Different Class

[Lady_Mornington]

*Please note that this thread is reserved for Pathalimoss*​

When exactly did change happen? At what point did one reach the point after which there was no turning back to the pampered and the secure, leaving only the option to floor the figurative accelerator and going all out towards what ever waited out there. No please don’t go there, don’t get mired in pretentious euphemisms for what is really quite simple – you’re a fuck-up. You can whine all you want, curse your mum and dad for not loving you enough, the fact that you didn’t have a nursery painted in pink, or that your diet during the formative years was low on vitamin C. Go on, knock yourself out but it doesn’t alter the fundamental truth; this is who you are and there is no way of changing it.

Having arguments in one’s head probably came very close of being insane, Sarah mused as she inhaled the sharp tobacco of her Benson & Hedges. Then again, she was a bona-fide nutcase so it could be rationalised as being a vital part of such diagnose. Then again, being able to consider why she felt like she did was a small step towards improvement. Or so her therapist said. Apparently it was all about grief, although Doctor Markham had been a little hazy on what kind, and by not pinpointing it she pretty much left Sarah as lost as she had been before she had been thrown into the whole therapy circus. Not her own choice of course, but after the OD on a cocktail of cocaine and Bollinger the assessment had been pretty unanimous. Suicidal and thus in need of treatment for substance abuse and then gently but very firmly so shipped of to the psychiatrist’s sofa.

What about her poor parents, Audrey and Stephen, so loving and caring, giving her everything she ever needed. Is this what she calls gratitude? Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. It sometimes felt like a broken record. She’d been quite the normal child, well at least as normal as they came, but as soon as she had hit 14 things went bad pretty quick. All the long nights of staying out, drinking herself into oblivion, and sometimes more than that. One thing about having oodles of Daddy’s dosh was that the supply of such an otherwise pricey commodity as cocaine never ran low. Drinking, snorting coke and clubbing it had been a considerably cheap way of coping, yet when it was shunned, and it inevitably was, the accusations always missed the mark, claiming it to be teenage rebellion, outright lack of gratitude to her parents or just being a no-good wastrel. It was kind of interesting, in a morbid way, that the people who judged her actions also considered themselves to be intellectuals, analytic minds and what not but not one of them had had the decency to ask her the question why.

It ought to have become better after her first attempted suicide. At least everyone said so. Yet once again did the host of supposedly understanding people fail to grasp the important thing, namely that it had been an attempt, and not a very good one at that. Sarah checked the clock on the ornamental tower of the railway station, cursing the inaccuracy of British Rail as her mind slid back to her reveries. It had been the victory celebration after her father had won the by-election for the parliamentary seat of Reigate. Hardly surprising since it was Tory country through and through and introducing Stephen Irving as the running candidate had only served to strengthen the Conservative hold of the constituency. The party had been held at Cherkley Court, the former country house of the late Lord Beaverbrook, which had been restored to its former glory. It ought to have been a perfect opportunity to crown a life of success. A respectable wife, a promising son and heir in an environment filled with historical importance. Unfortunately there had also been Sarah.

In her defence she had to state that her actions that night had not been premeditated, rather it had been a response to the onset of yet another panic attack, although slitting your wrists as the main course was being served probably didn’t count as the best remedy. There had been quite the scandal, although in some way it had also served to further strengthen her father’s position. The poor man who had to cope with mental illness in the family, trying so hard to be supportive, even when his fucked-up daughter acted like she did. Sarah couldn’t have cared less what her daddy’s political flunkies thought, nor what mummy had to say, but she did feel that she had let Eric down. For all her insensitivity to herself and others, there was still a small part of her that genuinely regretted having acted like she did. True, there had been precious little else to do, but if she could have changed anything it would be to spare Eric the sight of her covered in blood from her slashed wrists. For what it was worth he had been one of the few who had expressed some actual sympathy for her. Not that it mattered much since they hadn’t really seen each other since. She had been shipped off to yet another institution, finishing school under the supervision of the best medical care that money could buy, and in the case of the recently knighted Sir Stephen Irving, it meant very good care indeed, mainly serving to keep her far away from the rest of the family in general and Sir Stephen in particular lest the odium of her malady would otherwise taint him. Not that he didn’t exploit it, it was one of the best spins, the face of human conservatism or some other equally naff catchphrase. It had gone down well with the press, playing a small but vital part in shaping the public face of Sir Stephen Irving MP for Reigate.

Her own relation with her family had pretty much deteriorated after her stint in the loony-tank. There was no cataclysmic break, just the slow but inevitable estrangement that came with being sequestered in Scotland. Visits home were limited to a few days during Christmas and one or two weeks at the most during the summer holiday, further serving to underline the difference between herself and Eric. While she was to be hidden away, brought out only because it was the ‘right thing to do, Eric was placed on the pedestal, the infallible son and heir and the pride of the Irvings. It wasn’t that Sarah begrudged him that, despite everything she still felt that he was the one person who at least had made an attempt to understand her point of view. Strong as the bond might have been it too became frayed until it had all but unravelled. The letters they had sent each other became fewer, the talks they had had dwindled into shallow inanities on the few occasions that she was allowed back to Cherkley House until very little remained of what had once been. Just another loss among countless others in her life and she had responded much as she had done to the losses preceding that, by reverting to self-destructive behaviour, only now the pace had been slowed and the process of killing herself was almost imperceptible. She’d studied at Oxford, literature and history of art, nothing that demanded excellence because none was expected from her. It would be wrong to label her as worse than any of her peers, in fact Sarah never really stood out, neither academically nor as a rebel. She attended her classes, sat her exams and handed in her papers on time, but in doing so she never missed the opportunity to get drunk, stoned or have casual sex. Yet the liberal ethos of student life somehow served to mask her otherwise noticeable behaviour, and by attaching herself to a group of people from similar backgrounds and, admittedly, similar weakness she managed to attract less attention than she’d otherwise do.

Like so many others she gravitated to London after graduation, her allowance paid for a studio apartment in Notting Hill, a safe distance from Westminster but close enough to keep tabs on her should her behaviour spiral out of control again. To her parents’ surprise, and much to her own, she found herself in the employ of Evan Clairmont of the eponymous advertising company, who indeed gambled when hiring the untrained Lady Irving, but shrewdly arguing that the daughter of the famous Sir Stephen would prove an asset no matter how badly she might fuck up, or perhaps because of that. Thus she came to handle everything from political lobbying, handling Labour cases more often than not, everyone a thorn in Sir Stephen’s side but nonetheless serving to boost his image of the understanding and liberal father. Aside from handling a number of high-profile cases Sarah also found herself firmly installed as Evan Clairmont’s mistress. It was not an ideal arrangement quite far from it, and ever so slowly but with the absolute certainty of a moving glacier she slid back into old habits. Together with the other notorious rich and currently famous, Lady Gemma Waterford and Caroline Leighton-Smith she made up what the tabloids dubbed the Terrific Trio, making the headlines for the outrageous behaviour throughout London nightlife. It was there she had met Jamie Kells of Waverley Station the current darlings of both NME and Melody Maker. The affair had started out as something akin to an epiphany, because in Jamie Kells Sarah had seen a kindred soul and perhaps that was the reason that she hadn’t noticed that Jamie, despite his vulnerable and almost fragile persona slowly transformed into almost the same kind of bastard she had always ended up with. They still made the tabloids and the gossip magazines. The Lady and the Tramp as they were dubbed by the press, and Jamie had been keen to exploit it, even recording a cover of Pulp’s Common People, the release thereof coinciding with a Labour rally which both of them attended. Needless to say it caused Sir Stephen some consternation, which was probably one reason why Sarah had gone along with the whole stunt. It had been fun, in a shallow kind of way and she had at least been able to tell herself that she had felt good about it. As things progressed however, the fleeting feeling of well-being dissipated and as her relationship with Jamie Kells deteriorated into more fighting interspersed with heavy drinking and an increased use of cocaine, so did both the professional and amorous relation with Evan Clairmont.

She was fired not six weeks ago, the same day as she OD when attending the release party of Waverley Station’s album “Autumn”. The rest was, as they said, history. She had already broken up with Jamie, the excessive drinking and the 400 £ worth of coke that night had been the kind of self-medication she always returned to when everything else failed, and although Sarah hadn’t planned for it to be an actual suicide attempt, she couldn’t have cared less if she lived or died when she was rushed to the Royal Hospital in Chelsea. From there on her recollections were at best hazy. She recalled her parents sitting by her bed. Some time later she found herself in a Jaguar, driving north to Cherkley Court and ushered into what could be described as the upper class version of Mark Renton’s detox in Trainspotting. Truth to be told hers was characterised less by hallucinations of dead babies and more of boredom. Of course it hurt, but in a way the physical manifestation of pain was easier to handle than the existential one which she had lived with for so long. Stern lectures ensued, effectively placing her under an albeit benevolent but nonetheless real, house arrest.

In a sense it felt like her life had been placed on hold for the past six weeks. She saw her therapist twice a week, and picked up her prescription medication from the village pharmacy but apart from that Sarah rarely ventured outside Cherkley Court. Her contact with her friends was restricted to the odd phone call or more often, text message from Gemma or Caz. Nor did she seek any rapprochement with her parents. Their conversations, such as they were, were polite but impersonal, much like a carefully orchestrated dance routine. Everyone stayed well clear of anything which would spark yet another series of rows. Perhaps it was the reason that Sarah had looked forward with some anticipation, and admittedly not a little trepidation of seeing Eric again. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms and the long separation hadn’t exactly been one during which they had kept in contact with one and other. He had changed, it would be naïve to think anything else, and although Sarah had never been one for wishful thinking a small part of her hoped for just that.

The train had come to a halt at the platform and within a few moments the station was crowded with people, all of them seemingly in a rush to get out of the clutches of British Rail. She noticed him long before he saw her and raised her arm to wave but remaining by her mum’s MG convertible. He slowly made his way through the crowd, seemingly unperturbed by the inevitable shoving and pushing, carrying himself in a manner that was all too similar to that of their father’s. Well what else was there to expect? They were both Irvings and while Sarah had excelled at being useless, her brother had embraced all the virtues that had made the family what it was today. She dropped the cigarette and ground the butt of it into the gravel with the heel of her boot before taking a step forward, a smile briefly rendering her face a somewhat softer touch than usual.

“What ho little bro!” She purposefully chose the Woodhouse-esque style of greeting, not wanting to show how deeply affected she was by his changed appearance. “Looking smashing aren’t we” A quick peck on the cheek and a step to the side to allow him to deposit his bag in the miniscule booth of the car. “I hope you’re hungry, Mum’s been a right terror in the kitchen all day.” She remarked as she got behind the wheel and fastened the seatbelt. She listened to his replies, fairly noncommittal as they were, then the way he glanced at the bag from Booth’s that had spilled open the contents. Sarah felt a stab of anger as he gave her a silent but oh so questioning look and she revved the engine of the sports car, causing the gravel to sprout up in a fountain behind the rear tyres. “Yes it’s my medication, Zanax for the anxiety and some other stuff beginning with either Z or X for the depression.” She kept her eyes on the road and as to further shield herself, pulled the sunglasses she had worn on the top of her head down to mask her eyes. Her response had probably been uncalled at least as far as the tarty tone went, after all Eric could just have been worried and not, as most people turned out to be, judgmental.

“Sorry about that” she reached out and patted his hand in a placatory gesture. “I’m in a bit of a bad way, you probably know about it by now” she added self-depreciatory. The news of her OD had made the tabloid headlines and it would be strange indeed had Eric not known about it. “Anyhow, you have to tell me all the things you’ve been up to. As you know, mummy and daddy have decided that I’m no longer fit to be seen among the upstanding people of London and hardly even the not so upstanding populace of Surrey so as you might imagine I am starved for interesting tales.” She offered him another smile, more genuine this time as she pulled up outside Cherkley Court. “Mummy’s probably flogging the kitchen staff and Dad’s been dying to tell you all about the business and the exciting life of a MP and seeing as I’m just one step away from the loony tank I shall forgo the pleasures of supper with you.” She pushed the sunglasses up so that they came to rest on her forehead and added in a conspiratorial whisper “but if you fancy a drink later on just knock on my door. Three long taps and then four short. That way I know it’s not the screws doing their night tally. I wouldn’t want them to catch me, especially since I pilfered one of Daddy’s single malts” She opened the booth of the car. “I shall leave you to the dubious pleasure of spending time with mum and dad now.“ She hesitated for a moment and then as if arguing with herself added “I’m glad you’re back Eric, I know it might not count for much but I am.”

 

[Pathalimoss]

The story of the Irving family was centred around the head of its estate, Stephen Irving, for as long as it took for his offspring to surpass him. This was a task he set for them explicitly and proudly from an early age, and with a confidence that was all the more meaningful in light of his soaring success. By virtue of lineage and personal charisma he might have claimed a seat in the House of Lords even before his own vast contributions to the family's holdings, but in a famous act of nobility he chose to run for the Commons, where advantages of birth were no more present than in any other aspect of life. This is the tale that Eric Alexander Irving learned beside the history of Rome and the Enlightenment, where it was felt but never said to be in good company.

