(2011) Only the Innocent (23 page)

‘Must I do this, Hugo? I just want to be touching you and holding you. Please, darling.’ I tried not to sound as if I was whining, but I’m not sure how successful I was.

‘Think of yourself as my present. I would like to see you unwrapped very slowly. I’ve never considered you to be a prude, Laura. Don’t make an issue of such a simple request.’

He makes everything sound so
reasonable
. He makes everything seem as if it’s
me
that’s difficult. Perhaps he’s right.
Is
it me? I haven’t got any problem with nudity at all, in the right context. But it was clear that this was going to be entirely for
his
pleasure, because it certainly wasn’t going to do anything for me.

Then I got a grip. I decided I was blowing everything out of proportion. So what if he wants me to strip? It’s not exactly a capital offence. I had a strong word with myself, and just got on with it, following his orders to the letter. Thank God I wasn’t wearing tights, is all I could think. And that nearly made me laugh. Not for long, though.

One of the most awful things was, the mood was wrong. If we were familiar with each other’s bodies, I could imagine doing a jokey strip, dancing to some sleazy music with Hugo lying on the bed laughing but with his eyes revealing sheer lust. Or maybe in the future I might order him to stand still and not touch me - just watch - as if I were trying to seduce him. But it didn’t feel like either of these, and perhaps that’s my fault. That’s what I can’t figure out. I could have made so much more of it. All I did was stand still and try to look sexy.

I started by unzipping the dress. Fortunately it had a very simple zip, and it just slid off my body. I don’t know how I’d have made it look good if I’d had to pull it over my head. I held it just for a moment over my breasts, and then let it slide to the floor. All the time feeling vaguely absurd.

Hugo’s eyes held mine, and then they slid down my body. I could practically feel them.

I was about to move on to the next bit - although there wasn’t much left, to be honest, when Hugo just held up his hand. I knew this meant I had to stop.

‘Is it usual for you not to wear a bra, Laura?’

‘I thought you might appreciate it tonight, as we’re on our own.’

‘I do have some preferences for underwear, but we can discuss those another time. Please carry on.’

Swallowing the retort that sprang to my lips, I carried on. Any excitement that I had felt after dinner was dissipating rapidly in the face of Hugo’s cold and almost analytical stare. Apart from the shoes, I only had a pair of very brief knickers left to remove, so I bent over and pulled them down slowly.

Now I can stop pretending that this was all okay, if slightly weird. I’ve tried to describe accurately how I felt at the time, pushing to the back of my mind the impact of what happened next.

When I’d removed my knickers, I raised my eyes to Hugo’s and tried to look as alluring as possible. But the look in Hugo’s eyes was not desire. His stare was cold and flat, and he stood up and walked over to the window behind me and gazed out over the lagoon. His next words, spoken without him turning round, were gutting.

‘Laura, I’m deeply disappointed in you. Get dressed.’

I had no idea what I’d done. Although I was shaking with a vast range of suppressed emotions, I tried to keep my tone level as I asked him to explain. He whipped round to face me.

‘You’re a fraud, woman. Nothing but a cheap fraud. I wouldn’t have thought you capable of this level of deception.’

His face showed pure contempt, and I felt exposed and vulnerable, standing naked in nothing but a ridiculous pair of high-heeled sandals. I wrapped my arms around my chest, as if to defend myself from a physical attack.

The only thing I could think was that he was disappointed with my body. I know it’s not perfect, and maybe slightly more well-covered than is fashionable, but it’s not bad! And yet he looked absolutely disgusted. My chest tightened. I didn’t understand any of it. His next words struck me like a blow.

‘You’ve tricked me, and I repeat, I am
deeply
disappointed in you.’

He turned back to the window, as if there was nothing more to say.

I know that, looking back, it would perhaps have seemed natural for me to have been angry - but it’s not
like
that when somebody you love makes you feel as if you’ve failed. You feel desolate. Well, that’s how I felt. He’d never been unkind to me since the day we met, and I just wanted to go and kneel at his feet and beg him to explain to me what I’d done wrong.

