So Long At the Fair (12 page)

‘And that includes you, does it?’

‘Yes. Though I just work at home. I look after my father and brother. What about you? What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m still studying. At Guy’s.’

‘Guy’s? What is Guy’s?’

‘It’s one of England’s top medical schools.’

‘You’re going to become a doctor. That’s wonderful.’

‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.’

‘Where is Guy’s? In London, I suppose.’

‘Yes.’

‘My mother came from London.’

He gave a little nod. ‘That accounts for it, then. Your accent.’

‘What about my accent?’ She knew, though, what he meant.

‘Well – it’s not quite like that of the other local people. Though it’s not like your sister’s either. Her accent is not quite like yours.’

Abbie’s light laugh sounded slightly self-conscious. ‘Perhaps it doesn’t need to be.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well –’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I have . . . worked at it, as you might say. I felt I had to – if I wanted to be a schoolteacher.’

‘A schoolteacher? Is that what you’re going to be?’

‘That’s what I was hoping.’ She shrugged, bent and pulled a few blades of grass from beside her foot. ‘But it’s not going to happen now – at least not in the way I thought it might. Still, I tell myself, there’s more to the world than Flaxdown.’

‘Indeed there is.’

She saw that he was studying her, smiling. ‘What is it?’ she said.

‘I was thinking of you – smoothing off the rough edges.’

‘What?’

‘Working on your accent.’

‘Oh – that.’

‘It shows a certain – dedication. Determination.’

Was he laughing at her? she wondered. But no, there was nothing negative in his eyes. Nevertheless there was a slight note of defensiveness in her tone as she said, ‘Perhaps one needs to have a certain determination in life.’

‘Oh, one does indeed,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Well, otherwise you – well, you’d never get what you were after, would you?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused, smiled. ‘How did you do it? Work on your accent.’

‘I suppose I just – just copied my mother. As I said, she came from London. No one in the village spoke as she did.’

‘And is your mother proud of you? I’m sure she must be.’

‘She – she’s not with us any more.’ Then, quickly, lest he should misunderstand, she added, ‘She went away. Back to London. She left us.’

‘Oh – I’m so sorry to hear that.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

A silence fell and, attempting to dispel the little shadow, she said with smile, ‘So – now you know; I actually set out to change my way of speaking. I had to. I didn’t think I’d stand a chance otherwise.’ She shook her head. ‘Mind you – the ribbing I got from my brother Eddie – I don’t mind telling you, at times it was hard to take.’

He chuckled. ‘Is that typical of him?’

‘Oh, yes. Though I come off lightly next to my sister.’

‘Beatrice?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘With her he’s merciless at times.’

She became aware of music drifting across the grass. ‘Love’s Golden Dream’ was playing again. More lights had come on. Louis looked over towards the fairground. ‘I like your sister. She seems a very fine young woman.’

‘She is.’

‘And very pretty.’

‘I think so.’

‘So must anybody. Her intended – he must feel he’s a very fortunate chap.’

‘Well, he ought to. But there, I’m biased. One thing I know – she’ll make a very good wife.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Me?’

‘D’you think you’ll make a good wife?’

She laughed. ‘Beatie’s the one getting wed, not me.’

‘But you will – one day.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘No doubt of it. A girl looking like you.’

‘Oh . . .’ Feeling herself blushing at his words she dismissed his compliment with a little wave of her hand.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’re one of the prettiest and grandest girls I ever met.’

She neither knew what to say, nor how to react. Self-consciously she touched at her bonnet, untied the strings and retied them. He was gazing at her, his expression half amused, discomfiting. One square, tanned hand was raised to his mouth, forefinger touching at his full lower lip. His other hand rested in the grass, not far from her own. She thought how strong his hands looked, and yet sensitive; they were just the kind of hands a doctor should have. She felt suddenly very much aware of his nearness. The feeling made her a little fearful, while some small voice inside her head said that she should get up now and make her way back to the safety of the fairground crowd.

‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said. ‘Would that be possible?’

