Don't Marry Thomas Clark

by Celia Hayes

  My eyes are glued to his and I can’t help but sigh. Just then I feel his fingers running through my hair. They grip me and drag me towards him eagerly, as if they have been waiting for this moment all their life.

  Our lips meet, touch, explore each other gently and then part, and I feel his tongue envelop me in such an intense caress that it rips me out of reality and catapults me into a world where there’s no room for fear or grudges. A corner of the universe where every gesture is eternal.

  We move away from one another hesitantly, and as I open my eyes I realize that I’ve let myself be overwhelmed by my emotions.

  Thomas looks just as amazed as I do. Maybe he didn’t expect my rapture. I certainly didn’t expect his.

  Raising an eyebrow, he gives me a last look, then turns to the guests and, with a few off-the-cuff witticisms, thanks them. In no time at all, the reception resumes as though nothing had happened: the piano plays, the waiters strut about waving silver trays, and I go back to feeling alone.

  A rock around which the ocean moves indifferently, sliding past it, pushed by the current, as though it were nothing more than an unnecessary hindrance to the goal.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Well don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

  I’m lying in bed on my tummy, my head tucked under the pillows and my dress wadded up between my legs. The cordless is crushed between my ear and the mattress, while, eyes closed, I enjoy the first signs of what looks as though it’s going to be an epic headache.

  Everyone has gone, except for the one person that I would gladly send across the Channel. I don’t know where he is – I only hope he’s stumbled into an open manhole and is now lying there in agony under the endlessly running water of his bloody irrigation system.

  As soon as I got into my room, I called Rufus and told him everything, hoping for a little comfort, but apparently I don’t deserve even that today.

  ‘Will you stop rubbing salt into the wound?’

  ‘What did you expect? That he’d let you get your hands on his inheritance without batting an eyelid?’

  ‘I don’t want his stupid bloody inheritance!’ I groan, pulling my head out from under the flowered lining to get some fresh air. I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling, listening to Rufus’ breathing at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that, and to be honest I think that’s no bad thing, because otherwise he might wonder what the hell you’re playing at. And quite frankly, I’m starting to ask myself the same question.’

  ‘He deceived me,’ I declare grimly.

  ‘And you’re going to marry him. You can’t argue with that.’

  ‘I’ve never said I wanted to marry him,’ I explain, before he can say anything else.

  ‘Sandy, if you don’t want his money and you don’t want to marry him, what are you still doing there?’

  ‘Watching him suffer…’

  ‘The only one I can see suffering is you,’ he says. ‘You’re putting yourself through all this completely unnecessary torture. You’ve got the bistro, make do with that. Leave him to his life and come back home to yours. We all miss you.’

  ‘Why does it always have to be me who has to walk off into the sunset with her tail between her legs? Why does he always get away with it? If he’d been straight with me from the start, I probably would have helped him without asking for anything in return, but no, he had to treat me like an idiot! When I close my eyes, I can’t help but imagine him rolling on the floor laughing as he thinks about me all alone here at Garden House, torn by guilt. And he even had the nerve to accuse me of being a despicable opportunist, when in reality the only sneaky double-crosser was him.’

  ‘Look, maybe he’s not the nicest person in the world, but try and be objective: he was running the risk of losing everything because of a decision made by his grandfather which was, to be quite honest, questionable to say the least. He was just trying to save his inheritance.’

  ‘What, are you defending him now? I don’t remember ever threatening anyone that I’d put them in my will. And anyway, even though everyone seems to have forgotten it, it’s not Thomas’s money. That money belonged to Sir Roger who, in full possession of his mental faculties, decided to leave everything to me as well, and so, if we really want to be picky, I’m entitled to it!’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want it…’

  ‘And I don’t, but I don’t see why it should be me who has to give it up. If he cares so much about his freedom, he can just give all the rest of it up. He won’t end up living in a cardboard box. What with all the jobs he does, his monthly salary is probably higher than the GDP of Norway.’