Eric's father did no less for his son than his father had done for him; it was a tradition amongst the Irvings that each should raise the bar for the next and give all that was needed to find themselves eclipsed. Tradition was a choice, to be followed or else spurned, and in this belief Eric judged his father to be truly humble in any way which mattered. An egoist would pay lip-service to the task whilst ensuring his kin may only rise so high; Stephen Irving looked upon his son with a gleam in his eye that was more love and more pride than Eric could imagine existed anywhere else. In Stephen there could be no doubt that he was sowing the seeds of his own eventual defeat, which was the very way he saw it himself, a further proof of his benevolence.

When very young Eric had seen his mother, Audrey Irving, as the partner his father required for the successful completion of his destiny. That Stephen loved her was clear enough, and he never treated her unkindly or patronised her noticeably. It was only that she could never be his equal, the fact that she always followed and never led, that pained Eric. She was a sharp and animate woman, and he wondered if his father had committed some small offence against nature by constraining her to be his wife. But this regret weakened as he aged. With adult eyes he saw that it was not fair to judge her this way. She had made her choices with wisdom and foresight, and there was no trace of pity in her at opportunities lost.

It scarcely seemed to matter what role Eric should assume in his endeavours. His studies at university were varied and avoided a focus on business; that was taught by Stephen himself, with a characteristically light touch. Eric was more than passingly familiar with the family's businesses by the end of school and spent breaks between university semesters being further groomed, but always there was a sense that this experience was a means to an expanded end. His education was to induce no more and no less than a broad entrepreneurial spirit. Stephen never once expressed a desire to see his son enter politics, and never did he have to.

The esteem in which he held his parents did not mean that Eric and his father were never in contention. Though he had taken steps toward modernity and was no relic of ages best forgotten, Stephen was nevertheless a step behind his son on issues of class and disparity. Eric imagined he saw the aristocracy from which he came much the same as the country's middle class did. The more serious arguments of economic unsustainability required too much idealism to interest him much: he held a simpler distaste for decadence, misprioritisation and all the associated behaviours. It was natural that he should progress from his father's beginnings in this way, and there was no bitterness in their disagreement.

Eric's one serious romantic involvement was with an urban girl named Annie. She was absurdly intelligent and everything he would have asked for in a woman. That it took a scholarship to bring her into his world was the opening for their dialogue, and from there it ran quite closely to how his fantasies had often played out but for the frustrating lack of passion. They were both too aware, with eyes too wide and never an important thought left unarticulated. Graduation was the natural boundary, the point at which they must pass a certain threshold of feeling and obtain critical mass or, failing to do so, regard their time together as a learning experience.

He missed her terribly once she was gone, which he found comfort in. He cried freely at night and allowed boyish fantasies of winning her back and forging a new world together to flood him with emotion. Silently he thanked her for arousing in him what no part of his upbringing had been able to reach, and what set him apart from his origins.

This is how he came to think more heavily upon his sister in the days before he was to return home. Eric remembered that as a child Sarah had been to him a part of what he lost in Annie - more crudely back then, for his need to be separated from his family was less distinct. He sometimes wondered if he had found fulfilment enough in her rebellious streak that he had no need to cross his parents himself. She took refuge in him, he knew, and that made him an accomplice to her acts of shallow affrontery. It would have been a cowardly path had she not been three years his senior, and a champion mutineer by the time he could walk. Had he tried he would have found himself a pale facsimile, and even Sarah understood that for an Irving nothing was worth doing if you couldn't be the best. It was also
clear that she liked him just the way he was and had no wish to see him dabble in self-destruction. So he would hide her in his room or attest to having seen her heading for the garden - the only significant lies he ever told his parents - and in return she would share the smiles that no one saw but him, and be his own bastion against the dull torpitude their world so frequently wrapped them in.

When Sarah was found with bloodied wrists and taken away it was a shocking intrusion into the fabric of his world. He had been misled, by her or by everyone else or by all, and found his home and his family far less secure than he had taken them to be. Domestic disruptions of this sort were supposed to be reserved for distant, less fortunate people who existed by necessity rather than choice. At only eleven years old he had not yet determined who was to blame when his sister returned. She was as hesitant with him as he was with her, though he sensed a part of her was waiting for his permission to reforge their bond. He wanted desperately to give it, especially when he saw her stunted relations with their mother and father, but could not find a way to convey it. In time they found a way to be comfortable in each other's presence again, but the partnership was broken, and she did not rely on him as she once had.

The second break was far less jarring than the first, coming when she left for university. It was only the end of a slow process of withdrawal, yet he felt an unexpected lurch in his gut when finally the time came to say goodbye. He hoped he was being egotistical, but he had a feeling of horrible guilt, foreseeing an accelerated decline now that she was beyond his influence. Sometimes it seemed he had a power over her, that it was only through his eyes that she felt shame or guilt herself. It was a horrible position to be in as a little brother, but when he saw her off at the door he did his very best to bore into her with his stare, to make her remember, to feel he would be watching. He didn't care that he had no right to do it, if it would stall her on the path to destruction. What he would have most liked to do of course was to put his arms around her, but she didn't allow that any more.

By the time she had graduated he had left home himself, and their promises to come and visit just-the-two-of-them were never fulfilled. She became like a cousin to him, known mostly by word of mouth. Meetings were as awkward as they were infrequent, with no trace of conspiracy. It became harder and harder to ignore the deluge of sordid information that crept to his ears, disguised as the concern of well-meaning friends who only wished the best for poor Sarah. She became a focus for his own failings: too cowardly to call or visit and ask her in person, too impotent to find her and offer his shoulder, too naïve to understand why she couldn't just leave it all behind. Reports of another attempt to take her own life were a part of the wide blur that surrounded her. He didn't hear about it from Stephen or Audrey at first, and hoped that that meant there was nothing to tell, until they mentioned that “-oh by the way your sister is coming to stay with us again, won't that be nice? You can see her whenever you're home.”

Coming back after four years he thought wistfully of the sister he had once known, wondering if she had ever been as he remembered her, and what had turned her into the sad stories that reached him now.

He was unprepared to see her waiting for him, waving through the crowd in a simple act that their parents would consider indiscreet. It was a shock that it was only them, amongst a crowd of people who couldn't care less who they were. Either one of them alone would have merited at least a small cluster of press, he thought, especially here in Reigate with the election approaching. It was more of a shock that Sarah appeared to be alone, out of the house and unsupervised. Perhaps he'd been wrong, things weren't nearly as bad as he'd feared. While he strode toward her she openly wore a modest happiness, and he couldn't help but think there must have been so many young men who hoped and prayed that she would look upon them in such a way. The light kiss was a mild display by anyone's standards, but for the Sarah he most recently remembered and the Sarah of rumour it was a large step indeed.

He only smiled at her flippant greeting, and admired the health and energy of her body as she led him to the MG and vaulted the door. For a brief moment he was tempted to lay down all his cards and simply ask her to deny all he had heard. They passed the time with effortless circumstantial chatter while he mustered his courage. A labelled plastic bag bolstered common sense when it leaked its guilty secrets at the touch of his foot. For anxiety and depression, she explained, and withdrew the welcome on her face. He didn't have to wait long for her apology, which came with further confirmation of what he had not wanted to hear. In his mind it was a sign of respect that he ignored the tabloid garbage as much as possible, but in the instant of hearing Sarah raise the topic - with an assumption of “I know you want to ask but you're too polite” - it seemed suddenly unkind, as if he had packaged her in with American Idol and Naomi Campbell's latest blow-up and everything else he didn't give a shit about.

“I'd rather hoped the stories were exaggerated,” he suggested, still hoping she'd tell him they were. She blithely wrote off the whole affair and moved on, as if how the papers and the elder Irvings saw her were the undeniable truth and what she had to say about it was inconsequential. She all ready seemed to be fading away by the time she asked him of his own life, with not enough time before they reached Cherkley Court. Since she was living at home the details of his exploits would certainly have been thrust upon her by their parents almost as forcefully as the world at large peddled her stories. Though maybe she wants to hear something more genuine, he thought.

Once through the door she quickly explained that she would be absent for dinner and invited him to join her for a pilfered drink. The latter felt roughly akin to meeting a childhood friend who asked if he wanted to play hopscotch. There was no time to ponder though as servants fumbled gracefully at his person and robbed him of his possessions, warm welcomes and proud smiles as they departed. What place did they have to feel pride? He had no doubt that Stephen and Audrey did all in their power to cast him as the returning hero, but did the staff really embrace it themselves, as an aunt or uncle might look upon a favoured nephew? Or were they superb actors who shed character only once they were safely tucked away in their quarters at night? He hated what this place brought out in him, and missed the streets of London all ready.

Stephen let his wife do the fussing, for she had the advantage of a woman's liberty in how she chose to greet her son. They spoke often enough that there was nothing new to tell, and the only obvious topic was beyond good taste. At dinner they were joined by a Mr. and Mrs. Worthing, whose participation came with no warning to Eric. That they held significance of some kind was assured, but the deference they showed to his father was obscene. By the end of the meal Eric had the feeling they had won a contest and the prize was to be present for the homecoming of Stephen Irving's heir. Mrs. Worthing carefully enquired after Sarah, receiving an easy and practised excuse that was forgotten the moment it was uttered.

His father was better than this, Eric reminded himself. This was the public face of the representative of Reigate, and would dissipate along with the nuisances infesting their home. Eric found himself squeezing his mother's hand under the table, embarrassed when she squeezed him back and planted an adoring kiss on his cheek. At least they could have given him one evening, a few hours to assimilate. A feeling of dread settled over him at the thought that tonight was no different to any other; with the elections on the way, his home may be now nothing more than a gallery of moderate exclusivity.

As soon as he was able he excused himself, the explanation of a long day's travel a collaborative effort arising from the table as a whole. He kissed Audrey and whispered that they would become reacquainted soon, her hand lingering in his as he bowed and turned away. He had forgotten the silly knock Sarah gave him, persuading the door open with a plea for sanctuary.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Sarah Irving

The reception that Eric reserved as he arrived at Cherkley Court must have been akin to the one Wellington received after having won the Battle of Waterloo. Apart from Sir Stephen and Lady Irving, the servants jostled for a few moments with the son and heir, all of them expressing their heartfelt joy of seeing young master Irving returning to the family home. It was quite different from how her own homecoming had been; not that she begrudged Eric the affections with which he was being lavished, rather she pictured it more as a way for Sir Stephen to take another perfectly normal thing and turning it into another piece of his campaign. Mr and Mrs Clive Worthing, the guests, prominent benefactors of Sir Stephen’s were probably going to be awed by Eric, and to a larger extent, by the image of Dad of the Year which Sir Stephen would present.

Sarah had made herself inconspicuous as soon as they had entered the house, quietly sneaking away to the relative security of her room, not the room of her childhood but rather she had been placed in one of the guest rooms in the adjacent wing from the Irving residences. It was not that Sarah had wanted to move back into her old room, especially since it was located across the hall from her parents’ apartment, but it somehow showed that while she was being taken care of by the supposedly concerned parents, she had been relegated from the immediate bosom of the family. Part of her knew that had probably deserved it, her behaviour had been far from acceptable, even by her own standards, but it had also served to strengthen her father’s public image. Sir Stephen, and to a lesser extent, Lady Irving had perfected the act of presenting themselves as the caring and concerned parents; who had been cursed by an ingrate daughter, who took every opportunity to further humiliate Sir Stephen publicly. Support, if not political then at least moral such had ensured and given the Conservative party their share of human interest stories.

She pushed the gloomy thoughts from her mind as she kicked the door shut. Even though the room was not ‘hers’ she had still managed to gently transform it from an impersonal place to sleep to something which at least resembled a, for lack of a better word, home, and strangely enough it felt more like that than ever her flat in Notting Hill had done, even if it had been decorated according to that particular flavour of that month. It was another thing which most observers missed, namely that Sarah was probably as adept at presenting a mask to the public as ever Sir Stephen. While her behaviour in public had been labelled a disgrace it was not, perhaps, a true rendition of the actual Sarah Olivia Irving, but rather the work of the illness. Her therapist had expressed it like that and while Sarah didn’t necessarily agree on the exact wording, it had some merit. Not for absolving herself from guilt, that would take a greater miracle than a mere semantics could offer, but for presenting her with at least a partial an explanation. Because it was really about that, every person who had observed her gradual slide into self-destruction simply assumed that it was because it was an expression of her true personality, whereas the truth, as always, was more complicated. She had toyed with the idea that she might be schizophrenic, but clinical tests had proved that it wasn’t the case. It nonetheless felt like there were two of her; on the one hand the girl she had been before she started having the horrible onset of anxiety and depression and on the other, the woman who had given up and was merely riding the wave for as long as possible. That of course meant that when she lost her balance she would inevitably drown, and while Sarah hadn’t really been in a position where she had cared about that before, she suddenly felt a sting of fear at the thought.

Perhaps it was a sign that the therapy and the medications worked, Sir Stephen had spared no expense in finding a shrink with a suitable resume. Sarah cynically reflected that while that was all very well it somehow went with the presentation of himself as the ever-doting dad. His daughter shouldn’t just have a psychiatrist but the best psychiatrist. In Sir Stephen’s world money might not make you happy, but having the means ensured that you could buy everything that was needed to achieve that blessed state of mind. That didn’t mean that he was throwing away his money, but if spending a fortune would enhance the image of the Irving family then Sir Stephen’s generosity knew few bounds.

