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‘I know what she said is right,’ I tell him. ‘I just need a little more time, okay? We will get there, I promise.’
‘Hey, no pressure from me. I can wait a bit longer, don’t worry.’
I lean across as he drives and plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you. I tell you what, why don’t you come back into our room tonight? Just to sleep, for now, but at least you’ll be there when I’m ready.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so. It’s a step we need to take at some point, and it might as well be tonight.’
‘Okay thank you.’
The cottage is warm when we arrive home; since Terry from ‘Aga Saga’ came, the Aga has been on its best behaviour. His bill made James’ mouth drop open, but he did have to replace quite a lot of the internals and delivered a lengthy lecture to me about how much cheaper it would have been if we’d had it serviced regularly instead of waiting until it was pretty much on its last legs. I was sufficiently embarrassed to book him to come back next year, much to James’ consternation.
I open the warming oven and check the cottage pie I’d stuck in there before we went out. It looks perfect, so I set about boiling some peas to go with it. Although the Aga is now fully cured, it’s still a juggling act to get anything to simmer on the hotplates, so I perform my now customary dance of moving the pan around, trying to find a sweet spot where the water is bubbling but not boiling over.
‘What’s up with Tony?’ I ask, as we settle down to eat. ‘I went out wearing a fitted shirt earlier when he was in the yard, and I swear he only spoke to my face.’
‘He’s in love,’ James replies.
‘Really? When did this happen?’
‘The dairy sent a different driver a couple of weeks ago. A woman by the name of Monica. You know Tony’s obsession with what he calls ‘capable women’, and a woman driving an articulated lorry probably ticks all his fantasy boxes. His eyes were certainly out on stalks the first time she reversed up. Anyway, she’s our new regular driver, and he always makes sure he’s doing something in the yard when she arrives.’
‘I bet she’s loving his special brand of attention!’ I laugh.
‘She seems to like him too. It’s funny, because he’s weirdly polite and attentive around her, like she’s some exotic goddess that he can’t quite believe is real. He’s managed to find out that she only lives an hour or so from here, so he’s psyching himself up to ask her out for a drink.’
‘Well, here’s hoping she keeps him distracted. He’s much easier to get along with when he’s not ogling me all the time.’
‘I saw Mum earlier,’ he tells me. ‘She asked after you.’
‘Did she? What did you say?’
‘I said you were fine, and that the counselling sessions were really helping. I think she was quite impressed actually. She said that Dad would never have gone to anything like that, and she admired you for making me go.’
Rosalind and I seem to be pretending that the extraordinary conversation between us never took place. She obviously finished off my cakes for me, as Pauline thanked me for them at WI a couple of weeks ago. I’m still avoiding her as much as possible though and, when we do see each other, I would describe us as warily polite. She knows I was upset but, according to James, she’s firmly holding on to the opinion that this is because I’m being over-sensitive rather than anything to do with her being incredibly offensive. I have to say that I don’t really care what she thinks of me. I’m never going to be good enough in her eyes, so why bother trying?
It’s rather liberating, in a funny kind of way.
9
Tonight’s the night! It’s supposed to be our fourth marriage-counselling session, but I’m planning to skip it. I have something much more important in mind, namely that I’m going to welcome James back into the bed again, and not just to sleep. I’m still not completely sure I trust him, but I’ve been pondering what the counsellor said to us last time, and I think she’s right. I’ve planned the whole evening meticulously. Since our conversation about Rosalind’s allowance, James has done some jiggling of the finances and we now seem to have a bit more money available. Not enough to go wild, but enough to swap the local Co-op for something a bit more exciting every once in a while. James’ favourite dish is steak and chips, so I’ve bought two rib-eye steaks from the butcher and I’m going to serve them with some upmarket oven chips I found in Waitrose, grilled tomato, mushrooms, and a green salad. I’ve even bought a bottle of red wine that the assistant in Waitrose assured me would be a good match for the steak. Finally, I also swallowed my pride and phoned Rosalind to get her recipe for James’ favourite treacle pudding and custard. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but we were both on our best behaviour. The Aga continues to behave impeccably, so I’m confident that the food will all come out as I want it to.
