The night was so very warm that even in this semi-out-of doors it was pleasant to undress. Phil made her do it, made her stand in her naked beauty in the moonlight, then lifted her back on to the cushions in the shed and found she really was a virgin.
Poor Phil, a little weary after his taxi-fuck, had a painful struggle, and the girl cried for pain, but when the fatal barrier was passed and the last twisting ecstasy of painful pleasure over-it was all joy.
Phil rummaged about the shed, and found that hot water was actually laid on from the house, and that every washing convenience was available: it was indeed a beautifully complete maison de la chair. He bathed her hot little cunt-it had bled very little-and had a short swim himself. They walked back to the house happily, hand in hand. More people were in the studio when they returned. A motor had brought a little party from London-two very smart girls and two irreproachable young men about town.
The blinds were drawn, and the lights turned on full. The company was obviously expecting something.
It came in the shape of a 'semi-proper' dance.
It was called 'The Dance of Emancipation'.
First the dainty little trottin of the Boulevards-band-box on arm, tripping rather than dancing, gaily irresponsible, round the stage, all in pantomime-pursued by the elderly admirer.
Scene II- The smart horizontal in all her glory, dancing, semi-naked, to her own reflection in the cheval glass.
Scene III. The dance begins to imply, as you would expect, impending death. She is in bed. The room is not so smart. To her come dancing, grinningly, the clown, Harlequin, Pantaloon and the doctor-and Columbine. She raises herself; she fears, she stumbles from bed, her hair is awry, she dances awkwardly; Columbine pirouettes mockingly-one expects always the end but Harlequin smacks his wand across the doctor's chest. The doctor starts: he gives the girl the phial-in a moment all in her is life again. She flicks her fingers, and she is still dancing, quite her old self, as the lights fade gradually away and in utter and absolute darkness you hear the gay flutes. That was all.
The audience woke from its hush and took very resolutely a little late supper.
61
CHAPTER SIX
Supper over-a cheery, chatty little supper-there came the necessary sorting out of the visitors for bed.
Maudie did not mean to thrust couples upon each other so she gave each man a separate room. She herself slept, of course, with Tubby, but she put Charlie on his own. Jeanni, alone of the flappers she put in a room by herself, delicately insinuating to Phil that his room was adjoining, and had a communicating door. The other three flappers were together next to the general. Next to him was the little page boy. The rest of the personnel of the house were in a separate wing, among them the poet, who had begged to be nearest the sky-so he went up to a daintily furnished garret facing four ways to the skies.
Thither he was shown by a plump semi-flapper servant of whom he had hopes but who banged the door and hurried away.
Sorrowfully he undressed, regretfully surveyed his slim naked form in the long cheval glass, and mournfully stared out at and over the moon-swept Thames valley. It was very beautiful, but the poet was not inspired, his thoughts were mundanely carnal. His penis stood up in mockery; he gazed at the lights of the windows in the opposite wing, and distinctly saw the silhouettes of two figures in close and rapt embrace. He could stand it no longer; firmly grasping his staff of love, he gazed wistfully at the moon and brazenly tossed himself off on the lawn below.
Then with a sigh he got into his very elaborate flowered silk pyjamas, sprayed himself liberally with some perfume which smelt like honey, and sank back into the luxurious bed.
It was very comfortable. The lights were all that could be wished for night reading. Drinks were at his hand, and Maudie had given him a little key which she said opened a cupboard of erotic books.
He found a full selection. He felt that as a poet-and several society weekly papers had said so-he ought to have chosen Catullus or Verlaine, but he didn't. His fingers lingered for a while over a little volume called Fucksome Frolics, but they ended up with that dear, delightful work, The Confessions of Nemesis Hunt. With a violently wicked scene between 'Nemmy' and her foreign-prince lover we will leave him, the scented breath of a cigarette mingling pleasantly with the fumes of whisky and a solid determination on his part not to stay another night alone in this house.
Madame Rade undressed her niece, unplaited the pretty hair, and looked at her for a moment or so. The naked form was very sweet.
'Eh bien, Tanta, que penses tu?' said the child.
'Les betises,' answered the older woman, 'Toinette, cherie, il t'en faut un homme, et un homme riche, riche it millions.
Attends, petite chatte. Ce sant ici des hommes tres comme il faut richismes, galants et genereux au bout des ongles. Il faut choisir ma mie, avec beaucoup de soin.' Then, breaking into English 'You must promise, child, not to let a man absolutely have you unless I give my consent. Let him do anything else if you like, lead him on, fondle him, let him kiss you, but he must not put it in.'
Toinette, smiling roguishly, intimated that she understood.
'In this house,' went on Madame Rade, meditatively, 'there are, firstly, the little fat man, Tubby: he is the richest but he belongs to madame, our hostess; then the poet: he is also rich, but more fond of himself than women; then General Fitzhugh, very rich, but old, very old.'
'And M. Charlie?' queried the child, interestedly.
'Charlie, oh yes, very charming, but poor, poor, very poor is Charlie-you must not look there.'
'Two nice men motored down tonight.'
'Them I do not know, but each has his madame.'
'One is Mr Flowers, of Flowers and Grapes' – Madam Rade gasped-'and the other is Lord Saxeholme. One of the girls told me.'
'My child,' murmured Madame Rade maternally, 'they are both millionaires. Now go to bed'-and she bundled the little darling into her bed by the window and sat down to think.
She had not been to Maudie's house before, and had no idea quite what wealth it represented.
It was now or never, she decided, with Toinette. The child was now sixteen. She herself, though fairly well off, could not give her a big dot. Besides she wanted her kept, not married.
The pretty girl lay peacefully asleep in her little bed. Madame decided to consult Maudie.
She had been told she could ring all night. She did. A maid was immediately on the spot, and very shortly a message came that Maudie would see her.
Madame Rade hurried down the corridor; she was a little nervous, and she narrowly escaped the general, who was lying in wait.
'Maudie,' she said, when the latter had explained that it didn't matter about Tubby, that nothing short of physical violence woke him up, 'Maudie, I want to talk to you about Toinette. If she stops here much she'll get raped somehow, but I don't intend to have it done for nothing. 'What am I to do? 'Now, dear, you know I need money. 'What about a race with the girl's maidenhead as a prize? These rich men would enter, and then, if the one who wins it, wants to keep her-well and good. Make it a running handicap, and put the girl on a pedestal as a prize, eh?'
Maudie agreed readily.
'I'm going to have the sports after the photography, the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'I'll guarantee there's a rattling good entrance fee. We women will frame the handicap. I envy the man who gets that little bit of love for the first go.'
The general was no longer waiting to pounce. He had. He had rung the bell without thinking, and a pretty girl
