Don't Hurt Me (15 page)

They flew
out to the Caribbean early the next morning, where Marshall had booked them a
fortnight’s holiday in a small complex of luxury holiday villas on the island
of St. Lucia. Neither of them said much to the other during their long flight,
Julia too exhausted after a restless night to worry what he might read into her
distant behaviour.

  
On arrival, they were escorted to
their beach-front villa with polite efficiency and soon settled in, discovering
champagne and a vase of exotic scented flowers waiting for them in the spacious
living room. The floors of the villa were covered in cool dark tiles, much
easier than wood for walking barefoot, and white-washed walls kept the interior
cool by reflecting the sun’s rays. Stepping out from the timber-framed veranda
onto the beach-front, it was only a few yards across soft white sands to the
water’s edge and the deep turquoise depths of the Caribbean. They often sat out
there in the cool of the evening, watching the extravagant green fronds of the
coconut palms swaying in the ocean breeze.

  
They had not made love again since
their wedding day.

  
Julia had pretended to have a
headache that first night and curled up to sleep on the far side of the bed,
hardly daring to breathe as he climbed in beside her. She hated herself for not
confronting him with what she had seen but felt sure he would only deny it. The
faked headache had kept him safely at bay. But how long would such excuses last
before he realised she had no intention of ever sleeping with him again?

  
To her surprise though, Marshall
did not force the issue. After the first few days, once it must have become
painfully apparent that their relationship was to be a platonic one, he stopped
asking and allowed her to retire early every night, slipping in beside her some
hours later.

  
Curious to know what he did while
she was sleeping, Julia crept
 
out
of bed late one night and saw him sitting on the veranda with his laptop,
writing and pausing occasionally to stare out across the moonlit bay. A breeze
coming in off the ocean ruffled the dark hair, leaving her mouth dry and her
body hungry for his touch, driven almost crazy by the knowledge that they would
never again be lovers.

  
She dared not relent and give way
to that desire, though. It was probable that he was not in love with Sasha, she
reasoned to herself, or he would never have proposed in the first place. But he
could not be in love with her either. Not when he found it so easy to continue
his casual relationship with Sasha even now that they were married.

  
Padding barefoot out of the
marble-tiled bathroom on the last day of their honeymoon, she was alarmed to
find him lying on their bed, clearly waiting for her to emerge. He had told her
after lunch that he would be working on his latest novel all afternoon.
Startled, she caught a glimpse of herself in the wardrobe mirror as she passed,
her face flushed and her hair swept up turban-style, long damp legs revealed by
the white towel she had tucked just above her breasts.

  
Staring at him in wild
consternation, she watched that strange gaze travel over her, lingering briefly
on her thighs. ‘I thought you were outside on the veranda,’ she stammered.

  
Marshall was lying back against the
deep blue pillows, hands clasped behind his head, a dry smile on his lips.

  
‘Well, you were wrong,’ he said
succinctly. Something flickered in the tawny eyes and he looked at her
expectantly, raising one eyebrow when she did not move. ‘Don’t let me stop you
getting changed, darling. I’ve seen most of it before, remember?’

  
Watching him warily, Julia
tightened her grip on the white towel which was hooked so precariously about
her breasts, unsure how to react to his taunts. She had been careful to avoid
undressing in front of him throughout their honeymoon, and for some reason
Marshall had never forced the issue or tried to get her to sleep with him when
she was so clearly unwilling. But to her dismay, it seemed he had come to the
end of his patience.

  
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, swinging
off the bed and coming towards her. ‘I’m your husband, I’m entitled to see you
naked. Or is this your idea of fun? Teasing a man until he’s down on his knees
... ’

  
‘I don’t want an argument - ’

  
He dragged her towards him, his
fingers biting cruelly into the soft flesh of her upper arm. ‘That’s a pity,’
he said through clenched teeth. ‘Because I’m sick of being punished for
something I haven’t done. What’s all this about, Julia? You seemed happy enough
for me to touch you on our wedding day. Even to tie you up, like a good submissive
wife. So why the cold shoulder now?’

  
‘I made a mistake, that’s all,’ she
replied, looking pointedly at his hand. ‘Let go of me, Marshall.’

  
He released her at once, his mouth
a grim line. ‘A mistake?’

  
‘I thought this could work,
marrying you out of the blue. But it can’t. There are too many factors working
against it.’

  
‘Such as?’

  
She rubbed her arm where he had
grabbed her. There was a pale bruise already beginning to form under the skin.
‘Your relationship with Sasha, for instance.’

  
‘For god’s sake!’ Marshall swore
explosively under his breath for a moment, then thrust his hands into his
trouser pockets as though he might be tempted to grab her again otherwise. ‘I
explained all that to you before we got married. There is no “relationship”
between me and Sasha. The woman’s caused me nothing but trouble for months now.
Be senesible. Why on earth would I want to sleep with her again?’

  
‘I don’t know, you tell me. But
you’d better stick to your side of the bed from now on,’ she said sweetly.
‘Unless you want me to scream the place down every time you come near me.’

  
There was a hard colour in his face
now, a muscle jerking in his cheek. The sign of a guilty conscience, she told
herself bitterly, watching his eyes. When he eventually replied, his voice
sounded strained, so low he was almost muttering to himself.

  
‘Fair enough. If that’s the way you
want it, I can play along.’

  
‘It’s not a game, Marshall.’

