The Viscounts Daughter

"I have brought you the hair-dryer, Lady Andrea." She plugged it in and waved it around as it got to temperature. "I'll do this; it's easier than trying to do it yourself." She proceeded to brush and dry my hair. I was somewhat bemused. She had called me Lady Andrea. Where had that come from I asked myself. Did Richard mention my family? I doubted it, but I asked the question. "As Mr. Leigh been talking out of turn?"

Mrs. Warren looked flustered. "No My Lady. You mentioned your name and I realized that I had seen a picture of you in Tatler. I hope I haven't offended you?"

"No, of course not, Mrs. Warren. Incidentally, I should not be addressed as Lady Andrea, nor My Lady. Officially, I am the Honourable Andrea Seddon. I usually ask people not to bother, just call me Andrea."

"I have got into the habit of addressing all ladies who come here as Madam. I am sorry but that is the way of it."

The warmth of the hair-dryer and having my hair brushed was too much a pleasant feeling for me to argue. "How long have you known Mr. Leigh?" Mrs. Warren enquired.

I smiled. I knew what this was about. "We grew up in the same village, Broughley." Not quite exact, but sufficient for her to think Richard and I were re-uniting an old passion. "He was Richard Carter then, before his rise to stardom."

"I have seen a few of his films. I have to confess I get some tingles watching him."

"I know what you mean, Mrs. Warren."

Mrs. Warren was quiet for a moment or two. Then she cleared her throat. "Where are you staying, if I may ask?"

"At the Yealm View Hotel. Why?"

"Well as you are an old friend of Mr. Leigh, I thought you may wish to stay here."

I turned round to face her. "Is that possible?"

Mrs. Warren nodded. "Yes, of course. I can phone Molly Anderson. She will pack your bags and Mr. Warren and I will go up and fetch them. I presume you have a car there, Mr. Warren will drive it back here."

"I should ask Richard before I say yes."

"You don't think for a moment that he would argue?" She laughed.

Mrs. Warren had pressed my dress nicely and wearing that over my dry bikini I found Richard where he sat on the terrace. Mr. Warren followed me out and as soon as I was sitting asked if I would like a drink. He suggested a Pimms as the perfect drink for an aperitif before lunch. I thanked him and within a couple of minutes the Pimms arrived, dressed with a veritable fruit garden. I found the straw and sipped. "Perfect, Mr. Warren."

"You're welcome Lady Andrea."

I wasn't going to go through the niceties of etiquette again so I ignored his erroneous address. Mr. Warren discreetly left and I could then pose the question of staying to Richard. "Rich. Mrs. Warren has suggested that I could stay here until I have to return to London on Saturday. Would that be possible?"

"Would you like to stay here?" He asked.

"Would you like me to stay here?".

He smiled. "Without a doubt."

"Then I will stay. Will we sleep together?" I had little experience of sleeping with someone, Charles, apart from our honeymoon always slept in his own room. I thought sleeping with Rich would be interesting.

"I would like to."

I picked up my shoulder bag and searched for my purse. Having found it I slipped off my wedding ring and placed in the purse. "I will put my ring back on Saturday, but for these few days I am not a married woman, I am a woman on holiday with a very, very good friend."

"Or possibly a woman on holiday with her lover?"

"A very, very good friend and lover. Yes."

Anticipation is a peculiar sensation. We knew we would be making love later and that thought piqued my imagination for the rest of the day; yet it wasn't in the forefront of my mind. We lunched well, Pate, Salad and lovely fresh rolls complimented by a crisp sparkling white wine cooled to perfection. The afternoon passed by languorously, as we talked of many things. Neither of us mentioned my husband, maintaining the pretence that I was not a wife and that we were two friends re-united after many years.

Rich asked me a surprising question. Why was my father just Viscount Seddon and not Viscount Seddon of Broughley? "That goes back to the first Viscount." I replied. "It was Queen Victoria who made him a Viscount. In previous centuries being ennobled like that also came with a grant of land to give the recipient an income. If Victoria had made a grant of land then the Viscounts would be known as Viscount Seddon of Broughley. However there was no grant of land. Victoria didn't like giving away Crown land. My great grandfather bought the estates at Broughley privately so the land is owned by the family and doesn't go with the title."

