Don't Marry Thomas Clark (12 page)

‘Georgina's playing up.'

‘Who's Georgina?'

‘The count's old Triumph. I take her out for a drive once a month, but today she just didn't want to start. I've wasted my whole morning on that bloody engine!'

‘And who won?'

‘I did, of course!' he exclaims proudly.

‘Bravo, Joe!' I laugh. ‘Why don't you take a seat?'

‘OK,' he says, ‘but only for a second – I still need to get the fertilizer into the shed.'

‘So, what's new?' I ask, happy to have someone to talk to for a change.

‘Oh, nothing, same old stuff. What about you? Are you enjoying being at Garden House?'

‘Well, yes, it's very… peaceful.' I can't find any other word to describe my exile. He laughs. ‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Please, tell me,' I push him.

‘Well…' he hesitates. ‘I don't imagine it's easy for you. Spending most of your time here, alone, without ever seeing anyone. I'm sure your life in London was totally different. I can tell that you´re a very social person.'

‘Oh… No, it's not a problem, believe me. Of course, I'd rather be at home, but I'm keeping busy, so I don't feel too lonely.'

‘Thomas is just so busy, unfortunately. The count was always telling him off for it. He hardly ever managed to see him. Only at Christmas, and once or twice for a weekend. And even then, he'd spend most of his time in the study.'

‘That must have been hard for Sir Roger,' I say. ‘I remember they were very close.'

‘It was all he talked about. He was scared that Thomas would isolate himself and end up alone, without a family around him.'

So
that's
why he wrote that bizarre will. He didn't have senile dementia after all – he was just worried.

‘But now there's you!' he comments unexpectedly, leaving me momentarily speechless.

‘Who? Oh, yes – now I'm here,' I smile.

‘I'm really happy for you.'

I smile again. And again, and again.

‘Sir Roger would have been happy to know that you two were together.'

‘Have you seen those clouds? Do you think it might rain?' I say, in a pathetic attempt to change the subject.

‘Hmm. You know, I think you might be right. I s'pose I'd better go and put away that fertilizer,' he says, standing up. ‘Last time, the drains got blocked and flooded the path. We had at least six inches of mud in the sheds and stables!' he tells me, before heading off towards the stairs.

Wow – the excitement never ends at Garden House!

‘Well, have a good afternoon, then,' I say, closing my laptop in preparation for going back inside.

‘Miss Price, before I go…'

‘Yes?'

‘I know it's none of my business, but… try and be patient,' he suggests, looking uncomfortable. ‘He's a good lad. He just needs to get used to all these changes. He hasn't had an easy life. After that awful accident, you know… He wouldn't talk to anyone. He'd never go out. He must have suffered a lot. He was only seventeen when… You see, Sir Roger was all the family he had left.'

I'd never thought of it like that. In fact, I don't even recognize Thomas in those words. He's always seemed to me like one of those people who's always winning and always on top, but maybe deep down he was just a scared child and I was too angry to realize he was suffering.

Is that possible?

‘Try and talk to him,' suggests Joe confidently. ‘I'm sure he'll make an effort to be around a bit more.'

‘I'll take your advice,' I say, coming over all stupidly soppy for a moment.

‘Great,' he murmurs with satisfaction. ‘You'll see, things'll get better. You just need to find a bit of a compromise. Anyway, you'd better get yourself inside. You don't want to be sat out here when the weather's like this!'

‘You're right, and it's getting darker,' I comment looking at the sky. ‘What a shame… it was such a beautiful morning,' I mumble sadly, while gathering my stuff. ‘I was almost thinking of going for a dip in the pool.'

‘Don't lose hope, it might just be a quick shower.'

‘I hope so…' I sigh as I walk towards the door. ‘Have a good day, Joe. I'll see you later'

‘You have a good day too, Miss Price. Say hello to Thomas, when you see him.'

‘I will,' I say as I go back inside. In the distance there is a rumble of thunder.