  ‘I’m not saying you should leave everything to him, I’m just advising that you carefully consider what you’re up against. He could sue you, and at present all the count’s assets are frozen until your wedding, so you’d have to pay all the legal fees yourself, and there’s no way you can afford that.’

  ‘Sue me? Why?’

  ‘Couldn’t he find a valid reason to drag you before a judge? And may I remind you that, unlike you, he can count on a monthly salary equal to the GDP of Norway to pay for an army of lawyers ready to go for the jugular as soon as you open your mouth.’

  ‘You might be right, but that would slow down the actual transfer of the ownership of Sir Roger’s companies. I don’t know if that would be in his interest, because I doubt he’d gain any advantage from all the negative publicity of that peculiar will getting out.’

  ‘You’re playing with fire – not to mention the fact that you still seem to fancy him.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I explode.

  ‘You said that kiss was stunning.’

  ‘Because it made all the hurt and upset from when I was young come flooding back. Have you any idea what it means to feel rejected by your first love?’

  ‘Yes I do. Her name was Jennifer. I had a massive crush on her. I left her a letter on her desk at school. When she found it, she read it out loud in front of the whole class. You can imagine the rest,’ he tells me sympathetically. ‘Adolescence is shit, but it’s part of life. I think that’s why it exists. To get you to open your eyes. To turn the page. We all do it and move on. Call Thomas. He told you he’d found a solution. I’m not telling you to accept it, but at least hear him out. You’ve taken your revenge, now find an agreement and put it all behind you.’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘You know I’m right.’

  ‘Yeah…’ I admit sadly.

  ‘Can I go back to sleep in peace now?’

  ‘I suppose so. You know…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This whole countryside thing is starting to seriously get on my nerves!’

  ‘See? So hop out of bed and go and talk to him.’

  ‘No, I think I’ll let him stew until tomorrow morning,’ I decide.

  ‘OK, then, enjoy your last moments as a countess. Call me tomorrow, will you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I smile, finally serene.

  ‘Good night, then,’ he says.

  ‘Rufus, wait…;

  For a moment I have the feeling he’s already hung up, but then I hear his breathing.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Listen…’ I mumble. ‘Have you happened to see Mike at all lately?’

  ‘A couple of times at Pearl’s. But I haven’t been going out much recently. Why? Do you miss him?’ he teases me.

  ‘No, it’s just that…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He called me before I left and…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Didn’t he… didn’t he ask about me? Like, what I’m doing, if I’m OK…?’

  ‘Actually no, Sandy,’ he admits with difficulty. ‘But like I told you, I’m hardly going out at the moment. Has something happened?’

  What’s the point in telling him?

  ‘No, nothing. Nothing at all. Forget it. We’ll talk tomorrow, OK?’

  ‘Sleep tight!’ he says, and hangs up.
/>   ‘Love you,’ I sigh, dropping the phone onto the sheets.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ I ask myself, as I take off my dress. Rufus is right: we suffer, but then we move on. What am I waiting for? ‘Grow up, Sandy!’ I tell myself, looking for the zip on my back, pulling off the straps. I’ll sort everything out tomorrow. This is the last night I’m going to spend here.

  I’m about to walk into the bathroom and let the hot water of the shower wash away this humiliating evening when the door opens. I quickly hold the dress against me in a gesture of self-defence, and Thomas walks in as though it were the most natural thing in the world, a pillow in his arms. He’s wearing a pair of black fleece pyjama bottoms and an army-green T-shirt. He looks tired. He approaches the edge of the bed, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. Rudy appears behind him, his mouth wide open and his tongue dangling.

  ‘Don’t you knock?’ I ask in a shrill voice, looking him full in the face.

  ‘It’s the new upgrade: “intimate moments”. Downloads automatically when you accept a marriage proposal.’

  ‘Sounds more like spam.’

