(2011) Only the Innocent Page 14

  As he has no family, he suggested that we keep my very large and extended family to a minimum. He said it would seem odd to have lots of people on my side and none on his. I can understand that (although Mum isn’t too chuffed, as I’m sure she’s told you). I’ve invited Simon and his latest girlfriend from work, but that’s it. We decided that as I couldn’t invite everybody from the office, it wouldn’t be right to pick and choose - so just the boss. And some of the venture capitalists. They’re always useful, apparently.

  Speaking of work, I’m giving up. I’m not sure how I feel about that. My job does involve me in some long hours, particularly when the filming schedule overruns - almost inevitable, in my experience. So given Hugo’s position and everything, we would never see each other if I continued in the same job. And I could never guarantee getting to the important dinners that he has to attend. I’ll have plenty to do looking after the house, I expect. And I’m hoping that I can volunteer to help with the charity. We’ve talked about it, but Hugo thinks it’s probably best for me to settle into my new life first, and then we can decide. He’s always so considerate. The thing is, I don’t need to work. Money isn’t an issue, of course. And I want to spend as much time with Alexa as I can. I need to get to know her. And who knows, by this time next year if we’re very lucky there could be another little one to look after!

  I’m going to keep my shares in the company, though. Simon has hinted that it might be sold to one of the bigger outfits soon. I should make quite a packet if that’s the case.

  I’m getting excited and nervous and edgy. Not just about ‘the big day’, but am I up to being the wife of such a prominent figure? I’ve learned a lot, but is it enough?

  My wedding dress is gorgeous. Hugo took me to this incredible woman who makes the most glorious gowns. I told him he wasn’t supposed to see it until the day, but he thought that was a load of rubbish. I think he wanted to make sure I didn’t choose anything too revealing. He says that there are certain parts of my body that he thinks should be saved for his private delectation.

  I can’t wait.

  Love and kisses

  Laura

  CHAPTER 15

  SEPTEMBER 1998

  Dear Imogen

  Today is the day after my wedding. And nothing is the way I expected it to be.

  For a start, I didn’t think I’d have time to write this before the honeymoon was over. And it’s not even begun! Perhaps writing everything down will make sense of it all.

  I know the morning of my wedding dawned overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining, and I was more excited than I have ever been in my life; almost shaking with nerves, and desperate to see my new home. And desperate to see Hugo. I love him so much.

  Do you remember when the bridal cars pulled up on the main road outside the hotel? All the staff lined up to see me leave on my dad’s arm. Wasn’t that lovely? I’m sorry that I couldn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid, though. I did want to, but Hugo thought that adult bridesmaids - and married ones at that - were a little odd. He said you’d understand. I hope he was right.

  The church was absolutely gorgeous, wasn’t it? And the flowers were amazing. It had all been put together by Hugo’s ‘team’ as he called them, so it would be a complete surprise for me. I’d been so worried that he’d put lilies in the church. I hate lilies. The smell makes me feel sick. I didn’t dare tell him, though, in case they’d already been chosen. But thankfully everywhere was decorated with ivory coloured roses, and dark glossy aspidistra leaves. Hugo looked sensational, didn’t he? That black tailcoat and a grey silk waistcoat - he looked like the dashing hero in a romantic film.

  I was proud of my composure. Did you notice that I didn’t stumble on my words? I didn’t cry (although tears threatened on more than one occasion). Even my mum didn’t cry, although my dad looked pretty close when he saw me in my dress.

  And then it was off to Ashbury Park. I don’t know what you thought when you saw the house, Imo. But I was every bit as excited about seeing my new home as I was about the wedding itself. As the car turned through the gates, I still couldn’t see the house. It was almost as if it was hiding from me. I had imagined that it would be a bit like Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons - Raymond Blanc’s famous restaurant. But I was wrong, wasn’t I. The narrow drive seems to have completely surrendered itself to the overgrown shrubs and trees that line its sides. It almost felt like night time as we approached. I expected the drive to end in a burst of light, but as we rounded the bend and saw the house I am horrified to say that I felt a shiver of dismay. The huge trees were swaying in the wind, their long branches scratching at the first floor windows, and the dense shrubbery opened to the smallest of forecourts, totally overshadowed by the canopy above. I’m sure the house is a fine example of medieval architecture, with its grey stone walls, and crenellated roof. But the paintwork is all black, and my eyes were drawn to the mullioned windows which seemed empty and lifeless.

  This house - the very house that I am sitting in writing this - has a severity that is almost palpably hostile. Did you feel that, too?

  I didn’t know what to say. Hugo turned to me with a proprietary air.

  ‘Your new home, Laura. Isn’t it magnificent?’

  I was speechless. Fortunately, Hugo took that as a positive, and muttered something about understanding that I would be overawed. I’ve never in my life thought that I would have a wild desire to buy a chain saw, but cutting back some of that forest surely had to be a priority. The house is truly enormous - you’ve seen it! It’s on a scale that I never dreamt of, and the combination of its size and its grim austerity left me feeling shaken and unnerved. But ever the optimist, I smiled at my handsome husband. I like saying that, in spite of everything that’s happened since.

  My optimism was short lived, though. The inside of the house seemed even more disturbing than the outside. It’s true that the wide hallway has a handsome sweeping staircase which rises rather majestically from the right hand side. It should look spectacular. The stone floor is really beautiful (if a bit grubby looking) as is the huge sage green Aubusson rug that practically covers the whole area. But the entire place feels so dark and neglected. Like something out of a horror film, really. Those drab walls - all a rather dirty beige colour and the oppressive ancestral portraits! But worst of all were the stag’s heads and glass cases containing stuffed animals. And that revolting looking stoat! Did you see that?

  I just stood still, and gazed around. Hugo was watching me, an unfathomable expression on his face. I glanced at him nervously. I somehow knew that, against all odds, he was expecting me to go into raptures. And then I did something unforgivable. I think it must have been the tension of the day. I laughed.

  I recovered quickly, but then promptly made things worse.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hugo. Obviously it’s an incredible building, and there’s huge potential. I’m sure your mum loved it like this - and we can have such fun making it into a home that’s more us, can’t we? It’s going to be brilliant.’

  Oh God! I was just digging deeper and deeper. I could feel him stiffen.

  ‘We’ll talk about your views regarding my home later, Laura,’ he said, rather coldly. ‘For now, we need to meet our guests. I hope the rest of the house and the arrangements I’ve made prove rather more acceptable to you than the grand hall clearly does.’

  I felt chastised. Hugo had never spoken to me in that tone of voice before. But then decided I was being ridiculous. He has such impeccable taste, he couldn’t possibly think that the hall was looking its best.

  ‘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 th
is 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?