William Boyd - Sweet Caress

‘He’s being posted to Vietnam,’ she said dryly. ‘That should keep him out of trouble.’

‘Vietnam,’ I said, not thinking. ‘Well, it got me in serious trouble.’

Greer looked at me sharply.

‘My, you’re full of surprises, Amory,’ she said. ‘You dark horse. When were you in Vietnam, for Christ’s sake?’

‘What? Me?. . Oh, years ago. When the war was in full swing.’

We had arrived at the cottage. Greer stopped the car and turned to me, keen to talk further, I could sense. I didn’t want to linger and opened the door.

‘Thanks so much for lunch.’

‘Don’t forget your atlas,’ Greer said.

I opened the rear door and hefted it out.

‘I’ll tell you all about Vietnam one day,’ I said.

‘Promises, promises,’ she said.

That night I drank too much whisky to stop myself thinking about the wars I’d known. In bed I felt ideally drowsy and when I closed my eyes the room tilted slightly, agreeably. Whisky — my deep sleep therapy.

*

Greville opened the bottle of champagne, poured us each a glass and we toasted each other.

‘Got to be a record,’ he said. ‘Three balls in one evening. What’s happening to London? It’s unprecedented.’

I lit a cigarette, watching him throw off his jacket and fall into an armchair. I knew that tonight had to be the night.

‘Couldn’t have done it without you, darling. Thanks a million,’ he said.

‘And Lockwood.’

‘Locky’s a Trojan. But I think we might need another assistant if this goes on.’

I sat down opposite him.

‘But it can’t go on like this, surely. It’s some sort of a mad exception. Everyone’s out of control.’

‘And it’s not even the season. .’ Greville thought. ‘I know. Divide and rule. What if we split up? Do you think you could do one on your own? You take Lockwood. I’ll find someone new.’ He stood up and paced around the drawing room, thinking. ‘We could do four events a night. Two each.’

‘It sounds logical,’ I said. ‘But people only pay attention to me because they know I’m with you. They don’t want to be photographed by Amory Clay. They won’t pay to be photographed by Amory Clay, more to the point.’

‘But they will.’ He wandered back across the room towards me. ‘Wait till they see your work.’ He picked up my right hand and kissed it. ‘My right-hand girl. I’m exhausted. Sweet dreams.’

In my little bedroom I slipped out of my gown and underclothes and put on a filmy silk shift that came to my knees. I touched a little perfume behind my ears and unpinned my hair. I felt very calm, I was surprised to note — this was no inebriated, wild decision. Matters had to come to a head. Then I paused and thought, as coldly as I could, about what I was about to do and the risks attached. It could all go horribly wrong, of course, but, I told myself, you could have died a few months ago, trapped in a car beneath the waters of Hookland Castle Lake. Don’t let your life go by you, thinking of what might have been. Live for yourself, for what you truly want.

Live for yourself, I repeated as I padded through the dark flat towards Greville’s bedroom. There was no light shining under the door. I knocked.

‘Greville? Can I have a word?’ I pushed the door open as he switched on his bedside light. His hair was tousled, a thick lock falling over his forehead. I’d never seen him so uncombed.

‘Amory? What’s happening? Is there anything wrong?’

I slid into bed beside him.

‘I’m cold,’ I said and, putting my arms around him, tried to kiss his lips.

Very gently but firmly he pushed me off.

‘What’re you doing? Are you out of your mind?’

‘I’ve fallen in love with you.’

‘Don’t be fucking stupid, I’m your uncle!’

‘So what? It doesn’t matter.’

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. He climbed out of bed and picked up his dressing gown. He was wearing taupe pyjamas with a darker piping, I saw. He threw the dressing gown at me.

‘You’re practically naked, you silly girl. Put that on. Why’re you trying to seduce me? Have you had too much to drink?’

‘Because I’m tired of being a “girl”!’ My voice was shriller than I meant it to be. ‘Tired of being a “silly” girl, even worse! And I love you. And I don’t want anyone else to love me, or to. .’ I couldn’t think of the right word. ‘To possess me.’

He laughed and then walked to his dresser, found a cigarette and lit it.

‘You have got a hell of a lot to learn, my dear.’

‘I’m nineteen years old. I could have died. My father tried to kill me. I can’t just wait for—’

He put up his hand to silence me and shook his head incredulously. I could hear him making little popping noises with his lips.

‘The thing is, I’m not interested in girls, Amory. Can’t you tell?’

‘Tell what?’

‘I’m interested in men. And boys. . I’m what the smart set would call a “queen”.’

I looked at him.

‘Jesus. My God. . I didn’t. . I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t be embarrassed, darling. In fact I’m rather flattered you should think I’m appropriate material. The disguise is working very well.’

I yanked on his dressing gown, suddenly absurdly conscious of my tiny skimpy slip, of the light shining on my bare arms and shoulders. My breasts seemed, all of a sudden, preposterously white and large. I hugged the gown to me, feeling a chill shudder up my back. Cold shame, not hot shame, even worse. I wasn’t going to cry but I’d never felt so stupid. Like a vast block of cast iron, tons of insensate metal.

He sat down beside me and took both my hands in his, just as he’d done when he’d urged me to go and see my father. In another world.

‘Do you really want to stop being a virgin?’

‘That was the plan. Now I’m not so sure. As you say I’ve got a lot to learn. Maybe I’ll become a nun instead.’

Greville scrutinised me.

‘You’re incredibly impetuous, Amory, you know. Very headstrong.’

‘Very stupid.’

‘Yes, that’s a way of putting it. It could get you into trouble in life.’

‘It already has.’ I retightened the belt on the dressing gown, feeling tears salty in my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. ‘It’s my problem. My curse.’

‘Which means I don’t think you’d be a very good nun, I’m afraid.’

I had to smile. ‘Probably not.’

He looked at me searchingly, but in a kindly way.

‘You know, if I thought I could, I’d help you out. You’re a very pretty girl. But it would be awful — for us both. Too ghastly and embarrassing. Might ruin you for life. I’m just not made that way, darling. The machinery wouldn’t work, if you know what I mean.’

‘I’d better go. I think I’m going to die of shame. I’m so sorry, Greville, I never—’

‘Why don’t you seduce young Lockwood?’

‘What? Lockwood?’

‘He’s obsessed with you. Shines out of his eyes. He adores you. Can’t you tell?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve only been thinking of you.’

‘You’d be much better off losing your virginity with strapping young Lockwood than an inefficient pansy like me.’

We only see what we want to see and that’s how mistakes are made. Greville suddenly came into focus for me, like a lens being turned.

At breakfast the next morning I crept into the kitchen but he was already there, spruce in his morning suit, ready for the wedding we were to photograph at the Brompton Oratory. He looked like an illustration from Tailor & Cutter.

‘You’re not going to jump on me, Amory, are you?’

‘Very funny.’

But of course it was exactly the right thing to say. He made light of it. We could joke about it and therefore it was possible for me to be with him again, to function, at ease, even though everything was different. In a strange way I felt closer to him, now I knew about him. Now we had our secret.