‘With you in London and me in Flaxdown?’

‘There are ways. What do you think?’

She wanted to say yes, but she did not. Instead, she looked about her and murmured, without conviction, ‘If I don’t go soon Beatie’ll think I’ve been kidnapped.’

‘By the gypsies?’ He smiled, his teeth very white in the slowly fading light.

‘I shouldn’t wonder. No, really, I must go. Eddie’ll be mad if he has to wait with Beatie when he could be off with his friends.’

‘Oh – wait just another minute or two. Give them a chance to finish their ride on the merry-go-round.’

Looking back over her shoulder she saw that more and more lights were coming on, twinkling more brightly by the second as the sun sank lower. Against the rippling of the brook the sound of the hurdy-gurdy came clear and sweet in the evening air. She was aware of Louis’s hand, so close to her own in the grass. And then his hand moved towards hers and she felt his fingertips gently brush the side of her thumb. The touch, lasting no more than a split second, made her catch her breath. She looked down at their two hands, while her heart pounded in her breast to a degree that she could never recall happening before. As she continued to look down she saw his hand rise and close gently over her own. She flinched and for a moment began to draw her hand away, but his fingers closed around it and she ceased to move. Keeping her eyes lowered, she gazed at their two hands entwined.

‘Abbie . . . ?’

She raised her eyes. He was gazing at her with a burning intensity, his lips slightly parted.

‘I’m so glad I came to the fair today,’ he said. ‘And I would so like to see you again. Tell me I can.’

Unable to trust herself to speak, she said nothing.

‘Tell me I can,’ he repeated.

She gave a little nod, then saw his mouth turn up at the corners in a brief smile and then become grave again. He leaned towards her, until his face was only an inch from her own and she could feel his breath. Involuntarily she closed her eyes and the next moment she felt his mouth upon hers.

The kiss was brief, his lips merely touching hers before he drew back slightly. Opening her eyes she looked into his face once more.
What’s happening to me
? she asked herself. She had met various young men over recent years, young men from the village and beyond, young men with whom she had joked and laughed and flirted. And it had meant nothing. This feeling, though, was different; this was like nothing else she had ever experienced.

His hands came up now and touched her upper arms, turning her to him. He drew her towards him and she did not resist, nor did she when he kissed her again, this time a longer kiss. She had never known such a sensation – the feeling of being held this way, of his lips upon her own. And dimly there came to her also a feeling of surprise, not only at the happening, but at her lack of will to resist.

The kiss ended, and he released her, but only to untie the strings of her bonnet. When he had done so he took it off and put it down beside her. Then his hands were there once more, upon her hair, her cheek, her shoulders. He drew her to him again and once more pressed his lips on hers. And she gave herself up to him, gave herself up to the moment, melting into his touch.

Held in his arms, she felt his kisses on her forehead, her cheek, her chin. And then he kissed her mouth again, and her lips parted and she felt the warmth of his tongue and moved her own tongue against it, so sweet, so sweet. He spoke her name between his kisses and she responded, speaking his name in a little gasping murmur and a little sob of happiness. When his hand slowly brushed the swell of her breast she could make no protest, no attempt to draw away. Held in his arms, the night had become a swirl of twinkling lights, lilting music and the feel of his closeness, his lips upon her lips, his hand upon her breast. And she
wanted
his hands upon her,
wanted
to feel the touch of him; wanted the moments never to end.

Without being aware of how she got there, she was lying on the grass, on her back, and Louis was bending over her, his soft kisses touching her face. She became aware suddenly that he was undoing the buttons on the bodice of her dress. The urgent feeling went through her head that she must stop him, but her half-hearted words of protest died on her lips, cut off by his kiss, and she felt his hand touch her naked flesh and move over the swell of her breast. He drew his head back and groaned, and she opened her eyes and saw that his own eyes were closed tight. Then he opened them again and looked deeply, longingly into hers. ‘Oh, Abbie, Abbie, Abbie . . .’ The sound of her name on his tongue was the sweetest sound, and she lifted her face to meet his lips as he bent to kiss her again.

