A Class Apart (11 page)

Then she dropped to her knees, kissing his belly, breathing against him. He looked down at her, meeting her eyes, and as she ran her tongue round her lips, he gripped the edge of the work surface, groaning aloud and closing his eyes, waiting for the warmth of her mouth to take him. Gently she began to kiss him, lingering kisses, with her mouth open, around the top of his thighs, across his belly, and around his testicles, taking them one at a time into her mouth, caressing them with her tongue until he thought he was going to explode.

Then with the tip of her tongue she began to trace the outline of his penis, kissing and biting gently along the stem. She lifted it away from his belly, and with her fingers lightly teasing, she held him in her hand, breathing softly onto him, letting him feel the moisture of her breath.

“Oh God, Ellamarie,” he groaned, pulling her towards him. “Please, please,
now
.”

As she lifted him towards her mouth, he knew he was only moments away from climaxing. He sobbed as almost violently she covered him, and sucked him, and squeezed him with her tongue. Her hands held him, her mouth held him, and he burst into her, pulling at her hair, pushing her face hard into his groin, gasping as she drew every last drop of juice from his body.

He tried to catch his breath, and clung on to the surface behind him, not trusting his legs to take his full weight. She got quickly to her feet and circled her arms about his neck. His eyes were closed, but he could feel her looking at him, and pulled her head onto his shoulder.

They stood like that for a long time. She listening to the beat of his heart as it finally became steadier, he brushing his fingers over her bare shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispered, when he had finally regained his breath. He tilted her face to look at him. “You’re something else, you know that, don’t you?”

She smiled. “Coffee?” she said, unravelling herself from his arms.

He nodded and went to stand behind her as she poured. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer.

“You don’t mean . . .?” She turned to him with a seductive gleam in her eye.

He laughed. “No, not that. But if you don’t put some clothes on, it could well be,” and slapping her on the bottom, he went off into the lounge.

When she came in to join him she was wearing the pink satin robe he had bought for her birthday. He was relieved. Although his mother’s train was not due in until six o’clock, time was running out. He looked at his watch, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was stupid of him, and something he tried never to do when he was with Ellamarie. She said nothing, but he didn’t miss the look that flitted across her face. She handed him his coffee, and curled up at the other end of the settee where she could look at him but still reach out and touch him.

“You said you had a surprise for me. Am I going to like it?”

“I think so,” he said, smiling and casting a sideways look at her. “I hope so.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“See if you can guess.”

“Hell, I don’t know where to start. Give me a clue.”

“Well, let me see. I know. Out of all the things in the world, what would you most like to happen?”

She stared at him. Was he . . .?

He knew he had made a terrible mistake. He thought quickly, desperate to stop her from saying what was in her mind. “Yes, a film!” he declared. “I have been asked to direct
The Famous Tragedy of the Queen of Cornwall.
And I thought you might like to take the part of the Queen.”

She turned quickly to hide her disappointment, and picked up her coffee.

“Well, aren’t you pleased?” he asked, the levity of his voice sounding forced, even to him.

“Sure,” she said. “Sure I’m pleased.”

He turned away, furious at himself for the way in which he had broken the news to her. She saw his hand shake as he lifted his cup, and her heart went out to him. She knew that he was sorry, that he was mad at himself for leading her on, and he had only been trying to make her happy.

She lit up her face with a bright smile, and he only just managed to get his cup back onto the table before she threw herself across the settee and into his arms. She kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Did I ever tell you how crazy I am about you? Jeez, I can’t believe it. A movie! Me, in a movie!
The Famous Tragedy
,” and she started spinning round the room. “When did it happen?” she asked, stopping a moment to look at him. “Why didn’t you mention it before? When do we start shooting?”

He was laughing. “Oh, not for quite some time yet. You know what these things are like.”

“But Bob,” she cried, squeezing her hands together, “it’s just wonderful. Can you believe it? Me, a movie star. Hell, it’s what I’ve always wanted. Shakespeare and movies. Now I’ll have done both. Does it mean we will be going to France and Cornwall? Will you go on a field trip first? Can I come too?”

