Wicked Pleasures (62 page)

‘No. No, I don’t.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She was a whore,’ he said briefly. ‘Can I kiss you now?’

‘Yes you can.’

She was nice to kiss: warm, friendly. He stopped kissing her mouth after a bit and moved down to her breasts. The nipples were huge, hard and erect. He pulled back and smiled at her, then knelt down in front of her chair. ‘Take your clothes off.’

She took the pants off, sat astride; he started kissing her, tonguing her. She was wet, salty, but oddly tense. He looked up at her.

‘Relax.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. I think I’m frightened.’

‘Of what?’

‘You, I suppose. Did you really go to bed with three girls, like Ted said?’

‘Oh, frequently. And I’ve been in bed with one girl and two other men. And all kinds of other variations.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s fun. Don’t you ever do things like that?’

‘No, never. I’ve led a rather sheltered life in that department.’

‘So the Earl is a missionary man?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Virginia. Let me show you some fun.’

His tongue probed further; she moaned, squirmed.

‘That’s better. Much better.’ He put his hands under her buttocks, moulding them, exploring them. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, ‘beautiful beautiful arse. Where did you get such an arse?’

She smiled suddenly, took his head in her hands, kissed his mouth, hard, violently, then pushed his head back into her crotch, moaning, crying out. ‘There,’ he said, ‘there, that’s lovely. You taste gorgeous.’

He eased her backwards then, moved up, kissing her stomach, slowly, hard, making it burn; then returned to her breasts again, licking them, working on them violently with his tongue. She suddenly cried out, slithered down onto the floor, her legs spreadeagled, pulled him down onto her.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘please. Quickly.’

‘Oh no,’ he said, and smiled into her eyes. ‘We have a long way to go yet.’

He made her wait for a long time; he was surprised by the desperation, the urgency in her, but he still made her wait. He worked on her patiently: he talked dirty to her, he turned her over and over, kissing every corner and fragment of her; he brought her almost to orgasm twice with his tongue and then pulled back; he stood her up, holding her and then pushing her down onto his cock, and then as she cried out, began to throb, to flower, pulled away, again, and lay beside her just looking at her, laughing gently at her greed; and then finally he turned her, thrust into her, hard, feeling her frantically wet, softening, unfolding to him, and allowed her to come, at last; he felt her rising, tumbling, pulsating, and it went on and on, surprising even him, until he felt lost himself, in the tumult of her. And then she shrieked, loudly, fiercely, and arched her body violently under him, and held it there, in some great wild spasm that seemed nearer pain than pleasure; and then slowly, she came down, quietened, stilled; and when he finally released himself and then opened his eyes and looked into her golden ones, they were moist, and her cheeks were wet with tears, but she was smiling, radiant, oddly triumphant.

Next day they put Ted and Kristen ashore, with a note for Michael Halston, and went off again. She stayed with him for three days and then flew back to New York alone; he did not see her for almost two years. But he read in the papers, some time a little less than ten months later, that she had had a baby, a son; his name, the Viscount Hadleigh, was Maximilian.

She came back to him, many times; she seemed to need him. He knew she didn’t even like him particularly, that she disapproved of his wanton, hedonistic lifestyle; but he also knew that in some strange way he was important to her.

He taxed her with it once, the baby, with his name; the baby born such a neat nine months after their first meeting, and she had laughed and told him not to be so arrogant, why should she, the Countess of Caterham, conceive a child out of wedlock when she had a husband who loved her and was waiting for an heir, his heir, to be born.

And when he asked her what it was, what he gave her that she craved so much, that drew her back to him so relentlessly, against all her inclinations, all the odds, she gave him her level, cool look and said simply, ‘Fun. I’m very short on fun.’

Georgina, 1984

Georgina had, from the beginning, been quite determinedly opposed to the idea of seeking out her real father. She half admired Charlotte for having the courage and the willpower to do so, but she knew she lacked both. She was also very frightened at the thought of what – or who – she might find. Charlotte had been lucky: Charles St Mullin, as far as Georgina could make out, was charming, civilized, intelligent, all the things you might wish your father to be. And indeed that a father of Charlotte might be expected to be. Georgina found it very difficult at times to cope with being Charlotte’s sister. She was so clever, and so admirable, and so altogether competent, she never seemed to do anything foolish or ill-advised, her personal life was as smoothly and perfectly under control as everything else: nothing ever fazed her, got her down for long. She would never fall helplessly in love with the wrong person, and certainly she would never get pregnant, thought Georgina, with a sudden throb in her heart.