Sarah sighed as she dropped her skirt and tossed it on one of the armchairs that had become her make-shift wardrobe. Perhaps it was being petulant and rather unbecoming at that, but seeing as the staff tidied the room every day, taking away such articles which her therapist would label counter-productive to her treatment. Thus any alcohol was swiftly confiscated and equally swiftly replaced by Sarah, either from her father’s impressive collection of liquors or by pilfering bottles from the wine cellar or the kitchens. It wasn’t that she needed it as such, rather it had turned into a game, with the aim of at least trying to provoke some kind of reaction from Stephen and Audrey, but hitherto they had said nothing. Sarah could only guess that it was either because the staff hadn’t divulged the information, or because her parents simply didn’t expect her to care even if they did mention it.

It would have been so much easier if Audrey and Stephen had been right idiots, Sarah thought as she tossed the black blouse she had been wearing on the floor. True enough, none of them would ever be voted Mummy or Daddy of the Year, the lavish welcome of Eric notwithstanding. Still they weren’t exactly evil, quite far from it. Sarah had never been punished physically, nor was she the victim of sexual abuse. The fault probably lay in the seemingly insurmountable inability to talk to one and other. Audrey had done some brave attempts in the past but no matter how hard they tried they had never managed to get past the point of shallow pleasantries, although most of Sarah’s conversations with her mother had been characterised by Sarah shouting abuse at her. As for Stephen; Sarah flopped onto the bed, stretching her long legs and draped her arm over her face, Stephen never really engaged in such a mundane thing as a dialogue. He spoke to people, never with them and thus there was never really any need for him to listen to anything she had said, be it the few attempts to actually talk to him or the oh so frequent ones when she had poured her frustration out on him.

Still there was no use in dwelling on the past, or harbour any notions that things would somehow just change overnight and they would all get along like the model family that Stephen, Audrey and Eric probably would have been if her condition hadn’t made things so damn complicated. Sarah smiled a self-depreciatory smile as she sat up on the edge of the bed and adjusted the black silk top she was wearing before she got up and fetched the bottle of red wine she had procured earlier today, timing her foray to the kitchens so that it occurred after the staff had done their daily sweep of the premises. She turned the telly on idly watching as Hugh Laurie berated yet another unfortunate soul who had dared trespass on Doctor House’s time and space. Sarah idly found herself wondering how he would have reacted to Sir Stephen. Probably telling him that he was an idiot and that Audrey by being the good wife, enabled his pompousness to thrive and thus prolonging the no doubt horrible agonies that preceded the moment when the correct diagnosis was made. The image was quite vivid and Sarah couldn’t help but giggle.

And then it struck, the feeling that she was going to die. Her pulse increased until she thought that her heart was going to burst as well as the onset of a fear that almost took physical shape, making her break into a cold sweat and biting down hard on her lower lip to stop herself from screaming in terror. Sarah had long ago been told how to counter the panic attacks, but even with the knowledge the experience was thoroughly harrowing. She clenched her fists, willing the feelings to go away and slowly managed to sit up on the bed, black dots were obscuring her vision as she reached for the plastic bottle on the bedside table, and on the second attempt getting the top of. Her hands were shaking and she spilled most of the pills onto the scarlet bedcovers, but still getting two of them in the palm of her left and quickly swallowing the medication. The benzodiazepine hit her system, the chemical components taking the worst edge of the panic attack but not dulling it completely. Sarah tried to focus, willing herself to stay on top of the chaos that raged inside her, but even with the pills the fear wouldn’t subside. She could taste blood in her mouth from her broken lip and the metallic taste momentarily shook her mind free of the shackles of the still raging panic. Glancing at the desk by the window she saw her black purse. She groaned as she forced herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed, stumbling much like a drunk, willing herself to stay focused as she reached for the accessory, turning it over and rummaging through the contents that spilled out onto the polished surface of the desk.

With trembling hands Sarah picked up a slender metal box, and still breathing hard flicked the lid open. It contained five neatly packaged razorblades and a small bottle of sterile water. She had dubbed it her emergency kit, the last resort to call on when the meds didn’t work. It was self-medication in the most basic, primordial way. She gingerly tore the wrapping from the razorblade and with surprisingly steady a hand brought the edge to rest on the underside of her left arm. Sarah inhaled and then held her breath as she brought the blade across the width of her arm, breaking the porcelain skin. There was very little pain involved, but the sight of blood served to provide a physical outlet for the panic. She stared impassively as two rivulets ran down her arm, leaving spidery patterns of red on her pale skin and, seemingly washing away the fear she had experienced. Cutting herself had always been to that end, to somehow handle the unmanageable. It was a way to survive, not a way to kill herself as seemed to be the widely accepted explanation to the act.

The combination of the benzodiazepine and the more prosaic remedy of bloodletting had served to finally break the attack. Slowly Sarah began the process of returning to some kind of normality, or whatever passed for such. She cleaned the cuts, staining the marble of the en-suite bathroom sink, and put a sterile compress on the wound, before she tidied up the room, slowly and carefully putting the contents of her purse back, with the exception of her cigarettes. Audrey didn’t approve of her smoking indoors, but had made no mention of it even though she was clearly aware that Sarah was indeed doing just that. She lit up a B&H as she leaned on the windowsill, looking out across the acres of lush green that surrounded Cherkley Court. She felt strangely refreshed as she let the smoke fill her lungs as she turned her face upward to feel the fine spray of rain. Even if her life was pretty much down the drain and it would take more than a few weekly sessions with Dr Markham to solve that, and even though she was being told that she was making progress, she had no way of knowing if this was the truth or just a carefully rehearsed sales-pitch that the psychiatrist resorted to with every patient.

She was interrupted as Eric entered the room, mumbling a greeting and then pointedly looking away, hiding it well but even after all these years Sarah knew him well enough to detect his disquiet at seeing her dressed only in the tight black top and the g-string panties. He mumbled something which could have been an excuse as Sarah flicked her cigarette out the window and turned to look at him, carefully avoiding any mention of his predicament, but neither rushing to cover herself up. “I guess dinner wasn’t all it was cracked up to be then?” She poured tumblers of wine, offering Eric an apologetic shrug for the lack of proper glasses. Some habits die hard and even though Sarah might have acted much the rebel, her upbringing had instilled in her a solid footing in upper class manners and ethics, which could prove just a bit annoying as it made Sarah feel like a bad cover version of her mum.

If Eric disapproved of the choice of glass he at least didn’t say anything, as he was about to take the proffered tumbler, yet as soon as she extended her arm his face changed from the look of almost contentment to one of anger and alarm as he noticed the bandage on her arm, the white gauze sporting a bright red patch where she had bled through it. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard as he pointedly asked what the hell she was up to. His tone was controlled but Sarah could see that he was upset, very upset even, and his grip tightened, to the point where he was hurting her.

“Let go of me” Sarah snapped, causing her brother to slowly release his hold of her wrist even if his demeanour remained unchanged as did his tone as he launched into what Sarah felt was quite the passionate condemnation of her behaviour. While her first reaction was to slap his face for acting like a pompous arse there was a certain tone, just a hint of something else than the patented Irving indignation. Just the faintest trace of the Eric she had once known and whom she thought had been lost. “It’s not what you think” she began, her voice having lost the casual self-depreciatory edge, instead revealing with painful clarity the underlying pain. She felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes, followed by a quiet sob. “I’m sorry”. She dropped the glass, the contents spilling onto Eric’s shirt and trousers, but she couldn’t have cared less as she sat down heavily on the side of the bed and buried her face in her hands. Dr Markham had said something about this, that sooner or later she would have to face the people she had hurt by her actions and that it would be quite the painful experience. She took a deep breath and looked up at Eric, her green eyes boring into his as she spoke, her voice monotonous and eerily void of emotion. “It’s complicated, just leave it at that. I don’t cut myself to die but to hang on. I don’t expect you to understand or to be supportive. Hell if it was you who did it I’d give you a good kicking but well” she fell silent as she hugged her knees. “I have tried everything short of getting a lobotomy and this is the only thing that works”

Sarah offered her brother an apologetic shrug as she finished, expecting a bucketful of scorn and was therefore quite surprised as he sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. The simple gesture of affection and consolation was quite different from what she had experienced in a long time. Jamie had always been overly dramatic; Stephen and Audrey had rarely offered her such simple intimacies and as for Evan Clairmont, gentleness had never been on the agenda. She slowly rested her head against Eric’s shoulder and sighed, although this time the sound signalled more contentedness than she had felt in a long time. Still it was a bit weird given that they had hardly seen one and other for such a long time, and true to her nature she had to break away before it became too emotional.

“I guess that the trousers will have to go for the dusters” She shrugged again. “There’s a robe in the bathroom you can use, don’t worry it looks like one of Daddy’s hand me downs so no one will be able to call you a crossdresser.” She giggled as Eric offered her a mock scowl and headed for the bathroom to get changed. Strange as it might seem, having Eric around had made her feel better than she could remember having felt in a very long time. Not so much because of the things that had been said but rather the fragile memories of almost undiluted happiness that had been her childhood.

She curled up on the far side of the bed, laying on her side with her head resting on the pillow as Eric returned, and with only a moment’s hesitation lay down on the other side of the bed, his posture mirroring hers, and leaving a space of roughly two feet between them, and as Sarah reached for the bottle of wine he began recounting what had happened between him and the girl Annie. Sarah knew her by name only, having been told about her by Audrey on this or that occasion but never actually meeting her. While usually being quite indifferent to other people’s lives in general and amorous issues in particular she still listened attentively, trying to offer her brother her support where such was needed and also adding gentle reproach where such was called for. They remained like that until the bottle they had passed between each other was empty, seemingly causing Eric to get ready to leave.

“You know you could stay here, it would be alright” Sarah heard herself blurt out, not quite sure why and even though her first reaction was one of embarrassment. She still had to concede that the real reason was that she could still feel the fear lurking on the edge of her consciousness, and while having Eric around might not be sufficient enough to ward the demons off, his presence guaranteed that she would not resort to cutting herself again. She held her breath as she waited for his response, which came much faster than it seemed and less dramatic than she had expected as her brother confirmed with a nod and, almost immediately fell asleep.

***

Sarah awoke just before six am, still feeling Jamie’s body against her back, his arm wrapped around her waist and his hand resting on the front of her underwear. She moved closer, relishing the warmth and the closeness as she felt him pull her closer, bringing them tightly together. She could feel herself growing just a little excited, even though he was a complete bastard, or perhaps because of that, she still found him irresistible and it had been a long time since she had had an outlet for her desires. She placed her hand on his, urging him to touch her as she felt him growing harder as he moved his body against the curve of her behind. It was bliss and therefore the realisation that it wasn’t Jamie caused her to almost be physically sick.

***

She was dressed conservatively, tweed skirt, white blouse and a matching jacket as she sat down for breakfast. Sarah had got out of bed as soon as she realised what had happened and hurriedly left the room, leaving the still sleeping Eric in her bed. She was feeling sick. Sick and ashamed that her body and mind had played that trick on her. What kind of sick fucking pervert was she? She kept her conversations to a minimum, which didn’t cause any undue mention from neither Audrey nor Stephen, who probably assumed that she was just being her usual sullen self. She kept her eyes firmly on the scrambled eggs and the rasher of bacon that she pushed around her plate when Eric came down and was greeted by their parents, Sir Stephen announcing that whatever they had planned, meaning Eric and Sarah, would have to be cancelled since Clive Worthing had suggested that Stephen and Eric be the opening batsmen for Reigate CC in their annual charity game against the neighbouring village. It was just too weird but seeing as their parents had decided that this was indeed the thing to do there was no escape.

 

[Pathalimoss]

It had begun to sink in through the course of dinner that Eric was home. He had never been more than six months away since leaving for London, but his visits during that time had been short and perfunctory. All ready he felt a different mood attached to the house. There was his disapproval at having servants and the sycophantic Worthings underfoot, but also a rising nostalgic appreciation he had not expected, a sweetness of childhood memory that filled him with relief and promised politics and class were beneath his concern and unworthy of his contempt.

The mixture of feelings was strongest in his sister. She had both confirmed his fears and showed them to be unfounded, or so he felt. There was a quality in her, a potential if not a present instance, that belied the facts of her recent and distant past. There was something there to be saved and nurtured. When he rose from the table it was with her room in mind, yet he took a slow detour and revisited the large and ostentatious residence.

Wealth as an abstract was repugnant to him, but he couldn't deny he had a taste for some of its trappings. The cavernous atrium and immense staircase had always made an impression on his him; he would have been embarrassed to admit it, but scale of architecture existed in his mind in a vague parallel with scale of thought, and large halls invigorated him with delusions of purpose and grand deeds. He moved with a light-heartedness and had all ready forgotten his retreat from the dining table when he came to Sarah's door.

Entering her room changed the flavour of the experience. Of all the evidence of his departure from childhood his sister was the most extreme. Barely seeing her for several years gave her the appearance of ageing in rapid bursts, and he found it hard to see in the woman before him the child he had known in his youth. This difficulty was multiplied by the state of her undress, showing her to be very much a woman. He averted his gaze to give her a chance to cover herself, but saw from the corner of his eye that she had no intention of doing so. Anything to shock, even me, he thought, sighing inwardly.

