The Winter Folly (17 page)

‘Is Polly there?’

‘No. And if she was, I could send her away.’

Alexandra felt a sensation of distaste; it was perfectly all right as long it was just the two of them in their private world. Anyone else knowing would make it wrong. ‘I don’t want
her to see us together,’ she whispered.

‘She won’t. No one will.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled through his nose. ‘My God, you’re driving me wild. Let’s go.’

They took a taxi from just outside the Albert Hall, and only a few minutes later they were in the mews. It was deserted and no one saw them as Nicky opened the front door and
led her inside. The place was empty.

‘You see? She’ll be gone for ages. I sent her off for supplies and she has to get up to Islington.’ Nicky took her hand and pulled her gently round to face him.

She had no idea where Islington was but at this moment she was unable to care about that, or about Polly either. The feelings racing through her were so overwhelming, there could be a hurricane
outside and she wouldn’t notice. It was like she had been given some kind of potion that had brought her almost unbearably to life. Every cell in her body seemed to be vibrating, crying out
for closeness to Nicky.

His eyes searched her face tenderly. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? Your husband—’

‘Shh.’ She pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t talk about that. I don’t want to think about anything but this.’

He kissed the finger on his lips and she gasped at the warm softness of his mouth. Nicky took her hand in his and put his other hand behind her head. ‘You’re exquisite,’ he
said under his breath. ‘The closer I am to you, the more perfect you are.’

She was trembling, possessed by a fierce longing for his touch. She hungered for his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin. This was desire, strong and demanding, and more than she could possibly
conquer, even if she wanted to. She stared up at him and her lips parted involuntarily. He looked down at them and his expression changed to something she was almost frightened of: in his eyes was
the same hard need she was experiencing herself.

He reached for her and then his mouth was on hers. At last she was being given exactly what she had been craving; the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips, and his delicious scent ignited
something new and exciting inside her. Her blood sang as he kissed her. She’d always resisted Laurence’s hard, pressing mouth but now she desired Nicky and wanted him in every way.
Without thinking, she opened her mouth under his and felt the soft warm wetness of his tongue. She said, ‘Oh,’ but it came out as a tiny noise, almost a moan, that seemed to inflame him
and he pulled her closer to him. She lifted her hands to his head, losing her fingertips in his hair, opening to his thrusting tongue as he took possession of her mouth, relishing his sweet taste.
It was more glorious than she could have imagined. So this –
this
– was what they were talking about, what the fuss was about. She had begun to think it was all a stupid lie
designed to cover the flat nastiness of physical love. But this one kiss was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her and the longer it went on, the more she wanted it, her whole body
responding like an instrument under the hands of a skilled musician. Excitement rose all over her but particularly in the heat of her stomach and in the places where Laurence had scrabbled and
scratched with so little effect. That part seemed to be awakening along with the rest of her, tingling, heating up, making her aware of its presence.

They kissed for long minutes until Alexandra felt almost drunk on the pleasure of his mouth and tongue.
It should be repellent
, she thought,
this exploration of another’s
mouth
, but with Nicky, it was bliss. The sensation of their mutual pleasure in the kiss was like the stoking of a fire inside her that flared up and burst into flame, demanding ever more
fuel.

He pulled away at last; his eyes were both tender and glazed with hard lust. ‘Alexandra,’ he said, almost with wonder.

‘Yes . . .’ She gazed hungrily at his mouth, wondering when she would be allowed to have it back again.

‘You’re incredible . . . this is incredible . . .’ He seemed bewildered by what they had just shared. She felt elated: did this mean that what seemed so extraordinary to her
was also out of the ordinary for someone like Nicky, who had, she assumed, kissed hundreds of girls?

‘Yes,’ she said, leaning against him, revelling in the feeling of his arms around her. She felt as though she had come home. ‘It is incredible.’

