The Winter Folly

by Taylor, Lulu

  ‘I’d better go in a minute,’ she said. ‘John doesn’t know I’m here.’

  He looked straight at her and for a guilty moment she felt as though they were engaged in a conspiracy. She and Ben had already as good as agreed that John was difficult, and that he was making her miserable. Now she had admitted that she’d come here without telling her husband, as though it was an act of disloyalty towards him, instead of the desire to see a friend. She felt a blush climb over her cheeks and hoped that Ben had not noticed it.

  He continued to gaze at her intensely and then said in a low voice, ‘Well, we’d better make sure you get home soon. I don’t want to get you into trouble. But have your tea first before you go, won’t you?’

  Driving back over the brow of the hill towards the house, Delilah felt a sense of dread at going back there. Once she’d imagined that this place was the setting for the finale of her very own fairy tale; now she felt the story was running in reverse, taking her in quite the wrong direction. Fort Stirling looked almost sinister, sitting in its giant hollow, its windows dark, waiting for her to return so that it could beckon her back into its dark interior.

  The kitchen was deserted when she went in, John nowhere to be seen. He was still shut away in the estate office and didn’t emerge until she had already gone up to bed and was asleep.

  When she left for the early train to London the next day, John was dead to the world, the covers up around his ears, so she wasn’t able to say goodbye.

  Chapter Eleven

  1965

  Prince Albert gazed out from his memorial towards the circular hall that also bore his name, his black form sitting beneath its Gothic canopy as though he were in his own private cathedral, still fretting over affairs of state. Around him were the symbols of how much he had to worry about – agriculture, manufacture, commerce and engineering – and the great nations of the world represented by semi-clothed goddesses holding tridents aloft.

  Alexandra walked towards the memorial, excited and apprehensive, tingling with nerves at what she was doing. Had last night really happened? It seemed like a dream but she had only to think herself back onto that crowded dance floor and imagine Nicky’s body close to hers for all the fearsome deliciousness to flood back. She hadn’t imagined any of it, and Nicky’s note was further proof, if she needed it.

  She was afraid of what might happen but nonetheless she had dressed carefully for the meeting. Her usual conservative clothes seemed hopelessly stuffy after what she’d seen in the club, and the warm day outside called for something easy and fresh. In her wardrobe was a pale pink short-sleeved dress that buttoned at the top and had a belt at the waist from which the skirt flared out. She had no memory of buying it – perhaps Sophie had lent it to her – but it was just right. She slipped it on and put on her sandals. She stroked mascara over her eyelashes to get the sooty look Polly had given her for the photographs and put on frosted pink lipstick. Then she hurried out of the barracks and headed west towards the Kensington end of the park. At every step, her conscience told her she must turn back, and warned her that seeing Nicky was a reckless thing to do, knowing how he made her feel. I mustn’t, she told herself, but there was no earthly way she could stop. She was being pulled towards him as irresistibly as if he held a rope that was tied about her waist and was reeling her in to him.

  What about Laurence? asked the voice in her head. But she refused to listen. How could she turn away from something that made her feel so alive, and condemn herself to a living death with her husband? She knew that was what she ought to do. She knew that if she saw Nicky, something frightful might happen. But she also knew that whatever it was would be wonderful too, and she was powerless to resist.

  Then, suddenly, she saw him sitting on a bench near the memorial, hunched over and looking almost as lost in thought as the effigy of the prince. He wore a white linen jacket instead of his bright pink one, blue trousers instead of the black leather, and a striped scarf at his neck. He was staring at the ground in front of him, his hands clasped. The sight of him provoked a turmoil of excitement in her belly that radiated out over her skin, prickling like hundreds of tiny needles. Nervous butterflies swirled inside her. It was not too late to turn back. He didn’t know she was there.

  ‘Hello!’ she called, heedless of what her conscience was saying. The sight of him was like sweetness to her soul.

