Don't Marry Thomas Clark Read online

  I don’t know how she does it, but she somehow manages not to lose her cool and remains glacially indifferent. If I was in her shoes I’d have already smashed Sir Roger’s walking sticks across Thomas’s teeth, but I suppose, like all of Thomas’s partners, she considers it beneath her to succumb to such low instincts. She lifts her nose, turns around and walks off stiffly, high heels clicking, probably secretly wishing she’d drowned him in the punchbowl.

  ‘Very well, as you wish,’ she says, giving him one last glare from the doorstep. ‘You have my number – when you come back to your senses, give me a ring,’ and then she’s gone, slamming the door behind her.

  Wow. What a woman! And did you notice how her hairdo stayed perfect even while she was noisily sashaying across the brick floor? Poor Thomas. This is probably not the ideal moment to remind him of my presence – not when he’s just been forced to send away the anorexic version of Jennifer Lopez without even a peck on the cheek. But anyway, I really need some coffee, so without any further ado I decide to head off silently towards the kitchen. But as I turn around, I accidentally bump into a small table and a vase – a priceless one, by the look of it – tumbles to the floor and smashes into thousands of pieces right in front of my eyes.

  ‘Please, come in,’ says Thomas from the other room.

  I can no longer pretend I’m not hiding behind the door, so I peer out, a guilty look on my face, but have the decency to spare him a happy ‘Welcome back!’

  ‘Thomas,’ I whisper while looking around the room for him. He’s still by the bookshelf, arranging some very important-looking folders in a suede bag without looking up.

  ‘Sandy,’ he replies unenthusiastically.

  ‘I’m so sorry about the vase, I didn’t mean to, really. It was an accident,’ I start explaining. ‘But I’ll pay for it, just let me know how much it was worth.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I’m serious…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says again, sounding annoyed.

  ‘But it must be worth a fortune. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  He studies me silently for some time, then rubs his chin and says nonchalantly, ‘It’s a reproduction of very little value. When I knew you were coming I had the ornaments and silverware substituted.’

  ‘You think I’m a thief?’

  ‘To avoid entering into a discussion about your unexpectedly sharp nose for business, as we both know how that would end, I will try and avoid any comment. I will inform you, though, that the only reason for my precaution is the desire to protect my property from your innate clumsiness. A trait you have just proved you still possess with your amusing destruction of a vase which had survived over fifty years of fires, house moves and ordinary maintenance.’

  ‘I’m always very impressed by the number of adjectives you manage to include in a single sentence when you’re trying to insult me,’ I comment, crossing my arms. ‘It seems to be in proportion to the lack of any real content.’

  ‘A lack caused by the total absence of charm in the subject under discussion,’ he answers, smiling sarcastically.

  ‘Yes, you must be right,’ I confirm. ‘I just met one of your confidantes – the lady who just left. If she fulfils your standards, that would explain why being around someone with an IQ higher than an armadillo doesn’t do much for you.’

  ‘Wh..? What…’

  ‘Never mind,’ I interrupt. ‘I imagine you’re not in the mood for small talk. I only came downstairs to say hello, but given your attitude I think I’ll get changed and go for a walk.’

  ‘Wait a second,’ he intercepts me at the door. ‘Before you go, I’d like you to take this,’ and he gives me one of the documents from his bag.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, snatching it from his hands.

  ‘Nothing special, just a list of conditions that I think are necessary for us to live together without it turning into a battlefield. I simply took the obligations you agreed to respect when you signed the contract and added a few notes about things to avoid doing during your stay in Canterbury. I suggest you take a look.’

  I quickly scan through the list and find the things I already knew plus a few more: ‘Do not listen to loud music,’ ‘Do not alter the interior design in any way,’ ‘Do not disturb Thomas while he’s working,’ ‘Do not eat on the sofa,’ and, at the end of the list, underlined in red three times, there it is again – ‘Do not touch the cat!’

  That takes the biscuit… I’ve looked everywhere in the house: there are no cats!