Georgina wondered where Charlotte’s assertiveness and positiveness came from: from Charles St Mullin, perhaps. Or maybe from Fred III. Those genes had to be rolling around in some of them at least. Well, they certainly hadn’t come her way. Georgina would have given anything to be assertive and positive. The only place she seemed remotely able to be that, she thought with a sigh, was in bed. Otherwise, anyone could push her around. She sometimes felt she hadn’t quite become herself yet; she felt she was waiting for something to happen, to make her turn into a complete person. Max of course was much more positive too. Although not in the admirable way Charlotte was. Georgina thought it was probably a very good thing Max seemed so firmly opposed to seeking out whoever had sired him. Given his character as a clue, all kinds of problems might be unleashed. Georgina was very fond of Max, in fact she was more at ease with him than she was with Charlotte, but he didn’t seem to be turning out quite as anyone might have hoped.

Especially Alexander. Poor Alexander. Georgina still adored him; she still found it almost impossible, in the bottom of her heart, to think of anyone else as her father. Partly because she was his favourite, and because they got on so well, but partly because it was easier that way, safer. He was such a good person, so kind and straightforward. No daughter could wish for anyone better. There was no way she was going to risk hurting herself or him by setting out on some wild-goose chase herself.

She had been looking forward to the summer. It was nearly August, and Kendrick and Melissa were coming to stay at Hartest. It had been Charlotte’s idea, clever, thoughtful, kind: Mary Rose had been too upset to contemplate going to Nantucket on her own, and wanted to get away with a friend
(Georgina couldn’t imagine what a friend of Mary Rose’s might be like), and it had seemed to suit everybody.

Kendrick loved England and Hartest, and Melissa could spend several weeks in the company of her beloved Max (who was flattered and charmed by the adoration despite his protestations of boredom at it). And then Georgina was very fond of Kendrick. He was taking a course in Fine Arts at New York University, which gave them a lot to talk about, and although he was slightly shy, once relaxed, once embarked on a topic that intrigued and interested him, he actually had a great deal to say and he said it well, forcefully, amusingly even. He had an oddball, slightly black sense of humour; Woody Allen was his hero, and (he said) his inspiration, and he had seen every one of his films at least half a dozen times.

He had straight, floppy, streaky-blond hair which he wore quite long (to Baby’s disgust), and the family blue eyes: soft, large, gentle eyes, with oddly beetling brows. He was tall, taller than Freddy, taller than Max; and he was more graceful than they were, there was an oddly languid quality to Kendrick, he walked and moved rather slowly, and despite his shyness, he was a superb dancer, and if he could be dragged onto the dance floor, he would, against his own inclinations, become the focus of attention, people would watch him, stop dancing themselves. Consequently, he tended to remain rather determinedly off it. He dressed well, in a very individual way; his other passion, Woody Allen apart, was Scott Fitzgerald and his era, and he spent many hours and much of his allowance in thrift shops, buying up everything he could find that was from the 20s; he would not have dreamt of wearing a modern dinner jacket, or tails, and he had a huge collection of hats: panamas, slouch felts, boaters, which he wore at every possible opportunity. He liked linen suits, silk shirts, greatcoats, and his most prized possession was a genuine 1920s one-piece black bathing suit with a white belt, which he insisted on wearing on the beach on Nantucket Island, to everyone’s embarrassment. ‘For such a shy person,’ Melissa had once said tartly, ‘you’re one huge show-off.’ To Georgia, for whom style was immensely important, Kendrick’s clothes were a matter for great admiration.

Charlotte had also written in her letter to Georgina suggesting the visit, that as it was Alexander’s fiftieth birthday early in September, they could maybe make something special of it and have the whole family there. ‘I’ll come over for it, and bring Freddy, and we can ask Uncle Baby. He’ll be in London.’

‘What about Angie?’ said Georgina when she spoke to Charlotte. ‘Do we have her as well? And what about Grandpa and Grandma?’

