by Annie Dyer
“Did they sign non-disclosure agreements?”
I nodded. “I suppose I can use that, and add them a bonus.”
“And rebook them.” She put her wine glass back down on the table after nursing it. “I meant what I said. This could serve a purpose for both of us.”
My heart had sped up enough to make me wonder if I needed to get it checked out. Even when I was deadlifting a PB at the gym it wouldn’t race this much. “How would you sell that to the press and my family?”
“Give your family the same story as the press. Leave it a couple of weeks, then drop the news that you’re dating an old childhood girlfriend. Whirlwind romance and a quick wedding.” She sounded as if she was selling me a winning Lotto ticket: confident, as if this was an absolute no-brainer. “What exactly are you trying to gain from getting married?”
“It’s the wedding. My grandfather. A show of stability for my family.” I shrugged. “Mainly Grandfa.”
“What part do your parents play? How would your mother feel about a quick engagement? What would the gossip be like for her?” She picked up the wine again and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek with her other hand.
I wanted to do that for her.
“I feel like I’m being interrogated. Is this what you do with all your clients?” I gave her what I thought was my most charming grin. “Do you offer to marry them all as well?”
“Only the ones with manners and good taste in restaurants.” She didn’t smile. I saw the lawyer then, the woman who understood her business, knew how to do a deal.
One who knew the power she wielded.
“Let’s talk tomorrow about your proposal.” I felt like Imogen had started to untangle a big mess. “We’re nearly at the end of this bottle. Now isn’t the time to start announcing our engagement on social media.”
Imogen nodded, her plump lips curving into a smile.
Something stirred in my stomach, something awakened. “I’m not saying no.” I surprised myself. “But we have to discuss it further. Set out terms and conditions.”
“An agreement. With clauses so we know exactly what to expect and what the outcomes will be.” She sipped her wine again. We were going to need another bottle and painkillers for the morning.
“Agreed. I want to know more about how this would work for you too. But we can talk tomorrow. Tell me more about what happened from leaving school until now.” I was intrigued. She was stunning and successful; I had no idea why she was single apart from no man could possibly meet her standards. I wasn’t sure I could, but maybe that didn’t matter.
She obliged me, telling me about college over in America, working for her family’s firm and her siblings. I remembered Maven and Catrin, and I had vague memories of Shay turning up at a party once when he’d been staying near school.
We ate, drank more wine, enough so that I knew I’d regret it in the morning. I told her about my mother, Robbie, and the way our family had changed in so many ways in the last ten years but was still so traditional in too many ways.
She listened and asked questions, about Robbie in particular and how he was with Lady S now. She teased me about using my mother’s title to refer to her and wanted more details on the house.
We stayed away from weddings and agreements, and I developed a fascination with her hands and how she moved them about when she talked.
“We haven’t discussed the boundary dispute.” We were on our second coffee, dinner eaten, a dessert shared. “That was the purpose of us meeting.”
“We can discuss it tomorrow. I’ll come into your office. When’s a good time?” I stirred my coffee, the slight kiss of cream swirling round.
“End of the day. Can you do six?” She picked up her bag and stood up. “Excuse me while I nip to the ladies.”
I watched her go. If I said my eyes weren’t focused on her ass, I’d be a complete liar.
Carla had been in touch less than I’d expected. I’d thought she would’ve been in touch more, asking for forgiveness or even an apology, especially when she realised that the allowance she’d requested in the pre-nup wasn’t forthcoming.
So when she turned up on my doorstep at eight-thirty the morning after Imogen’s proposal, I was fairly unprepared.
“Can I come in?” She wore less make up than normal, her hair tied up in messy knot on top of her head.
I leaned against the door, frowning. “Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because we need to talk.”
“Can’t we do that through our solicitors?” I was not in the mood to be accommodating. I’d tried that, and it’d ended up with her having another man’s cock in her mouth.
She huffed, reminding me of a disgruntled pony. “It’ll be quicker if we can at least sort some things out now. You know how long solicitors take.”
She had a point. Claire O’Hara was quick, and that included quick-tempered at Carla’s solicitor who’d been slow on a lot of the pre-nup stuff. I pulled the door open and let her in, preparing myself for whatever shit she decided to throw my way.
Because there would be shit. I had no doubt about it.
Carla sat down at the breakfast bar in the open plan kitchen I’d had fitted last year. I liked cooking, liked having people round for food. I knew a couple of decent chefs and had been lucky enough to spend time with them, even cooked for one of them which had been an experience, but I’d picked up tips. Carla hadn’t liked staying in to entertain; she’d preferred to be out at fine dining restaurants and then onto a bar.
“What can I smell?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Bread. Sourdough to be more exact.” I checked the oven, staring through the glass. Another twenty minutes and it’d be done.
“I suppose you can manage all those carbs.” Her hand fiddled with her hair. “Not that I need to worry about fitting into my wedding dress now.”
I leaned back against the cupboards, folding my arms. “That’s right. You don’t.”
