The Soulmate Agency

by Ivan B

  “Which will arrive for tea, I hope.” Angela finished.

  She consulted her clipboard, “This afternoon we have a different kind of exercise, which we will have to do indoors as it has just started raining. However, the forecast is for fine weather once we’ve had a thunderstorm. So if Riona and Cameron go to the library, Ben and Roberta go to the snooker room – that’s Yucca, Henry and Willow go to Polianthus, that’s the large lounge, and Derek and Gwen go to the Internet room, that’s Ruscus, you’ll find your task waiting for you. Any questions?”

  Riona thwacked her sandals together, “What’s happening tomorrow? According to the schedule it takes all day and is just called ‘excursion,’ are we going somewhere?”

  Angela flashed a dazzling smile, “All will be revealed.”

  Riona scowled and Angela quickly departed before Riona could ask another question.

  Roberta opened the door of the snooker room and walked in. The snooker table was covered by a concertina type wooden top on which was a cardboard box, a sheet of paper and two red lines drawn about three feet apart. The room smelt faintly of cigars and she walked to the window at the end and threw it open. She picked up the piece of paper on the snooker-top and read its contents while Ben peered into the box. She pursed her lips in disbelief. “It says, ‘Together you are to build a bridge that spans between the two lines to a height of six inches in the centre where it must be able to bear the weight of five hundred grams, there is a suitable weight and building bricks in the box.. The couple to be judged as building the most aesthetic bridge will win a prize of £150, to be donated to a charity of their choice.”

  Ben tipped the box upside down and a mass of Lego bricks tumbled onto the wooden surface, plus a brass weight and a six inch ruler. Roberta peered at the bricks, “Where on earth do we start?”

  Ben moved a few bricks around, “Let’s sort these bricks,” he suggested.

  They started dividing up the bricks into types, Roberta by colour and Ben by the number of locking pimples on top. They looked at each other, laughed, and started to sort them by type and by colour.

  As they sorted Ben started to consider the outcome. “Which charity would you choose?” He asked.

  “The St Cedd’s Rehab unit, they were wonderful to me even when I got completely stoned on my second week with them. I really would like to do something for them.”

  He nodded, “Sounds fine to me.”

  After half an hour they had a number of piles of different size bricks, none of which were curved. Roberta peered at the bricks, then at Ben. She then looked at him more closely. “You OK? You’ve gone a funny colour.”

  He wiped some sweat from his forehead, “I think I’m getting a migraine headache.”

  She felt his forehead, it was hot, but then the room was hot and oppressive as well. “Thunderstorm weather,” she announced, “brings it on in some people.”

  He half-smiled, “Possibly, but I would suspect cheese, and especially cooked cheese. I did tell the agency that I can’t eat cheese, but there could have been some in the soup.”

  He was becoming greyer by the second. “You got any medicine?”

  “In my room?”

  “Does it work?”

  He gave another half-smile, “Sometimes, but you’re supposed to take it an hour before the migraine appears for it to be fully effective.”

  She took his hand, “Bed for you I think.”

  He tried to be macho, “Let’s keep on with the bridge for a minute or two, I would like to help you win the prize.”

  “No way,” she replied firmly. “We had girls at school who had migraines; it’s medicine, bed and a darkened room for you. And there’s no argument.”

  She led him upstairs to his suite, poured a glass of water for him, watched him take his tables and pulled the curtains. “Do you mind if I check in on you later?”

  He gave a slight nod. She frowned, “Is it getting worse?”

  “About six on the migraine Richter scale.”

  She had no idea what a Richter scale was, but six sounded reasonable. She left him sitting on the edge of the bed.

  Once downstairs she did not go back to the snooker room, rather she found her way to the kitchen. Inside was a tall handsome man who she vaguely recognised. He seemed very busy. She knocked on the door and he turned round, expressed a look of total horror and snapped, “Just don’t come any further, with hair like that I could spend weeks picking it out of nooks and crannies.”

  She bristled slightly. “Did you prepare lunch?”

