The sun is high in the sky and the weather is seasonally warm, in fact very hot, even for late June, so Jeremy has the top down on his car. I love the feeling of driving topless, so to speak. There really is nothing else like it and I know we make a striking couple as he zips through the streets of West London down towards Hammersmith, before picking up the A316 past Kew and on towards Richmond. He turns to look at me, his classic blue cotton shirt contrasting sharply with the red leather of his driver’s seat. Reaching for my hand, he lifts it to his lips, kisses the back of it affectionately and smiles over at me. I know he really likes me, he’s already told me that, as well as alluding to the strength of his feelings (which I know are in danger of being a lot deeper and certainly a lot deeper than mine). As much as I do like him too, I worry that things are moving too fast. I dread him telling me that he loves me, which I have a feeling he might say later tonight. Not that it wouldn’t be flattering to hear it, of course, but I’m a long way away from feeling that myself and it would be unbelievably awkward not knowing what to say in return. I run through the choices in my head.
“That’s nice,” which would be awful for him and is basically an obvious way of ensuring he knows I don’t feel the same. Or should I just lie and say something like, “Me too”, or, “Ditto.” Alluding to one's feelings without actually saying those three little words in return.
In retrospect it doesn’t feel that long since I ended my last serious relationship with Steve although it has been over nine months. Even though I now realise that relationship was completely flawed from the very beginning, it still feels like I haven’t had much time to reflect or regroup emotionally. How ironic that with Steve I was more in love with the idea of being in love, and now that I’m in a relationship which on paper at least, ticks all the right boxes, I’m not falling head over heels? I can only assume it will happen with time. I do enjoy spending time with Jeremy and we do have very similar interests and although I can’t deny that I wasn’t not looking for a boyfriend when we were introduced, I realise I also wasn’t looking for anything too serious either. At least not just yet. But at the same time, I don’t want to hurt him and today is an important day for both him and his family. Him, because I know he’s excited to introduce me and I assume gain their approval, and for his family, because of the significance of the event. Your mother only turns 50 once. So I put my doubts to the back of my mind, as he turns off the main road and his tyres crunch on the gravel drive, signifying our arrival at his parent’s home.
“Deep breath,” he says, squeezing my hand reassuringly. My nerves clearly palatable. “You’ll be absolutely fine. I know Mummy and Daddy (he still refers to his parents as if he were two years old) are going to love you and I’m sure you’ll charm them as well.”
I flip down the sun visor to check my lipstick in the mirror, running my tongue across the front of my teeth. Using my fingers as a comb I smooth down my hair which has gone a bit haywire after our open-air jaunt and I readjust my fringe. Satisfied with my appearance, I gather my skirt, and grab my clutch.
Jeremy having watched me do my final adjustments, now jumps out of the car and round to the passenger side, opening the door and offering a hand to help me out.
“You look lovely, Victoria. Come on, let’s go and face the enemy.” Offering me his left arm, I slip my right arm through his and we walk into the house together.
Jeremy’s parents’ house is a typical London double-fronted Victorian villa on a large leafy plot set back from the main road. The drive is already littered with five or six cars, all of them top of the range executive saloons or small and fast sports cars similar to Jeremy’s Lotus. Large symmetrical bay windows, framed in white period stone masonry that match the lintels and the columns of the main entrance, are surrounded by the distinctive and unique colour of London brick. Three storeys rise up to meet the sloping roof which houses a number of tall chimney clusters, giving an indication to the original form of heating in this old house. My heels clack quietly as we step up onto the porch causing me to look down at the patterned terracotta floor tiles of the entrance porch which look original Victorian. Overall this is an impressive house. Even if his parents have lived here all their married life, having purchased it long before the initial house price boom which started back in the 1980s, this is still a much grander house than your average family home.
If I thought the front of the house was impressive, that was before we walked inside and through to the back. The traditional façade of the front and the few formal rooms that I can see leading off on either side of the hallway, housing original Victorian period features, such as grand marble fireplaces and original decorative coving, could not be more different than the back of the house. At some point, someone took a massive sledgehammer to the entire back of the building, opening up all the living spaces to create a large open-plan kitchen/diner and family room which, due to the huge bi-folding doors, when fully opened (as they are now) to create a seamless flow from the inside to the outside, means the room is both flooded with light and space.
The garden must be at least a couple of acres. South-facing and sun drenched. A patio leads down to a formal lawn, bigger than a tennis court. Borders of roses and colourful perennials frame the lawn and at the bottom of the garden a beech hedge leads down to a small shaded woodland beyond. The garden is milling with people and liveried waiters who are handing out glasses of fizz and canapés of smoked salmon blinis and caviar on toast. A small group are playing croquet on the lawn and the ambiance is completed by the purest sounds of a classical string quartet, set up on the farthest corner of the patio, who are currently playing ‘Spring’ from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. This, I can see immediately, is one helluva garden party, even by middle-upper class British standards.