“We need to make a statement about the ending of our engagement. There’s speculation already.” She sounded pissed off. “And Julian wants me to go with him to the launch of a new protein shake.
“Was it Julian you were blowing off?”
She blushed. “No, but that doesn’t matter. Being seen at this event will be really good for my career. I’ve been gifted some amazing things to wear for it.”
I was already wondering what the fuck I’d been doing marrying Carla, and now I was questioning my sanity.
“Let’s say we split up six weeks ago. Then if anything gets out about what happened, you don’t look like you were cheating.” I kept my words cool.
“But what about why we split?” She pouted, ignoring the dig about her cheating.
I shrugged. “We realised that we were incompatible in what we thought important. Let’s leave it at that.”
Her smile was the one I’d seen through a camera lens more than in real life. “We could try again and go ahead with the wedding. There are so many people we’ll disappoint if we call it off. What will we say to our guests?”
“We’re not trying again, Carla. We’re done. And we’ll explain to our guests that we took some time apart to check we were sure about splitting up, and we discovered we were.” I saw my phone flicker with an incoming message. Imogen’s name came up.
Carla saw it too. “Who’s Imogen? I don’t know an Imogen.”
“I went to school with her. She’s a partner at Callaghan Green and she’s acting as my solicitor.” The fact she’d also suggested that she and I get married was incidental.
“I thought your solicitor was called Claire?” Carla’s eyes narrowed.
“Claire was dealing with the pre-nup. She’s now looking at the financial obligations we have to the companies we booked for the wedding and how those costs are split.” I paused, watched Carla. She was still pretty, picture perfect and even in what she would deem her scruffs, she was well put together. Lady Soames had liked that about her; Carla was always well-presented.
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“You called the wedding off. You should pay for it. And it isn’t like you can’t afford it.” She looked around the kitchen which had been done to the highest standard.
I simply shook my head.
“What? There’s no reason we can’t go ahead with it. We have a pre-nup that protects both our interests when we separate.” Her voice took a slightly higher pitch than usual. “This was never a marriage based on a love match.”
“But it was one based on respect. We were sleeping together, Carla. You might not have been head over heels for me, but we were fucking and planning on living together. Sleeping around behind my back isn’t something I’m going to go along with. As soon as someone you’re fucking decides it’ll be a good way of getting some extra income, we’re both fucked.” I rubbed my face and then pushed my hand through my hair. “You stopped the wedding from going ahead, and there was a clause in your pre-nup about what would happen if one of us cheated.”
Her mouth paused in a perfect pout. “It was a pre-nup which you hadn’t signed and we weren’t married.”
“But don’t think my solicitor isn’t going to go to town on that pre-nup and what you wanted if it had been someone other than you with my dick in their mouth.” I was deliberately crass.
Carla stood up, stepping away from the breakfast bar and picking up her handbag. “We split the cost. Announce we actually broke up several weeks ago, and we’re done?”
I nodded. “Pretty much. How good will your friends be about not spilling the truth? You only had your hen weekend last week.” This could be the weak link in the plan, and if the truth got out, it would be news and it wouldn’t be great for either of us. It’d cause a scandal for my family, and Carla would lose out on some deals with brands who wanted a wholesome image.
Hence another reason I was a useful fiancé. My name added a touch of something to her brand.
“They won’t say anything, and I’ll probably just lie to them so they believe this was the case all along.” She shook her head. “It would be easier if we could just go along with it. Get married. Work something out.”
“No.” Whatever happened with Imogen’s offer, whether we decided it was worth pursuing or not, I didn’t want anything more to do with Carla. This was the last time.
“No? Oh, come on, Noah. We did have something. We laughed, we enjoyed ourselves when we were together. The sex was good.” She put a hand on her hip and struck a pose I was sure I’d seen on her social media.
“Clearly the sex wasn’t, else you wouldn’t have been cheating.” I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t actually that bothered. The sex had been mediocre; we’d had no chemistry and none of my masculine pride had been dented, which told me how little I’d been invested.
She pouted again. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She edged towards me, a slight smile creeping onto her face.
“You didn’t hurt me. In fact, you did me a favour – I was so not bothered that you were giving another bloke a blow job it proved that this was never going to work.”
Carla stopped in the middle of the kitchen, shaking her head. “My dad’s going to be fuming.”
“You could always tell him the truth.” I really didn’t care what she told him.
“What are you going to tell your parents? What will they say?” This was the crux of what was bothering her.
I folded my arms again. “That we decided it wasn’t going to work, and called it off before we made a mistake. They’ll say something similar and add a note about young people not taking life seriously. They won’t want any drama though, which works out well for you.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I guess that’s it then. I’ll drop your stuff off later. I’d appreciate it if I can pick mine up too.”
“I’ll sort that for you.” I followed her out, saying a brief goodbye before closing the door on a chapter of my life I hope I never remembered too well.
