Never such innocence, p.8
Never Such Innocence, page 8
‘It doesn’t sound tame at all,’ said Anthony, but she thought he was being merely polite. He smiled. ‘You look as though you need a drink. There’s another bottle of claret, I think. Why don’t you put your feet up while I go and forage for us?’
‘You’re very good to me,’ Julia told him. When he had gone, she pushed off her heavy walking shoes and put her feet up on the sofa. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked gently and the burning coal in the fireplace hissed sometimes. Occasionally there was the sound of voices from out in the street and every so often a car would drive slowly by. Julia let her head fall back against the arm of the sofa and her eyes began to close. She opened them and blinked, but in a moment they were drooping again. After a while she stopped fighting and let herself sleep.
When Anthony came back, carrying a tray of food and a bottle of wine, he smiled slightly to see her abandoned to sleep. He put the tray down as quietly as he could, poured himself a glass of wine and lowered himself into an armchair where he could watch her.
He had been astonished at how little she had changed in essentials. There were more lines around her eyes and her face was thinner than when he had left, but her smile was as warm as ever and her brown eyes as fearless. She had obviously developed some much-needed confidence during the war, and her success had taken away the slightly abrasive determination with which she had tackled life in the old days, but she was still recognisably the girl in the photograph he had carried for so long. He thought that with luck and good judgment they might after all be able to rebuild a life together.
When she woke, so drugged with sleep that she hardly knew who she was or where, the first thing she saw was her husband, sitting at ease in an armchair with a glass of wine in one hand and a smoking cigarette in the other. When he saw that she was waking up he smiled at her.
‘Anthony?’ she said doubtfully and then as the sleep receded and her mind started to work again, she said it more certainly, adding: ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘You were tired,’ he said. ‘You needed it. But now you need food.’ He stubbed out the cigarette and pulled the tray towards him so that he could put a large spoonful of caviare on a piece of toast. He handed it to her with a plate and napkin. Julia ate it obediently and then saw that he was loading up another piece for her. She looked at him with a smile in which speculation and mischief were equally mixed.
‘Since Comfort’s out, I can perhaps confess that I’m not all that keen on this stuff,’ she said. ‘It’s wasted on me. Why don’t you have it?’
‘I know you don’t much like it, but it is very nutritious,’ said Anthony with an answering smile. ‘I watched you yesterday battling with your instinct to spit it out, and then I remembered the time I took you to New York to meet Mama. Don’t you remember?’
Julia narrowed her eyes in an effort to bring her honeymoon back into her conscious mind.
‘There was caviare on the first night out. Of course!’ she said, laughing.
‘And you never told me you didn’t like it until you’d finished and could not help making a face when I offered you more,’ said Anthony. ‘You did promise me then that you’d never pretend to like anything you didn’t.’
‘Ah, but yesterday was Comfort’s day,’ she said. ‘She’d taken such trouble that I didn’t want to spoil it for her.’
‘I know. You’ve been very good to her, Julia,’ he said, far more seriously than when he had been teasing her about the caviare. ‘It can’t always have been easy. I am grateful …’
‘You don’t have to be. I just wish that she still liked me as she used to,’ said Julia ruefully. ‘It does hurt sometimes when she treats me as though we hardly knew each other – and disliked each other, too.’
‘I think she does feel as she always did,’ answered Anthony. ‘She talked of you with enormous affection today. And now the war’s over, she’ll be able to show it again. How about some cheese to take the horrid fishy taste away?’
‘Lovely,’ said Julia, accepting his change of subject. They ate the cheese and the remains of the sugared pineapple and then Julia began to load up the tray to take it downstairs. Anthony stopped her, holding her right hand in his.
‘Don’t let’s waste time with that,’ he said. Julia looked surprised, but when he kissed her she responded without embarrassment.
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Anthony said. Julia nodded and then laid her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and led her to her room.
The physical side of their marriage had always been quite happy, but neither of them considered sex the most important aspect of their relationship. Julia had been a virgin when they married and all she knew of lovemaking she had learned from Anthony, who was not very interested. Julia had always responded to his infrequent overtures, but she rarely made any of her own and had never minded that he chose to spend many nights alone in the dressing room. They had both been busy enough to need all the sleep they could get and she certainly slept better on her own than when they shared her double bed. When they did make love, it was the feeling of intimacy she enjoyed rather than the physical sensations of the act itself.
On that evening as they lay side by side, gradually relaxing together, it was his gentle endearments that she particularly liked, and the way he said again and again, ‘if you knew how I’d missed you’. His stroking hands gave her a certain pleasure, but they sometimes tickled and did little to arouse her. When he did begin to make love to her, she could not help remembering the first time he had done so and her immediate thought, So that’s it. I wonder what all the fuss was about.
But when it was over and he had cried her name and then buried his face in her hair, shuddering and almost sobbing, she stroked his head again and again and knew that she loved him.
‘There, there, my love,’ she murmured. ‘It’s all right, Anthony. I’m here. It’s all right.’
