by C F Dunn
Now alone in a room the size of my entire apartment, with walls of panelled silk and ornately plastered ceilings, he seemed uneasy. He extracted a white rose from the extravagant arrangement on a table, smoothing a curled petal abstractedly.
“What’s the matter?”
He wandered over to where I took in the lamplit view from the window and wound the flower through my hair. He smiled a little. “Nothing… only…” He took my hands in his, looking troubled. “I can’t help wondering whether you would have preferred a room of your own.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“Two reasons,” he wavered. “Does this remind you of what Guy did… at the motel?”
“No. Next?”
Patently relieved, he continued, “Your reputation – I didn’t think to ask you how you felt about sharing a room so publicly.”
“I don’t think people care nowadays, Matthew.”
“People might not, but I do if it matters to you.”
I pulled his arms around my waist. “In my heart we’re as married as if we’d already taken our vows. In true seventeenth-century style we are espoused before God, Matthew, and that spousal is binding. It’s not as if we are going to be doing anything anyway, more’s the pity.” I wrinkled my nose and pretended to pout, but he laughed, and shook his head.
“We did agree to wait, and in any case, I think we should make our intentions clear, don’t you?”
“How so?” I asked.
He tapped his pockets and began digging around until he found something that jangled when he removed it. “It’s time you had these,” he said, holding out a small bunch of house keys on a chain.
“Oh,” I said, taking them from him. “Gosh, these make it feel very real somehow. Thanks.” I examined them more closely, and the peculiar ring-shaped key fob in particular. Radiating light from its depths, a rectangular claret-coloured stone, simply cut, sat in a crown of gold between two lions, the bodies and tails curving to form the band. It looked old, the band worn thinner than the rest. I held it up, confused. “What’s this doing here? It’s an odd place to keep a ring.”
“Do you like it?”
I nodded vigorously. “It’s a brilliant copy; they’ve managed to make it look authentically old and a bit tatty. Even the stone looks real.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward and hopeful in equal measure. “It’d look better on your finger. Try it on.”
“Like one of those Christmas cracker rings? I loved them when I was a tot – best bit of Christmas. Not that this looks like a ring from a cracker, of course,” I added, undoing the keychain catch and releasing the ring. I popped it on my index finger and wiggled it under the side lamp, making it sparkle. “It really does look old. Where did you get it?”
With an amused shake of his head, Matthew removed the ring. “No, my love, it’s for this finger,” and he slipped it on my left hand. It sat snugly on my ring finger, and neither too big nor strident it felt at home at once. “It belonged to my grandmother, your namesake – Emma D’Eresby. My grandfather gave it to her on their marriage – those are Lynes lions there, you see?”
“Oh,” I said again, this time feeling dazed and a bit light-headed. “I see.”
His smile became uncertain. “I… thought you would like it.”
I fingered the imperfections in the curly-maned lions, the slightly misshapen rich gold band, the vibrant pink stone with signs of age worn on its cut faces. “Your grandmother’s.” I looked at him, feeling oddly emotional, seeing the aching vulnerability in his eyes. “It’s perfect, Matthew. I love it. I love you.”
When I woke he was already dressed.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I know you’d rather sleep, but we need to make a move if we’re to make the first appointment.”
I looked for a clock but couldn’t see one. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty. I’ve ordered breakfast. The first meeting is at eight.”
I turned over, heavy with sleep, and pulled the cover over my ears. “That’s very early for a business appointment and on a Saturday. I’ll wait here if you like; I don’t want to hold you up.”
He rolled me back again and I shut my eyes against a stubborn streak of sunlight. “I would like you to come with me.”
He said it in such a way that required my attention. I opened one eye. “To a business meeting? What do I know about business?” He looked particularly handsome this morning. I stretched and wound my arms around his neck and he smiled, hauling me upright and out of bed as I clung to him crab-like. “Ow,” I moaned and went and had a bath in the most luxurious marble bathroom I’d ever set eyes on, which sort of made up for it.
