The Orchid House (21 page)

‘Of course, miss.’ Tentatively, so as not to spoil Olivia’s dress, Elsie put her arms round her mistress.

‘Thank you for looking after me so beautifully over these past few weeks,’ said Olivia. ‘I’ve asked Adrienne if this could be a permanent arrangement in the future.’

‘You mean, I’m to be your lady’s maid? Forever, like?’ Elsie’s eyes were wide with wonder.

‘Yes. Who else could do better? As long as you are happy with the idea, too. There’ll be a few extra shillings for you as well.’

‘Oh, miss, I’d love it! Thank you so much,’ said Elsie, her voice breaking. ‘Now, you’d better be getting yourself downstairs; they’re waiting for you.’

‘Yes.’ Olivia took a few seconds to compose herself. ‘Wish me luck, Elsie.’

Elsie watched as Olivia walked towards the door. ‘Good luck, miss,’ she breathed as Olivia left the room.

Whenever Olivia looked back on her wedding day, she struggled to remember much of it. She could see Harry in her mind’s eye, resplendent in full military uniform, standing waiting for her at the front of the church. And the Guard of Honour his battalion had arranged, as they walked from the church a newly married couple. At the reception, which took place in the ballroom, Olivia could remember a sea of faces, some of which she knew from London and many she had never seen before. She had no memory of what she’d eaten – probably very little, given her corset – or much about the speeches.

She remembered the first dance with Harry, as everyone clapped, then partnering Lord Crawford, her father, Angus and Archie.

At ten o’clock, the guests gathered in the hall to wave the happy couple upstairs to bed. Due to Harry’s immediate return to his battalion, plans for a honeymoon had been shelved. Harry took Olivia’s arm and kissed her on the cheek as she threw her bouquet from the top of the stairs. Everyone cheered when Adrienne’s five-year-old niece caught it.

‘All right, darling?’ Harry asked as he led her along the corridor in the opposite direction from her old bedroom.

‘I think so, yes,’ she answered nervously.

He opened the door to their new quarters and they walked inside.

He shut the door behind them and threw himself on to the large bed, where the sheets were already pulled back.

‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ he said as he rested his hands behind his head, ‘but I don’t fancy going through that ever again. I’m absolutely bushed!’

Olivia was exhausted too, but felt uncomfortable about joining him on the bed. In the end, she sank into a chair by the newly lit fire.

He surveyed her from his elevated position. ‘Do you need Elsie’s help to get all that stuff off? I don’t know whether I’m much of an expert.’

‘Perhaps you could learn,’ she suggested timidly, unnerved by the utilitarian approach he was taking to this moment.

He sprung off the bed and came to her. ‘Stand up and let’s have a look then,’ he commanded.

She did so, and turned her back to him so he could survey the seed-pearl buttons that had taken Elsie twenty minutes to fasten that morning.

He shook his head. ‘Beats me, I’m afraid. Tell you what, darling, I’ll go and find Elsie, and then come back when she’s finished releasing you.’ He smiled at her, then promptly left the room.

Olivia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his insensitivity. A few minutes later, Elsie was at the door.

‘Master Harry said you needed my help and I’m not surprised. Those buttons are a nightmare for the nimblest of fingers.’

Elsie began unbuttoning the dress as Olivia stood silently.

‘You all right, miss?’ she asked. ‘You’re very quiet.’

‘I … oh, Elsie …’ To her embarrassment, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

‘Oh, miss, don’t you be crying now, please. You’re just tired, that’s all, and emotional. I cried on my wedding night too, if you must know.’ Elsie reached for a handkerchief in her pocket and handed it to Olivia. ‘Don’t you be spoiling your pretty face for Master Harry with them tears. I’ll be as quick as I can, and then you’ll be back in his arms.’

‘Thank you, Elsie, you’re probably right,’ agreed Olivia, blowing her nose. ‘I’m just being silly.’

‘We’re all nervous on our wedding night, miss,’ Elsie said, as she undid the last button and Olivia stepped out of the dress. ‘But Master Harry will look after you, I know he will,’ she added as she handed Olivia her nightgown. ‘There now, you climb into that and I’ll take the dress and hang it in your old room. And I’ll tell Master Harry that you’re ready for him on my way down. All right, miss?’

