‘Darling, why don’t you go and take a bath and then get dressed for dinner,’ Hugo asked.
I wrapped my arms round his waist and whispered in his ear.
‘Dressed, my love? Are you sure that’s what you want?’
Hugo gently removed my arms and smiled at me - that lovely smile that reaches his eyes.
‘I’m quite sure. I would much rather see you opposite me in this glorious setting in one of your beautiful dresses than in a negligee. Humour me, please?’
That sounded fine to me, so I thought I’d take some time to get ready. I wanted to get this just right. So I ran myself a deep bath and lay back in thick bubbles. I was so looking forward to the rest of the evening - and, of course, the night ahead.
I dressed carefully in a silk shift dress in a pretty teal colour. It was a perfect foil for my red hair, which I know Hugo loves. Although the front of the dress was quite modest, the back had a deep V which reached to my waist, and the dress flowed beautifully - not too clingy, but not too loose. I knew that this was one of Hugo’s favourites.
The meal that he had selected was superb. A delicious piece of ginger marinated salmon was followed by a soft and delicate aubergine gnocchi in a salsa di pecorino, and then to complete the menu the most tender fillet of beef that I have ever tasted was served with an antiboise sauce. I couldn’t even think about dessert, but Hugo fed me a mouthful of his spiced pear sorbet, and I really did think that I was in heaven. I looked across the table at my elegant and sophisticated man. He looked so handsome; smart yet casual in a classically cut pair of black trousers and pale caramel coloured linen jacket over a white shirt, open at the neck. I couldn’t help noticing a few dark hairs just below his collar line, and I ached to reach across and undo his shirt further, and kiss the point at the base of his neck. I’m telling it like it was. This is how I felt.
I decided not to drink much, so I just had a couple of smallish glasses of wine. Hugo had a Grappa after dinner, but I wanted a clear head. We went and stood outside on our private terrace, and looked out over the lagoon. Pure heaven.
I sensed that it wouldn’t be right for me to touch Hugo. He likes to be in charge, so I resisted. As we gazed out across the water, he put his arm around my shoulders. I leant very slightly towards him to acknowledge his action, but not to put too much pressure on him. Then he said what I was waiting to hear.
‘I am aware that we didn’t make the best of starts yesterday evening, Laura, and I’m sorry if I took you by surprise with the bedroom arrangement. I’m confident you’ll soon appreciate how sensible it is, but I do understand that in your world it isn’t the norm. I should have dealt with it more sympathetically. But now, my darling, this is our real wedding night. Shall we go to your room?’
I ignored the bit about our different backgrounds, because he’s right, really. I actually felt quite nervous. Yesterday I had all the confidence in the world, but it took a bit of a knock, and this time I felt that I had to be very careful not to mess things up again. I wanted to tell him how much I love him, and how important he is to me. But I didn’t want to break the fragile moment of closeness. I decided that he would probably prefer praise to emotion.
‘Hugo, can I just say how much I appreciate this superb holiday. You’ve planned it so carefully, and all I want is to make you blissfully happy.’
I know, Imo - it sounds a bit stilted, but it was the right thing to say. Hugo looked pleased.
We walked arm in arm through the French windows into my bedroom - a truly magnificent room decorated in silvers and golds.
My heart was beating so quickly - I don’t know whether it was passion or fear of rejection! I turned to Hugo and wrapped my arms around his waist, raising my face to be kissed. I looked into his eyes, and could see real hunger there. He kissed me. Gently at first, and then with increasing passion. I put my hands between us to start unbuttoning his shirt, but he gently removed them. I told myself to slow down. Then he pulled my head onto his shoulder, and starting stroking my hair, lifting the long tresses to cover them with kisses. I was desperate to move things forward, but I made myself hang back.
Then he pushed me away - just gently - and placed his hands on my shoulders.
‘Darling. You are exquisite and I want you so much. But I really want to enjoy this, and we mustn’t rush. Please, go over there and let me look at you.’
