daughter.
I did not look forward to Biarritz. I remember that very well now. I was quite happy to be with Claire, to have a honeymoon by the sea. But I knew Biarritz. I hated the shams of the rich. Claire said she wanted Biarritz because her father had always spoken of it when she was a child.
Then finally we arrived. We settled in at one of the larger hotels, in a room with a balcony overlooking the promenade. Claire seemed pleased by the place. She asked me if we would see the King in Biarritz. At dinner that evening she seemed fascinated by the other guests. Certain people in the dining room looked familiar to me, faces I had seen on the Embankment or at Prince's. I hoped I wouldn't meet any of my London acquaintances. I wanted a month alone with Claire. I wanted nothing else.
Then at last the day was done, our first day in Biarritz, and we were alone in our room. I expected now I should have her passion. I was eager for it. I wanted the ultimate possession. I wanted her naked in my arms. I had champagne brought to the room and we toasted our future. She seemed happy, her cheeks flushed. We kissed. I kissed her throat. She murmured something. A plea. A headache. A bout of fatigue after the long journey from Paris. I was dismayed. I kissed her with more fervor. She continued to resist. “Edward, I beg you…”
“I'm your husband.”
“Darling, I know that.”
“Let me undress you.”
“Oh Edward…”
But she allowed it. I played the feverish lover. Thinking of it now, I suppose it might have been a ludicrous scene on the stage of the Adelphia. One watches the actors in some silly little farce and one thinks the doings on the stage impossible in real life. But the doings that evening, in that room in Biarritz, were real enough to make my body tremble.
I finally had her gown removed. I exposed her breasts. I hadn't seen them before. Like two little birds. The points of her nipples are long. I kissed her lips. Then I lowered my face to kiss her nipples. When I raised my face again, I found her expression was one of amusement. “Don't you find them too small?”
“Only enchanting.”
“Enchanting?” She laughed. She glanced down at the front of my trousers. My enchantment was obvious. Her smile faded. What replaced it was not a blush, but a look of triumph.
I moved closer and made her touch it, the bulge of it. Her fingers remained limp, but she did not pull her hand away. Then her fingers moved. Discovering. Squeezing. I undid the buttons and exposed my root. She took it in her hand. She looked down at it, a quiet look, a look of estimation. At that moment I knew I was not the first. She had held other men like this. As if to confirm my suspicion, her fingers began to move. She was dexterous. A light fingering. A proper gripping. She knew how to milk a penis. With less than a dozen strokes she had me spurting. I groaned as I splattered her silk chemise. She seemed fascinated by it. Her eyes never left my tool. Her fingers continued to work with great precision, until finally she pulled her hand away and wiped it carefully against her side.
After that she pleaded fatigue again. She begged me not to force myself upon her. She said she thought she would be ill if I forced myself upon her. She said she wanted nothing except a peaceful sleep. Thinking of it now, I suppose this was the moment that I began to hate her.
We passed the next day in a tour of the port. We had a carriage drive by the gate of the Villa Mouriscot so that Claire could see where the Empress Eugenie entertained her lovers. I wanted the day to end quickly. I wanted Claire and myself to be once again isolated in our room. I did not care about the Empress Eugenie and her amusements. I had my own obsessions.
Obsessions, yes. I was now obsessed with the idea of having Claire. I suppose some other men might have been more level-headed about it. Claire was young; the situation required patience on the part of the husband. The proper attitudes were well known to me. I told myself damn the proper attitudes. I sensed her resistance was due to something other than her youthful modesty. I was right, of course. I now have all the years to prove I was right.
That evening, the first scene threatened to repeat itself. Now I insisted. I undressed her again, this time completely. I held her slender body in my arms. I placed her upon the bed. I extinguished the lamp. I quickly stripped my clothes away. The marriage was consummated in a frenzy of excitement, Claire's legs over my shoulders, my tool pushing forward. She uttered a small cry as I entered her. But after that she remained limp, silent, waiting for the end of it. I withdrew at the crisis and spent copiously upon her belly. She said nothing. Then a low murmur escaped her throat as I touched her sex with my fingers. Yes, she would have that. I rubbed her conch with my hand. She remained immobile, unwilling to yield. She tried to hide her pleasure, but the signs of it were obvious.
Over the course of the next week, we had connection nearly every day. Claire finally admitted to taking pleasure in it. She was never active. On occasion she seemed almost bored. But the pleasure was there. I was experienced enough to know at least that much.
My irritation was constant. I expected the passion of Odette, but Claire seemed to have none of it. She seemed disinterested. She took her pleasure when she had it, but it was obviously not something she craved. Not at all. Or at least I was certain it was so.
She adored Biarritz. She enjoyed the trappings. Occasionally she showed a great envy of other women. She liked to stroll on the promenade with me. She liked to be admired. I recognized that she wanted to be seen as a rich woman. After a few days in Biarritz, she insisted upon a new wardrobe. There was not time to have any gowns made, but nearly everything else was obtainable in the local shops. Boxes and packages were constantly being delivered to our room at the hotel. I sometimes had the feeling that in marrying Claire I had acquired a prize bird. People did look at her. She received all sorts of admiring glances. She had an air of beauty about her.
Concerning my physical passion for her, she seemed to have no apparent involvement with it. Her interests were confined to the new life she would have in London: the house, the servants, the clothes she would wear, the London season. She seemed obsessed with clothes. Then one day in Biarritz she announced she was ashamed of her jewelry. She said all the other women had such beautiful things. She demanded a necklace. She said she hadn't a decent necklace to wear at dinner. I promised I would find something. Her demands were constant: a necklace, new gloves, would I think of finding a small dog somewhere? She said she'd always wanted a small dog. I refused to obtain the dog. I gave her the other things. My life had been completely altered. I tried to resist, but I found it impossible. I bought her a frightfully expensive necklace in Biarritz. She was obviously pleased, obviously eager for it. She showed a bit of warmth as she kissed me. Was there anything I wished in return? Only to have her again. She was amused. She fingered the necklace that now draped her throat. She turned to the bed. She knelt upon the bed and proceeded to uncover her bottom. Gown pulled up and drawers pulled down. Her sex like a furry little fig. My excitement was intense. I was to take her from behind. The first doing of it. My reward for the necklace. “Hurry, Edward, please hurry. I won't have time to dress for dinner.”
The days in Biarritz continued, the strolls in the morning, the heat of the afternoon, the glitter of the evening. Claire loved the evenings best. She had a passion for money. She continually asked about the incomes of the people we saw. Did I think that couple had more than then thousand a year? She wanted to know the price of everything in the expensive shops. Towards people of lesser station she showed complete disdain. For the very rich she had a total awe. I decided it was greed. She wanted everything. I despised it. She had youth and beauty, but already I saw the avarice in her. She would never be content. I had this passion for her. I had come to adore making love to her. But my hatred for her increased. Hatred for Claire and hatred for myself. I had chosen her to be my wife, after all. Or had Fate chosen her for me? I thought often of Odette. I had the memory of Claire's mother in my room at the Fontan house. I thought of my former quiet life in London. When I returned to London with Claire, my life would set off on a new course. I was wary of it. I saw things that made me wary of it.
Finally the honeymoon in Biarritz ended. We boarded a steamer to London. We arrived in a week and we went directly to my house. It was a large house, a property in the family for more than a century. Claire seemed pleased by the size of it. She assumed immediate dominion of the house and I was thankful for it. Now all the tedious concerns would be in someone's else's hands. Of course the servants were quickly abused. Claire played the queen and required constant demonstrations of the obedience of her subjects. She showed a special harshness to
