Virgin On Her Wedding Night

by Lynne Graham

  A pulsing silence fell while Caroline attempted to come up with a convincing story. Could she pretend that she had been at Winterwood all along and simply hadn’t heard the phone ringing? Shouldn’t she be adult enough to stand her ground and insist on her right to some privacy? It was not the time or the place. The look in her mother’s cold blue eyes cut like glass through Caroline’s frantic guilty thoughts, panicking her, making her feel like the worst daughter in the world, while once again making her painfully aware that she would never know happiness until she had garnered the strength to stand her ground against such domination. The ensuing awful silence, which she did not know how to fill, cut at her nerves like a slashing whip.

  Valente brushed back the curtains and took up position by her side, greeting her parents with a cool and calm that knocked Caroline sideways before saying, ‘Last night I wouldn’t let Caroline go back to an empty house. Winterwood is remote, with your nearest neighbour living a considerable distance away. In your absence, I thought it made more sense for Caroline to spend the night at the hotel.’

  Her eyes fiery, Isabel Hales opened her mouth to speak and closed it again only when her husband leapt thankfully on that explanation, which fitted in beautifully with his old-fashioned outlook. He found it perfectly acceptable that Valente should be protective towards his daughter. ‘That was the best idea in the circumstances. No harm done,’ Joe pronounced with relief, his eyes sliding shut, as if he was struggling to stay awake, and then slowly opening again.

  ‘Of course Caroline protested,’ Valente quipped.

  ‘Y-yes,’ Caroline stammered, overpowered by his intervention and his ready wits. ‘Dad, you look like you need to get some sleep.’

  ‘Let me offer you a lift home.’ Valente addressed Isabel Hales. ‘You must be exhausted if you’ve been here all night.’

  ‘Joe needs me,’ Isabel delivered, with a suspicious look at the tall, broad Italian.

  ‘I’ll be all right. You should come back later,’ her husband urged, reaching out a hand to grasp his wife’s in a reassuring gesture.

  Valente noted the glitter of tears in Isabel’s gaze and registered that she had a human side after all. For all her seeming superficiality and affectation, she was deeply attached to her husband.

  Isabel was stiff and sore after sitting for so long, and required her daughter’s support to stand up and walk with her stick. She spoke to the ward sister on the way out, and they left the hospital at a much slower pace than when they had arrived. Caroline was amazed that her mother had agreed to accept a lift home from Valente, but, spotting the tremulous line of the older woman’s mouth, recognised that her energy resources were dwindling.

  Once Isabel Hales became aware that Valente’s preferred mode of travel was a limousine, with accompanying security staff, she was much more forthcoming and chatty. Caroline was astonished when her mother broke into animated conversation and smiled, as if Valente was an old friend rather than someone she had only recently professed to despise. It soon dawned on her that her mother was hopelessly impressed by Valente’s evident wealth and she was mortified, painfully conscious that Valente was quite capable of making the same shameful and embarrassing deduction.

  Having insisted on assisting her mother from the car and walking her to the front door, Valente rested a lean, possessive hand on Caroline’s slight shoulder and bent down to say, ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

  Looking up to find black-lashed dark golden eyes intent on her, Caroline trembled and felt the pound of her heartbeat behind her breastbone. All of a sudden it was a challenge to speak or breathe, and instinct made her pull away as if he was crowding her-which indeed he was. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘There’s every need,’ Valente contradicted, without a second of hesitation.

  ‘I’ll be at the hospital with Dad.’

  ‘But you will hardly be there all day,’ Isabel Hales interposed in a tone of admonishment.

  ‘I have an order of jewellery to finish before Friday,’ Caroline added tautly, incredulous at her mother’s sudden alarming change in attitude.

  ‘We’ll have dinner together tomorrow evening, bella mia. I’ll send the car to pick you up at seven,’ Valente countered.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Caroline pressed in a driven undertone the instant the front door had flipped shut behind the two women.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Isabel enquired in dulcet return. ‘Your one-time lorry driver is now filthy rich and just as keen as he ever was…’

  ‘Of course he isn’t!’ Caroline snapped, bending down to pet Koko, who had come bounding up gracefully to greet her return.

