Silk

She gave Beth a look of gratitude, which Beth returned with an excited smile.

The countess went on to inform Amber that their party was going to include Beth’s father, the earl, and their eldest son, Henry, Viscount Hollowes, both of whom were currently in Australia where, as Beth had already told Amber, her father had business interests in a sheep station and in mining. They would also be joined by the nursery party, comprising Beth’s two younger brothers and the baby of the family, her sister, Arabella, and that they would be staying in Juan-les-Pins where the earl was renting a villa for the summer.

‘I’m so happy that you’ll be coming to the South of France with us,’ Beth confided excitedly to Amber later over luncheon. ‘It’s going to be such fun.’

‘Yes,’ Amber agreed.

She could hardly take it in that she was to visit the South of France, the haunt of so many famous artists. She couldn’t wait to see the places and the colours that inspired them. It would be a relief not to be constantly looking over her shoulder to see if she could see Lord Robert too.

The South of France. How very lucky she was to have such a good friend as Beth and how grateful she was to the countess for inviting her to join them.

‘But you said you were going to take me somewhere exciting, not some dingy horrid hotel in Brighton,’ Louise objected, taking several nervy drags on her cigarette.

They were standing in the bedroom of the hotel and although she had known all along what George had in mind, now that she was confronted with the unattractive reality of their surroundings, defying her mother for the delicious thrill of taking such a dangerous risk no longer seemed either exciting or glamorous. And, in fact, somehow George himself no longer cut the dashing figure here in these drab surroundings as he had done in the prim drawing rooms of Mayfair and the correspondingly louche nightclubs.

In fact, if she was honest with herself, what Louise actually felt right now was not excitement but distaste. She had hated the way the man in reception had smirked and looked her over when George had registered them as Mr and Mrs Smith, but she had been too shocked by the fact that he had done so to object.

When George had suggested driving her down to Brighton for ‘something special at a discreet little place I know’, Louise had envisaged herself sweeping into a glamorous establishment where heads would turn admiringly in her direction and suave handsome men would leave their companions immediately to demand an introduction to her.

They would have lunch – with champagne, of course – and then cocktails in a piano bar.

Carelessly Louise had ignored the small problem of how she was going to manage to stay out so late without explaining her absence to her mother.

Now, faced with a bedroom smaller than her maid’s at home, its wallpaper peeling, and the smell of damp and greasy cooking pervading everything, the issue of her mother’s likely reaction to her absence suddenly became vitally important.

‘I really can’t stay,’ she told George, affecting insouciance. ‘I had no idea it would take us so long to get here. Mummy will be simply furious if I’m not back in time for cocktails at the Edales’.’

‘Really?’ There was a look in George’s eyes that warned Louise he was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

How exciting. And how powerful it made her feel to know that he wanted her so much.

‘Yes, I want you to take me home now,’ she told him.

‘And I want – you,’ George responded.

Louise tried to sidestep him as he came towards her but the bedroom was too small and all he had to do to throw her down on the bed was take hold of her arms and force her backwards.

‘No, George. You mustn’t,’ Louise protested, feigning anger. This was just as she had imagined it would be: the delicious feeling of power and wantonness, the knowledge that George was overwhelmed by his desire for her. If she could do that to George then how much more easily would she be able to manipulate someone older – and richer. Avarice gleamed in her eyes.

‘It’s too late to play teasing games now, Lou,’ George warned her. ‘You’ve been coming on to me for weeks, and you know it. Stop worrying, you’re going to love it. Your kind always does. Careful, you don’t want me to go tearing that pretty blouse you’re wearing, do you? What would Mummy say?’

She was genuinely angry now – she hadn’t planned for things to go this far. Teasing George was one thing, actually letting him do ‘it’ was another.

Somehow Louise managed to fight him off and push her way past him to the door, but it was locked and whilst she struggled helplessly with it he caught hold of her, dragging her back to the bed.

This definitely wasn’t what she wanted or how things were supposed to be. George was tugging at her clothes, undressing her swiftly and expertly, despite her protests and struggles, until all she was wearing was her pale pink silk chemise and her matching French knickers with their lacy edging.

