she’d felt so sharply in the fragile hours of the night. In the time it took her to climb back into her clothes and tidy her hair ready for breakfast, she was perfectly convinced that not only was she head over heels in love with Archie Emerson but that having given herself to him, she must marry him. Kitty, in her innocence, could think of no other reason to explain such behaviour.
The only question which remained was - did Archie feel the same way about her?
He’d seemed to find pleasure in her too thin, too tall body, Kitty reasoned as she buttoned up her boots. But if men truly were different, then how could one ever know for certain what they felt? It was most perplexing. Yet surely Archie was not like other men. Archie was her special friend and would never take advantage.
Having boosted her leaking self-confidence, Kitty smoothed down her skirt and viewed herself in the spotted mirror over the bathroom sink. The scrubbed, shining face that looked back at her still wore the mantle of youth but in the eyes she detected a new excitement, a knowledge that hadn’t been there before. She was quite certain that when she walked into the dining room for breakfast, everyone would know what had taken place the previous night. They would witness the love emanating from them both.
Archie could hardly bring himself to get out of bed. He’d been aware of her slipping out and been thankful for it. The postponement before he must face her would give him time to think, to work out a way to handle this tricky situation for he was consumed by guilt.
He would have liked to blame Kitty for what had happened, blame anyone but himself for that matter, but how could he? He was the mature adult. He should have shown better control instead of his usual display of selfish need.
She was a young girl, a virgin for God’s sake, wounded and hurt, who had turned to him for comfort and succour. And what had he done? Had he picked her up and taken her back to her own bed? Indeed not. Had he reassured her that she was perfectly lovely and would one day meet the kind of young man she deserved, that she should be grateful to Clara for saving her from the odious Frank Cussins? No, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d shamelessly taken advantage of her naivety.
What excuse could he possibly offer for such behaviour? He made no bones of the fact that he’d wanted her for months; had relished the care and attention she gave so unstintingly. But not for a moment had he considered making such a rash move.
It wasn’t that he even loved her. No, he corrected himself. That wasn’t strictly true. Of course he loved her. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Kitty, for hadn’t he known her since she was sixteen? But that didn’t necessarily make him the right man for her. He loved her as he would a younger sister. No, that couldn’t be true either, or he wouldn’t have been capable of what he’d done last night. Oh God, was he completely debauched?
Archie cut himself shaving, had to stick a piece of tissue paper on the wound to stop it from bleeding. The breakfast gong sounded and he braced himself for a painful confrontation. He could only hope that she’d be grown up enough to pretend it had never happened and go on being friends. That would by far be the best way.
The two sat in silence at the check-clothed table in the tiny dining room, each in a straight-backed chair, eating a substantial breakfast the likes of which had never been seen at Hope View throughout its entire existence. Archie spoke not a word, hadn’t even ventured a good morning. Nor, for that matter had Kitty. She could tell by the way he was avoiding her eye that he was embarrassed.
A wall of silence rose stolidly between them, thickening and growing while inside she felt a sickening realisation unfurl. He wasn’t even going to mention it ! Disappointment bit deep, souring the taste of food in her mouth, making it seem like sawdust. She set the breakfast
The only question which remained was - did Archie feel the same way about her?
He’d seemed to find pleasure in her too thin, too tall body, Kitty reasoned as she buttoned up her boots. But if men truly were different, then how could one ever know for certain what they felt? It was most perplexing. Yet surely Archie was not like other men. Archie was her special friend and would never take advantage.
Having boosted her leaking self-confidence, Kitty smoothed down her skirt and viewed herself in the spotted mirror over the bathroom sink. The scrubbed, shining face that looked back at her still wore the mantle of youth but in the eyes she detected a new excitement, a knowledge that hadn’t been there before. She was quite certain that when she walked into the dining room for breakfast, everyone would know what had taken place the previous night. They would witness the love emanating from them both.
Archie could hardly bring himself to get out of bed. He’d been aware of her slipping out and been thankful for it. The postponement before he must face her would give him time to think, to work out a way to handle this tricky situation for he was consumed by guilt.
He would have liked to blame Kitty for what had happened, blame anyone but himself for that matter, but how could he? He was the mature adult. He should have shown better control instead of his usual display of selfish need.
She was a young girl, a virgin for God’s sake, wounded and hurt, who had turned to him for comfort and succour. And what had he done? Had he picked her up and taken her back to her own bed? Indeed not. Had he reassured her that she was perfectly lovely and would one day meet the kind of young man she deserved, that she should be grateful to Clara for saving her from the odious Frank Cussins? No, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d shamelessly taken advantage of her naivety.
What excuse could he possibly offer for such behaviour? He made no bones of the fact that he’d wanted her for months; had relished the care and attention she gave so unstintingly. But not for a moment had he considered making such a rash move.
It wasn’t that he even loved her. No, he corrected himself. That wasn’t strictly true. Of course he loved her. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Kitty, for hadn’t he known her since she was sixteen? But that didn’t necessarily make him the right man for her. He loved her as he would a younger sister. No, that couldn’t be true either, or he wouldn’t have been capable of what he’d done last night. Oh God, was he completely debauched?
Archie cut himself shaving, had to stick a piece of tissue paper on the wound to stop it from bleeding. The breakfast gong sounded and he braced himself for a painful confrontation. He could only hope that she’d be grown up enough to pretend it had never happened and go on being friends. That would by far be the best way.
The two sat in silence at the check-clothed table in the tiny dining room, each in a straight-backed chair, eating a substantial breakfast the likes of which had never been seen at Hope View throughout its entire existence. Archie spoke not a word, hadn’t even ventured a good morning. Nor, for that matter had Kitty. She could tell by the way he was avoiding her eye that he was embarrassed.
A wall of silence rose stolidly between them, thickening and growing while inside she felt a sickening realisation unfurl. He wasn’t even going to mention it ! Disappointment bit deep, souring the taste of food in her mouth, making it seem like sawdust. She set the breakfast
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