He wanted a mate who longed for a home life more than career success. He didn’t care if his wife worked; he just didn’t want her to be married to her job, only offering him and their children whatever time she had left. Richard understood his thinking was considered archaic, but family was important to him and he wanted his offspring to have very involved parents. Something he’d only had one of. He intended to cut his work down to the bare minimum, as well, by only staying on the board of directors of his company. He would appoint a new CEO when his first child arrived, so he could spend most of his time at home.
Date three was dedicated to exploring physical chemistry. While this didn’t necessarily mean going to bed with the woman, it did mean kissing and other pleasantries. After all, if a strong attraction didn’t exist, there was no point moving forward.
Richard owned one of the largest advertising firms in New York City. He was also the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d made his fortune and was ready to enjoy it. Unfortunately, once Shelly Milton’s article in Manhattan Life magazine came out, he’d become the target of an enormous number of fortune hunters.
Shelly did not take his lack of interest lying down. Instead, she transferred her anger into her article, writing that Richard was desperate to find a mate and any and all women’s attentions would be welcome. She made it sound like he was going to pick a wife soon, so interested parties should make their bid tout de suite. The overall tone of the piece was akin to a reality dating show. In a word, it was tawdry.
The hopeful candidates came in all ages, shapes, and sizes. They either stalked Richard outright and approached him directly, or tried to make their meeting appear accidental, like bumping into him while he waited for the barista to make his coffee. Others attempted to secure introductions through friends or business associates. The onslaught of attention was making Richard feel like a fox at the hunt.
He started to think he should have never agreed to be interviewed for the magazine. By turning down Shelly, he’d started a chain of events that was turning into a nightmare. The avalanche of interest was making it awkward to go out in public without women throwing themselves at him, which of course made meeting a nice normal woman almost an impossible feat.
Not only had the hostess at the restaurant he was dining at with Amanda slipped him a note with her name, number, and Facebook handle on it, but another woman sitting at a nearby table had stopped by to introduce herself and tell Richard that if his date didn’t work out, she’d be interested in meeting up with him later that night.
Richard Bingham was starting to feel sorry for rock stars. Imagine being one of the Rolling Stones back in the day. He used to think they had it made, but was now realizing their fame might not have been all it was cracked up to be. No wonder they did so many drugs.
Amanda offered him a bite of halibut and when he reached out to take her fork, she snapped, “My God, Richard, you can’t use my fork! That’s positively unhygienic!”
Richard pulled his hand back and forced an uncomfortable laugh, “I was hoping we might be getting close enough to think sharing a fork was romantic.” He apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to move too quickly.”
His date turned red in embarrassment and some other emotion Richard couldn’t seem to place; although if forced to guess, he might deduce it was revulsion. He offered, “Amanda, if you’re not attracted to me, you should just tell me. We could always move our relationship into the friendship zone.”
Richard had no intention of doing any such thing. He wasn’t in the market for more friends, but he wasn’t going to tell his date that. Better he find out what her real feelings were and take it from there.
Amanda took a fortifying sip of wine before saying, “I have a thing about saliva and other bodily fluids.” She confessed, “I don’t like them.”
Richard wasn’t quite sure how to respond. In his estimation, the whole intimate side of a relationship would be adversely affected if one of the partners had an aversion to bodily fluids. So he boldly inquired, “Do you enjoy kissing, Amanda?”
With her eyes averted, she responded, “Not particularly. I don’t mind being pecked on the cheek, however. Very few germs are transmitted that way.”
Then she offered, “Richard, I like you and I can see a future with you. I’d like to be married some day and have a family, and just so you know, I wouldn’t expect my husband to be faithful. In fact, he could have as many liaisons as he wanted as long as he was discreet.”
