The Last-Minute Marriage

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Why is it sensible? How can it be sensible?’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Or simply to run. This big man with the smiling eyes was looking down at her with an expression that said he had all the answers to her problems right here. She just had to trust him.

  Trust him? She didn’t know him. She pulled on her hands but his hold tightened.

  ‘Peta, it can work.’

  ‘How can it work? How can it possibly work?’

  But fifteen minutes later, when he’d calmed her down sufficiently to listen, she was starting to concede that it just might.

  ‘I’ll have my lawyers sift the will this afternoon,’ Marcus told her. ‘But if that’s all you need-to be married-then I’m happy to oblige.’

  She sat across the table from him. They’d found the first coffee shop they could; they’d sank into two deep armchairs and they hadn’t moved. Peta felt as if she’d been hit by a sledgehammer.

  ‘But…you only spilled my lunch,’ she managed. She felt as if all the wind had been sucked out of her. ‘You hardly ravished me. You hardly destroyed my honour or my marriage prospects. And here you are offering to marry me. Why?’

  ‘I don’t like Charles Higgins.’

  ‘Then kick him out of your building. Put salt in his water cooler. Cut off his supplies of waistcoats. Whatever. But not this. You’re offering to get involved up to your neck.’

  But he was shaking his head, smiling. ‘No, I’m not. I’m simply offering to get married. That’s all. A simple ceremony. We do the deed. Despite what the lady on the street says, we draw up a pre-nuptial agreement saying we have no recourse to each other’s property after divorce, and then we go our separate ways. After your estate has been settled, we’ll divorce. My lawyers can take care of that. Apart from the one simple ceremony, we need never have anything to do with each other.’

  ‘But-I still don’t understand.’ She looked up from the mug of coffee she was cradling and met his look head-on. His smile just deepened her sense of confusion. ‘Okay, you don’t like Charles Higgins,’ she said. ‘That’s not a reason for doing this. Not for you. It’d solve my problems, and that’s so important to me that I’m almost tempted to fall in with your crazy plan. But there has to be a catch. There must be. What do you want in return?’

  He hesitated.

  She watched his face. It was a good face, she thought, somehow forcing herself to be dispassionate. It held strength and warmth and humour. A girl could do a lot worse than marry a man like this. Especially as the marriage would last a whole five minutes.

  But it was crazy. It was!

  It seemed, though, that it hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment offer. He was really thinking.

  ‘It’d be something good to do,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t know whether you can understand that, but it’s important to me.’

  ‘No. I don’t understand. Explain it to me.’

  ‘I’d like to help.’

  ‘By playing King Cophetua to my beggar maid?’ She flushed and stared down into her coffee dregs. ‘I’m sorry. That was ungracious of me.’

  ‘But it’s how my proposition makes you feel?’

  Her chin jerked up at that and she met his gaze, startled. ‘Yes. It does. You understand.’

  ‘That it’s a lot harder to take than to give? Yes. I know that.’

  ‘And I know nothing about you.’

  ‘Peta, I come from a background where there was nothing to do but take,’ he told her. His eyes held hers, steady and strong. Telling her he was speaking a truth that was important to him. ‘We had no choice. My mother was a welfare recipient and I had to fight anyone and everyone to get where I was-and accept help from all sorts of people I’d rather not be indebted to. So… I’ve spent a lifetime getting to the other side of that divide and now I’m in a position to give. It doesn’t mean, though, that I’ll expect gratitude or undying devotion. Just a simple thank you and then we’ll get on with our lives. And one day when you’re on the other side of the divide you might be able to do the same for someone else.’

  ‘Like…take a good deed and pass it on?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘It’s some good deed!’ She was sounding a bit hysterical, she decided, but then she thought, why shouldn’t she sound hysterical? Maybe she was hysterical.

  ‘Peta…’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Let’s just marry and move on.’

  ‘How on earth can I marry you?’

  ‘Easy. We get ourselves a licence and we marry. There are formalities we need to go through but I’d imagine if I throw a bit of money and power at those formalities they’ll disappear. I don’t have the best legal team in New York for nothing. You said we have until Wednesday.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘That’s the day after tomorrow. No sweat. We can do the thing easily.’

  ‘You sound like you do it once a week.’

  ‘I haven’t. I’ve never married.’

  ‘And if you meet the bride of your dreams next week?’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘Why ever not? Are you gay?’

  That stopped him in his tracks. He very nearly dropped his coffee and, when he recovered, his mouth quirked upward in a grin.

  ‘No, Peta, I’m not gay.’

  ‘You needn’t sound so patronising,’ she told him crossly. ‘I can’t tell. You hardly wear a sign or something. What other reason can you have for not marrying?’

  He hesitated. Considering. He was about to indulge in confidences, Peta thought, and she also thought: that’s something this man seldom does. What was it about him that made her know that he kept himself to himself? Entirely.

  But he was breaking his rules now and his voice, when he spoke, had a reluctance that told her he didn’t have a clue why he was doing it.

