“Prison?” I looked at Helen incredulously. “I’m not going to prison. And I didn’t steal Grace’s jewelry.”
“But the rings. I saw them,” Helen said, wide-eyed. “And then that man turned up…Oh, God, is it worse than that? Have you been smuggling diamonds or something? Was Grace running a crime ring?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I think someone’s been watching a little bit too much television,” I said.
“Fine, so tell me what it is,” Helen said impatiently. “If you didn’t steal the rings or smuggle them, then why have you got an engagement ring and a wedding ring in your jewelry box? And why are you home from work early? You never come home from work early.”
I sighed. “I bought the rings.”
“You bought them? But you’re broke. I thought you were broke?”
“They’re paste.”
Helen frowned. “Paste? Jess, I don’t understand.”
I took a deep breath. Then I let it out and took another one, and another one. And when I was sure that I could open my mouth without my chest clenching up, I told her. Slowly, but surely, cringing as I spoke and avoiding Helen’s eyes entirely, I told her about the lie that had gotten out of hand, about the fake wedding, and the lawyer; about the estate and all the money. And then Helen didn’t say anything.
Perhaps I should have mentioned that Helen wasn’t known for her silence. She talked during films. She talked to the television when I wasn’t there (I knew this because I’d walked in on her several times having quite fierce debates with the newsreader). She called me up at work when she was bored and had been known to keep me on the line for over an hour. The girl had things to say, all the time, about everything.
Except now.
Instead Helen leaned down and picked up her tea, taking a big swig.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said eventually. “Grace was Lady Hampton. She left you her entire estate worth in the region of, what, four million pounds?”
I nodded. “Four million or thereabouts.”
“Or thereabouts,” Helen said, nodding, pulling back her long brown hair, her deep brown eyes slightly dazed. “Only, she thought you were married to your boss, so the money was left to Jessica Milton. Mrs. Jessica Milton. Who you aren’t. Who doesn’t actually exist. Stop me if I’m getting any of this wrong…”
I shook my head. “So far, pretty much spot-on.”
“And you have a moral obligation to claim the money, because otherwise Grace’s lovely house will get sold off by the government and turned into flats. Or a casino. Right?”
I nodded. “It’s the most beautiful house in the whole world. It’s been in her family for generations. She wanted someone to live there, the lawyer said. To raise a family.”
“Of course,” Helen continued, slowly. “A family. With your imaginary husband, I suppose?”
I smiled nervously.
“And you can’t actually claim the inheritance because you’re not Jessica Milton? I mean, the house, all that money…and you can’t get your hands on it?”
“That’s pretty much it,” I said, attempting a smile. I was putting on a front, trying to make light of the situation, but I was still covered in a light sweat and finding it problematic to just breathe in and out.
Helen nodded slowly. “You can’t just claim it as Jessica Wild?”
“He said I needed to show him my marriage certificate.”
“What if you told him the truth?”
I shook my head. “I can’t,” I whispered. “I just can’t. It might get out. It would be so humiliating. And I probably wouldn’t be able to claim the money anyway. There’s a fifty-day rule—if it isn’t claimed within that time frame, it’s all forfeited.”
“So the money will just…disappear?”
“To the government. Yes.” Deep breath in, I told myself. Now breathe out.
“All four million pounds?”
I nodded, focusing on my breathing, and Helen let out a long, deep sigh.
“Bloody hell,” she said, taking another swig of tea. “I mean, seriously. Bloody hell. I can’t think of anything else to say.”
“There is nothing to say,” I said morosely. “I’m an idiot.”
“Idiot doesn’t come close,” Helen said, shaking her head incredulously. Then her eyes lit up. “You say you’ve got fifty days?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Helen said excitedly. “In that time I bet you can change your name by deed poll.”