But then there’s pride. As the roller coaster of emotions continued on its path, pride kicked in. Why
should
I feel like this. Surely he knew he was hurting me? Didn’t that matter? All these thoughts collided with the disappointment and distress, and the roller coaster reached its summit, racing down once more into the pit. That pit where reason turns to dust as pure emotion takes over. Practically crying now, I begged him to explain.

‘Hugo, I have no idea what’s the matter, but I need you to know that you are really upsetting me. What can I
possibly
have done wrong?’

He continued to stand with his back to me for a few moments, until finally he turned round.

‘That!’ he said, pointing rather bizarrely to my pubic region.

In another twist of my spiralling emotions, sarcasm and anger crept in - albeit briefly.

‘What were you expecting? A
penis
?’ I probably shouldn’t have said that.

‘You have red hair.’

Now I was puzzled. What on earth could he mean? I looked down, and suddenly realised that now I was naked, it was my dark, silky pubic hair that was inexplicably giving him a problem. I was completely bewildered.

‘Yes, my hair’s red at the moment, but I’ve been known to be blond, although I’m naturally a brunette. I dye my hair - as do probably about fifty percent of all women. Even more than that, I suspect. Why is it an issue?’

‘You really don’t understand, do you? I married you partly
because
of your beautiful hair, and now I find it’s not real.’

This was so trivial that all the previous emotions evaporated into the atmosphere, leaving no residue other than a vague sense of puzzlement that anything so insignificant could be so important to him.

‘But what does it
matter
? I didn’t marry you for any reason other than the fact that I love you. Hugo, I know nothing about your body - but it’s not important at all. Why would it be? I want to explore your body and get to know it - whatever its perfections and imperfections. It’s
you
that I love!’

He just turned his back on me yet again, as if my words meant nothing.

The dull ache of yet another rejection was still there, but I was starting to feel exasperated because frankly he was being
preposterous
. But if I was going to have an argument, which seemed the most likely outcome, I was definitely not going to have one whilst I was standing there naked. I kicked off the high heels and grabbed a bathrobe, lying beautifully folded on the end of the bed. I started to feel considerably less vulnerable. If a row was what he wanted, he could have one.

‘You know, Hugo, I think we’ve got a few options here. Number one, we could get divorced. The marriage hasn’t been consummated, as I know to my huge disappointment. Number two, I could buy a bottle of red hair dye, but not until tomorrow when the shops open. Number three, you could always wear a blindfold, or number four, you could stop being so
fucking
ridiculous.
You
decide.’

After all my efforts to comply with Hugo’s wishes, my anger strangely seemed to have something of an effect, because Hugo actually answered, albeit rather coldly.

‘Whilst I don’t appreciate the tone of voice, Laura, nor can I condone the use of foul language, I do realise that my reaction may have seemed a little out of proportion to you.’

I bit back the obvious reply to this comment, and let him continue.

‘You clearly don’t appreciate the significance to me, but I will explain and hope that you will understand. I married you because I thought you were so like somebody who was very dear to me. In fact the most marvellous person I have ever known. She had beautiful red hair, and until I met you I had never encountered anybody who so resembled her. We were devoted to each other, and you seemed so like her - your strength, your body, but in particular your hair.’

I hadn’t expected anything else to wound me that night, but this was like a punch high in my chest. I choked out a response and asked him why he hadn’t married her then, if she was so bloody marvellous.

‘It wasn’t possible. And now she’s gone. I thought you could replace her.’

I felt sick. All these months he’s been with me not because of
me
, but because I’m like somebody else. Probably some married woman who had gone back to her husband. But I had to know.

‘Hugo, do you love me? Ignoring any similarities between myself and this woman, do you want to be married to me?’

‘Given that I am not prepared to suffer the ignominy of a second failed marriage, Laura, we will need to find a way of overcoming my disappointment. So yes, I do want to remain married to you.’

