(2011) Only the Innocent

by Rachel Abbott

  ‘I’m waiting for an apology, Laura. Your behaviour the other night was unacceptable. I will not be shouted at.’

  I responded with something like ‘Oh for God’s sake, Hugo. Don’t be so bloody autocratic. I’m a person too, you know. I am entitled to my own opinion!’

  He walked out again, packed a bag and moved into Egerton Crescent until I couldn’t bear it any longer. I phoned and apologised, of course. But I know that all marriages have their little spats, and we’re still getting to know each other.

  The greatest joy in my life is Alexa. I love the weekends when she comes to stay. She arrives on Friday, and stays until Sunday. More during school holidays. She spends lots of time with me in the kitchen, and I give her little jobs to do. We have great fun making pizzas that she can decorate herself, or making hedgehog cakes that she can put the chocolate buttons on. We used to do that, do you remember? Of course, Alexa and I only cook when Hugo isn’t at home. I don’t think he would approve of Alexa eating pizza. Nor would he be happy to see her covered in chocolate!

  I make every excuse that I can to get that awful nanny out of the house. I don’t know how Annabel can stand having her around. I always feel as if she’s watching me, and reporting back. So I try to give her the day off, or send her on as many errands as possible. I don’t always succeed.

  But I’ve avoided writing about the real issue. This is what I wanted to tell you about.

  It all started when we’d been back home for about a week. I’d decided to make it my number one priority to do something to lighten the ghastly atmosphere of this mausoleum of a house, so I sent off for samples of carpet, fabric swatches and paint charts. My plan was to make up a few mood boards - lots of alternatives so that Hugo could have the choice. I’d started to work on a budget too - although eventually I realised that budget wasn’t the issue. But more of that later. Anyway, I was keeping myself occupied during the day.

  But the nights? We were still in separate bedrooms, and I didn’t want to shatter the rather fragile peace by making any demands. Then one evening he said he had a ‘special surprise for me’.

  ‘Laura, as I mentioned on our honeymoon, I know that you’ve found sex within marriage difficult. I think you’ll find tonight to be different.’ He smiled at me, and his eyes were glittering with suppressed excitement.

  ‘May I suggest that you go and have a shower. You’ll see that I’ve laid a few items out on your bed for you. I would like you to put them on, and then come to me when you’re ready. Will an hour be sufficient time?’

  If this was Hugo’s idea of making things more exciting, it certainly wasn’t mine. I didn’t want a timetable; I wanted spontaneity. And I didn’t want sex, I wanted to make love. Voicing these opinions was obviously not an option.

  I made my way rather despondently to my room. I had no idea what Hugo would want me to wear, and it was with a slight sense of relief that I found nothing more frightening than a set of underwear and a negligee.

  The bra was pretty enough, in creamy coloured silk with a slightly darker shade of fine lace stitched around the edges. But the set included a suspender belt and a pair of what can only be described as very large French knickers. Also made of fine silk, they came almost to my waist, and fell a good few inches over my thighs. Not my sort of thing, but I suppose I could see how they might turn somebody on. Dressing up, like stripping, isn’t exactly a mortal sin. The thing that was depressing me was that it was all so cold and premeditated. But hey - it could have been worse - he could have wanted me to dress up in black latex, and that would have worried me.

  When I was dressed, complete with pale cream stockings, I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt faintly ridiculous, and strangely very sad. I presumed he would want me to strip again, and that didn’t fill me with delight - but if this is what it was going to take to get him to make love…

  I slipped the matching negligee on, and made my way with more than a little apprehension to the middle bedroom. I gave a rather hesitant knock on the door, not knowing quite what I was supposed to do. When I finally heard him summon me to the room, the sight that greeted me took me completely by surprise. He was lying full length on a huge four poster bed and was totally naked, with the exception of a thin folded sheet which covered him from just below his navel to the top of his thighs. This was the first time that I’d been able to look at Hugo’s body in any detail, as our previous encounters had taken place in total darkness, but tonight the room was brightly lit. I could tell that Hugo was already aroused (I feel oddly embarrassed mentioning that to you).

