The Soulmate Agency

by Ivan B

  “Very sure.”

  “Really really sure?”

  “Really really sure.”

  “You’ve only known me for twenty-four hours; I could be an axe-murder.”

  He shook his head, “You’re no axe-murder, as I said you’re someone special.”

  She hopped from one foot to another, her heart was suddenly pounding and her head full of mixed emotions, “And you’d really marry me? I can be a bit overbearing you know, and a bit bossy, and…”

  He put a finger to her lips, “Don’t run yourself down. You’re intelligent, witty and,” he momentarily paused to get the right words, “and I suppose I am falling under your spell. Good women are hard to find, least their hard to find for me.”

  Riona shook her head as if to clear away some cobwebs, “You really are serious aren’t you? You would marry me just out of our brief time together yesterday.”

  Cameron smiled at her indecision, “And to help a damsel in distress, it’s the dream of every red blooded Scot.”

  She stared at him in a sort of bewilderment, Cameron made a helpless gesture, “But I guess if we’re going to do it speed is of the essence.”

  She licked her teeth. Cameron was beginning to love that gesture. “OK, I’ve been swept off my feet by my knight gallant, now what.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Of course it is you daft twit, didn’t I just say?”

  He grabbed her hands. “Sure?”

  She didn’t hesitate; Cameron was going to do something for her, not for his own ends, not to brush her aside, but for her and her alone. “Dead sure. But now what?”

  They stood for about thirty seconds and then both chorused together, “Ben!”

  When Riona and Cameron left Roberta sighed and leant back in her armchair. “There,” she said desolately, “You’ve been left with the alcoholic again.”

  Ben shook his head, “Past alcoholic.”

  She slumped back down in her chair, “Wrong tense. It’s not ‘was an alcoholic,’ it’s ‘is an alcoholic,’ least that’s what they always say in rehab.” She put on a patronising voice, “It’s like diabetes or hepatitis, you are never cured, but you can learn to live with it.”

  She looked so desperately miserable that Ben decided to keep her talking lest she go into utter despair. “Been out of rehab long?”

  “Six months, three weeks, two days and six hours, but I’m not counting.”

  There was no sense of jocularity in the voice; rather it was the flat deadpan delivery of woeful resignation. Ben nodded, “My sister-in-law told me that it does get easier, but at the beginning she had to fight the battle every day.”

  “Well she was wrong,” Roberta snapped, “You fight the battle every bleeding minute of every wretched day of every forlorn week.”

  She swung her eyes back onto Ben and he noted the slow movement of her right eye. “Can we talk about something else rather than my failures?”

  He said softly, “You’re not a failure. People may say that you’re a failure, may repeat it over and over again, but you’re not a failure. In fact I think you’re rather marvellous and I’m really glad that the other two have gone off.”

  “You wouldn’t rather be with her? Aristocratic poise and all that?”

  He tut-tutted, “Don’t know what happened when you ladies got together last night, but we men came to an agreement about which woman we really wanted to chase. I chose you, so it’s not a matter of you being left behind or me making the best of a bad job, it’s what I wanted. Beside who’d not want such a red-headed beauty to talk to?”

  He leant forward in his armchair, grabbed her hands and gazed into her eyes, “I mean it.”

  He watched her expression turn from desolation to consternation and instinctively knew he’d not convinced her. “Look,” he said softly, “I’m not good at this. It’s years since I’ve wooed a beautiful woman and I’m out of practice, so there’s no sales pitch, I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I’m not just the one left behind?”

  “You’re the best of the bunch to me.”

  She gazed into his eyes. Could this be true or was it just some Minton Hall effect?

  Matters would undoubtedly have progressed further, but Riona and Cameron returned, both grinning fit to explode. Riona’s head wobbled slightly from side to side as she addressed them both. “Glad you’re both here, we’ve a favour to ask. Cameron and I want to get married and we rather wondered if you could do it and Roberta could be my bridesmaid?”