Richard started to wonder if there was a non-gold digging, non-social climbing, non-mentally unstable woman left in the Big Apple. He was starting to think he actually would need to hire a matchmaker in order to find a life partner. He explained to Amanda they clearly had different ideas of what marriage entailed and thanked her for the three dates. Then he paid the check, dropped her off at her apartment, and went home to pour himself a stiff drink—one substantial enough to drown his sorrows in.
You did what?” Spencer Hollis demanded.
Richard replied, “I told you, Spence, I made an appointment with the East Side Yenta.”
“Richard, you are one of, if not the most eligible bachelors in New York City. Why in the world do you need the help of some old Jewish matchmaker? You’re not even Jewish!” he added.
“For God’s sake, Spencer, you don’t have to be Jewish to use a matchmaker. I’m using her because ever since the article in Manhattan Life magazine came out, I’ve managed to attract every freak-show gold-digger east of the Mississippi. Seriously, the one I went out with last week has an aversion to sex!” Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, “Clearly, I’ve reached the point where I need professional help.”
Richard’s college friend responded, “You just need to start hanging out in those clubs downtown where all the models go. You’ll have the perfect little misses lined up in no time.”
“Says the man who’s already married and divorced three of those models. No thanks, buddy. I’m looking for my soulmate; I want someone to spend the rest of my life with, not someone to pay alimony to for the rest of her life.”
Spencer snorted, “Happily-ever-after isn’t real, my friend. You need to set your sights on happy-for-right-now and live in the moment, man.”
“I’ve already had one marriage go south, Spence. Luckily, Amelia and I split amicably, but I don’t want any more exes. I want a future. And I’m a firm believer in happily-ever-after even if you aren’t.”
“I’m going with you then,” Spencer declared. “I’m not letting you put your future happiness in the hands of some toothless old-world hag with hairy knuckles and a limp without some input from the master.”
Richard shook his head, “Toothless hag with hairy knuckles and a limp? Spencer, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Rachel Feinman is the exact opposite of what you’re imagining. In fact, I think you should come with me. I also think you should sign up for her services for yourself. It’s past time that you associate with a better class of women.”
His friend scoffed, “Oh, I’m coming with you all right, but not going to sign up. I’m coming to make sure the old hag knows exactly the kind of gal you need.” He made an exaggerated hourglass gesture with his hands.
Three days later, Richard waited for his appointment in an elegantly appointed silvery gray waiting room with a pristine view of the Empire State Building. Spencer flipped through books full of women’s profiles like he was a kid in a candy store.
“Look at this one! Yowza, Richie, I think you might be on to something with this matchmaker thing, after all.”
Richard rolled his eyes, “Spencer, every person who signs up with Rachel is looking for a life partner. This isn’t a place for a cheap fling, so keep your pants on.”
“I’m just saying that if you’re set on getting married, there are some pretty fine fillies in this stable.” Punctuating his comment with a pelvic thrust and eyebrow shrug, he added, “You know what mean?”
“You’re a pig, Spence.
Seriously, the only reason you’re still my friend is that we’re the same blood type and I might need a kidney someday.”
Spencer laughed in response, “Or I might need a kidney.”
At that moment a curvaceously slender woman approached them. She had long dark hair that was pulled back in a sleek chignon and she was wearing a form-fitting black business suit with a suggestively cut white silk blouse. With a smile, she greeted, “Richard, I’m so glad you finally decided to pay me a visit.” With a glance at Spencer, she added, “And you’ve brought reinforcements.”
Spencer jumped to his feet and immediately tripped over one of them as he stepped forward to offer Rachel his hand.
Smiling at his clumsiness, she asked, “Are you here looking for love, too?
Spencer, who would normally turn a question like that into a lascivious proposition, could barely manage a response of, “I . . . I’m . . . uh . . . you know . . . um . . . just here to offer support.” He stammered, “For . . . you, you, you know . . . Richard, here. “
Rachel gave her new client a slide-glance as if to question his association with a bumbling fool like Spencer. Richard missed it entirely as he was thoroughly distracted by his friend’s inability to speak coherently. The real Spencer was slick to the point of being disgusting, but this guy was acting as awkward as a fifteen-year-old right before his first kiss.
