Don't Marry Thomas Clark (20 page)

And it sounds like a threat.

‘If you will pardon my cutting in,' says Cameron, timidly raising his index finger. ‘Miss Price and I are on friendly terms now. I might be wrong, but I have the feeling that she's afraid your feelings aren't sincere. I would never dare give credit to such patently misguided worries, of course, but you must admit that, in the light of a careful analysis, her fears are perfectly understandable.'

‘What? Oh…' he whispers, putting his hand on his chest theatrically. ‘Is that really what you think? Do you think I only want to be with you because of that stupid will?' He looks hurt, while I stare at him with my eyes wide open, unable even to hiss. ‘My darling, what can I do to show you how wrong you are? The only good thing about that damn will is that it brought us together. Having you by my side is all I want for my future.'

‘OK, yes, fine,' I mumble, my face growing as red as a beetroot when I realize that a large group of curious people is gathering around us. ‘I don't even know why I got that idea into my head. My period must be on the way…'

God, no – tell me I didn't just say ‘period'. Why do I always blurt things out when I'm nervous?

‘Thomas, is everything all right?' asks Josephine, approaching us worriedly.

‘Of course – everything's fine!' I reply. ‘I mean, what a great evening! The lights, the clothes, the music, and all those delightful little cucumber sandwiches…' I stutter, as I feel all eyes turn to me.

‘Sandy, it's not. It's not fine!' says Thomas, seemingly indifferent to having become the main attraction of the evening.

‘No, don't worry,' I say, in an attempt to play it down. ‘Ignore him. He's just being the usual perfectionist. I've been telling him for the last twenty minutes that those funny spots on the tapenade are quite normal, but that's just the way he is… Always worrying!'

I see a stranger discreetly spit something into a handkerchief and scrutinize it, their face turning an unhealthy green.

‘Sandy… Aunt Josephine… Uncle Chester…' says Thomas, a strange gleam in his eyes. ‘Please, I'd like everybody's attention for a moment,' he shouts.

‘Thomas, there's really no need,' I beg him as he takes my hand and, holding it tight, leads me to the centre of the room. ‘No… No need,' I mutter to Cameron, who stares blissfully at the scene.

‘Some of you, I'm sure, must have been amazed to discover that, out of the blue, I had decided to get married. Especially because, for you, Sandy Price was nothing more than a name. Many of you didn't even know of her existence before tonight. But for me, things were very different.'

Ok, now
everyone
is looking at us.

He looks around to make sure of it as well, then turns and gazes at me intently, taking my hands in his and pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. My face has gone the same colour as the upholstery, my fingers are frozen and I've also got an annoying itch right under my shoulder blade tormenting me which I can't scratch.

‘Sandy, I know that the situation is difficult to understand. Everything's happened so suddenly, without anyone imagining what was really going on in my life. If I've been hiding our relationship, it wasn't because I didn't love you enough, but because I'd always thought that there was something precious between us that needed protecting. After my parents' death, when I was just a boy, you were my only support and when we parted ways, believe me, it was as though I'd lost a part of myself. Today I have the opportunity to cancel that distance, to bring you back into my life, but I can't accept you having doubts about my feelings.'

And he kneels down, closing his eyes for a moment.

I squeeze his hands and try to get him to stand back up, but my knees are shaking and, much as I try, it's completely futile. My gaze wanders across the awestruck expressions of those present and I choke back the only word that comes to mind: ‘Help!'

‘Sandy,' resumes Thomas in a husky voice, ‘I love you more than my own life. Please, will you marry me?'

‘Ooooh,' sigh dozens of people simultaneously.

His words have a devastating effect on me. I feel dizzy. I can't breathe. The growing tension in the room seems to crackle over my skin, while time seems magically to have stopped. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow.

