Web of Dreams by V. C. Andrews
"Tony, what do you want?" I demanded. "Oh Leigh, my Leigh," he whispered. "It's time to bring the painting to life. It's time for me to do what I promised: to show you, to-teach you . . ."
"What do you mean? What do you want? I'm sleeping now. Please, leave," I begged, but he didn't. He sat on the side of my bed. I was afraid to lower my eyes, to follow the lines of his body, for I could sense without looking that he was completely naked.
"You're as beautiful as your mother," he said reaching out to stroke my hair. "More beautiful. Men will seek you everywhere you go, but you are like a precious work of art. You shouldn't be touched and misused by anyone. You're too special; yet you have to know what it means and what can happen. You have to be prepared and be aware. I can do that for you. I'm the only one who should do that for you, for in a way, I have created you."
He brought his hand to my face. I tried to pull back, but I was already against the pillow.
"I have lifted you from the canvas and like Pygmalion, filled you with life and beauty. Everyone who feasts his eyes on the portrait doll feasts his eyes on your beauty, beauty I carved with these very fingers," he said running the tips of his fingers along my jawline and down to my neck.
"Tony, I want you to leave right now. Please, get out of here this moment," I demanded in a shaky voice. I couldn't help it. My heart was thumping and I was swallowing my own breath, gasping for enough air to form words and demands.
He acted as if he didn't hear me. Instead of leaving, he peeled away my blanket, folded it neatly down my body. I reached up to tug it back, but he caught my hand and brought it to his lips.
"Leigh," he moaned. "My portrait doll."
"Tony, get out. What are you doing?"
I raised my head and shoulders and saw that he was indeed completely naked. He slipped in beside me, his hands on my thighs, forcing my nightgown up my body. I wanted to speak and tell him I was almost his daughter, and he shouldn't be here doing these things, but I couldn't catch my breath. He had brought my nightgown over my waist.
I pushed out to keep him away, pressing on his forehead, but he was so strong and determined.
"Tony, what do you think you're doing? Get off me. Please, stop!"
He drove his head down until his lips touched my neck, making a trail all around my throat, savoring the taste and feel of my flesh. I shivered, wanting him to stop, but my small hands and weak arms had no effect on his broad shoulders and chest. He had brought my nightgown up so it was just under my arms. When he pressed his chest against my naked bosom, I could feel his steady heartbeats thumping, making it seem as if I were a part of him. He had his lips to my ear.
"You must experience, understand, be aware," he whispered. "You will know and be prepared. It's my duty, my responsibility, part of the artistic process involved in creating you," he said, convincing himself that what he was doing was right and necessary.
"NO, STOP!"
I tried beating him back by pounding his shoulders and neck with my tiny fists, but it was like flies on a horse's back--just a minor annoyance. I felt his legs slip in between mine. My panic rose. He had slid his hands down and embraced me, holding my arms firmly against my body. His lips moved along my collarbone and dropped between my breasts. I felt the wetness of the tip of his tongue.
"Show you . . . teach you ."
"TONY!"
My body trembled and shuddered, but I could move my hands only a tiny bit because his strong arms were holding me like vises. He pressed forward, driving himself firmly between my legs and then using his thighs to push mine apart.
"You must understand . . . I'm responsible . . please, don't fight me. Let me show you . . teach you . . ."
"STOP," I cried one final time, but it was a futile cry. He forced upon me what should only have been given in love. His thrust was hard and accurate, opening me to him. A hot, searing pain came and went. I felt myself go dizzy and faint. Perhaps I did faint for a few moments. My body was totally at his command; moving as he moved. For a moment I felt detached from it, my head falling back against the pillow, the rest of me beneath him. He was doing what he wanted. In his own mind he was sculpting me in another way.
My cries were as tiny as a doll's cries. I bit down on my lower lip and tried to endure, The heat rose from my legs and stomach in continuous, rhythmic waves, traveling higher and higher until it overwhelmed me. I thought I was sinking into the bed beneath him.
Finally, he loosened his hold around my arms and torso and brought his fingers to my lips and cheeks, following them with his own lips.
"Do you see? Do you feel it and understand the power? Now, I have turned you into a woman," he claimed. "I have completed my greatest work of art, made you into a living portrait doll."
I moaned, swallowing my cries. My cheeks were wet with tears. I kept my eyes shut tight. I felt his lips press down on them softly and then felt him kiss my lips. After a long moment of silence, he lifted himself away. I dared not speak or move for fear he would return. I heard him sigh deeply before I felt his finger trace a line between my breasts and down my stomach. He kept it there for a moment.
Then he murmured, "My portrait doll. Sleep well."
I heard his departing footsteps and opened my eyes just as he passed through my doorway and out. The moment the door closed, my tears burst forth and my shoulders shook. I embraced my naked body and sobbed. Finally, I sat up. I stared through the darkness in disbelief, questioning what had happened. Maybe it was only a nightmare. I wanted to deny it, but my body, still trembling from his kisses and his violation, would not permit me to ignore or pretend.