  The older woman gave her an amused glance. ‘This is not the time to be shy, Caro. I saw how he looks at you. He owns our business. He owns our home. You’re working your fingers to the bone with that wretched jewellery enterprise and you’re as poor as a church mouse. A rich husband would solve all our problems very nicely.’

  ‘No-no, he wouldn’t!’ Caroline repudiated that audacious suggestion with rare vehemence, causing her mother to raise a minatory brow. ‘I’ve got no intention of ever marrying again!’

  ‘Not all men are like Matthew,’ Isabel said drily as Caroline was heading for the stairs.

  With Koko cradled in her arms and purring like a steam engine, Caroline stilled and slowly turned round. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  In the act of walking into the sitting room, Isabel heaved a sigh. ‘Naturally I knew that Matthew had other…shall we say…interests? The PA with the large chest whom he hired at such great expense? The blowsy barmaid down at The Swan? The garage-owner’s wife? Need I continue?’

  ‘No. I had no idea you knew. You never said anything.’ The delicate bones of Caroline’s face had set hard, and a sense of deep humiliation was creeping over her. Her mother’s calmness as she took a seat amazed her daughter almost as much as the extent of her knowledge about her late son-in-law’s extra-marital affairs. As her grip on the elegant Siamese cat tightened, Koko made a little cry of complaint and leapt down to the carpet to stalk angrily away, tail held rigidly upright to express her disapproval.

  ‘It was none of my business-’ Isabel contended.

  Something sharp pierced Caroline and freed up her temper. ‘Wasn’t it?’ she interrupted, with a bitterness that she usually kept hidden. ‘You raved about Matthew. You thought he was perfect because he had a private education and a well-bred accent. You never looked beyond the surface. You persuaded me that my friendship with Matthew would make a much batter basis for marriage than what you called my “wild infatuation” with Valente!’

  As Caroline’s voice rose in volume, Isabel frowned. ‘Control yourself, Caro. I’m willing to admit that Matthew was something of a disappointment as a son-in-law, but you could hardly expect me to have guessed that he had a secret fetish for sluttish women with big bosoms!’

  White as a sheet at that unexpectedly blunt reminder of her late husband’s preferences, Caroline quivered with the fierceness of the emotions she was fighting to suppress. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you knew? It would have made such a difference to me if I’d been able to confide in you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to discuss something so distasteful. You already knew what to do. Like a sensible wife, you turned a blind eye. It was nothing to do with me.’ For the second time, Isabel denied any responsibility.

  Caroline spun away, her eyes burning. She had not initially chosen to turn a blind eye. Matthew had refused to tolerate what he’d angrily labelled as ‘interference’ in his private life. Time and time again her husband had reminded her that she was an abnormal wife, and that she had driven him into seeking out other women who could give him what he needed. And the women Matthew had found truly attractive had been the very opposite of Caroline-outgoing, sexually skilled and voluptuous women, willing to try everything that Caroline was not. Just thinking about how trapped she had felt with him, once he was running her family’s business and seemingly the very app
le of their eyes, made Caroline feel nauseous.

  ‘You and Matthew had so much in common. It should’ve been a match made in heaven. His parents certainly thought so,’ Isabel remarked with regret. ‘And we thought Matthew would be perfect for our needs as well.’

  Caroline’s brow pleated. ‘Your needs?’ she queried.

  ‘Don’t be naïve, Caro,’ Isabel censured. ‘Naturally we always hoped you’d bring home a husband who could take over the firm for us. Matthew was from the right background and he had great management experience.’

  Caroline was studying the older woman in growing horror. ‘Is that why you were so keen on me marrying him?’

  ‘You were very attached to him. You’d known him all your life.’

