My One Month Marriage

by Shari Low

  If anyone was manning the corridor’s CCTV cameras, they’d see Mr Yves Roche make his way to his suite at the end of the long passageway. They’d see a woman in a white dress with a sharp, black bob, walk a few feet behind him. Then they’d see him hold the door so that she could follow him into his room. If there was sound, they might even hear the thud of his door, as they slammed against it the minute it was closed, lips already on lips, clothes already being discarded. A couple of hours later, they’d see the same woman leave the suite and make her way to her own room, several doors along, creeping in so as not to wake her sleeping roommate. The next morning, they’d see not even a glimmer of regret on her face as she walked jauntily down the corridor, pulling her trolley case behind her, accompanied by her sister.

  In the lobby, the rest of their party joined them, the other two wearing dark glasses despite the fact that the early-morning sun didn’t reach into the hotel.

  ‘What the hell happened to you two?’ Marina demanded, as soon as she saw them.

  Yvie groaned as she shook her head. ‘What happens in… where are we?’

  ‘Ibiza,’ Zoe replied.

  ‘What happens in Ibiza, stays in Ibiza,’ Yvie mumbled.

  Christ, the state of them. They were a total embarrassment.

  All thoughts of the night before locked away, Marina immediately snapped into organisation mode, summoning the car, checking out, counting bags and making sure everyone had passports, purses, et cetera. This stuff was second nature to her. She watched over them, barked orders at them and kept them in one piece all the way to Glasgow airport. When the flight landed at 11 a.m., she had her car keys out and ready to take them the rest of the way home.

  Home. Stomach clenched at the thought. The last few days had proved to her that she associated home with slog, with stress, with constant demands on her time, and yet she wasn’t sure how she could change it even if she wanted to. It was the life she had built for herself and her family and every bloody bit of it depended on her. It was so far removed from last night and from that night in Edinburgh. For those illicit hours, she was just Marina, and she’d loved every minute of both encounters, but they couldn’t happen again. It was reckless. Stupid.

  Verity had been sound asleep when she’d got back to the room the night before, and she was so wrapped up in whatever was going on with her, that this morning she didn’t even ask what time Marina had got in, but it could have played out very differently.

  If Zoe and Yvie hadn’t been so hungover today, they could have questioned what time she left them last night and Verity might have been awake and could have realised she’d been AWOL for a couple of hours.

  She was dicing with danger. Risking her cosy existence. It had to stop. No more.

  They were on the way through the terminal when her phone buzzed.

  She assumed it was Graham, asking her to pick up something on the way home, so she was surprised when she heard a woman’s voice telling her she was calling from Weirbridge Primary School. That was where Verity worked. Did she have the wrong sister?

  ‘Ms Danton…’ That didn’t help. Marina’s one token act to retain her independence when she married Graham was to keep her maiden name.

  ‘I’m Clara Roberts, head of the summer fair committee.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maybe the right sister after all. Marina had helped them fundraise over the last few years as a favour to Verity.

  ‘Yes, how can I help you?’

  ‘Ms Danton, this is a bit of an unusual call. I’m sure you’ll understand that it’s important for complete transparency that all the prizes at the annual fair are properly dealt with, especially with this year’s fair taking place next month.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve discovered that one of the prizes was never claimed. We feel it’s only right that we rectify this, and also that we attain some promotional photographs of the winner that can be used when we offer the same prize this year.’

  ‘And how can I help with this?’

  She didn’t have time for this right now. She needed to be home, recalibrating back to wife and mother mode, while reinforcing the message to herself that no matter how good they felt, these random hook-ups had to stop. Had. To. Stop.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid it was your prize, Ms Danton. You won a five star dinner with one of our teachers, Mr Merton. We’d like to organise a night that would suit you both to meet. Are you perhaps free next Thursday?’

  Marina stopped, closed her eyes. She’d forgotten all about it, cared even less. But there were two choices here. Another night listening to Graham snoring by 10 p.m., or a swanky meal in some upmarket restaurant with Zoe’s boyfriend.

