Don't Marry Thomas Clark (16 page)

‘No, I'm sorry, but I don't think you're going to manage to make me change my mind. If we want this marriage to work, we're going to have to start getting to know each other for what we truly are. Setting limits and barriers only delays the problem, but it doesn't solve it.'

‘Wait… Wait a minute,' he stops, raising his hand. ‘I don't think I'm with you. What marriage are you talking about?'

‘Ours, you silly boy.' I sit, pressing together my lips and blowing him a kiss.

‘Sandy, there isn't going to be a marriage!'

‘Of course there is! We told all your friends about it just twelve hours ago.'

‘No. There will be no marriage,' he states flatly.

‘Oh …' I whisper with a distraught expression. ‘Are you… Are you
serious
?'

‘Of course I'm serious. As you know very well, so why are you asking? And why are you pulling that face?' he shouts.

‘Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that… I really thought that…' I can't even finish the sentence, so overwhelmed am I with emotion.

‘What? What did you think?' he insists.

‘I thought we had a chance of making it,' I confess, and his look, threatening until a few seconds before turns incredulous.

‘Are you kidding?'

‘Does it look like I'm kidding?'

‘You must be!'

‘You weren't so sure yesterday,' I say indignantly.

‘Sandy, I have no plans to get married, to you or to anyone else.'

‘You don't want to think about it for a minute or two?'

‘I don't need to!'

‘You're sure you don't want to give us another chance?' I ask with a pleading look.

‘I think I've been perfectly clear about the matter.'

‘Oh, yes, of course! What do you care, after all? First you take me, then you deceive me and then…'

‘I… I deceive you?'

‘And me… I've left my life, my job, all my dreams in America to come back to you. And for what? To be thrown away like a used tissue at the first difficulty?'

‘Sandy, you didn't
have
a job in America,' he points out, as if that were the only thing I've said worthy of note. He looks at me worriedly. ‘Sandy, are you all right?'

‘You selfish bastard!' I shout, and turn around, so indignant that I'm no longer capable of looking him in the eyes.

‘Okay… Okay, listen,' he huffs in exasperation, ‘I don't want this to end up in court, but if I were forced…'

‘No worries,' I interrupt him, sensing where he's going. ‘Don't panic. I won't force you,' and I take a deep breath. My words seem to reassure him slightly, but he remains cautious. He looks around. Chaos reigns in the kitchen.

‘Don't worry,' I say, back to being reasonable and walking towards the phone, ‘I'll tidy everything away in a few minutes. Anyway, you'd better call the notary now. Do you think he's up yet?'

‘The notary?' he says, looking alarmed.

‘Well, we'd better tell him you want to leave me.'

‘Leave you?'

‘You surely can't expect us to stay together after you've told me you don't want to marry me anymore?'

‘I think you're forgetting one small detail: to break up, we'd have to have been dating, don't you think?'

‘And what have we been doing for the last couple of weeks?'

‘At this point, I'm not sure I know anymore – why don't you tell me?'

‘I just don't understand you today,; I say, picking up the cordless without making any attempt to explain.

‘Will you put down the phone?' he says, trying to snatch it out of my hand.

‘Oh, do you think I might disturb him? It is early, after all,' I say, looking up at the clock.

‘Can you tell me why you want to get the notary involved?'

‘About the inheritance, remember?'

He immediately stops talking and starts to stare at me with narrow, threatening eyes.

‘Unless you want to think about it,' I add distractedly. ‘But you
don't
want to think about it, do you?' I conclude, without obtaining any answer.

I don't wait any longer, but lift up the phone and start rooting through the magazines on the shelf. ‘Oh, so
that's
where it ended up,' I trill cheerfully, pulling out one about desserts. ‘There's a
scrummy
recipe for ginger donuts in this issue, I'll have to try it one of these days,' I say, putting it aside. ‘Let's see… Where is it?'

I continue to sift through the magazines and papers.

