Act of Will (52 page)

At one point that weekend, Miles had the brilliant idea of coming to Paris every Friday. He felt safer here, free from prying eyes. And so they made their regular weekend trips through August.

‘But we must start going to another hotel,’ Christie said at the end of the month, looking at him worriedly. ‘We can’t stay at the Ritz… we’re becoming a couple, in quotes, and people are beginning to notice us.’

And so they stayed at the George V and the Prince des Galles and the Lancaster and the Raphael. It became a joke for a while, but then Miles decided they had better
stop flying in and out of Paris anyway, because that was becoming noticeable too.

‘We’re going to have to find a little hideaway somewhere in England,’ he said to Christie on their last trip to Paris. ‘Why don’t you get onto it next week, my sweet?’

It was pouring with rain.

There was a high wind that blew the rain against the windows and the sound was like hundreds of nail heads striking the glass.

But in the library of the small country house in the Cotswolds all was warmth and muted light and tranquillity on this cold day in early November.

Christina was stretched out on the sofa, listening to the rain. It was oddly soothing and she felt herself drifting with her thoughts, enjoying the aimlessness of this lazy Sunday afternoon.

She stole a secret look at Miles, as she constantly found herself doing. She loved him so much, more than she had ever believed it was possible to love a man. He had become her life. Her career mattered to her and she enjoyed her work and worked hard. But he was her whole reason for being now.

She existed for these weekends. These were the best times… being alone together in this charming and secluded house just outside Cirencester, which she had found quite by accident at the beginning of October. It was available for six months, and since it was furnished they had had nothing to do but buy groceries and move in.

They were involved in an extremely clandestine affair.

It had to be so because of his political career. But she didn’t care. She didn’t need other people, only Miles. They were together whenever he was free during the week; they couldn’t go out in case they were seen, so they usually stayed in at the Walton Street flat. And also, since he was often preoccupied with the goings-on in the Commons, the weekends were the most relaxed. They did very little… read and talked… and went for walks… she loved cooking for him, taking care of him, sharing his thoughts, his feelings, his extraordinary passion and his vibrant sexuality. And his tenderness. He was such a mixture.

He sat opposite her in a chair by the fire, engrossed in the
Observer
. The rest of the Sunday papers were scattered at his feet, discarded after he had ploughed through them doggedly, muttering and cursing under his breath, sometimes laughing out loud, or exclaiming ‘
Damnation
!’ and then grinning at her sheepishly, and explaining and sharing. Always sharing everything.

His face was tense at this moment. She knew he was worried about the situation in the Middle East. They were engaged in hostilities with Egypt because President Nasser had nationalized the Suez Canal. Britain and France and Israel had bombed Cairo and Miles was still fuming in private, and driving points home in the Commons.

As if he suddenly became aware of her eyes on him, he looked across at her over the top of the paper, asked, ‘What is it, Christie?’

‘Nothing, darling,’ she replied, sitting up, swinging her legs to the floor. ‘Just admiring you.’

‘Aha!’ he exclaimed and eyed her wickedly. ‘In that case, if you so admire me, shall we climb the stairs together for a little sweet dalliance on this quiet Sunday
afternoon? What better thing is there to do than make love on a wet day?’

‘Honestly, Miles, you are impossible!’

‘That’s not what you said to me last night… you were full of compliments last night.’

Her response was to walk over to him, take the paper out of his hands and sit down on his knee. She leaned into him, kissed him on the cheek. ‘Well, you were terrific last night.’

He smiled his faintly amused little smile, took off his horn-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I think I’ve had it with the papers… I wouldn’t mind some air. Shall we go for a walk? You’re the only person I know, other than myself, and apparently the Queen, who likes to walk in the country in the rain.’

‘Yes, come on, let’s go, Miles.’ Christina jumped up, then offered him her hand.

***

Miles held her in his arms, looking down at her, watching the play of light on her face. He loved her so much. Far too much, he sometimes thought.

Christina opened her eyes and stared up at him. Then she smiled. ‘You’re spoiling me… you’re always making love to
me
, Miles…’ She touched his cheek lingeringly.