After the kiss he gave a deep sigh, then lowered his head and pressed his lips to her breast. As she felt his wet mouth cover her nipple she gave a little cry and put a hand to the back of his head, caressing him, while at the same time her lips parted in ecstasy at his touch. ‘Oh, Abbie . . .’ he murmured, and in return she breathed, ‘Yes, yes,’ each word a little sobbing intake of breath, knowing that she had never before experienced such complete joy and ecstasy.

Suddenly there came the sounds of small explosions. Momentarily startled, wrenched abruptly back to the present, she turned her head towards the fairground and saw fireworks bursting above it, erupting into coloured showers of cascading sparks. The sight and the sounds came like a cold, drenching wave, and she suddenly saw herself as she was, lying on the grass, her hand on the back of Louis’s head, his mouth upon her breast.

‘No . . . no.’

This was not right. This was not the way. Now she used her hand to push his head from her, feeling the cold air touch her breast as his warm mouth released her. ‘Please, no . . .’

He straightened, and at the same time she sat up. She could see herself, shockingly, as she must appear, sitting there in the grass with the stranger, her clothes rumpled, her hair awry, her skin damp with their combined sweat.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

She did not even register the sound of his voice, much less his tone of concern. She was moving, getting to her feet. ‘I must go,’ she said. How could she have done this? How could she? Turning from him, ashamed, embarrassed, she buttoned her bodice and straightened her skirts. Then, her hands trembling, she smoothed her hair and put on her bonnet. Across the grass the lights of the fair were brighter than ever in the gathering gloom. So much time had gone by. How long had she been there?

‘Abbie . . . ?’

She heard his voice, but did not turn to him. She glanced down one last time to check her appearance and then began to move away.

‘Abbie – Abbie, wait – please.’ Turning, drawn by the urgency in his tone she saw him moving towards her with Beatie’s teaset in his hands. Quickly she took the box from him. Quite unable now to look him in the eye, she said with a hollow little laugh, ‘Good heavens – Beatie would never forgive me if I left it behind.’

She turned and hurried on, and he walked beside her as she hurried across the turf. As they drew nearer to the lights of the fair she stopped and turned to him.

‘Please, don’t come any further.’

He frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘No, please. Please, don’t.’

He nodded. ‘All right. But shall I see you again?’

The passion that had held her such a short time ago might never have been. Now she was aware only of reality. Now she felt only guilt. ‘Do you really want to?’ Still she could not meet his gaze.

‘Do you need to ask?’

She said nothing.

‘Where in Flaxdown do you live?’ he asked.

‘Green Lane.’ She moved from one foot to the other. ‘I must go. Eddie’ll be going crazy.’ With her words she turned and walked away.

As she drew near the refreshment marquee she could see Beatie standing by the entrance. A moment later Beatie caught sight of her and moved forward to meet her. ‘Eddie got fed up with waiting,’ Beatie said. ‘He’s gone off to the Woolpack with his friends. Where have you been all this time? I’ve been here for ages.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Abbie said, and then, forcing out the lie, ‘I – I was looking for you.’

‘Looking for me? You said you’d wait for me here.’

‘Oh – did I? I’m sorry.’

Beatie took the teaset from Abbie and hiked it securely under her arm. ‘Anyway, now you’re here we’d better start back home.’

She linked her free arm in Abbie’s, and together they turned and set off in the direction of the road. The light was dying swiftly now, the lanterns glowing ever more brightly in the gloom. Louis was nowhere in sight.

‘Is anything the matter?’ Beatie’s voice broke into Abbie’s thoughts.

‘What?’ Abbie looked at her sister.

‘You look a bit flummoxed about something. Are you all right?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘No, I’m not flummoxed.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘You’ve got too much imagination.’

They were just nearing the road when a figure came towards them out of the shadows. It was Louis.

‘Mr Randolph, hello,’ Beatie said. ‘We’re just leaving.’