  ‘Why did Matthew’s parents suddenly decide to invest in Hales when we got married?’ Caroline cut in tightly.

  ‘They wanted him to settle down, and we were all keen for him to take over the business. It was a natural development.’

  ‘Was it really?’ her daughter replied, less than convinced, belatedly conscious that her marriage had included an ‘understanding’ and a business angle between the two families that she had remained utterly unaware of at the time.

  ‘Giles Sweetman was already nearing retirement when he left us, and your father thought the firm was ready for a shake-up. Matthew was young and dynamic.’

  ‘So the Baileys only invested in the firm because Matthew was taking over as manager. Is that the only reason he wanted to marry me?’

  An angry flush marked the older woman’s cheeks. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Caro. Matthew loved you-’

  ‘No,’ Caroline cut in flatly. ‘He never loved me. I can assure you of that. But he had expensive tastes, and his parents were getting tired of keeping him. I can see that back then it would’ve seemed worth his while to marry me when I was coming to him with Hales as a dowry.’

  ‘My goodness, what an imagination you have!’ Isabel exclaimed. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

  Caroline choked back the furious words ready to leap on to her tongue and gritted her teeth, for she could see no point in arguing about a marriage that was no longer in existence. ‘I’m going up to bed now.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you.’

  ‘No, you’ve never understood me,’ Caroline said painfully.

  ‘Oh, don’t go all pathetic,’ Isabel sniped in exasperation. ‘Your father and I thought we were doing the very best we could for you when we encouraged you to marry Matthew-you used to call him your best friend!’

  ‘I loved Valente,’ Caroline said shakily, a great frightening wave of emotion washing through her.

  ‘And going by what I saw today you can still have him…if you’re clever enough to reel him in again,’ Isabel responded with superior amusement.

  Caroline got into bed and cried for her own stupidity, while Koko made plaintive cries in sympathy. Caroline saw that five years earlier she had got caught like a fly in a spider’s web. Both sets of parents had had a good reason for encouraging a marriage between their offspring. The Haleses had got a healthy investment sum to bolster their transport firm, in return for the assurance that Matthew would soon be in charge of it and its ultimate owner as their son-in-law. The Baileys had wanted a safe niche for Matthew, who had demonstrated a worrying inability to settle down to one job and stick to it, and of course they had also wanted a grandchild. Only Caroline had been too naïve to spot the reality that her marriage was much more a business agreement than a relationship between two people. It infuriated and shamed her that she had not had the wit to see that background at the time.

  She spent a good deal of the following day with her father, waiting patiently while he underwent tests and soothing him in the aftermath, for he hated being told to rest. Early afternoon she returned home to her workshop, to finish the order she had to complete. It was only when that was achieved that she allowed herself to recall that she was due to have dinner with Valente in less than an hour.

  ‘Are you only bothering to get ready now?’ Isabel snapped in disbelief when she saw her daughter heading upstairs. ‘You look a total mess!’

  ‘Thanks,’ Caroline replied.

  ‘Even beautiful girls have to make an effort,’ the older woman scolded. ‘You haven’t had your hair done, or your nails.’

  Caroline gazed down stonily at her mother. ‘The only thing you ever had against Valente was that he was poor. Now he’s rich he’s acceptable-more than acceptable.’

  ‘If you intend to keep on harping back to the past, I’ve got nothing more to say to you. But you need to make more of an effort to hold on to a man, Caro,’ Isabel spelt out sharply. ‘Maybe Matthew would have stayed home more often if you had paid more attention to your grooming.’

  Such words spoken by her mother, who must have known all along how unhappy her daughter was in her marriage, stung Caroline like a hard slap in the face. She continued up to her bedroom and rifled the wardrobe without much interest to find something to wear. There was nothing stylish. Matthew, so profligate in his own habits and tastes away from home, had insisted that his wife wore plain clothes in the style his mother wore: skirts and sweaters, stiff formal dresses. She yanked out a cream brocade long-sleeved dress and jacket she had once worn to a wedding and went for a shower.

