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.
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 other 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.
As he has no family, he suggested that we keep my very large and extended family to a minimum. He said it would seem odd to have lots of people on my side and none on his. I can understand that (although Mum isn’t too chuffed, as I’m sure she’s told you). I’ve invited Simon and his latest girlfriend from work, but that’s it. We decided that as I couldn’t invite everybody from the office, it wouldn’t be right to pick and choose - so just the boss. And some of the venture capitalists. They’re always useful, apparently.
Speaking of work, I’m giving up. I’m not sure how I feel about that. My job does involve me in some long hours, particularly when the filming schedule overruns - almost inevitable, in my experience. So given Hugo’s position and everything, we would never see each other if I continued in the same job. And I could never guarantee getting to the important dinners that he has to attend. I’ll have plenty to do looking after the house, I expect. And I’m hoping that I can volunteer to help with the charity. We’ve talked about it, but Hugo thinks it’s probably best for me to settle into my new life first, and then we can decide. He’s always so considerate. The thing is, I don’t
need
to work. Money isn’t an issue, of course. And I want to spend as much time with Alexa as I can. I need to get to know her. And who knows, by this time next year if we’re very lucky there could be another little one to look after!
I’m going to keep my shares in the company, though. Simon has hinted that it might be sold to one of the bigger outfits soon. I should make quite a packet if that’s the case.
I’m getting excited and nervous and edgy. Not just about ‘the big day’, but am I up to being the wife of such a prominent figure? I’ve learned a lot, but is it enough?
My wedding dress is gorgeous. Hugo took me to this incredible woman who makes the most glorious gowns. I told him he wasn’t supposed to see it until the day, but he thought that was a load of rubbish. I think he wanted to make sure I didn’t choose anything too revealing. He says that there are certain parts of my body that he thinks should be saved for his private delectation.
I can’t wait.
Love and kisses
Laura
SEPTEMBER 1998
Dear Imogen
Today is the day after my wedding. And nothing is the way I expected it to be.
For a start, I didn’t think I’d have time to write this before the honeymoon was over. And it’s not even begun! Perhaps writing everything down will make sense of it all.
I know the morning of my wedding dawned overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining, and I was more excited than I have ever been in my life; almost shaking with nerves, and desperate to see my new home. And desperate to see Hugo. I love him so much.
Do you remember when the bridal cars pulled up on the main road outside the hotel? All the staff lined up to see me leave on my dad’s arm. Wasn’t that lovely? I’m sorry that I couldn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid, though. I did want to, but Hugo thought that adult bridesmaids - and married ones at that - were a little odd. He said you’d understand. I hope he was right.
The church was absolutely gorgeous, wasn’t it? And the flowers were amazing. It had all been put together by Hugo’s ‘team’ as he called them, so it would be a complete surprise for me. I’d been so worried that he’d put lilies in the church. I hate lilies. The smell makes me feel sick. I didn’t dare tell him, though, in case they’d already been chosen. But thankfully everywhere was decorated with ivory coloured roses, and dark glossy aspidistra leaves. Hugo looked sensational, didn’t he? That black tailcoat and a grey silk waistcoat - he looked like the dashing hero in a romantic film.
I was proud of my composure. Did you notice that I didn’t stumble on my words? I didn’t cry (although tears threatened on more than one occasion). Even my mum didn’t cry, although my dad looked pretty close when he saw me in my dress.
And then it was off to Ashbury Park. I don’t know what you thought when you saw the house, Imo. But I was every bit as excited about seeing my new home as I was about the wedding itself. As the car turned through the gates, I still couldn’t see the house. It was almost as if it was hiding from me. I had imagined that it would be a bit like Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons - Raymond Blanc’s famous restaurant. But I was wrong, wasn’t I. The narrow drive seems to have completely surrendered itself to the overgrown shrubs and trees that line its sides. It almost felt like night time as we approached. I expected the drive to end in a burst of light, but as we rounded the bend and saw the house I am horrified to say that I felt a shiver of dismay. The huge trees were swaying in the wind, their long branches scratching at the first floor windows, and the dense shrubbery opened to the smallest of forecourts, totally overshadowed by the canopy above. I’m sure the house is a fine example of medieval architecture, with its grey stone walls, and crenellated roof. But the paintwork is all black, and my eyes were drawn to the mullioned windows which seemed empty and lifeless.
This house - the very house that I am sitting in writing this - has a severity that is almost palpably hostile. Did you feel that, too?
I didn’t know what to say. Hugo turned to me with a proprietary air.
‘Your new home, Laura. Isn’t it magnificent?’
I was speechless. Fortunately, Hugo took that as a positive, and muttered something about understanding that I would be overawed. I’ve never in my life thought that I would have a wild desire to buy a chain saw, but cutting back some of that
forest
surely had to be a priority. The house is truly enormous - you’ve seen it! It’s on a scale that I never dreamt of, and the combination of its size and its grim austerity left me feeling shaken and unnerved. But ever the optimist, I smiled at my handsome husband. I like saying that, in spite of everything that’s happened since.
My optimism was short lived, though. The inside of the house seemed even more disturbing than the outside. It’s true that the wide hallway has a handsome sweeping staircase which rises rather majestically from the right hand side. It should look spectacular. The stone floor is really beautiful (if a bit grubby looking) as is the huge sage green Aubusson rug that practically covers the whole area. But the entire place feels so dark and neglected. Like something out of a horror film, really. Those drab walls - all a rather dirty beige colour and the oppressive ancestral portraits! But worst of all were the stag’s heads and glass cases containing stuffed animals. And that revolting looking stoat! Did you see that?
I just stood still, and gazed around. Hugo was watching me, an unfathomable expression on his face. I glanced at him nervously. I somehow knew that, against all odds, he was expecting me to go into raptures. And then I did something unforgivable. I think it must have been the tension of the day. I laughed.
I recovered quickly, but then promptly made things worse.
‘I’m sorry, Hugo. Obviously it’s an incredible building, and there’s huge potential. I’m sure your mum loved it like this - and we can have such fun making it into a home that’s more us, can’t we? It’s going to be brilliant.’
Oh God! I was just digging deeper and deeper. I could feel him stiffen.
‘We’ll talk about your views regarding my home later, Laura,’ he said, rather coldly. ‘For now, we need to meet our guests. I hope the rest of the house and the arrangements I’ve made prove rather more acceptable to you than the grand hall clearly does.’
I felt chastised. Hugo had never spoken to me in that tone of voice before. But then decided I was being ridiculous. He has such impeccable taste, he couldn’t
possibly
think that the hall was looking its best.