It's midnight and still raining hard. I tried to watch TV but the signal kept going, so I took a bath, read a book and had dinner while watching an old movie on my laptop. At first I'd thought maybe
Sleepless in Seattle
, but then, thinking it might bring me bad luck, I chose
How to Marry a Millionaire
instead. It seemed appropriate.

I check my watch with a yawn and realize how late it is. I'm not at all sleepy, but decide to go to bed anyway. I switch off my laptop and put it on the desk, then take the pyjamas from the wardrobe and start to undress. Just as I'm taking off my jeans, there's a flash of lightning and the room suddenly goes dark.

‘Oh, great!' I say in exasperation, my hands in my hair. ‘Now what?'

I feel about for my bag, manage to find my phone, and switch it on to have some light.

‘God, it's really pouring down,' I whisper to myself, looking out of the window.

I only know two things about electricity: if you flip the switch the lights come on, and if you flip it again they go off. I don't know
anything
else, but I should still probably check that nothing really serious has happened.

Hoping to find Clementine still awake, I put on a dressing gown and head off down the corridor with my phone in hand, but as I walk past the kitchen I hear an unusual noise coming from the hall. Something that sounds like a lump of iron falling to the floor. I'm starting to feel a bit nervous, so I stop in my tracks and try and work out what it is, but no other sound is forthcoming except something that sounds like a swear word uttered through clenched teeth.

‘Clementine?' I call in a hesitant voice, but there's no answer except for another loud noise. The same as before, but longer, more worrying. ‘Clementine, is that you?' I say again, a little louder. And again, no answer. What if she's hurt?

Starting to panic now, I rush down the corridor, trying not to stumble, and when I finally reach the front door I see a crouching man fiddling about with a toolbox by the mirror. He's wearing black clothes and is using the flashlight gripped between his teeth to illuminate the many tools scattered about on the floor.

There are two possibilities: I've either found the world's most useless burglar, or this is…

‘Thomas?' No answer. ‘
Thomas?!
What are you doing down there?'

‘If you need to ask, that means I'm not doing it properly…' he answers annoyed. ‘What are you doing up at this time of night anyway?' and with the assistance of the little armchair by the wall he pulls himself up.

‘I was looking for Clementine,' I answer defensively, pulling my dressing gown around me. ‘What are you up to?'

‘I think a fuse blew. I thought I had a spare, but I can't find any in here.'

‘It's already midnight. Just sort it out in the morning.'

‘I can't,' he answers snorting. ‘I still have some reports to go through.'

‘Don't you have emergency lights?'

‘I've no idea,' he admits dispiritedly.

‘OK, I don't want to bother you any further,' I tell him, realizing there's not much I can say that would be of any use. ‘I'll leave you to your toolbox and I'll be off to bed.'

‘No, wait. Joe's tools are in the basement. I could check if the fuses are there, but I'll need someone to hold the torch while I climb the ladder to check the shelves.'

‘I am very sorry,' I reply sorrowfully, ‘but I signed a contract that explicitly prohibits me from entering most of the rooms in the house, including the basement. I would never dare do anything that may contravene those obligations, or I might compromise my position. So I'm afraid you'll have to manage on your own. Good night.'

‘Give the present circumstances, I think we can make an exception,' he says, through gritted teeth.

‘You're so generous,' I comment sarcastically. ‘I'm not sure I deserve such a profound gesture of trust,' and I put my hands on my hips.

Part of me would like to turn around and disappear down the corridor with an evil laugh, but the do-gooder in me wins out and I give up with a snort. ‘Come on then, lead the way. Let's go and find these bloody fuses so I can get back to bed!'

He walks past me without even saying thanks and sets off towards the basement, his torch pointed at the floor.

‘Will you hurry up?' he shouts when he realizes I haven't moved.

I honestly don't know why I'm putting up with his behaviour. Well, that's not true – I know perfectly well why I'm putting up with him, damn it! Argh!

‘What were you doing on the terrace with Joe this morning?' he asks with feigned indifference, while we cross the living room in single file.

That's strange, I didn't realize he was home earlier.