  Matthew, she recognised for the first time, had been a bully, who had sapped her of energy and fight by continually undermining her. Her in-laws had blamed her for his constant absences, often suggesting that a child would have kept him home more. Caroline rather thought that a child would have made Matthew, who had been so determined not to grow up, run for the hills. Her marriage had been a blame game in which she’d been held responsible for everyone else’s sins and disappointments. And she would never know whether Matthew would have remained faithful if she had not been frigid in bed. Frigid. Such an awful, inappropriate word, Caroline reflected while she dried her hair and straightened it. It didn’t seem to her that that word came anywhere near describing the awful squirming panic and fear that consumed her at the threat of sex. She shivered, thinking again that it was so very typical of Valente to want what he could not have.

  With a modicum of make-up applied, Caroline slid her feet into low-heeled cream shoes and went down to climb into the waiting limousine. Before she left her mother called her into the sitting room to say, ‘I’ll understand if you’re very late, but if you’ll take my advice you’ll be very restrained in your behaviour.’

  Caroline almost laughed out loud with a scorn that was new to her. Here was her manipulative mother, telling her with the utmost hypocrisy that it was all right to sleep with Valente but that she believed saying no would keep him more safely hooked. But now it was her father whom Caroline was most concerned about, as he had none of her mother’s steel. If Hales shut down he would take it hard, because he would blame himself for the predicament of his former employees. What would that stress and sense of responsibility do to his heart? Caroline had to confront the risk that her father might die before he underwent the surgery that would prolong his life, and that awareness shook her up badly.

  Valente watched Caroline cross the dining room to join him. Her outfit, a good deal less daring than the dress she had worn the night before, was fashioned of heavy brocade, covering her to wrist, throat and knee, and was as shapeless as a tube, barely hinting that there might be a female body beneath. Her hair, however, lay like a glossy cloud on her shoulders and framed her exquisite face. He met her huge grey eyes across the floor and recognised that she was as on edge as a condemned prisoner being herded to the gallows. It was an image that both disturbed and offended a man accustomed to female admiration and desire.

  Caroline recognised the dark glow of appreciation in Valente’s intent gaze. It intimidated her, unnerved her, only reminding her of her own inability to respond. She was all covered up, nothing on show, but her modest apparel had failed to snuff out his interest.

  ‘That dress is so horrible
I just want to rip it off you,’ Valente confided while Caroline was attempting to peruse the menu handed to her.

  Caroline paled and lifted eyes that were so frankly fearful to his lean, darkly handsome face that he was pushed into adding, ‘That was a joke…okay? A joke with a sting, piccola mia. I look forward to seeing you dressed in designer clothes that fit you properly.’

  ‘I’ve lost weight since Matthew died…hardly anything I have fits,’ she confided, some of her tension easing at that explanation even while the frightening image of having her clothes ripped off struck her as ridiculous and finally faded from her mind.

  He scored a lean forefinger over the back of her clenched hand, where it rested on the polished wood of the table. She trembled, feeling the tingling effect of his light touch the whole length of her arm. ‘Try to relax. You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘I didn’t think that was possible.’

  ‘With you, anything is possible,’ Valente riposted. ‘Are you worried about your father?’

  Caroline grimaced. ‘Of course I am. He needs surgery urgently.’

  ‘But he is being treated by a state hospital, where there is probably a waiting list for such operations, and he will need to build up his strength before he can have one,’ Valente reminded her, for he had been present when her mother had spoken to the consultant the day before. ‘I could pay for that surgery privately, and your father could have it as soon as he was ready.’

  Sheer surprise made Caroline blink, before focusing intently on his bronzed features and the stunning golden eyes fixed to her. ‘I can’t believe you’re offering me something like that-’

  ‘Why not? Whatever it takes, I want you back in my life.’

  Her smooth brow indented, for he was so far removed from her in his way of thinking that she was appalled. ‘But you can’t bargain with people’s lives, Valente. Nobody should do that.’