In her arms, I found the rest I craved. With our bodies intertwined, sleep of the deepest kind engulfed me; untroubled, profound, replenishing. No dull ache of grief to torment my slumber, no regret to shatter my repose, just hour after hour of quiet, restorative nothingness; waking in the early throes of daylight, imbued with an unfamiliar sense of peace.
Beside me, tentatively, she greeted me. Still lingering in that nebulous haze of not quite awake, I'd turned my head in her direction, struggling with disbelief as the alchemy of yesterday came flooding back. How incredible that, from the whole painful debacle, Louisa and I had forged something meaningful. Never mind that she had agreed to marry me; in that moment her smile alone sent endorphins cascading through my brain. The perfect way to rouse myself; to lie silently and still, allowing myself simply to gaze at her; ethereal and dreamy-eyed as she sat beside me, her hair tumbling loosely about her shoulders. My god, she always was the epitome of everything I'd ever wanted but, in the pale light of a winter dawn, the sight of her had brought me close to tears. Louisa, so warm, so vital, and so naturally beautiful; to me, she was empyrean and, because of her, I had become more than I'd ever thought I'd be.
She had been gazing thoughtfully at her hand, and I felt a fleeting moment of alarm, wondering if perhaps she were disappointed; the night of our engagement ending up as rather a damp squib. Initially, she'd seemed so thrilled when she realised my plans were to stay here for the night, so I feared what followed must have left her somewhat disillusioned. Should I have ordered champagne, and dinner for two in our room? Would a more organised man, a more sophisticated suitor have presented her with flowers, fed her oysters and made love to her repeatedly throughout the night? Undoubtedly, but the sense of exhaustion that had come over me was like nothing else I'd ever felt before. I was totally and utterly depleted. I had nothing left to give.
Watching her closely, I knew I would not have to wait long to be acquainted with her thoughts; this was Louisa and she never could hide the way she felt. Clutching her knees to her chest she'd smiled at me and, whilst not exactly radiating contentment, she definitely appeared more parts happy than she was cross. Encouraged, I'd shifted onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow as I reached out for her hand, covering it with mine.
"Louisa…about last night….I wonder if…umm…well, if the evening might have been a bit of a let down for you…?"
To my relief, she had appeared genuinely surprised, insisting that the opposite was true, before grinning ruefully and admitting that, for some considerable time previously, she hadn't been sleeping very well either. Exhaling heavily, I'd threaded my fingers through hers and drawn her toward me, conscious of her instruction that there should be neither pretence nor caution between us now. Even in my semi-conscious state, I knew she was right; we had both known such distress apart, and felt such desperate relief in reconciliation, that we had no use for artifice, nor stomach for concealment. As difficult as it would be for me, everything between us must be kept out in the open; in no uncertain terms, Louisa had made her point on transparency very clear indeed.
And, of course I had agreed to her conditions; helplessly in love with her and, such was my need, my disbelief, and even my gratitude, I would have agreed to almost anything she had asked of me. Living my life without her had been almost unbearable, utterly without hope yet, here she was, draped across my chest, her head a reassuring weight upon my shoulder. I felt so invigorated, aware not only of an incredible sense of reprieve but, especially, as her legs snaked around mine, a rather shameless and burgeoning fog of desire.
"Can I make it up to you?" I'd murmured casually, smoothing her hair back behind her ear, seeking out the spot below her ear that always made her gasp and giggle, and press herself against me.
But, instead, she'd sighed, tilting her head back so she could look at me, biting her lip as if she were about to impart some terrible news. "Actually, Martin, I've been thinking…I really should have left Joan a note. What if she comes home and I'm not there?" .
I'd exhaled with such vehemence that it escaped my throat as a rather audible groan; unintended of course and appearing somewhat disloyal to my Auntie Joan. But, as frustrated as I was, I knew Louisa was right. As she went on to explain, in the face of the kindness and support that Joan had shown her throughout her life, it really wasn't fair to her at all. As I listened though, I couldn't move, I couldn't quite relinquish my grip. It was hard to explain exactly but I was intensely reluctant to return to the farm, for a myriad of reasons really; most of them libidinous, but others apparently more complex. After Louisa had peeled herself off me, and claimed the first shower, I'd tried to compose myself, attempting to unravel the reasons for my unease.
