LITMIR.BIZ

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asked, sounding concerned as he followed the housekeeper, entered the drawing room which faced the frosty-looking garden. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’

      ‘Oh no, sir, I think she’s just a bit under the weather.’ Mrs Dane offered him a small smile, as she hurried away, adding, ‘Please excuse me for a moment, sir.’

      Edward wandered around the room, feeling slightly on edge, nervous, wondering what could possibly be wrong with his darling Lily. As he thought of her, of her femininity, her blonde beauty, her loveliness and warmth, her kindness to him over the year, he realized something vital about her. Lily’s beauty was soft, genuine, angelic; Margot Grant’s beauty was dramatic but cold, hard. She was a hard-boiled woman, a woman filled with ambition, a woman on the make…

      ‘Mrs Overton would like you to join her in the upstairs parlour,’ Mrs Dane was saying from the doorway, interrupting his train of thoughts.

      ‘Thank you,’ he answered and hurried out. At the bottom of the staircase he turned to the housekeeper. ‘I’ll find my own way up, thank you so much, Mrs Dane.’

      She nodded and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Realizing that he still wore his overcoat, that the flustered housekeeper had forgotten to take it from him, he slipped it off and laid it on a nearby chair.

      He was halfway up the staircase when a vision in floating white chiffon and lace appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Edward. Darling!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘It’s lovely to see you here.’

      At the top of the stairs he took her in his arms, and brought her close, kissed her cheek, her neck, her hair. ‘I’ve missed you so much, my darling,’ he said softly, then held her away and looked deeply into her face. ‘What’s wrong? Mrs Dane said you’re not feeling well.’

      Lily touched his cheek lovingly. ‘It’s nothing. I felt tired today, Ned, a little weary.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I suppose I’m getting old.’

      ‘Old. You? Never.’ Putting his arm around her, he walked her into the parlour. It was as cosy as ever, with a fire burning in the grate; the gas lamps had been lighted, created a roseate glow in the comfortable room, and vases of fresh flowers gave it a feeling of spring.

      ‘I must apologize, Lily,’ Edward said, sitting down on the sofa as he usually did. ‘I ought to have been in touch last week, but I was swimming in deep waters, so to speak.’

      ‘It’s all right,’ Lily murmured. ‘I wondered what had happened to you, and then this weekend Vicky told me how busy you had been with your work.’ She gave him a pretty, dimpled smile, and finished, ‘So you’re forgiven.’

      ‘I hope to God I am. Because I couldn’t do without you, Lil, I really couldn’t. You certainly make me feel happier, at ease and more relaxed when I’m with you.’ He paused and looked her up and down. ‘Amongst the many other things you make me feel, you temptress,’ he added suggestively, his brilliant sapphire eyes growing most seductive.

      Lily was silent for a moment. She pulled her lacey white peignoir around her body, and smoothed a hand over her hair. ‘I’m sorry I’m not properly dressed. You see, I was in bed when you arrived.’

      ‘Why don’t we go back there, my love? What better place for us to be.’ As he spoke he rose, strode across the room, bent over her. Tilting her face to his, he kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Come back to bed, Lily. This time with me. Let me love you, sweetheart, let me pleasure you. We won’t do anything too…hectic since you’re not feeling well. Actually, you don’t have to do anything at all. I will make love to you.’

      ‘Oh Ned, oh Ned, there’s no one like you,’ she breathed softly, smiling up at him, all of her anxiety about him instantly blown away.

      ‘I hope not…at least, not in your heart. Come on, my pet.’ He pulled her gently to her feet and led her out of the room, across the landing and into her bedroom. Within moments he had her resting on the bed, and he was kissing her gently. He stopped abruptly, went back to the door and locked it, then he took off his coat and waistcoat, threw them on a chair, unknotted his tie, walked back to the bed. He began to unbutton his shirt as he stood looking down at her, smiling. Once it was unbuttoned, he reached for Lily, brought her to her feet, held her close. ‘You’ll never know how much I missed you last week,’ he murmured, and untied the white silk ribbon at her throat. Slipping the peignoir off to reveal her smooth, creamy shoulders, he went on, ‘And I know that you missed me, didn’t you?’

      Their eyes met. Deep green impaled brilliant blue and locked. Neither looked away. At last he bent into her, kissed her, let his tongue slide into her mouth…so warm, so soft. The taste of her thrilled him. He moved the nightgown, gave it a slight pull, and it fell to her feet; he took off his shirt and brought her to him, closed his arms around her. ‘Remember what I said, nothing hectic,’ he whispered against her tumbling gold hair.

      ‘But I want it to be wonderfully hectic,’ she whispered back, and began to unbutton his trousers, fumbling as she did so.

      ‘I’ll do it,’ he muttered, and she went back to the bed and lay down on her side, watching him finish undressing. As he walked towards her she was momentarily startled. How had he become so aroused, so quickly? She shivered slightly. He seemed so potent, so virile, more than ever at this moment.

      One of the things Lily loved about Ned was that he did not rush at her, handle her roughly, or press his cause. He was always gentle, tender, loving, giving her pleasure before he took his own. And this afternoon was no different; he stroked her, touched her, kissed her breasts, brought her nipples to tender points. His hands trailed over her with tenderness, touched her neck, her hair, her stomach, slid between her thighs, encountered her most feminine part, brought her sighing to pleasure until she was calling his name. Entering her, he pressed his hands under her back and lifted her towards him, and their movements together were rhythmic: as always they were in tune with each other, as one. And they soared together, carried upward by their joy in each other, and their ecstasy. And later when he was spent, when he rested against her, sighing and stroking her face, he said quietly, in a low, very serious voice, ‘Only you, Lily, only you.’

      It was late when Amos Finnister arrived in Whitechapel, almost nine o’clock. As he stepped out of the hansom cab he said to the driver, ‘Wait for me here. I’ll be about an hour, no longer.’

      The driver touched his cap. ‘I’ll be right ’ere, guv.’

      Amos walked away from the hansom, thinking what a lovely night it was. Sky like black velvet, splattered with an array of silver stars. Dazzling. Not too cold. No wind. Yes, a nice night. He stood for a moment looking out towards the Thames. He had always loved this long, flowing river; when he had been a small boy his father had brought him down here to the East End, brought him to the docks, told him wonderful, magical stories…stories of the tall ships which sailed in from all over the world, carrying chests of tea from Ceylon, gold from Africa, diamonds from India, sapphires from Burma, spices from the West Indies, silk from China…exotic goods transported and traded…how adventurous it had sounded to him then. It still did, if the truth be known.

      Whitechapel. A mixture of humanity—folk from all over the world. He knew this place so very well, not only from those childhood visits to see the big ships and eat whelks and winkles out of a bag with his father. But from his days on the beat when he had patrolled this place every night. Friend and foe alike down here near the docks. Still, it was colourful, and cheerful, despite the poverty that prevailed, the degradation and the vice, the crime. He had many friends down here…some of them were the costermongers, and their pearly kings and queens who ruled the roost, talked rhyming slang and boasted of being born within the sound of Bow bells. Good people.

      Not a bad place, Whitechapel. Worse places in this heathen world.

      He sniffed. What a fragrant smell that was, floating to him on the night air. He sniffed again, transported to his past for a split second. Thoughts of his father

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