  ‘Thomas,’ I murmur doubtfully, frowning, ‘this list is incomplete.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he says and takes it back to check it. ‘I don’t think so. It’s all in there,’ he confirms after reading through it again.

  ‘No, look…’ I repeat, pointing to the document. ‘You forgot to include “Thou shalt not kill,” “Thou shalt not steal” and “Thou shalt have no other gods before me”.’

  Chapter 11

  The following weeks pass quite calmly. Thomas spends most of his time out of the house, and when he does come back home, usually late at night, he’s sequestered away in his study with his laptop. I spend my days arranging the opening of the bistro. Since I can’t be there to keep an eye on the progress of the refurbishment first hand, I take care of whatever I can via phone or e-mail. Everything seems to be coming along quite nicely, for the moment – the floor’s finished and the counter has been ordered. Our biggest problems are with the suppliers. It’s hard to choose from all the different offers, but luckily, thanks to his job, my father knows a few businesspeople and we seem, somehow, to manage to take any problem that comes up in our stride. The work goes on, driven forward by our enthusiasm.

  For example, this morning I went out much earlier than I’m used to in order to have a look at the local eating places. After wandering around the bakeries, pubs and street vendors and taking notes, I came back to Garden House, and am now drinking a cup of tea on the terrace, trying to think of a couple of example menus. Debby just called. She can’t decide which floral wallpaper to get. I would have preferred to paint everything lime green, but I was in the minority: we took a vote, and vintage design won out.

  I sigh. My phone’s in my hand and I’ve been staring at Mike’s number for half an hour now, wondering if I should message him or not. What if he doesn’t answer? It wouldn’t be the first time… No, I don’t think I’m psychologically prepared for that yet!

  Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts.

  ‘Hello Miss Price, how are you?’

  It’s Joe. His hands are greasy and his face is covered in dust. He’s wearing an overall and he’s walking towards me with heavy steps, smiling.

  ‘Fine,’ I thank him, putting the telephone back into my bag. ‘What happened to you?’ I ask, as I close my notepad.

  ‘Georgina’s playing up.’

  ‘Who’s Georgina?’

  ‘The count’s old Triumph. I take her out for a drive once a month, but today she just didn’t want to start. I’ve wasted my whole morning on that bloody engine!’

  ‘And who won?’

  ‘I did, of course!’ he exclaims proudly.

  ‘Bravo, Joe!’ I laugh. ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’

  ‘OK,’ he says, ‘but only for a second – I still need to get the fertilizer into the shed.’

  ‘So, what’s new?’ I ask, happy to have someone to talk to for a change.

  ‘Oh, nothing, same old stuff. What about you? Are you enjoying being at Garden House?’

  ‘Well, yes, it’s very… peaceful.’ I can’t find any other word to describe my exile. He laughs. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Please, tell me,’ I push him.

  ‘Well…’ he hesitates. ‘I don’t imagine it’s easy for you. Spending most of your time here, alone, without ever seeing anyone. I’m sure your life in London was totally different. I can tell that you´re a very social person.’

  ‘Oh�
� No, it’s not a problem, believe me. Of course, I’d rather be at home, but I’m keeping busy, so I don’t feel too lonely.’

  ‘Thomas is just so busy, unfortunately. The count was always telling him off for it. He hardly ever managed to see him. Only at Christmas, and once or twice for a weekend. And even then, he’d spend most of his time in the study.’

  ‘That must have been hard for Sir Roger,’ I say. ‘I remember they were very close.’

  ‘It was all he talked about. He was scared that Thomas would isolate himself and end up alone, without a family around him.’

  So that’s why he wrote that bizarre will. He didn’t have senile dementia after all – he was just worried.

  ‘But now there’s you!’ he comments unexpectedly, leaving me momentarily speechless.

  ‘Who? Oh, yes – now I’m here,’ I smile.

  ‘I’m really happy for you.’

  I smile again. And again, and again.

  ‘Sir Roger would have been happy to know that you two were together.’

  ‘Have you seen those clouds? Do you think it might rain?’ I say, in a pathetic attempt to change the subject.