‘Oh, there it is. Here!' And I pull out a sheaf of stapled A4 sheets, which I wave under his nose. ‘I thought I'd lost it,' I sigh in relief. ‘I had it sent over last night, but I've always had trouble reading directly off the screen, so I decided to print it out. I hope you don't mind, but I used your printer,' I carry on without pausing. ‘It's brilliant! Mine's so slow… How much did it cost you? Unfortunately I think I might have messed up your folders a bit,' I add casually. ‘And I'm afraid you're out of ink now. I'm terrible with technology. Amazing, isn't it? A BA and a master's and I
still
haven't learned how to set up a printer,' I say with a smile. ‘Anyway there it is,' I say, handing it to him. ‘It's Cameron Hill's number. Could you read it to me? I haven't put my contact lenses in yet.'

Thomas turns over the papers in his hands, reads the first lines of the document and turns white. It's a copy of Sir Roger's will.

‘Well?' I ask impatiently.

‘I would advise you not to rush. The best thing to do would be to sit down and discuss things calmly, don't you agree?'

‘Are you having second thoughts? Really?' I ask, not entirely convinced. ‘But… But that's wonderful! If you only knew how happy you've made me! Just imagine, a life, spent together in richness and poverty, in sickness and health, till death do us part,' I pronounce these words with all the solemnity of a judgment upon his already precarious equilibrium.

‘Look, what about sitting down in the living room?' he asks as he tries to catch his breath.

‘Now?'

‘Right now.'

‘I wish I could, sweetheart, but the vicar's waiting for me to set a date for the ceremony. We'll have to hurry or we won't make it for November. Waiting lists are so long!' I say, going towards the stairs. ‘I'm off to get ready. If you can't find your jumpers, they're down in the laundry room. I was doing the washing so I thought I'd throw them in too. You don't think that pink top of mine will have run at ninety degrees, do you?'

‘Sandy…'

‘Oh, no, please. Don't thank me. It was a pleasure!' I chirp cheerfully.

‘Sandy…'

‘Yes, darling?'

‘How long are you going to carry on like this?'

‘
Welcome to hell!
'

‘What a bastard!' exclaims Rufus on the phone.

‘Oh, you weren't convinced?'

‘So now what are you going to do?'

‘Make him pay. Dearly.'

‘Are you really going to go through with this business of the marriage?'

‘Yep, all the way. He's going to regret being born.'

‘It frightens me when you talk like that. How are you going to do it?'

‘I'm going to make his life impossible. I'll turn Garden House into my own personal battlefield. Before a fortnight's out he'll be running for his life with his tail between his legs.'

‘What if he doesn't? What if he holds out until the wedding? Do you know how much we're talking about? There are people who would sell their mothers for a twentieth of Sir Roger's wealth.'

‘How should I know? It means I'll be the future Mrs. Clark.'

‘I don't know. I can't believe it's as simple as you're making out. Now that he knows you've got the will, he won't just sit there and watch.'

‘And what can he do to me?'

‘He could hire a private investigator,' he suggests. ‘Invade your privacy to force you to give up on the marriage.'

‘Never!' I exclaim furiously, banging my fist on a nearby coffee table in the small café where I went to ensure that my call to Rufus was safe from prying ears.

‘If you think so. But at least promise me you'll be careful.'

‘Don't worry. I'll just follow the terms of the will.'

‘Fine… But if anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you, OK?'

‘OK,' I say with a sigh.

‘Please, call me and let me know how it's all going.'

‘Sure.'

‘See you soon, Sandy.'

‘Bye
Roofe
,' I say, blowing him a kiss, then I hang up and take a sip of my coffee. Rufus is right. Thomas won't just stand there twiddling his thumbs. I need a plan!

I leave the café and walk towards the cathedral. It's not raining anymore, but the sky is still cloudy and the air is damp, so I pull my coat tighter around me against the wind and continue on down the pavement. When I reach a crossroads, I ask a passer-by for information and she points me to one of the small side streets leading to the heart of the city.

