(2011) Only the Innocent (26 page)

The tone of our days was set, and the tone of our relationship. Every day we went from famous site to less famous art gallery. I tried a few tactics to try to get him to break from his itinerary, but I wasn’t terribly successful - and of course, I had to be subtle so as not to cause an upset that I sensed could ruin our honeymoon.

On one occasion, we were just passing a vaporetto stop as a boat pulled in.

‘Oh look, Hugo - can we just hop on this for half an hour, just to see where it takes us?’

‘Laura, it’s a
bus
!’ he said. ‘Really, darling, I’m not in the habit of getting on buses, even if they do float and they are in the most beautiful city in the world. If you must take to the water, we’ll hire a launch and you can have a ride round after lunch whilst I read the papers. How does that sound?’

I took a deep breath.

‘Perfect. Thank you Hugo, that’s an excellent idea.’

Hugo smiled fondly at me, and pulled my arm through his. I felt very pleased with myself for creating this harmonious moment.

Now I know what you would think of this. I can imagine what you’d be saying to me. But Imo, I don’t want to argue all the time. There must be a better way, surely?

My only other attempt at doing something that wasn’t on Hugo’s itinerary was when we were walking through Piazza San Marco on our way to some museum or other. It was our last day in Venice.

‘You know, Hugo, I really fancy a cappuccino. Shall we sit down at one of these tables and listen to the orchestra for a while. We only need to stay for five minutes.’

Hugo smiled at me, and put his arm around my shoulders.

‘If you would like a cup of coffee, then you shall have one. But not here. These pigeons are disgusting and spread so much disease. The Danieli is only a short walk away. Let’s go there and have a coffee in a civilised environment.’

Whilst relaxing in the luxury of this magnificent hotel would be a treat for anybody, I just love people watching. And that doesn’t mean watching the sort of clientele that the Danieli attracts, elegant and refined as they are. But Hugo had actually changed his itinerary for me and with good grace, so this was a small improvement and one that I decided to see as a positive step forward.

So our days passed in relative harmony. Hugo made plans, and I saw every important site in Venice. We ate some splendid meals, and we talked to each other - probably more than we had ever done. I really felt that we were getting closer.

And he was affectionate - both in his terms of endearment, and in the way he would hold my hand as I stepped on the launch that we took from our hotel to St Mark’s Square, or hold my elbow to guide me down a narrow lane. If we saw a jeweller’s or a shop selling exquisite silk scarves he would be happy to stop with me, and ask if I wanted to go in and choose something. And each time he held out my chair for me in a restaurant, he would stroke my hair or bend to kiss my cheek. So much was perfect.

But unfortunately the nights were a big disappointment. Hugo didn’t suggest joining me in my bedroom again. On the second night, I did try. I said to Hugo in as calm a voice as possible,

‘Will you be joining me tonight?’

He merely smiled at me and shook his head.

‘Not tonight, darling. It’s been a busy day and we’re both tired. I’ll let you know when I think the time is right.’ And then wrapped his fingers in my hair and gently pulled me towards him for a goodnight kiss.

God, it’s frustrating. I just know that if I make a fuss I won’t win - and the following day will be a nightmare. I realised that the only thing I could do was to try to make the days as pleasant as possible, which apart from the museum and art gallery tour wasn’t so difficult, to be honest. But I was striving for perfection so that he would
want
to join me at night.

I waited until the last night. I was as amusing and provocative as I could be during dinner, making Hugo laugh and touching him lightly when I was talking. He’d decided that we should have dinner in the main dining room of the hotel. He said he wanted the world to see his beautiful bride, and had picked out a pale grey silk dress for me to wear, which he said made my hair look sensational. I was pretty sensitive about comments relating to my hair, as you can imagine - but I took a deep breath and calmed down.

As we walked back to our suite, I put my arm through his and rested my head on his shoulder. Holding my breath in case I put a foot wrong, I ventured an attempt at a compliment.

‘I just want to tell you that these few days have been absolutely wonderful, Hugo. I can’t imagine a more perfect place for a honeymoon, and I want to thank you for making it so special.’

Hugo squeezed my arm against him.