“You look beautiful,” he assured me as I checked my reflection in the mirrored glass of the elevator for the umpteenth time as it rose, floor-by-floor, to the top of a skyscraper in the heart of the business district. He wore a muted calfskin jacket that moulded to his shoulders in a way that made me gulp when I saw him. He made unconscious elegance effortless. He wasn’t dressing for a city meeting, yet somehow it didn’t matter. Perhaps centuries of life gave him the confidence. I had some way to go. I took off my quilted coat and slung it over my arm to see if it made any difference. My nut-brown jacket and trousers would have been fine for a day out shopping in London, but they weren’t tailored enough for a business meeting.
“I feel decidedly underdressed for such elevated surroundings.”
He smiled, acknowledging my feeble joke. “That’s rather good for this time of the morning. What you wear to today’s proceedings isn’t important; you don’t need to prove anything. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll know what’s hit him; he won’t be expecting anything like you.”
“Who won’t?” I asked in the velvet hush. “Why are we here?”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed conspiratorially. “Why indeed. That is a question I frequently ask myself.”
“Don’t be so infuriatingly obtuse! What are you up to?”
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. The lift opened directly into an anteroom. The PA’s desk stood empty. In fact, I hadn’t seen anyone else other than the security guard on the door since we’d entered the building at ten to eight. The double doors to an expansive office sat open like jaws. Modern and masculine, the exclusive room nonetheless had a faint aroma of mothballs. I thought it empty at first, but a man – possibly in his late fifties, but whose immaculate silk suit and handmade shirt were meant for someone younger – emerged from a chair where he had been waiting. Steel hair cut razor-sharp and manicured as a lawn sat on his head like a wig, while a smooth face inclined to fleshiness made him look sleek and pampered. Gold cufflinks winked as he held out his hand. He assessed Matthew with shrapnel eyes. “Dr Lynes, I have not had the pleasure; we spoke on the phone.”
Matthew shook his hand. “We did. Emma, this is George Redgrave – his family have looked after my family’s financial affairs for the last century.”
Mentally, I readjusted the time scales we were working to and made a note not to let anything show on my face. I needn’t have worried – I hadn’t registered with the man. Smiling without conviction he dismissed me, and turned back to Matthew. Irritation prickled before I could stifle it. Redgrave’s voice creaked on the low notes as if about to break, an old voice, resonant with success and as superior as a cat. Used to being listened to, he articulated slowly. “My father always spoke highly of your family, Dr Lynes; in particular your grandfather, with whom he met on one occasion before you were born. I understand he is no longer with us. I regret not having the pleasure of making his acquaintance.” The man smiled again, this time displaying expensive capped teeth. “You didn’t say what it is you wish to discuss. How might I be of service?” He gestured towards two chairs in front of a broad partner’s desk behind which he proceeded to sit like a judge.
Matthew waited until I settled on my chair before he also sat down. “Dr D’Eresby and I are to be married in May. I would like to make some financial arra
ngements prior to our wedding.”
I think my surprise showed. Fair enough if Matthew had things he wanted to sort out, but if I’d known it would involve me, I’d have worn a suit. Or perhaps not. Redgrave cast a cursory glance at me and smiled fulsomely at Matthew, smelling money.
“Of course, and congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials, Dr Lynes. This is rather short notice to draw up such a complex agreement, but I will see to it immediately. I trust the young lady accepts the need for a prenuptial contract?”
Matthew put his hand on my arm as I began to react, addressing Redgrave without raising his voice. “No, there’ll be no prenuptial contract between us; that is not the nature of our business here today.”
Like a headmaster about to reprimand a recalcitrant boy, the man folded his hands on the leather-topped desk and looked very grave. “Dr Lynes, given the nature of your considerable assets” – he drooled over the word – “I trust you will be making arrangements to limit your financial liabilities in the event of an unfortunate cessation of your marriage?”