‘Yes,’ Olivia nodded. ‘Thank you, Elsie.’

Elsie picked up the wedding dress, put it over her arm and walked towards the door. She opened it, then, as an afterthought, turned back and smiled shyly. ‘And I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think it’s going to be. See you tomorrow, Miss Olivia, goodnight.’

Calmer now, Olivia sat back down in the chair, waiting for Harry to reappear. Ten minutes later, yawning, she decided to climb into bed, wondering where he could have got to. The tension of waiting was killing her, but she could hardly leave the room and search for him. Surely he must be on his way?

Half an hour later, there was still no sign of him. The exhaustion of the day catching up with her, Olivia closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Sometime during the night, she heard a door open and felt a bend of the mattress as Harry climbed in next to her. She waited in an agony of suspense to see if he would lean over and touch her. He did not. A few minutes later, she heard him snoring gently.

Olivia woke up early the next morning, a feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. She knew, beyond a doubt, that last night was not how it should have been.

Harry was still asleep beside her, so she climbed out of bed and tiptoed across the carpet and into the room next door. Their private quarters comprised the bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom and a dressing room each. Hers contained a wardrobe, whereas Harry’s contained a narrow bed.

Olivia was aware it was considered normal for man and wife to have separate sleeping quarters, although her own parents had never had that luxury in Poona, their house being too compact. She looked at the bed and sat down on it, wondering miserably if this was where Harry would have preferred to spend the night.

She dressed swiftly, uncomfortable with the thought of Harry bursting in and seeing her half-naked. When she walked quietly back into the bedroom, she saw that Harry was still fast asleep. She hovered by the door, unsure of what to do. If she went downstairs, eyebrows would be raised as to why she was up so early on her first morning of married life. But if she stayed … she’d have to face an uncomfortable scenario with Harry.

The decision was taken out of her hands, as Harry stirred and saw her standing by the door.

He smiled at her, rubbing his eyes. ‘Hello, darling. Sleep well?’

She shrugged silently, despair written on her face.

He opened his arms to her. ‘Come here and give me a hug.’

Olivia didn’t move.

‘Come on, darling, please. I won’t bite, you know.’

She walked towards him tentatively and sat right on the edge of the bed.

‘I suppose you’re wondering where I got to last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, some of the chaps caught me as I was coming back along the corridor to you, and asked me to join them for a swift brandy to celebrate. I knew you were exhausted, so I thought I’d let you sleep.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Darling, you’re upset, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am, Harry! It was our wedding night, for pity’s sake!’ she shouted, unable to contain her frustration.

‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ He sat up and stroked her back. ‘You know, darling, we have the whole of our life together to get to know each other. There’s no rush, is there?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said, without conviction. ‘I just … don’t want anyone else to know.’

‘Well, they won’t hear it from me, I swear. Let’s just take it slowly, shall we?’

Somehow, Olivia got through the day, keeping busy, dodging questions from Venetia and Adrienne, and trying to look as content and replete as a new bride should.

That evening, when all the guests had left and Olivia had retired for the night, Harry entered the room. He came to sit on the bed and took her hand.

‘Darling, I think it’s better if I sleep in my dressing room tonight. I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning and I don’t want to wake you.’ He leant towards her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Good night, sleep well.’ And then he stood up and left the room.

Olivia lay wide awake into the small hours, her stomach churning, knowing that something was dreadfully, horribly wrong.

21

In the two weeks leading up to Christmas, Harry did not try to initiate anything intimate in the bedroom. In fact, Olivia hardly saw her new husband. He would arrive home, sometimes after midnight, grab a few hours sleep in his dressing room and be off the following morning by six. At weekends too, he was working.

Olivia felt she could hardly complain, knowing that the war was ratcheting up. Already a German U-boat had sunk the British battleship
HMS Royal Oak
, and young men were disappearing every week from the estate to train full time with their battalions.

Olivia could only hope that when Harry had two days off at Christmas, they would be able to spend some time together. And, at the very least, discuss their relationship and its obvious problems.

Thankfully, there was much to keep her occupied on the estate, due to the diminishing man-power. With Bill no longer able to help Jack, Olivia spent time helping to tend the kitchen garden and watering the flowers in the hothouse. Working outside in the bitter cold numbed her brain and stopped her from brooding. But sometimes she found it difficult to keep cheerful. She felt she could not turn to anyone for advice, even though she was desperate to.

