(2011) Only the Innocent

by Rachel Abbott

  Stella shook her head sadly. ‘He’s dead now, of course, Laura’s father. He died a few years after she got married. I’m glad he’s not here now. Whatever else David was, he was a loving father and seeing Laura as she has been over the past four or five years would have killed him if his heart hadn’t already given out.’

  Keen to get Stella off the track of self-recrimination and reflection, Becky referred back to an earlier remark.

  ‘You say you didn’t meet Hugo until the day of the wedding. Wasn’t that a bit unusual?’

  Stella laughed without any sign of amusement. She shook her head as she started to butter the vast pile of bread that she had cut.

  ‘Oh, we tried. We offered to come to London; invited him to stay with us in Manchester; said we’d be happy to travel to Oxford, meet halfway - anything he wanted really. But we just got excuse after excuse. Laura was clearly besotted, but I thought the whole thing was a bit odd. Did you know that she hadn’t even seen this place before they got married? Hugo planned the whole wedding ‘as a surprise’ for her. She looked gorgeous, mind you. Like a princess, as far as I was concerned. He was a lucky man - but I have a strong suspicion he thought she was the lucky one. I think he believed himself to be a bit of a catch. Arrogant, pompous man that he was.’

  Bloody hell, thought Becky. She really didn’t like Hugo.

  As she prepared cups, milk, sugar and all the paraphernalia required for cups of tea and coffee, Becky let Stella ramble on about the wedding, her thoughts about Laura’s new home and a litany of things that she disliked about Hugo. But none of it really told her anything about Laura’s relationship with her husband.

  ‘You say that she’d changed - but do you think that, in her own way, she was happy with Hugo?’

  ‘Honestly? No. Not at all, although she just wouldn’t admit it. Laura doesn’t accept defeat gracefully. She never has. If there is something that she wants to succeed at, she will try and try until she gets there. When she was happy, she was so bubbly. She was still like a young girl in many ways; enthusiasm oozed out of every pore.’

  Stella turned to Becky as she spoke, the smile of a proud and loving mum illuminating her face. It was difficult to relate this image of Laura to the person sitting in the drawing room. Stella’s smile faded as she continued.

  ‘Even before they were married I could see that she was trying to curb her natural excesses though. I’d not met Hugo at this point, so I didn’t know whether it was all down to pre-wedding nerves, or it could have been something to do with work. The moment I clapped eyes on him as he stood waiting at the altar I was sure he was responsible. But what could I do? Stand up in church when they say the bit about ‘If anybody knows of any impediment…’ or whatever it is, and say I didn’t like the look of him?’

  Stella was now slicing cheese with real aggression, as if it was some part of Hugo’s anatomy that she was attacking with the sharp knife. She was in full flow, so Becky let her continue. The tea was stewed, but she would quietly throw it away and make another pot.

  ‘I didn’t think much of his speech either. Rattled on about his marvellous mother, and said Alexa was the love of his life. We all feel that about our kids, but on your wedding day… I ask you! He barely mentioned Laura. Anyway, they went off on honeymoon, and I know she was really pleased with the destination he’d chosen. When they got back, I decided to come and see how she was getting on. Let’s face it, marriage isn’t all about romance, and sometimes it takes a while to realise this. She’d sounded a bit down, so I thought she might just need some support, as she no longer had her work colleagues.’

  Stella looked up from the cheese and waved the knife in the air to punctuate her thoughts.

  ‘That was the other thing - he’d made her give up work. It was unbecoming of such an important man for his wife to work, I expect. I was frankly quite shocked when I saw her. She’d lost weight - not a lot, but she’s my daughter so I could see she was thinner. But her smile seemed forced, and she had dark circles under her eyes. I asked her what was wrong. Of course, she said there was nothing. They’d had a fantastic holiday, and now it was just back to life as normal. Then she said something that I thought was a bit strange.’

  Stella put the knife down, and leant back against the worktop with her arms folded.

