Don't Marry Thomas Clark (15 page)

I pace nervously about the room for a while before eventually deciding to open the window, and I breathe in the moist evening air in great gulps, hoping it'll calm me down.

I can't go on like this. I really can't.

It's not about the money, or even the comments of that stuck-up airhead Agatha. The truth is that by signing this contract I've basically allowed Thomas to do whatever he wants to me, and I can't let that happen. I've sold myself for a bistro. The question is, did I have a choice? Well, not much of one, but isn't my dignity worth more? If I pull out now, I'll have to give him back the advance payment, and the problem is that I don't have it. So what should I do?

At the thought of my future, a wave of panic overwhelms me. What's happening to me? It's only a question of two or three dinner parties, why am I getting so worked up about it?

No, not even calmly reflecting helps. In an attempt to identify the real reason for my uneasiness, I run through the evening's events in my mind, and find it almost immediately in the conversation I overheard between Thomas and Agatha. I can see him standing there, listening to them without batting an eyelid, just like in Sir Arthur's garden, after that kiss by the pool. Nothing has changed. I don't know why, but he still has the same effect on me. Years have gone by, we've grown up, we have different lives, different friends. We know that each of us will soon go our own way and we'll never be forced to meet again – and yet the uneasiness that comes over me whenever I'm around him and the urge to run away when he speaks to me remain.

At the risk of looking a fool, I decide to go downstairs and put an end to our agreement. There's no point waiting another five months. My only hope is to ask him if we can move forward the time when I'm supposed to leave him. I'll accept any conditions he likes, but it must happen no later than this week. We could arrange a dinner here at Garden House. I'd have the chance to make a scene in public – I'll shout that I've got no intention of marrying him, and I'll dump him. Who wouldn't believe that?

Full of hope, I walk down the stairs to join him in his study. I'm sure he is still there. To date, he has never gone to bed before two in the morning. I know, because I always wake up at the sound of his footsteps or his bedroom door closing. He doesn't do it on purpose, it's just that I'm a light sleeper and the slightest noise can make me jump out of bed.

As I imagined, he's in his study. The door is slightly ajar and from within a beam of dim light illuminates the carpet in the hallway. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I walk over to the threshold and listen to the sounds coming from inside in an attempt to judge whether it's appropriate or not for me to enter.

I hear his voice immediately. He's talking to someone, but I can't hear anyone answering so I assume it's a phone call and decide to wait for it to end. I'll come back later.

‘I'm surviving,' I hear him mutter wearily, as I start to walk away. ‘Yeah, I took her to a charity event organized by the club so people would see me out with her. How did it go? How do you
think
it went? No, not yet. What? No, no. She asked a few questions, but I think I got away with it. She doesn't suspect anything.'

His last words make me suspicious. What ‘anything' am I not suspecting?

Still trying to avoid being heard, I tiptoe back and eavesdrop at the door.

‘I still can't figure out what could have prompted my grandfather to do it. What? No, of course not! She can't hear me, she ran off to her room as soon as we got back.' He yawns, and I imagine him on the other side of the door, stretching in his chair and rubbing his face. ‘Yes,' he resumes, with a sleepy voice, ‘yes, I know what you'd do – but you can forget it! I have
no
intention of sharing my inheritance with her!'

What? Oh God… I leap back from the door as though it were scorching hot. I'm shocked. What did he say? Did I hear that right?

What… What is
really
behind our agreement?

This needs sorting out!

Without wasting another second, I rush back to my room and throw the contents of my bag onto the bed, sifting frantically through the pile of junk that was inside until I find a crumpled business card. No frills, just the bare necessities in black capitals on a white background. What a cheapskate! Realizing that I'm right on the edge of having a nervous breakdown, though, I decide to temporarily put my feelings about the use of Calibri 12 to one side and nervously dial the phone number on the card then wait impatiently as it rings.

‘This is Cameron Hill, who is speaking?' answers a sleepy voice.

