Blue Tango

Chapter Ten

Paris in march was always dreary. I remember the grey afternoons in the drawing room, the clicking of Mother's knitting needles, the rattling of the window panes each time the wind beat against the house. Julie and I liked to sit near the fire and read. One carries the years of habit. Father often had an ill-temper. Mother was snobbish. We relished our silences. Might things have been different under a different spell? One never knows about different spells.

Julie and I often whispered together. We had our confidences. On occasion Mother showed her annoyance with our whispering. Mother refused exclusion from any aspect of life in the house.

Father liked to boast of the important people he knew. Figures in the Assembly. An occasional marquis. He never talked of their indiscretions. Only strangers were guilty of indiscretions. Father did not like to gossip. Mother would press him, but he would maintain his silence. He was a man who kept to his satisfactions. He was a man of long silences.

I had my moments of distress as a girl. I hated my life in that old house in Paris. I thought Julie's hands were prettier than mine. I hoped for a husband with plenty of money. I hoped I would not suffer disappointments. I wanted a life of refinement. I wanted the eyes of admiration when I attended church on the arm of my husband. I enjoyed a tight bodice. I conjured up a dashing past as the daughter of the Ambassador of Portugal. I conjured recollections. I conjured triumphs at elegant balls.

One day Edward appeared as a distinguished suitor. Father was uninterested: he yawned. But Mother whispered to me. She said the Englishman had a substantial income. She said he cut a handsome figure. She said I would know the love of a man of substance. She talked of the sentimentality of long engagements. None of it mattered to me except the promise of escape to an interesting life. A life of comfort and a plentitude of servants. I wanted a luxurious garden. I wanted a large house. I was impatient to have command of things. Edward and I went for long walks in the Tuileries. He talked of the London season. He talked of the furniture we would buy. He talked of the pleasures we would share. I tasted a life of satisfactions. How joyful it would be to be free of Paris. Sometimes Edward stroked my arm. We smiled at each other through afternoons of quiet intimacy. He promised my life would be an unending series of elegant amusements. He was so distinguished. A man of worldly experience, my mother said. She was in high spirits. She planned the announcement of the engagement. Julie pouted in a fit of envy. She pretended a crisis of melancholy. I withdrew from it all into a perfect propriety. Now I had to be a deliberate woman. What a splendid life I would have. Edward was an only son and all his family's estates had passed down to him. Mother made a play at sadness at the prospect of my leaving her. Father said nothing. I think he disliked Edward. I think he was annoyed that Edward seemed so completely at ease. Father withdrew. He made no attempt to interfere with Mother's management of things. Mother bustled in her management. She complained of an arthritic hand as she made her lists. Her nose pushed and pointed and insisted. She took great delight in snubbing certain acquaintances. She said I should have a glorious wedding. Truly glorious, she said. Edward's family will be impressed. We must make a very good impression. She said I must understand the realities. She said it was futile to convince people of anything, but impressions always mattered. I had moments of burning doubt. Then the doubt would vanish as I fussed with my trousseau. I ignored Mother's pretentions. She had the ability to provoke a swooning despair, an agony of despair. I felt a great hatred for her. I wanted control of my life. As Edward's wife I should have a new power. I should escape those stupid evenings staring at the Seine. Was I too thin? I would not listen to any coaxing. My father's eyes seemed glazed with his tedium. And I had my own tedium. The engagement seemed interminable. Edward was such a lazy suitor. Restrained. No more than idle touchings in the park. Flowers and sweets. He presented me with what he said was the purest diamond in Paris. Mother showed such eagerness as she examined it. She wagged her head at my father, chiding him for his indifference. I remembered the time Julie and I had watched them at the farm. Mother bending. Mother upon her knees and Father behind her. Her broad white bottom in Father's hands. Now she sat sniffing in her pretended primness, her knitting needles clicking as she spoke with sarcasm of my father's family.

Julie was not happy at my betrothal. She was envious. I delighted in her envy. She accused me of whispering to my friends about her. She said we were sisters and I ought not to whisper about her. She hated the attention I received. Mother chuckled in her amusement. She said I was too undisciplined. She said my future husband would teach me the English ways. She said I ought to have the right frame of mind when I went to England. What a lovely chance I had! She talked of all her years in the bosom of Paris.