Naturally, the food and wine are just the first stage of the seduction. I’m also going to be wearing my wedding lingerie underneath my normal clothes. It came from a boutique in Paris that my mum raved about, and we flew over there before the wedding just to get it. It seems ridiculously extravagant now, taking Dad’s private jet, spending two nights at the Hotel George V and blowing nearly a thousand pounds on underwear that I’ve only worn once but, at the time, it was exciting choosing something special to wear under my wedding dress. It was definitely a different world back then. Even though James had seen me undressed loads of times before we got married, this underwear did something special, and I remember him being particularly eager to remove it on our wedding night. So, it seems only right that it should take a central role in our sexual ‘reset’.
There’s just one small issue. James won’t be able to see the lingerie under my normal jeans and jumper, so I need something to give a little clue, to help him get the message. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I reckon I’ve come up with the perfect solution. Initially, I was going to greet him wearing the lingerie and nothing else, but I quickly dismissed that idea as impractical. For one thing, what if I opened the door and it wasn’t him? Even in his new loved-up, no longer leering at me state, I don’t want to give Tony the accidental benefit of my wedding lingerie. Also, if the steaks spit at all while I’m cooking them, I’m going to be very vulnerable in just knickers and a bra – and that’s assuming I get as far as cooking. James might take one look at me and haul me upstairs straight away, and that doesn’t fit with my plans at all.
I have a beautiful Tiffany Victoria necklace that Mum bought for me to go with my wedding dress. Like the lingerie, I’ve only ever worn it once, but I’m sure James will notice it around my neck. I’m going to light lots of candles to set the mood as well, so hopefully he’ll guess that something is up. I’m pretty sure he will, but men can be surprisingly dense about these things sometimes. In my favour, he’s so pent up that I could just say ‘hi’ suggestively and he’d probably get the message, but I want to do something a bit more meaningful than just giving him the go-ahead. I want him to remember our wedding day and how we felt about each other then. Hopefully, all these little links and clues will do that.
I’ve got some prosecco in the fridge for afterwards. I know it should be Champagne, but even my improved budget doesn’t run that far, and James can’t tell the difference between the two anyway. It’s symbolic more than anything else, so prosecco will do fine. I hum along to the radio as I beat together the golden syrup, butter, eggs, and flour to make the pudding. Once it’s in the steamer, I head upstairs to get ready.
The lingerie is in a cardboard box in the top of our wardrobe, and I bring it down carefully. I open the lid and peel back the tissue paper to reveal the matching satin knickers and bra. They really are exquisite, and I feel a bit of the excitement of my wedding day as I wriggle out of my everyday pants and slip them on. Thankfully, I’m still the same size as when I got married, so they fit perfectly. The bra gently enhances my cleavage and gives me a lovely shape. I have to confess that I waste a certain amount of time twirling in front of the mirror before I get a grip and put my jeans and jumper back on. Even under the jumper, the enhancing effect of the bra is obvious to me, but I sincerely doubt that James will notice. It takes me several goes to get my make-up right. The first attempt is not over the top exactly, but too different from my everyday look. Eventually I settle for a natural shade of lipstick, a touch of foundation and just a hint of eyeliner and mascara. It’s normal me, but with the volume turned up a little.
Satisfied, I retrieve the over-sized cash box that serves as our safe from the back of the wardrobe, enter the combination and open it up. It only takes me a couple of seconds to realise that something is very wrong. James’ grandfather’s medals are in here, as is his father’s signet ring and a few other bits and pieces. But my Tiffany necklace and the Patek Philippe watch my parents gave him as a wedding present are both missing. My heart is in my mouth as I open the bedside drawer where we keep the boxes for them, and my mounting suspicions are confirmed when I see that the boxes are also gone. Suddenly, I don’t feel sexy at all. If he’s done what I think he’s done, I am going to kill him.
In the hour I have to wait before James comes home, I try to think of alternative scenarios. Maybe he’s taken them up to put them in the proper safe in the main house but, if he’s done that, why hasn’t he told me? My heart is banging away in my chest; I really don’t want us to have a fight now, but if he’s sold my wedding necklace without consulting me, we are definitely going to have a difficult conversation. I’m trying hard to be optimistic, and I continue preparing the meal, just in case I’m wrong. God, I hope I’m wrong.
‘Something smells amazing, are we eating before marriage counselling tonight?’ James asks, as he breezes through the front door and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. ‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change, and I’ll be with you, okay?’