Gus had messaged me earlier to let me know that Grandfa was being brought down to London today to see a specialist, and he’d be spending a few days at the house in Bayswater. He had recovered better than expected from the fall, but it wasn’t the aftereffects of the fall that were the worry: it was why he’d fallen in the first place.
I headed over to Bayswater as soon as Carla had left and I had my second shower of the day, my head slightly muzzy from the wine I’d drank with Imogen the night before.
I was born lucky. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by when I didn’t appreciate the problems I didn’t have. No money worries; no housing worries; no concerns about paying bills or affording the shopping. My family was wealthy, obscenely so, and my job was to oversee the land we had, the tenant farmers, and the properties that made up our estate. The best part of my job was supporting charities, sitting on their boards and advising them on how to keep supporting their stakeholders. I could donate funds and then help them put those funds to good use, stopping well-meaning decisions from being made that would ultimately cause them to fold.
My grandfa had started the initiative fifty years ago, when his brother had befriended a young girl with cerebral palsy who needed a walking aid, but her family couldn’t afford one. His brother had been a decade younger, and struggled with a heart defect that made him frail. He’d died much too young, but that had only resolved Grandfa to help more people, because it was how he best remembered Peter.
Neither of my two big brothers had been interested in working for the family. They had their own ambitions: Robbie wanted away from the family ideas on how you should be and who you should be with; and Gus just wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help, but not through operating on people, so I’d done a degree in estate management, and then an MBA. Lady S had been happy that at least one of her sons was carrying on the family business, even if that son was hardly a paragon of virtue.
The house in Bayswater was rarely used, by family at least. Lady S didn’t like to visit London that often, and the three of us had our own places, although a fair amount of my time was spent based at the estate in Norfolk, in a cottage there. Bayswater was run by a skeleton staff and kept for when family friends or Grandfa wanted to stay in London. Occasionally, an acquaintance would lease the building for a few months.
Carla had been to Bayswater a couple of times, asking afterwards if we could live there once we were married. I’d laughed, rather than answered her, not having the energy to go through how much it would cost to live there. Carla had assumed that I had a never-ending pit of money from which to buy whatever I chose, and although I did have an allowance from the estate and funds from inheritances, Bayswater was beyond my budget. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was one of Grandfa’s favourite places to be, I’d have put forward to the board that we should sell the property and invest elsewhere.
But Grandfa loved the building. It had been a place where he’d spent childhood Christmases, and his Easter holidays, and I knew that when he returned there, he remembered so clearly those days, even if he didn’t always recall my name.
He was sitting at the kitchen table when I got there, a chess board in front of him, a game with Caroline, his second wife, underway.
He didn’t look up as I sat down next to him, studying the chess board. His focus was on the pieces and occasionally Caroline’s victorious smirk. The bandage on his head was still there, although not as big as when I’d seen it in Scotland, and he had colour back in his face.
“Alister, Noah’s here.” Caroline smiled at me.
Grandfa didn’t register at first, still looking at the chess board.
“Al, Noah’s here to see you.” She poked his hand. “We can finish this later.”
He looked at me, surprise in his eyes. “Noah.” My name sounded unfamiliar to him. “Noah…”
“Your grandson.” Caroline looked at me apologetically. “Noah.”
Then that familiar smile broke out. “Noah! Of course!” His accent was still slightly Scottish. “Noah. How are you? Good of you to come
all the way to London, boy.” He grasped my hand and shook it fiercely.
I wanted to turn back time right then, go back to when he was younger and fitter and knew everything and remembered it all. Dementia was a cruel thief, stealing memories and taking away what they’d made of a person.
“I wanted to see how you were. Gus said you were here for a few days.”
Caroline had stood up and headed into the kitchen area, pulling out the coffee pot and a couple of glass mugs, along with a china one that would be for Grandfa.
“I have to go to a specialist. They say I’ve got dementia, you know.” He gripped my hand again and I gripped it back, not wanting to let go.
“I know.”
He smiled, looking just as I pictured him whenever I thought about what he was up to. “But I’ll be here for your wedding. I always wanted to see you get married. Wanted to see you settled. Use to say that to your mother – that Noah just needed the right girl. What’s she called again? Your fiancée?”
I looked at Caroline, whose face was full of concern.
I didn’t need to think about my answer. “Imogen.”
“Imogen,” he repeated. “That’s a nice name. When can I meet her?”
I looked at Caroline, who had pretty much frozen while holding mugs of coffee.
“Soon. Before you go back to Scotland.”
I just needed to hope Imogen’s offer was still on the table.
Chapter Six
Imogen
“So I had no idea where I was. I’d kind of seen her flatmate, and she looked pretty scary, and there was this set of handcuffs on the table. I mean, they could’ve been for a play or something, but I figured I needed to get out of there before it turned into some inspo for a true crime documentary.”
My well-educated, apparently smart, allegedly responsible older brother sat at the table, describing how his drunken arsed-self had been rescued from drooling over a nightclub floor by two women, who let him sleep on their sofa before he escaped without a word of thanks.
