Anemone Chatterley was a tall and willowy 14 years old, cool and aloof, affecting disinterested in her older sister's coming of age ball. She would not reveal her jealousy about all the fuss being made, it was buried deep under more confusing emotions. Her older sister, Tiffany, with dark grey eyes, honey blond hair and quick humour, had always been her Mothers' favourite, nothing would change.
Anemone could hear them now in the library, discussing the placement of the blues band in the marquee that had been erected on the croquet lawn, her Mother, Prunella Chatterley's sharp cut glass voice piercing the air in the house and slicing through the scent of Neroli from all the blossoms that had been arranged everywhere.
She would have to escape. She ran through the salon where the punch bowl with its crystal goblets had already been set out on the sideboard and out of the French windows to the lawn. It was freshly mown and the air was ripe with the earth green smell, the stripes were a groomed track leading her to the lake which spread out invitingly before her like a sheet of reflected sky.
It was so tempting. Her Mother and Sister were busy at the house and the guests were not due for several hours. She had been reprimanded severely by her Mother the last time she'd gone swimming, for displays of unseemly behaviour, but it was worth the risk to feel the cool of the water hold her. Besides, she was 14, not a baby she could make her own decision. She could see no harm in it. More to the point she was not interested in being told no. She had been invisible to the household for weeks while they had fussed over every last detail for Tiffany so they were hardly likely to notice her now anyway.
She slipped out of her tea dress and lay it by the dock then removing her pumps and rolling down her stockings she put them in the toes of her pumps.
Briefly she stood poised at the waters edge, a tall reed in her fawn silk slip with her newly bobbed chestnut hair, the height of fashion, then she sprang from her toes anticipating the glorious sensation as the water sheathed her body in its cool embrace. She resurfaced, turning on her back, momentarily considering someone other than herself: Effie would have to reset her hair before the party she would not be pleased, but she would understand, this was too glorious an opportunity to have missed.
She lazily windmilled her arms through the duck weed, dragonfly wings flitting into her vision,then, shutting her eyes she luxuriated in the suns warmth kissing her face and making shooting stars burst beneath her closed lids.
Suddenly she became aware of whistling. It was Douglas. She had noticed him of late. He had grown tanned and muscular from his efforts in the garden and from scything the meadow hay in the last few months. He was not the garden boy anymore but floating somewhere between boy and man, on the edge of knowing. She had found herself seeking him out, sneaking glances at him from under her straw hat while sitting on the terrace. Watching the way he moved made her feel deliciously uncomfortable and slightly breathless.
But it was him watching her now. That was not the same. He could not look on her, how rude. What impertinence.
He was standing at the side of the lake leaning on the handle of his rake squinting through the sun to where she was revealed in the swirls and eddies of flotsam.
" What do you think you're looking at" she snapped, suddenly aware of how visible she was.
" I was asked to clear some of the weed but now you've stirred it up I might have to get in their with you Miss Nemmy"
" Don't be ridiculous" she said feeling the blush spread through her "help me out" and as an afterthought "nobody calls me that anymore, I'm not a child"
She was at the edge now and he had her by the hand,pulling her to him, freeing her body from the waters disguise.
" I can see that miss"
The heat again rose within her and spread tentatively to new lands while she became ever more conscious of her body, gloved in the wet slip clinging against her. Had he really just said that? What did he mean by it?
This was not right. She pulled her hand from his and he bent to pick up her clothes. The shirt was taught across his shoulders and she found she wanted to run her finger across the straining fabric and feel the heat of him beneath it. Would his skin smell of the garden ?
She stood dripping, her lips parted and shivered slightly, though she was not cold, and realised he was looking at here again, their eyes locked. For a moment it was like a magnet drawing her in,then, confused she looked down to her dress. Why didn't he just give it to her already.
She stepped forward to make a grab for the dress but stumbled forward and found herself folded into his arms.
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her frantic heart. This felt such a welcome haven, strong and illicit. Was this what was whispered about behind doors when she was sent to bed, what people came to the country house parties for, a chance like this. Was this the promise of things to come, hinted at by those scandalous Authors like DH Lawrence.
At that same moment she realised she must pull away, he lowered his mouth to hers. It was the most extraordinary sensation she could have imagined. It was as if she had become the most succulent fruit in the garden and he was tasting her flesh. Goosebumps spread over her skin and desire sparked the kindling deep within her. She would never want to put it out, she wanted to be swallowed up by it and she could not help but respond. She too wanted to taste this forbidden fruit.
She pulled away to look up into his face. How could this be wrong when it felt so right,his eyes danced with the discovery of it too.
Suddenly voices broke into her consciousness. It was the voice of her Father, the Honourable Winston Chatterley,walking in the garden with some early guests. He came into sight at the end of the evergreen tunnel of yew to their left, arm in arm with Katheryn van Prague and her daughter Desdemona. The shock on his face made tears of shame spring to her eyes.
" Lady Chatterley" he bellowed.
All she could do was run.
No comments:
Post a Comment