He walked away from me and sat down on the chair, staring at me. I didn’t like this. I wanted to be held.
‘I don’t know what you want, Hugo. Do you just want me to stand here?’
‘For a moment, yes. Your beautiful red hair is caught in the lamp light. I want to look at you in all your perfection, and remember this night.’
I felt a bit stupid, but it was good to know that he thought I was beautiful - well, my hair at least. I wanted to be in his arms, though. I felt so isolated on the other side of the room.
He leaned back in the chair, and gave me that wonderful smile again.
‘I’d like you to start to remove your clothes.’
I frowned. I had to ask him what he meant, although it was clear enough.
‘It’s a simple request, Laura. Please keep your shoes on, but I’d like you to remove your clothes, whilst I watch and admire you.’
I realised that he wanted me to strip for him. Oh no! Please not this. This was going to be the first time that he would see me naked, and I didn’t want it to be like this. In the future, if it amuses him, I can’t imagine I’d have an issue with it. But surely this was a night for tenderness and passion? Surely it should be about discovering each other’s bodies with fingers, hands and lips? I didn’t want to give a solo performance. I tried to explain this in a non-confrontational way.
‘I’m not asking you to behave like a whore. I want to see you remove each item of clothing, piece by piece. Please continue until you are totally naked. Do you find it strange that I want to admire your body?’
What could I say? He made it sound like a compliment - but it seemed so unnatural to me; so cold and clinical. I tried again.
‘Must I do this, Hugo? I just want to be touching you and holding you. Please, darling.’ I tried not to sound as if I was whining, but I’m not sure how successful I was.
‘Think of yourself as my present. I would like to see you unwrapped very slowly. I’ve never considered you to be a prude, Laura. Don’t make an issue of such a simple request.’
He makes everything sound so reasonable. He makes everything seem as if it’s me that’s difficult. Perhaps he’s right. Is it me? I haven’t got any problem with nudity at all, in the right context. But it was clear that this was going to be entirely for his pleasure, because it certainly wasn’t going to do anything for me.
Then I got a grip. I decided I was blowing everything out of proportion. So what if he wants me to strip? It’s not exactly a capital offence. I had a strong word with myself, and just got on with it, following his orders to the letter. Thank God I wasn’t wearing tights, is all I could think. And that nearly made me laugh. Not for long, though.
One of the most awful things was, the mood was wrong. If we were familiar with each other’s bodies, I could imagine doing a jokey strip, dancing to some sleazy music with Hugo lying on the bed laughing but with his eyes revealing sheer lust. Or maybe in the future I might order him to stand still and not touch me - just watch - as if I were trying to seduce him. But it didn’t feel like either of these, and perhaps that’s my fault. That’s what I can’t figure out. I could have made so much more of it. All I did was stand still and try to look sexy.
I started by unzipping the dress. Fortunately it had a very simple zip, and it just slid off my body. I don’t know how I’d have made it look good if I’d had to pull it over my head. I held it just for a moment over my breasts, and then let it slide to the floor. All the time feeling vaguely absurd.
Hugo’s eyes held mine, and then they slid down my body. I could practically feel them.
I was about to move on to the next bit - altho
ugh there wasn’t much left, to be honest, when Hugo just held up his hand. I knew this meant I had to stop.
‘Is it usual for you not to wear a bra, Laura?’
‘I thought you might appreciate it tonight, as we’re on our own.’
‘I do have some preferences for underwear, but we can discuss those another time. Please carry on.’
Swallowing the retort that sprang to my lips, I carried on. Any excitement that I had felt after dinner was dissipating rapidly in the face of Hugo’s cold and almost analytical stare. Apart from the shoes, I only had a pair of very brief knickers left to remove, so I bent over and pulled them down slowly.
Now I can stop pretending that this was all okay, if slightly weird. I’ve tried to describe accurately how I felt at the time, pushing to the back of my mind the impact of what happened next.