As I’m writing this, I feel nothing but sorrow - for the fact that he didn’t say that he loves me, the fact that he married me to replace this other woman, and for the fact that I had allowed myself to be persuaded that we shouldn’t have sex before we married. I don’t feel any remorse for the colour of my hair. I think he’s being totally absurd.

At the time, though, the only emotion was relief - that my marriage wasn’t over, and that we had a chance to fix whatever was wrong. It’s hard to understand why I felt like that. I’d have expected indignation, anger, all sorts of negative feelings. But I just wanted to make things
right
for our marriage. So I took a deep breath, walked over to where he stood at the window, and wrapped my arms round his waist. Laying my head on the back of his shoulder, I whispered to him.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that this isn’t my natural colour. If you’d ever come to my parents’ house you would have known, because there are so many pictures of me. But it can’t really be that big a deal. I’ll keep it red as long as you like. Come to bed, darling? We’ll get over this.’

Hugo turned and put his hands on my shoulders.

‘You go to bed. I’ll join you in a few moments.’

It was clear that I wasn’t going to get the pleasure of undressing him, but at least we weren’t heading for the divorce courts already. I foolishly decided that a bit of levity was needed, and as Hugo turned to go I called to him.

‘You never know, Hugo. Perhaps this other woman dyed her hair too.’

Hugo didn’t break his stride, and perhaps I should have anticipated his response.

‘I
do
know. She didn’t.’

Hugo closed the door behind him.

*

I don’t really want to dwell too much on the next bit. The consummation of my marriage. But I’m going to tell you.

When he came back into my bedroom, he had a towel around his waist. He switched off the light before removing it, and slipped into bed. I whispered that I would really like the light on, because I wanted to explore his body, from the creases at the back of his knees to the hollow at the base of this throat, or something like that. I wanted him to understand how much I adored him. And, if I’m honest, I really did want to see my husband naked. I don’t think that’s particularly unusual!

Hugo, however, had a different view. He ignored my request about the light, and pulled me to him, kissing me on the neck, but not on the lips. To me, kissing has always been the most erotic of activities, and nothing turns me on more. But each time I tried to get my mouth near to his, he managed to manoeuvre himself away. When my hands started to stray around his body, he kept a tight hold on them. I wondered if this might be some sort of foreplay - perhaps he wanted me to resist touching him for as long as possible. So I went along with it. With Hugo, that always seems to be the best option.

Suddenly he rolled me onto my back, and literally clambered on top of me - with no more than a couple of minutes of kissing me on the neck. I’m not sure if I can write the next bit. Do I really want to tell you this?

I felt his right hand slip between our bodies, and he guided himself into me. It was a struggle, because to be honest he was barely hard enough. I tried to gently suggest that we slowed down. Perhaps we could just enjoy each other for a while. He ignored me, and what followed next was frankly unpleasant. Without any apparent interest in how I was feeling he just ground into me, clearly trying to stimulate himself, until with little more than a grunt he carefully extracted himself, and rolled over onto his back.

I couldn’t speak. The tears were running down my cheeks and I was so glad the lights were out. I didn’t want him to know how much he’d disappointed me. I bit back a sob, but I didn’t have to worry about disguising the fact that I was crying for long. I felt some movement and realised that Hugo was actually getting out of the bed.

‘Goodnight, Laura.’

And that was it. Without another word, he left me.

*

The next morning, I woke up on my own - again. No early morning love making, or even wrapping arms and legs around each other to welcome the day. I remember that I felt completely hollow, as if my insides had been sucked out whilst I slept. For a moment, I couldn’t understand why I felt that way. It’s strange; people say that when something bad has happened they often wake up feeling fine until realisation hits them. In my experience, it’s the exact opposite. You wake up feeling the pain, but it takes a while to remember what caused it.

There I was, two days into my marriage, and I’d already learned that my husband married me because I reminded him of somebody else, that we are to have separate rooms, and that our love making is not - for the moment at least - the rapturous coming together of two people that I had anticipated.

There’s more that’s happened since then - because all of that was seven days ago. But I can’t bring myself to write more. Not now, at least.