Richard dragged Spencer by the arm and followed his matchmaker down a long hallway to her office. The men sat in side-by-side wing-backed leather chairs as Rachel got comfortable at a mahogany desk directly across from them.
Shuffling through a stack of papers, she started, “As I mentioned, Richard, I definitely think you should look for someone in her thirties. While many men your age are drawn to younger women, I think your chances of finding a quality partner are greater amongst those who have already found their own identity.” She added, “That’s more typical in older women.”
Finding his voice, Spencer interjected, “As long as you know that Richard isn’t looking for a gold-digging bimbo. He actually wants to settle down for the long haul.”
“Mr. . . . ,” Rachel didn’t know Spencer’s name so she merely waited for him to fill in the blank.
“Spencer Hollis,” he replied.
“Mr. Hollis,” she began. “All kinds of people sign up for my services. I can’t personally vouch for the character of any of them, as I only know what they tell me. While there are a lot of men who are more than happy to marry a gold-digging bimbo and there are a lot of air-headed, pie-in-the-sky bimbos to go around, your friend has asked for a quality person with whom he can share his life. My advice to him will be based purely on his desires.” Properly chastised, if not a little afraid, Spencer sat quietly through the rest of the meeting.
Richard finished answering all of Rachel’s questions and filled out an in-depth questionnaire. Two hours later, he was more optimistic about the future than he’d been in years.
Philippa Fielding
Chapter 3
Eight-year-old Pip prayed, “God, thank you for letting me live, but I’d really like to see my angel again.” She implored, “If you could arrange that, I’d be most grateful.”
To the casual observer, Philippa Fielding had the perfect life. Born to the British aristocracy, she lived between the family home in the Knightsbridge District of London and the earl’s family seat in the Derbyshire countryside. Her upbringing was as privileged as they came. She’d nary a care in the world, or so it seemed to the casual observer. The problem with appearances though, is they can be deceiving.
As a young girl, Pip contracted rheumatic fever which left her with a temperature that raged unchecked for days. Her doctors weren’t optimistic she’d survive without lasting brain damage. Her parents and brother were devastated. Her family prayed their hearts out that she would live, no matter the consequences.
Pip’s first real memory, not the flitting impression-only kind, but rather full-fledged recollection, was during this time. She remembered sitting up in her hospital bed and stepping right out of her body as her family sobbed beside her. She recalled thinking how strange it was that they didn’t notice as she walked around them. She tried to touch them and hug them, but her arms slipped right through as if she were a ghost. She tried talking to them, but they didn’t hear her. Eventually, she just floated to the back of the room as though she were no more than an untethered ship cast adrift on an open sea.
That was when a beautifully ethereal being, surrounded entirely in a shimmering white light, stepped through the wall and joined her. Pip was sure she was an angel, even though she’d never actually seen one in person. The woman introduced herself as Corrine and told Pip she could get her back into her body if she wanted to. She explained that Pip could stay on Earth with her family, as long as she was willing to help Corrine once in a while.
Pip not only wanted to live, she definitely wanted to see the lovely angel again. As far as she was concerned, the deal encompassed the best of both worlds. She didn’t ask Corrine what kind of help she’d want, she simply agreed. In that very instant, Pip was drawn quickly back into her form, leaving her feeling like she’d been sucked through one of those crazy curly straws.
Pip’s fever left that day and her recovery was speedy. Yet, she didn’t hear a peep from Corrine and started to think she’d imagined the whole encounter. Six weeks passed and still nothing. Finally, one night, during her evening prayers, Pip begged God to let her see her angel again.