Alexandra knew now what walking on air meant. She returned from Belgravia in a kind of floating trance, taking her time, wishing the journey home could take longer so that she
could savour this wonderful joyous feeling. She smiled at everyone she passed, wondering if she was glowing as much on the outside as she was within. She had left him – Nicky, her . . . her .
. . not lover, not yet . . .
yet
. She chided herself, laughing but afraid at the same time, both of whether she dared and of how much she wanted it. At home she would have to conceal this
delight and the magical thing she had discovered. She wanted to stop people and say, ‘Kissing! Isn’t it marvellous? Oh, I adore it!’ Instead she beamed at them as though she loved
them, the pallid people who weren’t Nicky and weren’t lucky enough to be the woman he had just kissed.

At home, she must stifle it all, damp down the raging fires, so she let the happiness free while she could. By the time Laurence returned home, she was almost normal, muted but polite. He
didn’t seem to notice anything at all as he sawed at the piece of beef she had overcooked and later, as they read together in bed, he remarked that she seemed in a good mood, but that was
all.

Polly knew, of course. When she opened the door to Alexandra the next day, it was in her eyes: a kind of accusation mixed with weary acceptance. Nicky said it was better that
Polly knew; she was around the place so much and they would never be able to coordinate Alexandra’s visits with her absences. But he tried to send her out as much as possible so that the two
of them could be together, or else they met in the park, as far away from the barracks entrance as possible, finding patches of long grass where they could lie on rugs together, far off the
pathways in case one of the army wives came by.

They talked, remembering every moment of the past they had spent together, wondering at the unknown reasons they’d been kept apart as children, marvelling at all the hours they’d
already passed in one another’s company without feeling like this when it was so inevitable, and they kissed – long, delicious kisses that made them both oblivious to the outside world.
Once they were roused by the shrill whistles and laughter of some passing boys, and another time an old man shouted that they were disgusting, making a vile public exhibition of themselves.
Alexandra was mortified but it took very little to make her forget and kiss again; Nicky was like a drug – the more she took, the more she needed.

The kisses were amazing but they felt the pull of more than one another’s mouths. Nicky’s hands caressed her arms, her sides and strayed to her bottom and bosom, his fingers gentle
but eager. She yearned for his skin, to unbutton his shirt and slip her hand inside to touch the warmth within. And she had felt him swelling against her thigh and it sent shivers of delight
through her. She knew that it would be so different with Nicky, that he wouldn’t blame her for not knowing what to do. She was even certain that with him, she would know what to do. And she
was sure that it would only be a matter of time before they couldn’t resist going to bed. But still, the remembrance of her wedding vows played through her mind, and he had not yet asked her
to break them.

They spent two blissful weeks of summer days together before Laurence noticed anything.

After dinner one evening he looked at her over the top of his paper and said, ‘Have you been to the hairdresser today?’

She looked up, startled, and shook her head. ‘No . . .’ She was sewing, an activity that let her sink delightfully into her imagination.

He frowned. ‘A new lipstick?’

She shook her head again.

Bending a corner of the newspaper down so that he could see her better, he inspected her. ‘You’re different, but I can’t quite say why.’

‘I . . . I had a nice walk in the park today,’ she improvised. ‘Perhaps I caught the sun.’ But the truth was she had spent two hours curled up with Nicky on the sofa in
his tiny sitting room, murmuring and kissing, before he had gone off to work photographing a society luncheon for
Sketch
.

‘Perhaps that’s what it is. It suits you.’ He flicked the corner of the paper back up again, and she let out an inward sigh of relief. She was safe. There was no way he would
link her happiness to Nicky; he appeared to have forgotten all about him and hadn’t even noticed that the promised invitation to a party had never arrived.

But when they went to bed that night, he put his hand on her hip as she lay with her back to him and whispered into the gloom, ‘I think we should try to . . . you know.’

She froze, everything in her repelled by his touch. He revolted her now and she couldn’t imagine how she had ever let him come near her.
But
, she told herself,
I have to
behave normally.
She turned over onto her back and whispered, ‘All right.’

