Marrying Money: Lady Diana's Story

by Glenys O'Connell

  “Adam, stop this minute!” I screeched across the room. Living with Auntie Kay's obsession for climbing to high points had given me great voice projection training. All heads swivelled towards me.

  “Mummee! That's my Mummeeee!” shouted little Lord Brookmere, heir to the Hazelmere Estate.

  All eyes swivelled back to the child, who now stood looking like one of those big-eyed kids on greetings cards, a tear trickling down one chubby cheek.

  “How many times must I tell you not to call me that?” I hissed at him. The heads swivelled back to me, along with a rising murmur of disgust. Sally kicked my shin.

  “Everyone’s looking. Can’t we please get the brat and get out of here?”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, breathing deeply. I can cope with this. Yes, I can.

  “Come on, then, let's go up to our suite, and we'll get this sorted out,” I said as sweetly as could be.

  “You have only a double room. Additional guests are not allowed without the payment of a surcharge,” the clerk said loudly. I could feel myself blushing.

  I handed over the MasterCard again, issuing a silent prayer to St. Jude that it hadn't been cancelled yet.

  The room seemed even smaller than a broom closet when the three of us, plus Adam's luggage, were crammed in there. The first thing the kid did was check the room service menu, then flop on his belly in front of the TV.

  “Turn that sound down, would you?” I asked, as sweetly as my diminishing sanity would allow.

  “Why should I?” came the stock response.

  “Because Sally and I need to talk, and we can’t over that racket,” I replied, trying not to give way to the impulse to batter the child.

  “Tough shit, Mummy.”

  I was about to tear my hair out. Beating a child went against all my bleeding heart liberal principles, and yet this child wasn't open to sweet reason. Nor was Sally.

  She swooped across the small space, grabbed the kid by the sweater and pulled him upright, while at the same time muting the TV and holding the remote high over her head out of his reach.

  I half expected him to kick her, but instead he just stood there looking at her with shocked eyes.

  “Don’t you know it's rude to talk to people like that and turn on the television so loudly no one can hear themselves think? What do we do when we've been rude?”

  It took a couple of seconds, but eventually he stomped his foot against the carpet and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better. Now, you can watch television, but with the earphones, while we talk.”

  “That’s why I put the TV on loud, I knew you'd be talking about me, and why I was here, and that you don’t want me. And I don’t want to be here. I want my Daddies.”

  Pre-empting a full blown wail, I said quickly: “Why are you here?”

  “My Daddies had a big fight and so they got rid of me.”

  “What?”

  “It must have been my fault. I don’t know what I did, but they said they couldn't deal with this with me there, so they dumped me here.” He sniffed.

  “Never mind, kid, at least you got to ride on a plane and see your Auntie Diana,” Sally reassured.

  He looked at Sally with the peculiar aristocratic down the nose look. You wouldn’t believe a kid so small could have the look perfected like that; especially one who didn't come from the right back ground. I wondered how Greg and Dave had come by their little munchkin. Was one of them the real father?

  “I have flown many times with my daddies,” he said snottily, “And she's my Mummy, not my Auntie.”

  I rolled my eyes. When would this kid understand there is no way I am his Mum? Sally gave me a questioning look.

  “Oh, no. It's not true at all. I am not his Mummy. I don’t know why he is saying it. I just think it's because I'm his Godmother, I stood for him at his christening, and so—”

  “All the kids at school have a Mummy. No-one has two Daddies. So I tell everyone that Lady Diana is my Mummy but she didn't want me and gave me away to my Daddies. So I’m just like everyone else.”

  The kid will be the death of me.

  Sally rolled her eyes. “My, what tangled webs you weave. Okay, Adam, let's turn off the TV and you can come and be part of our discussion about what to do with you. Although my vote goes to putting you in a wicker basket on the River Liffey and letting you float downstream. Are you ever going to open that letter so we can find out what's really going on?” This last comment to me.

  That's when I realized I had a death grip on the letter the receptionist handed me. It was from Greg, apparent by the flamboyant way my name was scrawled across the envelope.

