(2011) Only the Innocent (18 page)

‘Darling, I’m sure everything that you’ve organised will be absolutely perfect. And I can’t wait to explore the house and make plans. It’ll be great fun, you’ll see.’ I thought if I repeated the ‘fun’ bit, it would generate some enthusiasm. It didn’t.

Then I noticed my parents in the doorway. They’d still not been properly introduced to Hugo, so I turned to them and tried desperately to make up some of the lost ground.

‘Mum, Dad, come in. We’re just talking about this fabulous house. Isn’t it going to be a great family home? I’m just so lucky!’

I could see from my mum’s face that her thoughts were pretty much the same as mine. I carried on relentlessly, ignoring the look of shock on her face.

‘We need to find some time for you to chat with Hugo and get to know him properly. Perhaps between dinner and the dancing later? What do you think, Hugo?’

Hugo wasn’t about to show his best side to my parents, and he came across as a bit pompous, I’m sorry to say. Not an auspicious start to their relationship.

‘Certainly I’d be happy to spend some time with your parents, Laura. After the wedding
breakfast
, as you suggest. There will be no dancing, though. It’s less than a year since my mother died in this house, and a dance would be inappropriate under the circumstances.’

I was a bit disappointed by this because I love dancing, and was sure I’d mentioned it when we’d talked about the wedding plans. But I suppose it did make sense. Clearly a year of mourning is considered mandatory.

Anyway,
breakfast
was absolutely exquisite, and the Long Gallery looked so beautiful with all the flowers that I completely forgot about the hideousness of the hallway. All I could think was that Hugo had done this for me.

The day ended all too quickly, with everybody politely taking their leave at the end of dinner. I had hoped that you would stay on a bit, but I think Hugo made it pretty clear that this wasn’t what was expected. You and Will were the last to leave, and when you disappeared to find your bag, Will gave me one of his wonderful bear hugs.

He hasn’t had much time to get to know Hugo, so he made a suggestion.

‘We’ll get together soon, shall we? Perhaps when you get back from honeymoon?’

‘I’m sure we’ll work something out. We’ll let you know.’

I know Hugo’s response sounded a bit dismissive - like the end of a job interview - but I’m sure he didn’t mean it to seem like that. Anyway, that’s when you crept up behind me and whispered that you think he’s gorgeous (I’m so pleased that you do) - then telling me to “get down and dirty”.

I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. I’m glad I finally managed to pluck up the courage to tell you about our vow of chastity yesterday morning. A strange thing to divulge just as you were tweaking my veil into place, I know, and I think I painted it in a more positive light than it felt to me - but still, I was glad I’d told you.

As you both left, I grabbed Hugo’s arm, and told him how happy I was, and how he’d made everything so amazing. But he turned cold on me.

‘I wasn’t particularly impressed with the whispering with Imogen. It’s impolite. I’m not sure she’s a good influence on you, Laura. And I thought your display of affection with your brother was a little excessive.’

Before I was able to respond, I heard a quiet cough behind us. It was Alexa’s nanny, Hannah. I can’t warm to her. She looks sly - like a female Uriah Heep. And she looks at Hugo as if he’s God Almighty.

‘I’ll go to my room now, Sir Hugo. Alexa’s bathed and ready for bed. She’s in the kitchen.’

Much as I love Alexa, I wasn’t expecting this. I thought Hannah had taken her home ages ago. Hugo explained, and he did have the grace to apologise for not mentioning it. Apparently Annabel - his ex-wife (and already getting up my nose) - said Alexa couldn’t come to the wedding if it was just for the day. She wasn’t organising her life around Hugo, etc, etc, so Alexa had to stay the night. Our honeymoon had to be delayed by a day. But that didn’t matter. I thought it was probably a good thing, because if we’d left at the end of the reception, I’d have had to get changed, then we’d have to travel - and we’d probably be a bit tired for our first night. That’s what I
thought
anyway.

‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘She’ll soon be asleep. I’m dying to see our room. Shall we take her up and then I’ll get out of this dress while you put her to bed?’ I was trying to be provocative. It didn’t seem to have a lot of impact, though.

