Hothouse Flower (23 page)

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.

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?’