The Winter Folly (7 page)

He frowned. ‘Well, how are you going to commute to London every day from Dorset? It’s not exactly practical, is it? Where else would you live but with me, for God’s
sake?’

‘But . . .’ She stared at him helplessly. It seemed obvious now he said it, but she hadn’t properly thought through the implications: that her career would need to be given up
at once. ‘Why didn’t you say something before now?’

He laughed in a joyless way. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but I thought you understood. I come as a package with the house. I belong at Fort Stirling. That’s just the way it is. It was
lovely having time to ourselves but I can’t stay away indefinitely. It’s just not possible. That place is my life and my work. Besides, my father is there and he needs me.’

‘What about my work?’ she said slowly. ‘Doesn’t that matter?’

‘Anyone can do your job,’ he said. ‘But only I can do mine.’

She’d been hurt at the implication and he’d become exasperated because he hadn’t meant to imply her job was easy, just that their circumstances were different. They’d
begun to squabble and then to shout, and then they were having a proper quarrel.

‘So my job and life don’t matter?’ she’d cried. He seemed like a stranger suddenly, and she hated it.

His eyes flashed with irritation. ‘You married me – you must have understood that meant you were marrying the house as well!’

‘We never talked about it!’

‘Because it was glaringly obvious. You’ll have to give up your job if we’re going to be together. Besides, when you have a baby, you’ll be stopping work
anyway.’

‘Oh, you’ve decided that, have you?’ She felt furious. Even though she had half thought the same, his assumption enraged her. ‘Am I supposed to become a full-time mother
just because you say so? How dare you make those decisions on my behalf?’

He stared at her, his eyes steely, and something in him seemed to snap. He shouted, ‘I don’t have a choice – I’ve
never
had a choice – and now you’ve
married me, neither do you! The sooner you understand that, the better!’ He stormed out into the night, slamming the door behind him and leaving her weeping and frightened because she’d
never seen him look at her in that terrible way, or heard such a tone of bitter resignation in his voice.

When he finally came back to bed, she was still awake. She wrapped her arms round him and said she was sorry. She’d thought it over and of course it was stupid of her not
to realise that the fort would have to be their home right from the start. She would give up her job.

‘I knew in my heart I’d do it eventually,’ she said, stroking his back and feeling him relax in her arms. ‘I suppose I just hadn’t quite admitted it would be sooner
rather than later. But you’re right, my life is with you now. It’s what I want.’

He’d hugged her back and kissed her. ‘Thank you. I do love you, darling, and I’m sorry for that horrible row. I should have talked to you about all this, but I’m not very
good at it, I’m afraid. I don’t like admitting things, even to myself. I know what it means to give up your work. If it’s any consolation, there’s plenty to do at the house,
believe me. It’s a whole career in itself.’ Smiling down at her, the dimple in his left cheek appearing, he said, ‘You never know, we might have a honeymoon baby and then
you’ll have lots to keep you busy.’

‘Maybe,’ she’d said, relieved and happy that there was peace between them again. ‘We’ll see.’

Within a month, her notice was worked out, her flat had been rented and she had taken the first steps towards beginning her new life at Fort Stirling. The vast house was now her home. There was
no sign of a baby yet.

1965

Eastbourne seemed like a strange place for a honeymoon. Alexandra might not know much about such things but she had the vague idea that Paris or Venice were the right kinds of
places, or somewhere by the sea in a hot country.

They had the sea, all right, but apart from that, not even a hotel. The little motor car had roared past The Grand on the sea front and Alexandra, who had expected them to stop, was quite
disconcerted. Her husband – the word was strange and tasted bad, leaving a bitterness in her mouth – didn’t so much as flick a glance at the place but continued frowning at the
road ahead, a cigarette clamped between his lips or occasionally between his fingers.

