Chapter 9
I telephoned Angela the next morning.
"Hello," she said. "I thought you'd never get in touch with me again."
"I've been busy all the time. I told you your mother had asked me to see some people."
I know. There must have been a lot of people. Or else they had a lot to say."
"It's a bit of both actually. You're sounding in much better spirits than last time."
"So are you," she said.
"I confess I am in better spirits. Or I've just become so."
"And why is that?" she asked with a smile in her voice. "Because I look forward to seeing you."
"Then come at once."
"No sooner said than done."
She was waiting for me at the door of the mansion. Her dress was still one of mourning, but it was not so somber as the one she wore the first time we met. This one was paradoxical for it mourned only halfway over her breasts. The fresh young mounds protruded above the cloth: little white lies of life. And also the dress was of very thin summer cloth so that through it I could see the hidden roundness of the underside of her breasts and the deep dark roses of her teats. Lower down was the shadowed outline of panties clutching eagerly at her loins.
"I am happy to see you again," she said and put her cheek forward for a kiss, another paternal kiss. "And I'm happy to see you."
Taking my hand, she led me into the salon, poured us each a sherry, and then sat down beside me on the sofa.
"Well," she began. "Did mother send you to see interesting people?"
"Fairly," I mumbled. "Financial men and that sort-"
"How dull for you," she smiled. "I thought mother never bothered with those things herself."
"No, I suppose not but-"
"And isn't it odd, but our lawyer was here just last night and said everything was all cleared up."
My embarrassment could not be hidden. "Well, the people I saw were financial people, but I saw them socially, not for any business reasons."
"I see," she said, and to my astonishment she added: "You mean these were her nighttime friends."
"What are you talking about?"
'You know very well what I'm talking about!"
"I haven't the vaguest idea," I said, but the lie was evident
"Oh, please, Howard-do you mind if I call you Howard?"
"Of course not. It pleases me." I placed my hand over hers beside me on the sofa.
"Well then, Howard, can you think it possible I've lived with a person twenty years and never noticed that she slipped out at night?"
"Perhaps she went for a walk," I suggested.
"No. You know as well as I do that at night my mother was a wild woman. I've known about this ever since the 'war when I was still a little girl and I met a man who had seen me walking with mother. He knew her from that terrible yacht. And he told me all about it."
"Did you tell her you knew?"
"No, never. She would have died. It would have broken her heart. As if I would have loved her less because she needed what all women need." I felt her hand tremble under mine and I put my arm round her, drawing her close.
'You're terribly sweet," I said. "How lucky Carla was to have had you."
"One needn't be only Carla," she flashed, "in order to have me. But I want you to tell me something."
"What is it?"
"About mother's death."
Indeed, I didn't dare to. "I know no more about it than you."
"Tell me, Howard, who was Serge Montrose?"
I looked at her, incredulous. "However did you hear of him?"
". "There was a small item in the papers about that inquest you were a witness at. It had something to do with mother, didn't it?"
"No, nothing at all. He was an old friend of mine."
"In the papers it said you'd never met him before and that one of the servants said they'd heard you shout something like 'Baron' at him. And he wasn't a baron, they said."
"It was a mistake."
"I don't believe you."
"It's better that you do," I said, keeping my voice even but trying to warn her it was wiser that she asked no more questions. Yet she persisted:
"I want to know the truth. I'll bother you day and night until you tell me."
"I'd love to be bothered by you."
"Then tell me or I won't."
"All right," I said. "The details are uninteresting. But this is approximately the story: you father didn't die soon after your birth. It was a hoax."
"Did mother know this?"
"No," I lied. "Not until the end. He sent her word of this and asked for an appointment. She was afraid he would kill her, as in fact he did."
"But why?"
"He was insane. There is no asking why. People act as they must."
"Go on."
"Well, through a series of accidents I learned of Montrose and on a hunch went to see him. It turned out he was Baron Arvon and he committed suicide rather than live to see the family name soiled if and when I told the police. I wouldn't have told the police, of course, on account of you."