He accepted the offer of a drink, eschewing the thought of suggesting she shouldn't be drinking herself, as it was no doubt an old tune. When the glass came he caught a glimpse of a bandage on her wrist and his mind went numb. He was aware of a rising agitation in his gut that presented itself as a torrent of verbal anger and a jerkiness in his limbs as he siezed her arm and forced her sleeve back. The cuts were shallow and just old enough to show that she had stopped before he arrived, and only this realisation calmed him enough to hear her words. She explained and he nodded slowly as if being educated, but in truth he had guessed the bulk of it moments after observing the nature of the wounds. He had done some research into the subject, whether because of his sister or not he didn't know, and was familiar with the concept of mutilation as medication for psychological disturbance.

Her mild breakdown gave him an easy path to follow, though he noticed her flinch when he put his arm around her shoulders. Before he could decide if he should withdraw he felt her ease into the embrace, and breathed deeply. So many things he wanted to tell her, so many reassuring words he longed to speak, yet Sarah Irving was too complex a woman to be soothed by common niceties.

It wasn't until she commented that he noted consciously the wine spilled on his pants. It seemed an excuse to retreat from him, but she had a look of calm as she shooed him to the bathroom and even smiled on his return. They peopled the bed at a safe bodily distance and resumed the bottle of wine without the benefit of glasses. In his young life he knew all ready the anxious pain of having a woman he cared for refuse his help in the face of emotional distress, so he felt contented just to be near her, all the more when she asked him to stay.

The closeness he felt with her progressed naturally through the night, and only in the light of dawn did he realise his horrible mistake. Lying alone in her bed, the wonderful curve of her hip sat in his memory like a painting on the wall, but hopelessly tainted by eroticism. Each of his actions returned to him separately, so that he grunted and tensed with mounting shame. He recalled the feel of her against his pelvis, and chased panic away by reassuring himself his underwear had not been displaced. The greatest crime had been that of his hand, though he felt almost as guilty when he vaguely remembered trying to find her lips with his. Even in his dream-like state he was absolutely positive they had not kissed, but was just as sure that he had tried.

Fearfully he checked that she was not in her bathroom, then entered and slumped with his hands beside the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. His father's robe was a presence he did not want and so he rapidly dropped it, then removed his sweaty shirt as well with an eye on the shower stall. He shook off the ridiculous notion that he needed to clean himself; there was no grime or evidence to wash away except... his hand. He rubbed his fingers together, and found that Sarah's excitement had not been merely wishful thinking. He knew he should chide himself for it, but he found comfort in that fact. Though he had been the instigator, if she had been at least partially willing then that made her an accomplice, and alleviated a portion of his guilt. It also undermined the case for molestation. He could not avoid recognising the rationalisation for what it was but was desperate enough to let it soothe him.

____________​

A mundane breakfast with the family seemed nearly enticing that morning. Eric slipped surreptitiously out of Sarah's room and made it to his own unseen, emerging from the shower twenty minutes later mildly refreshed. He dressed in some older clothes from his closet to better meld into the woodwork and affected an unnatural spring in his step coming down the stairs.

His parents were waiting for him, Stephen reading the paper and Audrey overseeing some garden work from the porch. They signalled for breakfast to be brought to the table and a pair of maids defied the early hour and produced an assortment of warmed foods with impressive haste. Sarah's absence was again inconspicuous to all but Eric, and when he asked of her his mother told him she had eaten an early breakfast by herself.

“Wasn't too excited about the cricket this morning, but she didn't make as much fuss as usual. I think maybe she's trying to impress her younger brother,” Stephen announced with a wink at Eric. “Come now, the cricket? I was sure I'd told you.” This was a game his father had always played: with others it seemed the purpose was to put them on the back foot for not knowing something they ought to have, with Eric it was just a form of bland teasing. “Now official club rules prevent you from playing my boy, but I might be able to pull a string or two...” Cricket had never been Eric's game, but he had humoured his father and played at the club on a few occasions.

“Oh leave him alone Stephen, he doesn't want to play with your silly old men.” Stephen watched Eric as if awaiting confirmation of his mother's statement, and when Eric gave no sign Stephen raised his hands in surrender.

“All right, all right, just thought he might like to drop anchor for while and try a sport that doesn't mean getting one's feet wet. He'll just have to leave the family honour in an old man's hands today.”

“Stephen, you do talk such nonsense. I heard the coach of Cambridge remarked he wouldn't mind having our Eric on the team after the last regatta. I hardly think you had earned an honour such as that at his age by playing with your bat. Or even now, for that matter. Oh, look at those arms!” Audrey reached over the table and squeezed her son's ample biceps, and Eric couldn't help but smile in embarrassment. “You know there'll be plenty of eligible girls at the club today Stephen, I think I might make a few enquiries and put the word out that our son is available...” Eric squeezed his mother's hand and smiled genuinely. This was entirely for his benefit; neither of his parents would dare take any real step toward setting him up with someone. “Honestly though Eric, you must spend hours a day at the gym. Whenever do you find time to study?”

“Not much time at the gym, mother. Most of the workout comes from actually rowing.” She was exaggerating, but he really was happy with the effect taking up the sport had had on his body. Growing up he had always been broad-shouldered, and now he had the muscle to flesh out his frame.

Sarah came in from the garden, quiet and unnoticed by their parents as she entered the house via an adjoining room. Only Eric was in a good position to see her, and as he looked she met his eye. Guilt and anxiety flooded his veins. He should have been thankful that she covered herself so modestly, but the uncharacteristically conservative clothing she wore seemed to him a recrimination. It was as if she felt she were no longer safe from him unless well-covered and wrapped in modesty. He had the horrible feeling that someone would notice, if not from the household then later at the club, and ask why Sarah Irving should choose to wear such an austere outfit, and then somehow they would know. Perhaps Sarah even wanted them to know; was hanging a sign for all the world to read that her brother had taken advantage of her trust.

Eric excused himself rather abruptly from breakfast, waiting only to confirm that he was looking forward to the outing and would be ready to leave soon. He sought Sarah and found her nearly at the door to her room. "Going to change for the club, are you?"

She frowned. "Just because I am not well doesn't mean that everyone else has the right to manage my affairs." She shot him a venomous glare and added: "I really thought you wouldn't stoop that low but apparently I was wrong." She shut the door on him, leaving him longing for any sign of a return to normalcy.

He was ready downstairs in half an hour, wondering how large a parade it would be for his father to attend the club. "Why don't you go with Sarah?" Audrey said with a tone that was more than suggestion. Apparently Sarah did not travel with her parents, which he should have guessed. A driver pulled her MG up behind the Rolls. Eric pondered. He had the strong impression that his parents would prefer Sarah not arrive at the occasion alone. More importantly he wanted another attempt at facing her privately, as much as the thought pained him. Audrey kissed his cheek and ducked under the car door, while Stephen bid him a cheerful farewell and see-you-soon and then they were off before Sarah was out of the house. It occurred to him then that he had not once seen his parents in the same room as his sister since he had been back, a thought which left a sour taste.

Sarah emerged a moment later dressed as she had been. He couldn't tell if she was surprised at the travel arrangements, though she looked at him scornfully before passing by. She had an air of defiance about her in assuming the driver's seat, a presumption that must be rooted in experience with some other man. He almost told her that he couldn't care less if she wanted to drive, but it was not the time for such a comment.

Now that he had her alone he could find no words, and the silence was nearly unbearable. She drove with a recklessness that he dared not question and did not look at him once. In the course of the trip his emotions shifted among various forms of guilt and disgust, and when at last they arrived he jumped out of the car and hid himself in the club.

Thankfully few people recognised him and there was little effort required to keep up appearances. He moved to the field and saw Stephen in his kit mingling with a team of men ranging from thirty to sixty years of age. He was able to place himself in rough proximity to a group he didn't know, and who didn't seem to know him, and thereby see off the need for any meaningful company.

The game commenced and it was a full ten minutes before he was aware which team was batting. Scanning the crowd he saw no sign of his sister, which worried him for no good reason. After a half an hour that dragged intolerably Eric took the opportunity of an LBW to stand and make his way into the club. There were many people inside, apparently no more interested in the game than he was. Several potentials caught his eye as he moved amongst them, but he soon determined that Sarah was not here either. Before he could leave by the back door a young woman caught his arm.

"Eric Irving, isn't it?" She was an attractive girl with a charm that penetrated the formality with which she offered her delicate hand. He nodded and attempted a polite smile. "Oh no don't worry, we don't know each other, not personally." She surprised him then in the way she leaned in to him, very intimate for someone he had just met. She jumped on the attention she had captured and introduced herself, and Eric felt he could not quickly disengage. She asked for confirmation of a few of the more public facts of his life, including his exploits as a rower, though clearly she knew the details all ready and sought only to flatter him.

"It was very nice to meet you Mary, but I'm actually looking for someone right now and you must excuse me."

"I saw you checking all the young women in the room. You're looking for a girl aren't you?"

"Yes as a matter of fact-"

"-if you pay attention you might notice you've all ready found one." Her eyes were piercing and fearless, and even in his agitated state there was a quality in her that appealed to him. She stepped close enough to whisper and let her perfume envelop him. "There's a small room in the back I'd like to show you. I can't promise you'll find your girl there but it is worth seeing." Her hand closed around his and she leaned back as if to lead him, though she waited for a sign of assent. He was stunned by her brazenness. His brain leapt quickly and he came to the conclusion that in certain circles he was a something akin to a minor celebrity, and certain girls had a taste for fame. The more he looked into her sharp eyes the more certain he became that there were few limits on her promise.

She smiled a horrible, beautiful smile and began to lead him toward the back of the room, and he realised she had seen the consent she was waiting for. How presumptuous, he thought, even as he let this slight girl drag him toward temptation. He hadn't the faculties to check, but the idea came to him that prying eyes must see what was happening. That was the thrill for her, of course. “Look girls, I'm about to fuck Eric Irving at his daddy's cricket match.”

And that's why I'm considering it, too. Why not? It couldn't possibly be any worse than what he had all ready done. It would be subtle enough that the uproar would be manageable: people would know but no one would know. His father's campaign would be jostled but far from derailed. No one would have any time to wonder what happened the night before at Cherkley Court. Sarah would be forgotten; no longer the black sheep of the family, at not for a few weeks.

He scoffed at the idea that he was thinking of Sarah's best interests. They had nearly reached the doorway into the rear of the club. Mary turned to smile and flash her eyes at him, and swish her hair from her neck with a flick of her head. As he looked at her long, dark hair, her slender neck and her devilishly familiar beauty, he was struck by the thought he had been trying hardest of all to suppress. He knew at once the twisted reason he was considering satisfying his lusts with this girl.

Without a word or a glance back he turned and left the club.

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Sarah Irving

There were probably worse fates than being stuck at Cherkley Cricket Club having to endure what was essentially another one of Sir Stephen’s barely disguised publicity stunt. There was however the slightest joy in recognising some of her own traits in her father. The way that he made it appear that he really didn’t care whether there were cameras around and acting very much like he had only showed up at CCC out of a sense of duty to the same. It was, of course an elaborate plot, but Sarah still had to hand it to him that he was able to pull the whole thing off. To the vast majority of the spectators, Sir Stephen Irving, seemed to be just one of the lads enjoying a game of cricket; taking to the media with an equal measure of humour and annoyance. It was a masterpiece in its simplicity and while Sarah generally had never expressed any warmer feelings for her father, she had to hand it to him that as far as playing both media and the public he was indeed a genius.

Sarah found herself being gently ushered to the reserved seats on the make-shift spectators’ stand together with Lady Irving, Mrs Worthing and some other women whom she vaguely recognised but couldn’t name. They were uniformly of her mother’s age, and about as interesting as the white pages. Nonetheless Sarah opted to keep a low profile, perhaps prompted by the pleading look she got from her mother as they took their seats. She had to remind herself that while her antics had been something which Stephen had been able to use to his advantage; Audrey had found it painful to say the least. While Sarah would not be considered a particularly dutiful daughter, even by a long shot, she still had the decency to adhere to her mother’s silent plea, and thus kept her interaction with the Worthing-clones to the occasional smile and nod.

While the game played on the pitch was nominally between Cherkley CC and the visiting club; Sarah hadn’t even bothered to find out which one it was, the real competition seemed to be one between the boredom of watching cricket and the weather, which proved quite inhospitable. Sarah felt herself shiver, which said a lot considering her tweed outfit. Still, the silver lining was that the clamminess at least provided an excuse to retreat from Audrey and the company of clones.

“I think I’ll head inside Mum. It’s getting a bit too cold for my liking” She offered Lady Irving an apologetic smile as she got up from her seat and collected her purse. “I’m getting a cup of tea, do you want one as well?” She knew that Audrey was likely to decline the offer but would almost certainly caution her not to get anything stronger. Normally Sarah would have found it quite amusing to see Audrey’s indecision whether she would caution her or not, but she felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her mother which was why she decided to spare her the discomfort. “Just tea Mum. I got the car you know.” She flashed Audrey an almost manic smile to emphasise that there would be no risk of her having a drink and, as far as her mother seemed to fear, do something scandalous.

