(2011) Only the Innocent (22 page)

Tom held on to her hands - partly because he wanted to ensure that she didn’t touch him again, and partly because he knew he was hurting her.

‘Let’s just say that we need to let the dust settle, and then we can talk about the right solution.’

Tom knew that a definite ‘no’ would be the signal for Kate be on the first train to Manchester. He needed to give her some hope, although he didn’t think that even for Lucy he could go back to her, knowing full well that his money was his greatest appeal. But for now, he needed to maintain the status quo.

Kate appeared to think she had made some progress. She smiled at him and squeezed his hands.

‘Why don’t I try to find somewhere close by? I could start looking tomorrow. Then you could see Lucy all the time, and if we’re just renting it would be easy to make a more permanent move when you’re ready. What do you think?’

‘Have a look, let me know what the damage is, but don’t commit yourself. I’ll probably have to sign the rental agreement anyway, so promise me you’ll just look until you’ve spoken to me. If you need to leave Declan urgently, then book yourselves into a hotel. I’ll pay the bill.’

Kate smiled at him, and he could read a hint of triumph in her eyes. He didn’t have the heart to squash her dreams yet.

‘I knew we could work something out. I’ll phone you tomorrow when I’ve found somewhere.’

Kissing him gently on his unshaven cheek, she smiled and made her way almost triumphantly out of the front door.

Now Tom had two things to think about: the case, and his ex-wife. He somehow didn’t think that the good night’s sleep that he had promised himself would be forthcoming.

They had been a subdued group at dinner, each locked in their own private thoughts. Stella had tried to lighten the atmosphere a little, but her attempts at neutral conversation had fallen largely on deaf ears. Imogen had finally been able to escape to her room after a hurried conversation with Laura whilst Stella was in the kitchen making coffee.

‘Listen Laura, if you don’t want me to read any more, I won’t. I know that I pushed for this, because you said I didn’t understand anything. But I was seriously out of order. I can stop if you like.’

Laura gave her a hint of a sad smile.

‘I hated the idea of you reading them to start with, but now I think I really need you to carry on. I just want one person to understand, and I can’t think of anybody better than you. In a way it will be an enormous relief to me. I wrote the letters because I wanted to tell you everything - but I couldn’t. I nearly did once - do you remember? But we lost the moment. When I was writing, you were always in my mind. It was as if you were in the room and I was able to tell you everything. But the reality was that I was too ashamed of my stupidity and weakness. Just get rid of them as soon as you’ve read them, though. I never want to see or think about them again.’

‘If you’re sure? In that case, I think I’ll skip the coffee and just go up to my room. Just tell me any time if you want me to stop.’

And so here she was, the shrinking pile of letters by her side, the shredder from Hugo’s office standing by to dispose of them as soon as she’d read them.

Taking a quick gulp of the whisky that she had chosen as a preferable nightcap to coffee, she decisively pulled the top few sheets towards her.

***

SEPTEMBER 1998

My dear Imogen

Today is the day that I’ve decided you are never going to read these letters. So why write them? You may well ask. But you see, Imo, it
soothes
me, if that’s not too ridiculous a word to use. I feel as if I’m talking to you - and I can kind of anticipate how you would respond. But I don’t have to suffer the shame of telling you all of this to your face. Does that make sense? And I am ashamed. Although I don’t really know why I should be the one feeling humiliated. Can you explain to me why people constantly feel ashamed of the actions of people close to them? Anyway, I’m rambling.

I’m in Sorrento. I’m sitting looking out over the Bay of Naples, and it’s stunning. This is a sight I’ve wanted to see for years. But I didn’t expect to be gazing over this glorious vista and feeling the way I do. Not even this view can take away the pain.

Hugo isn’t with me. He’s stayed at the hotel making some calls. I desperately needed some time alone. Time to think. I was going to take a hire car, but Hugo insisted I had a driver. I wasn’t happy about it because I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. But as we sped around all the steep bends with the road clinging precariously to the cliff face, and encountered Italian drivers overtaking on totally blind corners, I realised that Hugo was right.

As, it would appear, he always is.