  ‘I asked if she had any photographs. She said - ‘yes, of course. I’ll get them - I think I left them in my bedroom.’ Now realistically the use of the word ‘my’ as opposed to ‘our’ could just have been a slip of the tongue, but clearly it wasn’t, because she became a bit flustered after she said it. I asked if I could have a tour of the house, because we’d only seen the downstairs at the wedding. Not very subtle, but I’m afraid I’m not known for my finesse. Anyway, she refused. She made some excuse about not wanting me to see it until she’d had a chance to get the decorators in, and I’ve never been upstairs since that day.’

  Becky looked puzzled.

  ‘What do you do when you come and stay, then?’

  ‘To be honest, Becky, I’ve not been much. But on the rare occasions when I forced myself on them, I’ve been put up in the guest cottage outside. Hugo apparently thought it would be better for me to have some privacy. But I was effectively locked out of the house until Hugo decided it was time to let me in again each morning. I sensed something wasn’t right, though, so I asked her outright. “Are you happy with Hugo?” I said, “Because I could see at the wedding that he’s not an easy character.” “What do you mean, Mum?” was her very angry retort. “He’s a wonderful man, and I’m really sorry if he doesn’t meet with your approval. Perhaps you’d better not take advantage of his hospitality if that’s how you feel about him.” Talk about defensive. I’ve never seen her like that. So I let the subject drop.’

  Keen as she was to explore Stella’s opinion of Hugo more fully, Becky thought she should move on.

  ‘Stella, I know this is hard for you, but can you give me any background about Laura and how she came to be sent twice into a care home?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what happened, all right! Hugo had her committed - or ‘sectioned’ as I think it’s called these days.’ Stella’s eyes were blazing with anger. When Stella had said she didn’t like Hugo much, it was undoubtedly the understatement of the century.

  ‘The first time was for acute depression, and she stayed there for two whole years. Then Hugo claimed that she was displaying delusional behaviour or something, and was a danger to herself. He always managed to get people to back up his claims. The second time it was one of your very own Chief Constables, would you believe. I’m sure Hugo tried to get them to throw away the key, but that time she was out in just over a year.’

  Swallowing her surprise at the mention of such a senior police officer, Becky asked the obvious question.

  ‘You say he always managed to get people to back him up. Who was it the first time?’

  ‘A bit less impressive than the Chief Constable, but equally relevant - it was that awful nanny of Alexa’s. Hannah, she’s called. And Laura says she was smiling smugly as they took her away. Perhaps she thought with Laura out of the way, she’d be in with a chance herself.’

  CHAPTER 13

  ‘Okay, Laura. You can relax now. The dashing DCI has gone, the sergeant’s being talked to death by your mother in the kitchen, and I’m going for a walk. I desperately need some fresh air. Care to join me?’

  Laura glanced up at Imogen, and shook her head.

  ‘Thanks Imo, but I’m happy to have a quiet half hour, if that’s okay. Have you read all the stuff I gave you?’

  Imogen gave Laura a rueful smile.

  ‘Yes, love. I have. I do want to read some more - but only when you’re ready to let me. I know I said I want to understand everything and fill in the gaps, but I am aware that you’re baring your soul. That must be hard.’

  ‘It is. I can’t pretend that I want to do this, but I realise I owe it to you. Go for your walk, and I’ll have a think about it.’

  L
aura was relieved to have some time alone. Much as she was beginning to like Tom Douglas for the sensitive way in which he was treating her, she was glad to see the back of him. He had left Becky behind ‘to look after you’ as he put it, but she was still ensconced in the kitchen with Stella. Laura had no idea what they were talking about, but there must have been something significant, because she had called Tom out of the drawing room for a brief conversation shortly before he left.

  One of Tom’s team had finally managed to track down Annabel, and insisted that she either went home immediately, or she went to the police station. In either case, she had been told, DCI Douglas would be there within the hour to interview her. Annabel had chosen the former option, and Tom had kindly offered to take a still distressed Alexa back to her mother. Whilst Laura had no time at all for Annabel and even less time for her parenting skills, she knew she was far too distracted to give Alexa the love and reassurance she needed at the moment.

