She
had got into the habit of Polly coming up to her room to go through paperwork while she got ready in the morning. Delilah
was a firm believer in multi-tasking – if she could get through her mail while she did her make-up, then she was ahead of
the game. Her bedroom had become like a second office.
‘I’m fine, Poll. I’ve just got a bit of a headache.’
Polly looked concerned. It wasn’t like Delilah to feel unwell.
‘Why don’t you have a sleep? I’ll leave this stuff with you to look through. We can go through it later.’
She put the papers down on Delilah’s bedside table, pinning it down with an Emma Bridgwater mug full of peppermint tea.
‘Thank you.’ Delilah shut her eyes, willing Polly to go. She wasn’t in the mood for explanation.
As Polly left the room, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow.
The marriage made in heaven soon became hell.
The honeymoon was over. Raf went back to work: a three-month shoot in New York. Being pregnant, Delilah decided she would
stay in England, preparing the flat for the baby’s arrival, and without Delilah at his side Raf slid back into his old ways:
carousing in the local bars every night, drinking till dawn. Photographs of him with various women hit the press. Rumours
of on-set affairs emerged via dubious sources: makeup girls, the leading lady’s body double. If you were to believe what you
read, he was insatiable and indefatigable. On his return he protested his innocence. Yes, he’d been socialising, but only
because he was away from home and lonely and that was how he coped. And as for the girls – yes, there’d been girls when he
went out, but he hadn’t done anything with them. It was just the press stirring it all up, looking for a story where there
wasn’t one.
Delilah wanted to be reassured. It was impossible not tobelieve him, with his beseeching blue eyes and his contrition. And when he was by her side, he was beyond reproach. Attentive,
dutiful, loving, funny, generous. He came shopping for baby things: they bought a beautiful antique cot, and he restored it
and put it up in the nursery and she filled it with beautiful lace-edged bed linen. Standing there in the nursery, holding
his hand, she felt as filled with love and pride and hope as it was possible to be.
‘I adore you. You must never forget that.’ He held her face in his hands and looked right into her soul, and she was reassured.
When the carousing continued, she told herself she was being over-sensitive because she was heavily pregnant. As her due date
arrived, he was shooting a small cameo role in a gangster movie, and several times in the papers there had been pictures of
him out with Penny Porter, the leading lady.
‘It’s part of the job. You know that. See and be seen,’ he protested.
Everyone on the film knew she was due any day. They wouldn’t have thought it strange if he had ducked out of socialising.
But she didn’t say anything. When the baby was here …
Even Coco’s birth turned into an excuse for revelry, as Raf and his mates hit the drinking dens of Soho, raising toast after
toast to the little baby girl he had breathed fumes over in the hospital. Delilah was too exhausted to protest, the midwives
were too starstruck to demur, and Raf crawled home at five o’clock the next morning. When the papers hit the doormat with
photos of him out celebrating, he slumbered on, totally forgetting he was supposed to collect his wife and daughter from the
hospital and bring them home later that afternoon. When the telephone finally drilled through and woke him up, he had to take
a taxi to the hospital. And in his drunken stupor, he ordered armfuls and armfuls of flowers to be delivered, forgetting they
would be left to languish in the regulation hospital vases just hours after their arrival because Delilahwould no longer be there. The bemused nurses distributed them around the rest of the ward, knowing the
had got into the habit of Polly coming up to her room to go through paperwork while she got ready in the morning. Delilah
was a firm believer in multi-tasking – if she could get through her mail while she did her make-up, then she was ahead of
the game. Her bedroom had become like a second office.
‘I’m fine, Poll. I’ve just got a bit of a headache.’
Polly looked concerned. It wasn’t like Delilah to feel unwell.
‘Why don’t you have a sleep? I’ll leave this stuff with you to look through. We can go through it later.’
She put the papers down on Delilah’s bedside table, pinning it down with an Emma Bridgwater mug full of peppermint tea.
‘Thank you.’ Delilah shut her eyes, willing Polly to go. She wasn’t in the mood for explanation.
As Polly left the room, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow.
The marriage made in heaven soon became hell.
The honeymoon was over. Raf went back to work: a three-month shoot in New York. Being pregnant, Delilah decided she would
stay in England, preparing the flat for the baby’s arrival, and without Delilah at his side Raf slid back into his old ways:
carousing in the local bars every night, drinking till dawn. Photographs of him with various women hit the press. Rumours
of on-set affairs emerged via dubious sources: makeup girls, the leading lady’s body double. If you were to believe what you
read, he was insatiable and indefatigable. On his return he protested his innocence. Yes, he’d been socialising, but only
because he was away from home and lonely and that was how he coped. And as for the girls – yes, there’d been girls when he
went out, but he hadn’t done anything with them. It was just the press stirring it all up, looking for a story where there
wasn’t one.
Delilah wanted to be reassured. It was impossible not tobelieve him, with his beseeching blue eyes and his contrition. And when he was by her side, he was beyond reproach. Attentive,
dutiful, loving, funny, generous. He came shopping for baby things: they bought a beautiful antique cot, and he restored it
and put it up in the nursery and she filled it with beautiful lace-edged bed linen. Standing there in the nursery, holding
his hand, she felt as filled with love and pride and hope as it was possible to be.
‘I adore you. You must never forget that.’ He held her face in his hands and looked right into her soul, and she was reassured.
When the carousing continued, she told herself she was being over-sensitive because she was heavily pregnant. As her due date
arrived, he was shooting a small cameo role in a gangster movie, and several times in the papers there had been pictures of
him out with Penny Porter, the leading lady.
‘It’s part of the job. You know that. See and be seen,’ he protested.
Everyone on the film knew she was due any day. They wouldn’t have thought it strange if he had ducked out of socialising.
But she didn’t say anything. When the baby was here …
Even Coco’s birth turned into an excuse for revelry, as Raf and his mates hit the drinking dens of Soho, raising toast after
toast to the little baby girl he had breathed fumes over in the hospital. Delilah was too exhausted to protest, the midwives
were too starstruck to demur, and Raf crawled home at five o’clock the next morning. When the papers hit the doormat with
photos of him out celebrating, he slumbered on, totally forgetting he was supposed to collect his wife and daughter from the
hospital and bring them home later that afternoon. When the telephone finally drilled through and woke him up, he had to take
a taxi to the hospital. And in his drunken stupor, he ordered armfuls and armfuls of flowers to be delivered, forgetting they
would be left to languish in the regulation hospital vases just hours after their arrival because Delilahwould no longer be there. The bemused nurses distributed them around the rest of the ward, knowing the
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