Automatically when George let go of her and stood up to remove his own clothes, she lifted her hands to cross them over her breasts. She wasn’t going to let him know that she was apprehensive. Men like George didn’t feel any sympathy for women who cried and pleaded; a woman had to stand up to a man like George. Louise knew that instinctively.

She might be nervous but she was still curious enough to risk a look at him. She hadn’t seen a man naked before, not properly, although she was familiar with the feel of that thick jut of flesh rearing up in swollen urgency, having allowed George to put her hand on it on several occasions, including one time when he had unbuttoned his trousers and pushed her hand inside his underwear to really touch ‘it’.

She hadn’t expected that it would look so ugly, nor have that awkward-looking pouch of flesh hanging beneath it.

‘Like what you see?’ George asked. ‘Want a closer inspection?’

She tried to look nonchalant as she gave a small shrug, but she was wasting her time, she realised, because George was more interested in pushing down the straps of her camisole to bare her breasts, before cupping them in his hands and then kneading them and tugging almost painfully on her nipples.

She relaxed a bit when he started to kiss her – she was, after all, on familiar territory here – but when he transferred his mouth from her lips to her breasts she tensed again and then tensed even more when she felt him tugging – sucking – on her nipples, first one and then the other. An unfamiliar sensation zigzagged right through her body, causing a dull ache low down inside her that began to grow in intensity. George’s teeth suddenly raked her nipple, causing her to cry out and jerk away from him, but he pulled her back, sliding his hand into the open leg of her knickers, and touching her almost roughly where she had secretly and daringly touched herself before but never like George was doing, working his fingers into her, ignoring her protest that he was hurting her, rubbing that special magical place she had found during her own explorations until suddenly Louise wasn’t thinking about how she could bend George to her will any more because she wasn’t capable of thinking anything, only doing; arching her back, moaning and crying out, protesting when George abandoned the source of her pleasure and instead pushed a pillow beneath her hips and then rolled on top of her, raising her knees and then pushing slowly into her, ignoring the stiffening that accompanied her demand for him to stop.

But he refused to stop, and then miraculously the pain disappeared, and the sensation of him thrusting deeper and faster inside her became a challenge she felt driven to meet, and then a need that had her crying out to him.

When he groaned and tensed Louise wondered what was happening, fearful that something was wrong, and even that he might be stuck inside her, but before she could panic, he groaned again and pumped furiously into her, before exhaling in satisfaction and slumping over her.

It hadn’t been at all like she had thought it would be. George had been so rough, too rough at times. And all that sweat and hard work, and that sticky wetness she could feel leaking from her now that George had removed himself from her.

‘There, I told you you’d like it, didn’t I?’

Louise was sitting up in bed, the sheet dragged up to cover her breasts whilst she smoked the cigarette George had just lit and passed to her. George was lying beside her, his head propped up watching her with a smug expression on his face.

‘No, I didn’t like it at all,’ she denied sharply. She was still angry at having her hand forced.

George laughed. ‘No? Then what was all that, “Oh, George, please, oh, George. Oh, oh …” all about then?’ he laughed.

She had enjoyed it, Louise admitted, but she was still furiously cross with George. After all, this was not the kind of place in which she had expected to lose her virginity. She deserved better. But she’d make him pay …

Chapter Twelve

Lady Rutland wasn’t at all pleased that Amber had been invited to the private pre-ball dinner party Beth’s parents were hosting on the evening of Beth’s coming-out ball, when Louise had not, but since her grandmother had not only written to her saying how delighted she was that Amber had been invited to accompany Beth to the South of France, but had actually also telephoned her as well, Amber had felt justified in ignoring Lady Rutland’s crossness.

Lord and Lady Levington’s Belgrave Square house was far grander than Lady Rutland’s in Cadogan Place; the flowers to decorate the ballroom had been sent up from the hothouse at Chevenely, their country estate, having been expressly grown for Beth’s ball.

Since it was the first time she had met the Earl of Levington Amber had been worrying that she might not earn Beth’s father’s approval, and that the invitation to the South of France might be rescinded. However, to her relief Lord Levington had treated her most kindly, putting her at her ease straight away.