  Ben took on the expression of a startled rabbit and Roberta’s eyes widened like saucers. Ben frowned his best vicar’s frown. “Are you sure, I mean marriage is not for Christmas it’s for…”

  Cameron crossed his arms. “We’re sure.”

  Ben’s eyes flicked from one to the other, they were indeed serious. “Have you told Angela?”

  “Stuff Angela,” said Riona firmly.

  Ben leaned back in his armchair. “Guess I could give the local vicar a ring.”

  There was no urgency in his voice. Cameron squatted beside him. “Her name is on the notice board in the hall. Thing is Ben, we’d like to get married before lunch.”

  “Before lunch!” Roberta squealed in delight.

  “Why the haste?” Queried Ben, becoming the very efficient vicar.

  Cameron looked straight into his eyes, “We’ve got our reasons.”

  Ben stood up, “I’ll make a call” he said as he walked out, pulling his mobile phone from out of his back pocket.

  He was back ten minutes later. “It’s on, but she insists on performing the marriage, after all it is her church.”

  “So now what?” Riona asked.

  Ben closed his eyes and thought. “You go down to the village. The Post-Office there can print out a Matrimonial State Printout for you – you have got your ID cards with you?”

  They both nodded and he continued, “She says that there is an antique shop in the village that sells good antique jewellery, so you can get some rings there. You’ll also need about £300 in cash, there’s a cash machine inside the Post Office. She won’t accept a cheque for this, but then neither would I in the circumstances. Otherwise be at the church in your best bib and tucker at eleven o’clock and she’ll marry you.”

  Cameron nodded, “If you can’t preside would you be my best man?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Cameron felt grand.

  He didn’t feel quite so grand just over an hour and a half later. He stood in the small toilet at the back of the church where they were to get married and surveyed himself in the mirror. Just twenty minutes earlier he’d held out a little blue box that contained a sapphire engagement ring to Riona. She’d beamed at him, bounced up and down with sheer pleasure, and taken out the ring, “I didn’t expect this.”

  But that was twenty minutes ago and now he was inside a church that was obviously used as a place of worship and well cared for. Just walking into the church had made him realise that this was not a joke or a wheeze, he actually was going to get married and married to Riona. The Scottish Presbyterian in him was screaming out that this was a major step, one not to be taken casually and certainly not one to be taken after a mere twenty-four hours. In Cameron’s head he could hear his local Presbyterian minister on Stornoway intone the importance of marriage as he had at the weddings of Cameron’s two brothers. Phrases stuck in his brain and just kept going round; ‘Marriage is intended by God to be a creative relationship… Marriage is an invitation to share life together… Marriage is for the procreation of children…’; and worst of all, ‘No-one should enter into marriage lightly or selfishly, but reverently and responsibly in the sight of God Almighty.’ Cameron shuddered and closed his eyes. Yesterday marriage had not been on his agenda and especially no thought of marrying, or even dating, Riona had crossed his mind, but now… He heard a movement outside the toilet door and pulled himself together, he’d given his word, given a ring and now he would go through with it
, but in his heart he knew that given another ten minutes in that toilet he might not feel so bold.

  Outside the toilet door he found Riona waiting patiently as they had agreed to walk down the aisle together, what Cameron didn’t expect was the female vicar standing next to her. He surveyed Riona now resplendent in a pair of snow-white well cut slacks and a white silk top with gold edging. It took him a few seconds to realise that the slacks were also silk and that Riona was carrying a bouquet of summer flowers and smiling like she’d won the pools and the national lottery at the same time. In contrast the vicar, a ginger haired forty something with a face like a renaissance angel, was looking distinctly worried. Fortunately for Cameron he didn’t realise that Riona was smiling to prevent herself from laughing. He had appeared from the toilet sporting a kilt, sporran, dress shirt, bow tie and long socks complete with a ceremonial dirk. If he normally looked odd, standing there in a kilt with his thin legs and knobbly knees made him look distinctly odder, but she knew that he was trying his best for her; she pondered the thought: the best for her. The vicar half whispered, “I understand from my colleague, and Miss Hardcastle, that you’re arranging this marriage in something of a rush; I must ask you before we begin the ceremony, are you really sure that you want to go ahead? After all marriage should not be undertaken lightly.”

