The Soulmate Agency

by Ivan B

  Cameron blinked, swallowed and croaked, “But I don’t want half, or even any. I don’t want to steal your money.”

  She put her hand over his and held it to her cleavage. “You’re not stealing it, this is a marriage not a liaison of convenience any more, am I right?”

  He gazed into her eyes, “Definitely. We might have started out on the wrong foot, but not now.”

  She leant slightly forward, “Then we’ll have to discuss where we’re going to live and what we’re going to do.”

  He caressed her fingers, “I rather thought that…”

  She gently kissed him, “Discussions are for later, but nothing is cut and dried. If you want me to live with you in your cottage then that’s what I’ll do. I can’t walk into your life and take you over like some chattel.”

  He kissed her back, “I fear, madam, that my life is already not my own.”

  They embraced passionately and made love on the thick carpet, life – for both of them – had never been so good.

  Gwen and Derek took a walk in the moonlight. They didn’t go far, just down the gravel drive to the small bench by the entrance gate where they turned and looked back at Minton Hall as it glowed in the moonlight. Gwen sighed, “I suppose I should say ‘how romantic,’ but frankly it looks an uninviting place.”

  Derek readjusted his arm so that he had his hand on her waist. “Not glad you came then?”

  “Course I’m glad I came, wouldn’t have met you if I hadn’t come.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Stated Derek firmly.

  She slipped her arm around his waist and said softly, “You haven’t forgotten about my debt have you. I wouldn’t want you marrying me under false pretences.”

  He gave her a gentle squeeze, “No, I haven’t forgotten and I don’t care.”

  “I’ll pay it off, you needn’t worry about it.”

  He bent over and kissed her on the top of the head, “Don’t worry about it, people pay me an absurd amount of money for talking into a microphone, your debt’s not a problem.”

  They gazed at the Hall before Gwen tentatively asked, “What’s your house like.”

  “Flat”, he said, “It’s a flat near the centre of London. Supposed to be two bedrooms, but I’ve had one converted into a studio. Be no good for us.”

  “But it’s close to Broadcasting House?”

  “I can walk if I want to.”

  “And the studio must have cost a fortune to install?”

  “”The BBC paid half of it. It is to their advantage as they can wake me up in the middle of the night if there’s bad news to announce.”

  “So it’s just a lounge and a single bedroom and a studio?”

  He wondered where this was going. “Double bedroom with en-suite, bathroom, lounge, dining-room, kitchen with a breakfast-bar and a balcony with views over the river; grief I sound like an estate agent.”

  She rubbed his kidneys, “Sounds fine by me, I’d love to live in the City.”

  “You wouldn’t feel cramped, need a garden or want a walk in the countryside?”

  “Compact is good, my flat’s so small even I can almost reach from wall to wall in the bathroom. I hate gardening and we could always drive to the countryside.” She paused, “And there’d be plenty of work for me in London, I’m becoming a little to well known around Ipswich.”

  He held her to his side, “Promise me, when you see the flat, you’d let me know if you hate it.”

  “Promise.”

  They started walking back in silence just enjoying each other’s company. After a few yards he gently murmured, “Sorry about children.”

  She tried to squeeze his waist, “Rather have you and the likelihood of no children than anybody else, even if it meant hoards of them.”

  They walked up to the hall. At the steps, Gwen looked at his eyes, “Tell me, how did you get the right size ring?”

  “Measured your hand against mine. The tip of my little finger is the same size as your ring finger.”

  “You were wonderfully romantic.”

  “You were wonderful in saying yes to the most boring man in the world.”

  She poked him in the stomach, “You are not boring. Boring would have been some poky little room with the ring, a bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne. Proposal in the middle of dinner is not boring.”

  He decided that he’d tell her of his original intentions some other day and took her inside to kiss her goodnight and try and get some sleep; he still could not believe that tomorrow he would become a married man.

  George sat at home watching a video of a programme he had recorded earlier. Molly Mint was singing and dancing her way across the screen followed by a trail of children all obviously enjoying themselves. The programme had obviously been pre-recorded, or was a repeat. He stared at the image before him and wondered if he’d ever get used to it. This famous TV personality was going to be his wife, more than that she wanted him. Unlike his previous wife she didn’t need him, had plenty of her own money and would undoubtedly be his alone. He still felt he was dreaming and wondered if, when daylight came, he’d find out that he’d been a fool.