‘Mmmm, that’s quite true,’ he said, and pushed her further down in the bed, and wrapped his legs around her. ‘I
am
turning into an unselfish sort of bloke, aren’t I? But we can always correct that; or rather, you can, you know. I’m very available right now.’

He brought his mouth to hers, kissed her slowly, sweetly, until the heat began to flow through him, charging him up, making his heart race, his passion soar. He felt her hands in his hair, on the back of his neck, smoothing down over his shoulders. He wanted her. He
seemed to want her more and more every day. He could never get enough of her.

His voice was low and thick with emotion as he said, ‘Kiss me, Christie, oh please kiss me, my darling.’

She sat up and knelt over him and his eyes locked to hers. She stared into his face intently. She had grown to love that face so. It could block out everything, the image of it filling her mind absolutely until she was lost in it, overwhelmed by it.

She ran her hands over his chest and down onto his flat hard stomach. His skin was as smooth and as dry as polished marble, glistening pale gold here and there where the half light shone on the fine blond hair on his lithe body. She moved to kneel between his legs and felt an involuntary quiver run through him as she put her hands on his thighs.

Christina looked down at Miles and saw that he was gazing up at her, his eyes a reflection of her own, awash with desire and love. Her throat tightened and her heart was clattering as she bent towards him, her mouth anxiously searching out the centre of his passion just as his own had searched for hers a short while before.

He groaned as her mouth made contact with his body. ‘Oh God, Christie, what do you do to me?’

She filled her mouth with his sex, her lips lingering lovingly on him.

Now Miles was truly hers, spread out before her, immobile and breathless, offering himself up to her, a gift of love. And she was possessing the very core of him, his life’s essence, his soul; at that moment he belonged entirely to her.

He ran his fingers through her thick and tumbled hair, and caressed her shoulders, then brought his hands down to clasp hers gently resting on his stomach. He clenched
his fingers around hers in a tenacious hold. An aching moan trickled from his throat.

She lifted her eyes and saw a fleeting flash of anguish smudge out the bright blue of his eyes, so that they became dark and flaring.

Suddenly Miles moved, put his hands around her face, lifted it up. He leaned down to her, kissed her sweetly, and then gently pulled her up the bed to him. He said, ‘I want you, Christie, want to be inside you. I must be enveloped in that lovely warmth that is you, my darling.’

Suddenly he was on top of her, floating over her, and she was drowning in the midnight blueness of his eyes. He entered her almost roughly, and she began to quiver as she felt the rock-hard thrust of him. It was as if they ignited each other, moving in a rhythm that soon began to attain great intensity. His passion seemed to spiral up and up, and she met its flight, rising higher and higher with him, at one with him. There was no separation any more.

Miles opened his eyes and looked at her and cried harshly, ‘Oh God! Oh you! Oh I—’ He crushed his mouth on her; devoured her lips, her tongue.

‘I want all of you,’ he whispered against the hollow of her neck. ‘All of your essence, all of your breath, all of you!’ And he began to move against her with a sudden burst of strength.

Christina felt as if he had reached up and touched her heart. And then, as if from a long distance, she heard his name being called. But it was she who was shouting, ‘Miles! Miles! I love you!’

They clung to each other with a kind of desperateness, were welded together in an embrace that was primal and full of need. His mouth sought hers briefly, and as he
drew all of her strength into him he rushed headlong into the core of her.

And she heard him cry, ‘Christie! Christie! I love you I love you I can’t live without you don’t ever leave oh my God I’m coming come to me my love.’

***

He lay motionless with his head on her shoulder.

Christina felt dazed. She looked down at his translucent face and her tears welled up. What was it about his face? That face that so moved her, touched some inner spring of memory so poignant it made her want to cry at times.

Miles moved, opened his eyes. ‘What happens to us when we’re together like this?’

‘I don’t know. I think we float off somewhere. At least I do. Haven’t you noticed that in me, Miles?’

‘No, but then I’m wherever it is you are, Christie.’

‘Have you ever been there before? With anyone else?’

