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 motherin-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.
Creeping towards it, she turned the handle silently and pushed the door open.
Olivia let out a gasp of horror. Harry was standing by the fireplace, with his back towards her. She could see Archie’s eyes were closed as he continued to kiss her husband, unaware of Olivia’s presence. She stood there for a few seconds longer, looking at the way Archie was clasping Harry to him, as his lips moved against her husband’s mouth …
Feeling the bile come to her throat, she gagged, then fled down the corridor in the direction of the nearest lavatory and was violently sick.
After a nearly sleepless night, a devastated Olivia woke to Christmas Eve. She was glad to have the distraction of helping Adrienne decorate the traditional Christmas Tree – culled from the grounds of Wharton Park and placed in the entrance hall. Carols were playing from a wireless somewhere in the background and everyone, apart from Olivia, seemed to be full of Christmas cheer. She dug deep inside her soul to garner strength, biting her lip hard again and again to prevent herself from crying out loud in sheer misery.
Venetia, Archie and Angus were ready to depart for London at lunchtime. Olivia hid upstairs in her bedroom, unable to face the thought of seeing Archie and having to be polite. Venetia came to find her.
‘Darling, I’m awfully worried about you. You look quite ghastly today. If you ever need me, you know where I am,’ Venetia said, as she kissed Olivia goodbye.
‘Thank you,’ Olivia gulped. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Venetia what she’d seen the night before.
Somehow she got through the day, and the traditional present-opening that took place after dinner. As soon as she could, Olivia took herself off to bed and lay miserably, huddled up under the blankets against the cold, which tonight seemed to be eating into her bones.
An hour later, Harry came into the bedroom.
‘Darling, are you awake?’
When she did not reply, he walked around the side of the bed. She felt his face lean down towards hers.
She sat bolt upright and screamed: ‘NO! Don’t touch me!’
Harry stepped backward, shocked by her reaction.
‘Whatever is it?’ he asked.
She jumped out of bed, desperate to be away from him.
‘I know I can’t do anything about the fact I’ve married you, fool that I am! But I beg you, promise me now you will never try and touch me again. You … repulse me!’
Harry turned and followed her as she walked over to the fireplace, shivering from cold and anger. ‘Darling, please calm down. What on earth are you talking about?’
She looked straight at him, disgust in her eyes. ‘I saw you – with him,’ she spat. ‘Last night, in the library.’
Harry looked away from her into the distance, then nodded. ‘I see.’
‘For all these weeks, I’ve been wondering why you didn’t want your wife as any husband should, why you never made to touch me. I’ve been utterly desperate, thinking it was me, that I was doing something wrong. And, of course –’ Olivia laughed harshly – ‘you were never going to want me, were you? I’m the wrong sex!’
She watched him without sympathy as he sank down into a chair by the fire and put his head in his hands.
‘Olivia, I’m so dreadfully sorry. You shouldn’t have seen what you saw last night –’
‘– And you shouldn’t have been doing what I saw last night! How could you, Harry? In this house! Anyone could have walked in and caught you … like I did!’
‘I swear to you, it has never happened before and it’ll never happen again. I – we – were drunk … got carried away –’
‘Please, spare me the excuses, Harry.’ Olivia wrung her hands in despair. ‘Are you really trying to tell me that you couldn’t resist the arms of another MAN?’ She checked herself, knowing that she was in danger of becoming hysterical.
‘Darling –’
‘Don’t call me “darling”! I am not your “darling”, he is!’ Then she started to sob helplessly. She walked over to the bed and sank on to the end of it. ‘Harry, how could you be so cruel? How could you marry me, knowing what you were?’
‘I didn’t – I don’t know – Olivia, maybe you don’t understand, but at school –’
‘I don’t care what happened at school!’ She looked at him in disgust. ‘You are married now, with a wife! How could you allow me to waste my life with you, knowing that you had feelings for men and could never really love me? I know you are shy, Harry, but I didn’t think you were cruel.’
‘Please, I promise you, Olivia, I do have feelings for you. And after last night, I know that – what you saw – it’s not for me, really.’
‘Oh, how jolly convenient for you to say so, now you’ve been discovered,’ she threw back. ‘You do realise you could be thrown out of the Army in disgrace for this? And your parents, your poor parents.’ She shook her head. ‘Your mother keeps asking me when I’m going to produce the next heir. Harry,’ she said, as the last of her reserve crumbled, ‘how can I bear this?’