‘I'm not obliged to give you an explanation,' I reply abruptly.

‘You are my
fiancée
, so it is your duty to tell me who you see.'

‘Don't you think you're getting a bit too wrapped up in your role?'

‘No, it's you who's completely ignoring yours. Need I remind you everyone is supposed to think we're an ordinary couple who are about to get married?'

‘And does that mean that I'm not allowed to talk to anyone for six months?'

‘No, but as you can imagine, seeing you spend more time with the gardener than me might make people suspicious,' he says with the irritating tone he used to talk with when he was sure of being right. God, how I'd love to throttle him!

‘Would you rather it was the tennis teacher?' I answer, with an angelic expression.

‘I must remember all this when I sue you.'

‘On what grounds?' I say, following him. ‘You've only got yourself to blame if nobody sees us together.'

‘Myself?' he reacts, turning towards me and pointing to himself with a stunned expression.

‘Yes, yourself! Even Joe says you're ignoring me.'

‘Oh, well, if
Joe
says so…' he says sarcastically, lifting up his arms. ‘Unbelievable! So is that what you two were talking about?' he asks as he opens the kitchen door.

‘Yes – he was worried about me, because I've been living like a prisoner for two weeks.'

‘Oh, this is treachery! And I suppose Amnesty International is already on the case.'

‘Your sarcasm is completely inappropriate. If you have a problem socializing, that doesn't mean you can stick me away in the attic. Joe even suggested I should talk to you about it. He couldn't believe you would ignore me like this.'

‘And I imagine he immediately set to work trying to remedy your situation,' he says, sounding annoyed.

‘Are you jealous?' I tease him.

‘Of course not! But I don't want to become the town laughing stock because my alleged future wife has a fling with one of the staff,' he mumbles, opening a small door near the cupboard. ‘This is the way down to the cellar. Careful on the stairs!' he orders sharply.

‘Yes, sir!' I snap, annoyed by his authoritative tone. ‘Given the way you go on, you shouldn't be surprised if your fiancée does flirt with the gardener.'

‘I didn't say I was. In fact I find it completely consistent with your psychological profile.'

‘One thing's for sure: Joe could teach you a lot about how to treat a woman.'

‘So now I'm supposed to ask the gardener how to handle my relationships.' He shakes his head, incredulous.

‘Your
relationships
? I'd start with something easier, if I was you, like learning basic good manners. Things like “don't knock over old ladies on the zebra crossing.” If you want to run, you need to learn how to walk first.'

He doesn't answer, but starts walking faster over to the corner where the washing machine and dryer are.

‘It should be that one.' He points to a wooden shelf high on the wall, then goes away and starts wandering around the room.

‘Where did you put the ladder?'

‘It's usually here,' he answers, looking behind the washing machine. ‘Wait… Yes, here it is. Damn it, it's stuck!'

‘Be careful!'

‘I've got it!'

‘What was that noise?'

‘A bucket or something falling down, I imagine.'

‘Come on, hurry up – this place gives me the creeps.'

‘Come here, hold this,' he says, giving me the flashlight. ‘Point it up there, at the highest shelf.'

‘Like this?'

‘Yes,' he mutters as he climbs the ladder. When he's on the highest rung, he leans on a shelf and starts searching among the boxes and jars, sending up a little cloud of dust.

‘Can you be a
little
more careful?' I snap, covering my head and nose with a hand.

‘I can't find them,' he justifies.

‘That's no reason for choking me.'

‘Point the torch over there to the right. More. To the right I said!'

‘That
is
the right!'

‘
My
right!'

‘In that case you should have said left.'

‘No, because
I'm
the one talking – you should take my position as a reference.'

‘Who says?'

‘Common sense?' he offers sarcastically.

‘I wonder what noise your collarbone would make if I gave this ladder a push.'

‘Shush! I think I've found it. Point the torch back over here,' he says, leaning forward and poking about among dozens of cables. ‘Bingo!' he exults shortly after, taking an old tin of fuses packed in cellophane, from a box and climbing back down.