The Engagement Party

by R J Gould

  He was more high-spirited than ever the evening after wrapping up the deal. They sat on the hotel veranda drinking their second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. He lifted the bottle.

  ‘Incredible, Suzie. This comes from the other side of the world. A small vineyard in the largely inaccessible Maipo Valley in Chile produces this stuff, and somehow it makes its way around the world to Manila. Fragile glass and a sensitive liquid shipped thousands of miles. We are so lucky to be living in this age.’

  They left the lounge somewhat unsteadily and took the lift up to their twenty-eighth floor bedrooms, level with the tops of the other towering buildings in Manila’s business district. Until now, Reginald had escorted Suzie to her room, reservedly kissed her on the cheek, wished her a pleasant night, then continued the walk to his own bedroom. Now he paused, and in rather quick succession they were passionately kissing, clumsily undressing, inelegantly groping, and ardently making love. All pleasant enough, Suzie thought in the aftermath, as she lay awake with Reginald snoring, mercifully softly, by her side.

  They went on to Boracay and the three days there were truly wonderful. For a start, there was White Beach. It was like the sort of beach you draw when you’re a kid. Miles and miles of yellow-white sand broken by small clusters of palm trees, and a sea of rich blues and greens. Then there was the hotel. The word “exclusive” didn’t do it credit. Their room overlooked the sea with a balcony bigger than her bedroom at home. The bathroom had a circular bath with a Jacuzzi. A television screen was built into the tiled wall next to the bath. Each day bowls of tropical fruit and vases of exotic flowers were provided. The shapes and colours of the flowers defied the laws of nature. And then there was Reginald, an optimist, generous, humorous, and a pretty good lover.

  She would happily have carried on as his mistress – she’d done it with others and knew the score. But things moved on very quickly. A few weeks after Manila they’d gone to Rome. She had loved it when she’d travelled with him the first time round, but it had been a busy work trip with little opportunity to go sightseeing. This time Reginald had come into her office with some correspondence for her to process and had dropped an envelope on top of the pile. ‘Read this first,’ he’d said as he stood by the door. There were two tickets to Rome and a jokey note full of Clip Art cartoons of Roman sites. ‘Places we can see – no work this time, just play!’ it read.

  It was a great break but his wife somehow discovered and booted him out just a couple of days after they’d got back. Having stayed at her place for a few nights it seemed an easy step to agree to move in with him when he’d found the Chelsea flat. It was unfurnished and Reginald was happy for her to be the main decision-maker about decorations, furnishings, and fabrics. He gave her time off work to look and what an exciting time it was, choosing with money no object.

  And a year or so after living together, on the morning of his fifty-fourth birthday, he proposed and she accepted. She was making the right decision – marriage to Reginald would be fine. As far as she was concerned it was never an “in love” or “not in love” issue. Love was the most abstract word in the English dictionary. She was perfectly happy being with him – life was good.

  If she were honest, two factors had influenced her judgement. First of all, the money was very nice. He had loads of it and was extremely generous. And definitely the more important second reason, he was madly in love with her. Frequently he told her that she was the only woman he had wanted by his side since his early years with Fiona.

  Reginald Montague

  The trip to Manila with Suzie wasn’t the first time Reginald had taken one of his female staff on a business trip to an exotic location. Most recently, just under a year before Suzie joined, he’d taken Natalie to Malaysia. Natalie had recently joined as a receptionist and she was an absolute beauty, a Kate Moss lookalike with that same provocative come–and-get-me smile. She wasn’t a sophisticated girl – and ‘girl’ rather than ‘woman’ seemed more appropriate in her case, but she dressed well. She had taste, if not income.

  Each morning she cheered him up with her, ‘Hello, Mr Montague, can I get you anything?’ as he walked through the lobby. For a month or so he politely replied ‘No thank you, Natalie, but kind of you to ask.’ Thoughts of what she could get him grew by the day.