  He looked up and a smile illuminated his face. As she neared him, she wondered what it was he had that Laurence lacked so entirely. Nicky was handsome but Laurence wasn’t ugly. It was something about the light in his eyes, his spirit and vivacity that made him so different from all the other men in the world. Nicky seemed touched by a magic that gave him a glowing aura and it pulled her towards him with an irresistible force. As a child, she’d always admired him with a kind of giddy hero-worship, but that had been nothing like this. They were grown-up now and she knew beyond all doubt that this was a grown-up emotion.

  ‘You’re here.’ He stood up and kissed her cheek, then took her hands in his and gazed down at her. She felt breathless and weak as he touched her. ‘We need to talk about last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. Now that she saw him, the fearful nervousness she had been feeling on the way here vanished and she knew that she would surrender to him completely if he wanted her to. It was something she had no control over. She ought to feel guilty because she was married but it would make no difference at all to what happened.

  ‘I know it’s ridiculous.’ He laughed nervously. ‘We hardly know each other . . .’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ she corrected. ‘We always have.’

  ‘You’re right. I feel as though we’ve always been connected. When I’m with you, nothing else seems quite real.’

  They stared at one another, knowing they stood on the brink and that in one more moment it would be impossible to turn back. Something would be said and then they would have to make choices.

  Except that Alexandra knew that she had no choice at all.

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he said softly. His hands tightened around hers. ‘You’re filling every corner of my mind. All I can think about is being close to you.’

  ‘It’s the same for me.’ She smiled back. She was filled with a sense of delicious calm, the kind she once used to feel on Sunday afternoons when her father went to his study and she did jigsaws on the floor of the drawing room while her mother sat and sewed or read aloud. It was the feeling of being at home, where she belonged. ‘I just want to be with you.’

  ‘This is madness,’ Nicky said, shaking his head. She loved the way his hair was so tousled. She wanted to reach up and touch it. ‘Shall we go to my place? Somewhere we can be alone.’

  ‘Is Polly there?’

  ‘No. And if she was, I could send her away.’

  Alexandra felt a sensation of distaste; it was perfectly all right as long it was just the two of them in their private world. Anyone else knowing would make it wrong. ‘I don’t want her to see us together,’ she whispered.

  ‘She won’t. No one will.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled through his nose. ‘My God, you’re driving me wild. Let’s go.’

  They took a taxi from just outside the Albert Hall, and only a few minutes later they were in the mews. It was deserted and no one saw them as Nicky opened the front door and led her inside. The place was empty.

  ‘You see? She’ll be gone for ages. I sent her off for supplies and she has to get up to Islington.’ Nicky took her hand and pulled her gently round to face him.

  She had no idea where Islington was but at this moment she was unable to care about that, or about Polly either. The feelings racing through her were so overwhelming, there could be a hurricane outside and she wouldn’t notice. It was like she had been given some kind of potion that had brought her almost unbearably to life. Every cell in her body seemed to be vibrating, crying out for closeness to Nicky.

  His eyes searched her face tenderly. ‘Are you sure you
want to do this? Your husband—’

  ‘Shh.’ She pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t talk about that. I don’t want to think about anything but this.’

  He kissed the finger on his lips and she gasped at the warm softness of his mouth. Nicky took her hand in his and put his other hand behind her head. ‘You’re exquisite,’ he said under his breath. ‘The closer I am to you, the more perfect you are.’

  She was trembling, possessed by a fierce longing for his touch. She hungered for his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin. This was desire, strong and demanding, and more than she could possibly conquer, even if she wanted to. She stared up at him and her lips parted involuntarily. He looked down at them and his expression changed to something she was almost frightened of: in his eyes was the same hard need she was experiencing herself.