I grip Jeremy’s arm even tighter as he walks past a few casual groups gathered together on the patio, champagne flutes in hand, mouthing greetings of “Hello” and “Lovely to see you”. He heads straight for a glamorous and immaculately turned out woman, who’s wearing a long floaty floral silk shift dress, cut at the front to show just the right amount of cleavage, teamed with a full-length string of pearls, her beautifully coiffed hair falling softly over her shoulders. By the similarity in their facial features, this clearly is his mother.
“Mummy,” he says kissing her on both cheeks. “I’d like you to meet Victoria.”
“Darling,” she replies, embracing her son “…and you, my dear,” turning her attention to look at me, reaching down for both of my hands which she pulls forward, her eyes briefly glancing up and down my body, giving me the once over, as if she were about to purchase a young filly capable of successfully breeding with her stud of a son “…look just too delightful. Welcome to our home and please, you must call me Diana.”
“Now, Jeremy. Be a dear and run along and fetch us two lovely glasses of champagne, so that I can talk about you behind your back to your lovely girlfriend.”
My body jolts instantly. Hearing Jeremy’s mother refer to me as ‘your lovely girlfriend’ has made me react physically. Suddenly in that one moment, things have just become officially serious. I have a named place in this family. A position, a responsibility. One that I didn’t ask for and one I’m sure I’m not ready to assume. It suddenly hits me, the enormity of the step I’ve just inadvertently taken. Being someone’s girlfriend in private and amongst your friends is one thing but being ‘your lovely girlfriend’ in front of family is so much more serious. As Jeremy leaves in search of the nearest waiter, Diana turns her attention back to me.
“Happy birthday. Thank you so much for inviting me, and on such a special occasion,” I say politely. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Well, we are very lucky,” she says proudly, “and although the place is a bit big now that the boys have both left, it was fun bringing them up here.”
I can only imagine what fun it would have been to have been a child growing up in this house, especially with a sibling to play with. Endless places to
play hide and seek, or to run around the lawn in swimming trunks, dodging the ice-cold water of the sprinklers on a hot summer’s day, such as today. For a fleeting moment I allow my mind to picture a charmed life such as this. What it would be like to own a home like this myself one day, raising my own family in such luxury and space. I suspect Jeremy would be able to give me that if I wanted it.
“I imagine it was,” my mind having confirmed the image of a perfect family life in the perfect English home.
“So, Jeremy tells me you’re a big fan of the ballet.”
In my nervousness I launch into a monologue. “Yes, it was something I was introduced to at a young age and I’ve had a passion for ever since. I obviously took lessons as a child, like most small girls do, but I lack the natural turnout and high insteps in my feet that are required to take it much further, but that didn’t stop me becoming a theatre enthusiast. Coming from the north of England, we would always make the effort to go and see whichever ballet company was on tour. My mother always believed we should support the arts and in particular those companies that endeavour to bring their productions to the provinces, otherwise they may stop coming back. So I’m very fortunate that I’ve seen almost all of the classics. The only drawback is that the stages in the north are smaller than in London, so you can tell that sometimes the productions have had to be scaled back, or that the dancers do not have the room they really need. Nothing compares to seeing The Royal Ballet at Covent Garden, or The Bolshoi or The Kirov at the London Coliseum. You’re so lucky to have all of that on your doorstep.”
“Well it sounds like you know more about it than all of us put together. You’ll have to keep us right, when we go later,” she says warmly.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. But this is an exceptionally special performance this evening. A one-off and I still can’t quite believe I’m going. It’s so very kind of you to have invited me.”
“You are more than welcome, it’s so kind of you to join us... I can see exactly what Jeremy sees in you Victoria. I do hope you two make each other very happy. I can see he adores you.”
An instant stab of guilt catches me by surprise. With her last statement Diana has indirectly given me her approval and confirmed that her son ‘adores me’. However, in the same moment I’ve also just realised that her son doesn’t make me happy either, not really happy deep down and I don’t know why. He also doesn’t make me unhappy either and that is what is so confusing. I know on paper he should, but my heart doesn’t flip or do somersaults when I’m with him, or even when I’m just thinking about him. Are my expectations just too high? Steve didn’t light my fire either. No one since Mr Summer Fling or Mr STI has made me feel those feelings of longing, but then all that fire disappeared after that night at college and I don’t know how to get it back.
But life isn’t a Disney fairy-tale, is it? Men do not come charging in on their white horses to rescue princesses locked in tall towers, but something is missing between Jeremy and I, and I just wish I knew what it was and what I could do about it. Most people agree that you can’t confuse lust with love, and that over time any initial feelings of attraction are replaced by softer emotions. A shared companionship, underpinned by trust and loyalty. There’s no doubt if I was looking to get married or settle down, Jeremy would be a perfect catch, so not knowing what it is I want is so frustrating. Clearly he’s into me, so why can’t I make myself want him?
Why can I not be happy with what I’ve got? How many women would swap places with me right now? Should I just count my lucky stars and suck it up? I could do a lot worse than be with this charming and polite man who, in his own mother’s words, ‘adores me’.
“Ah, speak of the devil, here’s Jeremy with our drinks. I’m sure he’ll be dying to know what we’ve been talking about…. and so that’s the story of how Jeremy ended up shaving his younger brother’s hair off.” Diana changed tack, pretending she’s been telling me a story from his childhood, just as Jeremy comes back within earshot.