I stared at her. “Deed poll. Of course! Oh my God, Helen, you’re a savior. Deed poll! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Jessica Milton. Actually, it’s a nice name,” Helen said. “So can I come and live in your big house? Can we have a butler? Oh, please, Jess, let’s have a butler. A good-looking one. And we can have parties all the time…”
She caught me shaking my head and frowned. “What? What’s the matter? Fine, no butler. But we can still have parties, right?”
I sighed. I was looking at the folder Mr. Taylor had left me.
“Mrs.,” I said, glumly. “It specifically says Mrs. Jessica Milton.”
“So change your name to that, then,” Helen suggested. “First name Mrs.”
“First name Mrs.? Now who’s being an idiot? And he said he needed a passport or driver’s license. I’ll never get it in time. Anyway, I told him I hadn’t changed my name. If I suddenly turn up with ID for Jessica Milton, don’t you think he’ll smell a rat?”
Helen slumped back against the back of the sofa. “Okay, but there has to be another way. Come on, Jess, this is huge. We have to work out a way to claim the money.” She caught my eye and blanched slightly. “To claim your money, I mean. But seriously, if we think hard it’ll come to us. It has to.”
She frowned, suddenly picking up the phone, dialing a number, and, when I looked at her worriedly, waving me away. “Rich? Hel…Yeah, hi…! I know, sorry, been really busy. Listen, I’ve got a quick question for you. You know about wills, right?…Yes, I know you’re a banking lawyer, but you must have done family law at some point, no? Fine. So, look, let’s imagine that a will’s been written, leaving the money to a…oh, I don’t know. A Mrs. Jones. And let’s say that Mrs. Jones isn’t actually Mrs. Jones at all; she’s Sarah Smith. Only the person who left her the money thinks she’s called Mrs. Jones. Could Sarah Smith still claim the money?…Uh-huh…Right…Okay…Well, great. Thanks, Rich…. Yeah, a drink would be lovely. Give me a call? Okay then. Bye.”
She turned to me. “That was Rich.”
“I gathered that. And Rich is?”
“Richard Bennett. The lawyer I slept with a couple of weeks ago.”
My eyes widened. “He’s a lawyer? What did he say?”
Helen grimaced. “He said Sarah Smith could get the money if she could prove that she was in fact the person that the will maker considered to be Mrs. Jones, but it would probably have to go to court.”
“Court?”
Helen bit her lip. I, meanwhile, pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them. “I can’t go to court. And anyway, there’s no time to go to court. God, I can’t believe I’m such a total loser.”
“You’re not a loser. I mean, not a total one. Just a little one,” Helen said, trying to look reassuring and failing completely. “I can’t believe it, though. You, the total cynic, the woman who hates men, and all the time you had this little fantasy marriage going…”
“I don’t hate men,” I said, sighing. “I just think relationships are a waste of time. And I didn’t have a fantasy marriage going. I just did it for Grace. It was her fantasy, not mine.”
“You’re sure you didn’t want a boyfriend, too? Just a little bit?”
“No,” I said stiffly. “Of course I didn’t want a boyfriend.”
“Just a husband?” Helen smirked.
“No! Hel, I do not want a boyfriend or a husband. You know I don’t.”
“How can you know you don’t want something if you’ve never had it?”
“I have had a boyfriend,” I said, hotly. “I’ve had two, actually.”
“One at university and one three years ago. Yes, you’re quite the man-eater.” Helen was shaking her head at me, and I rolled my eyes irritably.
“Just because your life revolves around men, it doesn’t mean that everyone’s does,” I said quickly. “I am just not interested in making small talk on dates, waiting for the phone to ring, feeding the ego of some man so that he’ll like me and then watching him swan off with someone else a few months or a few years later. Romance is a myth, Hel. Love is just a hormonal reaction. Two out of three marriages end in divorce and the rest of them are probably miserable. Everyone ends up alone; why spend half your life chasing a chimera?”
“A chimera? You mean something that doesn’t exist?”
I nodded.
“You mean like an imaginary husband?” Helen’s eyes were twinkling, and I reddened.