‘Mr Hill, this is Sandy – Sandy Price,' I say in a tremulous voice.

‘Miss Price, it must be past midnight – is everything all right?'

‘I'm sorry about the time, I really am, but I absolutely must speak to you urgently about Sir Roger's will.'

‘Of course. If I can help in any way…'

‘You see…' I hesitate. ‘Thomas had assured me that I would get a copy of the deed, but what with one thing and another, I haven't had the opportunity yet to read it through properly and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to confirm the content of certain clauses which I've only had outlined to me.'

‘An unfortunate oversight. If you like, I can email you a copy immediately.'

‘I would be very grateful,' I say, breathing a sigh of relief.

‘Which clauses are you referring to?'

‘Well, it's not clear what would happen if I refused to marry Thomas.'

‘Oh it's very simple: you would lose everything.'

‘Everything?' I ask, in total disbelief at what I'm hearing.

‘Let me explain more clearly, Miss Price. Sir Roger was desperate for Thomas to get married. That's why he bound the entire inheritance to your wedding. Whichever of you backs out tacitly waives their rights.'

The entire inheritance
? ‘Let me get this straight: If I marry him, I'm entitled to the inheritance and if I decide not to marry him, I'm not? And if Thomas refuses to marry me, I inherit everything?'

‘Miss Price, your doubts worry me. They assured me that they had explained everything to you, but from your questions, I start to suspect that… Please believe me, if there were the slightest hint of misconduct… Well, I would have to intervene.'

‘No, no,' I hasten to stop him. ‘It's just…'

What a fix!

‘A touch of nerves, perhaps?' he suggests.

‘Exactly!' I say, seizing on the idea. ‘You can't imagine how stressful the last few days have been. And to think that until yesterday I was in Cork…'

‘Weren't you in New York?'

‘Yes, yes, of course. In
New York
, asking myself what the future holds…'

‘Miss Price, please don't feel you owe me any further explanation. I completely understand. But try to relax. Everything will be fine. In the meantime, I will send you a copy of the will. When you have time to read it, you will be immediately reassured of the absolute seriousness of Mr. Clark's intentions.'

‘You're right.' I say. ‘Mr. Hill, believe me – I really don't know how to thank you.'

‘I'm only doing my duty!'

And we say goodbye, promising to meet up one day to speak about the matter in person.

I turn on the computer, place the laptop on the edge of the bed, log in and sit there, waiting with growing anxiety to view the file sent by the notary. When it arrives, I download it and scan through it quickly, looking for the parts I'm interested in.

‘I can't… I can't believe it. I just can't
believe
it.'

He had it all planned out. He's been lying to me since day one.
That's
why he was so kind at the beginning. He knew I would turn down his proposal, but he had to convince everybody that he'd tried to carry out his grandfather's last wishes. This isn't about Garden House, it's about the whole of Sir Roger's estate, which he would lose if we didn't get married. He only made me sign that contract to pull the wool over my eyes. To get my complicity.

My mind still racing, I grab the phone and call a number, and to hell with the time!

‘Hello, Mum? Yes, I know what time it is, but it's important.'

‘Sweetheart, what's happened?'

‘You can't imagine – I just went down to Thomas's study. I wanted to pull out of the contract. I'd decided to ask him to move the breaking-off of our engagement forward. But when I got there he was on the phone, so I stood in the hallway and waited for him to finish. You're not going to believe this – I overheard part of the conversation and do you know what I found out?'

‘What is it, darling, what have you found out?'

‘That if he doesn't marry me, he'll lose all of Sir Roger's estate. And do you know who will inherit everything? Me!' I blurt out. ‘Do you understand?'

‘I think so, but I don't really see why you're so upset.'

‘What? Mum, he
cheated
! He made sure I'd leave him so that I would lose everything. This means that the contract I signed has no value whatsoever. That's why I've never received a copy. The dirty…'

‘Sandy Price, pull yourself together!' she reprimands me, sensing that I'm about to start swearing my head off.

