A Marriage Has Been Arranged

by Anne Weale

  ‘Tell me how you met Pierce.’

  ‘We were both in Nepal, trekking. One day I met up with a small group who weren’t experienced trekkers. One of them was showing signs of altitude sickness. I couldn’t persuade him he was risking death by pressing on. Then Pierce came by. He has the sort of authority nobody argues with. When the crisis was over, we decided we liked each other. As we were going the same route, we went on together. Not walking together all day, but meeting at each day’s end and sleeping in the same lodge. We’ve been friends ever since. I admire him more than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  ‘He speaks highly of you,’ said Holly. ‘Why do you admire him so much? From where I stand he’s not especially admirable.’

  Yet even as she said it she knew her perspective had altered. She no longer felt hostile towards him. Somehow her feelings had altered. Not at any particular moment. It had happened gradually, subtly.

  ‘Really? But then you don’t know him as well as I do.’

  ‘What I do know isn’t to his credit.’ As soon as the words were out, she wished she had left them unsaid. When Ben looked surprised, she added, ‘He had an affair with my stepsister. Then he dropped her.’

  She knew as she spoke that she no longer blamed him. There were two sides to every story and perhaps if she knew his side...

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard he treats women in a way they don’t like. But maybe they ask for it. If they’re mainly after his money, why should he be nice to them? Did your stepsister love him?’

  ‘No, I don’t think she did,’ Holly admitted.

  ‘Then she doesn’t have much to complain about, does she?’ said Ben. ‘I don’t think he’d hurt anyone who loved him. He’s tough, but he isn’t cruel. He cares about people more than any man I know.’

  ‘He does?’ she said, puzzled. ‘In what way?’

  Before Ben could answer, the woman on his other side addressed a remark to him. He was obliged to reply. For the rest of the meal they had no further chance to discuss Pierce’s character.

  When dinner was over, Holly found herself talking to a variety of people, all of them interesting but none of them the person she wanted to be with.

  From time to time she saw him talking to other people and she wished she could feel him watching her across the crowded room...like the man and the girl in the song from her parents’ favourite musical, the one they had seen on their honeymoon. But Pierce seemed to have forgotten her existence. He never once looked her way.

  It was after midnight when the party began to break up. Suddenly Pierce was beside her.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’

  ‘Whenever you are.’

  ‘Let’s find Fujiko.’

  There were too many guests departing for them to spend long with their hostess. She had her tall grandson beside her.

  To Holly’s surprise, Ben kissed her goodbye. ‘See you soon, I hope.’

  Going down in the lift with two other couples. Pierce’s replies to her small talk were noticeably monosyllabic. In the lobby they had to wait a few minutes for his car to be brought round.

  It was he, not the doorman, who opened the passenger door and watched her tuck the folds of her skirt round her legs.

  When the car was in motion, he said, ‘I gather you and Ben took to each other.’

  ‘I liked him very much. He told me about your expedition in February and the way you met each other. What does he do for a living? We didn’t get to that.’

  ‘By training he’s a lawyer, like his father and grandfather. But he doesn’t want to practise law. Having an income from a substantial trust fund, he doesn’t need to work at all. But he wants to do something useful. The question is—what?’

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I expect he’s had lots of girls. He’s a good-looking guy. But I don’t think there’s anyone special. Don’t lose your heart to him, Holly.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to, but why the warning?’

  ‘Ben hasn’t found his way yet. He’s still looking for the right direction. People have to know who they are before they can make important decisions like marriage.’

  ‘You don’t believe in love, then? In meeting one’s soul mate?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, but I think it’s a pretty rare thing, not something to wait around for, because it may never happen. In general, being happy is something people achieve on their own, not through someone else.’

  ‘Some people say it’s because women have careers that so many marriages break down.’

  ‘It’s not the career that’s the problem. It’s the way it’s handled,’ said Pierce. ‘Life is all a question of priorities. But I think I’ll expound my theories on that some other time. If you normally get up at six, you must be ready for bed.’