  As if some cosmic force had taken charge, she heard her own voice saying, ‘Yes, that will be fine.’

  21

  The Four Sisters – Present Day; Sunday, 2.10 p.m.

  Only a couple of minutes have passed since Roger’s call revealing the name on the credit card, but it feels like about a week and a half.

  Verity is now staring at me like she could quite happily take the cocktail stirrer from her pink drink and stab me through the heart. Of course, she is the obvious suspect. She’d worked with Ned for years before I came on the scene and, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, on some level, even back then, I knew she had a thing for him. It’s absolutely on me that I chose to take her at her word after she told me she had no interest in him. I should have delved deeper. But then, she’s so damn infuriating sometimes, that I chose not to.

  I take another swig of the pink anti-acid cocktail, buying time before I respond to their confused expressions.

  Sister love. It’s a complicated thing.

  Take Marina, for example.

  She has stepped over so many lines in the last year that I sometimes feel like I don’t know her at all.

  But really, is there even a question in my mind that she would step over the most dangerous line of all?

  22

  Zoe – On her Birthday

  ‘Ah, I hate slumming it on my birthday,’ Zoe whistled, as she slipped into a sumptuous silver velvet dining chair in one of the most luxurious private dining rooms she’d ever seen. Located between The View restaurant and the private corridor that led to Roger Kemp’s penthouse on the top floor of the Kemp Glasgow, the corner room was decorated in subtle greys, silvers, cream and crystal, with strategically placed mirrors reflecting the natural light from two walls of floor to ceiling windows. Even the September clouds didn’t spoil the view. The most exquisite aspect of the room, though, was the solid wall of fragrant white and pink roses that spanned one corner to another, opposite the window. She knew the flower wall had probably been ordered for a wedding last weekend and Roger had just had it moved here for their dinner tonight, but that just emphasised his thoughtfulness.

  ‘You know, I could just put a blow-up mattress in here and live here forever,’ she said, blown away as ever by the room’s perfection.

  ‘Yeah, but you might get in the way of the staff serving the soup,’ Tom pointed out. Yep, Tom, her former boyfriend, the man who’d broken her heart less than a year ago, was by her side.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Ned had questioned her when she’d told him about the plans for today. ‘So, your favourite client has invited us for lunch on your birthday at his fuck-off posh hotel…’

  Zoe had nodded. ‘Correct.’

  ‘With his wife, who is completely stuck-up and doesn’t give anyone the time of day.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And he’s also invited your ex-boyfriend…’

  ‘He’s also invited my friend and business partner,’ Zoe had corrected him. ‘The fact that Tom and I were once a couple is irrelevant.’ For the purposes of this debate, she had overlooked the uncomfortable truth that nothing about her relationship with Tom had been filed in her emotional database as ‘irrelevant’.

  ‘And his partner is coming too.’

  ‘Yeah, Chrissie. She’s l
ovely,’ Zoe had confirmed. That part was true. Much to her utter disdain, she’d immediately seen why Tom’s love for Chrissie was a once in a lifetime deal. She was warm, funny, gorgeous, and they’d liked each other on sight. At least a new friend in the equation was a small consolation for losing the love of her life.

  Ned, meanwhile, was still ruminating over the guest list. ‘I think I’m washing my hair that day,’ he’d said, making Zoe cackle with laughter as she’d pushed her arms around his waist and stretched up to kiss him.

  ‘Nope, you’re coming because you love me,’ she’d told him.

  ‘And you love me right back?’ he’d asked. He was playing now too, but there was a sliver of a point in his comment. Since he’d said the L word, she’d reciprocated, but it still wasn’t second nature to her. It had become a standing joke that he always said it first. She really had to make an effort on that, especially as, like now, he’d do anything for her.