"So you will become Viscountess Seddon in time?" Richard suggested.

"No. A female cannot inherit the title. The only female who can inherit a title is in the Royal family."

Richard was astounded. "That's ridiculous!"

I agreed with him. "Actually it should be illegal under the acts banning sexual discrimination, except that inherited titles were exempted. I believe there are moves to correct that now, but I doubt it is a priority."

"The title will die with your father, then."

"No. It will go to the nearest male relative, which in this case is my cousin, Roger. If I give birth to a male child at some point then Roger is out and my son is in."

We talked less as the afternoon moved on, our conversation seemingly fading, as did the sun in the west. Even so it was pleasant to sit close to each other. I found his physical presence somewhat comforting. At one point Mrs. Warren came out and told me that she had brought all my clothes down from the Yealm View Hotel.

"I have hung them in the wardrobe; it's a good job that Mr. Leigh doesn't take up much room." Evidentially she believed that we would share the room. "You will need to see Mrs. Anderson before you go and sign your card receipt. I suggested that she charge you for the five nights and for dinners. It keeps everything straight." I gave her a look of thanks. Mrs. Warren was a born conspirator. Charles goes through every charge slip so it would appear as if I had stayed at the hotel for the week. She smiled. "Will you want anything more to eat this evening?" I looked at Rich who shook his head, so I spoke for both of us. "No thank you Mrs. Warren."

"Right. I'll bring a small bowl of fruit for you, just in case you get a little peckish." The bowl of fruit when it came was piled with apples, pears, peaches, nectarines and grapes. She also brought small bowls of the same fruits diced and swimming in their own juices. Mr. Warren brought an ice bucket with a crisp chardonnay. They didn't say anything but I viewed the fruits and drink as the foods of love. Rich raised his eyebrows and smiled. When they had gone he murmured. "Do you think they are suggesting something?"

"We ought not to disappoint them." I remarked.

"Exactly what I was thinking."

I was taken to paradise that night. Rich lavished me with his attention. He entered the bathroom as I soaked in hot scented water. He found the sponge and the perfumed soap I used and washed me everywhere rinsing me off with cascades of water from the sponge. He helped me out of the bath and dried me tenderly; not rubbing but patting with the soft towel until I was dry everywhere. Then he found my body cream and gently anointed me everywhere caressing the cream gently to be absorbed by my skin.

All this attention had brought me to a state of quivering eagerness. He picked me up and carried me to his bed, gently settling me on the cool sheets. He slipped off his shorts and joined me. "This is all about you." He murmured as he kissed me tenderly. His kisses felt like brands, wherever his lips touched me I felt the heat of his kisses even after his lips had moved elsewhere on my body. He explored me with his lips and tongue as I explored these wonderful touches and sensations, all new to me. He hovered over my breasts. I had always been sensitive about them, as I believed they were too small, I mean 34A is small, isn't it? I said something about being sorry that they were not bigger. "They are perfect." He told me softly. "Completely and utterly beautiful."

He nipped slowly around the base tracing the crease where my breasts lay on my chest and then moved to my nipples. If my breasts were small my nipples could be prominent, when cold they would become two hard points almost two centimetres long. They were in that state now, but it wasn't the cold that had brought that about. Rich licked and softly nipped them with his lips then he took one into his mouth and sucked strongly. I screamed with the sheer pleasure.

He continued his journey of exploration down and around my body. This was all so new to me and I hung with bated breath for another, even more intense pleasure. When he spread my legs and began feasting on the fount of my womanhood I lost it completely, screaming and bucking, as I no longer had any control. Then I blacked out. I came to in Rich's arms; he was caressing me and murmuring softly in my ear. I had tears in my eyes at that point. I wept tears of joy for where he had taken me and tears of regret that I had never been there before and that after these few days would probably never go there again.

Rich was conscious of my senses and let me relax from that incredible high. Then his kisses became demanding. We were two minds running in parallel. I knew what he wanted and I wanted the same thing. I wanted him inside me. There was an emptiness that needed filling. Without thought my legs spread and my hands urged his hips to the position where he could penetrate me. I told him in the most basic of English terms what I wanted, he responded and yet another scream was dragged from my throat as he slowly filled me, every moment, his every movement brought rapture. I actually felt this time the moment when my senses were overloaded and my body shut down.