Amber had been partnered for dinner by Beth’s elder brother Henry, Viscount Hollowes. Fresh-faced, with Beth’s soft brown hair and his father’s hazel eyes, his manner slightly awkward and intense, Henry had talked earnestly to Amber about Australia over dinner.

‘Henry isn’t really used to girls,’ Beth had confided to Amber. ‘Mummy thought it would be good for him to stay here in London whilst I was doing the season, but Daddy said that it was more important that he went with him to Australia.’

Beth looked truly radiant tonight, as much because of the presence of her godmother’s son, Alistair, as anything else, Amber suspected, watching her friend later as she was whirled round the dance floor in Alistair’s arms. Sturdily built, with red-gold hair and bright blue eyes, the Hon. Alistair McCrea might not appear as glamorous as some of the more polished debs’ delights, but there was a reassuring quality about him. He was the kind of young man who would take his responsibilities very seriously, Amber could see, and those responsibilities would naturally include his wife. Ultimately he would inherit not only his father’s title and Scottish lands but also a small Hertfordshire estate that would come to him via a great-uncle on his mother’s side of the family, Beth had confided to Amber, and Amber suspected that Beth was halfway to falling in love with him already.

Lucky Beth, Amber thought, to be able to fall in love with someone so suitable. But then Beth was the kind of girl who wanted to please her parents, especially her mother to whom she was extremely close.

With something as very exciting as the South of France to look forward to Amber could almost forget the scene she had witnessed the night of her ball, and how much she missed the fun she had had with Lord Robert. Almost. But not entirely.

Beth hadn’t mentioned him recently and Amber had not liked to ask, afraid her enquiries would give her away. Diana and Bryan Guinness were here at the ball in a group that included Diana’s brother, Tom Mitford, Jim Lees-Milne, Oswald Mosley and his wife, and the novelist Evelyn Waugh, all of whom Amber recognised, having either been introduced to them or had them pointed out to her on previous occasions.

Amber saw them whilst she was dancing with Henry, and trying not to feel uncomfortable about the way he was looking at her so intensely, without saying a word. They were all crowding around Oswald Mosley, a very good-looking man in the mode of Rudolph Valentino, who all the popular papers were lionising because of his decision to resign from Ramsay MacDonald’s government over the rejection of what was being termed the Mosley Memorandum: a document that set out plans for large-scale public work programmes to provide jobs and an income for the poor and out of work. Personally Amber thought that anything that relieved the dreadful situation whereby men were unable to find work to support their families should be praised and put in force as soon as possible. Not that she knew very much about politics, of course.

They were almost level with the group when Diana, who was standing next to Mosley, suddenly screamed, and then laughed, shaking her head as she exclaimed, ‘Oh, you beast, Mosley,’ before turning to her husband and telling him, ‘He has just dropped something icy cold down my back, Bryan.’

‘Oh, no, poor you,’ the pretty brunette clinging to Tom Mitford’s arm protested, whilst Oswald Mosley opened his fist to reveal some of the small pink puffballs that had decorated the supper tables.

‘It was only one of these, iced with champagne,’ he was drawling, obviously enjoying the tease. ‘You were so deliciously hotly defensive of my Memorandum, Diana, that I felt it my duty to cool you down before you burned poor Ramsay’s reputation to cinders.’

The dance had come to an end, and Amber was rather relieved to be able to wriggle free of Henry’s tight grip.

‘You must go and find your next partner,’ she reminded him gently when he showed no sign of moving from her side.

His blurted, ‘I’d much rather dance with you,’ made Amber feel freshly uncomfortable.

And when a familiar voice drawled, ‘Ah, but Miss Vrontsky is engaged to dance this dance with me, I’m afraid, Henry old chap,’ she was too relieved to feel self-conscious when she turned to look up at Lord Robert.

‘I take it that you were not wanting to dance with him again?’ he asked once Henry was out of earshot.

‘Not really,’ Amber admitted, ‘but you need not stay and dance with me if there is …’ She stopped, floundering uncomfortably.

‘I want to dance with you very much.’

Now she was blushing, Amber realised in vexation.