‘It has been marvellous, hasn’t it? I hope it’s made you appreciate that I try to put your wishes first. I do generally know what’s for the best, even though you may not always think so. I’ve granted you your dream of a few days in Positano, but then we can go home where we’ll begin our real life together. Everything will be different, then.’

I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but it was clear that my hard work over the last few days had paid dividends. I decided to risk pursuing the ultimate prize.

As we entered the suite, I gently pulled Hugo towards me and pressed myself lightly against him. Lifting my mouth to his, I kissed him with all the tenderness I could muster. Hugo began to respond. It started to get really passionate - and I had to struggle to keep myself under control. This was going to be it. I just knew it.

I tentatively slipped my hands inside his jacket, and wrapped my arms round him, sliding my hands very slowly up the length of his back. I pressed my breasts against his chest - something that I knew he had struggled to resist before we were married.

‘Hugo, shall we go into my bedroom?’ I asked very gently.

I felt his whole body stiffen. His words, when they came, were harsh.

‘I had fully expected to make that suggestion myself, Laura. But it is unbecoming in a woman to make the first move, don’t you think?’

No, I
don’t
think. Not even slightly. Do you? But what a
stupid
mistake to make. After all the hard work, then I go and make a schoolgirl error. I
know
he likes to be in charge. I apologised as quickly as possible, but I was flustered and got it all wrong. Again.

‘I’m so sorry, Hugo. I didn’t realise you felt like that, but in any past relationships I’ve had it’s not been a problem. I can see that you think differently, so I’ll just have to learn. Please forgive me.’

I’d made things worse!

‘I appreciate the sentiment, but I really do not want to hear or think about you in any of the whore-like relationships that you might have had before we met.’

Even as recently as a few days ago, I would have reacted to his pomposity with irritation or anger. But now all I felt was a complete sense of failure. The fragile bond that I had worked so hard to create seemed to have been shattered.

‘Darling, I wasn’t a whore. Really I wasn’t. I told you everything before we were married. Like most girls of my generation, I did have a few relationships. But you know that you’re the first man I’ve ever loved, and the first man that I’ve wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with.’

I was horrified to hear a slight quiver in my voice, but I couldn’t stop myself from apologising.

‘I’m so sorry. I just hoped we would make love, and I don’t really understand what I’ve done wrong.’

Hugo’s expression softened, and he grasped the top of my arms gently.

‘I think you have quite a lot to learn about marriage, and about how men think. I didn’t mean to imply that you are a whore, and I apologise. But there is a big difference between a casual relationship and a life long partnership. I need to respect you, Laura. And when you beg for sex it seems somehow demeaning. Do you understand?’

I wanted to shout ‘No, no,
no’
at the top of my voice. But I didn’t.

Trying desperately not to cry, I took myself to bed. I hoped that Hugo would change his mind and join me, but as I half expected, he didn’t make an appearance. My actions had destroyed what should have been a beautiful moment.

It was a long time before I went to sleep that night. I spent the last hours of my longed for idyllic honeymoon in Venice deliberating over our relationship.

I was so very confused. I still am. Is it his age, do you think? Maybe it’s his class. What do you think, Imo.

I need to remember that he had planned the wedding and honeymoon to be perfect for me. He was kind and attentive, and bought me so many small gifts. Am I making too much of things that are really trivial? So what if he wouldn’t get on a vaporetto and I didn’t get my longed for gondola ride (vulgar, apparently). And maybe he saw my pushy attempts at getting him into bed as a form of criticism that he wasn’t pleasing me. Perhaps, despite evidence to the contrary, he has his insecurities too? Do you think that’s the answer?

Perhaps I just need to try harder.

The next morning, though, there was no mention of the events of the previous night as we prepared to leave for Positano. I’d been so looking forward to this part of the trip, but I just felt tired and dispirited. All I could think about was the fact that I’d been married for nearly a week, with only one forlorn attempt at making love.

