Page 188 of The Armor of Light

‘I know,’ said Jane.

So she had expected him to be alone.

He had almost no experience of women. He had walked out with three different girls in the last few years, but it had come to nothing:he was too obsessed with Jane. Finding himself alone with a married woman, he really had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Well, he knew how to be hospitable: at least he could do that with confidence.

A cooking pot full of soup stood on the sideboard. He put it on the range over the fire to warm. The table was already set with bread, butter and cheese, and a bottle of port wine. He laid a place for her and poured two glasses of port.

Jane said: ‘This is a big house for one person. You should take a mistress.’

She often made risqué remarks. He smiled and said: ‘I don’t want a mistress. I’m not a Methodist for nothing.’

‘I know.’ She shrugged and changed the subject. ‘How is little Kit Clitheroe getting on as your manager?’

‘He’s very good. He understands the machines better than I do, and the hands love him. And he’s not so little any more.’

‘He’s had a nice pay increase.’

‘He’s worth double.’

They chatted amiably for a while, then settled down to eat. When they had finished Jane said: ‘That was just what I needed. Thank you.’

‘If I’d known you were coming I’d have laid on something fancier.’

‘And I wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much. Is there any more wine?’

He was surprised again. He had assumed she would go home now. ‘There’s plenty,’ he said.

‘Oh, good. Shall we go upstairs? It would be more comfortable.’

Jane was in control, as usual. She had more or less invited herself to supper, and now she was going to make herself at home for the evening. It was not how ladies were supposed to behave. But it was all right with Amos.

‘There’s a fire in the drawing room,’ he said.

He carried the bottle and glasses upstairs. He sat on an upholstered sofa and she perched next to him. He continued to feel a mixture of excitement at their sudden intimacy and anxiety about the way they were flouting the rules of respectable behaviour.

Jane took off her shoes – low-heeled, with pointed toes and a silk bow – and tucked her legs up on the sofa, turning to face him with her arm along the back of the seat, as casually as if she were at home. She asked him about his business, and his trip to Combe, and that poor boy who was waiting to be tried at the assize court and might be hanged for stealing a ribbon. As he answered her questions he watched the play of expressions on her face, her eyes widening with surprise or crinkling with amusement, her mouth opening to laugh, her lips pursing in disapproval; and he wished with all his heart that he could look at her like this every night of his life.

She was closer to him than before, although he had not noticed her moving. Her knees were touching his thigh. He thought of that kiss in the woods at the May Fair, and recalled how she had hugged him so hard that he could feel the shape of her body pressing against his.

Her dress was cut low in the front, and when she leaned forward – which she did often, to touch his shoulder or tap his hand, making a point – he could see the roundness of her small breasts inside the bodice of her gown. One time she caught his eye, and she obviously realized what he was looking at.

He blushed hotly.

She said: ‘Women’s clothes are so tantalizing nowadays. I sometimes think I might as well let you see everything.’

The thought made his mouth go dry, but the bottle was empty. How had that happened? He vaguely recalled her topping up his glass and her own.

She changed her position. She did it so quickly that he could not have stopped her even if he had wanted to. Suddenly she was lyingon her back with her head on his thigh. She continued talking as if nothing had happened. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘there’s no commandment against looking. That’s why there are so many paintings and sculptures of naked people. God made us beautiful, then we discovered fig leaves. What a shame. Tell me, what do you think is the most attractive part of me?’

‘Your eyes,’ he said immediately. ‘They’re such a lovely shade of grey.’

‘What a nice compliment.’ She turned her head to look up at him, and her cheek pressed against his penis, which – he suddenly realized – was standing up shamelessly inside his breeches. She gave a little ‘Oh!’ of surprise, then she pressed her lips against it in a kiss.

He was utterly astonished. He almost thought he might be imagining it. This had never happened even in his most explicit dreams. He was frozen with shock.

Then she sprang up. Standing in front of him, she said: ‘I think I have nice legs.’ She lifted her skirts to show him. She was wearing knee-length silk stockings held up with ribbons. ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Aren’t they pretty?’