am acting like a young stud. I must try to remember I am an ageing man in love with a young woman, whose flesh and spirit are the most exciting thing in my life.’

‘A young woman who loves you, Evan. It would be good for you to remember this is no one-sided love-affair.’

‘Lara, we will be together soon. Just to know that you’re out there ready, waiting for me, is the most exciting thing in my life.’

There was a click, and he was gone.

His voice had been like a caress. His desire for her very exciting. She left her warm bed to go and stand by the window. She drew back the curtains and looked down into Carlos Place. The street was only just beginning to come alive. Two people were opening the front door of Bailey’s the poulterer’s. A baker’s van was delivering somewhere down Mount Street. Otherwise all was still and quiet on that Mayfair street. It was a grey, damp and
cold morning. With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around herself as if to protect herself from it. She searched the street again for some other signs of life. Why? She knew he wasn’t there. Nor was he going to be there. But she stared into the street, looking for him anyway. Wishing he would surprise her and she could have just one more look at him. Silly woman in love, she chided herself. The warmth of her bed beckoned.

She stripped off her night-dress before slipping in between the sheets and lay there quietly on her side for some time, using the palm of her hand to caress her skin. Over her hip, around her bottom. She ran one foot over the other, slowly, up and down her leg, again and again. Her body craved caressing, being petted. Hands cupped her own breasts. She liked the feel of her skin, so satiny smooth, of her own hand upon her body.

What sexual fantasies was he having? she wondered. And which of them would he fulfil with her? And what exciting sexual adventure could she conjure for him? There were so many ways for them to give erotic pleasure. She had seen barriers of sexual frustration break down with every sexual advance he made towards her. With every aggressive sexual move she made on him. And she realised that carnal love, combined with a yearning to possess what each of them saw in the other, was what had seduced them to take the steps they had to be together.

‘When next we meet,’ he had told her, ‘I will bring you a sexual surprise.’ She closed her eyes and sighed at the thought of where his sexual fantasies might take them. She rubbed her legs against the silky-smooth sheets and fantasised to herself about the surprises she might offer him. Her role of sexual seductress meant something in their relationship. He relished it; she was excited by it. How thrilling it was to be a part of this
distinguished man’s new and secret freedom.

There were sexual stimuli he had never dreamed of. There were sexual toys to enhance their love-making, unbelievably raunchy yet not lacking in sophistication and elegance. Beautiful things, not the vulgar, shoddy, cheap and nasty plastic vibrators and black rubber implements Soho would dangle at him, more absurd than arousing. She would assemble a collection of pornography, not repellent but exciting, an enhancement of their shared erotic life.

She suddenly remembered such things were available, right here, in London. Who was that man? Where was that place? Near Cadogan Square? That was it. A private house in the heart of London. Jamal had taken her there as a young girl. The owner was a depraved man, a figure not easily erased from memory. A bear in bulk, a man soft but somehow cruel, with fleshy lips, a small nose, soulless eyes. He had arranged things for Jamal, for the visit they made to his house. Jamal had lured Lara there with promises of sexual delights for months before they made their visit. He had, so to speak, primed her for the experience. She must be in no fit state to reject any of it. Nor had she been. Jamal had assured her that the man boasted the finest collection of erotica in existence. His collection of sexual toys contained specimens from randy antiquity down to the permissive present. A dealer in some things, a procurer in others.

Lara remembered how distasteful she had found the man when she met him. She had never allowed him near her, had refused to let him touch her or to become involved in the orgy he had arranged for them. But it had been enough for him to choreograph the orgy for Jamal and her. Once sated with watching, he had shuffled off to another going on in the house and imposed himself on that.

She had learned many things that night. Things that she could never have dreamed she might enjoy. For hours she gave herself up to Jamal and the spirit of Eros. They had spent a night and nearly another whole day in that house. Jamal had bought them their most exciting sexual aids there. That joyless giant had taken all the sleaze out of them. He was able to produce beautiful artifacts to enhance carnal intercourse. What pleasure such things might give Evan. The promise of seducing her lover further into new experiences excited her imagination. She would make him some gifts. But could she bring herself to go on such an errand? Love makes you strong. To Cadogan Square she would go. Evan would have a selection of erotica. A bold thing for a young woman who had never embarked on such a quest to do. She had always left such shopping sprees to the men in her life.

How Evan would appreciate her gifts. Would he acknowledge the courage it took to go bartering for hard-core porn? It was, after all, one of the things he craved at this late time in his life: sexual escape, to experience some of what he had renounced to achieve the higher things.

Lara could not recall the man’s name, but she could not forget the house. Though all the houses looked the same around Cadogan Square, with a sameness that uniquely displeased her – that fierce red brick, those tediously heavy Victorian entrances – she would know it. A large fifteenth-century Chinese dog in bronze, rearing up on its hind legs, occupied the space in front of a mahogany door.