‘Mercifully, they’ll be in the Bahamas. I checked. Otherwise it could have been dodgy. And Angie, well, she’s got to come some time. So I thought probably yes. She’ll have had her babies by then, won’t she? And she is actually living with Uncle Baby. So we can’t not ask her. Of course she might not come. But I bet she will. And as it’s a big party, it might be less awkward for everyone. It will break the ice, very painlessly.’

Kendrick had been at Hartest only twenty-four hours before Georgina found herself, slightly to her surprise, telling him about the abortion. She had been
feeling particularly weepy, and not particularly well, and trying to disguise both facts; they went for a walk and when they got back he sat down on the front steps beside her, put his arm round her, and asked her what the matter was. Somehow it was a great relief to talk about it.

‘That’s sad,’ was all he said.

Georgina looked at him and thought how immensely good-looking he was with his blond hair and blue eyes. If he wasn’t her cousin and she hadn’t known him since they were both in nappies, she thought she could quite fancy him.

Georgina was in the kitchen with Kendrick when the phone rang. Mrs Tallow answered it, handed it to him.

‘It’s for you. Your father.’

‘Oh,’ said Kendrick. He had gone rather white. ‘Hallo? Yes, hallo, Dad. Oh. Oh, well that’s wonderful.’ He was clearly trying very hard to sound enthusiastic. ‘Congratulations. No, that’s great. Yes, I am, but I’m not sure if – well, I shall have to ask Georgina. Of course. Yes, fine. Congratulations again.’

He put the phone down, and looked at Georgina rather awkwardly. ‘That was Dad. He rang to say that – that Angie has had her babies. Both boys. I just didn’t know what to say.’

‘Well, you didn’t do badly,’ said Georgina carefully.

‘He wants me to go up to London and see them,’ said Kendrick. ‘Meet Angie. Take Melissa. He seemed to think I ought to. I really don’t want to. What do you think?’

‘What does she think about what?’ said Melissa, coming into the kitchen. She had been riding with Max, and was flushed and over-excited. Max was behind her, his arm round her shoulders.

‘Oh – nothing,’ said Kendrick.

‘Kendrick, don’t start going grown-up on me. What?’

‘That was Dad. Angie’s had the twins. Both boys.’

‘Oh really! That’s exciting. What are they called?’

‘I haven’t the first idea,’ said Kendrick irritably.

‘Well, you should have asked. They are your half-brothers.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Anyway he wants us to go up to London and see Angie and the babies. I hedged a bit.’

‘Oh Kendrick, why? I’m dying to see Angie. And the babies.’

‘Melissa, why?’

‘Oh – curiosity. And she is going to be our stepmother after all. I want to see how wicked she is.’

‘Very wicked, I’d say,’ said Max. ‘But probably the fairest of you all.’ Georgina stared at him. ‘Have you met her?’

‘Yup. Months and months ago.’

‘You might have said.’

‘Couldn’t see the point.’

‘Oh Max. Well, what was she like?’

‘I told you. Very wicked clearly, and very pretty. Very sexy.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Kendrick. He walked rather quickly out of the room.

‘Max, you’re so insensitive,’ said Georgina. ‘Just think how he must feel about Angie. His father’s left his mother for her, it’s horribly upsetting for him.’

‘And for me,’ said Melissa.

‘Nothing would upset you,’ said Max, patting her small backside. ‘Skin as thick as leather, you’ve got.’

‘I have not. Anyway, I want to meet her. See the babies. What do you think?’

‘I think we should all go together,’ said Max. ‘It’ll be a lot easier for you that way.’

Georgina stared at him. It was very unlike Max to have the slightest consideration for anyone’s else’s feelings.

She took an immediate dislike to Angie, who was sitting in bed in the clinic, surrounded with flowers, in vases and baskets and arrangements, and looking more as if she was going to a cocktail party than having just given birth. Her hair had clearly been professionally done within the last few hours, and her face was carefully made up. She was wearing a 30s-style white satin nightdress, which revealed a great deal of very large, very suntanned breast, and at the side of her bed, rather than the cots and the babies, was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. She smiled at them all as they came in, but didn’t say anything. Baby, who was sitting on the bed, stood up and pumped Kendrick and Max by the hand and then hugged Melissa and Georgina.