Gabriel, as on the Sunday night, was extremely solicitous, asking her several times if she felt all right and expressing his earnest desire not to cause her any harm or emotional discomfort.
♦
They went bathing again on Tuesday, Charis braving the bellowing old crone in the bathing boxes, then splashing about happily in the crowded shallows. In the afternoon they walked down to the harbour and fishmarket to watch the fishing fleet come in.
That evening Gabriel drank two whiskies and soda before the meal, most of a bottle of claret and two brandies afterwards.
Charis’s preparations took the form of a fresh nightgown. As she pulled it over her head she heard Gabriel blunder into a chair. She felt a surge of irritation that he had to drink so much in order to ‘perform’ in so unsatisfactory a way. For a moment she looked forward to the end of the honeymoon, to the time when the nightly obligation to behave as honeymooners would be over.
She lay obediently in bed as Gabriel sheepishly emerged from the dressing room and went over to the door to switch off the light. On his journey back to the bed his hesitant, inebriated course caused him to collide heavily with the bedside locker.
“Ouch! Damn it!” he swore petulantly, hopping about on one foot. “Oui’. Good grief, that’s sore.”
Charis sat up in exasperation.
“What’s happening?” she said angrily.
Gabriel collapsed on the bed. “I cracked my knee on that wretched cupboard-thing,” he moaned in a sulky voice.
“Let me see.” Charis reached out for him, something in his little-boy tones making her less yielding, more firm. Gabriel levered his way across the bed to her.
“You great goose,” she said, relenting. “Who’s had too much to drink tonight, eh? Where’s your knee, you silly boy?” She grabbed hold of his proffered leg and started vigorously rubbing his knee. Gabriel rested his head on her shoulder, moaning.
“And stop moaning,” she said, “Serves you jolly well right.”
“Oooh,” Gabriel said, pretending to wail, carrying on with the joke. “Not so hard.” He put his arms round her. “Kiss it better. Go on.”
“No I will not,” Charis laughed, trying to push him away. He resisted. “Silly, drunken boys get spanks not kisses.” She tried to slap his wrist and they struggled on the bed. Charis felt the ribbons untie at the throat of her nightgown.
“Naughty,” she said warningly. Gabriel’s arms were tight around her.
“Mummy’ll be cross,” she said, without thinking. Gabriel’s lips were on her neck. Then lower. Suddenly his hand was cupped round a small breast, then, with a shock of horrified surprise, she realized his lips had slid down her chest and fastened on to a nipple. She felt the wet warmth of his mouth and longue, and the tug on her breast as he sucked.
My God! was her first reaction, what in God’s name does he think he’s doing? She felt the pressure and nuzzle again, and unthinkingly put her hand on the back of his head. Gabriel, she thought…she didn’t really understand. She leant slowly back against the headboard, feeling the unfamiliar length of his erection pressing against her thigh. “Who’s a naughty boy,” she said softly, unreflectingly easing her position. “Who’s a very naughty little boy?”
♦
When she awoke in the morning, Gabriel was already up and dressed. Charis’s first thoughts were of the previous night. Now at least she knew what an ‘issue of semen’ was. Pale yellowy, cloudy, sticky stuff, that required vigorous sponging to remove from cotton nightgowns. Gabriel had apologized for his precocity as Charis changed. But they had slept in each other’s arms. When she got back into bed Gabriel had snuggled up close to her, resting his head on her breasts, kissing her throat and hugging her, telling her of his love for her, and promising fantastic happiness and bliss in the manner of a seventeenth-century poem.
Charis had stroked his fair hair, happy at least that their marriage had attained some kind of normality. But she was, nonetheless, confused. Gabriel was big and strong, so proud and handsome. She didn’t want to mother him. But then with a flood of charity she thought why not? Every man needed simple comfort in his private moments. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Gabriel had been denied the normal care and affection a child should receive in his peculiar family. All those sisters, and sisters can be so bossy, resentful of little brothers.
And Felix was the real baby of the family too. Mrs Cobb seemed to dote on him to a foolish and exclusive extent. Under the circumstances, she reflected before going to sleep, it was an entirely reasonable, natural thing for Gabriel to seek that sort of affection from his wife.
She ushered these thoughts through her mind again as Gabriel came over to the bed and sat down. He smiled tenderly at her and took her hand.
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said with some irritation. Why was he always asking her this, as if she were some kind of invalid? Surely she should be the one being solicitous? But she checked herself. “Of course, darling,” she repeated.
“What do you feel like doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Is it a nice day?”
“Super. We could bathe.”
“What about taking the steamer to Le Havre?”
“Or there’s a concert in the Casino this afternoon.”
“Oh not stuffy concerts, Gabriel. Please.”
He laughed. “All right. There’s a ball there on Saturday. Hope you won’t find that so stuffy.” He stood up. “Look lazybones,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs. We’ll have a confab. over breakfast.”
Charis lay in bed for a few minutes after he had gone. She thought about the summer months ahead of them. The West Kents were still in India. Gabriel wasn’t sure whether to rejoin them or be temporarily re-gazetted to another regiment in England. Henry Hyams had said he could probably find Gabriel something in the Committee of Imperial Defence where he worked. Gabriel said it was tempting.
Charis wondered what it would be like living at Stackpole in the little cottage, wondered how much they would have to see of the other Cobbs. But no, she thought, she had ten whole days of her honeymoon left, she should concentrate on that. For the moment the future could take care of itself.
Perhaps everything would be perfect now, now that she knew what to do.
When she walked down the stairs into the large hall of the Angleterre she saw Gabriel bent down over the reception desk reading a newspaper with the assistance of the reception clerk. He broke off abruptly when he saw her and escorted her into the breakfast room with a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she said, as she took her place at the table. “Can’t we get the steamer till this afternoon or something?”
“No,” he said, “it’s nothing like that.” He ran both hands over his hair. “That was a French newspaper. That chap was giving me a hand at translating. It’s just as well I spotted the headline. You know we don’t get the English papers until two days late.”