  I ripped open the envelope, and read aloud:

  “Dear Diana, You're my best friend, and I need your help. Don't know who else to turn to, really—

  “Aww, isn't that so nice?”

  “Yeah,” Sally muttered. “It’s great to be so needed. Get on with it.”

  “Okay:

  “Dave and I are going through a rough patch and we need some time alone to sort things out. The atmosphere was getting pretty rank and neither of us thinks that's good situation for little Adam to be in—

  “Oh, my God, the idiots! They don't want to argue in front of the poor kid, so they dump him off without telling him what's going on!” I shot a sympathetic glance at my godson, who was still staring at the floor and scuffing the carpet.

  “ Anyway, it was too late to set anything up, and besides, we didn't want to leave him with strangers, so I thought you wouldn't mind for a day or so – I know he'll be in good hands, and we'll be back as soon as we get sorted. Love, Greg. PS, tell the kid we love him to bits and we'll be back for him.”

  “So, does that make you feel any better?”

  “Yes!” Adam said.

  “No!” Sally said.

  I looked from one to the other. “Little Adam, it seems that your dads are trying to do the best they can. They love you, and when they get whatever's bothering them sorted, they'll be back within a day or two.”

  “Please God,” breathed Sally.

  “It’s because Greg says Dave wants to get it on with Akim.”

  We both gaped at the very knowledgeable five year old. I could see that Sally was dying to ask him if he knew what get it on with meant. I wanted to know myself. But we were scared of the answer so we both decided we'd rather believe in the mythical innocence of childhood.

  “Who’s Akim?” I asked.

  “He’s the new gardener. Dave is really interested in gardening, now. He's been going around buying all these plants and things. Sometimes he makes me go with him.” Obviously, Little Adam didn't share his dad's interest in horticulture.

  “So when did Akim arrive?”

  “A week ago. Greg got tired of Dave always buzzing around garden stores. He said if we had a gardener, Dave could take more of a gentleman's interest in the garden, rather than being all grubby and sweaty all the time.”

  Sally and I looked at each other. “Guess he never thought the gardener would be interesting, eh?” Sally muttered under her breath.

  I started to fold the letter up and noticed another PS from Dave.

  “PS, whatever Little Adam tells you about the gardener, it's not true. I'm interested in the plants, not the planter. - Dave.”

  So now I had a possibly crooked cousin-in-law, a very irritated best friend, two friends in dire jeopardy, a newly returned missing quarter of a million pounds' family heirloom, and a Bolshie kid I had no idea what to do with. Oh, and a luncheon date with a luscious lord I didn’t fancy, in about five minutes.

  Fine husband hunting trip this was turning out to be!

  Five minutes - eek!

  A glance in the mirror showed I looked like something that had fallen out of the ragbag. It would take an hour to fix the damage and at least a day to be glamorous enough for this date. I told Sally of my dilemma thinking she would be nice enough to help. But she shook her head, no, and gave me a look that said, sorry, k
iddo, no can do. Not even for my best friend. The best friend who's going out with the fella I want.

  “Bill the Builder is going to take me on a Viking water ride along the River Liffey, followed by luncheon at some plebeian place on O’Connell Street. I’m in a hurry myself.”

  “I’m sure little Adam would enjoy a Viking boat ride.” I hinted, fighting back tears. Sally waivered for a moment. She was going to say yes, she’d take the kid…At least I hoped she would.

  “But I get sick on boats. I once threw up all the way to France,” Adam piped up.

  Sally stopped wavering. “You’re on your own, Diana. Maybe Lord Joshua likes kids. You can show him what good mother material you would be for the heirs.” The feral smile she gave me failed to cover the nastiness that lurked in her words.

  I couldn’t hide the tiny twinge of jealousy I felt knowing Bill had invited her out. Even though I knew it would be the best match.

