'We'll have some lunch here,' he said. 'I've got something rather extra in the way of fish. After that I'm going to get drunk; it's my day for it. You can look at pictures.'
But Hony did not look at pictures long, delightfully sensual though they were.
She borrowed the doctor's car, and drove herself down to the great cafe by the quay.
CHAPTER FIVE. The Three Labours of Samura
Lady Tittle, idly basking on the beach, thought deeply of what Mr. Neale had said. She felt quite certain the young man was the duke. It had been rumoured in society at the time of his disappearance that the reported suicide was a myth.
To make Hony a duchess would be a fine thing, but even, barring the duchess, supposing the young man could not get back to England, there were worse places than this lovely island of Fleur de la Chair in which to end her old days, 'Rich beyond the dreams of avarice!' She recalled the actor's words and smiled complacently. After all, it was very nice to be able to sit out here in peace, with no clothes on, and she had discovered that not only Naroina but nearly all the islanders played bridge regularly-and there were such good things to eat and drink.
Lady Tittle contemplated the naked bodies gambolling in the foam, and reflected with a sigh of satisfaction that her own figure still took a lot of beating.
'What would old Tittle think if he could see me?' she sniggered to herself, 'old Felicia Tittle skylarking stark naked on the sands of a savage island-well, I think he would be glad he was safe in hell.'
The bathers came out all together, to be rubbed down by the attendants, or to run races on the sun-kissed sand to dry themselves. Hie Sisters Lovett, full of young animal health, ran about a dead heat to almost the extremity of the beach.
'Well,' said one, 'this is better than Broadway or the Strand.'
'It is.'
'And they've a marvellous theatre here; we're going to have a show with Billy Neale. And, the money, my dear, we'll never need to see an agent again.'
They ran back to find Naroina gathering up her charges for breakfast.
Possibly those of you, readers, who have lived with and loved Nemesis Hunt- and I hope there are many-have read that young lady's disquisition on breakfasts. 'Nemmy' maintained that bed was the only proper place to take that meal in, but she didn't know Fleur de la Chair and Naroina.
They sat at a table in the balcony. There was fish, a sort of red mullet, freshly caught, and all varieties possible of fruit. Tea, coffee, chocolate and barley water strengthened with some sweet-tasting liqueur were the beverages. They ate slowly and lazily, and the subsequent cigarettes were very delightful. The chat was lazily improper, and the minds of all became full of idle sensuality, particularly the minds of Lady Tittle and the Sisters Lovett They sat on each side of a good-looking young native and, as both his hands were occupied in feeling their cunts, had to feed him with their free hands-they reserved one each for fingering his cock, which was rampant.
After breakfast Lady Tittle wandered upstairs to her bedroom, and picked up an erotic book. It was very racy and she began to be very badly on heat; her fingers played nervously with her cunt and she began to feel that she must have a cock in there at any price. She wanted Neale, but felt that almost anything would do, so she rang the bell in desperation.
She was rewarded. A pretty youth answered the summons, and brought the fruit she asked for. She asked him to stay, and he made no demur when she pulled him down on the couch beside her. She was very, very fuckable still, and she had years of experience behind her-the late Tittle had not fucked himself to death for nothing. The boy was soon equally amorous, and played with her cunt with real dexterity. They cast off what little clothes they had and he lay wriggling like a snake on top of her while she guided his small but very rigid prick into her longing cunt.
The youth, randy beyond his years, knew more than a bit about fucking, but he had never had a middle-aged lady before, and he certainly would have agreed with the proverb, had he known it, that: 'There's many a good tune played on an old fiddle.' She climaxed before he did, but she was well ready to come again when she felt the final throb, and her cunt muscles tightened to draw every drop of spunk from her young lover's cock.
Lady Tittle did not regret missing Neale, but she longed for more, which was impossible just then, for the lad had to go. Out of the window she gazed, longing, like Sister Anne, for someone to come, but longing in vain.
She returned to her dirty book and a cigarette in discontented semi-satisfaction.
Fate in the shape of the bosun, was already plodding its way across the island.
'You can take it from me,' said Tilly Lovett to her sister Cissie, as they settled down in their own room, 'that something's going to eventuate. I feel "good" from the cunt to the nostrils.'
She took off her wrap and stood naked again, stretching herself and tightening the whipcord muscles of her arms and legs. Cissie stood up and bared herself also.
They were both almost perfect specimens of the highly-trained athletic girl. Despite the fact that from girlhood they had given way to lust, they had never neglected their health.
Constant attention to their skin had made it as dead white as ivory. Their muscles stood out, but that emblem of strength was not unsightly, for the muscular development was perfectly harmonious. They never neglected their daily exercises, and these exercises were to them sensual, for they revelled in the consciousness of their physical beauty.
Cissie took Tilly by the waist and held her up, almost shoulder high. Tilly curved her legs round her sister's shoulders, and thrilled while Cissie kissed her navel. Then they both lay on the floor, and while Tilly hummed the air, did the dance of the 'Mavroche' with their legs in the air, their bodies motionless.
The Earl of Wimbledon, or 'Mike', as we must know him, had done a bit of office work, and, satisfied with his labours, had drifted over to Naroina's. He had long wanted a little new blood, and when he heard that the Sisters Lovett were upstairs, wandered thither.
Mike was a jolly young man who had a great weakness for music-hall actresses. In feet, it was due to this penchant that he had to leave England so quickly. He had taken a great fancy to these two lusty, full-blooded young women, and he had of late had much too little fornication for his liking.
He didn't care for the island women, and there weren't enough white women on the island to go round; besides, John Tucker made him work hard at the mines.
The Sisters Lovett were just his style: they made him remember with a sigh the jolly chorus-girl supper parties of the old days, the merry moments in the dressing-rooms, and the frank impropriety of the conversation.
He was rather sorry just now to find the sisters nude; he would have liked them better in their daringly suggestive music-hall frocks; he liked to see pretty legs emerging from a sea of fluff.
He apologised with a laugh for his unannounced intrusion.
'We are rather free and easy here, you know,' he said.
'Oh, don't mind us,' said Tilly, 'we've soon tumbled to your habits.'
'And we like 'em,' added Cissie.
Mike knew his girl, and had not come empty-handed.
'I know you theatre girls like jewels and pretty things,' he said, and emptied his pockets.
They were pretty things with a vengeance, and the sisters went into openly expressed raptures. Bracelets, rings, necklaces, all of beautiful designs, mingled with brooches, combs, jewelled garters, and a score of dainty ornaments.
'You'd best just divvy 'em up equally,' said Mike, 'only you ought to have your clothes on to show 'em off.'
'Shall we dress, then, in our music-hall frocks?' asked Tilly, 'and after that we'll thank you ever so prettily.'