by Taylor, Lulu
‘If only I’d known what it could be like, I’d never have married Laurence,’ she told Nicky as she lay in his arms after the storm of passion had passed for a while.
‘Perhaps you could have married me instead,’ he said casually.
The words hit her like punches. Really? Could a life with love really have been in her reach? But they hadn’t met since they were children. In all the years since, when they might have grown to know what they felt, they hadn’t laid eyes on one another.
‘My father would never have allowed it,’ she said. ‘He’d have stopped it.’
‘I wish I knew why,’ Nicky said, frowning. ‘What did he have against us?’
‘It wasn’t just your family. There were other friends he made me give up. He seemed to think I was better off by myself.’
‘Bloody odd behaviour,’ Nicky said. ‘Very rude of the old man, as well. And it makes things awkward in a small place. It doesn’t look right.’
Alexandra suspected that very few people had spurned the friendship of the Stirlings. ‘I shouldn’t think you cared much, really, did you?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He kissed her swiftly. ‘Of course I did. We were friends. I was fond of you. But’ – he nuzzled against her – ‘not as fond as I am now.’
Alexandra smiled happily at the tickling caress but a thought struck her. ‘If my father knew about this, he’d be so furious, I hardly dare think about it.’ A sick feeling vibrated through her at the image of her father’s anger.
‘I shouldn’t think mine would exactly be over the moon either,’ Nicky replied. ‘But it’s our lives, isn’t it? Aren’t we the ones that matter? Not some crusty old men who’ve had their chances and simply want us to be as miserable as they were. Let’s just be happy and to hell with what they all think.’
This seemed outrageous subversion. Everyone knew that duty and obedience were virtues and that pleasing oneself was wicked and indulgent.
Nicky kissed her nose. ‘The expression on your face at the moment is one of the reasons I love you. Let me get my camera; I want to capture it right this instant.’
She lay, trying to keep her face still to preserve her expression for Nicky, but exulting inside with pleasure at the way he had said, so naturally, that he loved her.
Life with Laurence was tolerable now that Nicky was the centre of her universe. The fact that Laurence was her husband was something she tried not to think about and his presence couldn’t dim her bright happiness. She was being so appalling, so sinful, and yet it was so wonderful. The only way to cope with it was not to think about it at all.
She stood at the stove in the early evening, humming to herself as she stirred the cream sauce that she intended to pour over the piece of fish roasting in the oven. Potatoes boiled away in their starchy bubble bath, making clouds of steam.
She felt his presence before she saw it, and she turned to see Laurence standing in the doorway, holding something out to her, his face alive with fury.
‘What the hell is this?’ he hissed.
Her stomach did a sick flip and she felt a nasty prickle down her neck and in her fingertips. He was holding out a magazine that she had bought that day, but not yet read. There on the page, under the headline ‘London’s newest star photographer’, was a print of a photograph that Nicky had taken of her a few weeks ago. It was captioned ‘The Bath’ and she wasn’t named but it was obvious who she was to anyone who knew her. Her hair was pinned casually upwards, strands escaping at her neck, and she was gazing out over the side of a bath, her neck and shoulders bare with the suggestion that she was nude in bathwater behind the high cast-iron sides. She was smiling, her gaze tender, and the portrait was intimate and suggestive. It was a clever photograph that trod a fine line of decency: the nudity was concealed but absolutely there.
Laurence thrust the open pages towards her, his eyes blazing. ‘Explain this,’ he said, a note of hopelessness in his voice alongside the anger.
‘I . . . I . . .’ She couldn’t begin to understand what the photograph was doing in this magazine. What was Nicky thinking of sending it to be published?
Laurence stared down at the image on the page. ‘It’s indecent!’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘Disgusting! Look at you! How could you humiliate me like this?’
Her world was shaking on its axis. She knew that the photograph itself was just the start of it and any second now he would realise that too.
‘For God’s sake, Alexandra!’ he snarled. ‘Look at me! Talk to me. What were you thinking? Anyone could see this, anyone, and they’d know . . . they’d know . . .’ He couldn’t say what they would know. His white face was covered in crimson blotches, his neck scarlet.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a quiet voice. She needed to be calm.
He stared at her, agonised, his pale blue eyes wide and glassy. ‘He took it,’ he said in a strained voice. She knew at once that he’d guessed the full extent of the betrayal.
‘Yes,’ she said in a voice that sounded almost firm.
‘Christ!’
She’d never heard such a word from him before and it shocked her. He was shaking now, the magazine trembling in his fingers. He seemed unable to speak any further but instead threw the magazine at her feet where it landed splayed and creased. Her own face gazed up at her with its knowing smile and sideways look. Then he turned and strode out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.
She waited a few minutes but there was no sign that he was coming back, so she stopped cooking, leaving the pots and pans on the stove top and turning off the oven. She picked up the magazine and deposited it in the bin. She wondered if she should find a telephone so she could tell Nicky what had happened and ask him why on earth he’d decided to have the picture printed when a fearful thought struck her – perhaps Laurence had gone to find Nicky so that he could fight him. But Laurence had no idea where Nicky lived and besides, Nicky was probably out.