‘No.’ He cleared his throat, said softly, ‘I think I know what happens to
us
, darling… when the sex act is so perfect, as it is with us, then that combination of the most intense physical pleasure and ecstasy along with complete mental and emotional connection makes the experience transcendental. We’re transported to a higher level of consciousness.’

‘Yes, Miles, I think we are.’

He stroked her hair, turned her face to his, murmured, ‘
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death
—’ He paused and frowned. ‘Now I’ve gone and ruined it because I can’t remember any more.’

‘
Jealousy is cruel as the grave
,’ Christina supplied.

‘Yes, that’s it. What comes next?’

‘I can’t remember either, but I know a bit of the next
verse.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it
. You see, I know my Bible too.’

‘Yes…’ Miles was hesitant and then he said, ‘Christie, there’s something I haven’t told you… I did something when you were in New York for your show a couple of weeks ago…’

When he did not finish his sentence and because he sounded so serious, grave, she sat up swiftly, stared at him. ‘What did you do?’

Miles also sat, reached for a cigarette on the bedside table, and lit it. He took a long draw, and then looked at her, said slowly, carefully, ‘I did something I vowed I would never do ever again. I went to see Candida. To ask for a divorce.’

‘And?’

‘The answer was
no
. Many
nos
were flung at me, along with a variety of threats about creating a scandal if I broach it again.’ He exhaled. ‘I went to see her because I want to marry you, Christie. I don’t want this creeping around corners, being unable to take you out with me. I want you as my wife.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘But it seems that’s not to be.’

‘I don’t care,’ she exclaimed, coming into his arms. ‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, Miles, as long as we can be together.’

‘What’s the matter darling?’ Miles asked, walking across the living room of the Walton Street flat. ‘Don’t you like the necklace?’ He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to ascertain why she appeared to be so upset.

Christina’s hand went up to her neck and she touched the lacy cobweb of delicate gold chains set with diamonds and opals, then lowered her eyes to look at it. ‘Miles, it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever had. I love it.’

‘Then why such a long face, Christie?’ He lowered himself onto the sofa next to her and took her slender, tapering hand in his. ‘Is it because I can’t spend Christmas with you? Because if it is, I’ll try to do something about cutting the holiday short. Look, I have an idea, I’ll spend the day with you on Christmas Eve,’ he said, improvising rapidly. ‘Then that evening I’ll drive down to Suffolk in order to have dinner with the boys and my parents. I’ll spend Christmas Day with them, come back to town for Boxing Day with you, and—’

‘Miles, no, I won’t let you cut yourself in two like that, or change your plans at this late date. Besides, it would be impossible for me to change mine. My parents would be so unhappy if I didn’t go to Yorkshire, they’ve been looking forward to it, and I haven’t seen much of them lately, you know that.’

‘Candida isn’t going to be there, if that’s what you’re
thinking. She really is going to take Monica up to Scotland. They’re to stay at her father’s shooting lodge with him.’ Miles shook his head in puzzlement. ‘I’ll never know why she suddenly said I could have the boys, I really won’t.’

Christina sat staring ahead at the fireplace.

Miles lifted his hand, turned her face to his. ‘That is the God’s honest truth, darling. Candida won’t be at Broxley Hall.’ When she remained silent, he exclaimed, ‘You do believe me, don’t you, Christina?’

She heard the anxiety in his voice and saw the alarm on his face, and she squeezed his hand. ‘Oh Miles, I know very well you’d never lie to me, it’s not in your nature.’

Miles looked deeply into her face. Her emotions were always explicit in her eyes. They usually told him everything. He saw that she was still perturbed but decided not to press her for the moment. They would not be seeing each other for a whole week, the longest they had been apart in the last six months. He had wanted it to be a very special night and he had no intention of spoiling it.

Almost as if he had telegraphed this thought to her, Christina pushed a bright smile onto her face and jumped to her feet. ‘Darling, fling a couple of logs on the fire and open the champagne, and let’s settle in for a really gorgeous evening. I’m going to get your presents… after all, this
is
our Christmas tonight.’