Julie and I had our secrets. I was envious of Julie's hair. Now my sister is in my life again. She sleeps in a room next to mine. In my husband's house. Edward talks in the drawing room. We all talk. I must listen beyond the babble of the talking. I must learn the intentions. It's much too dangerous to be oblivious to things. There are two of them in the house now. How does he do it to her? How does he take her? I want to see it. I want to see her bent like a maid. I want to see Edward's cock in my sister's quim. I want to see the doing of it. Does she suck him? I want to see his knob in her mouth. Her stretched lips. His thrusting tool. I think of them. I imagine them. I suppose he buys her presents. Edward is a man who likes to buy his women presents.

I ought to be furious at them. Must I be angry? One ought not to tolerate deception. How deceiving she is. She parades with an air of simply gaiety, but how deceiving she is. And Edward is so dull. A woman always understands her husband better than she understands any other man. Edward pleasures himself with my sister. In his dullness. One imagines his dull eyes as he does it. I am his wife. Am I his wife? In truth, I have no connection to him beyond the vows. My husband. Without his money, what would he be? What would he be to me? They sit at the dinner table each evening with duplicity in their eyes. Edward's lying eyes. How stupid of them to believe I do not know. How surprising that Julie hasn't guessed. Is she bemused by him? He's not that clever. I know Edward well enough to know how clever he is. Julie is the clever one. A woman must be clever to bring off such a thing in the house of her sister.

In the beginning I wanted to be a dutiful wife. I wanted to be an admirable wife. I thought it only fair to give something in exchange for the comforts. What a poor fool. A poor foolish girl from the other side of the Channel. I never understood why Edward had to go to France to find a wife. Does he find French women more appealing?

What will happen? They can't go on forever. They can't continue it. Sooner or later Edward will tire of her. Or her of him. The titillation will be gone.

I will not be a prisoner here. I will not allow it. She wants to rule here, but I will not allow it. One must never surrender to the obvious. I will not allow them to disturb the balance of things. One must control one's destiny. I hate the smugness in her eyes. I hate Edward's pompous face. How cheap it is. How awfully, awfully cheap.

I am sipping sherry in Walter Bramsby's sitting room. He wears a checked sack suit and a high turned-down collar. He looks uncertain. He always looks uncertain when we're together. As if he can't believe that I'm actually sitting here in his flat. All these silly seascapes on the walls. I don't understand what men like about the sea. I think the paintings are ugly. His flat is ugly. So much like his checked suit. Each time I visit him, I'm appalled at the ugliness. He looks at me with such pleading. Does he remember everything? Does he have a full remembrance of all the things we've done together? His maids are not at all appealing. One can tell a man's taste by the maids he chooses to serve in his house.

Walter is always so embarrassed when I talk of Julie. He does not like to talk of Julie when he's with me. He behaves as though he and Julie are already married. How spoiled he is. A spoiled English boy full grown to a spoiled English gentleman. Does he think me depraved?

“Are you unhappy, Walter?”

“Unhappy?”

“Do you find yourself uncomfortable when I'm here?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Well, you shouldn't, darling. Julie won't ever know. Not unless you tell her, of course, and I hope you won't do that.”

“Certainly not.”

“Then you have no reason to be unhappy.”

“It's a bit awkward.”

“Unexpected.”

“Yes, unexpected. I never imagined it.”

“And now you can. Now there's much more than imagining, isn't there? If you don't like it, I shan't come here any more.”

“Claire, please…”

“Shall I stop visiting you here?”

“I don't want you to stop.”

“I don't detect much conviction in your tone.”

“You won't stop, will you?”

“You haven't kissed me.”

He comes to me. He sits beside me and presses his lips against mine. A long kiss. I plead for breath. I glance down at the front of his trousers. His ugly checked suit. How brazen I am.

“Claire, darling…”

“Darling, I must see it.”

His fingers fumble with his buttons. Then his knob is exposed. His pink blushing knob. Men are so much like boys when they show it. They want to be cuddled. They want to be fondled. One must make the appropriate sounds of admiration. I hold him in my hand. I stroke him with my fingers.