  I walked towards the bed.

  ‘Stop. Don’t touch me. I’m not ready.’ Despite the bright lights, the pupils in Hugo’s eyes were enormous, and his eyes seemed totally black.

  He pointed to a small pile of what looked like silk scarves in several bright colours by the side of the bed.

  ‘I want you to tie me up. My hands and legs to the bedposts. No - don’t take your negligee off. I don’t want to see you.’

  Why can’t things just be normal! Okay, people do things like this. I know that. Is it just me? Maybe it is. I was too stunned by all of this to even ask why I’d had to wear these particular garments if he didn’t want to see me. I know I keep saying it, but I’m not a prude. You know that. Far from it. It was clear from his next words, though, that somehow I’d been failing him.

  ‘Tonight, Laura, I’m going to teach you how to please a man.’

  I didn’t say anything. I just edged closer towards him, and reached over for the scarves.

  ‘Don’t sit on the bed, don’t touch me. I’ll slip my hands and feet through the nooses that I’ve prepared, and then you tie me to the bed.’

  I still didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just obeyed his instructions - like a zombie.

  ‘Tighter, that’s too slack. See - I can move. I mustn’t be able to move. That’s very important.’

  I tied them tighter. I was beginning to feel slightly nauseous.

  Hugo closed his eyes, and I felt relief that I could no longer see into their black depths.

  ‘Now, take off the negligee. Keep everything else on.’ He must have heard the swish as it dropped to the floor, because he immediately spoke again.

  ‘Now, remove the sheet, and enjoy me!’

  How could I possibly enjoy him? This wasn’t something that we’d entered into together! It did nothing for me. This was a game devised to Hugo’s rules, and I felt like a prostitute. Not a loving wife.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Laura? I told you, remove the sheet and enjoy me! You must learn to take control. Just do it!’

  I had so ached to see, touch and feel his body next to mine. Perhaps I could still make this work, I thought. So I tentatively removed the sheet, and finally saw my husband completely naked for the first time. I couldn’t believe that he could so obviously be feeling such intense excitement. What I wanted to do was kiss him and lick him all over, and then take him in my mouth to bring him to this peak of excitement. I wanted him to respond to me - but not like this.

  I carefully knelt next to him on the bed, and gently started to stroke his inner thigh. My mind was working overtime now, and my plan was to lean over and start to kiss him tenderly on his stomach, hand and mouth gradually getting closer and closer.

  But it wasn’t what Hugo wanted. Clearly.

  ‘Stop! I didn’t tell you to give me pleasure, I want you to take your pleasure from me.’

  It was pretty clear what he expected me to do. ‘Just go with it’ I thought. ‘It might be better than you think.’

  It wasn’t.

  Slowly and carefully I moved myself until I was astride him. I thought once again that I might be able to seduce him into changing his mind, so instead of guiding him inside me, I leaned forwards - the satin of the bra brushing his chest, and my pelvis rubbing against him. Hugo squirmed.

  ‘Not like that. You have to learn that your pleasure is my pleasure.’

  ‘But Hugo, this is my pleasure -
touching you, kissing you.’

  ‘Do it, Laura. Just do it!’

  Maybe I should have just walked away. It’s not easy to explain to you why I didn’t. All I can say is that I’d been married less than three weeks, and more than anything in the world I wanted to make my marriage work. You don’t just give up after such a short time, do you? By this time, I knew enough about Hugo to acknowledge to myself that things had to be played his way, or the repercussions would make life unbearable. I was going to have to change Hugo over time. I wasn’t prepared for the consequences of arguing my point of view. So I did as he asked.

  Thanks to the width of the legs of the knickers, I didn’t even need to take them off, and I lowered myself onto him. I knew that any chance of an orgasm was completely out of the question for me, and I wasn’t sure if Hugo expected one or not. But he kept is eyes resolutely closed, so faking wasn’t a problem. God knows, I’ve had enough of the real thing in my time. The only question was how long was he expecting me to take. I decided to get it over with as quickly as possible; I could always excuse myself on the basis that I’d waited a long time for this. I won’t go into the details of my performance - that’s too much information - but it was pretty convincing. I didn’t know what I was expected to do next.

