with you two,’ said Kit, his eyes alight.
‘You are not,’ said Celia, ‘you are coming with your father and me.’
‘Oh, Mummy. It’s not fair, I want to be in the race.’
‘No one’s being in the race,’ said Giles, sounding (and hating himself for it) pompous, ‘because I’m not racing. I’ve had a bit too much champagne.’
‘I’ll race you girls,’ said Jack, whereupon Lily told him he wasn’t racing anywhere and that he should have learned about the dangers of driving while filled up with champagne several years earlier, and said she thought they should spend the night in Oxford at the Randolph.
‘You’re all spoilsports,’ said Adele, ‘well we’re going anyway. We have a party to go to.’
‘Whose party?’ asked Celia.
‘A friend of Boy’s,’ said Venetia casually. ‘And don’t look so disapproving, Mummy, he’s got three houses and a title. Bye, everyone. Lovely day.’
Celia looking after them as the little Austin sped off down the road, felt anxiety join the other complex and violent emotions of the day; not just because they might drive too fast, or had had too much to drink, but because both of them, and Venetia in particular, had developed a certain studied vagueness about their comings and goings in the past few months. She knew what that meant; it was a device she had used herself in her own youth. It confused and diverted adult attention; in her case it had left her free to pursue and seduce Oliver. She must watch the twins more closely, she thought. And at least it would be a distraction from certain other matters.
‘My darling, I’m so lucky to have you.’ Boy Warwick lay back on the pillows of his extremely large bed and smiled into Venetia’s eyes. She smiled back. She was beginning to enjoy the bed thing. The first time had been difficult, painful even, lacking in pleasure; but each one since had been better, and today, this afternoon, had been wonderful. She had climaxed properly, for the first time, had discovered its intense joy, the rippling, rising and falling, beginning deep within her, the great well of warm, dark intensity drawing her in; she had heard a strange sound as it happened, a wild, primitive cry, and only realised afterwards, as she lay panting, wet with sweat, in Boy’s arms that it had been she who had made it.
‘I’m lucky too,’ she said, leaning over and kissing him. ‘Wonderfully lucky, and so happy, you can’t think how much. Oh, Boy, I love you, I really, really do.’
He replied with a kiss, settled her so that she lay sideways with her head pillowed on his shoulder. He hadn’t yet told her he loved her; she wished he would, and she knew he must do; but she could wait. She could wait quite a long time.
After a while, he sighed, set her gently aside, sat up.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to be at my club at six. I must run a bath.’
‘Oh, Boy!’ She was hurt; she couldn’t help it.
‘My darling, we can share it. That was my idea. It’s a very big bath. I might even – we might even—’ He looked at her consideringly, reached out, traced her large, dark nipples with his finger, ‘Well, we must see what happens.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come along. We can collect some champagne on the way.’
‘Um – Boy, first I must – well—’
‘Must what, my darling? Oh – that! Yes, of course. My lovely, practical girl. Run along, into the bathroom with you. Turn the taps on while you’re about it.’
Venetia went into the bathroom. She felt a little worried. She wasn’t sure that the anti-spermicidal jelly they had given her at the Marie Stopes clinic would work in the bath. Maybe she shouldn’t do it, should pretend she didn’t feel like it, that she had suddenly got the curse or something. Boy was very frank about such things; she could easily tell him. But – the thought of lying in a huge, hot bath with him, feeling him entering her again – that was still the best bit – climaxing again,
‘You are not,’ said Celia, ‘you are coming with your father and me.’
‘Oh, Mummy. It’s not fair, I want to be in the race.’
‘No one’s being in the race,’ said Giles, sounding (and hating himself for it) pompous, ‘because I’m not racing. I’ve had a bit too much champagne.’
‘I’ll race you girls,’ said Jack, whereupon Lily told him he wasn’t racing anywhere and that he should have learned about the dangers of driving while filled up with champagne several years earlier, and said she thought they should spend the night in Oxford at the Randolph.
‘You’re all spoilsports,’ said Adele, ‘well we’re going anyway. We have a party to go to.’
‘Whose party?’ asked Celia.
‘A friend of Boy’s,’ said Venetia casually. ‘And don’t look so disapproving, Mummy, he’s got three houses and a title. Bye, everyone. Lovely day.’
Celia looking after them as the little Austin sped off down the road, felt anxiety join the other complex and violent emotions of the day; not just because they might drive too fast, or had had too much to drink, but because both of them, and Venetia in particular, had developed a certain studied vagueness about their comings and goings in the past few months. She knew what that meant; it was a device she had used herself in her own youth. It confused and diverted adult attention; in her case it had left her free to pursue and seduce Oliver. She must watch the twins more closely, she thought. And at least it would be a distraction from certain other matters.
‘My darling, I’m so lucky to have you.’ Boy Warwick lay back on the pillows of his extremely large bed and smiled into Venetia’s eyes. She smiled back. She was beginning to enjoy the bed thing. The first time had been difficult, painful even, lacking in pleasure; but each one since had been better, and today, this afternoon, had been wonderful. She had climaxed properly, for the first time, had discovered its intense joy, the rippling, rising and falling, beginning deep within her, the great well of warm, dark intensity drawing her in; she had heard a strange sound as it happened, a wild, primitive cry, and only realised afterwards, as she lay panting, wet with sweat, in Boy’s arms that it had been she who had made it.
‘I’m lucky too,’ she said, leaning over and kissing him. ‘Wonderfully lucky, and so happy, you can’t think how much. Oh, Boy, I love you, I really, really do.’
He replied with a kiss, settled her so that she lay sideways with her head pillowed on his shoulder. He hadn’t yet told her he loved her; she wished he would, and she knew he must do; but she could wait. She could wait quite a long time.
After a while, he sighed, set her gently aside, sat up.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to be at my club at six. I must run a bath.’
‘Oh, Boy!’ She was hurt; she couldn’t help it.
‘My darling, we can share it. That was my idea. It’s a very big bath. I might even – we might even—’ He looked at her consideringly, reached out, traced her large, dark nipples with his finger, ‘Well, we must see what happens.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come along. We can collect some champagne on the way.’
‘Um – Boy, first I must – well—’
‘Must what, my darling? Oh – that! Yes, of course. My lovely, practical girl. Run along, into the bathroom with you. Turn the taps on while you’re about it.’
Venetia went into the bathroom. She felt a little worried. She wasn’t sure that the anti-spermicidal jelly they had given her at the Marie Stopes clinic would work in the bath. Maybe she shouldn’t do it, should pretend she didn’t feel like it, that she had suddenly got the curse or something. Boy was very frank about such things; she could easily tell him. But – the thought of lying in a huge, hot bath with him, feeling him entering her again – that was still the best bit – climaxing again,
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