  ‘Strangely, I’m not tired tonight. Usually my light goes out soon after ten. Do you have a lot of late nights?’

  ‘I don’t go to many parties. I do tend to read late.’

  By now they had reached the street where Chiara lived. Holly said, ‘The flats have their own underground park but it’s only accessible to card-holders. As you can see, the street is always fully parked. If you’ll drop me off halfway along—’

  ‘I’ll double park for a few minutes while I see you safely inside,’ he said, in a tone which forbade any argument. ‘Street robberies happen all over London these days, not just in seedy areas.’

  As he stopped the car, Holly finally nerved herself to say what had been in her mind since they’d left the party.

  ‘Pierce, are you very busy tomorrow? Could you possibly spare half an hour to advise me on something I’m worried about?’

  ‘Of course. What train are you catching?’

  ‘Any train will do. I’m my own boss. I fix my own timetable.’

  ‘To fit you in tomorrow morning would mean reshuffling a lot of appointments. But I’m not tied up for lunch. Why not come to my place and meet Louisa?’

  ‘Louisa? Oh, yes...your cat. OK, that would be fine.’

  He produced a card and wrote his private address on the back of it. Then he walked her to the door of Chiara’s flat which had its own entrance along a landscaped walkway under perpetual surveillance by discreetly sited cameras.

  Holly wondered if he would kiss her goodnight. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t. A kiss from Pierce, even if only on the cheek, the way Ben had kissed her, would be far more disturbing than other men’s social kisses.

  Another part longed to know what being in his arms would be like.

  As she tried to lessen the sound of her heels on the paving, in order not to disturb people who were sleeping, her heart began to beat in slow, suffocating thumps.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAD Holly been on her own, she would have had the key in her hand long before she reached the door. But tonight, protected by the presence of a man whose tall, powerful build would make most muggers think twice, she didn’t open her purse until the last moment.

  Pierce took the latchkey from her and inserted it quietly in the lock, pushing open the door. Chiara had left the hall light on. Whether she herself was still out there was no way of telling.

  ‘Till tomorrow,’ said Pierce, in an undertone. He held out his hand, a slight smile flickering round his mouth.

  His fingers and palm were warm, and although his clasp was firm she knew it was nothing like the grip he had exchanged with Ben.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me home. Till tomorrow,’ she echoed, looking up at him.

  There was a moment when she thought he might be debating whether to kiss her. But perhaps it didn’t cross his mind.

  Seconds later, he had released her hand and gestured for her to step inside and close the door.

  Next morning she overslept. Troubled thoughts had kept her awake for a long time. Chiara was eating muesli and flipping through The Tatler, an upmarket glossy aimed at people in the social swim, or those who admired and envied them.

  ‘I’m in for the thi
rd month running,’ she announced on a note of triumph, showing Holly a picture of herself revealing more cleavage than anyone else on the same page.

  ‘Congratulations.’ Holly opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice.

  ‘How was the party?’ asked Chiara.

  ‘Good... very good.’

  ‘Who brought you home?’

  ‘Pierce.’

  ‘Did he know you were staying with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you ask him in for a nightcap?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Were you afraid he’d make a pass?’

  ‘Not asking him in avoided that possibility.’

  ‘Maybe he’s between girlfriends and wouldn’t mind seeing me again,’ said Chiara.

  ‘Would you like the satisfaction of telling him to get lost?’

  ‘I might...or I might let him pick up where we left off.’

  ‘I don’t understand you, Chiara. Don’t you have any scruples? Yesterday you were talking about ditching Eric for this man who gave you the aquamarine, and now you’re interested in Pierce. How can this sort of life possibly lead to happiness?’

  ‘I’m not like you, Holly. You’re a fanatical idealist. You want life to be like a fairy story. It isn’t and never was. Who do you know who’s living happily ever after? Nobody. OK, your parents might have done, but only might. You can’t say for certain because your mother died before the gloss had worn off.’