  They had bid each other a very tearful goodbye, with lots of hugs and kisses, and Laura had promised Alexa that she’d phone her every day and make arrangements with her mother so they could meet up soon. Even though she was only Alexa’s stepmother, she knew that Annabel would have no difficulty in handing the child over to her. Anything to free up time for the endless shopping, beauty treatments and other pastimes that she constantly indulged in. If Annabel’s concerns about Hugo’s proposed changes to his will were justified, she may find some of her activities severely curtailed in the future.

  Not that Laura cared in the slightest what he had done with his riches. She had far greater things to worry about than Hugo’s will, and through careful investment she now had money of her own. Although amounting to nothing like the huge wealth that Hugo could boast, it was certainly enough to buy a decent house. She hadn’t particularly hidden how her money had accumulated, but Hugo considered it so insignificant that when she mentioned it he made some scathing comment about pin money.

  For now, though, she needed to sort out some practicalities. Everybody needed somewhere to sleep. Last night Imogen had ended up cat napping on the sofa, whilst Laura had spent the night in an armchair - mostly just staring into space. She decided to call Mrs. Bennett, her housekeeper, and get her to come in to make up the cottage for her mother as usual. It was always aired because Hannah used it when Alexa came to stay. Although Alexa obviously slept in the house, Hugo hadn’t wanted even the loyal Hannah in the upstairs rooms.

  She also knew that Imogen would not for a single moment consider sleeping in the cottage. It held the worst possible memories for her, so she could have a room in the house. And of course, Hugo wasn’t here to object.

  The police had already been through Hugo’s room with a fine toothed comb, apparently looking for any clues about his ‘other woman’ but had turned up nothing. It clearly hadn’t passed Tom Douglas by that Laura didn’t share his room. She had given a rather feeble explanation about her moving out since she’d been ill.

  ‘Hugo became used to sleeping on his own, and of course my sleep was often disturbed - so this seemed like the best arrangement.’ Tom had merely nodded, but his eyes had shown compassion and a glimmer of understanding that she would rather not have seen.

  With a sigh, she leaned back in the chair. A few moments peace were just what she needed.

  She couldn’t stop her thoughts drifting back to the days before her marriage, though, when she should have realised things were not going to be as she had expected. She’d read the next letter enough times to know that any fool could see how gullible she’d been, and Laura didn’t know if she could bear to see Imogen’s expression when she realised it too.

  There was only one thing to do. She would have to give Imogen all the letters now. She didn’t want to know how many she’d read - she didn’t want to be trying to gauge her reaction. When shame is your own, it’s hard enough to bear. When other people are witness to it, it becomes intolerable.

  CHAPTER 14

  AUGUST 1998 - ONLY TWO WEEKS TO GO!

  Dear Imogen

  It’s ages since I’ve written to you. It’s a bit of a joke, really, because I write you these long letters, then I never send them. I want to tell you everything. But not yet.

  I’ve been really busy over the past few months because I’ve suddenly realised how much I have to learn! Once we ‘went public’, Hugo took me shopping a few times. That was quite an experience, I can tell you, and confirmed my fears about my lack of taste. I felt that the women in the shops were smirking at me when I chose something completely inappropriate (although why it’s in their shop if it’s not right is quite beyond me).

  Hugo was really kind, though. He let me pick colours and styles that I liked, and then talked to the women who would rush off into the depths of their stock room to come back with something similar, but perhaps a little more tasteful. Of course, this was just in the ready to wear shops. Going to the couture houses was something different again!

  Now I have a fabulous wardrobe. So it was worth a bit of embarrassment. I’m a quick learner, and I won’t make the same mistakes twice.

