That stung my pride a bit, but it was true. My quim was swimming and my palms tingled with adrenalin. I could hardly wait to have it off with him. I prayed his game would be a short one. Knowing Sean, though, I expected he'd torture us both as long as he could.
In the privacy of the bathroom, I unzipped the suit bag. My eyes rounded. It held a Catholic schoolgirl's outfit: a prim white blouse, a pleated navy skirt and twinset, and short white socks with lacy hems. Everything, down to the utilitarian cotton bra, was my size. He hadn't bought these things for some nameless playmate. He'd bought them for me.
I didn't know whether to be flattered or amused. In any case, I wasn't too amused to dampen the virginal white panties as soon as I pulled them on.
All dressed and buttoned and tucked, I knocked on his closed bedroom door. After a moment, during which papers rustled, he told me to come in. His voice sounded strange - crisper than usual, but also kinder. Come in, Kathryn, he'd said, the way a teacher would.
A tiny shiver chilled the back of my neck. I opened the door. Sean sat behind his desk, flipping through a fat manila folder. He'd made good use of my absence. Not only had he turned the desk away from the wall, but a picture of a saint hung where his print of Edvard Munch's The Scream used to be.
'Close the door behind you,' he said in that same soft-spoken manner. He rose slightly to scoot his chair back from the desk.
That's when I saw he was wearing a cassock and dog collar. Though I wasn't Catholic, the costume took me aback. Scenes from The Thorn Birds raced through my mind.
Sean made a very sexy priest.
He folded his hands on top of the open folder. Frown- ] ing gently, he shook his head at me. 'I've been receiving some disturbing reports about you, Kathryn, very disturbing,’
The words, the tone and manner in which they were spoken, had a strange effect on me. I put out a hand to catch the balance I'd unaccountably lost. I knew he'd attended boarding school, and - without being told - I knew that, once upon a time, someone must have spoken to him just like this.
I touched my soft navy twinset and studied the scuffs on my trainers. For a second I smelled blackboard chalk. I knew just who I was supposed to be: a misbehaving schoolgirl, a bit of a smart alec, but far from fearless -and normally a pet of the good father. He was a favourite of mine, too. Despite my rebellious nature, I didn't like disappointing him. 'How old are you now, Kathryn?' I thought for a moment. 'Sixteen.' 'Sixteen,' he repeated. Was it my imagination, or did his eyes linger on my breasts? 'I'd expect such behaviour from an ordinary sixteen-year-old, but not from a Saint Demeter's girl.'
Sweat prickled between my shoulder blades at his sad reproof. Oh, if only I'd been good. My mouth was dry. I bobbed in a curtsey I'd only seen on TV. The pleated skirt tickled my knees. 'I'm sure I can explain, Father.'
‘I don't see how. Sister Mary Francis says you've been inciting the other girls to lustful thoughts.'
My good intentions dissolved. 'Sister Mary Francis is a jealous hag!'
My passionate outburst inspired a smile that threatened, but did not destroy, the sober set of his mouth. Regretting the slip perhaps, he assumed a more lawyerly demeanor. 'Did you or did you not instruct both Ellen and Beth in onanistic practices?'
I stared blankly at him. He pursed his full, sensual lips. Not for the first time, I imagined how he'd kiss. Ellen and Beth said he wouldn't ever. He was a good priest, not the sort who caused a scandal and got sent to the back of beyond. That might be true, but it didn't explain the things I felt when he met my gaze in lectures, as if a current were surging between our deepest parts. In my daydreams, I told him the secret things I wanted, things I'd never heard of anyone wanting. He always understood. He was still young, he'd say. It was hard i give everything over to God. In my fantasies, he was afraid to touch me but once he started he couldn't stop. He made me his secret lover. I wasn't certain what that involved, but I knew I wanted it.
'Kate?' His frown deepened as if he sensed my thoughts. 'Did you teach your friends to pleasure themselves? Did you, in fact, crawl into their beds after lights-out and put your hands on their private parts?'
I hung my head. 'Yes, Father, but it was only to keep them from trying it with boys.'
His palms smacked the surface of his desk. My hand flew to my chest. The anger that darkened his handsome features seemed entirely real. 'Do not compound your sin by quibbling,' he shouted. 'And where on earth did you learn such a filthy habit, anyway?'
'From you, Father,’1 said, without pausing to think.
He goggled at me. 'How dare you even suggest -'