  Chapter 34

  Final Morning

  Roberta née Bobbie woke up at eight o’clock. There was just enough light coming through the curtains to study Ben’s face. She studied the long face, pale cheeks and the fold of skin just above his lips, deciding that she was right, if his stubble was about four times as long he’d look very handsome, though it was a shame about the eyebrows, they were far too bushy. She thought about the night before; they’d initially made love, with her taking the lead, in a sort of fumbling manner that had been fun, but not earth shattering. Then at 3am she’d gone to the toilet and when she came back they’d made love again, this time with him taking the lead. They were still physically awkward, but that second time the lovemaking had been more rewarding and she’d began to see how some of her rehab companions had likened sex to drink. She knew they were only starting out on the road, but she also felt that there was greater shared pleasure to come. She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. When she’d come to the agency she’d been running away and hiding from her parents, was she still in hiding and using Ben as cover or was this something different? She remembered the fully laden car and decided that if she’d moved out she wasn’t just in hiding with Ben she was moving in with him. She tried to assess how that felt, after all she’d been told at finishing school to forget the current trend of the single lifestyle and that the most important thing in a girl’s life was to become a wife. Before she could untangle her thoughts he woke up and stretched. He smiled at her, she touched his nose, “You snore.”

  “I do not.”

  She tossed her head, “And how would you know?”

  Riona rose about an hour before Cameron and sat on the settee looking out of the window and, as she ate a toasted tomato, bacon and egg sandwich, she sat thinking. All her life she’d been told, and naturally assumed that, the estate and all its attendant responsibilities would not be hers. Now in the space of a few days there had been a complete U-turn and she had the responsibility of it all. Trouble was she liked her former life, she enjoyed designing and building high-class audio amplifiers; indeed it was an exclusive arena in which she was regarded as a world expert. She thought of the hours she had enjoyed tinkering with the fine-bias tuning of various valves and began to cry. She didn’t mean to feel sad, after all she was a new bride and supposed to be deliriously happy, but the knowledge that there was now no way back to her former life caused her to grieve its passing. Cameron rose from his slumbers about ten minutes later, went across the room to kiss his wife and found her sitting in the armchair with a tear stained and haggard face. He rested his hand on her shoulder and noticed her shudder as she turned to look at him. She spoke in an unusually downbeat voice. “Sorry I should have known it was you.”

  He assumed she was crying for the loss of her father. “That’s OK, I guess you’re under a great stra
in at the moment.”

  After a few moments she mumbled, “I didn’t want all this you know, I didn’t want to own the bloody estate. I’d been told I’d never have it and I’ve never prepared for it. It’s just not me, I can’t stand the…”

  He voice was lost as she made a sort of moaning noise that seemed to induce liquid output from her eyes. Handling upset females had not been part of his education and Cameron felt totally helpless; in the end he sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders; in an instant she’d buried her head in his chest. Time seemed to stand still and he held her for what seemed like ages. Then, stroking her right shoulder gently he murmured, “You can always go back to being a hardware engineer. You don’t have to run the estate.”

  He swallowed, “If you wanted you could probably get the marriage annulled and disinherit the lot.”

  She sat up and gazed at him from her tear-ridden face, “Is that what you want? To annul the marriage?”

  He kept hold of her and looked straight into her eyes, “No that’s not what I want, I want to be with you and I certainly don’t want to try and turn the clock back as far as our marriage is concerned, but if you want to go back to being a hardware engineer that’s alright by me, whatever you choose Ill stand by you.”

  “We’d be penniless.”

  “So what? Isn’t that better than you driving yourself over the edge?”

  She pulled out a piece of linen the size of half a pillowcase from one of he dressing gown pockets and blew her nose. He’d done it again, he talked about being with her and seeking the best for her. All her life she’d been pushed from pillar to post like an unwanted parcel, now he was saying that he wanted her and that he’d stand by her no matter what. Some doubting demon within drove her to question this, “Do you mean that? You’re not just saying it to shut me up?”

  He squeezed her under his arm, “I really mean it. You say you want to go back to designing amplifiers and I’ll drive you south like a shot.”

  She blew her nose again and tried to wipe her face, she just made maters worse. Cameron took the cloth from her and cleaned the tear stains off of her cheeks as best he could. She leant back into the settee. “Sounds lovely, but I can’t do it. I have a responsibility to the servants and the staff and all the estate workers and the village; can you imagine what we do for the local economy?”

  Now it was Cameron’s turn to question. “Does it have to be you? Couldn’t you turn Hardcastle Mansion into a high class hotel? There’s many an American would pay a fortune to stay there with a bunch of attentive servants.”

  Riona’s shook her head, “And turn the servants into performing monkeys, I don’t think so.”

  She placed a hand on his leg, “I’m afraid. I know I have an obligation to the estate, but I also have an obligation to you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  She made eye contact, “But you don’t have any obligation to my family, I’ll understand if…”

  Cameron held her hand, “You’re my wife, where you are I am.”

  She closed her eyes, “You have no idea what it’s like. The backbiting from visiting relatives, animosity from disinherited cousins, people willing you to die so that they can get a slice of the action, constantly putting on a false face for visitors you don’t really want to see; I’ve seen it all and I hate it.”

  Cameron switched to rubbing the back of her neck, “Then start a new era.”

  She abruptly sat up and looked at him, “That’s exactly what we’ll do, start a new era.” She became hesitant again, “That is if you’ll support me.”

