On the bed now. My thighs are open. Edward's eyes are upon my belly. I raise my knees and he comes to me. His face slides to my source. His mouth covers my sex. I wriggle beneath his tongue. I want her to watch it. I want her to see his tongue. I open my nether-lips with my fingers. How ridiculous he is with his tongue wagging at me. He mumbles. Then silence as he sucks. His lips pull at my flesh. This is the only thing of importance. His mouth upon me beneath the lamp. To have my sister watch it. His nose pushing at me. He talks of his friends at his club and I always wonder what they do with their women. Mrs. Grantham and Mrs. Dovedale. Mrs. Pallant and Mrs. Ashbury. Their clothes are always in fashion. The way they boast of the accomplishments of their husbands. All the boasting that's been done in this house. All the stupid dinner parties. I'm so innocent. In the midst of vulgar people I have no defense. I want to see her face. I want to see my sister's face as she watches us. What a joke it is. What a bitter tawdry joke it is. My knowledge of it. My knowledge of her watching.
I push Edward away. He roles onto his back like a wax mummy. I mount him. I take his tool inside my sex. I ride him. Riding a St. George. His eyes are glazed. I pray she can see it. I want her to see the joining. I want her to watch my riding. He holds my haunches with his hands. Is she surprised at my vigor? What a delight it is to ride like this. I see the happiness in Edward's eyes. Does he adore me? We have unpleasant moments. We have our good times and bad times. We have our evasions. We have our convictions. We have a refuge in each other. After all the tedium, one at least has a refuge.
Now I pull away, drop his tool out of my sex and turn to have his face. I settle down. Wriggling as I find his nose in the crevice. Wriggling again to get his mouth at my fountain. Pushing down. His tongue inside. The shifting a bit to get his tongue in the other place. The pleasure of it. He does adore it. I suppose he does it with her. I suppose she knows the madness of his tongue in her rose. Yes, he does the same. He groans now in the pleasure. I squirm upon his face. I hold his tool as he spends. His effusion bursting. The way he spurts. I quiver as I touch the scattered pearls. This one is for Julie. I touch it with my forefinger. This one belongs to my darling sister.
Chapter Nine
Walter Bramsby finds me in a confection shop in Oxford Street. He insists we go somewhere for tea. He has a plate of Italian cakes brought to the table for me. He proclaims me to be the loveliest woman in the room. “And Julie's sister. How wonderful to know you both.”
“She's the lovely one.”
“I find you both enchanting.”
“Dear Walter.”
He looks pensive. “I do love her, you know. She's a marvelous thing, isn't she? An extraordinary woman.”
“You've told her, of course.”
“Oh yes. I'm filled with hope. I can't think of anything else these days. I want so much to be her husband.”
“I'll be pleased to have you as a brother-in-law, provided you continue offering these delicious Italian cakes.”
“I think she'd be the most loyal wife. That's quite important these days, isn't it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“I want… love from a woman. Surprised, aren't you? You didn't expect that from me.”
“Not really.”
“But it's what I want. That's really what I want. Something that lasts. A great passion. And I think Julie is capable of it. Most women aren't, you know. She's the first woman I've known who I think could rise to it. A great passion.”
“How lovely.”
“I have the feeling I know her so well. Sometimes I think we've met before… in our dreams.”
“Walter, darling…”
“No, don't make fun.”
“I'm not making fun. I hadn't realized how romantic you are.”
“I'm in love with your sister and I intend to marry her.”
“Well, then I suppose you shall.”
“If she'll have me. I do think she'll have me.”
“I think she's quite fond of you.”
“It's as if I've been keeping myself for her. My wife. Oh yes. It's fate, isn't it? She told me that at one point after John was lost she thought of returning to France forever. We'd never have met. I don't like travelling. I'm never comfortable out of England. Too much the Englishman and all that. And how would I find her? So you see, it must something ordered by the stars.”
“How poetic you are.”
“She smiles when I say it. But I can always see in her eyes that she thinks as I do. I can always see it.” He touched his lips. “You must think I'm silly.”
“I certainly don't think that.”
“There are practicalities, aren't there? She needs looking after and I've the means. Quite enough, I suppose. Although of course one never has enough, does one?”
“Perhaps not.”
He laughed softly. “Money is quite important, isn't it?”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“I don't like all this talk against money. All this nonsense about the rich. The rich put order in the world and then nasty names are thrown at them. Well, what can one expect from the rabble? Now they want porters and lift-boys to have weekends. You don't dislike money, do you? It's not French, is it?”
Now it was I who laughed. “I don't think so.”
“Do you mind? Do forgive me. I shouldn't go on like that. Please say you forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
“You're quite beautiful. If I weren't so madly in love with Julie, I think I should make a fool of myself in pursuit of you.”
We meet again nearly a week later. This time Walter calls at the house for me and we drive in the park in a closed carriage. As before, he talks about Julie. Now he seems convinced she intends to reject him. “I think I see the signs of it. She's always affectionate, but I think I see the signs of it.”
I soothe him. “I know she's fond of you.”
“I don't think she wants me.”
“Perhaps it's too soon after the loss of John.”
“I'm terribly unhappy.”
“My sister is so uncertain about things.”
“Can you help me, Claire?”
“Walter, you must have patience.”
“Please… I beg you.”
“I don't know what I can do.”
“I'm sure you'll think of something.”
How helpless he is. “I'll try, darling.”
He begins to babble about his life. He talks about his loneliness. He talks about how much he needs her. “I think of her constantly. It's rather like a fever. I've never felt like this about a woman before. It's extraordinary. I hadn't thought it was possible. She's become the great passion of my life. I can't bear the thought of not having her as a wife. You will support me, won't you, Claire? She thinks highly of you. She always talks of how much she admires you.”
“You must keep on with it. You must keep after her, Walter. I'm certain you'll have what you want.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Perseverance, darling.”
“Yes, I think you're right.”
“It might be useful to remind her of things.”
“What things?”
“How much she needs you. How much she needs the comforts you can give her. I daresay a gift of some sort would be suitable.”
“A necklace?”
“That's a marvelous idea. Quite perfect. Something elegant and at the same time romantic.”
He beams. “I'll find something.”
“Yes, you must. And I promise I'll talk to her. I'll press your case whenever I see the chance for it.”
He bubbles with gratitude. “Claire, darling… I'll be in your debt forever. How marvelous it is to have your help. I must be the most fortunate man on earth. My life has been blessed by two extraordinary women. Parisian women. I think I'll now consider myself an eternal friend of France.”
“But you must promise to keep trying.”
“Yes of course.”
I tell him he has excellent prospects. Julie needs a husband and he has all the qualities a woman might want in a man. How pleased he is. His eyes shine as he considers his future with Julie. And why not? If she has to marry someone, why not Walter Bramsby? His cheeks are flushed. He holds my hand and proclaims his indebtedness to me. As the carriage rolls on, he inundates me with gratitude. Once again he tells me he would pursue me were it not for his love for Julie. “How lovely you are.”