‘Darling, please don’t cry.’ He made to come over to her, but she put her arms out in front of her.
‘I said, don’t touch me!’
Harry walked back to the chair and sank down into it. They sat in silence for a while.
‘You know,’ said Harry eventually, ‘it’s not completely unusual for men to struggle with – who they are, Olivia. And I promise you, my darling, after last night, I know who I am now. And please, if you’d let me, I wish to make it up to you, make our marriage work. I accept last night was very wrong, but I honestly did it with the best of intentions, if you’d only let me explain how –’
‘Please,’ Olivia shuddered, ‘spare me the details. Forgive me for not wanting to enter your grubby little world.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘I think, when we have both calmed down, we must discuss what we must do. I have to decide whether I can live with this.’ She looked up at him. ‘If I can’t, Harry, will you grant me a divorce?’
Harry looked horrified. ‘There’s never been a divorce in our family.’
‘Maybe there’s never been a homosexual in your family!’ She spoke the word bluntly, saw Harry flinch and enjoyed it.
‘Please stop saying that, Olivia!’ he begged. ‘Truly, it’s not what I am. Yes, I did think for a time it was a possibility, which was why I needed to find out. But really, darling girl, believe me, I’m not. So many things have become clearer in my mind today. And that’s the very reason why I came to you tonight. I wanted to finally consummate our marriage.’
‘That’s awfully noble of you, Harry,’ Olivia was suddenly exhausted, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t believe you. I don’t think you love me and I wish I’d never fallen in love with you. Now, please, we have another long day tomorrow and I must try to get some sleep.’ She looked up at him. ‘And I want you to promise me one thing.’
‘Anything, Olivia, darling, really.’
‘I want you to promise me that you won’t come near me or touch me whilst I think what to do.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed sadly, ‘I understand.’
22
In the weeks that followed, Olivia needn’t have worried about Harry touching her. Harry was barely home. He was out with his men, working round the clock manning the North Norfolk coastal defences. Food rationing had begun in earnest, and the Ministry of Agriculture had visited Wharton Park to discuss the fallow fields that should be turned over to growing further crops and vegetables.
Olivia had visited the local recruiting station to sign up as a Wren. But when they heard she lived at Wharton Park, the woman in charge had suggested to her that she might meet with the local head of the Women’s Land Army, to see if that would suit her better.
‘There’s going to be a number of girls billeted at estates around the county, including yours. You might find, given your credentials, you’re just w
hat the WLA needs.’
Olivia duly met with the woman concerned, who was thrilled at the prospect of having someone who’d be of a similar age to the girls and already living on an estate. Olivia took on the role of Organizing Secretary for the area, in charge of liaising with the local farms to discuss how many girls would be needed and where to billet them.
Between that and trying to help Adrienne keep the house itself going on what was fast becoming a skeleton staff, Olivia was extremely busy. The fact she had not a moment to think helped her to bury the pain of what had happened, and the hole it had torn in her heart. This wasn’t a time to think of herself, or the future. There was an ironic comfort in the situation and she managed to take each day as it came. Besides, at least now she knew the reason ‘why’, and that helped enormously.
Harry had done all he could, in the rare time he had, to convince her of his love. He copied out, in his exquisite writing, her favourite romantic poems and left them for her under her bedroom door, had flowers from the hothouse delivered to her daily, so that their suite of rooms basked permanently in a fragrant smell, ordered packages of books he knew she particularly liked and had them sent from London.
It was exactly the kind of behaviour she had wanted from him when they were courting. But now … it meant nothing.
Her heart was numb.
The Land Girls assigned to Wharton Park arrived by bus at the beginning of March. Olivia had been warned by the WLA representative that many of the girls were from industrial towns, with no idea of the job ahead of them. She had commandeered three workers’ cottages in the Quadrangle to house them. The cottages had been unoccupied for a number of years, pending renovation. They were damp and dark, but Olivia had set to, with the help of Elsie and others, to scrub and brighten the cottages, and make them habitable.
On the night the Land Girls arrived, they filed into the kitchen, all of them overawed at the size of the house. Olivia ate with them, hearing about where they’d come from and how ghastly the uniform was that they had to wear.
‘You should try them Aertex shirts, Mrs Crawford,’ said a girl with a strong Birmingham accent. ‘They scratch like no one’s business.’
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