  He had an opportunity to visit Kuala Lumpur. He was finalising a partnership deal to build a multi-storey shopping mall and office block close to the Petronas Towers. It wasn’t an essential trip since most things had already been tied up, but there was some local opposition as the project would necessitate the demolition of an 1890s colonial building that was currently occupied by a Chinese restaurant. The Malaysian partners had come up with a clever solution – a substantial donation to the Malaysian Cultural Conservation Society. However, the restaurant owners had declined the generous offer of a substitute site in the shopping mall and some discussion was needed about the level of compensation they should receive. It could have all been done by email and telephone, but quite simply he wanted Natalie and this was a golden opportunity.

  Reginald decided on the blunt strategy of inviting her to join him right out, a tactic that had been successful in the past.

  ‘Natalie, can I have a word with you in my office at the end of the day?’ he asked as he walked through the lobby one morning.

  ‘Yes, Mr Montague. May I ask what it’s about?’

  ‘I’d rather not say now. Nothing to be concerned about though.’ That might not be the case. If she declined his offer she would have to leave.

  At 5.00 on the dot there was a knock on his door.

  ‘Come in. Hello, Natalie. Do sit down.’ Her short, tight skirt slid up her thighs as she sat. ‘Natalie, I’m going to get straight to the point. I have to go to Malaysia for business and I would very much like you to join me.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Natalie, with no indication that she understood the implication of his statement.

  ‘There would be no work for you, just tourism. We’d start at Kuala Lumpur and then head on to the coast for a few days. Emerald Bay is rated one of the world’s best beaches.’

  ‘I see,’ she repeated blandly, not giving any hint of a yes or no in her manner.

  ‘Do you see? I’m going to be blunt about this. I would want you to share a bedroom with me.’

  ‘Do you mean bed?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

  ‘No, you said bedroom. Some bedrooms have two beds. I don’t mean twin ones, I mean giant ones. When me and my family went to Florida we couldn’t believe the size of the bedrooms and each one had two king-sized –’

  ‘Natalie!’

  ‘Yes, Mr Montague.’

  ‘Reginald.’

  ‘Reginald.’

  ‘Will you come with me?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’

  Fiona had accompanied him on his last Malaysia trip and loved the place. Reginald rehearsed a detailed story about tight budgets on this deal making it hard to take her, but to his relief she didn’t seem bothered, and their conversation was brief.

  He arranged to meet Natalie at Coffee Republic in Heathrow Terminal 3. He leapt up when he saw her, more beautiful than in his fantasies. He was unsure whether she was wearing a very short dress or a slightly over-long T-shirt. With difficulty she was manoeuvring a tattered, mud brown trolley suitcase between other passengers in her attempt to reach him. She waved as she walked towards him and planted a warm, gentle kiss on his lips when they met.

  She was a chatterbox, and rather hyper, running around the shops and describing all her purchases in detail when all he wanted to do was rest in the departure lounge for the two hours ahead of the flight. She stayed awake through the night during the journey, laughing out loud as she watched Hollywood blockbusters. He was desperate for sleep and was dozing when she discovered the chair control panels on their first class seats. Having played with her own chair she raised and lowered his and for a brief instant he considered their age gap unbridgeable.
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  They arrived late in the evening at Traders, the Kuala Lumpur hotel that Fiona had loved so much. When they got to their bedroom Reginald opened the curtains. He turned to Natalie who was bouncing up and down on the giant bed. ‘Come over here. Look at this.’

  She got up, stood by him, and screamed piercingly, substantially increasing the severity of his headache. In front of them were the Petronas Towers, sparkling through the mist like a giant Disney castle, the metal and glass illuminated by thousands of lights. Natalie pulled him away from the window, removed their clothes, and energetically engaged in love-making despite his groggy, jet-lagged, and sleep-deprived condition.