“So you’re not interested in Anthony Milton one little bit,” she continued, smiling at me mischievously. “Isn’t he the one who’s, like, incredibly good looking? He was in that article you showed me.”
“Yes, he is,” I admitted. “But I’m still not interested.”
“Really?” Helen looked dubious. I shook my head.
“No,” I said firmly. “Trust me, if I was looking for a husband, which I’m not, it certainly wouldn’t be Anthony. He’s too…” I wrinkled my nose, trying to think of the right word.
“Successful? Gorgeous?” Helen suggested.
“Flighty,” I said, then shook my head. “No, not flighty. Too…” I sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s just not my type. Not serious enough. Goes out with models. Girls who look like models, anyway.”
“You mean he’s not your type because you don’t think he’ll fancy you?”
“I mean,” I said sternly, “that he isn’t my type because I don’t fancy him.” I paused and reddened slightly when I saw Helen looking at me, one eyebrow at least half an inch higher than the other. “Or anyone else, for that matter. And he certainly doesn’t fancy me.”
“At the moment,” Helen said.
“At the moment?”
“I’m just looking at this laterally,” she said thoughtfully. “Grace thought you were married to Anthony Milton, right?”
I nodded.
“And Anthony Milton is good looking and successful? I mean, objectively speaking, he’s quite the catch.”
“I guess.”
Helen grinned. “So, then, the way out of this mess is staring us right in the face. You need to marry him for real.”
I laughed. “Of course!” I said drily. “God, why didn’t I think of that. Great idea. I’ll just ask him tomorrow.”
“I’m serious,” Helen said. “I mean it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Pull it off and you’ve not only married Mr. Perfect but become a millionaire four times over, and you’ve saved Grace’s house.”
“He is not Mr. Perfect. And you’ve forgotten something. I don’t want to get married.”
“Ah, but that’s not important. You don’t want to get married because you don’t see the point in it, and you think that romance is a waste of time. But this is different.”
“It is?” I asked, dubious.
“Of course it is. You’re not getting married to live happily ever after. You’re getting married to earn four million pounds. It’s like an anti-marriage. Actually, it’s really just a business deal. You have to pitch to your client and get him to give you the deal.”
“Anthony’s my client now?”
“Yes!”
I frowned. “But…”
“But what? Do you have any other ideas?”
I looked down at the floor.
“And do you want the money? Do you want to look after Grace’s house like she wanted you to?” Helen continued.
I nodded. “Yes, but…”
“Stop with the buts,” Helen said, standing up. “Does Anthony Milton have a girlfriend?”
“Not that I know of.”
“So it’s settled then. Project Marriage is under way.”
My shoulders slumped forward. “Helen, please try to understand. What you’re suggesting is…is madness. It’s like you saying you’re going to marry Tom Cruise. And let’s not forget the fifty-day timetable.”
“Tom Cruise is already married. Anthony Milton isn’t. And a lot can happen in fifty days.”
“I can’t do it,” I said helplessly. “I just can’t.”
“No such thing as can’t, only won’t. Don’t tell me you’re scared?”
“Scared?” I said, a little too defensively. “Of course I’m not scared. I’m just not a model, I’m no good with men, and I think the whole idea is completely insane.”
“You aren’t much good with men, that’s true,” Helen agreed. “But we can work on that. And your clothes.”
“My clothes? What’s wrong with my clothes?” Now it was my eyebrow shooting up.
“Everything,” Helen said with a shrug. “And your hair.”
“I like my hair.”
“This isn’t about you. It’s about Anthony Milton, and I bet he doesn’t like your hair.”
“I doubt he’s ever noticed my hair,” I said crossly.
“Exactly.”
“I’m not changing my hair for a man.” I could feel myself stiffen. “Or my clothes. I’m not…”
Helen sighed. “Give it up, Jess. Look, I know your grandmother was a bitch and that you’re obsessed with being all self-sufficient, or whatever it is you bang on about all the time. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit of fun sometimes. Putting on lipstick doesn’t reduce your IQ. Going on a date doesn’t turn you into a pathetic creature who can’t live without a man.”