Despite this sense of lingering sadness, the trip to Positano has been the best part of the holiday, although I do feel guilty writing this. The fact is that Hugo isn’t really interested in this part of Italy. He wouldn’t even consider venturing to Pompeii - which he thinks is an overrated tourist trap - and I didn’t dare suggest a trip up Vesuvius. But he was happy for me to take the driver and disappear whilst he amused himself with various papers and phone calls, and he was always pleased to see me when I got back. I think that he must have told the driver to let him know when we were due to arrive at the hotel, because there was always a chilled glass of wine being poured practically as I walked through the door.

But in some ways it was a relief that I didn’t have to spend all day and every day trying to please him. I had some time to myself. Perhaps I’m really not cut out for marriage. Did you find it difficult to start with? I don’t think so - you were glowing with happiness, as I remember.

There has, however, been a small improvement in our sex life! I’m learning. I need to make it clear to him that I am receptive, but not make any advances. I tried it last night - and he came to my room. So the improvement is that he wanted to try, but I’m sad to say that the lovemaking itself was still not good. No. I’m being polite. It was bloody awful. Yet another brief moment of almost violent penetration, which did absolutely nothing for me.

I know that I mustn’t suggest for a minute that he isn’t satisfying me, but strangely enough he made reference to it himself this morning.

‘Laura, I am aware that you struggle to enjoy sex. But whatever inhibitions you are suffering from will, I feel certain, disappear when we return to Oxfordshire. I will do all possible to help you over any hurdles.’ He picked up my hand and kissed it.

Do you know, it really hadn’t crossed my mind until this moment that Hugo genuinely thought that, if there was any problem at all, the problem was with me! Perhaps it
is
me? I nearly jumped to my own defence - an automatic response. But Hugo looked so concerned that I just nodded and said that I was sure we could rectify this over time.

So the honeymoon is over. I’ve learned a lot about Hugo, and a lot about myself. I never thought of myself as arrogant, but it’s clear that I now see everything as Hugo’s fault, when in fact he only ever tries to please me. And as for Hugo, he can’t stand any criticism - either real or implied. I wonder if this stems from his childhood? These things normally do, I believe.

With love and some sadness

Lxxxx

Stella sat in the kitchen, which was the only room in the house that she found even vaguely comfortable. It was barely light, but she had made her way across from the cottage and let herself in with the back door key. This was the first time she’d been allowed to come and go as she pleased, and she wanted to be here for Laura when she woke up. Both of her children had suffered in their marriages in one way or another, and she couldn’t help feeling that this was because of their upbringing. She should have done a better job of hiding her own pain. And David should have had a bit more of a conscience, for that matter. What’s the point of a husband if all he does is bring you grief?

Unlike the cold, cheerless rooms in the rest of the house, the kitchen was pleasant in an old fashioned kind of way. The appliances were relatively new, but the cupboards looked like they were pre-war, and had been covered with many coats of paint over the years. It felt like a kitchen that had hardly changed through the ages, and Stella couldn’t help thinking whimsically of the number of meals that must have been served on the enormous scrubbed pine table, and the joys and sorrows it must have witnessed.

She hadn’t slept well the previous night, and wasn’t really surprised when an equally exhausted looking Imogen pushed open the door.

‘Good morning, love. What’s got you up so soon?’

Stella pointed to the pot of tea in front of her, and pushed a white china mug across the table to Imogen. She knew that Imogen would prefer coffee, but she lacked the energy to get out of her chair to make it.

Imogen merely gave her a shrug and with a distracted and rather watery smile she sat down with a muttered ‘Good morning’. Although she could see that Imogen’s mind was elsewhere, Stella needed to talk. Maybe Imogen understood what the hell had been going on in Laura’s life for the past ten years. She’d tried hard enough to get through to her daughter, but she’d always thought that Hugo was the barrier. Well he wasn’t a barrier any more.

Laura was so stubborn and would never admit defeat. She had always been like that. Stella could remember her trying to climb a rope that Will had strung up in a tree in the back garden when she was about ten. She just couldn’t do it - but she kept trying. Day after day. Falling flat on her back every five minutes, with rope burns on her hands and legs to boot. Nothing Stella could say would stop her. She had a look of grim determination, and eventually after about a week she did it. She made it to the top, and blow me if she never bothered again. She’d succeeded against the odds, and that was enough.