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Annie wished she dared confide in Scott, but she was too afraid.
A second later, everyone else crowded in, laughing and talking, glasses in their hands. Someone forced a glass on to her. A party had begun on stage for all the important members of the audience. Annie didn’t want to go to it, but was dragged there once she had changed out of her costume.
Her mother found her way back-stage; she was over the moon, hugging Annie and half-crying.
‘It was wonderful. Wonderful.’
Before Annie had a chance to ask her where Johnny was, Roger Keats grabbed her. She looked up at him, starting to shake again.
‘Don’t hide away, little Alice,’ he said in that soft voice which was a veiled threat. ‘Important people want to meet you.’
Her mother shifted, and he glanced at her, his shrewd eyes narrowing. ‘Ah. Is this your mother?’ Immediately he oozed charm, pressed her hand, said, ‘Yes, I can see the likeness. You’ve got a talented daughter, Mrs Lang.’ He had his arm round Annie’s waist, wouldn’t let her wriggle away. She could feel his fingertips brushing the underside of her breast. ‘I’m looking forward to exploring the extent of her talent, and I’m sure I’m going to be well rewarded. I have a lot of ideas for her. So long as she is ready to learn, it will be a pleasure to teach her everything I know.’
Trudie glowed.
‘Now, will you excuse me for a moment while I take Annie to meet some people?’
Annie felt as if she was hallucinating. The bright lights, the familiar, starry faces, dazzled her but it was all unreal.
‘And this is Derek Fenn – one of the great Hamlets of our time.’
Annie had heard of the man, but not as a stage actor – wasn’t he in TV? She managed a smile and stood there while the man said something polite, then Roger wafted her on to someone else. To her relief a few minutes afterwards the important guests began to leave and Roger darted off to say goodbye to them.
Annie hurried to find her mother. ‘Why didn’t Johnny come to the party?’
‘He wasn’t allowed back-stage. Mr Keats said it was parents only.’
Swallowing, Annie said, ‘Let’s go, Mother. I’m so tired.’
She couldn’t wait to hear what Johnny had thought of her performance, but although he was waiting when they got home, her mother pushed her straight upstairs to bed, and Johnny only managed to whisper, ‘You made me cry.’
Next day he said a great deal more, but none of it meant as much to her as that first husky whisper.
After the play she had three days off, and she and Johnny spent most of it together at his grandmother’s house. They were still just kissing, holding each other, touching each other with exploring hands without undressing, but the heat between them kept growing. She knew it would end in making love and she wasn’t scared, the way she was when Roger Keats looked at her; with Johnny she burned to be touched.
One bright, cold day in December, Johnny pushed up her T-shirt and buried his face in her warm breasts, groaning, ‘I need you, Annie, I need you … you’re all I’ve got in the world now. I love you.’
She held his head, feeling her insides cave in, a strange satisfied sensation as if he was a baby at her breast, his mouth sucking at her, taking life from her. ‘Darling. Darling,’ she whispered, rocking him on her body.
He pushed her knees apart and slid down between them, moving on top of her, gasping as their bodies rubbed together.
Hands trembling, they undressed each other. He was pale and tense, she was so shy she couldn’t look at him, and afraid this was going to hurt. It did; when his hard flesh pushed at her she arched in pain, crying out, and Johnny stopped at once, looked anxiously at her.
‘Did I hurt you?’
She looked into his beautiful, worried eyes and loved him so desperately she would have died for him. She tightened her arms around him and pushed him down again, opening her thighs wider, lifting her buttocks off the carpet to make it easier for him. ‘Go on, darling, go on.’
As he finally f
orced himself inside her the pain was intense but she didn’t cry out this time. She let the waves of pain wash through her with each thrust until pain became pleasure, she was gasping and arching to meet it.
Afterwards Johnny lay on top of her, breathing thickly, almost sobbing.
‘We belong to each other now,’ he said. ‘Forever. Don’t we?’
She went on holding him, her cheek pushed against his. ‘Forever,’ she echoed.
After that they made love every time they went to the house, slowly undressed each other, caressing, exploring each other’s bodies with curiosity and pleasure, before making love by firelight, their pale, naked bodies dappled with moving shadow, while the old trees scraped and scratched at the windows as if wanting to get at them.
