Tony Gordon, I suspect, is a man who can compartmentalize life quite easily.
My restlessness wakes Ed. He reaches over and strokes my back. Then his hands reach lower. I don’t move. Tears begin to run down my face. I don’t know if he thinks it’s me or Davina. Self-respect dictates that I should move away, waiting until we are both awake so we know what we are doing. But my dream about Daniel has disturbed me. I am lonely. Sad. And so it is that I find myself allowing Ed inside me. But when I arrive on a wave of illicit excitement, it is not him in my head.
In the morning, I wash my husband away in the old-fashioned bath, which has a crack in the enamel from where Daniel once removed the plughole strainer and stuffed a giant blue and silver marble down the pipe ‘to see if it would go through’.
It had cost a great deal to unblock the system.
‘Happy Christmas,’ says Ed, handing me a shiny red package.
Does he even remember making love to me in the night? Or does he feel consumed with guilt for imagining Davina?
The only way I can justify my own fantasy is that I am so wrapped up in my guilt over Daniel that I cannot allow myself to be happy. Self-destruction. Therefore I imagine someone I am forbidden, professionally, to have sex with.
There’s a small box inside the red paper. A pen. I’d been secretly hoping for more perfume. My honeymoon bottle is almost empty. How is it that an artist can be so observant one minute and so blind the next?
‘You’re always writing. Thought it might come in useful.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, handing over the package I had hidden in my case. It’s a box of oil pastels. Ed picks them out, one by one. His face is like that of a child. ‘This is great.’
‘You can paint some more Davinas now.’ I just can’t stop myself. Then again, how would my husband react if I flaunted another man in front of him?
His face darkens. ‘We need to leave early tomorrow,’ Ed says coldly, after we’d accepted Mum’s offer to lend us a car because of a limited train service during the holiday. ‘Otherwise we’ll be late for my parents.’
My childhood home is lovely. But when I first saw Ed’s family home, shortly before our wedding, I couldn’t believe it. It was virtually a stately home.
‘It’s actually not as big as it looks,’ he said as I sat in the car, willing myself to get out while staring in awe at the Elizabethan stone, the turrets, the family arms over the front door, the mullioned windows, and the lawns which extended as far as the eye could see.
Who was he kidding? Himself? Artists, I was beginning to learn, were good at that. Then again, so are lawyers. Both have to act. To play the part. To get inside someone else’s soul …
The truth is that a large part of Ed’s home is sectioned off for the public; its visitor fees go towards the upkeep. The other part – the finger-numbingly sub-zero one – is where his parents live, as well as a brother and his wife. Another brother works in Hong Kong and couldn’t come back for Christmas this year.
I’m grateful. This lot is more than enough. Ed’s mother is a tall, angular, aloof woman whom I haven’t seen since the wedding, and who has, so far, failed to invite me to call her by her first name. Artemis. It suits her.
The brother is equally pompous, although Ed’s father is polite enough, asking me about my case ‘with that murderer’. He’s clearly read up about it.
‘Consorting with criminals? What an awful job you have, dear,’ shudders my mother-in-law over pre-dinner drinks in the library – another freezing-cold place, where the leather spines are peeling off the backs of the books. ‘Didn’t you want to do something nicer? In my day, if we had to work, we taught or did nursing before we got married. Of course, many of my friends’ daughters are in what I believe they call public relations, or events management …’ Her voice tails off at Ed’s look, but it’s too late.
‘Actually,’ I reply, ‘I think that those kinds of jobs are far better left to women like Davina.’
There’s a silence. It was meant to have come out like a joke. But no one is fooled, least of all Ed. Or me. Ed’s mother smoothly moves on to another topic (that of her eldest son’s recent promotion in a huge insurance firm), but the damage is done.
‘I need some air,’ I murmur to Ed as I grab my cashmere wrap – a present from the in-laws – and make my way to the terrace overlooking the gardens. They’re beautiful. I’ll give my mother-in-law that. She spends all her time out here, apparently.
‘Artemis didn’t mean it.’
I turn at the gentle voice behind me. It’s my sister-in-law with a compact, snuffly toddler in her arms. Out of all Ed’s relatives, she is the one I like best. She seems more normal than the others and has slightly grubby fingernails, possibly because she works as a freelance garden designer. ‘She just says what she thinks, I’m afraid. You’ll get used to it.’
The toddler is grinning at me. It has a wide gap in its front teeth. I’m not the maternal type, having had little experience. Although to my surprise, I’ve really enjoyed having Carla around.
‘I’m not sure I want to get used to it,’ I say.
My sister-in-law frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know why Ed married me.’ As I speak, I feel I am talking to myself instead of to a woman I don’t know very well. Maybe it’s the pre-dinner sherry I gulped down in a desperate need for warmth as well as to curb my nerves. ‘He clearly still has feelings for Davina. So why did he choose me instead of her?’
There’s a short silence during which I see a distinct look of uncertainty flitting across my sister-in-law’s face. The toddler struggles to get down. He is deposited gently on the ground.
‘But you know about the trust?’
‘What trust?’
‘You’re kidding me. Right?’ She takes in my face. ‘You’re not, are you? Shit. He told us you knew …’ She seems genuinely concerned.
‘Please,’ I beg, ‘you’re the only one who will tell me anything. Don’t you think I have a right to know?’
There’s a quick glance over her shoulder. No one is there. The toddler is now sitting at her feet, eating clumps of frozen earth from a plant pot, but she hasn’t noticed and I don’t want to stop her now. ‘Ed was heartbroken when Davina dumped him to get engaged to some banker she’d been seeing on the quiet for yonks. Poor old Ed really loved her – sorry – but it wasn’t just that. Time was running out. Henry, spit that out or …’
‘Time was running out for what?’
‘I’m trying to tell you. The trust. Henry, spit it out NOW. It was set up by the boys’ grandparents. They all have to get married by the age of thirty and stay married for at least five years or they won’t get their inheritance. Sounds totally ridiculous, I know, but apparently Artemis’s father has a thing about men who don’t get married. His brother was the other way inclined, if you get my meaning, and it brought terrific scandal on the family in those days. I knew about it, but Andrew and I would have got married when we did anyway, trust or no trust.’
I can’t believe it.
‘We got married just before Ed’s thirtieth birthday,’ I say slowly. ‘I thought it was fast, but I was flattered that he was so keen …’
‘And he was, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, I’m not. I was always amazed that Ed had fallen for me. I’m all wrong for him. Why didn’t he go for someone more suitable?’
‘Have you been listening to that mother-in-law of ours? Honestly, Lily. You’ve got to have more faith in yourself. Anyone can see Ed loves you. You’re just what this family needs. Someone normal.’
Normal! Hah! The irony almost makes me miss what she says next.
‘When Ed first told us about you, we were shocked, of course. Especially with the wedding coming so soon. But when we met you, we saw why he’d chosen you. You’re just the kind of girl he needs. Reliable. Attractive without being a floozy. No offence meant. I said that if it didn’t work out … Henry, stop that …’