  The next morning Reginald agreed to give her his credit card for her visit to the Suria shopping mall located on the lower floors of the Towers whilst he attended the unnecessary meeting. His card statement later displayed purchases at Prada, Versace, Louis Vuitton, Kurt Geiger, and Cartier to the tune of £7,000. By the time he received it he knew what was what but had no option other than to pay. At least Natalie knew exactly what she wanted to buy and could get on with shopping alone. So very different to Fiona, who used to drag him around for hours, initially to purchase and then to exchange or return goods.

  Natalie was very good at sex and keen to practice whenever she wasn’t shopping or eating. Actually, her appetite was quite enormous considering her size. Reginald assumed it was her nervous energy and hyperactivity that kept her so slim. He liked his food too, though with a rapidly expanding waistline the outcome. They dined nightly at the wonderful Traders restaurant, its open plan kitchens providing top quality Malay, Japanese, Chinese, and European foods. After three days in Kuala Lumpur they flew on to Emerald Bay and stayed at the Swiss Garden Resort in Damai Laut. Their bedroom was enormous, as luxuriously furnished as even Reginald had ever seen. The view was rather different to Kuala Lumpur – a near deserted private beach with palm trees and the emerald sea. Sex was as frenetic as ever, with Natalie’s bronzed body most enticing.

  On the flight home Natalie laughed her way through a new set of comedy films. Before dropping into an uncomfortable sleep, Reginald contemplated where they could next travel.

  Natalie lifted her new – large and full – Antler suitcase off the baggage reclaim carrousel and joined Reginald as they walked through Customs and into the crowded terminal lobby. Lines of men were holding up name cards. She turned to him.

  ‘That was a wonderful holiday, Reginald. Thank you so much.’

  ‘I really enjoyed it, too. I’ve been thinking about where we can go next. What about Rome?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m not coming back to work for you, I posted my resignation letter just before we left.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I’m getting married soon.’

  ‘Married! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s a disgrace, Natalie.’

  ‘Why? You’re married.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It just is.’

  ‘Well, maybe, though I don’t see how. Anyway, my mother’s here to pick me up and she thinks I’ve been away with a whole group from work. She’s texted me to meet her in the car park so it’s probably best to say goodbye here. I had a lovely time.’

  She pecked him on the cheek and walked off.

  Thomas Briggs

  ‘Happy birthday, Thomas.’ Margaret was carrying a tray with two cups and saucers, teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, and a plate with a chocolate cupcake wrapped in purple silver foil. On top of the cake was the letter T in powder blue icing and a single blue candle.

  She lowered the tray. ‘Blow.’

  Thomas, snugly wrapped in paisley winceyette pyjamas, sat up and blew out the candle. ‘For you’re a jolly good fellow,’ she sang while pouring the tea. It was a little weaker than he would have liked, but as usual he declined to comment.

  He smiled. ‘You gotta be the most considerate woman in the world, Margaret,’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Thomas. It’s you that brings out the good in me. Mind you, that wasn’t the case the first time I saw you. I still get embarrassed when I remember how rude I was.’

  ‘I have to say true enough, Margaret. I thought what have we got here.’

  The train had clattered to a jarring halt and Thomas stepped onto the Shanklin Station platform, clutching his worldly possessions in a single suitcase. It had been a strange experience, travelling on a underground train so far from London. But here they were, being used to run up and down the tiny stretch of track between Ryde and Shanklin, and soon he’d be one of the drivers. It had been a surprisingly long journey considering the relatively short distance from London to the Isle of Wight. He was hungry and thirsty. The tiny station had a single temptation for potential customers; a café with rather uneven hand-painted lettering on the window: Refresh Yourself. He entered, edging past a woman with two young boys sitting at a table too close to the door.

  ‘Why not, Mum?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Just shut up or we’ll go straight home!’ Slap.

  He approached the counter, greeted by the back of a rather wide lady wearing a shiny, bright pink overall. ‘Wait a minute, be with you in a sec.’ She turned and glanced at him before looking down at the once upon a time stainless steel counter. She used her tubby index finger to lift up a lump of partially melted butter and wiped it down the side of the rather grubby overall.

