The Chocolate Tin

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ she urged, pulling him nearer still, fingers of both hands bunching the jacket in fists to haul him close enough that she could now feel him in a dazzling and salacious few moments against the full length of her body. ‘Matthew feels soft in all the places that you feel hard.’

  ‘All the places?’ he repeated in arched query. He risked an arm stealing around to encircle her, pressing his hand into the small of her back so she could feel precisely what he meant her to.

  If it was possible to feel any more lewd in this moment, she couldn’t imagine it. And the best part was she loved how raw and out of control she felt. ‘If Norma walked in now,’ she began, ‘I —’

  ‘If Norma walked in now, we’d have to dance and stay in motion so she never catches on to the overt display of sinful thoughts I’m having.’

  Alex couldn’t remember a time of such wickedly enjoyable laughter that exploded from her. His hushing only made it worse.

  ‘I mean it. We’ll have to face the wall, start the Military Two-step and never turn around until she leaves.’

  She had to cover her mouth to stifle the delicious amusement, and with that he laid a soft kiss against the back of her hands. In an instant she’d dropped the final barrier of what was considered ladylike, and, finally, what she’d been pretending not to wish for all day came true. Harry bent and kissed her; ridiculously, the thought that rattled around her mind absently as she gave herself over to his softly searching mouth with Scotland on his breath was dispelling the notion that the reality never lived up to the dream.

  Harry’s kiss crushed that myth and made her feel weakened by its intensity and the realisation of how desperate her longing had been for this sort of affection. And just as she opened her yearning for Harry to explore further, the phone jangled and their kiss broke.

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ he murmured.

  ‘If I don’t, Norma will take the call from the phone in the hall, and then she’ll have permission to come into this room and see just what we’re up to.’

  ‘Shall we shock her?’ But she could tell he was joking. ‘Best you answer then, as I need to . . . er . . . collect myself,’ he said, clearing his throat.

  Alex threw him a sympathetic look as she crossed the room quickly to beat Norma to the receiver and answer the call herself.

  She was too late and could hear the housekeeper already talking to her mother. ‘Ah, thank you, Norma. I’ve got it. Hello, Mother.’

  ‘Darling, it’s us,’ Minerva said, ignoring Alex’s words. ‘I was just telling Norma that your father and I might be early.’

  ‘I shall leave you to it, Mrs Britten-Jones,’ Norma spoke from the hall but into Alex’s ear in a slightly bizarre three-way conversation. ‘Perhaps I should put the coffee on now?’

  ‘Yes, Norma, why don’t you do that. It sounds as though my parents are coming over shortly.’

  ‘Be there in ten or fifteen minutes, darling. Hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Why should I?’ she replied, feeling the shame rise from the cradle of her hips to her cheeks.

  ‘Well, it cuts short your private time with your guest.’

  ‘Nothing we can’t all share, Mother,’ she lied, despairing of herself. ‘Come over as soon as you’re ready. We’re just sipping a sherry near the fire.’

  15

  She replaced the receiver and tried to cool her shamed cheeks with her hands but they were hot too, her fingertips still tingling from holding Harry. She could still feel the smooth wool of his jacket behind his neck from where she had pulled him close and then closer still, recalling how tiny flicks of his hair had caressed her while she’d held him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, tone predictably sheepish.

  ‘Yes . . . you?’ She glanced at his lap where his long fingers were knitted in a protective prayer-like clasp.

  ‘I’m going to think about Norma’s disapproval and that will help.’

  She grinned, desperately wishing she could collapse into that very lap, snake her arms around his neck and snuggle in close to his chest like a child wanting to be held.

  ‘We need to eat. They’ll be here shortly . . . my parents.’

  ‘Is it going to be too awkward for you? Would you prefer I ducked away now?’

  ‘More awkward if you leave, frankly.’ She glanced towards the food and back at him as he bit on the corner of his lip in thought. ‘Because I’ll be thinking about you while trying to speak to them.’ She loved seeing the small twitch of a smile that her remark prompted.