‘But I think we should stroll instead,’ Lord Robert suggested, offering her his arm. ‘We can talk more easily that way.’

Lord Robert obviously knew the house well, Amber realised, because he soon found a small anteroom to the ballroom, its doors open to a balcony just wide enough for two people to stand and enjoy the evening air.

‘I’m sorry I was so silly about … about things,’ Amber told him.

‘You weren’t silly. In fact, I doubt you could ever be silly, Amber.’ When she looked at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty, he told her, ‘I should not have behaved in the way that I did. Some things should remain private. Not seen and not heard.’

‘I dare say that it isn’t always easy not to betray one’s feelings, when they are very strong.’ Now Amber was looking out into the darkness, unable to bring herself to look directly at Lord Robert.

‘You are as compassionate as you are kind. I loved foolishly and I paid the price for it.’

His words made Amber feel intensely sad for him.

‘I used to think that loving someone meant that person would be happy like my parents were happy, but love isn’t always like that, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t. Love can be many things, some of them damnably painful. I hope that when you find love it will be the kind of love your parents shared.’ He paused and then said abruptly, ‘I have missed you and our outings together.’

‘Have you?’ Now Amber turned to look at him. ‘I have missed you too. I thought you must be cross with me because—’

‘No. If I was cross with anyone it was myself.’

He reached for her hand and held it gently. ‘Shall we be friends again?’

‘Oh, yes.’

They looked at one another, and smiled.

‘Cecil will be pleased. He considers that you have great promise, you know, and would, I think, like to see you as another Syrie Maugham.’

Amber’s eyes widened at the compliment. Syrie Maugham, the former wife of the famous playwright, was currently the most fashionable interior decorator.

‘My grandmother would never allow me to set up in business,’ she told Robert sadly.

‘No, I dare say not, but your husband might if you choose him carefully, and he is rich enough,’ he told her.

Amber laughed. ‘So now I must find a titled husband to please my grandmother and a rich one to please Cecil.’

Robert looked at her. ‘I hope you will find a way to follow your own heart, Amber, for if anyone deserves to it is you.’

His kindness brought Amber near to tears, and as though he sensed how close she was to being overwhelmed by her emotions, Lord Robert said teasingly, ‘We’d better get back to the ballroom before Henry sends out a search party and you are accused of attempting to sully my reputation by enticing me out onto this balcony.’

Amber laughed again. She was so pleased that they were friends once more, but even better, she had realised standing on the balcony with him that he was now just dear Robert, her friend, and nothing more. Her former feelings had disappeared and she recognised them for what they were: her first proper infatuation. Who could blame her when he was so handsome and so exciting? But she knew that when true love finally showed its face, she’d know it in a heartbeat.

Chapter Thirteen

In less than a week they would be leaving for the South of France, and the Belgrave Square mansion was busy with preparation.

‘Now, my dears,’ the countess informed Beth and Amber, ‘whilst the little ones will be going straight to Juan-les-Pins with Nanny and the servants, the three of us will be staying in Paris for a short time before joining them. You will both need clothes suitable for the South of France and these, of course, are best bought in Paris.’

Paris! Amber and Beth exchanged thrilled looks.

‘Oh, Amber, I am just so excited,’ Beth burst out after her mother had been called away to take an urgent telephone call. ‘It’s going to be such fun. We shall need new tennis dresses, and swimming togs. Oh, and I do hope that Mummy will let us have some of those new pyjama suits that Vogue says everyone is wearing.’

Amber was still thinking about the excitement of going to the South of France half an hour later as she went up the steps to the front door of Lady Rutland’s house in Cadogan Place. Louise and Lady Rutland were, she knew, out visiting an elderly cousin of Lady Rutland’s who lived in Richmond.

‘There’s a visitor to see you, miss,’ the butler told her as he let her in. ‘A Mr Fulshawe. He said to tell you that he’s here on your grandmother’s behalf. I’ve put him in the library.’

Jay was here and on her grandmother’s behalf? How ominous that sounded. Amber quickly walked across the hall and pushed open the library doors, trying to quell her anxiety as she did so.