  Cameron feared than his knees would give way and tried for his best smile, “Quite sure.”

  Riona nodded, “Quite sure.”

  The vicar danced from foot to foot, “This is most unusual.”

  Riona licked her freshly red painted lips, “But it will be legal.”

  The vicar nodded, “Yes, it will be legal, but I must say that I’m dubious about the haste.”

  Cameron tried to draw himself up to his full height. “There is no doubt, we are both adults and we are both quite sure.”

  The vicar looked at Riona, who gave her a gold-toothed smile, “Absolutely sure.”

  The vicar nodded and walked down the aisle to the chancel steps where she turned and waited.

  Riona hissed to Cameron, “Where did you get the gear?”

  He replied dryly, “I was a boy scout, so I came prepared.”

  They started up the aisle, arm in arm, till they stood in front of the vicar and waited for the service to commence.

  As wedding went it was short and simple, no hymns, no interruptions and with only Ben and Roberta to act as formal witnesses. Ben took some photographs outside the church using his mobile phone joking that he’d never thought that he’d become a wedding photographer. Roberta caught Riona’s small bouquet (she couldn’t have failed to do otherwise) and beamed with delight. In fact it all went off smoothly and happily: the only slightly sticky moment was when the vicar pronounced them as man and wife and told Cameron that he could kiss the bride. Their lips had met with the lightest of touches, but through that touch came a realization in both of them that this was not a game, that they were indeed married and that they had vowed before God their intention of being married for life.

  Angela, for the second time in two days found absolutely nobody turn up for coffee. She was not a happy bunny.

  Chapter 19

  Rapport

  Derek and Gwen opted to spend the morning in the swimming pool that was in one of the converted stable blocks. Derek swan like a fish; Gwen floundered like a beached whale. After her first attempt at a couple of lengths Derek could hold back no longer. “You’ve got the arm and leg movements all wrong,” he cried, “You’re supposed to rotate the arms like paddles and wiggle the legs like a mermaid, not pretend you’re rowing a boat while trying to ride a bicycle!”

  Following that they spent a happy hour with Derek teaching Gwen how to do the crawl followed by the breast stroke. The great advantage of his height and the small pool was that he could stand and hold Gwen horizontal while she practised. Neither of them objected to the prolonged physical encounter. It never occurred to Derek as to why a woman who’d been white water canoeing at university could not swim properly, or wonder as to why she make such spectacular progress. Once they had exhausted themselves they sat on the edge of the pool and talked. She told him of her time at school and he told her about his childhood in Kenya. Although he didn’t put his arm around her they sat close enough to each other to both know that such a move would have been decidedly possible.

  Willow and Henry opted for a stroll down to the village, a pot of tea in The Swan and a poke about the antique shops. By a masterly piece of timing they completely missed Cameron and Riona’s excursion into the village and their subsequent wedding. Henry brought a tiny exquisite pair of cuff-links and Willow purchased a small brass statue of a frog. In effect they just lingered together like old friends and talked of neutral subjects. That is until the walk home when Henry, without warning, took hold of her hand. The physical contact sent a frisson of mixed emotions through her body. She’d been married three times and instinctively knew that any physical contact, even the minimal physical contact of a held hand, meant that he was interested in her. That was a real bonus as she’d begun to worry after their almost companionship-like morning that he was not interested. On the other hand she’d been here before with men and it had always ended up in misery, angst and divorce so was he any different?

  George picked up Treasa at exactly ten o’clock and drove her to the nearby sports centre. This time he wasn’t in his police car, but in his own 1960s Morris Minor 1000. As they drove she surveyed the inside of the car, it was immaculate. “Surprised at you,” she said. “Having a car like this, thought you’d go for a BMW or something fast.”