I can't wait anymore. I know that I have to answer. I created this ridiculous situation and now I have to accept the consequences. It all sounded so easy while I was biting into my sandwich in the pub and reading that stupid book by that stupid Asian warmonger, but now I just want to run away. Maybe I could back out. I could leave him here, in front of everyone, and go. I'd lose the inheritance, but that's never been the problem. I already have what I wanted. The bistro, my friends, my life. Both of us would be happy. So what's stopping me? Pride – that's what's stopping me. Wounded pride. Some small part of me that demands revenge. Somewhere, deep down, there is still that naive little girl daydreaming about her Prince Charming. Because, in the final analysis, that's just the way we're made, and there's nothing we can do about it. We want to be fulfilled, have a career, be independent, sure – but nothing makes our heart beat like a kiss, and we grow up waiting for the day we meet our soulmate, as though our destiny depended on it. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the world isn't like that anymore, and I'm the only one who still hopes to find a white horse stood outside my flat one morning.

So? These might just be stupid romantic ravings, but what right did this man in front of me have to walk into my life and shatter my dreams, condemning me to an unhappy, insecure adolescence? And, even worse, why hasn't he been honest with me and preferred to insult my intelligence with his ridiculous subterfuges? Perhaps because he doesn't believe that I measure up to him? It wouldn't surprise me. He thought so back then as well.

I should just leave.

I'm acting like a little child.

I have to be
above
all this.

We were just kids, and it was a stupid, slobbery, trembling kiss.

But it was my
first
stupid, slobbery, trembling kiss.

I look down and whisper ‘yes' in a faint voice and the crowd bursts into enthusiastic applause. Someone shouts “Kiss! Kiss!” and I suddenly regret not having planted a sniper among the caterers.

Everyone looks over the moon.

Everyone except me.

Thomas looks startled at first, and then gets up with a smile and moves closer.

‘Can't we just skip straight to the part where I yell that I've given you the best years of my life and you accuse me of having turned into your mother?' I ask, as stiff as a stalactite.

‘And betray the expectations of this wonderful audience?' he murmurs in my ear, his hands tight on my hips.

He doesn't seem the least bit uncomfortable – far from it, aware of the position of power the situation gives him, he flaunts his confidence and takes advantage of my hesitation to force his way between my arms.

Studying my reactions, he moves his face closer to mine. He's actually going to kiss me, I realize, and panic starts to get the upper hand. I draw back instinctively, but he holds me firmly, his hand behind my back.

My eyes are glued to his and I can't help but sigh. Just then I feel his fingers running through my hair. They grip me and drag me towards him eagerly, as if they have been waiting for this moment all their life.

Our lips meet, touch, explore each other gently and then part, and I feel his tongue envelop me in such an intense caress that it rips me out of reality and catapults me into a world where there's no room for fear or grudges. A corner of the universe where every gesture is eternal.

We move away from one another hesitantly, and as I open my eyes I realize that I've let myself be overwhelmed by my emotions.

Thomas looks just as amazed as I do. Maybe he didn't expect my rapture. I certainly didn't expect his.

Raising an eyebrow, he gives me a last look, then turns to the guests and, with a few off-the-cuff witticisms, thanks them. In no time at all, the reception resumes as though nothing had happened: the piano plays, the waiters strut about waving silver trays, and I go back to feeling alone.

A rock around which the ocean moves indifferently, sliding past it, pushed by the current, as though it were nothing more than an unnecessary hindrance to the goal.

‘Well don't say I didn't warn you!'

I'm lying in bed on my tummy, my head tucked under the pillows and my dress wadded up between my legs. The cordless is crushed between my ear and the mattress, while, eyes closed, I enjoy the first signs of what looks as though it's going to be an epic headache.

Everyone has gone, except for the one person that I would gladly send across the Channel. I don't know where he is – I only hope he's stumbled into an open manhole and is now lying there in agony under the endlessly running water of his bloody irrigation system.

As soon as I got into my room, I called Rufus and told him everything, hoping for a little comfort, but apparently I don't deserve even that today.