I easily find the small bookshop in the town centre that she'd directed me to, walk past a group of rowdy kids and look in the shop window, crammed with volumes and signs announcing the books of the month. I peer inside to make sure it's open, then walk over to the entrance. The door creaks open and a bell rings, telling the old man behind the counter, presumably the owner, that I've come inside. Except for him and me, the only other person I can see is a girl pulling out piles of books from a big box resting on the floor. The first thing I notice in that dusty room is a powerful smell of paper and ink that rekindles childhood memories – the first thing I would do upon receiving a book as a gift was open it and sniff the pages to find out if it smelled nice.

When she notices my presence, the shop assistant leaves her task for a moment, walks over and, in a friendly voice, asks if she can help.

‘I was looking for
The Art of War
,' I tell her, taking off my headscarf.

She thinks for a moment then taps her lip with her index finger and replies, ‘Let me check,' before turning round to use the computer on the counter.

While I wait for her to tell me if they've got a copy, I wander aimlessly around the room, skimming the covers on display. More or less well-known titles are stacked neatly on the shelves, and my attention falls on a copy of Goethe's
Faust
– I can't help myself from picking it up and reading a few lines:

Part of that power which would do evil constantly and constantly does good.

‘You're in luck,' she announces shortly after as she joins me. ‘We have a couple of copies. Shall I get you one?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

I close
Faust
and watch her walk over to a rotating display then come back with the book in her hands. She gives it to me and walks me to the counter.

‘You know, we don't sell many of them. It's one of those books that everyone talks about but no one has actually read.'

‘I know – a bit like
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
,
' I say, giving her a couple of five-pound notes.

‘Exactly. We're the generation that waits to see the film before deciding whether or not it's worth reading the book,' she says with a smile, holding out a pile of coins. ‘There you go, there's your change. Would you like a bag?'

‘No, I'm fine, thanks.'

I say goodbye and walk back out into the street, the slim paperback in my hand.

The old cathedral tower strikes twelve, so I decide to find a cosy place indoors to eat a sandwich, and I choose the first decent-looking pub I see and go inside. A waiter leads me into the back room and shows me to a padded armchair before clearing the table.

‘What can I get you?'

I quickly scan the menu.

‘I'll have the brie, pickle and salad sandwich and a dandelion and burdock, thanks.'

He goes off to prepare my order and I open my new purchase.
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu.

Could the key to victory be hidden in here?

I'm still browsing through it when the waiter comes back with my order. I take a large bite of my sandwich, then let myself be fully absorbed by my reading, munching noisily all the while.

The first chapter is devoted to planning, and starts with an important consideration – namely, that war is of paramount importance for the state, because it is on the battlefield that the life or death of nations is decided, and therefore it is essential to study it thoroughly. On this I am in complete agreement, and so I continue reading.

Sun Tzu said: The art of war is of vital importance to the State. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected. The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field. These are: The Moral Law; The Heavens; The Earth; The Commander; Method and discipline.

I check the weather forecasts on my tablet: some drizzle. Partly overcast. OK, maybe I can't do much about the weather, but I can work on the rest.

Having learned of the benefits of planning, it is necessary to create situations which contribute to their manifestation. Such situations must be based on factors favourable for establishing dominance.

These five factors should be familiar to every general: he who knows them will be victorious; he who knows them not will fail. Therefore, in your deliberations, when seeking to determine the military conditions, let them be made the basis of a comparison.

Which, in a nutshell, means analyzing the situation, identifying the advantages and creating the necessary conditions for achieving your goals by organizing the right tactical moves. Now, I don't want to offend Mr Sun Tzu, but there's not much I don't know about
that
particular topic. It's one of those two or three innate gifts that we women carry in our DNA and have done more or less since Eve explained to Adam that her removing her fig leaf was a fringe benefit closely linked to the fulfilment of one or two ‘little things', such as the surrendering of the best part of the catch and the unquestioned acceptance of the clause ‘until death do us part', a phrase which, rather than establishing a deadline, I suspect, defines a goal.