She noticed the way that Mrs. Worthing and her clones followed her own and Audrey’s reactions, much like a bunch of cats would. Of course they wouldn’t comment on it, perish the thought. But Sarah was still willing to bet a considerable sum that the gossip would be travelling very fast indeed. At least among the assorted Mrs Worthings of Cherkley.

Not that it really mattered to Sarah what people like that thought, or did not think, of her. She’d been to worse things and in the great scheme of things their gossip and pointed looks were little more than a breeze in comparison to the veritable storm of the tabloid press. One had to be thankful for the small mercies though; there had been precious little mention of herself or Jamie Kells in the media through her seclusion at Cherkley. Well that wasn’t strictly speaking true, Sarah corrected herself as she walked inside the luxurious clubhouse, and headed for the bar. Her name had been mentioned, be it as a mere reference to Sir Stephen. Apparently her father had been named Shadow Chancellor last week, by Tory leader Michael Craft, which caused the press to cite her own claim to infamy. Sarah guessed that the reason had been to discredit Sir Stephen, but apparently it had had the opposite effect and thus served to increase, if not support, then at least sympathy for Sir Stephen.

It was ironic, and just a little annoying that no matter how much shit hit the proverbial fan, her father would always find a way to come out on top, no matter what the odds might be. Once again Sarah had to hand it to him, albeit grudgingly so. In retrospect, she would probably have been able to learn more about public relations from her father than she had ever done as Evan Clairmont’s protégée and part-time mistress.

Then again, it was doubtful if she’d ever met Jamie Kells had she not gone through that. Sarah felt a stab of longing as the memory of Jamie flashed through her mind. She was aware that the man was an absolute bastard, but she still couldn’t help missing him. Part of it was the fact that Jamie Kells had fought the same kind of war against his own demons, and that made for rather strong a connection between the two. Even so, real intimacy was fleeting. While Sarah had shared, what she considered to be some of the most treasured moments of her life, with him, she realised he had not placed the same value with that as she.

Not that Jamie was unique in that though; Sarah thought as she sipped her tea, having found herself a seat in the corner of the lavishly decorated bar room of Cherkley CC. The armchair she was seated in was of the same kind that adorned Chekley Court, old-fashioned but comfortable. It seemed that she was not the only one having sought out the bar in favour of the rather dreary spectacle that was taking place on the pitch. Quite the considerable amount of would-be fans had found that the bar made for more interesting entertainment than ever Chekley CC XI would do. Sarah sighed inwardly; not long ago she would have been standing at the centre of the room, being lavished with attention, and playing the game such as it was. She realised that so far no one had even noticed her, which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand there were no cameras to dodge, but in a way it felt like the one thing she had been truly good at had been taken away from her.

While Sarah might not always have enjoyed the attention of the most insistent paparazzi, she had nonetheless discovered that she had a flair for handling the media, which rivalled that of Sir Stephen’s. The price, however, had been that her life had become public property. Obviously not as much as the Royals or Posh and Bex but pretty close nonetheless, and it was the reason that her collapse had made the front pages, the story was just too good to pass up on. What with Jamie Kells and Lady Irving breaking up in full view of the press. No there wasn’t a journalist in Britain who would have turned that offer down.

She sipped her tea, trying to banish the thoughts of Jamie Kells from her mind, as well as coming up with a suitable excuse to go home, or at least go back to her temporary accommodation at Cherkley Court. If she was to be honest she didn’t exactly miss her London excesses, but there was nonetheless the appeal of her Notting Hill studio apartment. If nothing else she did not have to share it with the rest of the Irvings.

As soon as the thought had materialised she noticed that Eric had entered the room. He didn’t notice her of course, Sarah had chosen her seat with some care, making sure she had a good view of the entrance while at the same time being obscured by a conveniently placed pillar and some rather ghastly potted plants. Despite her glum state of mind, Sarah couldn’t help but smile as she noticed the effortless way in which he moved into the room and took position by the bar. He was handsome, Sarah decided, and it was not mere sisterly pride that merited her assessment. Eric was by all accounts attractive, although not in an overly masculine way. While her brother shared some of the Irving traits in as much as sharing a superficial resemblance with Sir Stephen, she decided that his looks spoke more of their mother. It was kind of ironic; that while their father had always favoured Eric, his temperament seemed to be a direct inheritance from Audrey, while Sarah was a carbon copy of Stephen’s.

Sarah was roused from her reveries as a young female suddenly appeared by her brother’s side. Even though she was sitting at the other end of the room, and thus being unable to listen in to the actual conversation that took place between the two it was nevertheless painfully obvious what the girl had in mind. Sarah winced, feeling that the young woman somehow let the side down, seeing that short of pissing down Eric’s leg to mark her territory, she had used every trick in the book to make it clear that she had one thing in mind.

“Don’t fall for it” Sarah felt herself thinking, not because she wanted to rob him of a good time, but rather because of the possible partner. Perhaps it was just her reverting to the role of the protective older sister she had once attempted to be, but truth to be told, Sarah realised that there were more to her initial aversion to the girl currently fawning over her brother, and the realisation brought back the same feelings of disgust that she had experienced when she woke up. Yet now the sensation was laced with another emotion, just as potent as the first and which caused her to feel physically nauseous.

Jealousy

She quickly got up from her seat, almost knocking over her cup and earning herself a disapproving glance from the couple sitting at the next table. In another universe it would never have happened. Sarah Irving would never be unsettled, never lost for words or losing her composure. But that was in another time, as distant from the present as Caesar’s Rome was from Chekley Court. Lady Sarah Irving of that time was poise and sassiness, not the bundle of nerves she found herself being reduced to now.

A bundle of nerves with some very disturbing thoughts.

Sarah walked briskly, forcing herself not to succumb to the almost overwhelming desire to run. She tried to focus, putting one foot in front of the other and breaking up the journey in manageable pieces. Getting from the bar to the lobby, then getting the keys to the MG and then hopefully just being able to leave without anyone noticing. In theory that was a great plan, but as Sarah had come to be painfully aware of, theory and practice rarely coincided.

Thus while she was waiting for the valet to bring her the MG, she found herself face to face with Eric, who gave her a rather worried look and, be it in a gentle tone, asked her why she was leaving and if she wanted him to go with her. His entire stance radiated concern, although there was something else about him which Sarah couldn’t put her finger on and it irked her. Furthermore she didn’t quite approve of the whole reversal of roles as far as the two of them were concerned. While she was probably not the greatest older sister, all things considered, she had still tried her best to look out for Eric during the years they had actually spent together. Added to the situation was of course the conflicting emotions she currently experienced, and the uncertainty as how her brother had interpreted what had happened. Perhaps it was the reason why she lashed out, causing him to recoil from her

“I can manage my own life Eric” her green eyes bore into his, challenging him to contradict her, and for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, not even to herself she added “and by the look of things, you ought not to be chasing after me, not with your little admirer.” She watched the colour rise on her brother’s cheeks as she continued “she might get the wrong impression about us and we wouldn’t want that would we?.” With that she grabbed the keys from the valet, turned around and walked briskly to her car. She didn’t know, nor did she care how Eric had reacted, but on the whole it was probably for the best to push him away. Even when not considering the incident that had taken place between them, it was better for him to stay well clear of her.

She drove home at the same reckless speed by which she had gone to Cherkley CC, thus pushing the MG to the limits. There was a certain appeal to it; the wind in her hair and the underlying knowledge that death could be lurking around the next corner, in the shape of a ten-ton truck. Perhaps that was it, Sarah considered as she negotiated one of the sharp bends in the small country road; that one never knew to appreciate life if there wasn’t for a looming presence of death. It was ghoulish a thought but not without merit. Sarah had come to realise that while her life at a glimpse had provided her with every thing she could possibly have yearned for; she had nonetheless been unable to find contentment. Dr. Markham had told her that it was all due to an imbalance of chemicals in her system, and needless to say, that treatment would be long and costly to just bring her to the point when she was merely fucked-up instead of the utter mess she’d been when she’d been sent to see her.

Yet when driving the MG, stretching the automobile and her own capacities to the limit, Sarah felt something akin to happiness. It was blissfully simple – taking the huge risk but being rewarded with the ability to feel alive when she proved that she had mastered it. It was pure elation and with the added benefit that it kept her mind firmly away from her brother.

She pulled the car to a definitive halt outside the grey walls of Cherkley Court and killed the engine. The house would be virtually empty, most of the staff had the day off. It was Audrey’s making of course, since she somehow didn’t approve of the idea of having servants. Once again Sarah felt herself feeling just a bit sorry for her mother. Audrey was a decent person, more or less, well with the exception of having been unable to master the whole mothering thing, and in everything she screwed up with Sarah, she tried to make up for it twice over as far as Eric was concerned.

Then again, Sarah thought as she walked through the empty hallway, taking a detour by the sitting room and swiping a bottle of single malt, it was probably as much normality that Eric had been given. He was, after all, the prodigal son and heir of the Irvings, and as such he had to be groomed from an early age to be all that his father wished him to be. In comparison, Audrey’s half-arsed attempts at motherly affection were probably a welcome respite from the pompous sermons of their father.

She kicked the door to her room shut after her, deposing the bottle of Laphroaigh on the bed and nimbly discarding her sensible tweed-skirt. The jacket and her shoes went the same way and ended up in a pile on the floor. What use was there in even making the attempt when there were staff around who were paid to pick up her stuff, and probably rifling through the same in search for contraband. She had her IPod plugged in to the built in hi-fi system and she turned it on as she poured herself a generous amount of the smoky liquid and reclined on the bed, eyes half-closed and her dark hair blossoming out like a halo around her head. Radiohead’s “Creep” segued into Belle and Sebastian’s “Funny Little Frog” as she lit a cigarette and took another sip of whisky. While far from the way she would normally have spent a Saturday afternoon, it was still better than having to play house with the rest of her family.

Coldplay’s “Speed of Sound” boomed out on the stereo and she exhaled another plume of bluish cigarette smoke when there was a knock on the door followed not by the customary pause but rather the door being thrown open and Eric walking through the room. He looked somewhat dishevelled but that was secondary to the barely controlled anger that lay simmering just below the surface. He stopped a few steps from the bed and lashed out in a tirade, superficially conveying worry, but Sarah was a skilled enough observer to realise that there was something else that merited his outrage.

“I can’t remember inviting you.” Sarah stubbed the cigarette out and got to her feet, having to look up to meet Eric’s eyes. Sarah was reasonably tall for a woman, standing 5’10 but Eric nevertheless towered above her. He lashed out again, taking hold of her upper arm to emphasise his point. “Let me go!” Sarah hissed through gritted teeth as she shot him a venomous glare. “You have no right to barge into my room and even less so trying to run my life.” She shook herself free, the ferociousness thereof making him take a step back. Most other people would have gracefully backed out at that point, Sarah later reflected, yet this was an argument between two Irvings, and while they were as different as night and day, they still shared the same unyielding streak that had propelled their family to fame and fortune. Thus Eric lashed out again, telling her that her actions rather proved that he did, and added with some malice that he had never wanted to believe the things he’d read about her, but that he had had to revise his opinion.

Sarah had never cared much for what people thought about her, or rather she had chosen to push such sentiments away to minimise the hurt that they could cause, but hearing Eric say it caused something inside her to snap. Her reaction was merited more by instinct than any coherent thought as she hit him, the flat of her hand connecting perfectly with his cheek. He growled and with surprising speed and seemingly without much effort, pushed her back against the wall. She slapped him again, causing him to move closer, pinning her against the dark green wallpaper. Sarah felt how his left hand pressed against her chest as his right rested on her hip, effectively keeping her from lashing out again. Coldplay “The Scientist” filled the room as their eyes met.

“Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me. Oh when I rush back to the start. Running in circles, chasing tails. Coming back as we are. Nobody said it was easy.”

Sarah didn’t know what made her act like she did, it was the same kind of instinctual reaction that had caused her to slap him earlier. Emitting a sound halfway between a sob and a moan she reached up, cupping his face and pressing her lips to his. He responded in kind, parting his lips for her as he pulled her closer. She reached down, her fingers pulling his trousers open as he gently but firmly propelled her backwards to the bed, and put her down with surprising gentleness. She reached for him as he discarded his denims and boxers, pulling him down beside her. Their lips met again, tongues jostling as Eric pulled her underwear down, exposing her nakedness underneath them.

There was very little finesse about it, more a desperate need as she closed her fingers around his manhood, gently stroking it before pulling him closer and parting her legs to allow him access to her body. She felt him shift as he slowly sank into her, causing her to moan. He lay down, distributing his weight on his elbows as his lips sought hers and slowly began to move against her, sending shivers to travel the length of her spine. Sarah bit down on his lip, urging him on. The ferric taste of blood spurring them to increase the pace and it was not long until she could feel the tingling sensation of her climax nearing. With a grunt she pushed her brother over, straddling him while never having him pulling away from her. She felt his hands on her hips and slowly travelling down to cup her buttocks as she ground her pelvis against him. His cock fully erect and penetrating her in a way which would have been painful had it not been for her heightened arousal. She watched him through half-closed eyelids as he struggled not to climax before her. She bit her lip, throwing her head back as she clenched her most intimate muscles around him, feeling him tense up and then convulse as he came inside her, filling her insides with his essence. Sarah cried out as she reached her peak, her vision going dark red as her body tensed and the tingling sensation spread throughout her system, causing her to convulse before the complete bodily bliss of her orgasm enveloped her.