  ‘My mother married four times,’ he told her. ‘Four times! And for every ceremony she was your traditional bride. She dressed me up as a pageboy, she glowed with excitement and she told me it’d be a happy-ever-after ending. But she chose losers. Every wedding threw us deeper into trouble. So I stood at the last of those ceremonies and I told myself it would never happen to me. I’d never take those vows. Some things are ingrained, Peta. I’m not about to change my mind now.’

  She thought about that but it didn’t make sense. ‘So your mother wasn’t very good at getting married,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s still a whole bunch of people in the world who think marriage is a very good idea.’

  ‘There were other things. Getting attached… I learned early that independence is better.’

  ‘Easier?’

  ‘Probably easier,’ he admitted, and she stared into his face and saw he really meant what he said.

  Maybe it was the truth. Independence had a lot going for it. She’d heard. She’d never, ever had it.

  But now wasn’t the time to be thinking regretfully about an independence she’d never had and was hardly likely to have. Now she had a man sitting in front of her offering her a possible way out of the difficulties that were threatening to overwhelm her.

  She didn’t know anything about this man. His offer was ludicrous.

  Marry him?

  He was watching, waiting for an answer. Where on earth was an answer when you needed one?

  ‘I don’t even know you.’

  ‘You don’t need to know me.’

  ‘You might be a con artist.’

  ‘Yeah. About to scam you out of half your farm. That gives you a choice. It seems that you either trust me and risk losing half your farm or you definitely lose half your farm to Charles.’

  ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘I am serious.’

  ‘But… I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Is there anyone else that you want to marry?’

  She thought about that for a whole two seconds. The concept was crazy. ‘No, but-’

  ‘But there you are. Take it or leave it. I’m offering. I’m
not really sure why I’m offering but it seems sensible. Will you marry me, Peta? For better or worse. Until distance does us part? Until at least Friday?’

  She looked blankly at him-stunned.

  ‘You really are serious.’

  ‘I really am serious.’

  Her mind was going in a thousand different directions. A million. But overriding all… Overriding all was the thought that maybe somehow she could keep the farm.

  Her head was spinning. Her ankle was throbbing. She felt so near the edge that any minute now she’d topple over. To make such a momentous decision…

  ‘Peta.’ His hand gripped hers and held, hard. ‘Peta, you don’t need to understand. You can’t, because I hardly understand myself. All you have to do is trust. Just say yes.’

  Just say yes…

  Easy to say. Will you marry me?

  Maybe it wasn’t momentous at all, she thought wildly. People were divorced every day. What was the marriage? A simple document that could be annulled at any time. And the boys would be safe.

  She bit her lip. She stared into Marcus’s calm grey eyes and he stared back. Still Marcus held her hand. Still Marcus watched her, waiting.

  And in the end it was easy. There was nothing else to say.

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘Okay, Marcus. Thank you very much. I have no idea why you’re wanting to do this but I’m very grateful. So yes, I’ll marry you. As soon as possible.’

  Marcus Benson, in organisational mode, was a man to be reckoned with. Peta was put into Robert’s care and taken back to her hotel with instructions to rest her ankle. Marcus moved on to the wedding.

  He’d told Peta he could organise this by Wednesday. In truth it was a guess. He had no idea if it was possible.

  A man with no idea turned naturally to his assistant. In crisis, find Ruby. Fast.

  Ruby was summoned peremptorily from the boardroom where she’d been putting things on hold because of Marcus’s absence. The unflappable Ruby was already feeling under pressure. By the time she reached his office she was almost ruffled, and when Marcus told her he wanted her to organise his wedding she was surprised into the unthinkable response of choking.

  It took a glass of water before she could make herself understood.

  ‘You? Married?’

  ‘What’s wrong with me getting married?’

  She thought about it. Marcus was behind his desk. He watched her with patience, seeing her eyes grow round in response to this extraordinary request. Seeing her think it through.

  ‘To the waif?’ she asked cautiously and he nodded.

  ‘To Peta. That’s right.’

  And Ruby-who had never in Marcus’s lifetime been known to show surprise at anything-proceeded to drop her jaw almost to her ankles.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not,’ he told her, annoyed. ‘Just tell me what I need to do it.’

  She thought some more. She sipped water and took a visible grip. ‘Um… Weddings. I’ve never done weddings. But… Okay. I can do this.’ A bit more thinking. Then, ‘Do you have any preferences?’

  ‘Preferences?’

  ‘Like church, civil, white, rose petals, bridesmaids…’

  ‘No preferences. Just a fast wedding.’

  ‘How fast?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ Ruby’s voice came out practically a squeak. She regrouped-sort of. ‘Uh, did you say tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s right. Wednesday at the latest.’

  ‘There are things like licences. I’m sure there are. Formalities. Queues.’

  ‘Throw as much money as you need at the problem. Just fix it.’

  ‘Gee, how romantic.’

  ‘Ruby,’ he said warningly and her eyebrows hiked.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Just fix it.’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Benson. Very good, Mr Benson.’ She took a deep breath and he could see she was fighting laughter. ‘Do we know the bride’s name?’

  ‘Peta.’

  The eyebrows hiked again. ‘I know her first name’s Peta,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘We’re going to need a bit more information. Just a bit.’

