by Isabel Wolff
“Why did your father-in-law impose that condition on you all those years ago?” I asked. “About never leaving Olivia.”
“Because of what happened to him.”
“What did happen?”
“He left Olivia’s mother, for another woman, just before their silver wedding anniversary. A month later Olivia’s mother killed herself, and he’s been racked with guilt ever since. And so he tried to ensure that that would never happen to his daughter. I suppose he was trying to rewrite his own emotional history, and I was ambitious enough to accept his terms and you see, Tiffany . . .”
“Yes?”
“I do keep my promises, you know. And I really was worried about how it would affect Saskia. But I think she’ll be OK. We’ve talked about it and she seems to understand far more than I thought. And there certainly won’t be any problems about access. And you’ll be such a lovely stepmother, Tiffany.”
“Oh.”
“You got on so well with Saskia at the wedding. She told me afterward how much she liked you.”
“Well, I liked her too . . .”
“And we could have such a nice life, Tiffany. Of course you’ll have to sell your house,” he added.
“Oh.”
“ ‘ “Please, stop, Ratty!” pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of heart. “You don’t understand! It’s my home, my old home! I’ve just come across the smell of it, and . . . I must go to it, I must, I must!” ’ ”
“But we could have a lovely flat somewhere. Maybe in Belgravia.”
“ ‘ “O, come back, Ratty! Please, please come back!” ’ ”
“Or perhaps Knightsbridge.”
“ ‘The Rat was by this time very far ahead, too far to hear clearly what the Mole was calling, too far to catch the sharp note of painful appeal in his voice.’ ”
“And of course you wouldn’t have to work anymore.” My euphoria dipped, and died.
“ ‘Poor Mole stood alone in the road, his heart torn asunder, and a big sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down inside him, to leap up to the surface presently, he knew, in passionate escape.’ ”
“Now,” said Seriously Successful, “are you enjoying your birthday, Tiffany?”
“Oh, oh, yes,” I said. “I mean so far, it’s been, very, well, memorable,” I said truthfully.
“And have you had any presents yet?”
“No. No I haven’t. My parents will give me something when I see them,” I added. “But I’ve had some cards.” In fact I was carrying that day’s mail about with me in my bag. I removed Lizzie’s birthday card and showed it to him. “She’s my best friend,” I explained, as a boy on roller-blades whizzed by with a spaniel barking at his heels. I reread Lizzie’s postscript: Alice is ecstatic, she wrote. Catherine has asked the girls to officiate. So you’re off the hook—for now!
“Can I give you a present, Tiffany?” said Seriously Successful suddenly.
“Gosh! Well . . .”
“I’d really like to.”
“Well, yes. OK. Thank you. That would be lovely.”
“Right then. Let’s go shopping.” He held my hand as we walked out of the park, crossed the road and went up the steps of the Burlington Arcade. We stood outside N. Peal cashmere.
“Made to Make Your Mouth Water,” he quipped. Then we strolled through the glass-ceilinged arcade, looking at Georgina von Etzdorf’s velvet scarves, and Mont Blanc pens, and fine leather bags in Franchetti Bond, and then Seriously Successful stopped outside the Burlington Jewelers, and suddenly my heart seemed to sink. “I think we might find something in here,” he said.
“Oh no, far too expensive,” I said.
“Rubbish. In fact,” he said, peering through the glass, “they’re Surprisingly Ordinary Prices.”
“No, but Seriously . . .”
“Come on!”
“Well, as long as it’s very, very small,” I said, suddenly filled with misgivings.
We sat at a glass counter, while Seriously Successful went through the merchandise, rejecting brooches, watches, earrings, dress rings, and strings of cultured pearls. I sat there, silently. Now he was looking at gold chains. The manager put about ten in front of us, on a red velvet tray. Seriously Successful looked at them all, and held them up against my throat. Finally he selected one that he seemed to like, and he put it round my neck. It was very, very heavy, with thick eighteen-carat links.
“Oh Tiffany, it’s lovely,” he said. “Can I give you this one? I’d love you to have it.” What could I say?
“Well, if you’re sure, I mean it’s really beautiful, but it’s so . . .”
“It’s just you,” said Seriously Successful.