  That’s why, he’d put on his best suit today, a stunning Tom Ford charcoal two-piece Zoe had bought him for his birthday a couple of months ago from a Glasgow menswear boutique called CAMDEN. And that’s why he was sitting across the round table from her, with Chrissie on one side and Felice on the other. Zoe, meanwhile, was between Tom and Roger and trying not to allow her mind to be swayed by the subtle aroma of Tom’s aftershave. It was Creed Original Vetiver, and she knew this because it was the first present she’d ever bought him. He’d loved it so much, it became the only aftershave he ever wore. The minute she walked into a room, she knew if he’d been there and she was absolutely sure that there would come a time when the scent wouldn’t automatically bring on a twinge of sadness. She was over him. She definitely was. It just seemed that her nose had yet to get the message.

  The lunch was simple but delicious. Roger had asked what her favourite dishes were and had his chef make them. She could have requested the finest fillet of beef, the most expensive truffles, or something that wouldn’t look out of place on the final of MasterChef, but no. She’d chosen her genuine faves. It was probably a comedown for a Michelin Star chef to make chicken nachos with spicy salsa, creamy guacamole and a side of Cajun fries, followed by caramel apple pie and toffee ice cream, but he didn’t complain.

  This was the perfect day and she was touched that Roger had suggested it and then made it so entertaining with his hilariously indiscreet anecdotes of the goings-on he’d witnessed in his hotels over the years. Although, clearly Felice had heard them all before because she sat there with a thoroughly bored expression. Zoe had a flashback to something her dad used to say if any of them sported a glum demeanor. ‘The wind will change and your face will stay like that,’ he’d tell them, laughing as he tickled them to make them smile again.

  Roger might want to brush up on his tickling skills to crack this one’s unamused pout. They were definitely one of those couples that didn’t seem, on the outside, to gel. Tom and Chrissie, on the other hand, had happiness and compatibility oozing out of them. Urgh.

  ‘I hate that I like you,’ Zoe had told her on their third or fourth meeting.

  Chrissie had nodded dolefully. ‘I know. It really sucks that I like you too.’

  Since then, they’d become friends despite their mutual connection of having been in love with the same man. They had lunch every few weeks, they went to their weekly spin class together and Zoe was a regular at the shop Chrissie worked in, Sun Sea Ski – next door to the menswear place where she’d bought Tom’s suit – when she was stocking up for any trips or holidays. She and Tom were also invited to Zoe’s family party at Gino’s later that evening.

  So, unorthodox as it was, this was the perfect setting and guests for her lunch. Even Ned seemed to be relaxing and enjoying himself, although he wasn’t having much luck cracking Felice’s straight face either.

  Zoe was, in fact, enjoying herself so much that she almost missed the significance of the comment.

  ‘I meant to say, my secretary said you rang this morning. Were you calling to offer me a discount on your exorbitant fees?’ Roger asked Tom, laughing.

  Strange. It was generally Zoe who was the point of contact between the agency and Roger. Tom only sat in on major negotiations and pitches.

  ‘No, I… it’s… I…’

  Oh shit, Tom was blustering and he suddenly shot an awkward glance in her direction. Someone switched off the light on Zoe’s happy glow. Something was afoot and if she didn’t know about it, then it could only mean that either she was getting fired and Tom was letting their biggest client know, or…

  ‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ she blurted, ripping off the Band-Aid, and knowing instinctively that she was right. It was the only thing Tom would possibly be uncomfortable discussing in front of her. And, of course, it made sense that the wedding would be in the hotel that had the reputation for staging the best parties in the city. Fuck. She prayed she was wrong. Fire me. Go on. It’ll hurt less.

  Tom was looking at her incredulously now. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Psychic!’ She covered up the blow to the solar plexus with the widest smile she could muster, aware that Ned was now studying her face carefully, no doubt searching for any sign that she was upset by this. And the Oscar for Best performance by a Jilted Girlfriend goes to…

  ‘Congratulations! I’m really happy for you!’ she chirped, blowing Chrissie a kiss across the table, hoping she wasn’t coming over as too gushy. Thankfully, if she was, no one seemed to notice. Not even Ned, who was giving Chrissie a kiss on the cheek and reaching over to shake Tom’s hand.

  ‘When’s the big day, then?’ Zoe asked, because it was the natural thing to do – if the happy couple concerned weren’t your ex and his new fiancé.