  ‘Right.’ He handed a sheet of paper across the desk. ‘I had her write down her details. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘So.’ Ruby looked down at the sheet. ‘Peta O’Shannassy. Aged twenty-six. Australian.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He hadn’t known. He frowned suddenly. Hell, what was he getting himself into? Peta O’Shannassy. She’d written down her name but this was the first time he’d heard it.

  ‘She needs me to do this,’ he told Ruby, and she paused from reading the sheet and looked at him. Really looked at him.

  ‘She’s in trouble?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You want to tell me?’

  He sighed. But Ruby on side was a force to be reckoned with and he’d learned a long time ago it was better just to give in and tell. Briefly he outlined what was happening and, when he had finished, her face had changed. The laughter had gone. The determination he felt was strangely mirrored in his assistant’s eyes.

  Ruby had met Peta. She knew Charles. Marcus’s dislike wasn’t purely personal.

  But Ruby was moving on again, on to business. Her speciality. ‘You’ll need a decent pre-nuptial agreement. One that will hold water.’

  ‘Can you get that underway?’

  ‘Sure.’ She hesitated. ‘You know, Charles won’t take this lying down. Not if there’s money involved.’

  ‘I suppose he won’t.’

  ‘Let me run this past our lawyers,’ she told him. ‘I’ll organise a copy of the will to be faxed here this afternoon. You don’t want to go into this blind. Or…’ She paused and a glimmer of laughter appeared again behind her eyes. ‘Or any more blind than you appear to be.’

  ‘Right.’

  Then she hesitated. ‘Marcus…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know… Peta has her contact address here.’

  ‘I told her to put it down in case you need her to fill in forms.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She looked again at the piece of paper and cast a cautious glance at him. ‘Do you know where she’s staying?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. This wedding is a formality. Where she lives is her business.’

  ‘Right.’ There was another thoughtful glance. ‘It’s just… I know this hotel. A neighbour had a friend from Canada who stayed there one night. It’s the cheapest place in town. But he came out of it robbed blind.’

  Silence.

  It was entirely Peta’s business where she stayed, he told himself.

  But of course it was no such thing. Marcus took the written sheet from Ruby and stared down at the address. His…his bride?

  ‘Can you fix it?’ he asked Ruby.

  ‘What-turn up there and tell her Marcus says move?’

  ‘I guess not.’ He’d seen enough of Peta to figure that wasn’t the best way to go about things. But… He didn’t get involved. He didn’t!

  He was involved. He was involved up to his neck. ‘I need to go,’ he said finally, and Ruby nodded.

  ‘Of course you do,’ she agreed. ‘Marcus Benson to the rescue. Good grief!’

  But Marcus was no longer listening.

  Marcus had already gone.

  By the time Robert dropped her at the door of her hotel Peta was past exhaustion. She lay back on the hard mattress and tried for sleep. She’d hardly slept since she’d arrived in this country. The doctors had given her pain-killers and warned her they’d make her sleep. She should be out for the count.

  But sleep was nowhere.

  It wasn’t the noise that prevented her from sleeping. She’d stayed in this place for over a week and she’d learned to turn off from the drunken cacophony that surrounded her.

  Nor was she disturbed about her own security. There was something distinctly comforting about having nothing left to steal. Her passport and her ai
rline ticket were in a money-belt next to her skin and there was nothing else.

  The throb in her ankle had even eased.

  She should sleep.

  But how could she? Marcus was with her. Every time she closed her eyes he was right there, filling her head, his gentle eyes probing…

  He was marrying her?

  The thought was unbelievable. The concept was unbelievable. Marcus Benson was marrying Peta O’Shannassy.

  Who was Marcus Benson? She didn’t know. But what could she do about it?

  The sensible thing would be to hire a private detective and find out at least a little of the man she intended to marry. She didn’t have enough funds to consider it.

  But… Her hand rested on her money belt and the same comforting thought arose.

  She had nothing worth stealing. He could hardly cheat her. What did she have? Half a farm, split five ways. She had so many encumbrances she felt weighed down with concrete.

  If Marcus was marrying her for anything other than altruism then he had a big surprise coming, she decided.

  He could have Harry.

  The thought came out of left field and, surprisingly, it was good. Marcus would like Harry. Harry might even like Marcus. Harry was the smallest of her responsibilities but sometimes he felt the heaviest.

  Yep. She might love Harry to bits but if Marcus wanted him… She was definitely ready to share.

  Sharing. It was a good concept. A great concept. Even if it was pure fantasy.

  But it was enough to distract her. Her mind stopped spinning just a little. Exhaustion took its toll.

  Finally she slept.

  She woke to shouting.

  So what was new? People shouted in this place all the time. Half the inhabitants of this boarding house were drunk or stoned or both. But this time it was closer than usual.

  Her dormitory held eight beds and the last four beds in the row were covered with fighting bodies. Someone was yelling; there were people punching, clawing, rolling.

  There was the sound of broken glass and a woman screamed.

  She opened her eyes and someone was grabbing her. Lifting.

  ‘Put me down!’ It was an instinctive scream of terror.

  ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ her intended husband told her. ‘Is this your bag? Shut up and let me get you out of here.’