  I almost stuck the mascara wand in my eye when the fleeting thought hit me that my best friend might come out of this with a husband. And I might be toddling off home a spinster lady with a broken down household and maxed out credit cards.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I briefly thought of leaving Adam with the television and room service as babysitters. But it was like the kid read my mind and clung to me like a limpet. I couldn’t be angry with him. Imagine how the poor thing must feel, a child who’d suddenly discovered his devoted parents had no compunction about dumping him alone in a strange city and a strange hotel without even bothering to check if his godmother would be able to watch him. I silently muttered a brief curse at my dear friends Dave and Greg.

  I plastered a big smile on my face as Josh waved to me from the hotel restaurant bar.

  He looked only momentarily disconcerted when he noticed we‘d be a party of three for lunch instead of a cosy twosome. Breeding will show, after all. In fact, he made Adam feel very welcome; chatting to him while I studied the menu and tried to figure out what sort of meal a growing five year old boy would eat without fuss.

  “Nice kid, your Adam,” Josh said, smiling.

  “Do you like my Mummy?” The boy asked, gazing up at Josh with adoring eyes. Little faker.

  “Well, sure…”

  “I am not your Mummy,” I snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Adam’s lip quivered and Josh gave me a startled glare. I didn’t have time to correct the impression I’d given because I saw Bill and Sally frantically waving to me from the restaurant door,

  “You left your phone in the hotel room and I thought I’d better let you know the nursing home called about Auntie Kay,” Sally said. “They said she’s ready to leave now and wondered when you could pick her up. In fact, “Sally grinned. “ It sounded as if they were practically begging.”

  A big hole seemed to open up in the pit of my stomach. Oh, no - with everything I had to deal with right now. I had the most awful visions of adding Auntie Kay to the mess my life already was in. Auntie Kay in Dublin? My God, imagine all the high places she could climb to on O’Connell street alone.

  “Don’t worry, I suggested they keep her for another week. I made the most of her relationship to your title and everything, so they agreed.”

  “Sally, you’re a sweetheart.” I said, hugging her gratefully. “Can you imagine Auntie Kay here in Dublin? As if I don’t have enough to cope with. It would be much better if she’s in the nursing home.”

  I didn’t mean it to sound quite so callous, but Bill gave me a hard look.

  “It’s hard for an old person to be away from home,” he said.

  “We’re not talking any old person here, we’re talking Diana’s Auntie Kay. Diana, remember the odd look the doctor in the emergency department gave you when he asked how she came to be locked in the attics?”

  Sally was obviously having a good time, painting me as the evil niece in front of Bill. I’d deal with her later, I vowed. Meanwhile, I had to do something about the increasingly shrill wail of Mummeeee! coming from the little changeling sitting at our table with the man I should be thinking of marrying.

  And wasn't it strange, with Bill the Builder standing right there, I found it very hard to think of Josh the Lord as husband material?

  “Just a moment, Adam,” I called sweetly.

  “ Mummeeeeeeeee!” Came the returning shriek.

  “I am not your Mummy! I told you not to call me that in public!” I shrieked back. I wished the floor would open up when I saw the shocked looks on the faces of both Bill and Joshua. But by now I was beyond caring. “See you later,” I muttered to Sally. “Have a grand time. Be careful not to fall into the river now, won’t you,” I added under my breath.

  “Well, you have a delightful lunch, dear,” Sally replied.

  Josh was distinctly cool when I returned to our table to discover Adam still sobbing under his breath because there was onion on his hamburger.

  “You couldn’t just take the onion off?” I asked reasonably.

  “No,” he stuttered between sobs. “I can’t eat a hamburger that has onions on it.”

  I grabbed the offending burger, lifted the top of the bun and whipped off the onion. I dumped it back on his plate. “There now, there’s a burger without any onion at all. Eat it.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Eat the damned burger,” I snarled, frustration getting the better of me. Of course, there had to be a sudden lull in conversation when I said that. And then Adam replied, “Please don’t make me eat it. I’m 'llergic to onions, even just touching my food, they make me all red!”

  I wished the floor would open up and swallow me... again.

  Fortunately, that brought me back to my senses. None of this was the kid's fault, and it was mean and petty of me to take it out on him. He was distressed that his parents seemed to have dumped him, and he was afraid they were fighting and would split up. The little Lady Diana been traumatized by similar feelings when she was his age.

