Уильям Николсон - Motherland

The organ booms out the wedding march. Geraldine enters the church in her mother’s dress, on her father’s arm. She looks fragile, and grave, and beautiful. The nuptial Mass begins.

The newly married couple pass that night at Edenfield Place. Louisa appears only briefly, white-faced, to apologise for her absence, and then retreats to her room. George, now proud, now fearful at her condition, makes an abstracted host. Bride and groom retire early to the principal guest bedroom.

Both are exhausted. The bed that awaits them has ornate barley-sugar posts holding a high carved wooden canopy, and curtains in a pink and blue floral fabric. The immense wardrobe has a mirrored central panel in which they see themselves reflected, smiling, uncertain.

‘I’ll go and use the bathroom first, shall I?’ says Larry. ‘I’ll get into my pyjamas there.’

He understands that Geraldine is shy of undressing in front of him. He takes his time in the bathroom. When he returns, he finds Geraldine standing where he left her, but now in a white silk nightdress. The silk clings to the curves of her body.

‘You look ravishing,’ he says.

She smiles, and goes on tiptoe to the bathroom. He turns out the bedroom centre light, leaving on a bedside lamp. He gets into bed. The linen sheets are chilly.

Geraldine returns, and stands, hesitating, in the middle of the room.

‘Would you rather have the light out?’ says Larry.

‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Let’s try.’

He turns out the bedside lamp. The room is plunged into total darkness. He hears her approach the bed, and pat her way up it to the head. She creeps under the bedclothes, barely disturbing them, and lies beside him without touching him. He hears her breathing.

‘Tired?’ he says.

‘A little,’ she says.

He reaches out his right hand towards her, and encounters her silk-clad hip. She gives a start.

‘Hello,’ he says.

‘Hello.’

‘Cold?’

‘A little,’ she says.

‘Why don’t I warm you?’

He shuffles alongside her and with some awkwardness takes her in his arms. She curls her body so that she’s lying on her side, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her knees against his thighs. He strokes her back softly, to soothe the tension of her muscles.

‘All a bit new, isn’t it?’ he says.

‘Yes,’ she whispers.

He kisses her, and she responds at once, in the manner of one who is determined to show willing. His caressing hands reach down her silk-clad back to the curve of her bottom. She moves a little, to release one hand, and finds his shoulder, and the back of his neck. In silence, in darkness, they touch each other lightly in safe places.

Then his left hand comes up her back to her neck and cheek, and down over her throat, over the lace ties of her nightdress, to her breast. He draws his fingers very lightly over her breast, feeling the nub of the nipple beneath the silk. While he does this she stops her own caresses entirely.

‘Do you mind?’ he says.

‘No,’ she whispers. ‘You must do whatever you want.’

He runs his hand down her body to her curled-up knees, and softly presses them, making her straighten out her legs. She offers no resistance, but he feels her nervousness. For a little while longer he does no more than stroke her, from her cheek, down over her breast, to her hip. As he does so, discovering by touch alone the lines of her slender body, he becomes aroused.

Now he lets his caressing hand roam lower down her leg. His fingers tug at the fabric of her nightdress, drawing it up, until he can touch the bare skin of her thigh beneath.

‘There,’ he says. ‘That’s the real you.’

She lies still, trembling a little. He eases her nightdress up higher.

‘Why don’t you take it off?’ he whispers.

Obediently she sits up and draws her nightdress over her head. As soon as it’s off she wriggles back down under the bedclothes He takes her in his arms again, kisses her. Each stage is an experiment for him, its outcome unknown. Excited, he now realises she will indeed cooperate with his wishes.

But he understands he must proceed slowly.

‘Shall I take mine off too?’

‘If you want,’ she says, her voice muffled beneath the sheet.

He sits up in his turn, and pulls off his pyjama top. Then he unties the cord of his pyjama trousers and pushes them down his body, kicking them off at the bottom of the bed. Now as naked as she is he draws her back into his arms, and feels her skin against his skin. He shifts the position of his hips so that his erection lies touching her body.

She stiffens with shock. For the first time he wonders how much she knows, and what she’s expecting.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s all right.’

Slowly her body softens against him. He strokes her with long slow passes, all down her body, and timidly, she begins to caress him too.

He takes her hand and places it on his erection, wanting her to know that part of him and not be frightened. He moves her hand up and down, and she allows herself to excite him in this simple way. But when he takes his hand away, her hand stops moving.

He strokes her thighs, and runs his hand over the furry mound where her thighs meet.

‘Do you know what it is we do?’ he whispers.

‘A little,’ she says.

From the way she says it he realises that she doesn’t know. He goes on stroking her, thinking now how brave she is to submit to this unknown ordeal. He kisses her.

‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘You must do what you want.’

So this is her sacrifice, in her love for him. But once the unknown becomes known it will cease to be a sacrifice. It will become their shared delight.

Her naked body against his is having its natural effect. He wants very much to be closer still. But he wants her to know what’s going to happen. So he runs his hand between her thighs and, easing them a little apart, he feels for the place where he will enter her.

As soon as his fingers began to probe, she stiffens once more. He withdraws his hand, and taking her hand again, causes it to move up and down his erection.

‘When we make love,’ he says, ‘this has a special way of being close to you.’ He takes her hand and places it between her thighs. ‘In here. Inside you.’

She says nothing for a moment. Then, very low, she says, ‘How?’

‘It just does. It goes in.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘It’s just how it works,’ he says.

‘It’s how love works.’

‘Is that what love is?’ she says.

‘Oh, my darling. Your mother told you nothing?’

‘She told me I must do whatever you asked of me. She said my wedding present to you was the gift of my body.’

‘It is. It is. And mine to you.’

‘Then you must do it, my love,’ she whispers. ‘You have only to tell me what it is you want of me. I belong to you now.’

Her submission touches him deeply. It also excites him. The idea that he can command her to pleasure him as he wills excites him.

He moves his body so that he’s lying over her, and easing himself into position, begins to press to enter her. She opens her legs, now understanding his intent, but at the same time she holds her breath. He nuzzles against her, meaning to make no harsh move, aware that to start with she could feel some pain. But he makes no progress at all.

He pushes a little harder. From his lovemaking with Nell, he’s familiar with the sensation of yielding and opening up, but this time there’s no giving way. Her body is soft and exciting, almost too exciting, but offers him no right of entrance.

‘Is there something I must do?’ she says.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he says.