  ‘Dangerous talk.’

  ‘We’re past talk, aren’t we, Harry?’

  He lifted a finger. ‘Not too far past yet. I can walk out of this house and you will never have to see me again. We can put this down to . . . well, an aberration. You were feeling downhearted at this being the last week of your tenure at Rowntree coupled with the gloom that your husband was absent. I shamelessly took advantage of that situation, behaving like a typically bewildered returned soldier, and I didn’t respond to traditional boundaries in the company of a gorgeous woman who was being kind to me.’

  ‘Except none of that is true.’

  He looked down. ‘No, I’m not bewildered at all about how I feel about you.’

  ‘You barely know me,’ she said, just above a whisper.

  He gave a soft sigh of resignation. ‘What difference could it make if it were otherwise? None, I can assure you, and I can also unequivocally declare that I own my feelings and no one can tell me how to direct them. They do precisely what they want.’

  ‘Disobedient mites, aren’t they?’

  He nodded. ‘Yours too, I notice.’

  It was Alex’s turn to look down and as she stared into the liquid currant of her sherry she realised it matched the colour of the dark rose that Matthew had planted for her on their wedding day. She recalled its name even as Tuscany Superb. He’d explained that it was trim and dark like her and almost thornless like him; that it grew on strong stems, which equated to how their friendship would grow into love. ‘It has a colour so rich it speaks of our combined wealth,’ he’d finished, as he watched the gardener place it deep into the soil of their garden. Alex recalled now how she’d found his explanation corny rather than romantic as he’d intended, as though he were trying far too hard. She remembered how she’d felt slightly embarrassed for him but also ashamed of her attitude, feeling herself to be heartless. But she knew better now – today had changed everything, especially confirming that she wasn’t cold, that her heart was capable of pounding hard with need and desire.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘You dare not know,’ she cautioned.

  ‘Never dare me. I always rise to the challenge.’ He cleared his throat with a glance at his lap.

  Alex tried to smile, managing a small one, but it came with a frown. Was it the heat, the sherry, his ardour, or just his friendship that suddenly threw down her traditional barricades? ‘He doesn’t love me,’ she said to the flames, not ready to meet the gaze that was fixated upon her. She had never uttered such words previously, never permitted herself to even test the thought, and yet she was blurting it out to a stranger. Harry clearly brought out this nakedness in her; it felt right to bare her heart to him in these suspenseful moments, poised between anticipation of love and acceptance that she had genuinely fallen for someone and was prepared to cuckold her husband for him.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Intuition and, of course, there’s his regular absences.’ She shook her head miserably. ‘Perhaps there’s another woman . . . or two. What Matthew lacks in stature he makes up for in charm. He could have anyone he wants.’

  ‘But it’s you who loves him,’ he insisted, as if trying to convince her.

  ‘I don’t love him,’ she said too hurriedly, whipping around to stare at the man she believed she could love, perhaps already did. ‘I mean, I do love him but not how I feel about . . .’ She took a low breath. ‘I am deep
ly fond of Matthew, as I might feel about my most dear friend. I’m afraid in this moment of frightening candour I am prepared to accept that I have likely never loved him how a wife should and I realise in this same moment that I am incapable of loving him how I should. We arranged our marriage out of convenience and happy, platonic friendship.’

  ‘Should you be sharing this with me?’ he wondered, looking concerned for her.

  ‘Harry, I have no one to talk to about this. I think I’ve obviously bottled it up, hidden it away for years, and it took you to come along and I suppose make a pass at me to unlock the secret. You’ve made me feel desirable. I’m flirting and behaving in a way of which I should be ashamed.’

  ‘So you’re the one at fault?’

  She nodded sadly. ‘I didn’t know how much at fault I was until you and I kissed.’

  ‘I’m flattered but I suspect you’ve known before then.’