  Holly sighed. It was no use arguing. They saw life from different perspectives, hers perhaps as extreme as Chiara’s.

  When Pierce himself opened his door to her, he was still in the dark blue suit of the kind she associated with boardrooms and the corridors of power.

  ‘Come in. It’s Hooper’s day off so I’m having something sent round from a restaurant.’

  ‘Oh, dear... I hope I’m not putting you to a lot of trouble. It’s just that you’re the only person who has the know-how to advise on the situation I’m bothered about.’

  ‘I’m flattered to be asked,’ he said, standing by to take her raincoat. ‘It shows how far we’ve advanced since that morning at New Covent Garden.’

  After hanging her coat in a cupboard, he led the way to a huge double-cube room with an enormous north window.

  ‘Was this an artist’s studio?’ Holly asked, gazing round.

  ‘You’ve got it in one. Nearly a hundred years ago, this was the studio of a very distinguished artist who specialised in paintings of domestic life in Ancient Rome. That way he gave an air of respectability to pictures which, by the standards of the day, were extremely erotic. Scantily dressed Roman maidens, attended by semi-nude slaves, lolling around on the steps of marble bathing pools...that sort of thing. What will you drink? Vodka and tonic?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  While Pierce went to a side table set with rows of bottles and glasses, Holly wandered around, admiring the profusion of Oriental rugs laid almost edge-to-edge on the parquet floor and the massive expanses of books lining sections of the walls.

  Suddenly she became aware of a pair of large golden-green eyes, black-rimmed as if with kohl, watching her from the depths of a large armchair.

  ‘Oh...you must be Louisa,’ Holly said, smiling.

  The cat twitched large tufted ears, her expression enigmatic. With slow deliberation, she uncurled from her resting position, stretching each leg in turn. Then she leapt lightly to the floor where she sat down on her hind legs and gave a desultory lick to one upraised front paw.

  Holly went down on her haunches, making small pursed-lip noises and rubbing her fingers together in a gesture of invitation.

  After some thought, Louisa walked slowly towards her. In colour, her coat was not dissimilar from Parson’s, but much shaggier, with a thick pale grey ruff and a long tapered tail covered with flowing hair.

  Two yards from Holly’s outstretched hand, she veered in a different direction.

  ‘Your cat has just cut me dead,’ said Holly, rising to her feet. Pierce was still fixing their drinks and hadn’t witnessed the snub.

  ‘She takes time to make up her mind about people,’ he said as he brought the drinks to where she was standing. ‘Some of my oldest friends are still trying to ingratiate themselves with Louisa. She’s a very discriminating pussycat. Perhaps she senses that you have reservations about me.’

  ‘Not as many as I had or I shouldn’t be here.’ Holly took the glass he offered. ‘Thank you. Happy landings!’

  ‘Is that what your father used to say?’

  ‘Yes. How did you guess?’

  ‘Male intuition. We have it too, you know. Not as finely tuned as female intuition, perhaps. But we do have it.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. Sometimes I feel you can see straight through me,’ Holly said, with impulsive candour.

  ‘On the contrary, I spent a long time pondering this problem you want my advice on, but I’ve no idea what it is. Let’s make ourselves comfortable and you can tell me all about it.’

  He led the way to a sofa designed for the comfort of people his size. Before sitting down, he moved some cushions from the centre to the end where she would be sitting to make it more comfortable for her.

  Holly took a swig of her drink. She had been rehearsing what to say all the way here, but still found it difficult to know where to start.

  ‘If a man and a girl exchanged looks in a public place, and shortly afterwards the girl received a very expensive jewel from him, what would your reaction be?’ she asked.

  For the first time since they had renewed their acquaintance, Pierce’s grey eyes took on the cold look she remembered from their first meeting five years ago. His whole face seemed to harden. As he had no superfluous flesh on his cheeks and neck, it was easy to see the movements of the muscles under the closely shaven brown skin. Right now he was clenching his teeth, causing knots of sinew to form at the angles of his jaw.