She felt Eric’s hands on her back, pulling her close and kissing her again as he gently rolled her over on her side, nuzzling her neck as his fingers were lazily travelling down the curve of her back. They lay in silence for quite some time until he made an attempt to speak, taking a deep breath but she quietened him with a gentle kiss.

“Please don’t speak, don’t try to explain or tell me how you feel.” Sarah felt tears running down her cheeks, although she couldn’t say whether the reason was shame or something else.

Something very much akin to contentment.

 

[Pathalimoss]

At first practiced modesty and genuine insecurity colluded to forbid Eric from believing what his instincts told him about his sister. His memories of her childhood outbursts may be outdated, but one thing he was confident Sarah would never be was dull-witted. Her fumbled accusation that he was trying to control her was a thin disguise, and unworthy of her. A sinking feeling came to his gut, preluding the obvious explanation, that her anger was rooted in his behaviour the previous night. But before he could succumb to guilt and despair, she went on, revealing she had seen the encounter between him and the girl inside. So she had been in the bar after all. It crossed his mind that Mary had known damn well that Sarah was watching, only making the conquest all the sweeter. But all other musings were pushed aside to analyse Sarah's motivations in that moment, as she continued to scald him by the car park. If she were any other girl but his sister the conclusion would be obvious. It couldn't be what it seemed, could it?

Eric tried to process as she sped away. He returned to the bar, only so that he would not be seen standing lost and thoughtful at Sarah's departure. Once inside he immediately saw Mary, and she him. She looked offended, but in the second before she applied her composure there was something else. She was hurt. His rejection had actually pained her. In this too, she suddenly reminded him of Sarah. There were more eyes on him than hers, and if Sarah had also left the room only moments before there was a chance they saw more in him than he would have liked, but he did not let that stop him from approaching Mary and steering her to the back room where she had tried to capture him only minutes ago.

"Mary, I want to apologise to you for leaving like that."

"Apologise to me?" she affected, as if the idea that he could possibly cause her offence or the slightest inconvenience was utterly ridiculous.

"Yes. I shouldn't have left you like that and I'm sorry. Would you forgive me?"

Her pretence stuttered but continued. "Eric, if you think for one second that-"

"-I find you a very charming girl, Mary.” He leaned in close and whispered sincerities into her ear. “Would you give me your number so I can all you some time?" She paused, flustered by Eric Irving's gift for devastating earnesty. She fished a pen from her purse and scrawled her digits onto his palm, dainty but too rushed to be dignified. She wrote not on the back of his hand where it would endure, but on his palm, where he could grasp it and hide it from the world. He kissed her rose-scented cheek and felt her blush, then walked away with respectful poise. He asked the barman for a sheet of paper and a pen, then went to the bathroom and washed his hand, folding Mary neatly in half and sliding her into his pocket, where she could lay dormant until he decided to bring her forth.

Only then did it occur to Eric that he had no ride home. Though being chauffeured had been a fixture of his early life, it had nearly always been on the authority of a parent. His years of relative independence in London made the thought all the more alien, and for an absurd moment he considered whether or not he might arrange himself a ride home without first asking permission. Had he not himself realised the foolishness of this question the never-a-doubt attitude of their driver would have made the point clear. On the way he speculated that if he could return with Sarah in tow before either of them were notably missed then the only evidence of their disappearance would be the driver's testimony. The question became then, would he offer it to Sir Stephen unsolicited? Why Eric should much care whether their parents knew or not he did not examine.

He thanked the driver - Richard, he had made sure to learn - and received a tip of the hat in return. Before he was through the door his eye was caught by one of the estate's innumerable groundskeepers, who cautiously approached upon Eric's questioning expression. The man thought it best to mention, though of course it wasn't precisely his place to say, that young miss Irving had pulled in in an awful rush, and furthermore that "I happened to be in a position to see her approach," and she taken a rather reckless attitude toward the final corner before reaching the estate. And who knew how many corners before that? Eric thanked the man, who nodded and withdrew into the anonymity of raking leaves, where no one would suspect him of anything worse than excessive devotion to the task. Eric was sure his hesitation in reporting on miss Irving's activity was due to nothing more than uncertainty as to exactly where Eric's allegiances fit into the increasingly adaptable politics of Cherkely Court. He felt a deeper appreciation for Sarah's woes, but this was overshadowed by a rising irritation.

Circumstances conspired to flame the fans of his displeasure before he could reach her room. On the stairs his phone chimed to announce a text, a delicate query from his mother. She conveyed a wish for reassurance that Sarah was not in any trouble. The message attempted to be casual and to regard Sarah's behaviour, but Eric knew his mother, and there was an implicit and honest concern for her daughter's well-being.

Eric grew embittered at Sarah. Whatever grievances she might legitimately hold with their parents, it was wholly unnecessary that she cultivate a climate of fear in their mother. Clearly Audrey dared not inquire about Sarah's state by asking directly, the reasons for which Eric could guess too easily. She would lie at best, be just as likely to refuse to respond at all or respond belligerently. Were there nothing more at stake than family reputation Eric could forgive his sister's defiance, but surely she must know that her history drove their mother's concern to more serious imaginings.

The anger felt good. It bolstered him against a dread he had not known was there, and drove him up the stairs to confront Sarah with something resembling determination. To enter without knocking would give her a leg to stand on in moral debate, but he hardly waited before opening the door. There she was in her underwear again, despite the early hour of the day. The words spilled from his mouth with barely a need for conscious thought, berating her for what she was doing to their poor mother, improvisations inspired by the open bottle of liquor by her bed coming easily. He caught himself from mentioning her state of dress. It would have been so simple, so predictable to add that to her list of judgements, but the words would not have reflected his beliefs. He hated seeing women's sexuality turned against them when it suited an accuser's purpose, and would never let himself sink that low. She was in her own room after all: didn't she have the right to be half-naked if she wanted?

Just as Eric found himself deflating, Sarah fought back, salvaging the situation and turning it into a genuine fight. His half-conscious mind formed arguments; it wasn't good enough to bemoan a lack of privacy when their mother's peace of mind was at stake. It was a weak point, which he supplemented by saying she clearly needed someone to look out for her. It became so much simpler when she hit him. Confusion melted away and was replaced by a softer version of itself. He was closer, she hit him again, closer still. Her kiss was as aggressive as her hand had been on his cheek. When her fingers gripped his erection he tried to remember for exactly how long he had been aroused and could find no clear answer. He would have been embarrassed if not for the obvious fact that she shared his need.

The situation escalated at pace, and Eric suspected if they paused for a moment it may stop and never progress again. He was enthralled by the vigour in her hands as she freed him from his trousers and boldly stroked his length. The most memorable moment was when he removed her knickers. A part of him had suspected she would not allow it, that they would disrobe only so far and then come to their senses. Even the sight of her bare breasts had not convinced him. She looked him right in the eye when he curled his fingers around her underwear, and raised her hips from the bed. She was demure enough to be lady-like, yet highly alluring in her lack of self-consciousness. Eric groaned inwardly at the sight of her dark hair, but as strong as the desire was to put his mouth on her, they both understood that this was not the time for foreplay. He was positioning himself between her pale thighs even as she parted them for him, their arms forming a tangled mess about each other's shoulders to brace for what was to come. His body pressed close to hers and they both gasped softly as he penetrated her.

When she bit his lip and drew blood Eric didn't know if it was resistance or encouragement, but in the moment it hardly mattered. He reached under her body to hold her bottom and pushed himself more fully inside her. For long minutes they writhed against each other with constant intensity, seeming to wage a subtle war with the strength of their holds. Eric gladly relented when Sarah twisted to place herself above him, regaining his grip on her soft, undulating buttocks. With mild disbelief he perceived that she was approaching orgasm, and allowed her to guide their coupling to suit her needs. He delayed as best he could and they reached climax almost simultaneously. If he hadn't all ready been in the grips of convulsion the sound of her intense cry as she came punctuated by her sharp nails digging into his chest would have pushed him over the edge. The lewd awareness of his ejaculation deep within her walls pushed all else aside in his brain, and for a moment Sarah was nothing less to him than beauty and wholesome love.

Eric was thankful that she was slow to slide her body from his. From the moment he entered her room she had been stiff, but now she grew soft in his arms. He even thought he detected a smile as he kissed her neck. There was a tug of reason at the back of his mind, reminding him that he would soon have to face the consequences of what they had just done, but for a brief while he basked in the warmth of his sister's gentle embrace.

As he looked at her she still seemed at peace. He was certain he could not have been so calm about committing the act of incest if she had not provided such a noble example. But the more time passed the more anxious he grew to know what she was thinking, and what would happen next. He summoned the courage to ask, but she stopped him with a kiss. Though her evident unwillingness to talk increased his concern, the kiss itself was wonderful, and heightened his awareness of her body against his. He had no intention of attempting an encore so soon, but the feel of her nakedness brought him an exhilarating satisfaction.

A sound from downstairs roused Eric swiftly. He listened carefully to try to determine who it might be, until he berated himself in the realisation that it did not matter. Exactly whom would you consider an acceptable person to find you in bed with your sister, Eric? It was too early for Stephen and Audrey to be back, so it could only be members of the staff, but it still would not do for them to see him sneaking away from Sarah's room. Especially if they thought the house empty and it might be a good time to inspect her room themselves. He stood and hurriedly pulled his clothes on, then moved to the door and looked at Sarah. She lay in bed with the blanket more or less covering her, looking faintly irritated.

“I'll tell them you're not feeling well.” She gave a look that might been assent, though consisted mostly of nothing at all. He left and closed the door behind him, feeling at once every bit as sordid as he should.

Coming down the stairs he found several of the kitchen staff hauling supplies through the front door, and they did indeed look rather surprised to run into Eric. The young woman among them looked bashful, and he realised that they should more properly be using the kitchen door at the back, and had thought to get away with coming through the mansion since no one was supposed to be home. The man and the older women seemed to shrug his presence away and continued toward the kitchen until Eric spoke:

"Sarah was feeling ill, so I brought her home. Or rather she came home herself and called me to follow," he added, realising the driver could prove the lie in its first telling. The young woman looked at him as though Mad King George had asked her to fetch him a dragon, while the older pair looked similarly except with a hint of contempt. It was the contempt that servants were allowed to show their superiors; suitably veiled, and shown only in response to an insult directed at the institution as a whole. "That's not really our business," the man said carefully, and turned away before Eric could agree.

Of course it wasn't. They were from the kitchen, had possibly never even been up the stairs. He ought to return to the room and inform Sarah that they were safe, at least for now. But it was time to go anyway, back to Cherkely Cricket Club. The thought of convincing her to come with him made him cringe. He knew without trying that the fear of discovery would not move her an inch. Well, why should it then? If Sarah's health was their cover, then it suited that she should stay where she was anyway.

Audrey! He had forgotten all about her message, never sending a word in response. He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly thumbed a brief text informing their mother that the cold had had a deleterious effect on Sarah's health. It was thin, but they could share the pretence, as no one would have any wish to pierce it. He stood at the base of the stairs and stared at her door, before striding out the front door. There was sure to be another car in the garage, and as it happened Eric found the M5 he had driven while still learning. It took some wandering to find the keys, but in short order he was back at the cricket grounds.

Somehow in his mind a small eternity had passed since he left, and he expected to catch the match in its final throes. But he had overestimated the time that had passed in his sister's bed, and also forgotten just how long this game took. Cherkely had only just begun their innings, with Sir Stephen a modest eighth in the batting order. You had to admire a man as busy as he was who would sacrifice a whole day for a political stunt in which he might not meet the ball after lunch time. Ways to pass the time were limited, and Eric wished he had brought a book to read, despite the danger of a snappy caption in the local paper about the lack of interest in his father's performance. He dared not return to the bar either, and so joined his mother in the covered area of the stands, where he did a convincing job of reassuring her. Sarah had only felt faint and needed to be out of the weather, that was all.

Cherkely reached their target in the fourty-fifth over with the loss of only two wickets, consigning Stephen and most of the rest of the team to the task of moral support. Mercifully, Stephen gave the excuse of a busy schedule and could not attend the club celebrations for more than a quick drink and a short word to the waiting reporters. Eric was somehow drafted into the team for the photo, and barely managed to put on a passable face.

He followed his parents in the beamer and they arrived at a home rather more busy than when he had left it some hours before. The rich must find themselves very lonely in those odd times when there are no servants underfoot, Eric mused, and smiled at how quickly he had come to exclude himself from their number. Audrey headed straight for her daughter's room and Eric followed once more, preparing himself for any improvisation that might be required. Sarah opened the door slowly, throwing a neutral glance at Eric, where he stood partially hidden behind Audrey. She had the weight of poor health about her face and looked at her mother with tired tolerance. There was an anxious moment when Sarah responded to her mother's inquiries with a comment blaming something she had eaten rather than the cold, but Eric was able to cover by mentioning they had been uncertain of the cause of his her sudden illness when last he had spoken to her.