I awoke as I had slept, curled against Rich's side, my head in the valley between his shoulder and chest and his arm around me, clasping me. The rattling of cups reminded me of where I was. I put on a robe, opened the patio door and wandered out to meet the day, the scent of coffee urging me onwards. Mrs. Warren was pouring a cup as I sat down under the umbrella. She looked at me with a smile on her face. "There is a look about you, Lady Andrea. The look of a woman well-loved."

I blushed and then remembered my screaming. "I hope we didn't keep you awake last night."

"Mr. Warren is as deaf as a post once he had taken his hearing aids out. He would sleep through an earthquake. All I heard was a woman who was taken to paradise, and I was happy for her." She paused for a moment then asked tentatively. "Do you think you and Mr. Leigh will be together after this week?"

I shook my head. "No. No matter how much I would like to I cannot abandon my other life."

"That's a shame, Madam. You and Mr. Leigh seem to be right for each other." She started to walk away, and then turned. "Enjoy what you can while you can. There will never be any word from anyone to suggest you were here."

I smiled. "Thank you Mrs. Warren."

The days sped past so quickly. Days of laughter and brilliant conversation and nights of ecstasy. Without warning Friday night came with the spectre of my leaving the next day. Rich made love to me so beautifully that night. He was feeling, as I was the poignancy of the following morning.

I replaced my wedding ring at eight o' clock on Saturday morning. Rich and I had clasped each other and our kiss was deep and soulful. I recognized his misery because I was in that black state myself. He went to kiss me again. I put my hand up against his chest. "No, Rich. This is difficult enough without you reminding me of how wonderful these few days have been. If we meet by chance in the future I will have to ignore you, although my heart will be crying. Don't be offended, please. If we were to talk I would almost certainly give away my feelings for you. I have to return to my life and you to yours. I will think of you every day and wish things were different."

He glumly agreed. "Andrea, I will never forget you. I understand your position; all I can say is that should you ever change that position, I will be there for you."

I tried so hard not to weep as I drove back to my life, but to no avail. The tears came the moment I turned out of the drive to the cottage and continued until I had no more tears to shed. I was on the motorway by that time and my life in London and Charles was only two hours away.

Charles arrived home on Sunday. He spent the day telling me how successful his trip had been and how as a result he would be in line for a very, very large payout. It was as an afterthought that he asked me if I had enjoyed my time.

"Yes, I did, Charles. It was really good to see daddy and spend time with him, then later I went down to South Devon, staying in a place where we had a holiday when I was eight years old."

"Good." He replied. "I will have a lot of work to do over the next few weeks, picking up on stuff that I know they will have neglected whist I was away." So much for my news!

I was in bed later when I heard a knock on my door. "Come in Charles."

He came in gesturing to the bed. "May I?"

"Of course, Charles. That would be nice." Knowing that he would visit me I had prepared by using some lubricant. He lifted the covers and slipped in beside me. Ten minutes later he groaned.

When he had recovered his breath he kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, my dear. I must get a good nights' sleep, so much to do in the office tomorrow." He got out and put his robe on. "Sleep well, my dear." Then he was gone.

I tried so hard not to compare Charles' efforts to the wonderful loving that Rich had given me. I really did try, but I couldn't stop those images coming to my mind. I wept once again.

Two months later I knew I was pregnant.

CHAPTER 4 - RICHARD

I watched Andrea drive away with a heavy heart. There was no denying that she had affected me. I thought I was a whisker of falling in love with her! It was pointless, as she could never know. Telling her could have placed her in an invidious position. Her parting comments told me that she had feelings for me, but could not declare them. Bringing it out into the open it would make it fact, not speaking of it could allow the pretence that it wasn't so. I felt guilty. I should not have allowed her to stay, now she would have to take up my profession, that of actor. She would be acting twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but unlike me, she would not be paid nor would she have time away from the stage. Would that we could go back six days and change everything. Yet if we could do that, I would not experience the wonder of making love to this beautiful, challenging, funny and interesting woman.

The telephone rescued me from introspection. It was John Lilman. "Richard, it's back to Elstree for you. We restart shooting on Monday."