Matthew remained impassive. “That will not be necessary.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t understand your thinking here. You intend to contract a marriage without protecting your substantial estate?” He made it sound as if only a fool would do such a thing. My hackles rose.
“Not at all; that is precisely why I’m here.”
George Redgrave sat back in his chair and nodded slowly. “Very commendable. I thought that I must have misunderstood.” He picked up a heavy gold fountain pen and pulled a piece of embossed paper in front of him. The pen lid slid off the barrel with a soft sigh. “Now, if I may take the young lady’s details…” He trailed off as Matthew held up his hand.
“There is no misunderstanding. There will be no requirement for a contract; however, I would like you to arrange for Dr D’Eresby to have complete access to my estate, to take immediate effect on our marriage. In the event of my death or disappearance she is to be given control of it and…”
“No!” Redgrave and I said simultaneously. My head swarmed: death, disappearance. If he wanted me to have a heart attack he was going the right way about it. Redgrave went puce. He took out a blue silk handkerchief used only for show and mopped his forehead.
“Dr Lynes, I must insist that you reconsider this line of action.”
I hated to admit it, but I agreed. My voice shook slightly. “No, Matthew, you can’t, you mustn’t.”
In the subtle shades of his voice I detected telltale signs of obstinacy. “I can and I will.”
“I don’t want your money,” I objected. He sucked his teeth, and standing, led me to the window, where his back became a barrier to Redgrave’s curiosity. He lowered his voice.
“Emma, listen to me. This is to protect your future – our future – and that of any children we might have.”
I strove to find the words I needed. “I don’t want a future without you. Money is nothing; life would be pointless. You said you might die, Matthew. Why did you say that?” I saw signs of distress as he put out his hands to comfort me, but I shook him off. “Don’t, just don’t,” I choked.
“Or in the event of my disappearance, Emma. I have to put it in unequivocal terms to ensure there is clarity in law. If I need to disappear I will know that my wife is provided for until my return. And I will return. You understand that, don’t you?” I heard the urgency in his voice. “Don’t you, Emma? You know that I will always come back.” I couldn’t look at him, so I just nodded, biting my lip until it hurt. “That’s my love,” he said gently. “Trust me.”
He waited until I had blown my nose and sat down before he turned towards Redgrave, who had regained his composure and been straining to hear our conversation. I stared bleakly at a paper clip half-buried in the deep pile carpet.
“Dr Lynes,” Redgrave drawled, adopting a paternalistic tone he must have found particularly effective with stubborn young clients in the past, “it is highly irregular to place such a fortune so casually at the disposal of any young woman without some guarantee that assets will be protected. Please allow me to make some enquiries on your behalf. For example, has she been married before? Are her family, shall we say, of solvent means, trustworthy, reliable?”
Furious, I flashed crimson, but since it seemed he rated me as no more than a slug under a rock it made no difference. He made me feel grubby and cheap and I ground my teeth to prevent my temper flaring, no longer upset, but angry and defensive. I sat on the edge of my chair and fumed quietly.
Matthew crossed his legs in a seemingly casual movement, but his normally quiet blue aura had lost its equilibrium and red ire tinged it purple. “Nonetheless, that is what you will do.” His voice became eerily calm and I recognized the signs, but the other man didn’t.
“Just a few discreet enquiries as to this young lady’s suitability to manage such an estate, at least,” he pressed.
“My decision is final. Have the documentation drawn up and ready for signatures by the end of April. There will be a substantial incentive involved in the satisfactory completion of my request. The alternative is not an option.” Matthew had come to the limits of his patience. The man heard it this time and flustered, dabbing at his face again.
“I understand. And if the young lady should, er… decide not to remain in the marital home, or makes an alternative emotional attachment? This is, after all, a very great deal of money and any young woman – especially if not accustomed to great wealth – might be tempted to… well to… abscond, so to speak. I’m sure you understand.”
