hands against the smooth mahogany of the door and in her eyes was not fear exactly but a kind of astonished dismay. He paused, facing her.
"What's the matter, Sybil? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing's the matter with me!" he retorted, irritably, "except that I'm fed to the back teeth and I need you right now, more than I've ever needed you before!"
The hunted look went out of her eyes and she relaxed.
"Very well, Sebastian, let's sit down calmly and talk about it."
He almost snorted with disgust. "I don't want to talk about it, not at this moment. I did, but I don't now!!...!... want to make love to you, Sybil! There's nothing very extraordinary about that is there?"
She blushed again but covered her momentary confusion with a dry little laugh.
44
"Really, Sebastian, there is something the matter with you! You're behaving quite ridiculously. Now listen to me . . . !" and she made an attempt to side-step him and regain freedom of movement about the room.
"'Listen'!" he suddenly shouted, "'listen' you say? I've been bloody well listening to people all my life and now want to do something for a change!", and he emphasised the declaration by making a wild grab at her as she slipped past him round the end of the bed.
He missed her but only just, his fingers hooking in the taut elastic of her brassiere fastenings so that her rapid movement expanded it and it slipped from his grasp, snapping against her flesh with a vicious little smack.
"Owwww!" she cried, wriggling and backing quickly against the bathroom door and then "Owww-ohhhh!", as the small of her back struck the brass door-handle. They were the most unladylike sounds she had ever uttered, and for a moment Mr. Sermon was so startled by them that he paused in his pursuit. She was quite angry now from the pain, loss of dignity or both and he checked his impatience, realising that his tactics were getting him nowhere. She looked so unlike the Sybil he knew as she bobbed up and down, both hands reaching behind her back to massage her hurts, that he laughed outright and the laugh helped to steady him.
"You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Sybil!" he announced and this was not routine flattery employed to further his cause for it genuinely delighted him that this big, handsome woman wriggling her behind against the door and staring at him with pained resentment was indeed his wife, the woman who had married him, she whom he held in reverence and awe because of her money and assurance and subtle dominance over almost everyone she met. He was seeing her at last as a mate and an equal, a woman who could receive as well as give and whose big breasts and the deep cleft that divided them excited him as he had never yet been excited by a woman. A distant echo of the Reverend Hawley's warning about the male change of life reached him but he shrugged it off, surrendering to an overwhelming desire to possess her, and with a boldness that
45
surprised him he caught her by the waist and jerked her sideways on to the bed, ignoring her squeals of protest and laughing openly at her violent struggles.
"Sebastian!" she screamed and gave a vast heave that carried them across the width of the bed and deposited them on the floor under the splintered wreckage of a light-weight bedside table that supported bedside light, carriage clock and an anthology of 1914-18 verse he had been reading the previous night.
Unfortunately for him, Sybil fell uppermost and her weight seemed to grind him into the floor, pressing his face into the boards and coating his lips with fluff, so that he thought fleetingly of poor Bateman whose face had been rammed against the desk when Lane-Perkins fell on him. He heard, as from the distance, the crackle of splintered wood and the sharp crack of the clockface glass, then the derisive tinkle of the china lamp rolling across the room and smashing to pieces in the fireplace. For a moment he lay there dazed, with Sybil's
"What's the matter, Sybil? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing's the matter with me!" he retorted, irritably, "except that I'm fed to the back teeth and I need you right now, more than I've ever needed you before!"
The hunted look went out of her eyes and she relaxed.
"Very well, Sebastian, let's sit down calmly and talk about it."
He almost snorted with disgust. "I don't want to talk about it, not at this moment. I did, but I don't now!!...!... want to make love to you, Sybil! There's nothing very extraordinary about that is there?"
She blushed again but covered her momentary confusion with a dry little laugh.
44
"Really, Sebastian, there is something the matter with you! You're behaving quite ridiculously. Now listen to me . . . !" and she made an attempt to side-step him and regain freedom of movement about the room.
"'Listen'!" he suddenly shouted, "'listen' you say? I've been bloody well listening to people all my life and now want to do something for a change!", and he emphasised the declaration by making a wild grab at her as she slipped past him round the end of the bed.
He missed her but only just, his fingers hooking in the taut elastic of her brassiere fastenings so that her rapid movement expanded it and it slipped from his grasp, snapping against her flesh with a vicious little smack.
"Owwww!" she cried, wriggling and backing quickly against the bathroom door and then "Owww-ohhhh!", as the small of her back struck the brass door-handle. They were the most unladylike sounds she had ever uttered, and for a moment Mr. Sermon was so startled by them that he paused in his pursuit. She was quite angry now from the pain, loss of dignity or both and he checked his impatience, realising that his tactics were getting him nowhere. She looked so unlike the Sybil he knew as she bobbed up and down, both hands reaching behind her back to massage her hurts, that he laughed outright and the laugh helped to steady him.
"You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Sybil!" he announced and this was not routine flattery employed to further his cause for it genuinely delighted him that this big, handsome woman wriggling her behind against the door and staring at him with pained resentment was indeed his wife, the woman who had married him, she whom he held in reverence and awe because of her money and assurance and subtle dominance over almost everyone she met. He was seeing her at last as a mate and an equal, a woman who could receive as well as give and whose big breasts and the deep cleft that divided them excited him as he had never yet been excited by a woman. A distant echo of the Reverend Hawley's warning about the male change of life reached him but he shrugged it off, surrendering to an overwhelming desire to possess her, and with a boldness that
45
surprised him he caught her by the waist and jerked her sideways on to the bed, ignoring her squeals of protest and laughing openly at her violent struggles.
"Sebastian!" she screamed and gave a vast heave that carried them across the width of the bed and deposited them on the floor under the splintered wreckage of a light-weight bedside table that supported bedside light, carriage clock and an anthology of 1914-18 verse he had been reading the previous night.
Unfortunately for him, Sybil fell uppermost and her weight seemed to grind him into the floor, pressing his face into the boards and coating his lips with fluff, so that he thought fleetingly of poor Bateman whose face had been rammed against the desk when Lane-Perkins fell on him. He heard, as from the distance, the crackle of splintered wood and the sharp crack of the clockface glass, then the derisive tinkle of the china lamp rolling across the room and smashing to pieces in the fireplace. For a moment he lay there dazed, with Sybil's
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