As reassured as I was that Louisa did not seem disappointed in me, I still had a number of unpleasant truths to face. Acknowledging that, when I was young, Auntie Joan had been my most fervent supporter made it even harder to swallow that she had become yet another of my severest critics. On the subject of Louisa and me especially, I'd found her opinions more and more inconsistent, and her attitude completely unpredictable; encouraging me one minute, ridiculing me the next. It was baffling and unpleasant, and therefore something I would usually avoid thinking about at any cost.
But if Louisa shared my misgivings, she certainly didn't let it show, slipping her arm affectionately through mine as we exited the hotel, her whole being radiating joy as she pointed out the double rainbow that arched across the bay. Perhaps it hadn't occurred to her that we might not receive my Aunt's blessing upon our engagement. I was certainly not taking it for granted, aware as I was that Joan had always considered Louisa and me a mismatch. The fact was I dreaded the dreary pearls of wisdom she would be intent on forcing down my throat. Not that her negativity would make one iota of difference to me but Louisa was sensitive, she cared what other people thought. So, for the entire drive to the farm, I had tolerated the thump of the bass, the repetitive electronics and a horribly tuneless singer; clearly, it made Louisa happy, and, frankly, I was miles away.
Typical of a rural Sunday morning, the roads were deserted; between the hedgerows, the surface was strewn liberally with debris from the night before. Above us, sulky clouds hung low in the sky, every puddle a mirror that reflected the somber skies. I recall her lightheartedness had been tangible; her hand keeping the beat on the upper reaches of my thigh. Of course I didn't mind; the familiarity of her touch was the most reassuring thing in the world to me now, but I was amazed how, so quickly, we seemed to have just taken up where we left off. But, at the end of the lane, as we swung into Auntie Joan's driveway, suddenly and rather surprisingly, Louisa had withdrawn from me, assuming an appearance of proprietary and discretion, both hands clasped demurely in her lap.
"Oh." We'd said in unison, as the battered old vehicle beside the house came into sight.
"Is that hers?" I'd asked, my tone resigned, and she'd nodded, the brief brilliance of her smile extinguished as she bit apprehensively on her lower lip.
All around us, the storm had certainly left it's mark. The downpour had scarified much of the gravel from the driveway, depositing it in mounds that fanned out across the scruffy lawn. Below us, dirty, dishevelled hens scratched desultorily in the sodden ground, and bedraggled cattle peered at us us from behind a crumbling rock wall, caked in mud up to their bellies. I sighed. It was cold, the blustery wind persisted, and everywhere appeared particularly shabby and down at heel. The cottage was especially depressing; water dripping from the sagging gutters, rusty down pipes swinging in the breeze, the walls patterned with a mosaic of algae, moss and lichen.
I remember fighting the impulse to throw the car into reverse, intent firmly on a rapid return to my flat; to order and cleanliness, and well-maintained, watertight buildings, with functioning plumbing and comfortable beds. Whatever charm this rural idyll had once possessed, once I had lost all interest in collecting Lepidoptera and, especially, since I had honed a surgeons's sense of smell, the attraction had long since been extinguished. To hell with a sense of duty and politeness, I'd raged internally; whatever remained of this incomprehensible weekend, was it unreasonable for a man to want his fiancé entirely to himself?
"Umm...Louisa." I'd announced purposefully, easing on the handbrake. "We should aim to leave by one at the latest. Will that give you adequate time to pack your things?"