  He shrugged, “Of course.”

  “Was there any cheese in it?”

  He furrowed his brow, crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his elbow, “Of course, cheese gives a soup wonderful body. The bread also had a thin cheese coating. Why ask, didn’t you like it?”

  Me friend did and now he’s ill. Didn’t you read the dietary requirements list?”

  “Huh, “he said giving a broad shrug, “Not cooking with alcohol due to some sad dipsomaniac, but cheese never made anyone ill, it’s all in the mind.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she took three paces towards him. “It’s not in his mind, it’s in his head and you,” she stabbed a finger, “have made him ill.”

  He gave her a scornful look, “He didn’t have to eat it.”

  “Did you label it,” she retorted swiftly.

  She glanced at the ingredients laid out on the spotless stainless steel worktop, there were at least three varieties of cheese. “And is that for tonight?”

  He re-crossed his arms and looked down his nose, “Look lassie, run back to wherever you’ve come from and do whatever you do. Leave cookery to those who understand.”

  She saw red. She crossed the kitchen, picked up two of the cheeses and hurled them down the full length of the kitchen into a sink at the far end. “Cook what you like,” she screamed, “But no cheese, do you hear me no cheese.”

  For a few seconds he was speechless. He was just about to make some smart reply and physically tackle this crazy red-haired woman when, as if by magic, Angela appeared at the door. One glance told her all she needed to know. “Tom,” she snapped, “Don’t.”

  He simmered as Angela walked into the kitchen, thinking that Roberta was drunk. “What’s a matter Roberta? Ben not for you?”

  Roberta tossed a third lump of cheese the size of a grapefruit from hand to hand. “Your chef didn’t see fit to tell us that there was cheese in the soup and now Ben is ill.”

  Angela rolled her eyes and sniffed, there was no trace of alcohol on Roberta’s breath, so this was just anger. That was good, anger she could deal with. “I’m very sorry about that Roberta and I promise that if there is any cheese, cooked or otherwise, in any future meal it will be clearly stated.”

  Roberta threw the third cheese straight at Tom, “Good.”

  She flounced out as Tom skilfully caught the cheese. He turned to Angela, “You didn’t have to intervene.”

  She took a pace towards him and said softly, “Oh yes I did, I know what you’re like in the kitchen.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and walked out. Tom dumped the cheese in the waste-bin, which was lucky to survive. He grimaced and picked up a long red hair from his worktop; his comment on the presence of the hair was unprintable.

  Treasa handed George another sandwich; she had raided the kitchen while the others were eating lunch. He peered at it, “It’s another cheese.”

  “It’s all the chef would do.”

  She passed him a sachet of pickle, which he duly spread on his sandwich, and started eating. “Lovely cheese though.”

  “Hmm,” she said, “Think he said it was camel.”

  Horror crossed his face and she burst into a tinkle of laughter. “You minx,” he half laughed, “You little minx.”

  Derek put his hands under Gwen’s armpits and picked her up to sit her on the table-top. She read the task out to him while he peered into the box. “Wonder if this is obligatory?” He mused aloud.<
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  Gwen turned her nose up, “Never been a fan of Lego, wonderful stuff, but it’s not for me.”

  Derek dropped the sheet of paper into the box and closed the lid. “That’s settled then.”

  Gwen shuffled to get more comfortable, “So now what?”

  Derek stroked his chin, he had a cunning plan, least he thought he did. “How about we sneak into the cinema and watch a film together.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They walked down the corridor and into Techophilaea. Gwen poked about it the DVD cupboard while Derek picked up two seat cushions from a settee, piled them on top of one another and placed them on a second settee. Two cushions, he reckoned, would put their mouths at about the same level. Gwen pulled out a DVD, “How about Love Story, I’ve heard about it, but never seen it?”

  Derek internally grimaced, he had seen it and felt it was overacted, over-scripted and over-sentimental. “Sounds fine.”

  Gwen loaded the DVD and walked to the settee, she grinned, “Oh I see, this is a trap.”