  He grins with amusement and props one knee on the bed.

  ‘So what do you want?’ I ask, a hint of concern in my eyes.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of herbal tea,’ he says, stretching.

  ‘And you’ve come looking for it here? What’s the matter – lost your bell and don’t know how to call the butler?’

  He doesn’t answer, but takes the pillow off the bed and throws it at my feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m changing the pillow.’

  ‘That one was fine.’

  ‘I can’t sleep on those latex ones. This one’s wool,’ he says, grabbing an edge of the sheet to pull it away. I put my hand down to stop him and look him in the eyes.’

  ‘Thomas, what are you doing?’

  ‘Going to sleep?’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is my room.’

  He peers about at the chaos that surrounds him, then turns back to me with an amused expression on his face, and his gaze drops from my eyes to my hands, which are pressed against my chest in an attempt to cover up some rather racy lingerie.

  ‘I guarantee you, I’m fully aware of the fact.’

  ‘OK, this has gone on too long. Get your stuff and get out of here!’ I snap, trying to ignore my burning cheeks. My gesture has no effect, though, other than to make him smile. He puts the pillow back in place, pulls the sheet violently from my hands and collapses face down onto the mattress.

  ‘Thomas…’

  ‘Sandy…’ he mimics me.

  Rudy leans against the edge of the bed and starts whining, so Thomas leans forward, takes him in his arms, puts him tenderly on his stomach, and begins to scratch his little muzzle.

  ‘For God’s sake, are you out of your mind?’ I burst out, while wondering exactly when these two found the time to get so close. ‘What’s this stupid joke about?’

  ‘Why do you presume it’s a joke?’

  ‘I don’t know – because I’m an optimist?’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve never been more serious,’ he says without lifting his eyes from the dog, who is blissfully enjoying being pampered.

  ‘OK, you win. I’ll go and sleep in another room.’

  I get up from the bed angrily and walk towards the door.

  He folds his arms behind his head and waits for me to reach the threshold before asking with a sarcastic tone, ‘So, you don’t want to marry me anymore? And right after I opened my heart to you… How insensitive!’

  Something stops me.

  I turn around and, leaning against the door jamb with my dress still pressed against my chest, my hair unkempt, give him a look that would crack a granite block.

  ‘Why are you bringing up the marriage now?’ I burst out.

  He doesn’t reply immediately but keeps me in suspense, a beatific expression on his face, then he scratches his chin, stretches, makes a thoughtful grimace, and slams his latest idea – which I suppose he couldn’t wait to tell me – in my face.

  ‘If I remember correctly,’ he begins, pretending to be uncertain, ‘the will says that we have to share everything. Free time, home, bedroom… Now, I don’t want to sound picky, but if you choose to sleep in a separate bed, I can only assume that you don’t want to respect my grandfather’s will and, therefore, would rather dissolve our contract.’

  ‘I thought there were a couple of clauses we’d decided to overlook.’

  ‘That’s when I thought you wanted to settle for my first offer,’ he explains.

  ‘This is getting out of hand,’ I say, more to myself than to him.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘For the good of both of us, I think it’s time we discussed it and found a compromise.’

  ‘I disagree,’ he floors me.

  ‘What?’ I can’t believe he’s serious. ‘I thought you said you’d come up with a solution?’

  ‘Yes, I had, and it would have been perfect for both of us. Especially for you, to be honest. You would have wormed a considerable sum out of me, but it would have been worth it, after all. I would have taken possession of my property and we could have forgotten all about this unpleasant “cohabitation”.’

  ‘So?’ I ask, beginning to show some impatience.

  ‘So nothing. I’ve changed my mind,’ he states seraphically while Rudy takes advantage of the distraction to slip down between the blankets and find a corner all by himself among the pillows, where he settles down for the night.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve changed your mind? You can’t change your mind!’ I shout, discovering how difficult it is to gesticulate whilst trying to preserve your modesty with a thin layer of silk. Not being able to wave my arms about, I opt for hysterical little hops.