The next afternoon, the children were having tea in the garden with their nanny, Mrs. Hedgegrove, when Corrine glided right through the wisteria and sailed over to them. Pip jumped up, almost overturning her cup, and exclaimed “Corrine, you came! You’re finally here!” She turned to her brother and nanny and announced, “This is my friend. The one who helped me live!”
Since Elliot and the nanny couldn’t see Corrine, they came to the dreaded conclusion the youngest Fielding really was brain damaged and hadn’t come out of sickness as unscathed as they’d previously assumed. They immediately shared the news with the elder Fieldings, and Pip’s fate as a mentally unstable person was sealed.
Dating in London
Chapter 4
Philippa was racing down the stairs of the Knightsbridge tube station when Corrine materialized next to her. She hadn’t seen her friend in ages as she’d recently been pawned off on yet another, in a long line of new spirits. Clara was nice enough, but she kept their relationship strictly professional.
Corrine glided beside her, effortlessly keeping pace while floating through any bodies that happened to get in her way. She smiled and declared, “Philippa, you look positively lovely today. Are you on your way to somewhere special?”
Fully aware that no one else could see her other-worldly friend, Pip mumbled her response in hopes of not attracting undue attention. “I have a blind date with my friend Sephra’s cousin, Malcom. We’re meeting at the London Eye in twenty minutes.” With a glance at the clock on the wall, she added, “I’m running late as usual.”
“Ah, well then,” Corrine replied, “I’ll try to keep this brief.” She explained, “Clara’s been transferred to a new case and won’t be your contact anymore.”
Forgetting to keep a low profile, Pip turned her head and exclaimed, “Thank goodness!”
Surprised, Corrine asked, “You didn’t get on?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that she did nothing more than tell me what to say, and to whom, before disappearing.” Pip added, “Pleasantries weren’t her strong suit.”
“I can see where that might be a tad off-putting.” Corrine continued, “I want you to know Bertram is an absolute delight and has a wonderfully honed sense of humor. I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”
Pip stumbled, “Bertram? I’ve never had a male contact before.” And considering her fourth spirit had liked to pop in with messages while she was in the bath, she was more than okay with that.
Corrine nodded, “That’s
true. While we normally assign female spirits to girls and young women, it’s been decided a male contact would be perfectly acceptable for a woman of your advancing years.”
Philippa slid her Oyster card before passing through the turnstile. She’d given up trying to maintain a low profile and gasped, “Advancing years? I’m only in my thirties!” Then she asked, “When do I meet him?”
Corrine smiled, knowing that Pip’s new contact was going to change her life forever. She couldn’t wait to see how everything transpired. “I should think he’ll pop in to introduce himself any time now.”
“Perfect,” Pip fumed. Of course she’d be assigned a new helper on a first-date day. She could easily think of five disastrous first dates that had never led to a second, due to an otherworldly agenda.
Take Alton, the boy from university whom she’d formed a serious infatuation with. After three months of flirting and making eyes at one another, he’d finally asked her out. That was the night Edna, her seventh spirit, had arrived with an urgent message for her to deliver to none other than Alton himself.
Alton had been looking into paying someone to take his exams for him and his late grandmother wanted to make sure he did no such thing. Edna informed her she was to tell him the following: “Your granny Mim says if you pay another boy to take your exams for you, you’re no better than your uncle Shaddrack, and you’ll wind up living on the streets just like he did.” And just in case he didn’t believe the message was for real, she was to add, “She also saw what you did with that girl from Debenhams’ cosmetic counter and she’s not impressed.”
Pip refused to pass on any such message. That was the day she learned there was a penalty for not doing her job in a timely manner. Apparently the consequence for ignoring the afterlife came in the form of an apocalyptic rash that left her looking liked she’d contracted chicken pox for five people. Needless to say, there was no second date. Of course that mostly had to do with the fact that she had to pass on the message or live with spots forever. The folks from the great beyond were most emphatic about their directives.
Kindred Spirits: A Romantic Comedy About Love, Life, and the Afterlife . . . Page 2