  He reached for her and then his mouth was on hers. At last she was being given exactly what she had been craving; the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips, and his delicious scent ignited something new and exciting inside her. Her blood sang as he kissed her. She’d always resisted Laurence’s hard, pressing mouth but now she desired Nicky and wanted him in every way. Without thinking, she opened her mouth under his and felt the soft warm wetness of his tongue. She said, ‘Oh,’ but it came out as a tiny noise, almost a moan, that seemed to inflame him and he pulled her closer to him. She lifted her hands to his head, losing her fingertips in his hair, opening to his thrusting tongue as he took possession of her mouth, relishing his sweet taste. It was more glorious than she could have imagined. So this – this – was what they were talking about, what the fuss was about. She had begun to think it was all a stupid lie designed to cover the flat nastiness of physical love. But this one kiss was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her and the longer it went on, the more she wanted it, her whole body responding like an instrument under the hands of a skilled musician. Excitement rose all over her but particularly in the heat of her stomach and in the places where Laurence had scrabbled and scratched with so little effect. That part seemed to be awakening along with the rest of her, tingling, heating up, making her aware of its presence.

  They kissed for long minutes until Alexandra felt almost drunk on the pleasure of his mouth and tongue. It should be repellent, she thought, this exploration of another’s mouth, but with Nicky, it was bliss. The sensation of their mutual pleasure in the kiss was like the stoking of a fire inside her that flared up and burst into flame, demanding ever more fuel.

  He pulled away at last; his eyes were both tender and glazed with hard lust. ‘Alexandra,’ he said, almost with wonder.

  ‘Yes . . .’ She gazed hungrily at his mouth, wondering when she would be allowed to have it back again.

  ‘You’re incredible . . . this is incredible . . .’ He seemed bewildered by what they had just shared. She felt elated: did this mean that what seemed so extraordinary to her was also out of the ordinary for someone like Nicky, who had, she assumed, kissed hundreds of girls?

  ‘Yes,’ she said, leaning against him, revelling in the feeling of his arms around her. She felt as though she had come home. ‘It is incredible.’

  Alexandra knew now what walking on air meant. She returned from Belgravia in a kind of floating trance, taking her time, wishing the journey home could take longer so that she could savour this wonderful joyous feeling. She smiled at everyone she passed, wondering if she was glowing as much on the outside as she was within. She had left him – Nicky, her . . . her . . . not lover, not yet . . . yet. She chided herself, laughing but afraid at the same time, both of whether she dared and of how much she wanted it. At home she would have to conceal this delight and the magical thing she had discovered. She wanted to stop people and say, ‘Kissing! Isn’t it marvellous? Oh, I adore it!’ Instead she beamed at them as though she loved them, the pallid people who weren’t Nicky and weren’t lucky enough to be the woman he had just kissed.

  At home, she must stifle it all, damp down the raging fires, so she let the happiness free while she could. By the time Laurence returned home, she was almost normal, muted but polite. He didn’t seem to notice anything at all as he sawed at the piece of beef she had overcooked and later, as they read together in bed, he remarked that she seemed in a good mood, but that was all.

  Polly knew, of course. When she opened the door to Alexandra the next day, it was in her eyes: a kind of accusation mixed with weary acceptance. Nicky said it was better that Polly knew; she was around the place so much and they would never be able to coordinate Alexandra’s visits with her absences. But he tried to send her out as much as possible so that the two of them could be together, or else they met in the park, as far away from the barracks entrance as possible, finding patches of long grass where they could lie on rugs together, far off the pathways in case one of the army wives came by.

  They talked, remembering every moment of the past they had spent together, wondering at the unknown reasons they’d been kept apart as children, marvelling at all the hours they’d already passed in one another’s company without feeling like this when it was so inevitable, and they kissed – long, delicious kisses that made them both oblivious to the outside world. Once they were roused by the shrill whistles and laughter of some passing boys, and another time an old man shouted that they were disgusting, making a vile public exhibition of themselves. Alexandra was mortified but it took very little to make her forget and kiss again; Nicky was like a drug – the more she took, the more she needed.