  ‘Have you ever done that yourself...wooed a woman you wanted with a fabulous gift?’ she asked.

  ‘Certainly not!’ he said curtly. ‘My only extravagant gestures have been for services rendered.’

  The statement made Holly wince. She realised suddenly that Pierce’s attitude to sex was as deeply distasteful to her as Chiara’s. He looked a superior being. Why couldn’t he act like one?

  ‘What was this expensive jewel?’ Pierce asked.

  ‘A two-thousand-pound aquamarine. It came in a box of chocolates. It was the size of a chocolate...huge. Like a chunk of crystallised sea-water.’

  ‘How do you know what it cost? Did it have the receipt with it?’

  ‘Chiara took it to a jeweller. She couldn’t believe it was real. But he said it was... a stone of the finest quality.’

  Pierce’s expression changed. ‘It was sent to Chiara...not you?’

  ‘Well, of course. Nobody would send me something like that,’ Holly said, with a wry smile. ‘I’d be lucky even to get the handmade chocolates.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself,’ Pierce said brusquely. ‘When and where did this happen, and what do you know about the man who gave Chiara the aquamarine?’

  Holly told him all she knew. ‘What terrifies me is that he may be a criminal,’ she said, frowning. ‘It’s a well-known fact that there are some very shady people living on the Costa del Sol. People involved with the Mafia and all kinds of sinister rackets.’

  ‘Does she know the name of his yacht?’ Pierce asked.

  ‘No. I asked her that. My first thought was that the only person able to afford such an extravagant gesture would be an Arab prince. A lot of them do have villas and luxury yachts on the Costa del Sol, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Pierce agreed. ‘I’ve been there and seen them playing for high stakes in casinos and at private parties. Did this guy look like an Arab?’

  ‘He had black hair and eyes and an olive skin, but so do Spaniards and South Americans.’

  ‘Did you ask her if he had a beard?’


  ‘No, I didn’t think of that. Do most Arabs have beards?’

  ‘A lot of them do...not all. It’s a pity she didn’t notice the name of the boat. With that, we could have run an extensive check on him. Without anything to go on, we’re stymied. We can only wait to see if he follows it up and then hope to get some kind of lead on him.’

  He shifted his position, moving along the sofa until he was close enough to put his hand over her free hand. ‘Don’t fret about it, Holly. I don’t think it’s very likely that Chiara is going to wind up a prisoner in a harem or the mistress of a Mafia boss. You’re looking at the worst scenario.’ He gave her a long thoughtful look. ‘It’s not impossible this guy took one look at Chiara and fell in love with her. It can happen like that...so they say.’

  ‘I can’t believe that you, of all people, attach much weight to that scenario.’

  ‘Why d’you say “you, of all people”? If you prick me, do I not bleed? If you tickle me, do I not laugh? If you poison me, do I not die?’

  He was misquoting Shylock in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, and it pleased her that he assumed she was as well read as he.

  ‘Of course...but how many men experience love at first sight? One in a thousand, I should think. It seems to happen to women more often than it does to men, and even then often it’s only an infatuation...not the real thing.’

  Pierce took his hand from hers but didn’t move back to the other end of the sofa. ‘Perhaps. One thing is certain; it wasn’t a coup de foudre on Chiara’s side,’ he said sardonically. ‘Your stepsister would never give up everything for love. I sometimes wonder if any of your generation of women would. You’re a new breed. Love is no longer your whole existence the way it used to be. Now you think about love the way men do, as a thing apart, to be weighed and measured against life’s other prizes.’

  ‘Perhaps some of us do,’ said Holly. ‘But not all of us. A lot of life’s prizes are still out of reach for most women. If you added up all the successful career women and other female achievers, they’d still be a tiny fraction of the entire sex. There are thousands of women in the world who are literally slaves, for heaven’s sake.’