What would I do? Whom would I run to? Momma was still away. My father was off with his new wife building a business. There were only servants here and little Troy. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, bracing myself against the wall as I went along. I put on the light and gazed at myself in the full-length mirror. My face was streaked with tears and beet red. My neck and shoulders were blotchy from his forced kisses and caresses. The sight of myself this way hammered home what had happened. I grew dizzy again and had to sit down.
I thought about calling Jennifer or Joshua, but I was too ashamed. What would I say? What could either of them do anyway? I had no one but myself. I had to come to my own aid. Finally, after a series of deep breaths, I was able to stand up again. I put out the light and returned to bed. What else could I do? I couldn't go ranting and raving through the halls of Farthy.
I reached for Angel. She looked shocked, saddened. I held her in my arms and pressed her to me, searching for the comfort I needed so desperately. Ironically, the doll Tony created was here to soothe me after the terrible thing he had done. But there was more of myself in this doll than there was of him, I thought. And now she despised him as much as I did.
"Oh Angel, we have only each other. Tony was right about one thing . . we are both portrait dolls."
I closed my eyes and let sleep take me back into its arms and turn me away from this hard and shocking world.
The warm sunlight caressed my face and tugged my eyes open. I blinked rapidly, focusing in on where I was and what had happened in this room the night before. When I sat up, I somehow expected everything to be in disarray, expected the world to be as topsy-turvy as I was; but nothing was changed around me. Everything in the room was as neat and orderly as it had been. The sunlight was beaming cheerfully through my windows. Even Angel looked bright and restored.
Had it all been a nightmare? I looked down at myself as if there would be some evidence. My arms were sore where Tony had clamped them against my body in his viselike grip and my thighs ached, but other than that, there were no telltale scars or marks of his passion. Yet I felt that all the scars were within me. It had been no nightmare.
I rose slowly and sat for a while on my bed, wondering what I would do. I would run off to join Daddy if I knew where he was, I thought; but he could be halfway across the world by now for all I knew. I decided to shower and dress. I didn't want to go do
Besides, I wasn't up and around for more than ten minutes before I heard Troy at my door. He was here to remind me of promises I had made to him the day before, promises concerning things we would do together. I turned my face from him when he spoke, afraid he would see the horror and the terror in my eyes and be frightened by them. But he was too excited about our proposed activities to notice anything.
"You said you would go to the beach with me today, Leigh. Can we go right after breakfast? Can we? Please? We can look for seashells."
"All right," I said. "Just let me shower and dress. Go down and start your breakfast."
"Tony's already downstairs," he said.
"Good?' I thought perhaps Tony would eat and be gone by the time I arrived, so I took my time showering and dressing. It looked like it was going to be a very warm day, so I decided to put on a pair of shorts and a short-sleeve blouse for my walk to the beach with Troy.
Unfortunately, when I arrived at the dining room, Tony was still sitting there reading his Wall Street Journal and sipping coffee. My heart skipped a beat when he lowered the paper to look at me. I gazed at him with as much fury in my eyes as I could muster, but he didn't seem to see it. He smiled brightly.
"Good morning, Leigh. It's going to be a beautiful day. Troy tells me you and he are going for a walk on the beach. I might just come along."
I looked at Troy. He was drilling half a grapefruit with his fork. His nurse reminded him not to play with his food. Without saying a word, I took my seat. The maid poured me my orange juice immediately. I glanced at Tony and saw how he was still smiling and watching me. His hair was neatly brushed and he wore a white and blue short-sleeve shirt and a pair of light blue slacks. He looked so chipper and well rested.
How could he be this way? I thought. Did he think I would just forget what he had done? Did he think by his pretending nothing was wrong and nothing was different, he could get away with it? Surely, he must expect I was going to tell my mother everything. She would want to divorce him and we would leave this place.
But he didn't act the least bit concerned. He folded his paper neatly and sipped his coffee.
"Troy's putting away a good breakfast this morning because he knows he needs energy if he's going to do all the things he plans to do with you today, Leigh," Tony said and winked. "Right, Troy?"
"Uh-huh," he said and chewed vigorously on a chunk of grapefruit.
"I thought perhaps you would like to do some horseback riding today, Leigh. I've already asked Curly to have Stormy and Thunder ready for us after lunch. How's that sound?"
I glanced at Troy's nurse and Troy. Both were occupied with other things and not listening to Tony. Then I glared at him.
"How can you even suggest such a thing?" I demanded through clenched teeth. He shrugged.
"I thought you might like it today. It should be a wonderful day for a ride. I thought you loved horseback riding."
"I do love horseback riding. That's not the point," I snapped.
"Then what is?"
"You expect me to go horseback riding with you after. . . after what happened last night?"
The nurse looked up sharply. Tony's smile faded, but he replaced it quickly with a look of confusion.
"What do you mean? What happened?"
I looked at the nurse. The maid had paused as well and turned a keen ear in our direction.
"I don't want to talk about it now," I said and drank my juice.
Tony sat back in his chair.