  ‘Och, we’ll talk about it later,’ Tom batted back. ‘Today’s your birthday. It should be all about you,’ he teased.

  ‘Every day is all about me. I welcome a bit of variety,’ she drolled back, making everyone laugh. See. This was what she had with Tom. That easy conversation and exactly the same sense of humour, most of it built on self-deprecation, laughter and mutual sarcasm. But she had that with Ned too. Or at least, as close as it could be after only nine months or so together.

  Chrissie took up the challenge. ‘It’s July first next year. Plenty of time to get organised.’

  ‘Organisation of weddings is my speciality, just saying,’ Zoe said breezily, the offer implicit. Dear God, what was she doing? Was she really so keen to avoid appearing upset by this that she was offering to help the love of her life plan his wedding to someone else? Her inner self thudded her head against a metaphorical flower wall.

  ‘I’ll take you up on that,’ Chrissie promised her.

  Great. Smashing. Thud.

  ‘Don’t you think weddings are so… past tense?’ Felice waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, stunning the table into silence.

  Roger was the first to recover. ‘I bloody hope not. I’d lose a fortune,’ he said, covering the second uncomfortable moment of the day perfectly.

  Zoe actually felt a pang of sympathy for this good-looking, charismatic, ultra-successful, wealthy pillar of the community whose only problems in life were probably what to buy next and where to park his jet ski. Either Felice was a first-class bitch or they were having problems and this was her way of getting a dig in at him. Either way, what a cow. A very beautiful, Dior-wearing cow.

  Roger, meanwhile, had moved on and was already checking something on his phone. ‘Yep, we can do that here. I was a bit concerned you were going to say May.’

  ‘Why?’ Zoe asked, welcoming the change of subject.

  Roger beamed. ‘Actually, I was going to talk to you about that on a day that wasn’t all about you,’ he bantered with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Yeah, well, these two…’ she gestured to Tom and Chrissie, ‘have already stolen the limelight, so fire away.’

  He really did have gorgeous teeth, she noticed, as he laughed.

  ‘Okay, so after almost two years of negotiati
ons, we finalised a deal to take over a Vegas hotel,’ he announced, his excitement irrepressible. ‘We launch next May. I’ll be working with an agency over there on publicity, but I need you to liaise with them on branding and on UK publicity. Oh, and I plan to do a Richard Branson and fly over a jet full of guests for the launch. Zoe, the stuff we did with your sisters in Ibiza was brilliant. Do you think they’d be up for a trip further afield? I know Verity’s job might be a problem, but I’m pretty sure the schools have a long weekend break in May and I think it’s the same one.’

  Zoe was catching on to some of Roger’s enthusiasm, especially as she could hear Yvie screaming ‘A freebie to Vegas? Yaaassssss!’ in her head.

  ‘I’ll check with her, but I think I can safely say that if that’s the case, they’d all be open to it.’ She could check with them tonight at her party. That would be sure to get them all in the mood to celebrate.

  ‘Great,’ Roger beamed. ‘And you too, of course, Ned. You definitely need to get in on the act this time. Like I said, I’m sure it coincides with the school long weekend in May.’

  It was Ned’s turn to look delighted. He winked at Zoe. ‘I could get used to your birthdays if they’re all like this.’

  ‘They are,’ she promised. ‘Next year, Roger is buying me a private jet and a gold mine.’

  Okay, time to leave while they were on a high, and before she said anything stupid or emotionally revealing. The Vegas weekend was only adding a light relief to the stabbing pain of Tom and Chrissie’s announcement. She could do this. She only had to keep up this front of nonchalance for a few more minutes.

  She took her napkin off her lap and placed it on the table. ‘Roger, this was amazing and I can’t thank you enough. I’ve had a wonderful time, but all good things…’

  She swallowed back ‘have to end with your ex-boyfriend setting a date for his wedding.’

  Almost there. Almost.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Roger replied. ‘You know, I don’t say it enough – and I’ll deny having said this when it comes time to negotiate our next contract – but you guys are great and I’ve really enjoyed working with you.’