  Alex lifted a shoulder in a gesture of regret. ‘I agree but I didn’t hear it, see it, sense it. I really thought I could learn to love him,’ she impressed, making a fist as though to reinforce her point. ‘He certainly convinced me of that. I married him rather desperately because I didn’t want to marry the other men my parents threatened me with.’ She saw him straighten with what was probably irritation and hurried to explain. ‘Don’t judge me. It was either marry Matthew – whom I liked very much – for his companionship, his wit, his conversation, his charm, or be forced into a marriage to someone I couldn’t bear. My mother had three likely candidates lined up – all of them nice enough men but I would make a poor wife to each of them. Each would have crushed me in a different way while not meaning to. I would have been miserable and potentially made their lives miserable too.’ She was talking too much, she knew, but this had to be aired. Harry needed to know her situation. ‘Along came Matthew Britten-Jones into our lives. He showed himself to be kind, generous and especially honest that his parents were putting an identical demand on him. We both needed to be married, you see?’

  Harry gave nothing back to her; he stared, waiting for more.

  ‘I liked his pragmatism; it appealed. We weren’t going into marriage starry-eyed about each other. Instead we were entering a contract that was good for both families and which ensured our private independence. Matthew has encouraged my freedom, my ambition. It was actually his urging that made me realise that I should consider chocolate as my ticket into business and independence, but we both understood the foundation of our union was honesty and friendship.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘We must eat while we talk or we’ll pay a hefty price. Even if you push the food around your plate.’ He obliged, fetched her a plate with a fish cake and a tiny mound of spinach. ‘Thank you.’ She watched him return to the table and serve himself a similarly lean share. He sat down and their gazes met again. ‘Eat,’ she encouraged, and they both began to reluctantly force a few morsels down. Alex knew he expected her to continue and answer his question. ‘Now I’m concerned that Matthew is not being honest as he promised he would be. And . . .’ She stopped, feeling on the verge of tears, which she considered unforgiveable in a new friend’s company. ‘Sorry.’ She swallowed down the rising clog of emotion and took another deep breath. ‘I must gather myself because my parents are barely minutes away now.’ She stood to tip the remains of her plate onto the fire. ‘People are starving out there and I’m burning food.’ The gentle clink of cutlery on china assured her that Harry was doing his best to oblige her.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Impolite to eat that quickly but Norma can’t complain now. Tell me why you think Matthew is seeing others.’

  Alex felt her throat constrict a second time but this time out of nervousness. She had barely admitted to herself what she felt she was about to spill to him. Was she ready to confront this?

  ‘Tell me, Alex. Let me at least help if I can.’

  ‘How do you help a couple who don’t share a bed?’ There! Her most guilt-ridden and humiliating secret was out . . . aired to this stranger, who startled her for not appearing shocked.

  ‘I’ll wager your parents don’t,’ he offered. ‘That doesn’t mean —’

  She swung around, feeling hot and instantly ferocious; it had nothing to do with the flames she stood near. ‘Harry,’ she growled. ‘We’ve been married for nearly two years and my bed is . . . shall we say . . . rarely warmed by my husband! The last time Matthew was so roaring drunk I don’t believe he remembered much, if anything, about it.’ She clasped her hand to her mouth and the tears came, a fountain of them, and Harry was at her side. ‘Don’t – it makes it harder,’ she gulped. ‘He cried that last time. Kept saying he was sorry because he knew it wasn’t . . .’

  Harry simply waited for her to choose whether she wanted to say more.

  ‘I think he knew it wasn’t . . . how it should be.’ The tears ran freely and still Harry remained silent. Nevertheless, it was his gentle embrace and his fingers that stroked lightly up and down her arm that soothed her. She was glad that he didn’t speak but then Alex was becoming used to his brooding manner, appreciated how he could be silent and yet still communicate droves. She could feel his desire to comfort washing over her in waves of sympathy. He waited out minutes in that tense silence until she felt composed.

  ‘I’m fine, really I am.’ She sniffed. ‘I have no right to complain.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips, sniffing again. ‘Because we had an arrangement; we didn’t promise each other this was love. We made a pact to make the very best partnership between two friends. It was always a masquerade. It’s me making the mistake of expecting him to behave like a loving and also dutiful husband in all respects. He said he would love me in his own way. It sounded odd at the time but I let it slide. I think it was Matthew trying his best to be honest with me, trying to convey that his form of love was not traditional, although I have no idea what I mean by saying that.’