  Did I behave as badly as this kid? Probably.

  So I managed to start acting like a grown up, ordered the kid a decent, onion-free burger, and myself a strong coffee and pushed away the wine I'd been gulping down. By the end of our luncheon, Joshua finally stopped looking at me like I was a two headed monster who ate little kids for lunch, and Adam was treating me like his best friend again.

  “Isn’t my Mummy beautiful?” he muttered to Josh who was carrying him back to our room.

  “Well, the kid's got one thing right, Diana. You are beautiful.” Josh whispered in my ear after he'd tucked a tired Adam up in the double bed for a nap.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir. I appreciate that,” I said with a smile. We stood there, smiling at each other, like two teenagers not knowing what came next.

  “But I'm not as beautiful as Sally, am I?” I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

  He had the good grace to say nothing, but his smile was dimmed by sadness.

  “Are your folks on your back to find the right kind of wife?” I could see from the way his ears turned red under that sexy blond mop of hair that I was right. “You know, sometimes we have to give up a lot in order to be who our families want us to be. There's a saying, I forget who said it, To whom much is given, much is expected.”

  “Diana, I….” he raised his hand to my arm, then let it fall back.

  “Look, I saw you and Sally in the conservatory last night, and I've seen how the two of you look at each other, and how you avoided looking at each other today. Even we upper crusts deserve a shot at happiness; if Sally is your chance, go for it.”

  He looked at me for a, long time. His green eyes seemed to look into my soul.

  “You are one special woman, Diana. I'll always remember this.”

  “Yeah, well, remember this too, Sally's my best friend and if you hurt her, Alexandria House is well-stocked with hunting implements.”

  “Gotcha.” He leaned forward and kissed me, chastely, on the lips. Then he was gone, no doubt in pursuit of Sally.<
br />
  I rubbed the spot he'd kissed. No spark.

  Well, that was a relief.

  I lay down on the bed beside Adam, and fell into a deep sleep. I woke when Sally came home, very late, and I had to suppress the jealous feelings that she'd spent a wild time with Bill, while Joshua wanted her too.

  “Hey, move your great arse over and let me get into bed. Eww, you've been drooling on the pillow!”

  “Go ’way,” I complained, turning over and getting a nose full of sweaty little boy smell. Gross!

  “Don’t be a snotty cow, or I won’t tell you why Mairead doesn't think the Beautiful Bill is a good match for you.”

  I was awake now. And try as I might, I couldn't feign disinterest.

  Sally couldn’t manage to hide her delight, either. I had a sudden understanding why, in some ancient cultures, they killed the messenger. I pulled the thin blanket up to my chin and glared at her.

  “Well, it looks like he's a bit of an outcast, because his wife left him.”

  I grunted. I was pretty sure it would take more than a wandering wife to make a man an outcast, even in repressed Irish society.

  “But his wife left him for another woman! Apparently she's living with a blonde woman who lifts weights and is very socially unacceptable. Now everyone is saying that he's a closet homosexual, gay as a bird and has somehow contaminated his wife. She used to be such a good Catholic girl, and a star pupil at the Loretta, and it's all his fault for being an aberration.”

  I stared open mouthed at Sally. She might have been speaking in tongues for all the sense any of this made.

  “You can't be serious,” I finally said.

  “Sure. Well, no, I'm not serious about it 'cos I know that gay-ness isn't infectious, otherwise half of Ludlum Secondary School would be gay. Remember Arnold Atkinson? He was gay enough to infect the lot of us, no problem.”

  “I didn't mean that, don't be a gobshite, as they say in the Emerald Isle. I meant do you think he's gay?”

  “Whoa, my dear, usually when a woman asks that question about a gorgeous example of the male species, it's either because he's turned her down, or she doesn't want to turn him down. And you, Diana, Lady Ashburnham, are supposed to be husband hunting. And whatever poor Bill may or may not be, I gather from your dear Cousin Mairead's virtual shunning of him that he's not suitable husband material, so you'd better just keep your hands to yourself and look elsewhere.”