by Sara Craven
Colly ignored the question in her voice. ‘I almost forgot to ring Rupert too,’ she answered lightly. And, turning to Silas, ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘You’re sure I can’t tempt you to coffee?’ Nanette enquired of him.
‘Thank you, no,’ he replied urbanely. ‘Ready, Colly?’
Nanette gave her a frosty look that said she would be asking questions later, and Silas escorted Colly out to his car. ‘I was ready on time,’ Colly commented as they crossed the drive to his car.
‘And then you remembered Rupert?’ Silas filled in.
‘I’ve—er—had other things on my mind,’ she mumbled as he held the passenger door open for her.
‘Will you mind very much having to leave here?’ he asked, looking back at the substantial house with its fine furnishings.
‘I…’ she began, then shook her head. ‘It—isn’t home any more.’ And was aghast that her voice should unexpectedly go all wobbly.
To her surprise Silas stretched out a hand and touched her arm in a moment of sympathy. ‘It will get better,’ he comforted softly.
She was suddenly ashamed of herself. ‘It has already,’ she said brightly, and got into his car, telling herself she must guard against such weak moments, but starting to like this man she was going to marry. She liked especially this more sensitive side of him.
Their business at the register office was dealt with without fuss, and in no time they were back in his car and Silas was returning her to the only home she had ever known but which on Saturday she would leave for ever.
‘I can’t think of any reason for you to contact me but you have my phone numbers should you find a need,’ he said, when at her home she went to open the car door. ‘Just a moment.’ He halted her, and took a ring-sizer from the glove compartment. ‘Better get the size right.’
A tingle shot through her as he took her hand to get the measure of her wedding finger. ‘I can use my mother’s wedding ring,’ she said hurriedly.
‘Are you calling me a cheapskate?’ he teased—and she found she liked that about him as well, his teasing, just as if he sensed she was suddenly uptight and, when she was nothing to him, easing her through it.
She got out of the car to find that he had stepped out too and was coming round to her. ‘I’ll—um—see you two weeks on Saturday,’ she said by way of parting.
He nodded. ‘Move into the apartment as soon as you’re ready,’ he suggested, and that was it. He was gone.
Nanette was avid to know how she knew Silas Livingstone and what he was doing calling for her, and where had they gone?
‘He’s in the engineering business like my father,’ Colly replied offhandedly, and decided Nanette could make of that what she would because it was all she was getting.
Colly then went to the gallery and listened to Rupert going on and on—and on—about the ingratitude of Meriel. When he had for the moment paused to seek fresh charges to lay against Meriel’s door, Colly told him that she was moving to an apartment.
‘I don’t blame you!’ he exclaimed, obviously having no idea that she had been left penniless and of the opinion that she could afford to rent or buy. ‘What your father saw in that Nanette creature, I shall never know!’ he dramatised, having met her once, fancied his chance, but received short shrift when Nanette had her eyes set on more lucrative game.
Colly went home late that afternoon and began putting her belongings together. She moved to her new home on Friday—and was not bitterly disappointed that Nanette had taken herself off clothes shopping and was not there to say goodbye to. Colly left her house keys on the hall table—and went quickly.
The weeks leading up to her wedding went in turns fast and then slowly, fast and then slowly. She was soon settled into her new abode, and liked where she was living and its surrounds, but experienced a feeling of edginess. Perhaps it was through the speed with which everything had happened and was happening. She owned to a few panicky moments too whenever she thought—that day creeping nearer and nearer, galloping nearer and nearer sometimes—of how she was going to marry the tall, distinguished-looking Silas Livingstone. Sometimes it seemed more like a dream than reality.
She did not find any reason to contact him. Though would not have minded some reassuring word. Reassuring? Get a grip, Colly, she lectured herself, you’re twenty-three—and life is going to get better. It already had. While she still missed her father, grouch that he had been a lot of the time, at least she didn’t have to spend time being picked on by his widow.
When, with two days to go before she married Silas, the telephone in the apartment rang, Colly nearly jumped out of her skin. For several fearful seconds she was too alarmed to answer it. What if it were Silas’s grandfather, the owner of the apartment?
Common sense settled that one. Why on earth would he ring what he thought was an empty apartment? She picked up the phone, said a tentative, ‘Hello,’ ready to say, Wrong number, if indeed it were Grandfather Livingstone. Then with utter relief she heard Silas’s voice and realised, by the same token as she had his home number, he had the number of the phone in the apartment should he find a need to contact her.
‘Any problems?’ he enquired evenly.
‘Not one. But I’m glad you phoned,’ she said impulsively—and wished she hadn’t because, while Silas politely waited for her to tell him why she was so glad, she started to feel a little foolish. ‘It doesn’t seen real somehow,’ she explained lamely.
‘Trust me. It’s real,’ he answered, but there was a smile in his voice.
‘I know,’ she said, and felt better. ‘Any problems your end?’ She batted his enquiry back at him.
‘None that Saturday won’t see secured,’ he replied easily, and, getting down to the purpose of his call, ‘I’m about to transfer some funds into your account,’ he informed her, going matter-of-factly on when she felt too awkward to have anything to say, ‘Can you get me your bank details? I’ll hang on if you need to find you account number.’