Hugo looked at me. ‘I’ll go and get Alexa, and then I’ll show you upstairs. I won’t be a moment.’

When he came back carrying Alexa, he didn’t speak to me again - probably concerned about waking his little girl - and he started to walk up the elegant staircase. I picked up the long skirt of my wedding dress and followed him, trying not to shudder as I passed some of the hideous stuffed animals.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Hugo stopped.

‘Wait here a minute, Laura. I’m just going to put Alexa to bed.’

He disappeared through some large double doors. I looked around as I waited. Dark and gloomy portraits covered the walls. To me, everything about this part of the house speaks of death. I did wonder what the downstairs would look like when all the wedding finery was stripped away, but I didn’t have much time to think, because Hugo was back in moments.

‘This way,’ was all he said. I reached out and grabbed his hand and held onto it tightly as he walked further down the corridor. He gently removed his hand, but lightly held my elbow.

At the third door, he stopped.

‘This is your room, Laura. I hope you like it.’

I looked into the room. I could see that it had been newly decorated with lavender sprigged wallpaper, a pale apple green carpet and some pretty soft furnishings, including a cream coloured chaise longue - something I’ve always wanted. Through an open door I could just glimpse what appeared to be a modern tiled bathroom. But all this was meaningless, as the impact of Hugo’s words hit me. I felt a hard ball of something in my chest, as if I was going to choke.

‘What do you mean, Hugo? Don’t you mean
our
room?’ although it was clear to me that this was not, and never had been, a man’s room.

‘I prefer it if we have separate rooms, Laura. I find the idea of sleeping throughout the night with another person rather distasteful, and certainly I don’t believe that sharing a bathroom is conducive to a happy and active married relationship.’

For the first time that day, my optimism failed me. The ball in my chest grew and grew. It was pressing against my ribs, up through my throat, and tears were stinging the back of my eyes. I had to respond, and for once, I let him know exactly what I thought.

‘Well, for your information,
Sir Hugo
, I personally think that sharing a bed is a very important part of a close and intimate relationship. I will happily give you your privacy in the bathroom, but I
do
want us to share a bed.’

‘We will share a bed for part of some nights, of course. You will have noticed that this is the third door along the corridor. Between our rooms is a bedroom that we can share when appropriate.’

‘And who, exactly, decides when it
is
appropriate? What happens if I want to make love in the morning? Do I have to come and knock on your door and ask you if you will move to the ‘sex room’, as that’s what it appears to be?’

‘Don’t be childish, Laura. It’s been a busy and tiring day for both of us, and I have decided that tonight is
not
an appropriate occasion. Anyway, we have Alexa to think of.’

‘And where, exactly, does Alexa sleep?’

‘She won’t disturb you. I will take care of her if she has a bad night after all the excitement. This of all nights, she needs to feel secure. I suggest that you get some sleep. Tomorrow we leave on our honeymoon. And then we
will
be alone.’

And then he left. Just like that. Not even a goodnight kiss.

He was clearly angry with me about something - but I’ve no idea what. Perhaps because I was a bit disparaging about the house? Perhaps because you and I were whispering? I really don’t know. But whatever it was, I felt completely
bereft
. It’s not a word that I would commonly use, but now I know exactly what it means.

I think I was stunned. Too stunned to do anything at all. I didn’t know whether to storm down to his room and demand that he join me in my bed, or to pack up and walk out of the house. But I did nothing.

I’d waited so long, and so patiently, for this night. But actually the incredible disappointment of a failed wedding night paled into insignificance when compared to the long term implication of Hugo’s words. Not to sleep together? Not to share a bed, night after night, listening to the sounds of each other in sleep, and feeling the warmth emanating from each other’s bodies. Not to be able to turn over and reach for my husband, when I can’t sleep, or if I’ve had a bad dream, or if I’ve just got stomach pains and need a warm and comforting hand to soothe the ache away.

I hadn’t realised that tears were streaming down my face until I saw the telltale water marks on my beautiful wedding dress. I looked in the full length mirror, and saw a sight that should never be seen. A beautiful bride looking totally and completely desolate.