“Well, thank you. Thank you very much,” I said, as Seriously Successful got out his credit card. I looked at myself in the hand mirror. It was beautiful, but it was so big, and so heavy, and the links were just . . . enormous. And the metal appeared warm, but against my skin it was cold, and although I could see that it looked good, somehow it just didn’t feel right. Seriously Successful signed his name on the slip with a flourish.
“Thank you, Mr. Clutterbuck,” said the jeweler with an ingratiating smile. I looked at Seriously Successful.
“Clutterbuck?” I said. He nodded. I glanced at his sprawling signature. “D. W. Clutterbuck,” it said.
“What does the ‘D’ stand for?”
He gave a little cough. “Damian.”
“Oh. And the ‘W’?”
“Warren.”
“Damian Clutterbuck?” He nodded.
“Damian Warren Clutterbuck.” I smiled at him. “Now I know!”
“Yes. My dreadful secret is out, Tiffany,” he said with an embarrassed grin. “Do you still feel the same about me?”
“What? Oh yes. Yes, of course I do,” I said truthfully. “Don’t be silly . . . Damian.” Honestly, your truly awful name makes absolutely no difference to how I feel. And, gentle reader, it didn’t. Because when he secured the gold clasp round my neck, I realized then, in that instant, exactly how I felt. Something that I knew to be there, but had not yet been able to see, now, suddenly, became clear—like a photo gradually emerging in a tray of developing fluid, it had shape, and form, and depth. And what it was, was doubt. That was it. I felt doubtful. Very, very doubtful. I felt things closing around me, Seriously Suffocating, and the ceiling begin to descend. I didn’t really want to be tied down, I realized. It felt all wrong. Anyway, I was too young, I said to myself. Far too young. I had my whole life before me. There were so many people I still wanted to meet, places I wanted to go, and things I needed to do before I could possibly take such a momentous step. In my mind’s eye I could see myself Seriously Settled, and suddenly I was Seriously Scared. Did I really want what Seriously Successful was offering? And did I really want to be full-time? I wasn’t sure that I did. And did I really want to live in Belgravia? No. In fact, did I want to say I do? No. I didn’t. I really didn’t. And in any case, I thought, as I picked up my bag, José is corning to London! But . . . then . . . on the other hand . . . I thought wearily as we left the shop, Seriously Successful is so nice. He’s the answer to a maiden’s prayer. With him I could be “we” instead of “me,” and familiarity would probably breed content. And he does have such a comprehensive knowledge of advertising slogans, and such good taste in ties . . . and oh God, I thought as we strolled down Piccadilly together—oh God, what on earth should I do?
Publication Information
About The Trials of Tiffany Trott
“A surprising, satisfying, and ‘seriously successful’ journey on top of a double-decker—but look out—this book will definitely make you miss your stop.”
—Jennifer Belle, author of Going Down
Oh, the trials of Tiffany Trott . . .
There was Philip. Charming, attractive . . . and commonly known as Phil Anderer. There was Alex. Sensitive, thoughtful . . . and a bit too fond of women’s underwear. And then there was Seriously Successful—the man she met through the personals
and who really was Mr. Right—for his wife.
But that’s all behind her. Tiffany Trott is not one to give up. So she’s holding her nose and plunging right back into the mating pool. And in this hilarious novel of dates and disasters, friendships and fix-ups, she’s going to do her best to find her knight in shining armor. Or at least a guy in men’s underwear. . . .
“A happy romp that slips down as agreeably as ice cream.”
—Sunday Independent
“Tiffany is an engaging creation, with a knack [for] witty one-liners.”
—Sunday Express
“Wonderfully comic . . .will appeal [to] anyone who is longing to laugh out loud at life.”
—You Magazine
The Trials of Tiffany Trott
http://www.penguinputnam.com
$6.99 U.S.
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More praise for
The Trials of Tiffany Trott . . .
“[A] picaresque tale of a single woman’s quest for the man of her dreams.”
—The Independent (London)
“Tiffany has a sense of humor as she ploughs her way through a succession of disastrous dates.”
—Literary Review
“There’s something about our Tiffany that gets under your skin and really makes you care whether or not she bags her man.”
—Options
“Takes a humorous look at the ever-growing singles scene, and the dilemma of the successful older (thirty-something) woman trying and failing to have it all.”
—Dillons Book Review
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ONYX
Published by New American Library, a division of
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Published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
Originally published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers.
First Onyx Printing, August 1999
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Copyright © Isabel Wolff, 1998
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