by Celia Hayes
This time I’m not the one who goes stiff.
‘I can’t blame you for that. Thomas has always devoted all his energy to the management of Roger’s companies and Canterbury offers very little to a young person accustomed to city life. And furthermore there’s no need for me to explain how important it is that you maintain your own financial independence,’ says Josephine approvingly and vehemently. ‘Given our family’s lifestyle, plenty of others would have happily thrown over everything and lost all contact with reality, turning into insipid, dissatisfied nonentities.’
Her words restore a bit of my self-confidence.
‘As I was saying,’ cuts in Chester, ‘my wife has many virtues. I’ve been repeating it to myself like a mantra for some thirty-five years and I must admit that, except on rare occasions, it has always helped me to cope with the occasionally thorny conversations into which she has managed to drag me against my will. Thomas, listen carefully to my confession. I hope it will be useful in the future. You are about to be initiated into matrimony: a world in which science loses all its accuracy and where the success of your choices is exclusively determined by that natural tendency inherent in every human towards the preservation of the species. You’ll find out at your expense that, from today, everything which for you is absolutely essential will boil down to a single strategic gesture: a rueful nod, given in the hope of sparing yourself another battle in which you will always be the losing party.’
‘Oh, just listen to him!’ Josephine scolds. ‘What ridiculous whining. After all, if I go away for more than a day, he calls me to tell me that the whole neighbourhood is on the verge of collapse,’ she says with a knowing look, and I notice out of the corner of my eye that Chester can’t help but smile. ‘Why don’t you two go and moan over at the buffet?’ she suggests, taking my arm. ‘Our cousin Morgan and his brother-in-law Lawrence are there and I’m sure they can’t wait to share these thrilling moments of male bonding. I myself feel an irrepressible urge for conversation with someone who doesn’t think that the clothes hanger is a curious ethnic ornament with no practical function.’
‘Are you trying to get rid of us already?’ asks Thomas, clearly reluctant to leave me alone with her.
‘Absolutely!’ she confirms, and I let her lead me away, thinking this might be a good time to get away from my over-affectionate boyfriend.
‘You read my mind. I was just thinking how much I’d like to show you the projects that Alonso has sent me for the bedroom. Do you know Alonso? He does Nigella Lawson’s interior design. An eclectic, charmingly eccentric visionary. He’s completely renewed the concept of feng shui, and blended it with all the most innovative trends in bamboo design, with a touch of fusion and a sprinkling of shabby chic. Exciting, don’t you think?’ I say as I drag her off by her sleeve, followed by the terrified eyes of Thomas who suddenly looks as though he’s considering having himself admitted to casualty for post-traumatic stress.
‘Sounds fascinating,’ says Josephine.
‘And you can’t imagine what he’s come up with for the bathroom! We’re going to transform Garden House into an architectural paradise.’
‘When did you decide to renovate the estate?’ she asks in surprise.
‘Recently. Very recently,’ I say vaguely.
‘Nod, my boy! The secret is to nod,’ whispers Chester to Thomas in the meantime, with the expression of someone who knows what he’s talking about.
Chapter 19
‘Sandy, what a gorgeous hairstyle. You absolutely must give me the name of your hairdresser,’ chirps Agatha, twirling a lock of my hair between her fingers.
Obviously, I would have gone to a hairdresser if only I’d known about the reception in time, but I thought it looked quite nice hanging loose on my shoulders. What rotten luck. The evening had seemed tolerable until I found myself surrounded by Thomas’s closest friends.
I don’t know how it happened. They seem to have materialized out of nowhere, a bit like the zombies in video games – those shuffling members of the undead who, by themselves, are not particularly dangerous, but who move in packs and grind you down by sheer weight of numbers, aimlessly hanging about and emitting the odd drunken mumble. Hitting them repeatedly doesn’t actually kill them, but it does give you an immediate feeling of well-being.
Lost in my thoughts, I’m staring at an indefinite point in space, lulled by the background buzz. I’m not missing much anyway. They’re doing their best, but their best is seemingly limited to rattling off offensive jokes that are about as funny as a tax return. The worst thing is that they all seem to be having a great time. Which makes it almost impossible to contain their exuberance.
‘Even the dress,’ continues Agatha in the meantime. ‘I don’t think I’d have found a similar outfit even if I’d unleashed all the personal shoppers in Greater London.’
‘Darling,’ cuts in Felicia, pretending to take my side, ‘real elegance isn’t simply a matter of getting attention, but of being remembered.’
And what exactly is so ridiculous about my dress? It ought to be perfect, seeing as how it complies with the good old LTD rule:
It’s Low-cut.
It’s scandalously Tight.
It’s Dark.
That should be enough, shouldn’t it?