"Oh, well," he said. "Perhaps you'll feel better after lunch. If you do, everything will be ready. It can be only a short ride anyway, for me. I had some things turn up at the office this morning, unexpected things, and I have to go into Boston tonight."
"You can go right now for all I care," I said quickly. Tony didn't respond. He shook his head, grimaced, and went back to his paper.
What an act, I thought. Did he really expect to get away with it? I decided not to pursue it at the moment, for Troy's sake as much as my own. He was already rambling on about our walk on the beach and the things he was planning to do with the seashells we would locate together. I had to smile and be happy for him.
Tony finished his coffee and rose.
"I'll see you two out at the beach perhaps," he said. Then he excused himself and left the table. I finished my breakfast and then started out for the beach with Troy before Tony could join us.
Troy's endless happy chatter kept me from thinking dark thoughts, for every time my mind went back to the horrible events of the night before, Troy would ask me a question. He was full of
inquisitiveness this morning and his verbal energy kept me from drifting away.
"What makes the clouds move, Leigh? See," he said pointing. "That big one was over there and now it's over here. Do they have wings?"
"No," I said smiling. "It's the wind that pushes them along."
"Why doesn't the wind blow right through them?"
"I suppose it does sometimes. That's why there are small ones, pieces from bigger ones," I replied and ran my fingers through his soft hair. He swung his little pail as he walked, pounding the soft beach with determined steps.
"If I were up there, would the wind push me, too?"
"If you were light enough to float, it would," I said. "And would it break me into pieces like a cloud?"
"Only if you were made of air. What makes you think of such things?" I asked, wondering what sort of dreams he had. He shrugged.
"Tony says there are places that have winds so strong they lift people off the ground and twirl them about like clouds."
"Oh, Troy," I said, stopping and kneeling to embrace him. "Not here. You're safe here."
"The wind won't blow you away either?" he asked skeptically.
"No. I promise," I said even though in my heart I felt a terrible sort of wind had tossed me about and burst whatever bubble of happiness I had found here.
He smiled and broke free, running toward the water.
"Look! Look at the blue shells!" he cried and began to fill his little pail.
I took a deep breath of the fresh sea air. It seemed to clear my lungs and wash out the anxiety and the heaviness I felt in my body. I looked back to be sure Tony wasn't following us. I didn't see him and assumed he must have realized I wouldn't tolerate him near me. Convinced Troy and I would be left alone, I joined him to sift through the shells and fill his pail with the more beautiful ones.
Tony wasn't at the house when Troy and I returned. When Troy asked after him, Curtis reported that Tony had to go to Boston much earlier than he had anticipated. Curtis said he had left a message for me, however--my horse would be ready if I wanted to ride in the afternoon.
I didn't. I spent the day reading and playing games with Troy in his suite. Just before dinner, I took him for a walk through the gardens. We brought along pieces of old bread and fed the birds at the fountains.
Tony did not return for dinner, which made me happy. And then Curtis came in with news of a telegram my mother had sent announcing she would be returning from her European spa late in the day tomorrow.
Oh, thank Heaven, I thought. I would tell her everything, every little detail, so she would
understand what a horror I had gone through and what a horrible man she had married. I was positive that we would be leaving this place in a matter of days. Tony would pay for what he had done to me. When my mother was angry at a man, she could be a most formidable opponent. I made up my mind that no apologies, no promises, no expensive gifts, nothing would get me to forgive him. I half expected he would come begging me for that forgiveness once he discovered how soon my mother was to return.
As darkness fell, I became more and more anxious. Wherever I was in the great house, I kept an ear toward the front entrance, anticipating Ton
Finally, more out of fear than out of fatigue, I retired to my suite; but the moment I closed the door behind me, I felt trapped and vulnerable. After all, it was here where it had happened, where he had come and where he might come again. Only my mother's bedroom suite had a lock on the door. It was something she had insisted be built in, for she prized her privacy and, I realized now more than ever, her opportunity to be away from her demanding young husband.
An idea came to me. I put on my robe, slipped my feet into my slippers, scooped up Angel, and left my suite. I went directly to my mother's suite, closing and locking the outer door behind me. Not only did I feel safer because of that, but just being in my mother's room, smelling her jasmine scents and seeing her makeup, her clothing and her shoes, gave me a sense of security. I put on one of her nightgowns and dabbed some of her jasmine perfume on my neck. Then I crawled into her bed just the way I used to when I was very little in Boston. Her sheets and pillowcases and her blanket smelled as fresh and clean as she always demanded they be.
"Oh, Momma," I moaned. "I wish you were really here." I set Angel down on the pillow beside me and turned off the lamp on the night table.
The moon was larger tonight, its silvery light brighter and unhampered by passing clouds. A small patch of stars had gathered at the moon's feet and I imagined a kingdom in the sky ruled by a beautiful princess, the moon, who had dozens of handsome suitors always at her beck and call, the stars. Up there, there was always soft, sweet music and there was no cruelty and meanness, no children with parents who despised each other, no men twisted and deceitful and no jealous women and girls looking to harm each other,