Wanting to tell him not to bother with that now, that he could see to all that once they were married, Colly, realising he was too busy to want to call her again on this issue, obediently went to find her cheque-book—unused of late.
But, having given him the details he required, she just could not hold back from saying hurriedly, ‘There’s no rush! If you don’t want to—’
‘I want to,’ he cut in, that smile in his voice again. And, about to ring off, ‘Does your bank know your new address?’ he enquired.
She hadn’t given that a thought. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she replied.
‘Then I’ll see you on Saturday,’ he said.
‘I won’t be late,’ she replied as evenly as she could manage.
Nor was she late. January had given way to February: not the most exciting month of the year. She had wanted to buy something new to be married in, and had then lectured herself that this was more a half-hour in front of a registrar than a marriage. In any event, funds would not run to anything new—even though she supposed that by now Silas would have seen to it that her bank balance was the healthiest it had ever been.
But that money was not for some extravagant clothesbuying session, but as a base to get her started on some sort of career training—Colly knew she would never ask him for more, for the subsequent top-ups he had mentioned. So she went out to her car dressed in a pale yellow biscuit-coloured suit she’d had for some while but which still looked good.
She was some minutes early arriving at the register office, and was relieved to see that Silas was already there. He came towards her, and seemed to like what he saw. For her part she had to admire the way his suit fitted him to perfection, the way he effortlessly wore clothes.
‘You look lovely,’ he said by way of greeting, and if he’d had any idea how sorely her confidence needed a booster just then, he could not have said anything better. She wanted to say something bright such as, You’re not looking so bad yourself, but the nerves that
had kept her sleepless last night were attacking again, and all she could say was a husky, ‘Thank you.’
She had spent a tormented night having last-minute doubts. And, having arrived at the register office, having decided to go through with it, had done nothing to dispel her nerves. But if Silas had picked up something of how she was feeling he did not refer to it, but stated calmly, ‘I’ve roped in a couple of witnesses,’ and, looking steadily into her worried green eyes, ‘Ready to make a fresh start?’ he asked.
And suddenly his words, his steady look, made everything fall into place. She knew why he was marrying her—to secure the future of the company he headed. And, by marrying him, she in turn was securing her own future, securing for herself that fresh start she so sorely needed.
And, looking at him, she liked what she saw, and just had to beam a smile at him. ‘Let’s do it,’ she agreed.
Not so long after that she stood beside him in front of the registrar and, in front of the witnesses he had found, took him as her lawful wedded husband. The strange feel of his wedding ring on her marriage finger brought home to her that, as Silas was her lawful wedded husband, she was his lawful wedded wife.
Emotion gripped her at the end of the ceremony when, by tradition, the marriage certificate was handed to her as her property. Colly turned to Silas and, the certificate of marriage being all that he was interested in, she handed it over to him. He took it from her, looked down at her, and smiled his wonderful smile.
Her insides were already having a merry time within her. But when he bent and gently placed his lips on hers her heart joined in the general mêlée. ‘Thank you, Colly,’ he murmured.
He had kissed her! This was not a love-match but—Silas had kissed her. A second later, however, and she was realising that they were not alone. Aside from the registrar, they had witnesses. Should questions be asked at some later date as to the romance or otherwise of their wedding, then any witness could state that there had been ‘romance in the air’.
Colly swiftly got her head back together. For goodness’ sake, anyone would think she wanted his kisses! She gave him a smile of her own—two could play at that game—and waited nicely while he thanked their witnesses—she gathered he had settled any financial arrangements in advance—and, Saturday a busy day for weddings, apparently, they left so that the registrar could go and check through details with the next couple.
From the register office Silas escorted Colly to where she had parked her car. And suddenly it all seemed just a little too much. She looked at him as they stood by her car. She had married him, this man. This man was her husband, yet it was unlikely that after today their paths would ever cross again. She did not know what to do, whether to shake hands or just get into her car and drive off. She certainly wasn’t going to kiss him. She opted to unlock her car.
‘Would you like lunch?’ he asked abruptly, almost as if the question had been dragged from him.
She opened the driver’s door. Oh, my word, her insides were on the march again. ‘You haven’t time,’ she replied—this man never had a minute to breathe.
‘Today I could find time,’ he replied.
She didn’t thank him. He obviously felt he should give her lunch rather than allow her to just drive off. She shook her head. ‘I only signed up for a half-hour,’ she told him, and saw his lips twitch the moment before he stood back to allow her to get into the driver’s seat. Her lips twitched too. ‘Bye,’ she said and, looking at him, saw that they were both grinning.
‘Bye—wife,’ he said, and as she got into her car and he closed the door he began walking away.
She passed him, drove by him; they both waved. Somehow she had never imagined that her wedding day would be like this. That the last she would see of her husband on her wedding day would be through the rear-view mirror of her car, the distance between them getting further and further apart.