Without Denniman, the film moved quickly and easily. I had read the whole script and understood the message. Our scenes are not necessarily shot in sequence. Scenes that require the same set are shot together. There is the dichotomy of possibly shooting the first scene and the last scene back to back. However, as the scenes are shot the story came together gradually and we moved quickly to having the whole thing in the can. The actors were released and the unedited film was handed over to the director and the editor to turn it into something that we hoped the public would enjoy. We had taken six weeks and I was considering a week or two without work when John Lilman asked me to come and see him. "Richard, have you read the script I sent you?" He asked without greeting.

"Yes. Mr. Lilman. I have."

"And?"

"Do you really want me to do another film in uniform? I have only just finished this one."

"Ah but Richard. You look so good in uniform." He grinned. Gossip suggested that Lilman was homosexual. I ignored his comment.

"I have read the script and it is very good. What part do you see me in?"

"I'm promoting you from lieutenant to captain for this one."

That was a surprise. The captain was one of the two main characters sharing most of the dialogue with a German officer. This was good for me. "Ok, John, what are you going to pay me? Don't mess around else I shall have to get my agent to negotiate for me." He named a figure; I looked dubious. He then offered a percentage of two points of the box-office receipts. That could be good if the film did well. "I shall want royalties if you sell it to television and of course repeats."

"Same two percent." He said." I stuck out my hand.

"Deal. Now I have to go and tell my agent, who will tear his hair out, ripping into me for negotiating my own deal. He would suggest that he could get a better deal."

"No he wouldn't, Richard. I've already spoken to him."

That took care of the next six months. Within three weeks, I flew out to Algeria to join the crew. The story was actually set in Libya, but that country was deemed too unsettled and the production team felt that they had found the right kind of desert in Algeria. As John had mentioned this was a multi-national production with finance coming from The U.K., Germany, and India. Reflecting the financing, the cast was also multi-national with British, Germans, Italians, Australians and South Africans.

As there was no U.S finance, there were no American actors involved. The producers understood for that reason they had little chance of selling the film in North America. However, the intended market was Europe. The moral of the screenplay was that when Europeans stop fighting each other and start working together they live better. I am an actor, not a politician so my thoughts on that have no bearing. I did, however get on very well with one of the German cast, Helmut Scheer. He played the part of a Wehrmacht officer. In a nutshell, he was leading a small detachment on reconnaissance and they had become trapped in quicksand, which I understand was always a threat in the desert war.

I led a similar patrol and came upon them. They outgunned us, but we had mobility, which they didn't. We couldn't take them prisoner because of the risk of becoming bemired as they were, and they could not take us prisoner, as they couldn't go anywhere. After threats made and ignored by and from both sides common sense took over. The Brits helped the Germans out of the quicksand and after shaking hands and bemoaning the fact that we had to fight against each other we all went on our way.

This was a film that could not have been made even twenty years ago, as it showed the Germans in a human light. The days of depicting the Germans as unfeeling monsters were done. We had a few days charging around the desert. I with my squad in a M3 half-track, and Helmut and his squad in a Hanomag the German equivalent of the M3. It was great fun with a purpose giving the director and editor plenty of footage for background. Helmut and I talked quite a lot in the inevitable breaks in shooting when the light wasn't quite right despite the battery of lights the crew had brought, or when the Berbers, the local inhabitants, came along to watch what was going on and would get into camera shot. They were persuaded to leave with a gift of money, thereby ensuring that they would be there the next day for more money.

The Berbers also had a very good business by finding items before they were actually lost. They would come into the camp with them and leave with even more money. Whilst this inevitable delay was going on Helmut and I would sit in the shade of the canteen and drink coffee.

His command of English was superb. I asked him about that. "It's simple. If a German or anyone who speaks a minority language wants to get on in the world they have to learn English." He replied. "English is spoken the world over. You speak it, the Australians speak it, and the Indians speak it. It is the first foreign language the Chinese learn, it is even rumoured that the Americans speak it." He grinned. A German with a sense of humour! "There are thousands of films made every year; sixty percent of them will be made with English the predominant language. I include Bollywood films, as there are many languages and dialects in India so English is the catchall language. I want to get on in this business so perforce I have to speak English."