been close to her for years.
Nothing in the world could have stopped them falling a little in love. Louise was warm, happy and satisfying and eager to be with Josh, so that he was delighted with himself and with her and even began to think of putting off his visit to his relations for the sake of staying with her. Being with her was like looking at life through a telescope so that everything that had previously been vague became sharp and clear and emotionally satisfying. For the first time in his life Josh felt alive.
Even their holding hands became a caress and he was aware of the reality of her sex in a way that no other girl had ever affected him before. He was aware of the danger but he still told her he loved her. She laughed quickly but her laughter died almost at once and she became serious and large-eyed and thoughtful. From then on things changed. They were able to walk together without bothering to talk, wrapped in a companionable silence, content merely to be together, each aware of the other and trying hard not to be, their minds full of things that had never occurred to them before, each of them electrified when their hands or their bodies touched.
On the last day he drove her back to Charlottesville. She took him to Jefferson’s home at Monticello and, feeling terribly adult, they ate a meal in the town because her parents had to go to a dinner at the university. As they drove home, the evening was stiflingly hot and as they arrived outside the house a storm started with an unexpected clap of thunder and the rain fell as if the skies had opened. They were drenched before they could reach shelter.
Inside, saturated to the skin, they leaned on each other and laughed. Then Louise started to pull off her wet dress so that she stood in her slip, her slim young body outlined by the clinging satin. His shirt in his hands, his wet hair in his eyes, Josh was aware, with a sudden hot feeling of being a voyeur, of the shape of her body, how her hips filled out the slip and the shape of her breasts. She was looking at him, large-eyed and anxious, then, as their hands touched, their fingers grasped and for a moment they clung to each other, kissing, before Josh hurriedly pushed her away.
‘How come, Josh?’ She was staring at him, hurt and bewildered. ‘There was no harm. A little kissing doesn’t matter.’
‘You might have been kissing,’ Josh said sharply in a thick voice, unable to explain to her that had they continued he would have been after more than merely kissing.
She stared at him, worried and concerned. ‘But, Josh–!’
‘Lou, you’re not old enough.’
‘I’m sixteen.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Okay, fifteen. But your grandmother was only fifteen when she fell in love with your grandfather. She told me.’
‘She didn’t marry him at fifteen. And we’re not in love.’
He was lying, trying to keep her at a distance for his own and her own sake, and she stared at him with tragic eyes. ‘I am,’ she said.
‘Lou, you can’t be. You’re not old enough.’
‘How damned old do you have to be?’
Leaving him speechless, she disappeared to her room. When he ventured downstairs again she had changed into dry clothes and was listening to the radio. Without a word, Josh sat at the opposite end of the settee. They hardly spoke a word all evening.
When Josh left the following day Louise saw him off from the front steps. As the taxi disappeared down the drive, she stared after it, her eyes moist.
‘Did something happen between you two?’ her mother asked.
‘Nope.’
‘You seemed to be getting on so well, and Josh’s a nice boy.’
‘Yep. Sure is.’
‘Well, what?’
Louise blinked back the tears. ‘Well, nothing,’ she said. ‘That’s all. Nothing. After all, Momma, he’s only eighteen.’
Five
Sandhurst was a new experience for Josh. He had been there before, in 1917 as a privileged spectator with his grandfather, but to be greeted on arrival in 1925 by an
Nothing in the world could have stopped them falling a little in love. Louise was warm, happy and satisfying and eager to be with Josh, so that he was delighted with himself and with her and even began to think of putting off his visit to his relations for the sake of staying with her. Being with her was like looking at life through a telescope so that everything that had previously been vague became sharp and clear and emotionally satisfying. For the first time in his life Josh felt alive.
Even their holding hands became a caress and he was aware of the reality of her sex in a way that no other girl had ever affected him before. He was aware of the danger but he still told her he loved her. She laughed quickly but her laughter died almost at once and she became serious and large-eyed and thoughtful. From then on things changed. They were able to walk together without bothering to talk, wrapped in a companionable silence, content merely to be together, each aware of the other and trying hard not to be, their minds full of things that had never occurred to them before, each of them electrified when their hands or their bodies touched.
On the last day he drove her back to Charlottesville. She took him to Jefferson’s home at Monticello and, feeling terribly adult, they ate a meal in the town because her parents had to go to a dinner at the university. As they drove home, the evening was stiflingly hot and as they arrived outside the house a storm started with an unexpected clap of thunder and the rain fell as if the skies had opened. They were drenched before they could reach shelter.
Inside, saturated to the skin, they leaned on each other and laughed. Then Louise started to pull off her wet dress so that she stood in her slip, her slim young body outlined by the clinging satin. His shirt in his hands, his wet hair in his eyes, Josh was aware, with a sudden hot feeling of being a voyeur, of the shape of her body, how her hips filled out the slip and the shape of her breasts. She was looking at him, large-eyed and anxious, then, as their hands touched, their fingers grasped and for a moment they clung to each other, kissing, before Josh hurriedly pushed her away.
‘How come, Josh?’ She was staring at him, hurt and bewildered. ‘There was no harm. A little kissing doesn’t matter.’
‘You might have been kissing,’ Josh said sharply in a thick voice, unable to explain to her that had they continued he would have been after more than merely kissing.
She stared at him, worried and concerned. ‘But, Josh–!’
‘Lou, you’re not old enough.’
‘I’m sixteen.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Okay, fifteen. But your grandmother was only fifteen when she fell in love with your grandfather. She told me.’
‘She didn’t marry him at fifteen. And we’re not in love.’
He was lying, trying to keep her at a distance for his own and her own sake, and she stared at him with tragic eyes. ‘I am,’ she said.
‘Lou, you can’t be. You’re not old enough.’
‘How damned old do you have to be?’
Leaving him speechless, she disappeared to her room. When he ventured downstairs again she had changed into dry clothes and was listening to the radio. Without a word, Josh sat at the opposite end of the settee. They hardly spoke a word all evening.
When Josh left the following day Louise saw him off from the front steps. As the taxi disappeared down the drive, she stared after it, her eyes moist.
‘Did something happen between you two?’ her mother asked.
‘Nope.’
‘You seemed to be getting on so well, and Josh’s a nice boy.’
‘Yep. Sure is.’
‘Well, what?’
Louise blinked back the tears. ‘Well, nothing,’ she said. ‘That’s all. Nothing. After all, Momma, he’s only eighteen.’
Five
Sandhurst was a new experience for Josh. He had been there before, in 1917 as a privileged spectator with his grandfather, but to be greeted on arrival in 1925 by an
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