She remembered the happy way they had grinned at each other. Yet suddenly she could have burst into tears, and had to acknowledge that one Silas Livingstone was having a most peculiar effect on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY MONDAY, having removed her wedding ring, though unable to remove the lingering memory of the touch of her husband’s lips on hers, Colly had got herself back together again. By then she was scorning any such notion that her emotions were in any way affected by Silas Livingstone. Still the same, an involuntary smile came to her mouth that she was married to the man, his name was now her name and, if she cared to, she could use it. Which, of course, she did not care to. Though she could not resist saying ‘Colly Livingstone’ out loud to hear what it sounded like.
She abruptly turned her back on such nonsense and reached for the telephone book. A short while later she had taken the first steps towards enrolling for a foundation course.
Disappointingly, although an application form would be put in the post, to be then followed up by an interview, she had been told that it was unlikely she would be able to start before the September term.
Which meant, since pride reared and made it impossible to use Silas’s money while she spent the next six or seven months in idleness, that she must get a job. Now what? She decided against secretarial—she still blushed when she thought of her nerve in going for that secretarial interview.
Only then did it come to her that it was perhaps from some inner instinct that had warned she would not get that secretarial job that she had not previously told Rupert that she had been looking for work. But when she went to the gallery on Tuesday she felt that to be fair to him she ought to warn him that her circumstances were a little different from what they had been and that she was going to have to look for temporary full-time paid employment.
Rupert, as ever with his head in the clouds, took that ‘temporary’ to mean that the lawyers were dragging their feet over settling her father’s estate and that they had temporarily frozen all assets.
‘I expect your dear stepmama will make sure she gets her grasping fingers on some of it.’ Unasked, he gave his opinion. But straight away was thinking of his loss rather than that of his unpaid helper as it dawned on him that he stood to be without his Tuesday helper. ‘You can’t leave!’ he exclaimed.
‘You’re so good with the customers! And who else can I trust to look after this place when I’m out buying?’
‘You’ll find someone,’ Colly tried to reassure him.
‘I’ll have to pay them!’ he replied. But, his eyes lighting up, ‘I’ll pay you!’ he decided. Though, as ever covering his back, ‘It won’t be very much, of course. But at least it will be enough for you to be able to keep your head above water.’
This was Rupert in full skinflint mode. But, in considering his offer, Colly realised since she had no work experience other than housekeeping, plus the little bit of work she did for him, that in those circumstances to work for him full time in a poorly paid job was quite a good deal.
‘You do know that there’s a minimum wage allowed by law?’ she thought to remind him. She just could not afford to work for nothing. And, while Rupert was always moaning about his lack of funds, it was she who mainly kept his books, so she knew that financially he was doing quite nicely, thank you.
‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Gillingham,’ he grumbled, for the look of it, but stuck out his hand to shake on the deal.
Mrs Livingstone, she mentally corrected him, and had to smile at how ridiculous she was being. Thankfully Rupert thought she was smiling at the done deal. They formally shook hands.
The very next day she received a statement from her bank showing that her account was in excess of ten thousand pounds in credit. Even though she knew about it, she still felt shocked to see it there in black and white. But, as she started to adjust to the fact that Silas had paid ten thousand pounds into her bank, she still knew that she would continue to work full time for Rupert and use Silas’s money only when she had to. It still did not feel right to take his money—even if it had been all part of their bargain.
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nbsp; Colly, her application for the foundation course posted off, was two weeks into her paid employment, and was busy in the small office, when someone called at the gallery to collect a picture his mother had bought. ‘I’m double parked,’ she heard him tell Rupert. There was only one picture awaiting collection. She picked up the carefully wrapped painting and, thinking to save him a second or two, took it out to him.
‘Mr Andrews?’ she enquired—and discovered that Mr Andrews was not in that much of a hurry.
‘Tony Andrews,’ he introduced himself. And, obviously liking what he saw, ‘Miss…? Mrs…?’ he enquired. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
What could she do? She was a paid member of staff. Besides which, there was no mystery about her name. ‘Colly Gillingham,’ she supplied. ‘Um, they’re a bit hot on double parking around here.’
‘I shall return,’ he promised, and went.
He did return too—to ask her out. Colly was unsure, and reflected for a moment that neither she nor the man she had married had placed any restriction on dating, but she said no. Tony Andrews was undeterred and returned a few days later to ask again, with the same result.
Then on Tuesday of the following week something astonishing occurred. She was working at the gallery when the door opened and her father’s old friend, Henry Warren, came in.
‘Uncle Henry!’ Colly cried, and, feeling quite choked suddenly, she went speedily over to him and was given a fatherly hug. ‘How was the holiday…?’ she began.
‘We came home on Saturday. But it wasn’t until last night that I went to my club.’ He looked at her sadly. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Joseph.’
‘It must have been a great shock for you,’ she sympathised, realising that someone at his club would have told him of his friend’s death.
‘Last night was my night for shocks. I went straight round to see you, only to hear from a gloating Nanette that you’d moved out without leaving a forwarding address. Luckily I was able to remember your father mentioning something one time about you having a little job in this gallery.’ A smile came to his lined face then, to be joined by a look of utmost satisfaction as he added, ‘The dear Nanette wasn’t gloating after I’d told her what I had to tell her.’