The big problem is, I don’t know if I’m being ridiculous. I’ve gone over and over everything in my head, and I can’t help wondering if my romantic dreams were unrealistic. But this is what happened, and I’d love to know what
you
think. But I don’t suppose I’ll ask.

The day after the wedding, we left for honeymoon. Despite my resolution to see things from Hugo’s perspective, I still felt that ache inside that I get when I’m masking unhappiness. I think I hid it well - I knew that if I’d said anything it would develop into a row, and I didn’t want that. I believe I can fix this, you see.

I started to feel a bit better when we got to the airport. A chauffeured car had arrived to take us to Heathrow and I still didn’t know where we were going. Hugo had helped me to pick my clothes for the honeymoon and wherever we were heading it was clearly expected to be a little warmer than England, and quite glamorous if my new outfits were anything to go by. I wasn’t disappointed.

On arrival at Heathrow, we were quickly whisked through to first class departures, and Hugo leaned across and whispered one word in my ear. ‘Venice.’ This was more like my Hugo. He smiled and kissed me gently on the cheek. Whatever had ailed him the day before, he was now back to being the romantic man of my dreams, and he knows that Venice is my favourite place in the world. I’ve only been once before - bizarrely to a conference rather than on holiday, do you remember? But I’d found the time to ride on a vaporetto down the Grand Canal, and sip a Bellini in a rather disappointing Harry’s Bar. I’d always wanted to come back - preferably with a man that I loved so that I could take a gondola ride with him. Cheesy, I know - but so romantic. And now Hugo was taking me there.

And that wasn’t the only exciting thing. When I asked him where we were staying, he gave the perfect answer.

‘The Cipriani - where else?’ Hugo actually had a twinkle in his eye. ‘Not my personal favourite, but I thought you would like it.’

I was thrilled. Obviously I’d got things out of proportion, and now everything would be fine.

‘How long are we staying?’

‘Just five days.’ Hugo smiled. ‘And then we’ll fly to Naples, and on to Positano for another five days.’

I couldn’t believe it. The Amalfi coast! He really had thought of everything.

As we were travelling first class, the flight attendant smiled at me and gave me a glass of chilled champagne as soon as we’d boarded. I could definitely get used to this life, although of course there’s more to life that the luxuries that extreme wealth provides.

I really thought that everything was going to be perfect when we checked into the hotel, because when Hugo was asked if he wanted to make reservations for dinner, he gave the answer I was hoping to hear.

‘Thank you, but I think we would like to eat in our suite. Perhaps I could consult the chef about the menu. In the meantime I’d be grateful if you could have a bottle of Cristal sent to the room straight away.’

I was a bit less pleased when we reached the suite and found that there were two bedrooms, and I was clearly expected to sleep in one whilst Hugo would take the other. But I’d already decided that I need to work at this, and tantrums would achieve nothing. What’s odd to me is apparently not odd to Hugo.

‘Darling, why don’t you go and take a bath and then get dressed for dinner,’ Hugo asked.

I wrapped my arms round his waist and whispered in his ear.

‘
Dressed
, my love? Are you sure that’s what you want?’

Hugo gently removed my arms and smiled at me - that lovely smile that reaches his eyes.

‘I’m quite sure. I would much rather see you opposite me in this glorious setting in one of your beautiful dresses than in a negligee. Humour me, please?’

That sounded fine to me, so I thought I’d take some time to get ready. I wanted to get this just right. So I ran myself a deep bath and lay back in thick bubbles. I was so looking forward to the rest of the evening - and, of course, the night ahead.

I dressed carefully in a silk shift dress in a pretty teal colour. It was a perfect foil for my red hair, which I know Hugo loves. Although the front of the dress was quite modest, the back had a deep V which reached to my waist, and the dress flowed beautifully - not too clingy, but not too loose. I knew that this was one of Hugo’s favourites.