When I’d removed my knickers, I raised my eyes to Hugo’s and tried to look as alluring as possible. But the look in Hugo’s eyes was not desire. His stare was cold and flat, and he stood up and walked over to the window behind me and gazed out over the lagoon. His next words, spoken without him turning round, were gutting.
‘Laura, I’m deeply disappointed in you. Get dressed.’
I had no idea what I’d done. Although I was shaking with a vast range of suppressed emotions, I tried to keep my tone level as I asked him to explain. He whipped round to face me.
‘You’re a fraud, woman. Nothing but a cheap fraud. I wouldn’t have thought you capable of this level of deception.’
His face showed pure contempt, and I felt exposed and vulnerable, standing naked in nothing but a ridiculous pair of high-heeled sandals. I wrapped my arms around my chest, as if to defend myself from a physical attack.
The only thing I could think was that he was disappointed with my body. I know it’s not perfect, and maybe slightly more well-covered than is fashionable, but it’s not bad! And yet he looked absolutely disgusted. My chest tightened. I didn’t understand any of it. His next words struck me like a blow.
‘You’ve tricked me, and I repeat, I am deeply disappointed in you.’
He turned back to the window, as if there was nothing more to say.
I know that, looking back, it would perhaps have seemed natural for me to have been angry - but it’s not like that when somebody you love makes you feel as if you’ve failed. You feel desolate. Well, that’s how I felt. He’d never been unkind to me since the day we met, and I just wanted to go and kneel at his feet and beg him to explain to me what I’d done wrong.
But then there’s pride. As the roller coaster of emotions continued on its path, pride kicked in. Why should I feel like this. Surely he knew he was hurting me? Didn’t that matter? All these thoughts collided with the disappointment and distress, and the roller coaster reached its summit, racing down once more into the pit. That pit where reason turns to dust as pure emotion takes over. Practically crying now, I begged him to explain.
‘Hugo, I have no idea what’s the matter, but I need you to know that you are really upsetting me. What can I possibly have done wrong?’
He continued to stand with his back to me for a few moments, until finally he turned round.
‘That!’ he said, pointing rather bizarrely to my pubic region.
In another twist of my spiralling emotions, sarcasm and anger crept in - albeit briefly.
‘What were you expecting? A penis?’ I probably shouldn’t have said that.
‘You have red hair.’
Now I was puzzled. What on earth could he mean? I looked down, and suddenly realised that now I was naked, it was my dark, silky pubic hair that was inexplicably giving him a problem. I was completely bewildered.
‘Yes, my hair’s red at the moment, but I’ve been known to be blond, although I’m naturally a brunette. I dye my hair - as do probably about fifty percent of all women. Even more than that, I suspect. Why is it an issue?’
‘You really don’t understand, do you? I married you partly because of your beautiful hair, and now I find it’s not real.’
This was so trivial that all the previous emotions evaporated into the atmosphere, leaving no residue other than a vague sense of puzzlement that anything so insignificant could be so important to him.
‘But what does it matter? I didn’t marry you for any reason other than the fact that I love you. Hugo, I know nothing about your body - but it’s not important at all. Why would it be? I want to explore your body and get to know it - whatever its perfections and imperfections. It’s you that I love!’
He just turned his back on me yet again, as if my words meant nothing.
The dull ache of yet another rejection was still there, but I was starting to feel exasperated because frankly he was being preposterous. But if I was going to have an argument, which seemed the most likely outcome, I was definitely not going to have one whilst I was standing there naked. I kicked off the high heels and grabbed a bathrobe, lying beautifully folded on the end of the bed. I started to feel considerably less vulnerable. If a row was what he wanted, he could have one.
‘You know, Hugo, I think we’ve got a few options here. Number one, we could get divorced. The marriage hasn’t been consummated, as I know to my huge disappointment. Number two, I could buy a bottle of red hair dye, but not until tomorrow when the shops open. Number three, you could always wear a blindfold, or number four, you could stop being so fucking ridiculous. You decide.’