  ‘Bitch! Untie me, bitch!’

  He couldn’t possibly have known I was faking - I’d bet my life on it. I had no idea what was wrong, but I rushed around the bed, untying everything as quickly as possible - first his legs, and then his hands. And then he opened his eyes. I had wanted to see desire in my husband’s eyes, but this was just savage lust. He lunged for me, and I thought he was going to hit me. Perhaps that would have been better.

  He grabbed my arm and flung me face down on the bed. And then he took me in a way which I will never describe to you. All I will say is that it was brutal.

  I cried. I couldn’t help it. But he either didn’t hear, or he didn’t care. The only good thing was that he ejaculated in under a minute - which showed the extent of his excitement. And he never spoke another word. I stayed lying face down on the bed, sobbing. But all I heard was the door as it closed behind him.

  I don’t know how long I stayed there. It could have been minutes, it could have been an hour. As soon as I could I pulled myself together, grabbed the dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around me - almost for protection - and ran back to the safety of my own bedroom. I stripped off all the disgusting underwear and slashed it to pieces with a pair of scissors. And then I went and stood under the hottest shower I could bear. I stood there for a long time. But the hand marks where Hugo had squeezed my breasts from behind were still visible when I eventually dried my sore and aching body.

  The next morning I decided that, come hell or high water, I had to have this out with him. I went down to breakfast, and he was reading the paper. Mrs Bennett was buzzing around, but I asked her to leave us. When Hugo saw me, he gave me such a beam of pleasure. He stood up and held out my chair and then leant over me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘How are you this morning, my darling?’

  ‘Hugo, I need to talk to you. About last night.’ My voice was trembling. I could hear it.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he responded, still smiling. ‘But perhaps not at the breakfast table. We can talk later, if you like. There is, however, one thing that I have been meaning to say to you, Laura. I want to thank you for being so very good with Alexa. Life with her mother and I was difficult, but she was too young to understand. I am so delighted that as she grows up we will be able to offer her a stable home - at least for the days she’s with us. She couldn’t wish for a better step-mother.’

  And that was it. I was so thrilled that he thought I was good with Alexa, it seemed churlish to spoil the moment. So we never did have the conversation. But now I never enter my bedroom without a deep sense of trepidation. The fear of finding a gift from Hugo on the bed and all that it heralds fills my days with foreboding and my evenings with dread.

  And I have nobody to tell. To find out what I should do. I don’t have you any more.

  I won’t give up on this marriage, though. I have to find a way to make things better - but I’m not ready to give up. Imagine what it would do to Alexa if it all fell apart.

  The thing is, this is what I was going to ask you about. I phoned you. Not after the first few times, because I was so deeply ashamed, but after it had been carrying on in the same way for months, and things weren’t getting any better. Hugo was so pleased with himself. I did try once more to raise the subject, but it appeared that he actually thought I was enjoying it! I tried to explain to him that I preferred more in the way of lovemaking, but he asked if I was criticising his performance, and of course, I couldn’t say yes. I suggested that maybe I had things to learn, but could we try one or two alternative approaches. He simply folded his newspaper with a sigh, and said something like ‘Laura, you really do need to trust me on this. We’re not teenagers, and you need to move on. You need to understand what adult sex is all about. I promise that you will appreciate this in time.’

  I bloody won’t. But he’s so plausible, which is why I wanted to talk to you. I waited until I thought Hugo was busy in his study, and then I called you from my bedroom. I know I was incoherent - it was just so difficult to talk about, even to you. I needed to see you, and I wanted to show you the underwear. For one awful moment, I thought Hugo had heard us talking. I was really very scared. But he can’t have done. He wouldn’t have invited you both to dinner if that had been the case, and he never mentioned it. We didn’t get time to chat before dinner, but I thought the next morning we would grab an hour or so.

  And then that awful thing happened with you and Sebastian. How could you do that, Imogen? And poor, poor Will. He is absolutely broken hearted. I can’t really blame Hugo for banishing you from the house. But it’s a huge loss to me. And Will is completely beside himself with misery.