He clung to her and said her name again and she felt closer to him than ever and full of love. She felt powerful, almost maternal, and desperately wanted to protect the rare vulnerability that he had shown. After a while he rolled away and apologised, which chilled her even though it did not surprise her. Two minutes later, lying on his back at her side, he was asleep.
Julia waited until his breathing was slow and even and then slid out of bed to wash and find a nightdress. Then she collected their clothes and laid them quietly over the chairs at the foot of the bed, found her book and got back into bed to read herself to sleep.
Sleep was just beginning to blur the eges of her mind and make her eyelids droop when she felt Anthony’s hand on her thigh.
‘Did I wake you with my light?’ she asked, turning to smile at him. ‘I’m sorry. I must have slept too heavily while you were getting supper to fall sleep again so soon.’
‘I don’t think it’s that that’s keeping you awake,’ said Anthony. ‘I was thoughtless. Come here, my love.’
Surprised, but willing to do whatever he wanted, she put down her book and turned towards him. He kissed her, stroking the heavy hair away from her face with gentle fingers. Then he let his hands stray to her neck and then her breasts, touching, stroking and moving away. Gradually her breathing began to change and her eyes widened. He started to make love to her in ways he had never done before and she responded as never before. At last he brought her to the very edge of complete pleasure and with a final lingering touch flung her over. Spiralling sensations seemed to split her mind apart. She understood at last why he had always called her name and why he had clung to her so tightly.
As the last tingling pleasure left her, she realised that she was gripping his hand and let it go.
‘Anthony,’ she said. ‘I … Oh, thank you.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, kissing her forehead and brushing the hair out of her eyes.
‘I never knew,’ she said inadequately, not sure how to deal with what had happened. Anthony’s lips smiled but she was saddened to see that his grey eyes looked worried. She waited for him to tell her why.
‘It’s still early,’ he said after a moment. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? All that salty caviare is making me thirsty.’
‘Oh yes, please,’ she said, glad of the opportunity to be alone for a while to put herself back together again.
When he came back, she was sitting up against banked pillows with her hair tidily brushed. Anthony handed her a cup of tea and stood by the bed in his dark-blue dressing gown, looking down at her.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Anthony, what’s the matter?’
‘I haven’t been a very good husband to you, have I?’ he said.
The bitterness in his voice appalled her and she contradicted him at once.
‘Yes, you have,’ she said. ‘You’ve given me everything I ever wanted in life. You’re tired and discouraged and unhappy. I know that and I wish that I could help. But whatever else worries you, you mustn’t be anxious about me. I’m all right, Anthony. Please believe that. I love you. When your job in Italy is done we can sort things out and be happy again.’
‘Can we?’ he said. ‘Can we ever go back to what we were before?’
‘Why must we go back?’ Julia asked, suddenly assaulted by the hopelessness in his voice. She knew that she had changed far too much to become once again the inexperienced, ambitious girl she had been when the war broke out, and she had no wish to do so. ‘The war has done things to us all,’ she said. ‘We’ll never be the same as we were then. But why does it matter? Can’t we be happy as the people we are now?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Happiness seems rather an alien concept just now. Oh, God, and now there’s Comfort.’
Julia had not heard anything, but in the sudden silence after his announcement, she heard the familiar light tread on the stone staircase. The steps stopped on the landing outside. Julia could imagine Comfort staring at the open door of Anthony’s dark dressing room and the line of light under the bedroom door. After a moment the steps started again and they listened to her going into the studio upstairs and then shutting the door behind her with a loud crash.
‘What is it that’s happened to make you think that happiness is so unlikely, Anthony?’ Julia asked.
He shook his head.
‘So many things,’ he said. ‘All part of the war. I can’t … can’t talk about them.’
‘All right. I won’t press you,’ she said, feeling as though her insides were being torn out as she watched the despair in his eyes. He had seemed so secure the day before, but now he was letting her see a side of him that was completely unknown to her.
‘I’m sorry, Julia,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I never meant … never meant you to see me like this. I’ll go and leave you in peace.’
‘Only if you want,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t need to hide anything from me.’
He looked at her and saw her smiling at him. There seemed to be love in her dark-brown eyes and trust and absolution.
‘Come back to bed,’ she said simply.
He got back into bed and when she had turned the light off, he clutched at her hand and said:
‘It’s so awful out there.’
‘Then why don’t you come back permanently?’ she asked in a quiet, reasonable voice. ‘There must be other people who could do the job, people who haven’t fought for as long as you have. Surely you’ve done your whack now?’ He let go of her hand and was silent for so long that she was afraid she had made him angry.
‘I can’t leave,’ he said at last.
‘Why not?’ Julia asked quietly. There was no answer. Anthony’s regular breathing deepened as though he was asleep, but she was almost certain that he was still awake.
Chapter Seven
Julia woke the next morning with a feeling of unprecedented physical ease, as though every joint in her body had been unlocked, but with an echo of her husband’s distress in her mind. She stretched luxuriously against the pillows and then lay still in the dark beside him wondering how to help him back to happiness. She wished suddenly that she had been able to find him a better Christmas present, something that might have made his life in Italy more comfortable perhaps, instead of the books she had chosen. Everything useful or desirable was rationed, except for antiques and works of art, and he could hardly have taken them back to Venice. She had thought that new books might help to pass his free time, but she was afraid that he might think them mean.