  ‘Hmm. You know, I think you might be right. I s’pose I’d better go and put away that fertilizer,’ he says, standing up. ‘Last time, the drains got blocked and flooded the path. We had at least six inches of mud in the sheds and stables!’ he tells me, before heading off towards the stairs.

  Wow – the excitement never ends at Garden House!

  ‘Well, have a good afternoon, then,’ I say, closing my laptop in preparation for going back inside.

  ‘Miss Price, before I go…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know it’s none of my business, but… try and be patient,’ he suggests, looking uncomfortable. ‘He’s a good lad. He just needs to get used to all these changes. He hasn’t had an easy life. After that awful accident, you know… He wouldn’t talk to anyone. He’d never go out. He must have suffered a lot. He was only seventeen when… You see, Sir Roger was all the family he had left.’

  I’d never thought of it like that. In fact, I don’t even recognize Thomas in those words. He’s always seemed to me like one of those people who’s always winning and always on top, but maybe deep down he was just a scared child and I was too angry to realize he was suffering.

  Is that possible?

  ‘Try and talk to him,’ suggests Joe confidently. ‘I’m sure he’ll make an effort to be around a bit more.’

  ‘I’ll take your advice,’ I say, coming over all stupidly soppy for a moment.

  ‘Great,’ he murmurs with satisfaction. ‘You’ll see, things’ll get better. You just need to find a bit of a compromise. Anyway, you’d better get yourself inside. You don’t want to be sat out here when the weather’s like this!’

  ‘You’re right, and it’s getting darker,’ I comment looking at the sky. ‘What a shame… it was such a beautiful morning,’ I mumble sadly, while gathering my stuff. ‘I was almost thinking of going for a dip in the pool.’

  ‘Don’t lose hope, it might just be a quick shower.’

  ‘I hope so…’ I sigh as I walk towards the door. ‘Have a good day, Joe. I’ll see you later’

  ‘You have a good day too, Miss Price. Say hello to Thomas, when you see him.’

  ‘I will,’ I say as I go back inside. In the distance there is a rumble of thunder.

  It’s midnight and still raining hard. I tried to watch TV but the signal kept going, so I took a bath, read a book and had dinner while watching an old movie on my laptop. At first I’d thought maybe Sleepless in Seattle, but then, thinking it might bring me bad luck, I chose How to Marry a Millionaire instead. It seemed appropriate.

  I check my watch with a yawn and realize how late it is. I’m not at all sleepy, but decide to go to bed anyway. I switch off my laptop and put it on the desk, then take the pyjamas from the wardrobe and start to undress. Just as I’m taking off my jeans, there’s a flash of lightning and the room suddenly goes dark.

  ‘Oh, great!’ I say in exasperation, my hands in my hair. ‘Now what?’

  I feel about for my bag, manage to find my phone, and switch it on to have some light.

  ‘God, it’s really pouring down,’ I whisper to myself, looking out of the window.

  I only know two things about electricity: if you flip the switch the lights come on, and if you flip it again they go off. I don’t know anything else, but I should still probably check that nothing really serious has happened.

  Hoping to find Clementine still awake, I put on a dressing gown and head off down the corridor with my phone in hand, but as I walk past the kitchen I hear an unusual noise coming from the hall. Something that sounds like a lump of iron falling to the floor. I’m starting to feel a bit nervous, so I stop in my tracks and try and work out what it is, but no other sound is forthcoming except something that sounds like a swear word uttered through clenched teeth.

  ‘Clementine?’ I call in a hesitant voice, but there’s no answer except for another loud noise. The same as before, but longer, more worrying. ‘Clementine, is that you?’ I say again, a little louder. And again, no answer. What if she’s hurt?

  Starting to panic now, I rush down the corridor, trying not to stumble, and when I finally reach the front door I see a crouching man fiddling about with a toolbox by the mirror. He’s wearing black clothes and is using the flashlight gripped between his teeth to illuminate the many tools scattered about on the floor.

  There are two possibilities: I’ve either found the world’s most useless burglar, or this is…

  ‘Thomas?’ No answer. ‘Thomas?! What are you doing down there?’