  He left her side, frowning, to pour some water. ‘Drink,’ he said, and after passing her the glass, whipped out his starched handkerchief. ‘Dry your cheeks.’

  ‘Thank you. I really am fine. I’ve told you far too much but I don’t have anyone to share this with. Given that you’ve kissed me, this is your punishment.’

  ‘Gladly taken,’ he assured. ‘Do you mind me asking if you have any proof of infidelity?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. This is purely instinct. I know his wealth and his gregarious nature help him to make friends with the greatest of ease. Even you would like him, Harry.’

  ‘I have no time for fools.’

  ‘He’s no fool.’

  ‘Well, I’ll differ on that.’

  She leaned forward and tipped her head to briefly brush a feather-light kiss on his mouth before she stood and returned his handkerchief. ‘Thank you.’ Alex deliberately put a few steps’ distance between them because she didn’t trust herself close to Harry any more. She began to push around some of the food on the platter to make it look appropriately disturbed and stacked the plates. ‘I’m told regularly I should consider myself one of the luckiest women in Britain. And yet I feel as though I’m the only person who can’t see it.’

  ‘What do they see?’ he asked.

  ‘They see a handsome man – if a fraction short – with a gilded tongue and a bank account to match. They see someone who has built himself as a popular figure in York, marrying first into a very well-established local family and taking out arguably one of the most eligible yet unenthusiastic-for-marriage spinsters in England. They experience charm and intelligence, wit and elegance. He’s well connected, stays at his clubs both here and in London and probably elsewhere, for all I know. He is helplessly likeable and he is never deliberately unkind. You have to understand that. When he’s here he’s attentive, funny, creates noise and gaiety; my parents adore him.’

  ‘But only you see the real Matthew, so what do you see?’

  Alex shook her head slightly and frowned
. ‘I think I am reminded of what my first impression of him was. My visceral response to him was one of sensing guile. I wanted to ignore it because he was so good to me . . .’ She shrugged. ‘He got me into Rowntree. Helped me to build my network, to believe in myself and my ability to go into business alone. I liked him, his wit and charm, his effortlessly sharp mind.’

  ‘And now you’re lonely?’

  ‘It’s not just loneliness. I’m confused. I’m feeling distantly humiliated. Matthew’s up to something and I should be able to see it but I can’t. I have no proof; I don’t find lipstick on his collar or women’s perfume on his clothes. There aren’t scented letters or clandestine phone calls . . .’

  ‘You’re sure he’s lying?’

  ‘No. I can’t be certain but I’m also not a dullard. Just now he told me he was at a club in London and setting up for a game of chess with one of my father’s friends. The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was setting up for chess. I heard boisterous laughter in the background; I heard an instrument tuning up. I think my dear husband was setting up in some different sort of club and not for chess.’ She shook her head in deep disappointment. ‘He treats me as though I’m extremely dim.’

  They heard the doorbell chiming and Norma’s hurried footsteps.

  ‘Oh, quick, Harry. How do I look?’ She hurried to a small mirror on one of the walls.

  He was behind her, put his hands on her shoulder and bent to kiss her neck softly to ignite sparkles of desire in a way she had not remembered feeling previously. Matthew had never been able to coax anything close to this response. ‘You look beautiful,’ Harry breathed before he stepped away and in a heartbeat was rearranged in the armchair, just as the door opened.

  ‘Mother, come in, come in from the cold,’ Alex gushed. ‘Thank you, Norma. Perhaps that coffee now. Hello, Dad,’ she said over the housekeeper’s shoulder.

  Her parents bustled in, bringing smells of tobacco, violet toilet water and the slightly musty smell that arose from moisture on her mother’s fur coat. The cold draught chased them in, slipping into the room before Norma could shut the door on it.