‘Are you all right?’ Anthony’s sharp voice from her side made her start.
‘Heavens yes! Why not?’
‘You looked tormented. What were you thinking about?’ he said, levering himself up against the padded headboard.
Julia smiled in relief.
‘Your present,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘It seems horribly dull for the first Christmas we’re sharing after so many years. I’d like to have made some wonderfully grand gesture, bought you a dozen warm, fur-lined overcoats or something.’
Anthony laughed then, too, and reached to hug her.
‘You are sweet,’ he said. ‘But I don’t need presents.’
They heard the sound of Comfort’s footsteps on the floor above and nodded to one another.
‘Yes, we’d better get up,’ said Julia, flinging back the blankets. The sudden cold on her bare legs made her shudder and she dressed as quickly as she could in a thick skirt of coppery-coloured tweed, a cream woollen shirt and a russet cardigan, fumbling with hooks and buttons and rubbing her hands to warm them.
‘I’ll go down and get a fire going,’ said Anthony as he knotted his tie. Julia dealt with her face, noticing how much better the warm browns and reds suited her than the cold black-and-white she had to wear in court, and bundled her hair loosely back with a velvet ribbon. She followed him downstairs and met Comfort in the hall.
‘Happy Christmas, Comfort,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You look wonderful in that dress. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in red before. It suits you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Comfort shortly. ‘Oh and happy Christmas to you too.’
Julia’s heart sank. If Comfort was in a bad mood then their chances of a happy Christmas were quite slim.
‘Anthony’s lighting the fire. I thought I’d go down and rustle up some breakfast.’
‘I’d better do it if we’re not to waste Mama’s coffee. I don’t suppose Anthony’s had any decent American coffee for years,’ said Comfort.
‘Fine,’ said Julia in a deliberately pleasant voice. ‘Can I help? Or shall I just lay the table?’
‘Whatever you like,’ said Comfort over her shoulder as she turned down into the basement staircase. Julia followed her and silently collected plates and cups and cutlery to carry upstairs. She took them into the drawing room, where Anthony was still wrestling with the fire.
‘I’m making rather a hash of this,’ he said, looking round. ‘Can you take over? I’d hate to waste any of your coal.’
Julia laughed. ‘Yes, all right. It’s such poor quality stuff these days that it’s far more difficult to light than in the old days … At least that’s my story: despite my serious lack of domestic skills, I cannot believe that I’m that much more cack-handed than the maids used to be.’
Anthony laughed, too, but there was a note in the laughter that made it sound unamused.
‘You ought not to have to do all this,’ he said, waving one black hand at the fire and then the heavy breakfast tray. ‘God knows when you’ll be able to have servants again.’
‘I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to,’ said Julia. ‘Never mind now. I thought we’d have breakfast in here instead of wasting the heat. Could you clear the card table and then lay it up with these?’ She put her tray down on top of a low bookshelf and went to take her husband’s place at the grate. With the skill of long practice she had the fire lit in a few minutes and was blowing it up with the bellows when Comfort came in with the coffee pot and a rack of toast.
‘We’ve finished the butter,’ she said in a despairing voice.
‘Well that’s not a major tragedy,’ said Anthony lightly. ‘It won’t kill us to make do with marmalade alone. What a wonderful smell, Comfort. I haven’t had decent coffee for ages.’
Comfort looked triumphantly at Julia, who was still on her knees by the fire, and then poured the coffee. It was left to Julia to return to the kitchen for the sugar and marmalade. Coming back, she could hear Comfort’s voice but as soon as she opened the door it stopped. After an appreciable pause Anthony said:
‘Well, I’ve got each of you two girls a small present. Do you want them now or after breakfast?’
‘Now would be lovely,’ said Julia, trying to ignore the obvious fact that Comfort had been talking about her.
‘Oh let him have his coffee in peace,’ snapped Comfort and then almost immediately added: ‘I’m sorry, Julia. I’m not very good at Christmas. It’s such a family occasion. Not having had a proper family I’ve never learned how to cope with it. Unlike you. You can’t imagine how much I’ve envied your settled childhood and your two parents.’
‘You’ve never said that before,’ said Julia, looking at Comfort in astonishment. Julia found it extraordinary that Comfort should have envied anything so unlikely, because although her parents had been welded together by custom and conformity they could not have been more separate in every real sense. She could still remember the day when she had finally understood that.
Julia was thirteen at the time and had overheard her mother chatting to friends at a ‘ladies’ coffee morning’ that had been arranged to raise money for the local children’s home. All the ladies had been moaning about their husbands, although some of their complaints were not entirely comprehensible to the child who listened to them, but her mother had been the most bitter. Gone were the pretty tones and childishly caressing words that she used towards her husband; instead she spoke with bitter articulateness about his failings and his dullness and his meanness with money. Julia had sat on a corner of the stairs hidden from view, wincing at the loathing that she had discovered and for some reason desperately ashamed.