  
His teeth snapped together, a
crackling tension in his body as they faced each other across the bedroom.
Outside the door she could hear the rhythmic flip-flop of the maid’s sandals as
she tidied the kitchen area of the villa, and the high fluting notes of
birdsong from somewhere in the trees along the beach front. It should have been
an idyllic two weeks for them on this paradise island. But all she could think
about was her new husband with Sasha in his arms, kissing another woman minutes
after they had finished making love.

  
‘No,’ he agreed tautly. There was
an icy contempt in those eyes as they swept over her in the skimpy white towel.
‘You were right when you said it was a mistake. We should never have got
married. We should just have fucked and got it out of our systems.’

  
Oh my God, she thought. Something
inside her began to hurt at his coarse, blunt words and she struggled not to
let it show in her face. If this was love, she thought wildly, it was not worth
feeling. Love was a wound that would never heal and every glance from those dark
eyes pushed the knife deeper.

  
He did not love her. He simply did not love her. Never had
and never would.

  
She repeated the words in her mind,
hugging her arms to her chest and watching him leave the room.

  
He does
not love me.

  
Her eyes blurred with tears as he
stepped down from the veranda, striding out over the clean white sands of the
beach, a notebook in his hand. Julia stood helplessly at the bedroom window and
watched him through the lush scarlet foliage of a bougainvillea, her heart aching
as though it would break. She wanted to run after him, call him back and tell
him how she felt.

  
But there was nothing either of
them could say to make it better. There was a vast gulf between them that no
amount of words would ever bridge. Only love could do that and it was clear now
that Marshall did not love her, had never loved her, and fervently wished that
he had never shackled himself to her in the first place.

Flying
home the next day, they arrived during the morning rush-hour to find London thick
with fog and the traffic on the motorway moving slowly in both directions. They
paid the long stay parking fee and Julia sat motionless for hours in the
passenger seat while he drove them back to Cornwall, sweeping across the Tamar
River through a stark winter landscape. A thick frost had settled overnight and
the fields were still crisp and white with it, sheep huddled together near the
ivy-thick hedgerows. She shivered, staring out of the car window with a bleak
expression, suddenly missing the warmth and carnival atmosphere they had left
behind in St. Lucia.

  
As they pulled up the familiar
gravel drive and approached the forbidding roofs and turrets of Moor’s Peak,
the front door was flung open and there was Victoria on the steps to welcome
them. Dressed in faded jeans and a bright woollen top, the girl waved at them,
her face alight with uncharacteristic pleasure.

  
‘Did you have a good time? Was it
hot there? You’ve caught a bit of sun on your face, Julia. It suits you.’ The
girl rambled on cheerfully as they greeted her, oblivious to any tension in the
air. She pulled one of the larger suitcases from the car, though it was clearly
too heavy for her, and insisted on dragging it up the front steps into the
hall. ‘Uncle Frank’s just gone out to buy bread. He’s been teaching me to play
table tennis. Why don’t you come and have a game, Dad?’

  
‘Later, perhaps,’ Marshall nodded,
bending to kiss his daughter on the cheek. ‘I’d better check my post first.’

  
Victoria brought him a stack of
unopened mail which had arrived during their absence. Her eyes flicked from him
to Julia as he took them, no doubt sensing that something was wrong. But for
once she made none of her usual wise-crack comments, heading down the hall
towards the kitchen. ‘Have you eaten lunch? I made a few sandwiches with the
last of the loaf, just in case.’

  
‘Great, I’m starving. We only
stopped for coffee on the way down,’ Julia murmured, following her.

  
She glanced back once at Marshall.
But he was busy rifling through his post and did not look up. They had barely
spoken to each other since that tense confrontation yesterday and she could not
help wondering whether this was how their marriage would be from now on; both
withdrawn into their own thoughts, circling each other in a cold little dance
without words or physical contact. She did not know how long she could stand
such a loveless regime without breaking down.

  
The kitchen felt cosy and welcoming
as ever, a large oval platter of sandwiches laid out on the table and a teapot
with its lid off, ready to be filled with hot water.

  
‘This all looks lovely,’ she said,
smiling. ‘Well done.’

  
Victoria gave her a quick hug. ‘I
really missed you, Julia. I know it’s only been two weeks but it felt like an
absolute century without you here. It’s great to have you back.’

  
Kissing her back affectionately,
Julia could not help the way her heart sank in dismay, realising how much it
would hurt this child if she decided to leave. ‘Well, I missed you too,’ she
said truthfully, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. ‘So how was
school? You must have broken up for the Christmas holidays by now.’

  
‘Yes, we had a disco on the last
day of term.’

  
Julia glanced up, noting the
flushed cheeks and breathless voice. ‘I take it Paul’s got a new rival?’ she said,
teasing her.

  
‘Not really. Though there is this
one boy, Chris. He’s quite funny, I suppose. I might ask him round here one
weekend, just for something to do. It’s nothing serious, of course. We’re just
friends.’

  
‘Oh, of course.’

  
Her father wandered into the
kitchen at that moment, reading through a letter in his hand. Marshall glanced
up at the sound of their mutual giggling and smiled. She tried not to stare,
her heart leaping wildly in her chest. It was the first time she had seen him
smile like that since their wedding day and he looked devastatingly attractive.

  
The harsh lines of his face seemed
to relax as Marshall looked first at his daughter and then Julia, raising one
sardonic eyebrow.

  
‘Did I miss something?’