Another smile, and my misgivings had almost disappeared; her expression so hopeful, so trusting; and followed by a rather breathless and enthusiastic yes! We had stared at each other then, each apparently as hesitant to exit the car as the other. But nothing would ever be as arduous or tedious for me if she were at my side; I am still convinced of it, it simply isn't possible, no matter how onerous the task. I was drawn toward her, impulsively, sliding my fingers under her jaw as her lips parted beneath mine. As I closed my eyes, all I could think of was how desperately I had felt the loss of her; her mouth so soft, and sweet, and delicately sensual; ambrosial, arousing and utterly divine. I was aware of the weight of her hand, a familiar pressure as she slid it languidly up the inside of my leg. My respiration quickened; ever a kiss could convince a man he could contend with anything, this was surely it, even if the adversary was a contradictory and rather cantankerous old aunt.
After a moment, from Louisa, a little murmur of contentment, a delicate sigh I took as approval as, gently, we'd slipped apart. Briefly, as if to steel ourselves, her forehead had rested against mine, her lips as delicate as dragonfly's wing as she brushed them across my cheek. I had opened my eyes, and looked into hers, struggling to breathe evenly, such was the relief of it all, the solace in her, the lightness I felt at just having her within reach. I would have told her then, emphatically, how much I loved her, that everything I did from now on would always be for her. But, as I was girding myself, and swallowing hard, I'd noticed something; a movement, a shimmer in my peripheral vision and it had startled me enough that I had lurched violently backward against my seat.
Clad in layers of hand knit and an oversized jerkin, my aunt stood a few yards away, staring at us through the rear window of the car. Her eyes were obscured by a broad brimmed, oilskin hat pulled down low over her brow but I knew that she must have seen us, the unhappy downward curve of her mouth left me in no doubt of that. How long had she been there, I wondered furiously, my face burning as I fumbled with the door. Throwing it open, and leaping to my feet on the rain-soaked driveway, I'd felt irrationally aggravated. Her expression made her feelings very clear, though perhaps if she hadn't liked what she'd seen, then she shouldn't sneak around spying on people, a fact that I was rather intent on pointing out.
"What are you doing, Aunty Joan?" I'd demanded hotly, facing her across the roof of the car.
"Feeding the chickens, what does it look like?" She countered with her usual spirit, raising the scrap bucket so I could see it, and fixing me with a look that suggested she thought I was nothing less than an imbecile.
I'd stammered then, the gift of speech abandoning me as embarrassment claimed my voice. Even though it was icy, beneath my clothing, I had broken into a sweat. As far back as I could remember her disapproval had caused me so much discomfort; my thoughts unravelling, my tongue as helpless as if I had gargled for hours with lidocaine. And she had no inclination to wait until I pulled myself together; the first first foray that broke our stand off was quickly my aunt's. There was no warning shot above my head, instead she'd simply pulled the pin; lobbing her grenade squarely and accurately at my mud-splashed feet.
"So, conscience got the better of you did it?" She'd said archly, raising her chin, her eyes the colour of the sea, and just as cold.
I'd pressed the door closed, standing like a sentry as I struggled to find the words. Of course it was none of her business but she'd never be content with that. "Fortunately, I…that is to say that there was…umm, there was an opportunity to…"
"To take advantage that poor vulnerable girl again, if that little display was anything to go by…" She'd interrupted, glaring at me.
God, how those words had stung, they had wounded me, even more so than her insufferable comparison of my behaviour to that of my father. Swallowing hard, fighting the bile that rose in my throat, I'd glowered back at her, hopelessly mute, the unjustness of it all rendering me incapable of mounting any sort of defence. In the spotlight of her disapproval, I was a child again, raging internally at the unfairness of it all; wronged, misunderstood, always treated as if my feelings were utterly irrelevant, yet resolutely silent in the face of it all. Never give them the satisfaction of a response. I'd been ready to turn away, to walk with as much dignity as I could muster back into to the house, gathering my things, prepared to drive away from here forever.
"Actually Joan, you couldn't be more wrong." Louisa had cried out suddenly, as she forced open the car door and bounced to her feet. "First off, I'm not poor or vulnerable, thank you very much, and even if I was, Martin would be the last man on earth to take advantage of me!"
