Lingering Shadows. Penny Jordan

      It was a time when, although the media might have given out an image of teenagers eagerly and freely enjoying what was termed ‘the sexual revolution’, in fact in country areas, away from the freedom of cities like London, where young people lived away from home and their parents’ watchful eyes, many of the old shibboleths still existed. And one of these was still that nice girls did not ‘do it’, or at least not until they were engaged, and then only very discreetly, so that it was something they discussed in nervous excited whispers, and only with other girls in the same situation.

      So, while her body wantonly ached with a need whose fulfilment was only something Davina vaguely understood, her mind, her upbringing told her that it was right that Gregory should be so restrained with her, that it was out of love, out of respect for her; and she contented herself with rosy, breathlessly exciting daydreams of how different things would be if he actually asked her to marry him. Then there would be no need for restraint between them, then … She moved restlessly in her bed, turning over on to her stomach, her hand pressed against her lower body and then hastily, guiltily removed.

      She had started waking up out of her sleep, brought abruptly from its depths by the intensity of the powerful rhythmic contractions of her body, shocked and disturbed by such a physical phenomenon, and yet at the same time delighted and awed by this glimpse of the pleasure it could afford her, naïvely assuming that, if her dreams of him could bring her so much pleasure, when Gregory did become her lover the pleasure would be even greater.

      It was her father who announced that he had invited Gregory to spend Christmas Day with them, and, when after church on Christmas morning Gregory presented her with an engagement ring while her father looked on in approval, Davina was too thrilled with happiness and love to question the fact that her father had obviously known that Gregory was going to give her the ring before she had, or that Gregory had not actually asked her if she wished to become engaged to him.

      The wedding date was set for the following summer. Davina was pleased that her father approved of Gregory; she was happier than she had ever believed possible.

      They were married the following June. It had been agreed that the young couple would move in with Davina’s father rather than buy their own home, an arrangement that had been made between Davina’s father and Gregory without either of them consulting her, but Davina was too blissfully in love with Gregory to care.

      They were honeymooning in Italy. She felt dizzy with excitement at the thought of finally being alone with him, alone and married!

      On the way from the airport to their hotel all she could think was that tonight she would lie in Gregory’s arms. Tonight she would become his truly and completely.

      She looked towards him, wanting to reach out and touch him, but Gregory hated public displays of affection. Suddenly she felt shy, nervous … very unsure of herself.

      It was hot in the coach and Gregory didn’t seem to be aware of her discomfort. He was talking animatedly to the courier, a pretty blonde girl who had met them at the airport.

      Suddenly Davina felt very alone, very insecure. There was a huge lump in her throat. She ached for Gregory to turn towards her, to hold her hand.

      The anticipation she had felt suddenly turned to a cold, leaden feeling of fear and panic. It was a sensation that persisted for the rest of the day, and she couldn’t understand it.

      Their room was smaller, much smaller than she had imagined from the brochure. It had twin beds instead of the double she had expected, and the balcony overlooked not the sea, but the rear of the hotel.

      When she commented on this to Gregory he told her that the courier had explained to him that there had been a mix-up with the bookings. In actual fact, Gregory had changed the booking so that he could pocket the difference between the room they had booked and this much cheaper one. Davina’s father had paid for their honeymoon as a wedding present, and the difference between the two rooms would provide their spending money while they were here.

      The room felt airless and stuffy. Davina felt oddly light-headed, sick almost.

      Gregory was saying something about going down to the bar for a drink.

      Dusk was just falling, her body ached with tiredness from the strain of the day, and nothing was happening as she had expected. For one thing, she had somehow imagined that they would be more alone, less surrounded by other holidaymakers and the efficient courier who seemed to have attached herself to them. For another, she had expected Gregory to be different. After all, they were married now … Now there was no need for him to treat her with restraint.

      Her eyes were over-bright with foolish tears. What had she expected? she asked herself as she heard the door close behind him. That he would pick her up and carry her to the bed, that he would undress her and then slowly and thoroughly make love to her? Things weren’t like that these days. She was a modern young woman, she told herself firmly. Of course Gregory wanted a drink. It had been a hot, tiring journey, and while he was gone she might as well unpack their things. She could have a shower and then be all pretty and cool for him when he came back. It never even occurred to her that Gregory might have asked her if she wanted a cool drink in the company of her new husband! Determinedly she pushed aside her sense of somehow having been abandoned, and unlocked their cases.

      Gregory came back just in time to change for dinner, and Davina, who, after her shower, had dithered over whether or not to change into the ultra-feminine and frilly broderie anglaise trousseau shortie robe she had bought for herself, was glad that she had put on a dress instead when Gregory disappeared into the bathroom, firmly locking the door behind him.

      When he came out fifteen minutes later his skin gleamed; he smelled of soap, and, even slicked back off his head, his hair still made her want to reach out and stroke her fingers through it.

      The sight of him, the smell of him, the reality of him banished her earlier panic, and she ached to throw herself into his arms, to have the confidence, the experience to tease him with kisses and caresses until he growled that what he wanted was not dinner but her, but she knew awkwardly that she just wasn’t that kind of girl, that she did not have that kind of self-confidence, and so instead she sat miserably through the dinner she had not wanted, her throat closing up with a misery she could not explain as the blonde courier hovered over their table, chatting animatedly with Gregory while ignoring her.

      It was late, almost midnight, when they finally went up to their room. Gregory had been drinking steadily all evening. He swayed slightly as he unlocked their bedroom door.

      The atmosphere inside the bedroom hit them like a muggy hot wall. The room had no air-conditioning, and the windows were screwed down so that they could not be opened.

      Davina showered quickly, trying to ignore the headache tensing her scalp.

      When she came out of the bathroom wearing her new robe and its matching shortie nightdress, the broderie anglaise threaded with pale blue satin ribbon, Gregory was lying on one of the twin beds.

      He looked up at her and pronounced, ‘Very virginal. What are you going to do? Take it home complete with appropriate bloodstain to show Daddy?’

      Davina stared at him in disbelief. She started to tremble a little, aware that something was wrong, but not knowing what.

      After all her dreams, the reality of Gregory’s lovemaking shocked her into a silence that prevented everything other than one brief, sharp sound of pain leaving her lips as he possessed her.

      She didn’t even cry. Not then, not until she was alone in her own single bed and Gregory was safely asleep, snoring in the other bed.

      Was this what she had waited for … wanted … ached for … dreamed about? Was this, then, sex? Where was the exquisite build-up of sensation, the aching, consuming urgency of need, the quick, fierce pangs of sensation that exploded into that rhythmic starburst of pleasure she had known in her dreams and in waking from them? If this was sex, then what had they been?

      When Davina returned from her honeymoon she felt immeasurably older—and wiser;