“This has nothing to do with my grandmother,” I said hotly.
“Whatever. All I’m saying is that you need new clothes and new hair. This Anthony Milton may not notice you now, but it’s because you do everything in your power not to be noticed. And you don’t fancy him because you won’t let yourself,” Helen said, firmly. “Because you’re convinced he’ll never fancy you, so it’s easier to rule him out yourself. You know, if you were as ambitious with men as you were with your bloody job, you’d have men queuing down the street by now.”
I laughed despite myself. “Hardly.”
“Look, Jess. The way I see it is you either give this a go, or you don’t. And if you don’t, then you’re saying good-bye to an awful lot.”
“But…”
“No buts. Jess, just think of what you’d miss out on if you don’t at least give it a try.”
“It is a nice house,” I said tentatively.
“It’s a fabulous house,” Helen agreed.
“And I’d be able to pay off all my debts.”
“You’d be rich, Jess. Rich beyond your wildest dreams. Which means self-sufficient.”
“And married.”
“Fine. But not in a romantic high-hopes way. You’d be rich, independent of your husband, and you’d also be protecting Grace’s legacy.”
I felt a twinge at the mention of Grace’s name. “I know. But I still don’t see how I’d do it.”
“Get Anthony to fall madly in love with you, you mean?” Helen asked. “Well, you need to do a…what do you call it when you change a product? Like when they launched the KitKat Chunky?”
“Rebranding,” I said.
Helen’s eyes lit up. “Yes! We’re going to rebrand you.”
“As a KitKat Chunky?”
“As perfect marriage material.”
I snorted. “And then we’ll turn back the tide, shall we?”
Helen shot me a look. “I’m going to ignore that,” she said archly. “Look, Jess, you’ve got to promise to take this seriously. This is Deal or No Deal. Everything or nothing. So which is it going to be? Deal or No Deal, Jess? Which one?”
“This isn’t a gamble, Helen, it’s pure madness. It’s impossible. It’s…it’s ridiculous.”
I looked at her for a moment. “You know this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard?”
“Deal or No Deal? Yes or no?”
I let out a long, painful sigh.
“I can’t…I…”
“You can if you want. Come on, Jess. Take a risk. Give it a go. Do it for Grace.”
I looked down at the floor, remembering how excited Grace had been when I’d first told her Anthony had asked me out. Remembered the excitement in her eyes when she told me he was going to propose on holiday. And then I frowned.
“What?” Helen said. “What is it now?”
I bit my lip. “Nothing. It’s just…something Grace said. Ages ago.”
“What?”
My forehead creased in concentration. “I thought she meant…I mean…But maybe she didn’t. Maybe she actually meant that…”
“What?” Helen said impatiently. “What did she say?”
“She made me promise…she made me promise that if someone offered me everything they had, I’d take it,” I said quietly. “I thought she meant Anthony. I thought it was one of her silly romantic dreams.”
“And now you think she meant her inheritance?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“And you promised that you would?”
I nodded.
“So does that mean…Are you going to do it? Are you?”
I looked at Helen for a few moments, then nodded. “Deal,” I said, so softly I barely heard it myself.
“What was that?”
“Deal.” My eyes were wide with trepidation. I couldn’t believe what I was agreeing to.
Immediately Helen fell upon me and embraced me, tightly. “You won’t regret this, Jess. God, it’s going to be brilliant.”
“It’s a campaign, right?” I said nervously. “I’m just running an advertising campaign?”
“Project Marriage,” Helen agreed. “Project Four Million Big Ones.”
“And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just forget all about it and I’ll change my name to Mrs.”
I met Helen’s eyes and a second later we both exploded into laughter, although mine was rather more hysterical than hers.
The Importance of Being Married: A Novel Page 5