  Lil had been desperate for him to step into the Twenty-First Century, even if he was a few years late. It was a going-away present from her before he left London; maybe she felt guilty about her years of marginalising him. She’d took him into Next for his first time and chose jeans, slim fit shirts, and an outdoor jacket with countless pockets. She led him through the minefield of buying a mobile phone and an iPod (which he was still to use); and she introduced him to a new range of food and drink. He’d tried sushi, hummus, mozzarella, Red Bull, and rather too many brightly coloured alcopops on the Saturday night before he left. Now he was independent, a word she had encouraged him to use. And here was his first opportunity, without Lil by his side, to make new found modern choices.

  ‘A cappuccino and a pain au chocolate, please,’ he requested, with an attempt at an Italian followed by a French accent.

  ‘Cup of what?’ the woman asked with a look that suggested that she was dealing with a deranged outsider.

  ‘Tea?’ he inquired, not wanting to try the Italian again. ‘And a cake or something to go with it?’

  ‘Not much left, we’re closing soon. I think there’s an iced bun out back.’

  ‘Mmm, sounds lovely,’ he said, relieved that he could return to familiar tastes. ‘What time do you close then?’

  ‘It is Friday.’ Being unfamiliar with Isle of Wight customs and closing regulations, he repeated the question.

  ‘2.30,’ she replied snappily. Thomas was somewhat surprised by the closing time. In London he’d been able to get food and drink every day of the week and at all times, even if he was on late duty after midnight. He must have frowned because again he got the alien look. ‘It is winter,’ she added by way of explanation.

  ‘I’m staying at a place called Cedars, is it easy to find?’ he asked when she had returned with the bun and was pouring tea from a giant severely dented metal pot. An insipid light brown liquid came out.

  Again he got the suspicious look. ‘Are you a tourist?’ she asked accusingly.

  ‘No, I’m moving here. I’ve got a job as a train driver. Thomas is the name.’ He extended his arm.

  Perplexed, she stared at it until he replaced it to his side. ‘You from the mainland then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Portsmouth or Southampton?’

  ‘London, actually.’

  Her mouth opened and her eyes exuded incredulity. ‘That’s a joke. There won’t be much for you in this town.’

  ‘Right, that’s it. Home.’ They looked across as the woman
by the door leapt up, grabbed her two children by their collars, and marched them along. ‘Well, open the door then, Sidney, how can I do it if I’m holding both of you?’ So poor Sidney edged as far forward as is possible, all while avoiding strangulation, and pulled the door ajar.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ shrieked the younger boy.

  ‘Serves you right, Brian, you shouldn’t be so slow,’ she shrieked back. ‘Bye, Margaret, see you soon,’ she said in a much sweeter tone, before returning to her piercing screech. ‘Now get a move on, you two.’ The door was left open, presumably turning to close it too dangerous for Sidney to attempt.

  ‘Children!’ said Margaret. ‘Can’t see the point of them.’

  ‘Yes, children,’ Thomas responded politely. ‘The direction to Cedars, please?’

  ‘Not sure why you’ve chosen that place. Go down the main street ’til the road forks, then take the left. It’s on the right hand side a little way down.’

  ‘Thank you, er …’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I was just wondering what your name is?’

  ‘Margaret.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the directions, Margaret.’

  He took his tea and bun and sat at a table while Margaret gave the counter, the other tables, and the floor around him a surprisingly thorough clean. There was a strong unspoken hint that he should be getting a move on, a small island of dry land remaining for his feet as she mopped the floor around him. So he abandoned the idea of a second cup and with a polite and jolly ‘thank you,’ headed out.

  He set off under darkening skies, the first drops of rain falling intermittently. He smiled as he walked past shops with names like World Stores, Pets Paradise, Ladies Realm, and Piggy Wiggies, all closed, windows cluttered unceremoniously with their wares. He continued to smile as he made his way to Cedars, feeling comfortable away from the sterile displays of the London chain stores and not put off by his first encounter with a citizen of the Isle of Wight.