Don't Marry Thomas Clark

by Celia Hayes

  ‘I would be very grateful,’ I say, breathing a sigh of relief.

  ‘Which clauses are you referring to?’

  ‘Well, it’s not clear what would happen if I refused to marry Thomas.’

  ‘Oh it’s very simple: you would lose everything.’

  ‘Everything?’ I ask, in total disbelief at what I’m hearing.

  ‘Let me explain more clearly, Miss Price. Sir Roger was desperate for Thomas to get married. That’s why he bound the entire inheritance to your wedding. Whichever of you backs out tacitly waives their rights.’

  The entire inheritance? ‘Let me get this straight: If I marry him, I’m entitled to the inheritance and if I decide not to marry him, I’m not? And if Thomas refuses to marry me, I inherit everything?’

  ‘Miss Price, your doubts worry me. They assured me that they had explained everything to you, but from your questions, I start to suspect that… Please believe me, if there were the slightest hint of misconduct… Well, I would have to intervene.’

  ‘No, no,’ I hasten to stop him. ‘It’s just…’

  What a fix!

  ‘A touch of nerves, perhaps?’ he suggests.

  ‘Exactly!’ I say, seizing on the idea. ‘You can’t imagine how stressful the last few days have been. And to think that until yesterday I was in Cork…’

  ‘Weren’t you in New York?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. In New York, asking myself what the future holds…’

  ‘Miss Price, please don’t feel you owe me any further explanation. I completely understand. But try to relax. Everything will be fine. In the meantime, I will send you a copy of the will. When you have time to read it, you will be immediately reassured of the absolute seriousness of Mr. Clark’s intentions.’

  ‘You’re right.’ I say. ‘Mr. Hill, believe me – I really don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘I’m only doing my duty!’

  And we say goodbye, promising to meet up one day to speak about the matter in person.

  I turn on the computer, place the laptop on the edge of the bed, log in and sit there, waiting with growing anxiety to view the file sent by the notary. When it arrives, I download it and scan through it quickly, looking for the parts I’m interested in.

  ‘I can’t… I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’

  He had it all planned out. He’s been lying to me since day one. That’s why he was so kind at the beginning. He knew I would turn down his proposal, but he had to convince everybody that he’d tried to carry out his grandfather’s last wishes. This isn’t about Garden House, it’s about the whole of Sir Roger’s estate, which he would lose if we didn’t get married. He only made me sign that contract to pull the wool over my eyes. To get my complicity.

  My mind still racing, I grab the phone and call a number, and to hell with the time!

  ‘Hello, Mum? Yes, I know what time it is, but it’s important.’

  ‘Sweetheart, what’s happened?’

  ‘You can’t imagine – I just went down to Thomas’s study. I wanted to pull out of the contract. I’d decided to ask him to move the breaking-off of our engagement forward. But when I got there he was on the phone, so I stood in the hallway and waited for him to finish. You’re not going to believe this – I overheard part of the conversation and do you know what I found out?’

  ‘What is it, darling, what have you found out?’

  ‘That if he doesn’t marry me, he’ll lose all of Sir Roger’s estate. And do you know who will inherit everything? Me!’ I blurt out. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so, but I don’t really see why you’re so upset.’

  ‘What? Mum, he cheated! He made sure I’d leave him so that I would lose everything. This means that the contract I signed has no value whatsoever. That’s why I’ve never received a copy. The dirty…’

  ‘Sandy Price, pull yourself together!’ she reprimands me, sensing that I’m about to start swearing my head off.

  ‘Mum, don’t you see?’

  ‘Don’t I see what? You two live together now, you’re engaged, you’re getting married soon – what on earth are you so worked up about?’

  ‘Yeah…’ I say, and pause to think. ‘What on earth am I so worked up about?’

  And suddenly, a state of deep, profound calm floods my entire being.

  Chapter 15

  I can’t get no satisfaction. ‘Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try. I can’t get no, I can’t get no…

  ‘What the hell…’ I hear a voice mutter from the hall.

  When I’m driving in my car and that man comes on the radio. He’s telling me more and more about some useless information. Supposed to fire my imagination. I can ‘t get no. Oh no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey! That’s what I say!

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ shouts Thomas, storming out of the kitchen with a murderous expression on his face. He’s still in his pyjamas and from his unkempt hair you can tell he’s just woken up.

  ‘What? Speak up, I can’t hear you,’ I shout, trying to make myself heard over the extremely loud radio. I’m perched comfortably on one of the chairs dotted around the terrace with my feet up on the ledge, and I must look a bit of a sight: my face is smeared with face cream and my wet hair is blowing messily around in the jet of hot air from the hairdryer I’m waving about with one hand while casually flipping through a magazine with the other.

  Oh, I’d almost forgotten! I’ve left the mixer on. I don’t know why, but I woke up with a powerful craving for milkshake. I wonder whether twenty minutes will have been enough to blend the berries properly?

  ‘What on earth are you playing at?’ he yells as he reaches the radio and flicks it off with a furious gesture. ‘Do you realize that it’s six in the morning?’

  ‘Is it six already?’ I ask incredulously. I switch off the dryer a moment to check my watch and, yes, he’s right, it really is six.

  ‘Good grief!’ I exclaim, banging my forehead with my hand. ‘How time flies! And I still haven’t hoovered my bedroom!’ And then I turn the hairdryer back on and continue reading the engrossing story of a woman who after undergoing hormone treatment gave birth to a grand total of five children. ‘Would you believe it? Five children! And I can’t even take care of my cactus!’

  ‘Sandy!’ he bursts out imperiously, snatching the magazine from my hand. ‘I demand an explanation.’

  ‘An explanation for what?’

  ‘For all this,’ he gestures vaguely to the kitchen. I can’t work out whether he is talking about the radio, the mixer, the pile of panties to be ironed that I’ve dumped on the table or the Manchester United T-shirt I’ve borrowed from his chest of drawers.

  ‘That’s mine!’ he gasps, pointing to it.

  He must have only just realized.

  ‘This?’ I say, lifting the hem. ‘Yes, I know, but I was doing the laundry and I didn’t have anything left to wear.’

  ‘I don’t remember you asking me for permission to take it.’

  ‘You’re right, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you. But if you want it, I’ll give it back to you,’ I say, starting to pull it off over my head.

  ‘No, it’s fine!’ he shouts in alarm. ‘Keep it on…’And he starts rubbing his forehead ruefully. ‘Sandy,’ he resumes, trying to recover control, ‘I thought I was very clear about the rules to be observed during our cohabitation.’

  I switch off the hairdryer and walk over to the blender.

  ‘Yes, you were, but I thought about them last night and I came to the conclusion that they are detrimental to our relationship, so I’ve stopped following them,’ I tell him, taking two glasses from the cupboard. ‘Milkshake?’ I ask, giving him a cheerful smile.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asks, ignoring my offer.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘What do you mean,’ he repeats in exasperation, ‘about having no intention of following them anymore?’

  ‘Errm… that I have no intention of following them anymor
e?’ I say, underlining the silliness of his question with a look of disbelief.

  ‘Sandy, they weren’t friendly requests, they were binding obligations. You signed a contract, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Thomas, if you keep getting yourself into a state like this, you’ll give yourself a headache. Come on, why won’t you sit down? Shall I make you a nice cup of coffee?’

  ‘I don’t want any coffee.’

  ‘A camomile tea, then?’

  ‘I don’t want a camomile tea either, I simply want you to respect the agreement.’

  ‘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!’

  Chapter 16

  ‘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.