He nodded.

“Oh God, I can’t believe it,” she shrieked. “For how long? It means I’ll have you all to myself.”

“Funny, I was thinking I was going to have
you
all to
myself.
”

“I can’t wait! Is there a script I can read yet?”

“There will be, right after Christmas I hope.”

“How is it?”

“It’s going to be good. Very good, in fact. There are a couple of things that I want to discuss with the writer, though. But I think it should be ready for you to see at the beginning of the New Year.”

“Oh Bob!” she said. “Just wait till I tell Jenneen, she’ll be so thrilled for me. And Ashley. And Kate.”

“And me.” He pulled her back into his arms.

“And you,” she sighed. “Oh, I love you so much, do you know that? I love you so much I could die.”

She curled up in his arms, and he stroked her hair. Inwardly he gave a sigh of relief that the awkward moment had passed.

She was happy. It was what she wanted, to be with him, always working with him. And although her hopes had soared for a moment earlier, she knew in her heart that one day it would happen, and they would be together.

“What time do you have to leave?” she said, turning his watch round.

“In about half an hour. I have to go back to the theatre first, to pick up some things.”

“Oh?” She looked surprised. “I thought you’d brought everything with you?”

“No. I’ve just remembered, I’ve left some things there that I need to pick up.”

“The script,” she said, grinning up at him.

He laughed. “No,” and almost immediately wished he had said yes.

“Then what?” She didn’t know why she was pushing it. It wasn’t important that he had to go back to the theatre. But there was something in his manner, something that told her he didn’t want her to know what he was going back for.

“Nothing important.” He shifted position.

“If it’s nothing important, then why are you going back for it?” she said, hating herself, and wishing she could stop interrogating him.

“Because I have to.”

“Then what is it?”

He sighed. “All right,” he said, “it’s a Christmas present.”

She sat up. Her heart was beginning to pound. “It’s for her isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, and tried to take her hand.

She pulled away. Why couldn’t he have lied to her? Jesus, hadn’t she tried everything she could these last weeks to stop from thinking too much about Christmas? About him spending it with his wife. About her being alone. Her folks unable to fly out, or not wanting to fly out, and her unable to go back home.

“Ellamarie,” he said, his voice was soft and pleading.

She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s me. I’m being silly. Of course you’ve bought a gift for your wife. It wouldn’t be right if you hadn’t. I’m just being silly.”

“I would rather be here, with you,” he said, knowing it to be only half true.

“Would you?”

He nodded.

She was silent for a while, and Bob remained still, waiting for her to speak. When she did, she said what he had been dreading she would say.

“Earlier,” she said, not looking at him, “earlier, when you said, you know, that you had a surprise for me?”

He tensed, and ran his fingers across his eyes.

“Do you know what I thought you were going to say?”

“Yes.”

She turned to look at him. “I thought you were going to say that you were leaving your wife.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Of all the things in the whole world, that is what would make me the happiest,” she said. “That we could be together, always.”

He took her hands in his, and looked into her face. “We will be. Soon, we will be.”

“But when? Oh Bob, I know I shouldn’t ask, but don’t you know what it’s like for me? Thinking of you with her. Talking to her, eating with her, sleeping with her.”

“Just be patient, darling. We will be together, I promise.”

“When will you tell her?”

“I don’t know. Soon.” He was beginning to feel trapped, but could see no way out.

“You’ve said yourself, she doesn’t need you. It’s the horses she loves. They’re her life. She never comes up to town, never comes to see any of your plays. She has cut herself off from you. Surely she can’t expect you to be happy, living like that.”

“She doesn’t see it like you do.”

“Then just how does she see it? From where I’m sitting she doesn’t see it at all. She’s selfish. Bob. She doesn’t think about you, or care about you. You’ve told me, time over time, that that side of your marriage has been dead for years. Surely she’d be happy if you gave her the house and the stables. She would have what she wants, and you could come to live here, with me. We could be together. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes,” he said, twisting her hair round his fingers, “yes, that is what I want. And I know what you’re saying makes sense. But it’s not easy to just cut off more than eleven years of your life.”