  He dabbed the throttle and neatly double de-clutched down a gear, “No fear, spend all day rushing about so in my spare time I like to take it leisurely like.”

  She felt the leather seats, “Is this al original?”

  “Most of it. Car was genuinely owned by a little old lady whose husband died and she couldn’t drive. My only addition is the seat belts, been to too many accidents not to have seat belts.”

  They drove into the sport’s centre and Treasa almost saw his shoulders slump, this was obviously not his favourite activity. As they stopped she looked at him, “How do you usually play this?”

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve got a portable OHP and a few slides and I try to teach them the safe way to cross a road.”

  She almost screamed at the idea of showing slides on an OHP to six year olds. “Why don’t we try something different, she said, “it might go down well if…”

  Lunch was served, buffet style, in the meeting room. By the time Angela arrived all the people having the meal had helped themselves to varying amounts of fodder. As she walked in she detected, with her in-built group-process antenna, an atmospheric change, something had happened. She glanced around the room, but could not detect anything obvious, but she knew something had taken place to change the group dynamic. “Any idea where Treasa is,” she asked in near desperation.

  “She went off with a guy in a Morris 1000,” said Gwen. “He picked her up by the swimming pool. Large chap, looked like a policeman.”

  Angela nodded thanks, helped herself to a cup of coffee and became businesslike. “I’m glad you all enjoyed your morning. Since it is a fine sunny day this afternoon we’re going on a picnic. The picnic site is across the valley and by the time you arrive the hampers will have been delivered.” She waved four maps, “The idea is that you walk to the site, in pairs, by different routes and then meet up for the picnic. Since you can’t be eating food all day this means that there is no set dinner this evening, rather supper will be served in the Library from Eight-thirty onwards. After that, if you wish, the recent film True Blue, the story of the Oxford and Cambridge rowing teams competing in Utrecht, will be shown in our cinema, that’s Techophilaea, which is just the other side of the hall.”

  Willow groaned aloud, “Haven’t you got anything better? It was made by a South-American company that had no idea of English university life, uses an all-American cast, with d
readful accents, and has a story line that even infants can see through.”

  Angela wondered whether to stand her ground, remembered what Willow did for a living, and made a strategic withdrawal. “If you don’t want that film, there’s a collection of DVDs and videos at the back of the room. If you’re feeling adventurous there are also some 16mm films and a film projector.” She resumed on her set patter. “I’ll give one map to each pair. The first pair is Cameron and Roberta, the second pair is…”

  Cameron cut across her with his gentle highland voice. “Actually Angela, I’d rather walk there with my wife.”

  Angela, not listening properly, set about putting him straight about who was in charge. “No Cameron, I’d rather that we mixed the current pairs up a little so that you can… YOUR WIFE!”

  The last two words were squeaked at high volume full of disbelief and bewilderment.

  Riona gave a mock bow, “He made an honest women out of me at eleven o’clock this morning in St Marks”

  Angela sat down as if a lump of granite had just been placed in her lap. Roberta waved the bunch of flowers she had been clutching all morning. “I was the bridesmaid.”

  Angela almost heard her carefully made plans tumbling down. “I wish you’d told us.” She said weakly, “We’d have baked a cake.”

  Riona licked her teeth, “Date and walnut please, can’t stand normal wedding cakes.”

  Henry shot to his feet and marched across the room muttering “Congratulations” and offering his hand. In the ensuing round of congratulatory remarks Angela consoled herself that somewhere in the next, imminent, brochure she could mention the fastest result from arrival to marriage: just over twenty-four hours. Derek, on his way back to sit down, took a map from Angela’s hand. He peered at it and then showed it to Gwen, “Fancy a stroll through ‘Deer Wood?’

  Gwen internally sighed with relief. She’d given him every opportunity in the morning to show some affection – even a small token – and had failed. She’d begun to believe that he’d lost interest, obviously he hadn’t. “That would be grand,” she replied before Angela could interject.