He groans. “Good Lord, be careful.”

“How lovely.”

He has such excitement in his eyes. He watches my fingers. His eyes watch the stroking. I like to see the passion in a man's eyes. The room is much too warm. This ugly room adorned with seascapes on the walls. I finally withdraw my hand. He groans and goes to his knees. He leans his face against my knees. Then he slides lower down. He kisses my shoes. He pushes at my skirt and kisses my ankles. His lips pressing against the silk of my stockings. Then he pushes at my skirt again. I must hold my skirt at my knees while he kisses my legs.

“Walter, I think you have something naughty in mind. You do, don't you?”

“Yes.”

The heat shows in his face as I open my thighs. He pushes his nose against my drawers. How he sniffs at me. He wants my bijou. I adore it. I adore the lust when they do it. Walter has such a ravenous mouth. I thought I would swoon last time. He lingers. Now he pulls at my drawers. He wants my nest revealed. He wants my furrow exposed. His hands are hasty. Then the silk is down and he's at me again. He burrows. He feasts upon me. I close my thighs against his head. I shudder at the working of his tongue. He mumbles something. My darling, he says. I feel his breath. I feel his nose and tongue. How intoxicating. Like the last time, I'm completely drenched. We have our intimacy now. He knows my drenching.

“Enough, darling, that's really enough. Now please stand up. Yes, that's better. Oh dear, look at him. I must kiss him. Just one little kiss. He's so warm, isn't he? Warm and smooth. Really, darling, you have a nice one. Impressive, I should say.”

Later I undress in his bedroom. Walter stands in his dressing gown and watches me. The walls in his bedroom are covered with watercolors of country houses. I don't know why. In truth I find him strange. Seascapes in the sitting room and country houses in the bedroom. When I'm naked, he kisses me. He kisses my breasts. He kneels to kiss my belly. Then I pull away and I climb onto the bed. He kisses my belly again. He murmurs into my belly. I don't understand any of it. Adultery is such a silly thing. So completely childish.

Finally Walter drops his dressing gown. He shows his pale white body, his tool upright, his balls heavy in their purse. How impatient he is. He climbs over me and I raise my legs. He holds my legs upon his shoulders. His knob pushes at me, pushes in, pushes further. I think of Edward. I think of Julie. My sister and Edward. Edward and my sister. Then I think of Julie and Walter. Will she marry him? He's quite capable. He knows how to thrust. I squirm. I return his pumping. I feel his cods. His face is bloated. He makes noises. A grunt of passion in his throat. His tool sliding in and out of my sheath. Then suddenly he withdraws. He says he wants me on my belly. “Would you, darling?”

I smile at his wet root. One never knows who to smile at, the man or his tool. How surprising he is. His unexpected lewdness. I arrange myself upon my knees, my rump presented, my sex exposed. Yes, I want it. I want to give him more than I give Edward. That's the purpose of it, isn't it? One gives to the lover what one does not give to the husband. Walter clasps me. He fondles me. He squeezes my bottom. Then his tool is in my sex. He groans as he enters. He holds my breasts as he pushes inside. He begins thrusting. I like it. I like the lewdness of it. I wiggle against his pushing. I find his cods with my fingers.

I do like it. Holding Walter's balls in my hand as he does it. Not as much here as Edward. But quite firm. Quite pleasant to hold. Quite nice to think of Edward while I hold another man's balls. And what does Walter think of? A triumph, I suppose, a great triumph. In my own case, a small triumph. And Julie? I'm sure she quivers in her triumph when she has Edward in her arms.

Walter sputters again. Sputtering and grunting. Men are so much like animals. Then he pummels me as he spends. He cries out in his spending. I hold his balls as he spends. I hold his balls as he shudders against my bottom.