Adrienne, sensing her new daughter-in-law’s misery, and putting it down to having her husband so unavailable to her in the first few weeks of their married life, suggested that Olivia invite a house party of her friends from London, just before Christmas.

Even Harry brightened at the thought. ‘I think it’s a splendid idea, darling. I’m sure you’ll be inviting Venetia; now there’s a game girl who’ll light up any party. And … how about that poet chap, Archie? And Angus, your Scottish chum?’

Olivia’s friends duly arrived, full of horror stories about London and impending rationing. Venetia tipped up in her smart Wrens uniform, telling Olivia she was undergoing training of the top-secret variety, and that she really couldn’t talk about it.

After dinner, the two of them sat by the fire in the library to enjoy what had become a traditional catch-up session. Venetia eyed Olivia critically.

‘Darling, for someone who’s living in the country, you’re looking awfully peaky these days. You’re not preggers already, are you?’ she chuckled.

Venetia’s glib comment brought tears to Olivia’s eyes.

‘Gosh!! I’m sorry, have I said the wrong thing?’

‘No – yes – oh, Venetia, it’s just
too
awful for words!’

Venetia went to Olivia and put her arms round her shoulders. ‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad, whatever it is. You’re not ill, are you, darling?’

‘No, I’m not ill … I –’ Olivia didn’t know where to start. ‘The thing is, Venetia, I – I’m still a … virgin!’

Venetia looked at her in amazement. ‘How can you be? Oh darling, please tell. I might be able to help,’ she soothed.

So, haltingly, between tears, Olivia told her the whole sorry story.

‘I must say, I can’t understand at all,’ Venetia said bluntly. ‘It strikes me that most men seem to spend their lives trying to extract what Harry has on offer from his wife every night.’

‘Don’t!’ said Olivia. ‘I know. The question is, why?’

‘Have you asked him?’

‘No. I keep telling myself I must, but then – I can’t bring myself to say the words.’

‘Well, you absolutely must, darling, because it isn’t normal,’ Venetia implored. ‘And besides, you’re so utterly lovely, it’s hard to imagine that any man could resist you.’

Olivia gave her a wan smile. ‘Thank you, Venetia, but really, I’m at my wit’s end. My mother-in-law keeps making pointed comments about when the next heir to Wharton Park is going to come along and, of course, I know there’s no possibility of that happening. Perhaps,’ she sighed, ‘I’m just not his sort.’

‘Now you
are
being silly,’ Venetia comforted, ‘you’re every man’s ‘sort’. You must try to remember that this is most certainly Harry’s problem, not yours.’ Venetia paced the library, thinking. Finally she stopped and turned to Olivia. ‘Perhaps it’s simply that he’s desperately shy. What you are going to have to do is pounce on him.’

‘Golly, no! I absolutely couldn’t.’

Venetia yawned. ‘Oh well, darling, if all else fails, you can comfort yourself with the fact that he probably won’t be here for much longer. They’re mobilizing like billy-oh, and there’s every chance that Harry will be shipped off soon to France. Then, of course,’ she grinned, ‘you can take a lover. You are a married woman after all, and it’s
de rigeur.
Now, my darling Olivia, I must go and get some shut-eye. I had a particularly raucous night in London with my new
amour
and I’m bushed. We’ll talk some more in the morning. This has nothing to do with you, promise. Night, night, darling, sweet dreams.’

Having mulled over what her friend had said, Olivia thought she might be right and Harry could simply be desperately shy. She decided there was nothing for it but to do as Venetia had suggested and ‘pounce’ on her husband.

That night, dressed in her prettiest peignoir, and before her courage failed her, Olivia wandered through the sitting room towards Harry’s dressing room. But, on opening the door, found the bed was empty. Looking at the time on the clock beside his bed, she saw that it was past midnight. Intrigued as to where he’d been since they’d left the dinner table earlier, she let herself out of the room and crossed the landing, tiptoeing down the stairs.

All the lights were off, and Sable had closed up for the night, which normally indicated that everyone in the household had retired. Walking across the entrance hall, she stopped as she saw a shaft of light coming from under the library door.