  ‘And who’s going to stop me? You?’ he asks.

  ‘That’s right, me.’

  ‘How?’ he challenges me, comfortably lying on the pillows, while I go back and forth like a caged lion, looking daggers at him.

  ‘What? Do you really want to know how? I’ll report you!’

  ‘I’d really like to see that,’ he admits, unabashedly amused. ‘On what charges? If I might ask…’

  ‘What… What do you mean? This is… You are… You are…’ I stammer, pointing my finger at his cheerful face. ‘And don’t just lay there as if all this didn’t involve you!’ I warn him. ‘You’re unfairly taking advantage of the situation, you’re destroying my reputation with inappropriate behaviour, forcing me to tolerate a hostile, humiliating environment that exposes me to slander. Do you know what that’s called? It’s called mobbing! And I’m pretty sure that it’s punishable by five, maybe ten years in prison.’

  ‘Wow, that’s big talk!’ he says, pretending to be impressed. ‘I can just picture the scene: “Your Honour, Thomas Clark, who, if I may remind you, is my boyfriend, has forced me to endure intolerable harassment.” Next he changes his voice to imitate the potential answer of the judge: ‘“But this is terrible, Miss Price! Please tell me, how has this criminal offended you? Did he hit you? Torture you? Lock you up in the basement without food or water?”’ His voice returns to normal. ‘“Oh no, your honour. In truth, he asked me to sleep with him!”’

  He bursts out laughing while I try to stop myself from grabbing the Chinese vase on the cabinet next to the door and chucking it at his head.

  ‘Imagine…’ he continues, wiping away a tear, ‘imagine his face!’

  I’m at the limit of my endurance.

  ‘Thomas, I’ll give you one last chance to reconsider. We are really at the edge and, of the two of us, you’re the one who is risking most. Do you actually want to spend the next ten years with me? And for what? To end up in a divorce case that, given the community of property, would only end up equally dividing your grandfather’s assets between us anyway?’

  ‘Come on Sandy, let’s be serious now: do you really think you’ll be able to make it to our w
edding day?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That I know you. You are erratic, insecure and terribly cowardly. You can’t handle challenges. You prefer working your way around obstacles, and if you find you can’t, you just give up. As soon as things get difficult, you run away. It’s always been like that. You can’t help it, it’s your nature.’

  ‘I’ve never run away!’ I cry indignantly, shocked that he’s capable of such cruelty.

  ‘Are you sure? Because that’s not what I remember. What I remember is that as soon as anybody teased you, you’d be off like a shot. You’d spend whole days on your own for fear of having to confront any of us, and if your parents forced you to come with me, you’d spend most of the evening in a corner with a book on your lap and your headphones on.’

  ‘The idea that it was you that I didn’t like has never occurred to you, has it? Because I’ve never had that problem with anyone else,’ I point out, a touch of self-esteem returning.

  He seems to reflect, then shrugs and says, ‘Have it your way, but the fact remains that, rather than facing us, you used to shut yourself up in your own world and just wait to leave, sometimes spending weeks alone. You’re weak. It’s not a criticism, it’s reality.’

  His words are like a slap to the face. I feel my anger mounting, preventing me from thinking clearly. I stiffen and have to press my lips together to stop myself from screaming, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he’s simply not interested.

  He makes himself comfortable, puffs up his pillow a little bit, and goes back to watching me, his arms defiantly crossed. I’d like to answer, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, am I really so sure that he’s wrong?

  ‘Thomas,’ I manage to mumble finally. ‘We were just kids. We’re adults now. You don’t really think you’re still dealing with the same Sandy Price, do you? The one with short hair, ripped jeans and braces?’

  ‘It’s up to you to show me. Right now, you’re standing in the doorway. Will you come back in or will you go?’ he asks bluntly.