He must know what he’s doing
, she thought. Her hands were pressed tightly into the seat on either side of her, her fingertips hooked into the grainy leather. They had barely
spoken to one another since they had said their vows a few hours earlier. The bells had been pealing as they emerged from the church, her arm resting on the rough wool of his morning coat, and
there’d been a swift glance at each other, a kind of half-smile on Laurence’s lips, and he murmured, ‘Are you all right?’ to which she’d answered, ‘Yes,’
and then added hesitantly, ‘darling.’ His blue gaze slid away from her and he said nothing more. A moment later, they’d been surrounded by people, hustled into a waiting car and
driven home again. She walked into the house feeling a little ridiculous now in her dress with its cumbersome train and the long froth of veil around her shoulders, and was greeted by two staring
village girls holding trays of asparagus rolls. They’d bobbed curtsies and said, ‘Hello, mum,’ in a way that made her realise that everyone saw her differently since the little
ritual in the church.

The reception passed in a hubbub of noise and a blur of tightly packed people. There was hardly enough room for the guests in the drawing room and some spilled out onto the terrace, as the
village girls passed among them offering trays of food and sherry. Alexandra escaped the bunches of inquisitive ladies and with some muttered excuses slipped into the dining room, where the wedding
presents had been laid out on the sideboard, displayed for anyone who cared to look. She went over, her train tucked over one arm, and inspected them. They didn’t feel like hers and she
wondered if it would be better if she simply left them where they were. The cut-glass vases and crystal looked more at home here than it ever would wherever they were going, not that she had much
idea where that was.

‘Delightful, aren’t they?’

She jumped and turned to see Laurence’s brother walking across the room towards her, looking like a comical little bantam with his chest puffed out and his hands clasped behind his back.
He had fair hair like Laurence, swept back from his forehead, but unlike Laurence, with his thin, almost gaunt face, Robert was plump and his cheeks were ruddier than his brother’s, as though
blood had been pumped hard into the little veins and capillaries and got stuck there.

Robert came up and stood close to her, his shoulder almost brushing her as he leaned forward to examine the presents. ‘Quite a haul. A respectable amount to start married life with.’
He tilted his head so that he was looking up at her from one pale blue eye. ‘Don’t you think?’

She nodded. His nearness made her uncomfortable. ‘They’re very nice,’ she said politely, although she had no feelings for the pile of glittering glass, silver and china.

‘Look at this.’ Robert lifted up a large blue and white china vase, something in the style of Chinese porcelain but with department-store sturdiness. ‘Quite charming.’ He
held it out to her. She let the train fall from her arm and took the vase. It was heavier than it looked and she felt her arms sag under its weight.

‘Here, give it back.’ Robert reached out, his hands closing over hers. He smiled at her. ‘I should have known a little thing like you wouldn’t be able to manage
it.’

She stared back at him, aware of his hot hands on top of hers, and then released her grip. The vase slid awkwardly away. Robert scrabbled for it but it resisted his clammy fingers and fell to
the floor with a heavy thump. They both stared at it as it rolled back and forth on the carpet, like a fat baby unable to turn over because of its round belly. It was unbroken, its solidity too
much of a match for the floor.

‘No harm done,’ Robert said with obvious relief. He bent down to pick it up and when he rose again, his blue eyes were reddened with the effort. He put it back on the sideboard.

Perhaps his trousers are too tight
, Alexandra thought. His whole suit seemed to be straining a little as though it had been fitted some years before when his frame was altogether
slimmer.

Robert was breathing heavily from his exertion, the air whistling through his nostrils. She noticed tiny dark hairs shuddering within the caverns. He was pushing his face closer to hers, and his
expression was changing from politeness to a kind of wolfish hunger. ‘You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?’ he said, his voice suddenly low. ‘You’re rather
wasted on Laurence. He’s never been a ladies’ man, never had the eye. Never been able to read those little flirtatious games you like to play.’ His rubicund face was approaching,
his eyes like those blue and yellow swirly marbles in the jar in her room. ‘But I can. You’re being very naughty, aren’t you? You know exactly what you’re doing.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, confused.

He was breathing a little faster. ‘I like it, and you know it. I know about women. All you want is to excite a man and make him desire you. You’re damn well succeeding.’ He
thrust his face at her and reached out with his large red hands, pawing at her chest.

Horrified and repulsed, she only knew she had to get out. She whirled around, heading for the dining room door. There was a fearful rent and she felt herself jerk back.