After all my efforts to comply with Hugo’s wishes, my anger strangely seemed to have something of an effect, because Hugo actually answered, albeit rather coldly.
‘Whilst I don’t appreciate the tone of voice, Laura, nor can I condone the use of foul language, I do realise that my reaction may have seemed a little out of proportion to you.’
I bit back the obvious reply to this comment, and let him continue.
‘You clearly don’t appreciate the significance to me, but I will explain and hope that you will understand. I married you because I thought you were so like somebody who was very dear to me. In fact the most marvellous person I have ever known. She had beautiful red hair, and until I met you I had never encountered anybody who so resembled her. We were devoted to each other, and you seemed so like her - your strength, your body, but in particular your hair.’
I hadn’t expected anything else to wound me that night, but this was like a punch high in my chest. I choked out a response and asked him why he hadn’t married her then, if she was so bloody marvellous.
‘It wasn’t possible. And now she’s gone. I thought you could replace her.’
I felt sick. All these months he’s been with me not because of me, but because I’m like somebody else. Probably some married woman who had gone back to her husband. But I had to know.
‘Hugo, do you love me? Ignoring any similarities between myself and this woman, do you want to be married to me?’
‘Given that I am not prepared to suffer the ignominy of a second failed marriage, Laura, we will need to find a way of overcoming my disappointment. So yes, I do want to remain married to you.’
As I’m writing this, I feel nothing but sorrow - for the fact that he didn’t say that he loves me, the fact that he married me to replace this other woman, and for the fact that I had allowed myself to be persuaded that we shouldn’t have sex before we married. I don’t feel any remorse for the colour of my hair. I think he’s being totally absurd.
At the time, though, the only emotion was relief - that my marriage wasn’t over, and that we had a chance to fix whatever was wrong. It’s hard to understand why I felt like that. I’d have expected indignation, anger, all sorts of negative feelings. But I just wanted to make things right for our marriage. So I took a deep breath, walked over to where he stood at the window, and wrapped my arms round his waist. Laying my head on the back of his shoulder, I whispered to him.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that this isn’t my natural colour. If you’d ever come to my parents’ house you would have known, because the
re are so many pictures of me. But it can’t really be that big a deal. I’ll keep it red as long as you like. Come to bed, darling? We’ll get over this.’
Hugo turned and put his hands on my shoulders.
‘You go to bed. I’ll join you in a few moments.’
It was clear that I wasn’t going to get the pleasure of undressing him, but at least we weren’t heading for the divorce courts already. I foolishly decided that a bit of levity was needed, and as Hugo turned to go I called to him.
‘You never know, Hugo. Perhaps this other woman dyed her hair too.’
Hugo didn’t break his stride, and perhaps I should have anticipated his response.
‘I do know. She didn’t.’
Hugo closed the door behind him.
*
I don’t really want to dwell too much on the next bit. The consummation of my marriage. But I’m going to tell you.
When he came back into my bedroom, he had a towel around his waist. He switched off the light before removing it, and slipped into bed. I whispered that I would really like the light on, because I wanted to explore his body, from the creases at the back of his knees to the hollow at the base of this throat, or something like that. I wanted him to understand how much I adored him. And, if I’m honest, I really did want to see my husband naked. I don’t think that’s particularly unusual!
Hugo, however, had a different view. He ignored my request about the light, and pulled me to him, kissing me on the neck, but not on the lips. To me, kissing has always been the most erotic of activities, and nothing turns me on more. But each time I tried to get my mouth near to his, he managed to manoeuvre himself away. When my hands started to stray around his body, he kept a tight hold on them. I wondered if this might be some sort of foreplay - perhaps he wanted me to resist touching him for as long as possible. So I went along with it. With Hugo, that always seems to be the best option.
Suddenly he rolled me onto my back, and literally clambered on top of me - with no more than a couple of minutes of kissing me on the neck. I’m not sure if I can write the next bit. Do I really want to tell you this?
(2011) Only the Innocent Page 18