Audrey took Sarah's face in her hands and kissed her forehead. With the lie in place Eric noticed the bare shoulder peeking out from his sister's blanket wrapping. Beyond that her clothes lay on the floor, discarded in a pattern that told a certain story to an interested observer, and screamed it to a guilty mind. He could think of no excuse to remain with Sarah so had to leave with his mother, assuring her that Sarah would be fine whilst showing the correct amount of brotherly concern.

Over the following minutes he decided that if he could not speak to Sarah then he would rather be as far away as possible. He'd had a half-dozen invitations to reunite with acquaintances from his school years, and found it suddenly a perfect moment to accept. His first call went unanswered, while the second produced plans for a get-together the following night. Not until the fourth did he find a refuge to which he could flee right away.

He would meet an unremarkable friend named John, who had very little presence in a group and only a fraction more when alone. There had been a trace of kindness about him, and he possessed just enough wit to avoid becoming the perennial butt of the joke. Eric liked him for much the same reason everyone did; he was a safe and reliable confidant in a teenage world of malicious pranks and self-serving opportunism. There had been one hiccup in their friendship. In their mid-teens, he had once caught John bragging of his desire for Sarah. It was as much an attempt to ingratiate himself with the other boys as anything else, and considering that his choice of language had been remarkably respectful, though there was no doubt more than a grain of truth to the statement. Eric had never been naive nor unobservant, and could not blame his friends for the way they looked at his nineteen-year-old sister, yet as any good brother he would brook no discourtesy toward her in his company. So while he could forgive John, all the more readily for the young man's excessive guilt, it nevertheless placed a distance between them. Years later the incident was not forgotten but could more easily be let in the past, and Eric found himself looking forward to the chance to show his old friend there was no lasting hostility.

John could only be considered to have come from humble beginnings in a world as bloated with wealth and pride as Cherkely Academy, but there it was arguably his misfortune to have been sent, and so he endured the tired ridicule that comes from being the son of a dentist. Eric had heard that he had gone into insurance, and found that he had all ready had considerable success. He shook hands with the man that had sprung from the boy he had known, and was welcomed into a richly furnished house of appreciable size. There was the understandable awkwardness of two men who had known each other but no longer did, and Eric detected a considerable reserve in his old friend. As many people did when nervous, John immediately launched into news of common acquaintances, and promises that meetings could be arranged on short notice.

Over a game of pool in John's basement, Eric tried to think of a way to put him at ease. He asked about business and offered equal measures of advice and congratulations, both of which John took with a grain of salt. After a time he relented and allowed conversation to lapse into the past, and when he mentioned that he had been unable to get hold of Malcolm Percival John leapt at the chance. "He doesn't like to answer his phone during the day as it could be business, and Percy hates having to work," John explained. He wore an out-of-use grin that invited Eric to remember just how like Malcolm that was; lazy old Percy, who hated homework, exams, men who dressed as women "and don't have the damned decency to make it obvious!", and being called Percy. "Just you wait here a moment, I'll get a hold of Percy for you, you'll see." John's exuberance was unbecoming, and Eric hoped he would figure it out on his own and reign himself in. John returned moments later, declaring Percy was on his way, proud as a cat.


From that point there was little to do but pass the time, as the impending arrival of their old friend filled John with an excited restlessness that displaced any capacity he might have had for providing worthwhile company himself. Percy had been one of a type, a type Eric knew to exist despite having no other examples with which to correlate. The type had to exist because there had to be others out there with an extraordinary talent for placing themselves at the centre of so much scandal and intrigue that their own lack of substance was near impossible to prove. Eric was sure he was one of very few to have seen what a bore Percy truly was, and it was for this reason that Percy had sought his approval and granted him special favour.

Even before Percy arrived Eric surmised the sad details of his affiliation with John. Percy's most useful function was that he had a connection to everyone, and a stunning ability to produce a gathering of people at a moment's notice - the swirling pool of which worked all the better to isolate him from those who might discover his lie. He was effectively the top of the ladder at school, and John, ever on the periphery, had worshipped him for it. There were two possibilities for how a personality such as Percy's might develop after the self-defined success of school years. Eric had hoped Percy's immense sociability would prove an asset and propel him down avenues where nothing else was demanded, and where he might divest himself of his shortcomings in a quiet transition to adulthood that needed no tragic catalyst. Instead he saw that both Percy and John had been reluctant to make the leap, and where John had found himself first mate at last in a crew that had disbanded, Percy had John as tangible evidence that he was not obsolete.

His pity and disappointment were hard for him to hide as he greeted his old friend, though he also felt a wave of nostalgic warmth at the memories of the many good times they had shared as teens. The three of them slipped into another long bout of reminiscence, and with Percy recounting the stories more confidently than John the time did not drag so painfully. From a string of vague assertions that they should get a party going a plan precipitated in the late evening, though amongst all the claims of who should be there from the old gang, Eric could not get a straight answer on who would.

Percy drove them in his tight-fitting Maserati, telling John in the back that if Eric and Percy met any girls then he would have to walk home or ride in the trunk. Though John laughed, it seemed an unnecessarily noxious comment to Eric, made not so much for the value of its humour as to remind John that he was still bottom of the heap - as well as to deliver the very real threat that Percy would[/I give John's seat to any halfway-pretty girl that would agree to take it. They came to a house that was a step smaller than John's, which meant poverty as far as three boys from Cherkely were concerned. Percy roughly parked the car more than a foot from the curb and hopped merrily to the front door, knocking loudly and without melody.

The halfway-pretty girl that threatened John's ride home answered the door and smiled hopefully at Percy. She was no older than eighteen at a glance, and was in fact exactly eighteen as Eric later learned. Eighteen was by general consensus not so very young against he and Percy's twenty-three, yet seemed a further relic of his friend's degeneration - or stagnation, rather. She knew John by a disinterested nod in his direction and gave Eric only a slightly longer consideration, making way in the hall so that they may pass. Percy knew the way downstairs and led them into a basement that should have been the lonely bedroom of a single teen but was instead mildly crowded with six boys and girls. They all greeted Percy nervously, and at least a few of them seemed to know him only by reputation. For Eric it had the same feel of entering a party where he didn't know anybody that he remembered from his school years, yet here he should have been beyond intimidation and felt awkward only because five years later he really did not belong.

The gathering seemed to be waiting for Percy to deliver on some promise, while Percy feigned obliviousness and gave the impression that this tensely populated basement was all anyone could hope for. Two of the four girls looked Eric's way more than once, but he saw no real interest from either of them. It was half an hour before Percy received a phonecall and informed them all that it was time to move out, as if this had been the plan from the start. Had Eric not known Percy he might have suspected a lucky break, but this was how Percy worked, and Eric admonished himself for having ever doubted.

Percy's girl, the one who belonged with the house, rode with him in the front, casting a fretful look at John and Eric as they climbed in the back. Eric could think of all manner of reasons she might have for giving them that look. He only hoped that when they got where they were going all concerns over present company would be superfluous.

At first look the crowd outside the new house looked no more adult than those at the old; a handful of boys leaning against banisters with beer cans in hand and an eye for finding girls or a fight. They looked at Percy's party with great interest, and Eric watched them closely while hoping there wouldn't be trouble. Fortunately they thought better of it, and further luck produced a different breed inside. With great relief Eric recognised a face, although it was a boy who had been two years their junior in school. Eric was invited to sit and offered a drink which he gladly accepted.

It wasn't what he'd had in mind when he sought a reunion of old friends at all, but for now it would do. The alcohol hit him hard, and for a moment he became suspicious, until he remembered he'd had barely a thing to eat all day. The final acquaintance to arrive that night was Molly, an old girlfriend of his friend Daniel. The couple had shared an intense on-and-off relationship throughout the final years of school, just the sort of affair that made Eric extremely jealous. Molly was a bright girl, and Eric had always liked her more than he let on, so he was very pleased to find she was as eager to catch up with him as he was with her. They spoke of Daniel, from whom she had finally parted for good, but she remained in contact with him and could report that he was very well. Although it brought him a pleasant buzz and was making the night more generally enjoyable, Eric wished he had not been drinking so that he might face her more clearly. The question of her availability lingered, but in his state he did not trust himself to find an appropriate way to broach the subject. When he became aware that the party was dissipating he was actually a little disappointed. He and John took a taxi back to the John's house where a nicely-kept spare bedroom provided a comfortable end to the day.

Eric was woken too early in the morning by a text message from Audrey, and he wondered if he ought not to return home though he could think of no pressing reason to do so. His reason for being away was no doubt still at large in the halls of Cherkely Court, so he rolled over and went back to sleep with the half-formed intention of killing another day and letting a solution present itself.

He had forgotten his agreement over the phone to meet with Mark tonight until John reminded him of it in the early afternoon. Word had apparently spread that Eric Irving was back, and his private arrangement had been released to the public and was now Percy's charge. Eric was not ready for another dose of Percy, but it seemed he had little choice if he wanted to meet with everyone else. Percy arrived all too soon, and after Eric insisted on a large breakfast at a local pub they went on a tour of old points of interest around the borough. The day clouded over and it began to gently rain, bringing a pleasant smell and a cosy wrapping to the streets and brick buildings they visited. It could have proved a nice time if only Percy had shut up.

They came at last to familiar houses and people Eric was very happy to see, though Percy allowed time only for brief reconnections and Eric came to feel he was an attraction being used to drum up interest in an upcoming show. He strongly considered returning home to procure his own transportation so that he could make the rounds on his own, but reasoned that Percy was all ready inextricably involved with the day's plans and to try to remove him would create quite a mess. Though Eric had never ceded Percy any authority over him, it was customary to allow him free reign in exercising his talents, so it was a moderately conspicuous event when Eric finally insisted they remain at Mark's house for more than a brief greeting. He phrased the statement so that Percy could save face, and did so again when he informed him and John that if it was quite all right with them he would stay on and they could come and collect him later or else just meet him at the party. Though that was harder to take in stride Percy did a manageable job, and once the pair were gone Mark raised an eyebrow but no questions. He did apologise for the circumstances but explained he had thought it would be for the best to let Percy have his way so that everyone could get together at once.

As time passed it slowly dawned on them to wonder where exactly this party was being held and what connection the property owner had to either of them, and soon enough they formed the idea that their trepidation was in vain and they might just as well retake control of the night. Eric called Percy to inform him that he had "just realised" that there was no point in dragging everyone off to some stranger's house when everyone they wanted to see could just as easily come to Mark's house. The casual exclusion of those who were unfamiliar with Mark was something he kept implicit, and when Percy said that in fact he all ready had his plans in place and would just have to see if he had time to make it to their new gathering Eric was not greatly surprised. He did feel a little bad for treating Percy that way, but then he had only to remind himself that it was only Percy's pride that created the problem, and he could very easily swallow it and come to Mark's. The other phonecalls went much more smoothly, and the only remaining difficulty was John. Wondering just how close-knit those two were, Eric sent John a text asking him to call when he was free.

At last Eric had the reunion he'd been hoping for, and old friends trickled in at a satisfying rate. Both Molly and Daniel appeared - Molly with a date unfortunately, but it was still good to see her again - as well as just about everyone Eric could think of that he most wanted to see. There were just enough new faces to make things interesting, and John, arriving alone, was a much more pleasant fellow in present company. And Percy did come in the end, with his school girl and enough of her friends to push the limits of ettiquette. Talking to any of them revealed that this party was Percy's doing and was where they had been headed all along. Anyone who was fooled by that was worth fooling, and Percy was now a small enough portion of the evening as to be easily ignored.

With a quick check that there were no elligible women in range, and a tentative decision that tonight should not be about that anyway, Eric decided to drink again. It was a rarity for him to surrender sobriety twice in quick succession, but the atmosphere was comfortable enough and he could see no reason why he shouldn't. All the same he kept a careful limit this time. When some of the younger girls started dancing it seemed at first a little out of place, but Eric and everyone else warmed to the idea and found it added an enjoyable youthful energy. Eric didn't dance himself - had never really crossed that threshold - but grew a little wistful in watching.

The hours started to slip away in that manner that is both disappointing yet only possible when you are content. It was sad to say goodnight to Molly and to others, but they all reminded each other that for the moment Eric was back and this needn't be a rare occasion. At last Eric was yawning and ready to turn in, having decided to return home with John once more. As the pair of them made their final round to bid farewell, they had a luckless encounter. A young man who had too much to drink and just enough knowledge to make a nuisance of himself leaned in close to John and whispered loudly so that all could hear: "Oi, John, how about Sarah, eh? Any luck there yet?" The idiot then looked at Eric with a sly grin, obviously thinking himself safe from rebuke as John was the true villian of the joke. Eric's menacing stare cured him of this notion, and the man's face dropped before he realised his drink needed immediate refilling.

Until then Eric and John had studiously avoided any mention of Sarah, and her unexpected invocation threatened the amenity of their relationship. Eric was ready to give a reassuring word and put an end to it, but the drunkard's comments had had the further effect of identifying Eric to a skinny girl who could have been very pretty if her face were not so gaunt. "Oh, you're Sarah Irving's brother!" she declared. "She's so pretty, I've always thought so. Do you know if she likes girls at all? I'll bet she does, she's so wild!" She giggled at that and looked around at her friends to make sure they had heard what she said. She seemed to sober up then and put on her best serious frown as the most recent items of gossip filtered through to her memory. "She is all right, isn't she? I mean she hasn't-" That was the last Eric heard as he walked out the door.