‘Mum, don't you see?'

‘Don't I see what? You two live together now, you're engaged, you're getting married soon – what on earth are you so worked up about?'

‘Yeah…' I say, and pause to think. ‘What on earth am I so worked up about?'

And suddenly, a state of deep, profound calm floods my entire being.

I can't get no satisfaction. ‘Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try. I can't get no, I can't get no…

‘What the hell…' I hear a voice mutter from the hall.

When I'm driving in my car and that man comes on the radio. He's telling me more and more about some useless information. Supposed to fire my imagination. I can ‘t get no. Oh no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey! That's what I say!

‘What the hell is going on?' shouts Thomas, storming out of the kitchen with a murderous expression on his face. He's still in his pyjamas and from his unkempt hair you can tell he's just woken up.

‘What? Speak up, I can't hear you,' I shout, trying to make myself heard over the extremely loud radio. I'm perched comfortably on one of the chairs dotted around the terrace with my feet up on the ledge, and I must look a bit of a sight: my face is smeared with face cream and my wet hair is blowing messily around in the jet of hot air from the hairdryer I'm waving about with one hand while casually flipping through a magazine with the other.

Oh, I'd almost forgotten! I've left the mixer on. I don't know why, but I woke up with a powerful craving for milkshake. I wonder whether twenty minutes will have been enough to blend the berries properly?

‘What on earth are you playing at?' he yells as he reaches the radio and flicks it off with a furious gesture. ‘Do you realize that it's six in the morning?'

‘Is it six already?' I ask incredulously. I switch off the dryer a moment to check my watch and, yes, he's right, it really is six.

‘Good grief!' I exclaim, banging my forehead with my hand. ‘How time flies! And I still haven't hoovered my bedroom!' And then I turn the hairdryer back on and continue reading the engrossing story of a woman who after undergoing hormone treatment gave birth to a grand total of five children. ‘Would you believe it? Five children! And I can't even take care of my
cactus!
'

‘Sandy!' he bursts out imperiously, snatching the magazine from my hand. ‘I demand an explanation.'

‘An explanation for what?'

‘For all this,' he gestures vaguely to the kitchen. I can't work out whether he is talking about the radio, the mixer, the pile of panties to be ironed that I've dumped on the table or the Manchester United T-shirt I've borrowed from his chest of drawers.

‘That's mine!' he gasps, pointing to it.

He must have only just realized.

‘This?' I say, lifting the hem. ‘Yes, I know, but I was doing the laundry and I didn't have anything left to wear.'

‘I don't remember you asking me for permission to take it.'

‘You're right, but you were asleep and I didn't want to bother you. But if you want it, I'll give it back to you,' I say, starting to pull it off over my head.

‘No, it's fine!' he shouts in alarm. ‘Keep it on…'And he starts rubbing his forehead ruefully. ‘Sandy,' he resumes, trying to recover control, ‘I thought I was very clear about the rules to be observed during our cohabitation.'

I switch off the hairdryer and walk over to the blender.

‘Yes, you were, but I thought about them last night and I came to the conclusion that they are detrimental to our relationship, so I've stopped following them,' I tell him, taking two glasses from the cupboard. ‘Milkshake?' I ask, giving him a cheerful smile.

‘What do you mean?' he asks, ignoring my offer.

‘What about?'

‘What do you mean,' he repeats in exasperation, ‘about having no intention of following them anymore?'

‘Errm… that I have no intention of following them anymore?' I say, underlining the silliness of his question with a look of disbelief.

‘Sandy, they weren't friendly requests, they were binding obligations. You signed a contract, don't you remember?'

‘Thomas, if you keep getting yourself into a state like this, you'll give yourself a headache. Come on, why won't you sit down? Shall I make you a nice cup of coffee?'

‘I don't want any coffee.'

‘A camomile tea, then?'

‘I don't want a camomile tea either, I simply want you to respect the agreement.'