  “Through thick and thin.”

  Without warning she kissed him full on the lips. The kiss could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but it electrified Cameron and considerably increased his pulse rate. “Seems to me,” he said, “that you could find space somewhere in your little house to set up your own laboratory, so you could work from home.”

  “Our house,” she automatically corrected before frowning. “What about your job?”

  “Time for a change. I’ve become too insular. It’s more important I support you.”

  She gazed lovingly into his eyes, “Do you mean that? You won’t join me at Hardastle Mansion and then get withdrawal symptoms from your heuristic virus analysis, or whatever you called it?”

  He laughed, “I doubt it, besides I have the best cure for withdrawal symptoms known to man.”

  She furrowed her brow, “What’s that?”

  He kissed her, “You.”

  Once again Gwen answered a knock on her door to find Roberta on her doorstep. “Wondered if you wanted any help getting ready?”

  Gwen stepped back, “I could do with some moral support.”

  She wandered over to her bedroom and picked up the dreadful pink designer dress she had worn a couple of nights ago, “I was thinking of wearing this, what do you think?”

  Roberta managed not to wrinkle her nose. “Bit fussy don’t you think, what else you got?”

  Gwen rummaged in the wardrobe, “Not much. Black dress?”

  “For a wedding?”

  Gwen wiggled her thin eyebrows, “Suppose not.”

  Roberta reached past her, “How about this beautiful white blouse and…”

  They spent nearly an hour finding the right clothes, applying Gwen’s make-up and chatting; their rapport was such that a casual observer would have taken them for oddly matched sisters.

  As soon as Sylvia arrived at her little office and opened the door Gwen and Derek marched in. He was in an expensive tailored suit looking like a man of substance and she was in a white blouse and dark-green skirt and carrying a bunch of tatty flowers as if her life depended upon them. Sylvia’s eyes flicked from Gwen’s face to Derek’s face to the ring on Gwen’s tiny finger. “Marriage is it?”

  Derek stood behind Gwen and rested his hands on her shoulders, “Yes, we know your due to marry Henry and Willow in the large Lounge at ten-forty-five instead of the morning session, but thought you could give us a Swiftie first.”

  Sylvia turned her computer on. “I could marry you in the lounge after them, I’ve no other bookings today.”

  Gwen shook her head, “We’re having a service of blessing in a church later and I’d rather make any vows there, you know in the house of God with him looking on.”

  Sylvia grinned, “So God doesn’t look down on my humble efforts?”

  Gwen’s face turned pink, “I didn’t mean that…”

  Sylvia chuckled, “I know what you mean and to be honest when I got married I wanted a church wedding, so I know where you’re coming from.” She paused, “Why not wait and have a full church wedding?”

  They both shook their heads, Gwen stated, “Now is the right time” and Derek nodded.

  Sylvia held out her hands while glancing at the clock, “ID cards please.”

  “Can we have witnesses?” Pleaded Gwen.

  “Of course, but they really play no part in the proceedings.”

  Derek opened the door and Ben and Roberta entered. Roberta looked stunning in a silky green designer dress and with a radiance that spoke of happiness. For a few fleeting seconds Sylvia envied Roberta and pitied Gwen, then professionalism took over. She held out her hand again and they handed over their ID cards.

  Sylvia checked the screen in front of her and furrowed her brow, “Says here that you’re an Inland Revenue Investigator, is that right?”

  Gwen froze for a second. “Yes, that’s right.” She didn’t add anything else, so far she’d spent several hours on the Soulmate Agency accounts and found absolutely no irregularities, apart from a 30p error in a payment in taxes for Tom. Sylvia moved on; time was pressing. “Derek can you please confirm that you are a bachelor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gwen can you please confirm that you are a spinster?”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia nodded and looked at Derek. “I must formally ask you: Do you wish to marry Miss Gwen Rosemary Jones.”

  “I do.�
��

  Sylvia looked at Gwen, “Do you wish to marry Mr Derek David James Owen Stonne?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you also wish to change your name to Mrs Gwen Stonne or retain your maiden name.”

  “Mrs Stonne Of course.”

  “Would you like to exchange rings?”

  Derek placed a fine wavy gold ring on Gwen’s finger and she placed a thin plain band of gold on his. They then kissed. “Congratulations,” announced Sylvia, “you are now husband and wife. That will be £267.42p please.”

  As they left Roberta turned to Ben, “That was different from ours?”

  Ben sighed, “Registrars are allowed to write their own mini-ceremony if they want to. We had what you might call a basic version, I’m so sorr…”

  She placed a finger on his lips, “We were married and that’s what we wanted. It’s the statement that matters, not the method.”

  They cuddled, but their joy was interrupted as a young girl put her head round the office door and announced that Roberta’s parents were waiting in a little side-room called Narcissus. Ben felt Roberta stiffen beside him. She took a deep breath and shuddered, “We’d better get this over with.”