  And now you’ve called to say you think Hugo drugged you. Imogen, you must be wrong! Why on earth would Hugo want to do that? He wouldn’t have any reason to want to split you and Will up, would he? And he knew you were my best friend. I can’t, and won’t, believe that of my husband. That way lies madness.

  Since that awful night I’ve been so lonely. The only thing left for me in all the lingering misery was planning the refurbishment of the house. I worked on the plans for ages, and then presented Hugo with about four different options. He barely glanced at them before telling me that this was his mother’s house, and nothing could be changed.

  But I wasn’t prepared to give up. I decided that I would refurbish the house in Egerton Crescent as a surprise. My old company has now been sold - you probably don’t know about that - and I’ve made a considerable amount on the shares. So I thought I’d spend some of it on a sort of present for Hugo. I would restyle the apartment, just to demonstrate what I could do. I waited until he was away. Everything was ordered and ready to go. Out with the heavy old furniture, in with something stylish and contemporary. The hideous green patterned carpet that ran throughout the apartment was ripped up, and a deep pile apricot carpet replaced it. The walls were washed in a rich cream colour. It looked completely gorgeous, and I couldn’t wait for Hugo to see it.

  He didn’t like it.

  ‘Laura, I appreciate the thought and the sentiment. But I would have thought that over the last few months you would have come to understand that your taste is still in need of some development. Where is all the old furniture?’

  I had to admit that I’d had it stored in some of the outbuildings in Oxfordshire. But the hideous carpet had been burnt.

  With a sigh Hugo instructed Jessica - who had witnessed this massive humiliation - to organise the return of all the new furniture to the shops, and to arrange for the old furniture to be brought back from Oxfordshire. The carpet could stay.

  I feel so stupid, and I miss you.

  Lxxxx

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘Imo, you’ve been crying! I’m so s
orry. I shouldn’t have asked you to read them. I should have just told you everything.’

  Laura had gone in search of Imogen, and had found her sitting on the side of her bed, wiping her eyes with a towel. She was ashamed that Imogen was having to sleep in this room, which was dark and gloomy - but it was the best spare room they had in this vast house.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m glad I’ve read them. Oh honey, I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you. But you’re such a strong person! I don’t see how you could have allowed this to happen to you.’

  Laura gave a wry smile.

  ‘I don’t know how to explain it Imo. At the time, all I could think was that I wanted my marriage to work.’

  She sat down on the dark green candlewick bedspread next to Imogen, and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder.

  ‘You have to understand what it’s like when you live with somebody who’s controlling. They’re clever. I don’t know if they plan their every move, or whether it just comes naturally. In Hugo’s case he never shouted, called me names or hit me. If somebody locks you in a cellar for days without water, or gives you a regular black eye, you know without a shadow of a doubt that you are being abused. But when somebody appears to be considerate, never raises their voice and appears to have your every interest in mind, how can that possibly be abuse?’

  Imogen put her arm around Laura’s shoulder, and gave her a slight squeeze.

  ‘But you were so unhappy. Surely that didn’t seem right?’

  ‘I was unhappy - but it was hard to understand exactly why. Leaving aside his rather weird sexual preferences for the moment, there was nothing that I could put my finger on. I wish I could describe it to you - how it felt.’

  Laura paused and stared at a painting of the killing of a stag that hung on the wall next to the dressing table. Her mind wandered. Who on earth had thought it appropriate to put such a picture in a bedroom? It suited her current mood, though.

  She dragged her mind back to Imogen’s question. She had no words - just thoughts, images and feelings. The hollow sensation she felt when she knew without him saying a word that Hugo was displeased, and the disproportionate joy she experienced when he smiled at her with some degree of affection. Actions and attitudes that would seem normal in most relationships took on a significance of monumental importance and flooded her with hope. But the master puppeteer knew just when her desperation point had been reached, and always rewarded her with nothing more than a kind word or a gentle kiss. And of course, over time these moments became rarer and therefore infinitely more precious.