Robert grins, sipping a whisky but taking no part in the conversation. Casey is my only hope, but, I reflect with a sigh, he went off a few minutes ago to enjoy a slow dance with a pretty brunette, and since then the situation has worsened dramatically – so much so that I can almost foresee fatal consequences.
But I’m determined not to let my engagement party turn into a murder party, so I massage my temples and come up with an excuse to get away from them, as I firmly intend to put an end to this silly performance and get back behind my curtain.
‘I’ll just nip and see how the desserts are coming along. Thanks so much for the conversation, it was… inspiring.’
But a hand grabs me.
‘You can’t leave now,’ says Clara who is apparently one of Felicia’s closest friends. ‘Just when we’ve started to get to know each other,’ she meows disappointedly, proving she hasn’t even noticed the tension in the air, thanks to yet another glass of the Chevalier-Montrachet she seems to run on.
‘I’d love to stay, but I don’t think Thomas could manage another minute without me,’ I say. ‘It’s weird, isn’t it? On occasions like this it’s practically impossible to actually enjoy the company of your own guests – you’re always rushing about, trying to juggle everything without overlooking anyone. But we’ll definitely have to get together,’ I reassure her, moving off in the opposite direction. ‘Later, of course – not now, but definitely… And who knows? Once we’ve got all our upcoming appointments out of the way, if we can find some time… Let’s compare diaries… Anyway, soon, but there’s no rush. And what’s a few hundred miles between friends?’
And I leave her there as I rush away, a trail of babbling and stammering in my wake, and take advantage of the crowd to hide myself. I don’t stop until I inadvertently bump into an embroidered double-breasted jacket.
‘Miss Price, what a vision you are!’
I look down, and a few centimetres below me see the face to which that voice belongs and which, in my confusion, I hardly recognize.
‘Mr. Hill!’ I exclaim in amazement. ‘I was hoping to meet you! Have you just arrived?’
‘Yes, just this second. I am very sorry I’m late, but I was held up longer than expected by some urgent business.’
‘No need to apologize, it’s perfectly understandable,’ I hasten to reassure him. ‘In fact, I thank you for being able to join us. I’m delighted to see you again. We’ve had so little time to talk and there’s a lot I’d like to speak to you about.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed this event for the world. I was very fond of Sir Roger. If only he could be here tonight…’ he whispers in an emotional voice as he contemplates the ceiling.
‘We were all very attac
hed to the count. He was such a wonderful person,’ I say sincerely, looking around and almost expecting to see him appear among the guests with his big smile and pleasant manners. ‘This house is full of happy memories,’ I whisper.
‘Come along, don’t be sad,’ he comforts me, taking my hand and caressing it in a fatherly way. ‘A bright future awaits you. The count was sure that you would be happy and I have always had full confidence in his judgment.’
‘But sentiment can sometimes blind us to reality, Mr. Hill. Although I’m absolutely certain of Sir Roger’s noble intentions, I can’t forget that a large part of my life depends on the provisions of a will. I agreed to give up my job in America and leave my family purely out of the immense affection that I feel for Thomas, but much as I try to bridge the gap between us with my love, I often have the sad feeling that what I’m doing just isn’t enough. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s probably just the worries of an insecure girl stuck in a world to which she doesn’t belong, but Thomas feels so distant and I’m scared that he might only be staying with me to avoid losing the family inheritance. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it? If he were forced to stay with me for the next ten years against his will,’ I whisper. ‘He would end up hating me and I…’ I close my eyes in preparation for the grand finale, ‘I just couldn’t stand it.’
‘Dearest, where have you been?’ Thomas’s voice suddenly asks. I jump in surprise – I was so caught up in my speech that I didn’t hear him arrive.
‘Mr. Hill,’ he continues, holding out a hand to greet the newcomer. ‘We were expecting you…’
‘Mr. Clark, you come at exactly the right juncture. These are such delicate moments for a woman. I still remember with great fondness the anxiety of my wife, may God rest her soul, during the weeks preceding our happy union.’
‘Anxiety?’ says Thomas, feigning astonishment. ‘Darling!’ And he lays a hand on my bare shoulder. ‘You’re not having those nasty panic attacks again, are you?’
‘Panic attacks?’ asks Cameron, wrinkling his nose.
‘Unfortunately…’ says Thomas laconically. ‘Since we arrived at Garden House, they’ve gradually gotten worse. First it was crying fits, then making scenes. Initially, I thought it was just the stress of all the changes, so I left work to try and stay close to her, but it doesn’t seem to be getting any better,’ and he looks at me as if I were his reason for living.
‘What’s this I hear? Miss Price, it makes me very sad to think you are so miserable. What on earth is the reason for such anguish?’
‘Actually…’ Not knowing what the hell to say, I try and buy some time.
‘You mustn’t be afraid to express your feelings,’ Thomas says, brushing my cheek with his lips, ‘I’m right here beside you. I always will be, whenever you need me.’
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 wait
ing 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.