She'd glanced at me quickly as she mentioned my name, her eyes blazing, her ponytail bouncing with indignation, and I knew then that proposing to her was the most astute decision of my life. Louisa, on the offensive; passionate, brave, unafraid of confrontation when she believed that she was right. Standing up for me when she knew that I'd been slighted as vehemently as she corrected me on my own errant moments of behaviour; to have her on my side was miraculous really, anything might be possible, even resurrecting my career. I might always have considered it a platitude but, in that moment, better half made perfect sense.
"We're engaged." I heard myself blurt out, gripping the cold steel of the car's roof with determined hands.
"Don't be silly." My aunt had barked, but it was clear that she was shaken. Discombobulated, as Louisa would remark later, and somewhat gleefully, back in the flat, as we lay sated and spreadeagled across our bed.
My aunt had looked down at Louisa's proffered hand, before glancing back at me, sideways, tight-lipped and suddenly inscrutable. "Right." She'd announced. "I'll put the kettle on…"
It had been a strange and awkward few minutes as we sat in her kitchen, the low ceiling making the room seem especially and unusually oppressive. Louisa, ever vivacious, ever the conversationalist, somehow managed to prevent the situation from becoming farcical as my aunt and I cast black looks at each other across the table. It was only when she excused herself to go and pack, and I'd watched her retreating figure until she disappeared, that my aunt had spoken to me, her expression grim and speculative as I turned reluctantly in my chair and faced her.
"Well she seems happy." She'd said, somehow making it sound like an accusation.
"Mm." I'd replied warily, wrestling with the desire to defend the way I felt about Louisa, over the need to keep my feelings well and truly hidden.
In the long ensuing silence, I had listened to the ticking of her clock; it was clearly out of beat but I resisted the temptation to look at it for her. No doubt, she'd insinuate that an offer to fix it was simply a ruse, the Ellingham curse, refusing to talk about anything and, no doubt, prompting another heinous comparison to my father. And all the time, she displayed that other delightful family trait, a complete lack of self awareness, blissfully ignorant of the fact that unrelenting criticism, such as hers, had forced me to turn the concealment of my thoughts into an art form.
"Have you thought this through?" She demanded breathlessly, out of nowhere, and I'd looked up at her in horror. "I mean, really thought about the implications of marrying someone like Louisa?"
"What on earth do you mean, someone like Louisa?" I'd replied testily, resenting the implication that there might be anything wrong with the woman around whom my life was starting to revolve. But then, rather oddly her expression had softened, as if I were a child asking her to explain the mysteries of the world, and it hadn't taken me long to realise that my aunt believed all the deficiencies were mine, and mine alone.
"It was obvious you were attracted to her when we were in the restaurant, you remember, on my birthday."
Of course I remember! I'd thought to myself angrily while choosing to remain silent, rationalising that the sooner she'd vented her spleen, the sooner we could leave. So I listened, tight lipped, as she pointed out how sociable and outgoing Louisa was, how optimistic, how full of fun. Truthfully, my aunt didn't disappoint me, trotting out a few rapid fire cliches; including the scintillating observation that opposites attract, and something about marriage being a life sentence as if she thought it was amusing. For God's sake, I realise marriage is for life, isn't that the bloody point? And, as for being a mismatch that's entirely our own business; I'm the only one who will ever know how being with Louisa makes me feel.
"What about children? Have you discussed having a family?" She demanded, suddenly back on the offensive. "If ever there was a born mother, it's Louisa. Tell me, Martin, how do you feel about that?"
I hadn't looked up, in fact I hadn't moved a muscle; as the blood ran cold in my veins, it was all I could do to remember that I must continue breathing in and out. Though my mouth was dry and my carotids were pounding in my ear in a way that was almost deafening, I'd pushed myself to my feet and, clearing my throat, I had managed, finally, to speak.
"Louisa's taking rather a long time." I'd told her coldly, avoiding her eye entirely. "I'm going upstairs now to see if she needs a hand."