‘Will you stop rubbing salt into the wound?'

‘What did you expect? That he'd let you get your hands on his inheritance without batting an eyelid?'

‘I don't want his stupid bloody inheritance!' I groan, pulling my head out from under the flowered lining to get some fresh air. I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling, listening to Rufus' breathing at the other end of the phone.

‘Yes, but
he
doesn't know that, and to be honest I think that's no bad thing, because otherwise he might wonder what the hell
you're
playing at. And quite frankly, I'm starting to ask myself the same question.'

‘He deceived me,' I declare grimly.

‘And you're going to marry him. You can't argue with that.'

‘I've never said I wanted to marry him,' I explain, before he can say anything else.

‘Sandy, if you don't want his money and you don't want to marry him, what are you still doing there?'

‘Watching him suffer…'

‘The only one I can see suffering is you,' he says. ‘You're putting yourself through all this completely unnecessary torture. You've got the bistro, make do with that. Leave him to his life and come back home to yours. We all miss you.'

‘Why does it always have to be me who has to walk off into the sunset with her tail between her legs? Why does he always get away with it? If he'd been straight with me from the start, I probably would have helped him without asking for anything in return, but no, he had to treat me like an idiot! When I close my eyes, I can't help but imagine him rolling on the floor laughing as he thinks about me all alone here at Garden House, torn by guilt. And he even had the nerve to accuse me of being a despicable opportunist, when in reality the only sneaky double-crosser was him.'

‘Look, maybe he's not the nicest person in the world, but try and be objective: he was running the risk of losing everything because of a decision made by his grandfather which was, to be quite honest, questionable to say the least. He was just trying to save his inheritance.'

‘What, are you
defending
him now? I don't remember ever threatening anyone that I'd put them in my will. And anyway, even though everyone seems to have forgotten it, it's not Thomas's money. That money belonged to Sir Roger who, in full possession of his mental faculties, decided to leave everything to me as well, and so, if we really want to be picky, I'm entitled to it!'

‘But you said you didn't want it…'

‘And I don't, but I don't see why it should be me who has to give it up. If he cares so much about his freedom, he can just give all the rest of it up. He won't end up living in a cardboard box. What with all the jobs he does, his monthly salary is probably higher than the GDP of Norway.'

‘I'm not saying you should leave everything to him, I'm just advising that you carefully consider what you're up against. He could sue you, and at present all the count's assets are frozen until your wedding, so you'd have to pay all the legal fees yourself, and there's no way you can afford that.'

‘Sue me? Why?'

‘Couldn't he find a valid reason to drag you before a judge? And may I remind you that, unlike you, he
can
count on a monthly salary equal to the GDP of Norway to pay for an army of lawyers ready to go for the jugular as soon as you open your mouth.'

‘You might be right, but that would slow down the actual transfer of the ownership of Sir Roger's companies. I don't know if that would be in his interest, because I doubt he'd gain any advantage from all the negative publicity of that peculiar will getting out.'

‘You're playing with fire – not to mention the fact that you still seem to fancy him.'

‘Are you kidding?' I explode.

‘You said that kiss was stunning.'

‘Because it made all the hurt and upset from when I was young come flooding back. Have you any idea what it means to feel rejected by your first love?'

‘Yes I do. Her name was Jennifer. I had a massive crush on her. I left her a letter on her desk at school. When she found it, she read it out loud in front of the whole class. You can imagine the rest,' he tells me sympathetically. ‘Adolescence is shit, but it's part of life. I think that's why it exists. To get you to open your eyes. To turn the page. We all do it and move on. Call Thomas. He told you he'd found a solution. I'm not telling you to accept it, but at least hear him out. You've taken your revenge, now find an agreement and put it all behind you.'

I don't answer.

‘You know I'm right.'

‘Yeah…' I admit sadly.

‘Can I go back to sleep in peace now?'