I hate it and I hate you
, said a voice in her head as he edged himself closer to her and then manoeuvred himself on top of her. He smelt sour to her, of cigarettes with something bitter
mixed in, and his paltry weight, after Nicky’s height and heft, made him seem pathetic. As he approached her mouth with his hard, unloving lips, she couldn’t stop herself turning her
head so that they landed on her cheek. One hand went to her left breast and clutched it, squeezing it hard. He rubbed his groin against her nightdress but she could feel nothing through the cotton
of his pyjamas, no prodding, no stiffness. She was glad. The thought of that thing sent a wave of nausea through her.

‘Look at me,’ he murmured, and she turned her face so that she was gazing into his cool blue eyes. ‘You look very pretty at the moment. I didn’t realise how pretty you
are.’

She stayed stock-still, letting him look at her, but the jeering voice in her head was saying,
Not for you, though. Only for him.

He lowered his mouth onto hers and she closed her eyes, not moving or responding, as he pressed down. Then, to her horror, she felt the tiny wet point of his tongue slide out and push between
her lips. It made everything in her cry out in protest. Her mouth belonged to Nicky. Laurence’s tongue was loathsome. She would be sick, she would scream, she would—

He persisted for a moment and then suddenly pulled his tongue away, muttering, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know . . .’

She lay still again, not moving or speaking. She knew that he was not in the least aroused by her. He was trying but there was nothing about his body to show that he desired her, and they
couldn’t continue without that.

This is all wrong
, said a voice in her head. The voice was firm, decided, and she knew it spoke the truth. This marriage was a stupid mistake, a dead thing created by other people, like
some Frankenstein’s monster, and forced upon them. It was an utter failure. Laurence didn’t love her and she offered him as little as he offered her.

He sighed. ‘We’ll try again another time,’ he said in a small voice, and she felt simultaneously sorry for him, and deeply scornful. Then he climbed off her and they resumed
their normal positions, back to back, not touching at all.

Present day

London was a shock after so long at Fort Stirling. Delilah was overwhelmed by the city with all its people and the way they seemed to crowd in on each other and on her.

This used to be my life
, she reminded herself.
I used to travel every day pressed up against strangers and not think anything of it.

She remembered her morning commutes, the takeaway coffees, the dash into work with all the thousands of others, the crowded cafes and busy parks, the bars thronged with people in the evening,
and then getting the train home late to her tiny flat.

The country had re-sensitised her to the city: its size, density and frantic pace. It was half terrifying and half exciting; being here felt like being a part of things again. But it was so hot
and dusty that she couldn’t help thinking of the cool parkland and delicious gardens of home.

I’ll be back there soon enough
, she told herself. Now that she was away from the house, she felt an odd mixture of relief to be free of it and a yearning to be back. What a
strange place it was – it seemed to hold the promise of heaven and hell simultaneously. Most of all, she wished she and John had been able to make up after that silly bad feeling about the
folly. If he’d come to London with her, they might have been able to recapture some of the bliss they’d shared before they married. But she knew he wouldn’t have agreed to it. Not
with the way things were now.

‘Ah, hello, darling.’ Grey kissed her on both cheeks, his neat little beard scratchy on her face. ‘Gorgeous to see you. I’m surprised you could bear to
leave that beautiful castle of yours. Or did the plumbing finally defeat you?’

‘Hello,’ Delilah said, kissing him back with a smile. The room was humming already, full of people holding drinks and talking while discreetly watching the new arrivals. She’d
felt daunted as she came in – it had been so long since she’d been among the fashion crowd – but she’d spotted Grey in his tangerine shantung suit at once, and made for him.
‘Actually, I couldn’t wait to come. It was very nice of Susie to invite me.’

‘She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she? She’s over there, holding court. I can’t believe how wonderful this exhibition is. It’s the couture collection of some crazy
society woman with more money than anyone needs. It’s going to be sold for charity after it’s been displayed. Susie’s curating it, and then selling it at her auction house, the
cunning little vixen. You must see some of the incredible Dior. But it’s the early Alexander McQueen I love.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You look very nice. Lovely to see you
glammed up instead of doing your country mouse routine. How’s life?’