‘Christ!’ exclaimed Robert. She turned to see he was staring down at the floor, where his black shoes were standing firmly on a remnant of the train. He had torn it clean off. She
gasped, picked up her skirts and ran out of the room, leaving him there with the puddle of white silk at his feet.

It had been almost a relief to leave after that. She’d run trembling to her room and slammed the door, leaning against it and biting her lip hard not to cry.

He’s a beast, a beast!
she thought. The idea that she wanted to excite him, to make him pant and turn red like a fool, was ridiculous and hurtful. Was it because she was married
now? Was that why men might think she was teasing them? It was baffling and horrible. She looked around. The sight of her old books and pictures, and the suitcases standing by the door, the whole
place looking empty already, was almost too painful.

I mustn’t tell Laurence
, she thought.
I know that would be very wrong. He might believe Robert, he might think I did want to . . . to . . .
She couldn’t quite
imagine what anyone might think she wanted to do with Robert. The idea of his face touching hers made her shudder. Pushing it out of her mind, she concentrated on taking off the spoiled dress, a
difficult task without help, and putting on her going-away costume: a blue wool dress and matching coat edged in white, with a small white hat and white pointed shoes. When she’d come down,
cold and calm, there’d been general amusement.

‘She can’t wait, old man!’ cried a male voice from the back, amid the laughing. ‘You’d better get on your way.’

She’d stood there, awkward in her smart, grown-up clothes, and wondered why they were laughing. Then Laurence came up to her and twenty minutes later she was pressing her lips to her
father’s cold cheek and then Aunt Felicity’s powdery soft one, and they were saying goodbye. She glimpsed Robert Sykes in the crowd that came to wave them off with a cheer, and looked
away with a concealed shiver. Then the car roared away from the house and she was alone with her husband at last.

‘Mr and Mrs Sykes? Yes, I have the booking here.’ The lady, her hair set in lank curls that looked at least a fortnight old, peered through her glasses at the
register. ‘That’s right. Sea view. Room eight. Arthur will show you up.’ Then she shrieked loudly, ‘Arthur! Arthur! Come and carry some luggage.’ Her voice returned to
its normal tone as she said with a smile, ‘Honeymooners, are you?’

Alexandra looked about. This was nothing more than a cheap seaside boarding house, the kind with pretensions to gentility, with gaudy old master reproductions on the walls, crocheted covers on
every surface and carpets that were tacky underfoot. Why had Laurence brought her here? Couldn’t he think of anything better than this?

Arthur appeared, a tubby man wearing his braces over his shirt, and took the two larger cases while Laurence brought the smaller bags, and they followed him up the staircase and along a hall to
room eight.

When they were left alone in their bedroom, Alexandra noticed that there were two beds separated by a slim night table with a pink china lamp on it. She stared at them. What did this mean? Were
they going to be sleeping apart? A shimmer of relief went through her and she let out a long, slow breath. She’d been holding it, she realised, as they’d come through the door.

Into the chamber
, she thought, obscurely wondering if she were quoting something. A bridal chamber. And then she wanted to laugh. This was her bridal chamber! A greasy-walled, shabby
little room with a view of a patch of shingle and an inky smear of sea. Laurence was standing by the window staring out at it. As her gaze landed on him, he took out a packet of cigarettes and lit
one, turning to face her as he exhaled a cloud of grey smoke.

‘Are you hungry?’

It was the first thing he’d said to her for a long time. ‘I . . . yes . . . Yes, I am.’ She realised that she’d barely eaten all day. Her breakfast had been lost down the
lavatory and she hadn’t had the stomach for asparagus rolls.

‘So am I,’ Laurence replied. He took a small strand of tobacco off his tongue and then smiled at her. ‘I don’t think they do dinner here. Let’s go and see what we
can find.’

They went out into the already darkening evening and found a small restaurant where they ate fish and chips on china plates as they talked politely about the day, and then a dry, dusty-tasting
strawberry meringue. After they’d both had a cup of coffee, they walked very slowly back along the road towards their boarding house. Laurence reached out and took her hand, putting it over
his arm and holding it in his. His mood seemed to have turned tender.