Jay was standing in front of the unlit fire. He was wearing city clothes and, she realised with sudden surprise, he did not, as she had imagined, look out of place in them at all. Far from it. He looked, in fact, very handsome and smart.

‘Your grandmother instructed me to come,’ he told her. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

‘Bad news?’ Her mind raced. What did he mean? She searched his face but there was no clue to be found there. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is it the mill?’

He was shaking his head.

‘Greg?’ Anxiety sharpened her own voice. ‘It is Greg, isn’t it?’ she demanded when she saw the small movement he made. ‘Something’s happened to him. What, Jay? Oh, please tell me.’

‘It isn’t Greg, although in a sense it does concern him. It’s Caroline Fitton Legh.’

‘Caroline?’ Amber repeated blankly. Jay had come all the way to London to tell her something about Caroline? Her anxiety for Greg had eased back, and now she felt confused.

‘There is no easy way to tell you this, Amber. Caroline is dead.’

Of all the things she might have been dreading hearing, the death of Caroline Fitton Legh had not been one of them. She was – had been – so young and so very alive. It seemed impossible. Amber remembered how beautiful she had looked the afternoon she and Greg called on her at Fitton Hall. She had been so kind, so very friendly and warm. Amber was perplexed. How could she have died? She suddenly remembered what Cassandra had said: that Greg was in love with Lady Fitton Legh. But Greg had laughed when Amber had told him that.

Her heart was beating uncomfortably. She felt somehow afraid.

‘But how?’

‘An accident,’ Jay told her briefly.

‘Does my grandmother want me to go home for the funeral? Is that why you are here?’

Jay shook his head. ‘Lord Fitton Legh has announced that there will be only a small private family ceremony.’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Amber admitted. ‘Everyone must have been so shocked. Especially poor Cassandra.’

There were dark shadows beneath Jay’s eyes and a certain hollowness to his face.

‘Amber.’ He stopped and exhaled. ‘Your grandmother has charged me with … that is to say, there is something she wishes me to tell you. Come and sit down.’

Obediently Amber sat down in the chair he was holding, waiting uncertainly whilst he took one opposite her. There was no fire in the grate and the room felt cold. This side of the house did not catch the sun.

‘You will know, of course, that Greg is on his way to Hong Kong.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Amber agreed. ‘He seemed pleased to be going when he wrote to me about it, although I don’t understand what that has to do—’ She broke off when Jay held up his hand to stop her.

‘There is no easy way to tell you this and I would rather not have been the one to do so, but your grandmother believes you should know, and I confess that I share her feelings. You are bound to hear of it anyway when you return to Macclesfield, and no doubt so well embroidered that you will not be able to tell truth from fiction.’

Amber’s stomach was churning nervously. She had no idea what it was that Jay had to tell her but she did know that it was something unpleasant.

Jay looked at Amber. There hadn’t been a minute on the train journey south – first class at his employer’s insistence – when he hadn’t been thinking of this meeting and what he would have to say, how much he might have to say and how he was going to say it.

It had shocked him to realise how much Amber had matured in such a short space of time; the way she had received him, her manner, her composure now as she controlled her emotions; the girl he had known had gone, and a calm and assured young woman had taken her place.

He took a deep breath. ‘The reason your grandmother sent Greg to Hong Kong was because he and Lady Fitton Legh had been involved.’

Amber absorbed the careful words and then looked at Jay. ‘Do you mean that they were having an affair?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Grandmother sent Greg away because she discovered that he was in love with Lady Fitton Legh?’

‘No. That is to say, I don’t think it was a matter of their being in love, so much as a matter of chance and circumstance, throwing them into one another’s company.’

‘Yes,’ Amber acknowledged.

Jay was amazed she seemed so calm, so unmoved by this latest news. My, but she was a world away from the girl he had known so well.

‘Unfortunately it was Lord Fitton Legh who first discovered the affair – not your grandmother – and there was some gossip about it before your grandmother was able to prevail upon him to see the wisdom of the matter being kept as private as possible. Whilst he demanded that Greg be punished by banishment from Cheshire, I think that both your grandmother and Greg himself were happy that he should distance himself from events.’