"What's wrong?" she said, seeing him walk into the bathroom with a perplexed look on his face as she washed her hands, freshening up after the journey.
"Separate beds?"
Camilla smiled and turned to see him leaning on the door frame. Again, the class divide rudely presented itself to her.
"It's a throwback from decades ago" she said, padding her hands dry. "This house used to belong to Daniel's great grandfather and he put single beds all along this wing as he didn't want people to think he had no money. Sharing a bed implied you were forced to share". She did not dare add the 'it was lower class to be forced to share' that flitted through her mind. She had never heard a word, or indeed discussed, the divide that society told her separated him from her and she refrained from the full explanation.
"So wives visited?!" he said; having read his history books at school but not thinking for one moment that the odd arrangement might still persist.
"It was more the other way around" she said, quickly adding the word 'apparently' to her sentence, even though she had no reason to; suddenly conscious of her purity before she met him.
"It's a different world", he said, withdrawing back into the room to pick up an envelope that had been left on one of the beds.
"What's that?" she asked, walking from the bathroom and sitting next to him as he read down the list.
"The itinerary for the weekend".
"Belle did say her mother was going to put on a show".
"All of this to get married?" he said, reading down the list of entertainment, dinner timed down to the minute, leading up to the wedding on Sunday at 2 o'clock precisely. "It doesnt look like we will have a moment to ourselves at this rate!"
Chummy had forgotten the kind of money that could be spent on occasions like these until she stepped over the threshold of the house, but it still rankled. Her small, understated wedding had been perfect in its simplicity and the thought of how many delivery packs, pinards and bedsheets that this entire weekend of expense could buy. When thinking it about, it was one thing that could make her furious, but she held her tongue for fear of one of those rare occasions she could fly off the handle.
"We will", she replied, taking the list from him and quickly running her eyes down it before folding it back into its envelope.
"Shall we go for a walk?" she asked. "If I remember rightly the gardens were magnificent, even in winter. Isobel's Pa used to say that he was sure his gardener was a magician!"
He nodded. Isobel was right, there was barely anybody else there yet and there was an ulterior motive for it. Chummy knew that on the walk down to the river they would have a perfect view of the drive and she could see who intended to descend and if there was anybody she particularly needed to be prepared for. She had not thought to ask Isobel who she had invited as she had entirely lost touch with that life and she would struggle to place names and faces together. So far, though the journey itself had not brought any troubles, she felt there were still obstacles to come.
Passing nobody, they walked hand in hand down the steps onto the shale path that wound its way around the grounds.
"Did you used to come here a lot?" he asked when they were sufficiently far away from the house.
"Mater used to bring us at least twice a year as Daniel's parents are loosely related to my aunt. I can't remember how but it's all a little complicated. There must be at least two rather acrimonious divorces in the depths somewhere".
They walked past the perfectly manicured lawn, the stone statues and towards the bridge that crossed the river.
"Do you regret walking away from a life like this?" he suddenly asked, stopping dead, their only accompaniment being the trickle of water from the fountain. He had silently taken in these new surroundings, watched with curiousity the staff at the house silently going about their business, the immaculate decoration and fine furniture. He knew it was all material but for the first time he had really, truthfully considered the vast canyon that ought to have run between them.
Her answer was simple and immediate. "No".
She turned to him realising he had stopped by the bridge.
"Come on" she said holding out her hand to him, "the gardens go all the way down past the river too". He was, however, not for moving.
"Are you sure? I want to give you the world, but…..I can't". He had pushed his hands in his pockets, wearing a frown she had only seen once or twice but she knew it only materialised when there had been something that had been particularly troubling to him.
"You say I get melancholy" she said, walking a few paces back to him, deliberately extracting his hands from his pockets. "Peter, I love you desperately. You give me everything I want – you love me, you listen to me, you respect me, you make me feel… wonderful". She had whispered the last word even though there was not a soul in sight. "All of this, this excess, means nothing to me any more".
He looked at her with pursed lips.
"Let's walk along the river. There used to be another bridge and I think there's a pontoon about 50 yards up. Please".
With the entreaty and the plea that washed over her face, he relented. It still didn't fit and although he knew he had encouraged her to come here for higher purposes, seeing this place in all its glory had invaded him more than he would care to confess. He took up her hand again and they walked in silence, spotting the pontoon closer than she had first thought.
"It's so quiet down here", he said, as they sat down, gazing upwards. "The sky is so clear".
She looked up too having leant back down so she was lying on the wood of the pontoon; not even thinking of the lack of decorum she was now exhibiting.
"I used to come down here for hours and just stare at the sky, although one doesn't think that water is particularly fresh enough to dangle anything in any more! It was always beautiful here though".
He regarded her, laying beside her on his side, propping his head up on his hand. "I don't know. I think you are more beautiful than any stream, tree, sky or star".
She smiled at him. "I think you need my glasses".
"I can see perfectly clearly, thank you", he replied, smiling back at her. He rested his hand on her stomach and leant down, kissing the juncture between shoulder and neck.
"Peter, not here", she said.
"Take your mind from the gutter, Mrs Noakes. I would have to arrest myself for outraging public decency if I carried on".
He saw a small smile as a car wound its way towards the house. She too had noticed that other cars had started to arrive and could imagine the flurry of Isobel and her mother hurriedly ascending and descending the stairs to welcome their guests and had started to become nervous again.
He had hold of her hand now, running his fingers around hers, twisting her wedding ring. "Does Isobel really not want to marry him?" he asked, suddenly fascinated by the platinum band that he had reverently slipped on her finger only a bare few weeks ago. Every word of his vows were meant to be kept and it had struck him that if Isobel would say those same words that he had heard fall from his wife's mouth, that she would be...He couldn't think of the word. Lying? No, not really. Living under false pretences? Maybe.
"She has no choice" she replied simply.