  Going out in public with Hugo was another revelation. He knows so many really important and famous people - everybody from actors to politicians. He’s even on first name terms with the Prime Minister! Meeting these high flyers at some of the posh charity dinners is both exciting and nerve wracking. There’s so much protocol involved. I had no idea what to call a minor member of the royal family when I was placed next to him at dinner. Hugo had to help me out on more than one occasion. We’ve developed a kind of private language. If I make some blunder - like put my napkin on my knee before the waiter had a chance to do it for me - Hugo will purse his lips and give a minute shake of the head. As soon as I see this, I watch the other women to see what they do. I actually thought he was going to turn apoplectic when I (rather discreetly, I thought) sat on my hanky. I had nowhere else to put it! I didn’t have any pockets, or sleeves to push it up. And the red pepper soup was making my nose run. Funny thing is, after all these dinners that I’ve been to, I’ve never seen a single person blow their nose! How does that work? Anyway, it’s all been very revealing, and I’ve been studying etiquette books and all sorts of things so that Hugo doesn’t feel ashamed of me.

  But there is one thing bothering me. Sex - or lack thereof. It was the beginning of July before we finally went public, and pretty much straight after that Hugo had to go off on some fundraising trip. So while he was away, I booked myself lots of special treatments. Whole body exfoliations, lots of painful waxing, lovely pedicures - everything to get my body in perfect condition for him. I bought some gorgeous new underwear too. Nothing too tarty. I didn’t think he’d like that based on other things he’s chosen for me, but subtly sexy.

  I couldn’t wait for him to get back - but of course, I should have realised that he’d be a bit tired for a couple of days from the travelling. When we went out to dinner a few nights later I suggested that I went back to Egerton Crescent with him for the night. Hugo had different ideas.

  ‘Laura, darling - there’s nothing I would like more. You know how much I desire you. But we’ve only just announced to the press that we’re together. If you’re seen leaving the apartment so soon, don’t you think it might make you look a little cheap?’

  I hadn’t thought of that, but I was still prepared to argue my case.

  ‘Hugo, everybody has sex nowadays. Nobody would think anything about it at all!’

  Then he made his pronouncement.

  ‘There is much more to this relationship than sex, Laura. At least, I hope so. I’m very concerned that the focus on sexual activity will detract from the building of a solid relationship. We know we’re compatible. We may not have actually had sex, but in our own way, we’ve made love.’

  What way was that, Hugo? Not any way that I know of.

  I didn’t say that, of course. I didn’t want an argument. But he went on.

  ‘We kiss - passionately. We hold each o
ther and touch each other. It’s marvellous. We are getting married in two months. I feel that we should continue the way we are at the moment. Learning about each other. Understanding each other. Building the intensity of our desire. Just imagine how much stronger that will make us as a couple.’

  I don’t know what to think. I wanted to ask you, but I was ashamed. Not of the fact that we don’t have sex, but the fact that I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong. I want him so much. He made it sound so exciting, though - like one long seduction. And when we finally are together - well, it doesn’t bear thinking about! He continued to try to convince me, but I was weakening.

  ‘People never used to have sex before marriage, you know. And I’ve heard it said that the most successful marriages are those when both parties come together as virgins.’

  I hesitated to point out that this clearly wasn’t the case for either of us! And I’ve no idea where he read that statistic. He’s quite capable of making it up to suit his own purposes. But there is also something admirable about a man who clearly wants me but is prepared to restrain himself to show me some respect. Isn’t there?

  And now there are only two weeks to go to our wedding day, and my future husband’s body is still a mystery to me! As, for that matter, is the format of the wedding. Another of Hugo’s surprises. There are going to be a lot of guests - I do know that. All sorts of well-known faces, people from his charities, local dignitaries - that sort of thing. He’s got no family, now that his mother’s dead. I feel a bit sorry for him, really. It seems he was very close to his mother, although she was bedridden for years. He won’t let me see pictures of her because he says he still can’t bear to be reminded.

  And I think he hated his father. I don’t understand it, but perhaps he can’t forgive him for killing himself. I can’t remember if I told you about that? But it must have been very hard on Hugo. It’s a pity his sister ran away, because everybody needs family, don’t they? I don’t know what I’d do without mine. Anyway, all he’s got now is Alexa. And me, of course.