Alexandra tried to relax but she was on edge with a kind of horrified excitement. It was terrible that Laurence knew her greatest secret but there was also a sort of nervous anticipation, as though she was waiting for the next instalment in a thriller. What would he say? What would happen? Surely he would demand that she give up Nicky . . . and she was certain she couldn’t do that. So what on earth would they do? She felt a wave of relief that surely the deception was now at an end, followed by panic at what would happen next.
The hours ticked by and she finally went to bed, although she couldn’t sleep as she played scenarios through her mind. Would Laurence want a divorce? Or would he forgive her and ask her to relinquish Nicky?
Just after one o’clock in the morning she heard the front door open and the sound of someone moving heavily about in the sitting room. He must have been drinking in the mess. There wouldn’t be any sense out of him tonight – just a whisky or two was enough to slur his speech and make him lose his train of thought. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
Footsteps approached the bedroom and then the door was flung wide, letting light from the sitting room pierce the darkness.
‘Get up,’ said Laurence in a tone of voice she had not heard before.
She turned around, blinking in the glare. ‘What?’
‘Get up!’ he snarled.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Laurence, it’s late. You’re drunk. I know you’re upset—’
‘Upset?’ he drawled. ‘Why on earth should I be upset? My wife, my wife of less than a year, is fucking someone else.’
She drew in a breath at the word he’d used. A ripple of fear shot down her spine.
‘Tell me, darling,’ he said, slurring slightly, ‘what made you able to do it with him, huh? You’re a cold fucking fish to me. I thought you were frigid with your bloody shut-off body. But you’ve been with him, haven’t you? Don’t lie, I can see it in your face. I should have realised it before with the way you’ve been acting, the way you’ve been around me. Your little childhood friend has got some damn
privileges, hasn’t he?’
Alexandra was still, listening to him with mounting fear as her mind began to race over what he might mean to do.
‘I should have listened to what they told me about you and your family before I agreed to take you on. Bad blood in it. You seemed so bloody pure but you were just waiting for the right scent to put you in heat.’ He swayed forwards. Instinctively she cowered back, a movement that seemed to infuriate him. ‘I’m your fucking husband!’ he cried, a tormented expression on his face. ‘How dare you . . . how dare you be like this, you thankless bitch.’
‘Please, can’t we talk about this in the morning?’ Her voice quavered with fright. The language he was using was harsh and showed how unanchored he was. She’d never dreamed Laurence could utter words like that.
He was approaching the bed. ‘Do you know what the worst part of this sordid business is? The whole world is going to know I’m a cuckold, with your shameless parading of your behaviour in the press. And what they don’t know . . .’ He laughed bitterly ‘. . . what they don’t know is that I’ve not even had a taste of the favours you’re so happy to give out. So . . .’ He reached a hand to her nightdress and began to tug at the neck. ‘Come on, I want my share. I demand my rights.’
His touch was leaden and cold, and there was nothing about him that seemed truly hungry for her. She tried to push him away.
‘Laurence, no . . . stop it.’
‘I won’t stop it,’ he snapped, his breathing coming faster now. ‘You don’t have any right to tell me to stop it. You’re mine, don’t you understand that? You belong to me!’
Real fear began to possess her as she realised that he was serious. He was drunk and strong. He was trying to assert something. ‘Please, get off me, this isn’t right . . .’
‘Rich, coming from an adulteress. I might have known that as soon as a nob like him made a play, you’d drop your knickers like a whore.’ With a sudden tug he ripped the nightdress, tearing it straight downwards over her chest so that her breasts were exposed. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he grabbed her before she had time to move, seizing her arms in both hands, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.
‘No!’ she cried but he yanked her downwards and kneed her thighs apart. Oh God, he’s going to do it, she thought, appalled and revolted. Her mind raced despite the fear and she wondered if now that she had made love to Nicky, her body would be able to accept him, even if he was rough and unwanted. Everything in her wanted to reject him, but he was stronger and he wrestled her easily down to his will. She was prone and vulnerable. When he released one of her arms so that he could fumble with the flies of his trousers, she tried to push him away with her free hand but she was helpless. She felt feeble and weak, and that infuriated her.
‘Stop it!’ she shrieked. ‘What kind of a man are you?’
He froze, panting. He had undone his trousers and they hung open. She saw at once that he wasn’t going to be able to do to her what he wanted. He couldn’t make her belong to him after all. She looked into his face and saw the expression of desperation there.
‘Stop it, Laurence,’ she said pleadingly, trying to keep her voice gentle. ‘Let’s talk about this.’
He flicked his gaze up to her and sighed. For a moment she thought he was going to calm down but his eyes fell on her exposed body and his expression changed. The sight of her nakedness seemed to infuriate him and, grimacing, he drew back his hand and slapped her hard across the face, sending her head twisting under the blow. The force of it made her temple hit the headboard and she tasted blood in her mouth. The pain sent her mind spinning and for a dazed moment, she had no idea what had happened until, with a moan, she turned to see that Laurence had pulled back his arm again.