A muscle in Matthew’s jaw contracted sharply. He leaned forward and tossed a leather portfolio he had brought with him onto the desk. It slithered to a halt. “You will need these to complete the documents. They are all in order. All investments, bonds, holdings, stocks, and shares are to be transferred on my wife’s request to the accounts listed. All property – including our home in Maine – land and businesses will transfer immediately to her, either on her demand, or automatically should I disappear. All monies held in any of my accounts are at her disposal. She will have complete access to all aspects of my investments, do you understand?”
Redgrave’s gullet rose and fell. “All investments, Mr Lynes?”
“That is so.”
“I don’t know anything about investments,” I said numbly.
“The family will help you if need be. You’ll have nothing to worry about,” Matthew said kindly. He stood, ending the meeting. “If you have any further questions relating to my instructions, you have my contact details. I expect to hear from you shortly. And, Redgrave…” the man looked up at his changed tone, “your remarks show a marked lack of respect towards Dr D’Eresby. Do not ever question her integrity or that of her family again. Should she need to contact you I will expect you to show her the same degree of courtesy you reserve for me.” He hadn’t altered the volume of his voice yet Redgrave started as if hit, and stuttered out a response that we didn’t wait to hear.
Matthew was still seething when we reached the street. Once outside, he took a deep, slow breath. The city air smelled clean compared with the sanitized fug of the office. A car horn barked and was answered by another. “Emma, I’m so sorry – I had no idea the man’s a misogynist. His father was quite different, completely charming, and he would have been ashamed to hear his son speak as he did in front of you.”
I still reeled from what he had done to be too concerned about a condescending, self-satisfied, patronizing bigot. “Matthew, how could you? I don’t know the first thing about investments. I always thought they were something priests wore. Stocks, shares, bonds – and businesses – what businesses? I didn’t know you had any. Ugh, it’s too much! How did Ellen handle knowing she had responsibility for all that money?” I scrabbled my hands through my hair thinking I would wake at any moment.
“Ellen? I didn’t do this with Ellen. She had her own resources; things were different between us, you know that.” He tamed my insubordin
ate hair with his fingers. “The money is only there to protect us, Emma. As you said, it is nothing if we don’t have each other or our family. To whom else can I entrust it, if not you? Who else will benefit from it, if not you?”
I thought that fairly obvious. “Henry? Dan? Your grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Your family must come first, not me. I have enough to live on.” A car sped by, kicking up a stone that bounced harmlessly against the rock-clad wall of the building. I toed it into the gutter, not looking at him.
“Emma, married yet or not, you are part of that family. You are my priority now. It doesn’t lessen those bonds of kinship I have with my son and his family any more than adding a brick to a wall weakens it. Henry doesn’t need my money and nor do the rest of the family. They are already very wealthy. Ellen was an heiress; she left Henry everything.”
I knew she had inherited her parents’ farm after her brother died, but that didn’t constitute a fortune or warrant the designation “heiress”. “I thought her parents owned a ranch?”
His mouth lifted into a slow smile. “They did, but it’s now part of an extensive oil field.” He waited until the information permeated my frazzled brain.
“Oh!” I said. “OK.” I frowned. “I see. Well, then… yes, but you could have warned me.”
He turned my collar up against the chilly wind and used it to pull me closer. “And have you making a fuss and probably refusing to cooperate point blank? I know you better than you think, Emma D’Eresby.”
“Don’t you bet on it. I’ve only ever been after your money and don’t you forget it.”
I giggled as he grabbed me around my waist and blew in my ear until I begged him to stop. A matronly woman in tweed with a resplendent bosom, upon which pearls bounced, made disapproving grunts as she passed.
“She thinks we should act our age,” Matthew chortled.
I tweaked his scarf. “Yours or mine?”
We walked arm-in-arm along the tree-lined pavement under the naked branches. “It makes what I earn so piffling paltry,” I mused. “Peanuts, poverty-stricken penury…”