  The kisses were amazing but they felt the pull of more than one another’s mouths. Nicky’s hands caressed her arms, her sides and strayed to her bottom and bosom, his fingers gentle but eager. She yearned for his skin, to unbutton his shirt and slip her hand inside to touch the warmth within. And she had felt him swelling against her thigh and it sent shivers of delight through her. She knew that it would be so different with Nicky, that he wouldn’t blame her for not knowing what to do. She was even certain that with him, she would know what to do. And she was sure that it would only be a matter of time before they couldn’t resist going to bed. But still, the remembrance of her wedding vows played through her mind, and he had not yet asked her to break them.

  They spent two blissful weeks of summer days together before Laurence noticed anything.

  After dinner one evening he looked at her over the top of his paper and said, ‘Have you been to the hairdresser today?’

  She looked up, startled, and shook her head. ‘No . . .’ She was sewing, an activity that let her sink delightfully into her imagination.

  He frowned. ‘A new lipstick?’

  She shook her head again.

  Bending a corner of the newspaper down so that he could see her better, he inspected her. ‘You’re different, but I can’t quite say why.’

  ‘I . . . I had a nice walk in the park today,’ she improvised. ‘Perhaps I caught the sun.’ But the truth was she had spent two hours curled up with Nicky on the sofa in his tiny sitting room, murmuring and kissing, before he had gone off to work photographing a society luncheon for Sketch.

  ‘Perhaps that’s what it is. It suits you.’ He flicked the corner of the paper back up again, and she let out an inward sigh of relief. She was safe. There was no way he would link her happiness to Nicky; he appeared to have forgotten all about him and hadn’t even noticed that the promised invitation to a party had never arrived.

  But when they went to bed that night, he put his hand on her hip as she lay with her back to him and whispered into the gloom, ‘I think we should try to . . . you know.’

  She froze, everything in her repelled by his touch. He revolted her now and she couldn’t imagine how she had ever let him come near her. But, she told herself, I have to behave normally. She turned over onto her back and whispered, ‘All right.’

  I hate it and I hate you, said a voice in her head as he edged himself closer to her and then manoeuvred himself on top of her. He smelt sour to her, of cigarettes with something bitter mixed in, and h
is paltry weight, after Nicky’s height and heft, made him seem pathetic. As he approached her mouth with his hard, unloving lips, she couldn’t stop herself turning her head so that they landed on her cheek. One hand went to her left breast and clutched it, squeezing it hard. He rubbed his groin against her nightdress but she could feel nothing through the cotton of his pyjamas, no prodding, no stiffness. She was glad. The thought of that thing sent a wave of nausea through her.

  ‘Look at me,’ he murmured, and she turned her face so that she was gazing into his cool blue eyes. ‘You look very pretty at the moment. I didn’t realise how pretty you are.’

  She stayed stock-still, letting him look at her, but the jeering voice in her head was saying, Not for you, though. Only for him.

  He lowered his mouth onto hers and she closed her eyes, not moving or responding, as he pressed down. Then, to her horror, she felt the tiny wet point of his tongue slide out and push between her lips. It made everything in her cry out in protest. Her mouth belonged to Nicky. Laurence’s tongue was loathsome. She would be sick, she would scream, she would—

  He persisted for a moment and then suddenly pulled his tongue away, muttering, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know . . .’

  She lay still again, not moving or speaking. She knew that he was not in the least aroused by her. He was trying but there was nothing about his body to show that he desired her, and they couldn’t continue without that.

  This is all wrong, said a voice in her head. The voice was firm, decided, and she knew it spoke the truth. This marriage was a stupid mistake, a dead thing created by other people, like some Frankenstein’s monster, and forced upon them. It was an utter failure. Laurence didn’t love her and she offered him as little as he offered her.

  He sighed. ‘We’ll try again another time,’ he said in a small voice, and she felt simultaneously sorry for him, and deeply scornful. Then he climbed off her and they resumed their normal positions, back to back, not touching at all.