John was terribly fragile on the drive back, and Eric would have liked to defuse him but was in his own world now and couldn't summon the strength to reach outside of it. Sarah was the focus of all his thoughts once again, and he couldn't help but recall what the wafer of a girl had said. It seemed such a terrible, satirical injustice that a woman gifted with the ability to induce such desire in others had so much difficulty in finding happiness for herself. If only he could bring her with him, have another party with Mark and Daniel and Molly and John (yes, even John) and no Percy and no Jamie and no vapid teenagers. But of course among the other reasons for it being impossible, one very large reason in particular, there was the fact that a girl like Sarah would be bored to tears at a party with Eric's friends. He said goodnight to John and sequestered himself in the guest room.

Between him and sleep was the nagging issue of his return home. In trying to make peace with the prospect of seeing Sarah again he came upon a most unexpected epiphany: he had enjoyed Sarah immensely. The thought came to him in a moment of detached clarity, and so suddenly that it bypassed the standards of received morality that would normally have prevented him from considering such a notion. It changed nothing in practical terms, but Eric was a man who placed great value on objectivity and the conquest of emotional bias, and since the experience was what it was there was no choice but to accept it and move on.

_______________________​

Great revelations made late at night often lose their glow in the morning, and so it was that Eric woke in a regressed state of mild anxiety. His messages to his mother were putting a strain on him, for he had an unreasonable fear that she would infer some clue that would lead her to the horrible truth. He slept as late as he could then spent as much time as possible exploiting John's hospitality. John was astute enough to eventually realise it was not his company that kept Eric from leaving, but took no offence. After agreeing that he would be home for dinner Eric's cellphone went dead, leaving him out of touch from late afternoon.

So it was that when Eric did at last return to Cherkely court in the early evening he was met in the parlour by Audrey Irving, who had been hasilty fetched under the instruction that she should be alerted upon Eric's return. The composed disapproval in her expression pulled a tight knot in his gut, but the matter was only that he was late and, once more, they had guests. She sent him upstairs in a rush so that he might change into fresh clothes and in his room he was alone again. It didn't feel as though he were home, and a strong disorientation came over him as he replayed the events of the last few days and realised for how little time he had been back in Cherkely. More incredible to him was that it had all started to go wrong on his very first night back, and that he had not yet slept in his own bed. The most useful thing at that moment would have been the chance to sit down and think for a good long while, but instead he had to dress and meet the guests.

It was hard to appear fresh when entering the brightly lit dining room, and probably he failed. The next task was to remain present as he was introduced to three couples and a pair of unaccompanied gentlemen. Stephen had taught him a trick when he was young, which was that whenever he was introduced to somebody he should look them in the eye and say their name clearly as he shook their hand. This served both to strengthen the connection between name and face and give the introductee a sense of importance. Eric barely managed it tonight, his voice and the strength of his grip both fading after only the second couple. He was relieved to determine there were none whom he had met before, which saved the extra effort of trying to recall trivial details as proof of interest. Stephen and Audrey were perceptive enough to pull the focus away from him as soon as they could.

Once seated he was free to find Sarah in the corner of his eye. Without meaning to he saw the narrow dip between her breasts, displayed in a dress that was formal but not conservative. It was an irritation that his gaze had fallen there of all places, and suddenly he was overcome with exhaustion. Every thought he had and every memory of his recent life seemed to exist only in relation to Sarah. It all seemed old and tired and done and done again until he was trapped in spirals of repeatition. He had made judgements about her and about himself and then he had reversed those judgements and found the outcomes equally plausible. It was a situation all intellectuals know well, and the only way to restore order to the mind is to find change, and in particular to face the focus of obsession on novel terms.

He needed to talk to Sarah, and it didn't matter that he hadn't a clue what to say. The dinner might last hours, which seemed an interminable period to sit with her so close yet out of reach. He tried to catch her eye and found she was deliberately ellusive. The conversation between the Irvings and their guests had a tone of pleasant success about it, and proceeded apace without any attempt to include Eric or Sarah. Looking at his sister Eric thought she had made an effort to prepare herself appropriately for the occasion, with her hair silky and unusually neat and a tasteful arrangement of understated jewelry about her face and neck. But his frame of reference for what was normal for Sarah was a decade out of date and he really hadn't a clue.

Sarah suddenly stood and turned to Audrey, asking if she could be excused. Though no one else noticed it seemed to Eric very clear that she was making a statement that she was tired of his staring and itched to be away from him. She mentioned something about powdering her nose and left the table without smiling. Eric was irritated, feeing as though he had been publicly chastised. He watched her leave and wracked his brain for an excuse to follow. Nothing clever offered itself, so he settled on a more desperate route. He made a face at Audrey that he hoped would make her his ally. His intellect told him she would see through him, but he did not pursue the thought to determine what she might think. "I need to be excused as well," he said to the table. No more elloquent words came, but he did give a comforting smile. Let them all assume that Sarah is not to be left alone, he thought. Perhaps he could tell Audrey later that Sarah had said or done something that made him nervous. It would be unfair to cast doubts on Sarah, but he could offset those by some story admitting he had been wrong.

Scenarios and justifications were cut short as he found Sarah walking slowly up the wide staircase. She must have heard that he was following and considered staying to meet with him and then changed her mind. He noticed that the hem of her dress which had been hidden by the table fell only to her knee, revealing the tautness of her calves as she ascended. At the door to her bedroom she halted, seemingly indecisive. She turned enough that he could see her stern face. Why must everything be so black with her? If they were to talk and try to find a solution together why must she look so offended, so damaged, so wronged? He felt a flush come over his face and the corners of his eyes grow moist.

She stood unchanged as he mounted the stairs and rose to meet her. Standing at her side, still she only looked at some point beyond the walls. Having no wish to be caught here with her he reached for the handle of her door. Sarah wheeled about and slapped him hard across the face. It was no gesture of rebuke but a forceful blow of emotion. She stared with anger and impatience, and Eric, stunned, waited for her to enter her room and slam the door behind her. Instead she turned her back to him and paced the corridor. She passed several more doors, coming to the last which was the entrance to the library.

Sarah lingered in the doorway for a second, then closed the door softly behind her. Eric followed, opening the door to find her only a step inside, eyes fixed on a shelf of revered and aged novels, consciously ambivalent to his presence. Eric closed the door behind him, and when she him slapped again it was so loud it might have echoed down the stairs if the door had not been shut. The impression of her hand burned his cheek, and renewed the sting in his lip where she had broken it with her teeth. With all the grace in the world she glided to the large bay window, a gentle glow of fading summer light illuminating her. Her hand rested on the window frame, and she wore an intense frown, concentrating on some matter of immense importance. Eric's blood pumped swiftly, and he felt a rising tension in his body as he regarded her. In profile she looked majestic, almost absurdly so. High cheek bones and a slender neck were offset by a tiny crook in her nose, a deliberate imperfection placed to accentuate the complexity of her beauty.

He stood close behind her, placed his left hand over hers on the window frame. He leaned forward until his nose brushed her hair, had only a second to inhale its scent before her teeth sank into his arm. He grunted and held firm, his fingers curling around hers and squeezing tightly. His brain was at a rush, forming a preemptive justification of temporary insanity. But there was nothing manic or unrestrained about the sure manner in which he dragged the waistband of her underwear over the swell of her buttocks and down to her knees. When he first entered her she made no sound at all, only reached behind her to dig her fingernails into his thigh. The angle was difficult, and only after several slow, laboured, almost painful strokes did Sarah lean forward slightly and arch her back to enable her brother to fully penetrate her. Still Eric moved with deliberate languor, his hand exploring the softness of her bottom as he sank himself deep inside her. Her first utterance was a gentle gasp at finding his fingers had moved between her thighs to carefully tease her. The pungent aroma and subtle sounds of their coupling slowly permeated the library.

Nothing could compare with the ectasy of this moment. He still felt an incongruent anger toward her but it had been displaced and overshadowed by something exquisite and wonderful. His only pain was that he could not kiss her, see her face, hold her delicate body close to his. He was grateful and relieved when she turned and pushed him to the floor. Her hands worked impatiently to remove her knickers and cinch the skirt up around her waist, and in an act as beautiful as it was crude she reached down and seized the base of his shaft then thrust herself down upon him. She took his hands and placed them on her bottom before he could do so himself, and soon her buttocks were softly slapping against his thighs. Eric wanted to see and feel more of her flesh, and sought to unfasten the front of her dress, but there was no easy access and Sarah offered him no help. He vainly tried cupping her covered left breast for a while before returning his hands to her bottom.

The light was dim and he couldn't see her face clearly, but in the shadows her expression looked severe as she rode him with increasing aggression. He reached for her face and was unsurprised when she bit the meat of his hand between thumb and forefinger. With her body perched on his pelvis he sat up as best he could and pressed his mouth roughly to hers. For a moment she seemed to resist, and her teeth grazed his lip once more, but then without warning she let her mouth open and their tongues met. He kissed her with longing and tenderness, holding her bottom tight with both hands and pulling her down hard, trying to fill her and hold her close while she kissed him back with an anguished moan. She allowed this for only a few seconds before planting her hands on his chest and forcing his back to the floor.

Eric lay almost still after that, while Sarah ground her pelvis against him. She built steadily toward climax while Eric held on, his eyes fixed on her face as it twisted into a mask of carnal pleasure. A rising moan marked the beginning of her orgasm, and Eric gently pinched her bottom to remind her not to yell. She thrust herself violently up and down his shaft as she came, her face obscured by the sea of her hair and her nails clawing at his chest. The beauty and eroticism of it pushed Eric past the point of no return, and as Sarah's climax waned he took control and began to drive his pelvis up off the floor. At the final moment he took hold of the back of her neck and pulled her face to his so that he could taste her mouth and share her breath, and felt with absurd joy that a small part of himself was flowing into her.

As the wave of ecstatic affection slowly faded, Eric waited for Sarah to withdraw. He was happy with the thought that he was leaving a trace of himself within her, so that she could not easily forget this moment and how close they had been. It seemed sad to think that way, with the assumption that she would try to be rid of him and the memory as soon as she could. But he did not let it ruin the moment, and held her body against his chest.

She did not immediately rise to leave, which gave him hope, but when she did stand, extricating herself carefully to minimise the mess, she didn't look at him at all. At the door she stopped to straighten her clothes - Eric noticed her knickers still lay beside him on the floor - and then left without turning back. He sat for a moment, unsure what to do, then gathered her underwear and pulled his own pants back up and left the library.

It wasn't until he was back at the dining room table that he knew for sure that Sarah had not returned there herself. He smiled blandly at the guests and gave Audrey a solemn nod. He attacked the conversation with zeal, inserting himself right in the heart of the matter so that anyone later questioned would remember that he had been there all along. Despite his best effort to remain flat he spoke a fraction louder to cover Sarah silently slipping back to her seat. When it was safe to steal a glance he thought her face looked slightly redened.

The remainder of the dinner played itself out blandly, and Eric went with Stephen and Audrey to farewell their guests at the door. Upon their return to the table Sarah was gone, and it was the perfect moment for Audrey to ask Eric what he had talked to his sister about and why he had vanished for two days. By some miracle she didn't. Instead she looked at him with tired eyes and kissed his temple. He couldn't help but feel she surrendered some hope with that kiss.

In his room Eric waited to see what would come. There was no deluge of emotion, only a sad emptiness that deepened as the night wore on. His restlessness presented itself as body heat, and he lay uncovered on his bed wearing only his shorts. It was late enough that the house was asleep, and he crept to the kitchen without dressing to fetch a glass of water. On his return he was taunted by Sarah's door; the witness to his downfall and portal to resolution. The more he stared the more terrible the door became, until we was compelled to push it open by a habit of confronting fears.

Desensitised to the dark by the kitchen lights, he saw nothing inside but a pale glowing window. He walked slowly to her bed, hoping he would not frighten her. The shape of the bedding gradually materialised, and in a bewildering moment he saw that she was not there. While his mind leapt at the possibilities of her escape his hand shook the sheets to confirm, and with enormous surprise he felt a body contained within. "It's me! Just me, Eric!" he said automatically. There was no scream or gasp and no panicked rush of movement, but rather she slowly rolled onto her side to show him her back. Feeling somewhat foolish he realised she had been awake from the start, had probably watched him come in and creep toward her bed.

Though there wasn't room he lay down behind her and put his arm over her waist. She was stiff, and grudgingly moved foward an inch to relieve the pressure on her back. Eric felt the bare soles of her feet against his shin, the faint touch of her bottom on his shorts, and with his hand a thin material covering her stomach. It hadn't occured to him to wonder what she would be wearing, and now he struggled to send his thoughts anywhere else. Minute by minute they shuffled slowly forward until Eric was safely on the bed, but his arm was no less firm about her middle. When time accomplished nothing by itself Eric reached for her hand and held it, and pressed his lips against the hair on the back of her head.

Slowly, slowly, Sarah's body lost its rigidity. She rolled onto her back and let his hand rest on her stomach. At some point deep in the night her face came to rest on his chest by its own accord, her leg draped lazily over his body. Eric was reminded of a shy animal that would only approach a person who held perfectly still. A provisional happines settled on him, and he tried not to squeeze his sister too tightly.