Slowly, I unfastened my wedding dress and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. Ripping it to shreds might vent my frustration now, but I knew I would ultimately regret it.

I decided I would get ready for bed, and perhaps Hugo would realise how cruel he’d been and come to me later. But the luxurious oils and lotions that I’d bought with such anticipation sat unopened in my bag. I knew that their delicious perfume would just intensify the sadness. I crawled under my bedclothes, dragged my knees up as high as they would go and rolled myself into the tightest ball, trying to hold the pain inside. And I waited.

*

And so I woke up this morning alone. I had slept a bit - I think exhaustion kicked in. But the ball of sadness was still lying heavily in my chest.

I knew that my next move would be crucial. I so want this marriage to work. I had to think what would be the most likely approach to succeed. My natural inclination would be to argue the toss. Tell him what I want. Make him consider my point of view.

Maybe that’s a bit of a joke. Why is it that it’s taken a crisis to make me see what’s been staring me in the face for months? Has Hugo
ever
considered my point of view? Has it
ever
occurred to him for a single moment that he could be wrong?

Everything he does, he appears to do
for me
. But is that just so he can remain in control? Or is he the generous, thoughtful person he has always appeared to be, constantly trying to make my life easier? He comes with me to buy clothes - he says he knows the best places, and he is footing the bill. He always chooses meals in restaurants, because he says he knows what each particular restaurant does best. He even organised the wedding - as his special gift to me.

Now, I really don’t know. What is he? Control freak (as, if I remember correctly, my mother once suggested) or kind, considerate, thoughtful man? My mind was spinning in circles, and I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. I couldn’t help a despairing outburst.

‘Oh God. What a bloody awful mess.’

A small sound alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone.

‘Are you all right, Laura? Who are you talking to?’

When I moved my hands, I looked straight into the lovely, concerned face of Alexa. Dressed entirely in various shades of her favourite pink, the choice of clothes - no doubt her own - made me blink a little. But nothing could detract from the beauty of this child.

‘Daddy sent me to find you. He says it’s time you were up. Are you all right?’ she repeated.

Struggling to prevent tears spilling from my eyes, I nodded.

‘Would you like a cuddle? Daddy says a cuddle always helps, and he loves my cuddles.’

I held out my arms and hugged Alexa’s little body, wishing with all my heart that Hugo had offered me a cuddle. Just that would have been something.

‘Thank you, Alexa. I needed that,’ I said, gently releasing her. ‘Tell Daddy I’m going to have a shower, and I’ll be about half an hour. Can you remember that?’

Alexa gave me a slightly scornful look, as if messages of any complexity would be easy for her. Then she leant towards me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Laura. I like you.’ She smiled, and skipped happily from the room.

Now Alexa was adding to the confusion. I made myself to get up from the bed, and went and stood under the hottest shower I could stand. I had to rationalise this situation. Hugo and I are very, very different. We were brought up with different values, and perhaps sleeping in separate rooms is the norm for people in his world.

I mustn’t continue to think that my husband has made every decision with only himself in mind. I have to recognise his generosity and thoughtfulness for what it undoubtedly is.

I’ve over-reacted. Yes, it’s true that things are not the way I had envisaged. So now I have to change that. I have to make him realise that he can’t sleep without me. But he won’t be bludgeoned into it. The only way with Hugo is to appear compliant. Arguing will not help. I have to find different ways of making him realise what he’s missing.

*

So here I am now at the end of the first day of my marriage, in theory having a rest before our journey this evening. I still don’t know where we’re going. Another of Hugo’s surprises, but he says I’ll love it. And I believe him.

After that dreadful start, with me feeling like the end of the world was nigh, I’m now feeling much more positive. I met the housekeeper - a pleasant lady called Mrs Bennett who insists on calling me ‘your Ladyship’ in spite of me telling her to call me Laura. Hugo says I can choose for myself what staff I need, as long as they don’t live in. He doesn’t like that (although we’re not short of a room or two, that’s for certain). Anyway, I’ve already told him that I want to cook for him, so we don’t need a chef. I’ll soften him up, just give me time!