  “Not a trap,” he said helplessly, “I just thought…”

  She jumped onto the pile of cushions, “Well it was a good thought.”

  Derek turned out the lights and sat down. Gwen tucked her feet under her to her right and automatically leaned to the left where, conveniently, Derek was sitting. He put his arm around her and they settled down to watch the film.

  Roberta carefully opened Ben’s door, tiptoed across the sitting room and peered into the bedroom; he wasn’t there. She frowned and looked in the bathroom. Ben was sitting, stark naked, on the tiled floor of the shower cubicle. His skin was the colour of mouldy parchment and his face haggard and drawn, as if he was enduring internal agony. For a brief moment she was perplexed at what to do. Concern overcame inhibition and she squatted next to him. He opened one eye. “Is it bad?” She whispered.

  He almost jumped off of the tiles, “Ten on the Richter scale,” he said hoarsely. I just needed to be cold.”

  She felt his forehead, it was unbelievably hot considering where he was sitting. She realised that his hair was cold and damp. “You given yourself a cold shower?”

  “Yes, it sometimes helps.”

  She felt his arms, they were extremely cold and clammy. She got a towel and tenderly patted him dry. “I can’t leave you here,” she said quietly, “Time for bed I think.”

  He smiled weakly and allowed her to help him into the bedroom, he could barely stay upright. She laid him on the bed, covered him with a spare sheet, and kissed him on the forehead. She noted that even the lightest of kisses made him wince. She crept out.

  Ben relaxed as she left. He liked being looked after, in fact he really liked being looked after, but he needed peace, quite and nothing, absolutely nothing, touching him. On the other hand, he managed to muse, the thought behind the kiss had been very agreeable.

  Roberta went back to the snooker room and looked at the pile of bricks. She really wanted to win that money for the rehab unit. She closed her eyes and tried to picture every bridge she had seen, but it was no help. Then she remembered a crime novel she had read. It had been set in a mediaeval English village and had concerned murder amongst a group of bricklayers who were building a hump-backed bridge. She recalled that they’d built a wooden former to lay the bricks on and once the cement was dry removed the former to find a dead body embedded in the bottom of the bridge. She ripped a side off of the large box, took some drawing pins out of a small notice board and made a cardboard arc by putting the pins in each of the drawn lines and then bending the cardboard between them. She surveyed the Lego and, using the smallest of the available pieces, started to lay them side by side as if laying bricks. Once she’d completed one layer she laid a second layer on top, this time using a reverse pattern and fastening the top layer to the one below. It was slow and tedious work, but she just ploughed on.

  Treasa peered out from under the eaves of the outhouse and decided that the rain would pass in a minute. “Tell me about your wife,” she asked.

  George, who’d been poking about at the back of the outhouse, looked up. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Was she tall, was she pretty, was she sexy?”

  He pulled out a pair of old deck chairs as if by magic and set them up in the wide doorway. “Beth was shorter than me, she came up to my nose, but then I am over two metres tall. She wasn’t pretty like you, more homely. And yes she was sexy.” He shuffled in his deck chair. “In fact she was rather a flirt, it was her nature really, she didn’t mean anything by it.”

  He closed his eyes in memory, “She wasn’t a policewoman, she worked in the control centre as a data operative, boring work I always thought, but she liked it. We met at this party, I turned up late and she…”

  Henry parked his car, a silver Aston Martin, in the city-centre car-park near the payment kiosk. He and Willow had decided to skip the bridge-building task and go shopping. Shopping that is for rings. They walked hand in hand through the tunnel from the car-park to the shops and exited just in front of a huge jewellers. Willow glanced in the window and turned up her nose. Henry got the message and they walked on. Eight jewellers later, just as Henry was beginning to despair, she tapped the glass and pointed. “Those.”

  He glanced through the glass at two thin plain bands of gold that had an ovoid cross section. “I thought you were looking for an engagement ring?”

  “I am, but aren’t those lovely?”