She covered her face with her hands. "It's terrible. Terrible. I feel so alone."
"Don't. I'm your friend."
She looked up at me. "Yes, I believe you are."
She raised her face to mine and our lips joined. The full young mouth opened to my tongue, receiving the full measure of my kiss. My hand reached over the flimsy plumpness of the cloth upon her breast and I closed upon the firm flesh. Its warmth and softness yielded under my fingers and Angela sighed through the kiss.
"Let me take your dress off," I said.
"Wait." She stood up and went to the door, locking it. When she returned to me, I rose and lifted her dress, pulling it above her head. She stood before me, her pink flesh glowing, her uncovered breasts exposed to me. I cupped one in each hand, massaging them so that my skin rubbed the small tender nipples.
"How beautiful you are," I said.
She dropped her panties to the floor and I saw the triangle of auburn hair.
"Please," she whispered. "You get undressed too."
Hurriedly, I began removing my things, and as I stripped, she said: "You know, Howard, I've never seen a naked man before."
"Then look at one," I told her when my things were off.
She studied my body closely, observing my chest, my shoulders, my arms, my belly. It was an effort for her to look lower, but she did and her face pinked. Approaching me, her hand reached to my penis. She touched it lightly at first, then rubbed its underside, and at last clutched it in her hands.
"What a lovely thing," she said.
Then she put her hand under my scrotum and pushed it gently as if weighing my balls. She released them and pressed herself close to me, rubbing her belly against my member. My hand reached down between her thighs and they opened slightly. I pushed my way in, my fingers stroking the hair, the narrow split between. A gentle moisture sprang as if hardly more than perspiration.
"I want to kiss you there," I said. "I'd love you to."
We both sank to the rug, and I took a head-to-foot position, hoping that I would not have to ask her to suck me. I moved my head between her legs, my face joining her woman's parts, rich with the smell of woman I moved my tongue slowly back and forth; she shivered and brought her thighs tight against my head. Suddenly I felt her soft lips kissing the head of my penis and I thrust at her. Her lips spread and my rod moved slowly into the warmth of Angela's mouth.
I continued licking her, rolling my tongue again and again across her clitoris. When I brought it to the opening of her sheath, her excitement made her jump slightly. I forced my tongue through the tightness of the threshold. Her mouth was laboring passionately at my penis.
"Now," I said, moving away from her.
Eyes closed, she said nothing as I drew over her. I pushed her knees back and glided my penis across the moisture of her woman. Then I aimed the head at her little hole and forced slightly; then a bit more. She moaned.
"Does it hurt?"
She shook her head. I thrust forward once more, but now the penetration could only be accomplished by a powerful lunge. I readied her by easing my penis in and out of the opening, and when she had begun to sigh, I pushed forward, springing the length of my member into her.
A cry broke from her lips.
"Does it hurt?" I asked again.
"How can anything you do give me anything but pleasure?" she said softly.
I moved my penis in her, drew it half-out, then once more sent it in to the hilt. This movement pleased her, and I repeated it, and again, continuing with variations until suddenly she was choosing the rhythm.
My body rested upon hers and our mouths met in a long kiss, a kiss that continued through the thrusts of our loins, through the increasing pressure of excitement and our quickening movements. I felt her come close to her climax and I quickened my thrusts, making them more regular. Her teeth bit my lip; her fingers scraped across my shoulders; her legs held tight round my back. We thrust and pushed and groaned together into our orgasm.
"How wonderful that was," she said later.
I could only nod my agreement. My hands stroked her fiery body.
"No wonder mother loved you so much," she whispered. "Were you always so good at it?"
I smiled. "With a woman as wonderful as you."
"Will you always do it to me? As often as I want?"
"More often."
"It couldn't be more often, since I'll want it every minute of the day."
"Only the day? What about the nights?"
"The nights." She laughed. "Well, Howard, I think the nights will be a mystery."