The meal that he had selected was superb. A delicious piece of ginger marinated salmon was followed by a soft and delicate aubergine gnocchi in a salsa di pecorino, and then to complete the menu the most tender fillet of beef that I have ever tasted was served with an antiboise sauce. I couldn’t even
think
about dessert, but Hugo fed me a mouthful of his spiced pear sorbet, and I really did think that I was in heaven. I looked across the table at my elegant and sophisticated man. He looked so handsome; smart yet casual in a classically cut pair of black trousers and pale caramel coloured linen jacket over a white shirt, open at the neck. I couldn’t help noticing a few dark hairs just below his collar line, and I ached to reach across and undo his shirt further, and kiss the point at the base of his neck. I’m telling it like it was. This is how I felt.

I decided not to drink much, so I just had a couple of smallish glasses of wine. Hugo had a Grappa after dinner, but I wanted a clear head. We went and stood outside on our private terrace, and looked out over the lagoon. Pure heaven.

I sensed that it wouldn’t be right for me to touch Hugo. He likes to be in charge, so I resisted. As we gazed out across the water, he put his arm around my shoulders. I leant very slightly towards him to acknowledge his action, but not to put too much pressure on him. Then he said what I was waiting to hear.

‘I am aware that we didn’t make the best of starts yesterday evening, Laura, and I’m sorry if I took you by surprise with the bedroom arrangement. I’m confident you’ll soon appreciate how sensible it is, but I do understand that in your world it isn’t the norm. I should have dealt with it more sympathetically. But now, my darling, this is our real wedding night. Shall we go to your room?’

I ignored the bit about our different backgrounds, because he’s right, really. I actually felt quite nervous. Yesterday I had all the confidence in the world, but it took a bit of a knock, and this time I felt that I had to be very careful not to mess things up again. I wanted to tell him how much I love him, and how important he is to me. But I didn’t want to break the fragile moment of closeness. I decided that he would probably prefer praise to emotion.

‘Hugo, can I just say how much I appreciate this superb holiday. You’ve planned it so carefully, and all I want is to make you blissfully happy.’

I know, Imo - it sounds a bit stilted, but it was the right thing to say. Hugo looked pleased.

We walked arm in arm through the French windows into my bedroom - a truly magnificent room decorated in silvers and golds.

My heart was beating so quickly - I don’t know whether it was passion or fear of rejection! I turned to Hugo and wrapped my arms around his waist, raising my face to be kissed. I looked into his eyes, and could see real hunger there. He kissed me. Gently at first, and then with increasing passion. I put my hands between us to start unbuttoning his shirt, but he gently removed them. I told myself to slow down. Then he pulled my head onto his shoulder, and starting stroking my hair, lifting the long tresses to cover them with kisses. I was desperate to move things forward, but I made myself hang back.

Then he pushed me away - just gently - and placed his hands on my shoulders.

‘Darling. You are exquisite and I want you so much. But I really want to enjoy this, and we mustn’t rush. Please, go over there and let me look at you.’

He walked away from me and sat down on the chair, staring at me. I didn’t like this. I wanted to be held.

‘I don’t know what you want, Hugo. Do you just want me to stand here?’

‘For a moment, yes. Your beautiful red hair is caught in the lamp light. I want to look at you in all your perfection, and remember this night.’

I felt a bit stupid, but it was good to know that he thought I was beautiful - well, my hair at least. I wanted to be in his arms, though. I felt so
isolated
on the other side of the room.

He leaned back in the chair, and gave me that wonderful smile again.

‘I’d like you to start to remove your clothes.’

I frowned. I had to ask him what he meant, although it was clear enough.

‘It’s a simple request, Laura. Please keep your shoes on, but I’d like you to remove your clothes, whilst I watch and admire you.’

I realised that he wanted me to strip for him. Oh no! Please not this. This was going to be the first time that he would see me naked, and I didn’t want it to be like this. In the future, if it amuses him, I can’t imagine I’d have an issue with it. But surely this was a night for tenderness and passion? Surely it should be about discovering each other’s bodies with fingers, hands and lips? I didn’t want to give a solo performance. I tried to explain this in a non-confrontational way.

‘I’m not asking you to behave like a
whore
. I want to see you remove each item of clothing, piece by piece. Please continue until you are totally naked. Do you find it strange that I want to admire your body?’

What could I say? He made it sound like a compliment - but it seemed so unnatural to me; so cold and clinical. I tried again.