“Well, can’t you start by telling her that you have found someone else? You don’t have to say that you are leaving. Give her some time to get used to the idea. And then, after a while, when she knows that you are serious, that you really are in love with someone else, she’ll let you go. She can’t want to make you stay if she knows you’re not happy. You’re not happy there, are you. Bob? It is me you want, isn’t it?”

“Oh my darling, of course it’s you that I want.”

“Then tell her, Bob. Tell her, please.”

“I’ll try.”

“No. Say you’ll do it. Please say that you will tell her.”

He was looking past her, his mind racing. What could he say? What could he do? He felt her hand on his cheek and she pulled his face round so that she could see into his eyes.

She looked like a child gazing at him, her eyes round and pleading. How could he deny her? He smiled and nodded. “OK,” he said, “if the opportunity arises, I’ll tell her,” and he felt sick inside.

She threw her arms round him. “Oh, I love you,” she cried. “You will never regret it. I promise, you will never regret it.”

“I know,” he said, but there was no warmth in his voice.

The drone of voices, accompanied by telephones and thundering typewriters, reached them through the closed door of Bill Pruitt’s office. Everyone was talking about it. Jenneen Grey had not turned up for the shoot on Thursday morning. Ambitious Jenneen Grey, who lived for her work, had simply just not shown up.

Shaking his head, Bill closed his eyes and sighed. Anyone else would have lost their temper by now. Would have been shouting and raving, even threatening, but not him. He had been the editor of this programme since its conception seven years ago, and it had always been a happy ship. He did not believe in the heavy-hand tactics of some of his colleagues. If there was a problem, then he wanted to know about it, and in his own paternal sort of way he would sort it. Having Jenneen Grey on board had never been easy. He was aware of the resentment of the others, particularly Stephen Sommers and Geoff Pentland, two reporters who believed that the kind of reporting done by Jenneen Grey should be left to a man. This series of interviews was practically the first thing that Jenneen had handled that could fit into a “woman’s category”, as they put it. At last Bill had thought that Steve and Geoff were beginning to settle down and accept her. But now she had blown it. Bill knew what they were saying out there. That Jenneen Grey thought this lightweight stuff was beneath her, that she was too grand to take on something as mundane and straightforward as these agent/client interviews, and had decided to make a stand by refusing to turn up at the location. He had heard Geoff’s remark earlier about PMT, and being at home and having babies. Bill loathed that kind of sexist attitude, but on this occasion he had not risen to it. He had to speak to Jenneen first.

But it had got him nowhere. How could he defend her if she wouldn’t even tell him where she had been yesterday morning?

He sighed again and turned away from the window. Jenneen was sitting by his desk, her head lowered, and her fingers pulling at a handkerchief in her lap. “Jenn,” he said. He saw her tense so he walked over to stand beside her. “Look at me, Jenn.” She lifted her head and he saw that her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying she had done in the past twenty-four hours. “If you won’t tell me where you were, then at least tell me something that I can tell Maurice Fellowes. Jesus Christ, make something up if you have to, but don’t keep saying you’re sorry. It might be good enough for me, but it won’t hold with Maurice.”

Jenneen shook her head. “I can’t. Bill. I just can’t.”

“Then tell me the truth. If you like I’ll promise it won’t go any further, and then I’ll make something up to tell Maurice. How’s that?”

Jenneen bowed her head again. How could she tell him? How could she ever tell anyone? In sane moments even she could not believe in “Mrs Green”. She shuddered inwardly, sick with herself. It was the same feeling she had had the morning she had woken up in that seedy little hotel room in Brighton, and found the two boys, limbs intertwined with hers, asleep in the bed. She gagged as she felt the waves of self-loathing come over her again. But her own self-loathing had been nothing to what she had felt towards the boys.