Despite the shock, she knew what she had to do. Laurence had loosened the grip on her arm and she twisted out of his grasp, slithering away before he knew what was happening. He roared his frustration as she dashed to the bedroom door in three strides, heading out into the hall knowing only that she had to escape. She ran to the front door, hearing Laurence crash to the floor as he made to follow her. He was drunk and his loose clothes were inhibiting him but he’d be after her in a moment, maddened now. She could only guess what he might be capable of in this state. Terror propelled her to the coat stand where she hauled down her summer mac and put it on over her torn nightdress, then pushed her feet into her sandals. He was up and at the door.
‘Come back here!’ he yelled, and she screamed in fright, grabbing at the door catch and frantically trying to open it. She turned and saw him coming at her, his eyes burning with anger, and on instinct she grabbed the coat stand and threw it in his path. The unexpected obstacle baffled his drunken brain and he fell over it, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Alexandra turned back to the front door, opened it and ran outside, pulling the door shut behind her. She had no keys. She could not go back in any case, not without risking a beating. Scrabbling in her mac pocket, she found a scarf and dabbed at her throbbing temple. It came away scarlet with blood. Tears rushed to her eyes as the first real pain flooded over her, and she felt suddenly nauseous with dizziness. Her tongue tasted metallic from the blood in her mouth.
I have to get away, she thought, before he gets up and comes after me. She stuffed the scarf back in her pocket, buttoned the coat and headed out of the barracks.
At the gates, the sentries eyed her curiously and said, ‘Ma’am? Are you all right?’
She mumbled that she was fine and kept her head down, hoping that her wounds weren’t too evident. Her face already felt puffy and swollen and it throbbed with pain. She was past the soldiers before they had time to ask more questions and they weren’t interested enough to pursue her once she was out of earshot. She walked on at a hurried pace, glad it was a warm night. The tears of shock and hurt began to sting her eyes.
‘Alex! What are you doing here?’ Nicky looked closer. ‘Oh my God, what’s happened? Quick, come inside.’
She sobbed in his arms and carried on weeping as he bathed her temple with warm water. He gave her a tooth mug with salt water to gargle for her torn cheek and wrapped her in his rough wool dressing gown that smelled so comfortingly of him.
‘He knows!’ she said through her tears.
‘But how?’ Nicky looked baffled. ‘How on earth did he cotton on?’
‘You put that photograph in the magazine – the one of me in the bath.’
He frowned. ‘What are you talking about? I wouldn’t do that. It would be madness.’
‘Then how—’
Nicky’s face cleared and he said in a grim voice, ‘Polly. That’s the only person it could have been. I fear she’s rather territorial.’
Alexandra stared at him, horrified. ‘Would she really do that?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’ve been thinking for a while that her possessiveness is getting out of control and now I know for sure. I’ll give her a rocket and show her the door when I see her.’ He reached out and stroked her hair. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I had no inkling she could do something like this.’
‘I can’t go back,’ she whispered, her eyes feeling as swollen as her face. ‘He knows about us – what we’ve done. He wants to kill me.’
‘He’s an animal,’ Nicky said shortly. ‘Of course you can’t go back.’ He pulled her into an embrace and she sank into the strength of his arms. His lips pressed into the top of her head. ‘He had to find out some time. I just wish it hadn’t been this way. But you’re with me now. I’ll look after you, do you hear?’
She nodded, closing her eyes. She was safe at last. She had come home to Nicky.
Chapter Fourteen
Present day
Delilah found her post in the hall, already sorted for her, as usual. She picked up the pile of letters that had grown large in her absence even though she’d been away such a short time. Taking them through to the snug, she saw several were from as far away as the States and Australia. She knew the form. They’d be as
king questions about the house, enquiring after paintings or objects inside, or claiming that they were distant Stirling relations and wanted more information about the family tree. It was surprising that so many people evidently expected her to devote such a lot of her time to their pet causes, whether it was writing them an essay on the Fort Stirling china collection or the armaments that hung in the Great Hall, or supplying them with endless photographs of whatever they wished to see, from vases to curtain fabrics. They seemed to think that their quest to draw up the Stirling family tree was just what she’d been waiting for in order to fill her empty hours.
She felt more sympathy for the people who wrote politely asking if they might tour the house, or come to examine a particular painting, or even to see the gardens. She liked the requests from young women to get married in the house. They appealed to her sense of occasion and she always had visions of white wedding dresses, flowers and silver trays of champagne, although she was sure that the reality would be a horrible scramble behind the scenes to get everything done. She turned down all the requests politely.
She had said yes to the pony club, though, and the date of their gymkhana was approaching. She made a mental note to mention it to John while he was still in a good mood. Feeling reckless, she fired off a quick email to Susie, inviting her down to stay and have a look at the clothes she’d found in the attic.