When Federica sunk into her bath she reflected on their conversation. She felt uneasy. But rather than trying to get to the bottom of her ill-ease she made excuses for her husband’s reluctance to let her choose her own course. ‘It’s because he loves me and wants what’s best for me,’ she thought to herself as the bubbles began to dissolve with the soap. ‘Photography can wait,’ she resolved and decided to broach the subject again another time, when she was feeling more secure in her marriage.
Later, when Torquil wrapped her in a large white towel and made love to her, any remaining doubt melted away and all that was left was unconditional devotion and a strong desire to do anything in order to please him.
That night she dressed up and took her first step into what would become an endless round of cocktail parties and dinners. She met new faces, tried desperately to remember them all by name and quickly learnt how to adopt their social chitchat that said much without saying anything at all. Torquil always made sure she was the best-dressed woman in the room and smiled with pride when she was complimented. But he would become incandescent with
rage if he felt she flirted with other men and forbade her to dance with anyone else, explaining that it was a humiliation for him watching another man rub himself up against his wife.
So Federica was careful not to step out of line. Instinctively she knew when he was watching her and modified her behaviour. If she saw his face cloud with jealousy she would move over and link her arm through his and stand by his side like a lovely appendage. When her instincts rebelled against his commands she told herself firmly that he was of another generation and altered her conduct accordingly.
‘Everyone loves you, Fede,’ said Torquil as they sat in the back of the car on their way home from a party. Federica smiled with pleasure. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he added, running a hand down her cheek. ‘You’re beautiful and serene. I must have been told by at least ten people tonight how lucky I am to have found you.’
‘Well, I’m lucky to have found you,’ she replied, taking his hand in hers and kissing his fingers.
He then looked into her face for a long moment, as if searching her features for something. ‘Are you lucky, sweetness?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t
know that you are.’
Federica frowned and laughed off his strange remark. Torquil noticed her anxiety and her effort to cover up. To his surprise it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. But he was unable to interpret these new feelings or understand why he felt them. He was too insensitive to notice that he was beginning to resent his wife for all the reasons he married her. Her purity was beginning to grate, her perfection to irritate. She made him feel inadequate. He was unable to help himself put her down as if by pulling her off her marble pedestal he might raise himself up.
In an effort to exercise more control Torquil announced that he didn’t approve of her friendship with Harriet. ‘She’s not sophisticated enough for you, sweetness. You’re too intelligent to waste your affections on some old Sloane. You’ve moved on in the world, your friends have to change too. Now I’ve got someone in mind who I know you’ll like,’ he said happily. ‘Lucia Sarafina.’
Lucia was only too happy to be of service. ‘I’ll befriend your wife if you make time to see me,’ she bargained coquettishly when he telephoned her.
Torquil enjoyed the attention. ‘She needs to be around women like you,’ he
said. ‘She’s too snow white.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Lucia agreed, delighted by the thought that his devotion might be waning. ‘But she’s young. She’ll grow up.’
‘With your help, maestra, I hope she will.’
‘Leave it to me, darling. Then I want to be thanked in person, capisci?’
‘Capisco.’ He laughed. ‘You’re wicked.’ Then he sighed heavily, a sigh that escaped his throat like a deep groan. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she whispered. ‘You know where to find me.’
‘I’ll hold that thought,’ he replied, ‘in the meantime you’ve got a job to do.’
Federica made a great effort to like Lucia. She had to in order to please her husband. Lucia invited her to Harry’s Bar where they were given the best table in the far corner of the restaurant. ‘Every man in this room will go straight home after lunch and make love to his wife,’ Lucia mused in a smooth Italian accent, as Federica sat down. ‘You see they’re all looking at me. I make them feel lustful.’ She sighed and licked her blood-red lips. ‘You probably don’t remember meeting me at the wedding. You had to be introduced to so many new people.’