  He took her inside and they were measured for ring-sizes. The jeweller made a ‘possibly’ gesture with his head by rocking it from side to side. “The ladies' fits. But the gents' is one size too small. I could have one that is large enough over from my other shop in an hour or so.”

  “Fine,” said Henry, glad that half of the problem had been solved.

  Willow bent almost double and peered into the glass counter. She pointed with a long finger that was topped by an immaculate fingernail, “Is that an engagement ring in that box?”

  “Certainly is,” replied the jeweller, “With a single matching ear-stud. They’re all the rage and if I may say so the stud would grace madams ear most favourably.”

  Henry glanced at the box and almost died of shock. The ring had a single octagonally cut ruby that was about half an inch across its centre. The ear-stud had a similarly cut ruby about half the size. The price tag was unbelievable. He swallowed nervously, he wasn’t poor, but this was exorbitant. “Thought you wanted a diamond,” he murmured.

  “Love rubies,” she said longingly.

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain, still this only happened once. “If you like it we’ll buy it.”

  Willow slipped the ring on, it was a perfect fit. “Made for you,” murmured the jeweller encouragingly.

  She went off towards the window to see it in the light and Henry leant towards the jeweller, “Is that really £16067?”

  The jeweller blinked in disbelief, and studied the price tag. “Oh no sir, that’s its stock number. It’s a mere £2,500.”

  Henry sighed with relief. The jeweller moved his finger along the glass counter and tapped it with his fingernail. Henry peered through the glass. Lying under his finger was a gold bracelet with eight octagonal rubies, it was a perfect match. “Make a fine wedding present,” the jeweller said softly, “it’s only £1,100.” He smiled conspiratorially, “Tell you what sir, buy it with the ring and stud and I’ll sell them to you for £3,300. I believe that is a saving of over £12,000 on your original expectation.”

  Henry nodded and the Jeweller whispered, “Want to keep it a secret?”

  “Yes please.”

  The jeweller extracted the bracelet, shut its box and slid it over the counter for Henry to pocket. Willow returned from the window and smiled at Henry, “It’s lovely.”

  He bowed, “Then you shall have it.”

  He got out his bank card and Willow wandered down the shop to look at ankle bracelets. After he had paid she returned and dropped a fine gold
ankle bracelet on the counter. Henry offered his card again and she waved a finger at him, “Mine this time.”

  She offered her card and Henry wandered over to look at some watches. Willow half watched him. The jeweller passed her a slip to sign and whispered, “He must love you very much, he thought that ring cost £16,000 and he would have paid it.” He turned the label over so that she could see the stock number. To say that she was impressed would be an understatement.

  Riona and Cameron, both being engineers, albeit not mechanical ones, started their bridge building by taking stock of what they had and then making a few drawings on the back of the piece of paper. Cameron tapped one of the diagrams, “We’ve only got straight bricks, so curved structures are out.”

  Riona nodded and crossed off a diagram. “This ‘V’ shaped structure is no good either.”

  She crossed it off. They studied the third diagram of a long straight bridge and both knew it wouldn’t work. Riona smiled and drew a couple of towers at each end and a suspension wire. “Got some 16 gauge copper wire in the car, should do nicely.”

  Cameron looked at her drawing, “Only need to suspend it in the middle, after all it’s only got to take the weight once and there won’t be any wind.”

  She nodded and it was decided, they were going for a suspension bridge.

  George finished his eulogy on his wife and fell silent. Treasa had heard enough to know what had really happened. Elizabeth, or Beth as he called her, had been the office flirt. She’d got him drunk at a party, made herself pregnant and wheedled him into marriage. After that she’d been a volatile spendthrift and the great lummox couldn’t see any of it. Rather he cherished her image and gained comfort from the fact that she had married him after, he felt, he had defiled her. She decided on one check-it-out question. “Would you have married her if she hadn’t been pregnant?”

  He creased his brow and shrugged, “Who knows? Life is full of what-ifs and maybes. She hadn’t crossed my path till the party and then fate took a hand.”