Sir Mundie. It all came rushing back to her. That was his name: Sir Mundie. How could she have forgotten such a name? The fleshy Sir Mundie. Several hours later she was patting the bronze head of the Foo dog.

If someone were to see her entering that house, she
wasn’t making identification easy. She wore dark glasses and her sable coat. A large hat with a crown of fur, a brim of black felt, and every wisp of blonde hair tucked away under it. And anyone who rumbled her disguise and exposed her mission would be inviting curiosity about which of their own foibles Sir Mundie catered for. Jamal had assured her Sir Mundie’s emporium of sin and correction was one of the best kept secrets in England, even among the very wealthy and the eagerly depraved.

An elderly butler answered the door. ‘I should like to see Sir Mundie,’ she told him.

‘Do you have an appointment, madam?’ The butler was a caricature.

‘No, I don’t. But if you tell him that I have been here before with Jamal Ben El-Raisuli, I am sure he will receive me.’

‘Er … with whom, madam?’

The name eventually conjured entry into a very private world. The door swung open. Inside everything was quiet and still, as if the house were encased in a great glass dome. It looked exactly as she had remembered it. Wherever the eye settled were furnishings and
objets d’art
of great value and beauty. The man was obviously a voracious collector, and not of erotica alone. But respectable, even elegant, as the rooms she walked through were, there was, mingled with the scent of roses and jasmine, the perfume of decadence. It was impossible for the senses not to be perturbed by the beauty all around and the underlying hint of corruption.

Only a few minutes passed before the drawing room door was opened, not by Sir Mundie but by the butler bearing a heavy tray of French Baroque silver set with a pot of coffee, a silver sugar pot and creamer and two Sèvres cups and saucers. There was also a pedestal dish of wafer-thin vanilla biscuits, a bunch of fleshy black
grapes draped voluptuously on a plate. ‘Sir Mundie will be with you very soon. If there is anything you wish, you have only to ring the bell.’ After indicating where it was, the butler left.

Sir Mundie kept her waiting for nearly an hour before effecting his entrance. ‘Ah, the lovely Miss Stanton.’

That surprised her. The last time they had met, it was true, she was Miss Stanton, a very young and impressionable Miss Stanton besotted by a rake. That was many years ago and yet he still remembered. He had aged considerably, but in ageing seemed to have acquired a manner rather more gentlemanly than she had remembered. It was less excruciating to be in his presence than she expected.

He went directly to the silver coffee-pot to pour himself a cup. After plucking a grape and placing it on the saucer, he sat down opposite her. He took a sip from his cup and then spoke. ‘When Jamal brought you here those many years ago, I thought you beautiful. A young girl still with some innocence. A quiescent libertine who needed awakening. I see you now as a mature woman, and behind those green eyes a fire still burns bright. I admire you, Miss Stanton. You resisted my ministrations, and that was a disappointment because I wanted a taste of you very much.’

A blush came to her face. How did one counter such effrontery? She began to regret the momentary folly that had brought her to this house.

‘Life is too short to think about what one has missed, Miss Stanton. That was then, and this is now. And you would not be here if there weren’t something you thought I could help you with. How may I be of service to you?’

Lara suddenly felt at a loss. She was searching for the right words to tell Sir Mundie why she had sought him out. He made it easier for her.

‘People only come here by appointment or by invitation. Only the mention of Jamal got you through the door. I doubt that you would have come here or used that name unless you wanted something very much. Speak up, Miss Stanton. Rest assured, there is no need to feel hesitant. I think you remember how greatly I value bringing people together for pleasure. Is that what this is about?’

She became bold. ‘No, I don’t want to bring him here. He could never imagine that a place like this exists.’

‘You might be surprised, Miss Stanton.’

‘You are quite right, I might be. And, who knows? One day we might want to come here together – though I doubt that, somehow. I had some of the most thrilling times of my life in this house, Sir Mundie.’ She had not meant to admit that but it was true. Thinking about it, she had relaxed. The confession simply slipped out.

‘What a fine compliment, Miss Stanton. Thank you most sincerely. I appreciate such sentiments from my house-guests.’

Quite suddenly she felt strangely at ease about her reason for being there. They were understanding each other, her mission. ‘He’s an older man. Much older than I am. He has led a conservative, establishment existence. Been repressed sexually for most of his life, I think. How can one be certain of such things? He used those … er … energies for his family, to achieve success in his chosen field, to help mankind. He is a remarkable man, who was searching for some answers and found me. We are discovering each other, are committed to adding to each other’s lives things we have missed in the wake of living. I think he wants to experience with me everything sexual. He wants the adventure of living out his sexual fantasies with me, and I find that amazingly seductive. That’s why I am here.