“Oh, not that old chestnut again, Mummy. Next she’ll be telling you how I persisted in taking all my clothes off in public until the age three and a half,” he says, handing me a glass of bubbly before leaning in to give me an affectionate kiss on the cheek whilst simultaneously sliding a protective arm around my waist. It’s clear he wants everyone here to know that we’re together, and that I belong to him.
“Really, now that is a story I would like to hear,” I reply with a grin taking one of the glasses of champagne from him.
“I think it’s time to steal you away, Victoria. I’d like to introduce you to some people who are less likely to tell you embarrassing stories from my childhood.” With his arm behind me he steers me away from his mother and across to a group of twenty-somethings, gathered together on the patio.
“Very nice to meet you, Diana.” I slip in, before he’s whisked me too far away.
“And you too, Victoria. We’ll talk more later,” she replies, and I’m left unsure if she is making a light observation or issuing a command.
We spend the afternoon in mindless chatter with lots of cousins and family friends and their grown-up children, most of whom were also childhood friends of Jeremy’s. I’m also introduced to Jeremy’s younger brother, who insists on telling me more embarrassing childhood stories. I’m formally introduced to Jeremy’s father. A stern and typically ‘stiff upper lip’ British type, nearing the end of his long career in finance in the City, at which he has clearly made a decent wedge of cash. Unlike Jeremy’s mother who is warm and welcoming (at least on the exterior), Jeremy’s father is formal and upright, rather like a boarding school headmaster. I can’t imagine him having changed any nappies when the boys were young. It’s clear his role in their relationship was to provide financial security, whilst Diana created a home and raised the children.
I appreciate I’ve only just been introduced to Jeremy’s parents, but I can’t tell whether they’re happy together. There is no obvious animosity between them but then no obvious affection either. They appear numb to each other. This could simply be a generational thing, though. Despite them growing up in the swinging sixties, perhaps they still feel it is frowned upon to show affection in public, but my gut instinct tells me Diana is unhappy and unfulfilled. Her husband commuting every day into town, her children having grown up and left home, and with no career to fall back on, despite the seemingly perfect home and perfect life, she has an aura of sadness around her. I feel mournful that she should be forced to stay in a passionless marriage because she has no other choice. Or at least she chooses to stay for the security, the wealth and the perfect exterior, instead of choosing the more difficult path, but one that could potentially lead to more fulfilment. Perhaps she is also missing the same thing that I’m searching for. Perhaps this is what I’m afraid of. Living a perfectly comfortable existence, with a grand house and lots of friends round for afternoon tea, but one that leaves me unfulfilled and empty inside.
I find myself wondering if Jeremy’s father has ever had an affair. I suppose that would be a clue as to the true state of their marriage. Jeremy’s never mentioned anything, and it’s not the type of thing you would ask in casual conversation. “Excuse me dear. I was just wondering if your father has ever cheated on your mother as, despite appearances, I’m picking up that she seems unhappy and unfulfilled deep down.”
Yup. I can just imagine how that conversation would go. So, I keep my thoughts to myself and continue to mingle with his immediate family, laugh at unfunny jokes, listen to endless family friends recount endless stories of Jeremy as a child and be mindful of the amount of alcohol I’m consuming. Although getting outrageously drunk and creating a scene would be one sure fire way of accelerating the end of any fledgling relationship we may have, I find myself wanting to make Jeremy look good in front of his family, and if that means I must continue to play the part of his dutiful girlfriend, at least for today, then that I will do.
***
At six o’clock, we
raise our glasses and join in the toasts to Diana that follow the speeches, which appear to focus on her life as a devoted wife and mother, and which again I find it quite sad that her entire identity is defined by her supporting role to the males in her life. What has she ever done or had for herself? Who would she be if you stripped all of that away? Surely after 50 years, she is more than the sum of her life as a wife and mother. But perhaps it is unfair for me to judge her so. Perhaps I am basing my judgement on what I unconsciously would want or not want in my own life and instead I should accept that this is the path she has chosen, whether through choice, or because she has found herself on this path and has been unable to change. Still, as I raise my glass and chant, “Hear, hear,” along with the other guests, I’m left pondering which is true.
A ceremonial cutting of the birthday cake follows suit before the majority of the party wraps up and the guests leave. Meanwhile, two sleek black saloon cars arrive to take Jeremy, myself, his mother and father, his brother and a couple who are his parents closest friends, up the road to Teddington Lock. There, we are to be met by another couple of their friends who are to take us up the Thames on their boat to Hampton Court Palace and to the special performance taking place in the grounds this evening.
Teddington Lock is the first lock on the River Thames. In the past it was an important gateway for trade and transport but today it signifies the point where the river is no longer tidal but transitions into a waterway for pleasure. Countless families have enjoyed slow meandering holidays on its water, sailing upstream, past Oxford and into the very heart of England.
Belonging: Two hearts, two continents, one all-consuming passion. (Victoria in Love Book 1) Page 10