  ‘If you need to ask, that means I’m not doing it properly…’ he answers annoyed. ‘What are you doing up at this time of night anyway?’ and with the assistance of the little armchair by the wall he pulls himself up.

  ‘I was looking for Clementine,’ I answer defensively, pulling my dressing gown around me. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘I think a fuse blew. I thought I had a spare, but I can’t find any in here.’

  ‘It’s already midnight. Just sort it out in the morning.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he answers snorting. ‘I still have some reports to go through.’

  ‘Don’t you have emergency lights?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he admits dispiritedly.

  ‘OK, I don’t want to bother you any further,’ I tell him, realizing there’s not much I can say that would be of any use. ‘I’ll leave you to your toolbox and I’ll be off to bed.’

  ‘No, wait. Joe’s tools are in the basement. I could check if the fuses are there, but I’ll need someone to hold the torch while I climb the ladder to check the shelves.’

  ‘I am very sorry,’ I reply sorrowfully, ‘but I signed a contract that explicitly prohibits me from entering most of the rooms in the house, including the basement. I would never dare do anything that may contravene those obligations, or I might compromise my position. So I’m afraid you’ll have to manage on your own. Good night.’

  ‘Give the present circumstances, I think we can make an exception,’ he says, through gritted teeth.

  ‘You’re so generous,’ I comment sarcastically. ‘I’m not sure I deserve such a profound gesture of trust,’ and I put my hands on my hips.

  Part of me would like to turn around and disappear down the corridor with an evil laugh, but the do-gooder in me wins out and I give up with a snort. ‘Come on then, lead the way. Let’s go and find these bloody fuses so I can get back to bed!’

  He walks past me without even saying thanks and sets off towards the basement, his torch pointed at the floor.

  ‘Will you hurry up?’ he shouts when he realizes I haven’t moved.

  I honestly don’t know why I’m putting up with his behaviour. Well, that’s not true – I know perfectly well why I’m putting up with him, damn it! Argh!

  ‘What were you doing on the terrace with Joe this morning?’ he asks with
feigned indifference, while we cross the living room in single file.

  That’s strange, I didn’t realize he was home earlier.

  ‘I’m not obliged to give you an explanation,’ I reply abruptly.

  ‘You are my fiancée, so it is your duty to tell me who you see.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re getting a bit too wrapped up in your role?’

  ‘No, it’s you who’s completely ignoring yours. Need I remind you everyone is supposed to think we’re an ordinary couple who are about to get married?’

  ‘And does that mean that I’m not allowed to talk to anyone for six months?’

  ‘No, but as you can imagine, seeing you spend more time with the gardener than me might make people suspicious,’ he says with the irritating tone he used to talk with when he was sure of being right. God, how I’d love to throttle him!

  ‘Would you rather it was the tennis teacher?’ I answer, with an angelic expression.

  ‘I must remember all this when I sue you.’

  ‘On what grounds?’ I say, following him. ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame if nobody sees us together.’

  ‘Myself?’ he reacts, turning towards me and pointing to himself with a stunned expression.

  ‘Yes, yourself! Even Joe says you’re ignoring me.’

  ‘Oh, well, if Joe says so…’ he says sarcastically, lifting up his arms. ‘Unbelievable! So is that what you two were talking about?’ he asks as he opens the kitchen door.

  ‘Yes – he was worried about me, because I’ve been living like a prisoner for two weeks.’

  ‘Oh, this is treachery! And I suppose Amnesty International is already on the case.’

  ‘Your sarcasm is completely inappropriate. If you have a problem socializing, that doesn’t mean you can stick me away in the attic. Joe even suggested I should talk to you about it. He couldn’t believe you would ignore me like this.’

  ‘And I imagine he immediately set to work trying to remedy your situation,’ he says, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Are you jealous?’ I tease him.

  ‘Of course not! But I don’t want to become the town laughing stock because my alleged future wife has a fling with one of the staff,’ he mumbles, opening a small door near the cupboard. ‘This is the way down to the cellar. Careful on the stairs!’ he orders sharply.