I am not the scheming one. It was Julie who was always at it. She always schemed to get her dolls. How clever she was. She always had Mother's approval. She had Mother's approval and Father's love. She was the favorite of all our uncles and aunts. I do remember. I suppose she thinks I don't, but I do remember. I did hate her. I do hate her. The present is merely an extension of the past, isn't it? How we competed for the low stool before the fireplace in the drawing room. I remember the dark bronze andirons. I remember the smell of rain in the house. The old engravings on the walls. The painting of Joan of Arc. I wanted to be a king's daughter. I wanted pretty dresses. Julie always schemed to get the prettiest dress, the prettiest ribbon. We shared a small room. The old servant would stand there wagging her finger at us. In the evening Julie and I knelt beside each other to say our prayers. Two sisters. Our Father Who art in heaven. And forgive us our sins. And hail Mary. The log cracking once again in the fireplace.

She did scheme to get John. In the beginning she never thought much of John. She told me she thought he was a mediocre prospect. She said she thought she could do much better. She wanted someone as substantial as Edward. Someone with a large estate. Of course she never said that what she wanted was someone with as much money as Edward. What she did was point out John's faults. She talked about his faults constantly. In the beginning she said she couldn't imagine being his wife. Then somehow she gradually changed. I chided her for it. I teased her. I told her she ought to be ashamed to be so fickle. I wanted her to marry John. I did not want her to have a husband as substantial as Edward. As dull but not as substantial. Edward in his idleness. But John wasn't idle at all. John liked to do things. He was so grateful to me when I was kind to him. Julie showed nothing but ingratitude. It was John who bore the brunt of things. He talked about his highland ancestors. Julie would mock his pride and say he was hardly English. It was absurd, of course. John's family had lived in London a hundred years. Julie would laugh and say she didn't care one way or the other about John's ancestors. The truth was that she did not care for John. She wanted a husband and she decided it would be convenient to marry John. He smiled at her. He thought she knew nothing about the world outside. He hoped she would change. She had him bewitched the way she had Mother and Father bewitched. And the uncles and aunts.

Then one day they were finally betrothed and Julie told me she did love him. She insisted it was true and I must say I came to believe her. They were a handsome pair of lovers. He continually sent her white flowers. They would glance at each other and smile whenever we all dined together. Edward and I went to Paris for the wedding. Julie wore a billowing white gown. Mother had arranged everything, of course, all the details, the ceremony, a Gregorian mass, mountains of lilies. I thought my own ceremony was more impressive. I thought Julie looked too happy.

I was content that Edward's income was larger than John's. With all her scheming, Julie's house in London would not be as large as mine.

They went to Switzerland for a brief honeymoon. Then after that they came to stay with us at Edward's manor house in Surrey. We had champagne in the evenings. Julie and John smiling at each other. I imagined them together. One sees the glances of newly married lovers and imagines them together.

I came upon them one day in the wood near the house in Surrey. I'd gone riding alone, and then walking in the shadows of the wood, and then suddenly I heard them and I crept towards them as a lark.

Secret spying. How amusing it was. I heard them laughing. Two lovers on the grass in a small clearing. I watched him kiss her. I watched him fondle her breasts. This was first time I'd seen my sister in the arms of a man. In the midst of passion. One could see the passion in it. Their passion. I was envious of their frolic. Julie kissing him. Julie lying upon him. Julie's hand at the front of his trousers. Then his tool appeared. They giggled at each other like children. She fondled him. She stroked him. I adored watching it. The way she toyed with him. The sun blazed down a the small clearing. She toyed with his penis in the summer heat. Then she leaned over him and kissed it. Her lips at the tip. Her mouth kissing and licking his pink tool. Her fingers stroking him. Then her mouth closing over the knob. John's head was now back, his face hidden by the grass. She held his tool with her lips. She sucked his root. One could see the gluttony in the sucking. I was amazed at her skill, amazed at her enjoyment of it. I stood there spellbound, watching my sister's head move up and down. And John groaning as she did it. The only sounds the sounds of birds and insects and John's groaning. The only movement the movement of Julie's bobbing head as she sucked his tool.

Then she freed him. They whispered at each other. Julie climbed over him. She raised her skirt and mounted him. For an instant I saw the joining. I saw the way she took him. I watched her ride him. Now the joining was hidden and all one could see was the way she moved upon him. She made throaty sounds. She rocked back and forth.

I was envious of their happiness. I was envious of the way he held her. I watched their spending. The crying out. The shuddering as he spurted. I watched my sister shuddering.