Happy Ever After

by Kitty Wilson

  ‘Marion, Alex and I have no plans to get married. Is that what this is about? I must get back.’ Sylvie’s tone was firm; most unusual – she was normally all fey and fairylike.

  ‘Aha, but you could have.’ Marion had planned for this; she herself was fired up at the moment so happily launched into the offensive. ‘This is the twenty-first century, a revolution in the time of sisterhood, of women taking power back, of standing up to be counted, to be heard. This is our time, Sylvie. This is your time.’ Marion wondered if she should pound the wall to reinforce her point. Goodness, if the suffragettes had had her around, they would have achieved the vote at least twenty years earlier.

  Sylvie’s eyebrow went from mildly quizzical to sky high.

  ‘Marion, do you need to sit down?’

  ‘No, no, there’s nothing wrong with me.’ She batted Sylvie off her. ‘I’m fine. I am merely fired up on the notion of sisterhood, of us banding together, taking back control.’

  ‘Never did I not have control of my ow—’

  Marion cut her off, her oratory high along with her passion, whether it be for her subject or her business it would be hard to call. Marion herself wasn’t sure but she was enjoying herself. ‘Moving forward, Sylvie, moving forward. There may have been no talk of marriage yet, but why wait for him to propose, why give him the power? Don’t you want the security, the tax breaks?’

  ‘I’m not waiting for him to propose, between us we have—’

  ‘You ask him and then this is where I can come in and help. I can help you arrange the most beautiful marriage proposal, something that would speak to him, blow his mind, bowl him over so much that the only thought running through his head will be yes, yes, yes.’ Sylvie wasn’t looking convinced and had started to cast desperate looks over Marion’s shoulder towards the class she was meant to be teaching.

  Marion needed to refocus her and do so by appealing to a memory of when Marion’s help had been personally useful. ‘It will be even better than the time I helped Alex out with the belly dancing, the gesture that got you both together in the first place,’ Marion said triumphantly. Sylvie couldn’t help but smile and Marion could taste victory. ‘And then I could help organize the wedding, take all the stress away and before you knew it you’d have a ring on your finger and all would be right with the world,’ she finished, putting her most convincing facial expression on and cocking her head to one side as she waited for Sylvie’s gratitude to pour forth.

  ‘Well, Marion. That is all very interesting but I do need to get back to the children…’ As if on cue, another three toppled in unison after being told to hop on one leg and clap behind their back. ‘And I have no intention of proposing to Alex. You’re quite right, this is the time for women to stand up, make their voices heard and be counted as we have been doing for a while and do you know what? I don’t need a ring on my finger to do that.’

  Chapter Ten

  Monday morning was here and a bleary-eyed Richard wandered into the office, leaving behind streams of people racing from the Tube, the buses – schools of fish swimming with the tide. It made him wish, not for the first time, that he could spend his mornings waking up in Penmenna, walking the dog and making breakfast for Marion and the boys rather than being jumbled into the Tube, sweaty armpits and hefty bags walloping him in the face, carried along on a wave of bad temper and resentfulness.

  Reaching MH Capital Holdings, he entered and took the lift up to his floor in the terribly chic streamlined glass building and wished for once that it was a little less modern, less open and visible, a little more Victorian.

  He was dreading today. Not only would he have to face Claudia, who would probably want a public and bloody revenge after his rejection of her last night, but also Scott. Scott was his immediate boss, whose management style involved shrieking and waving his hands around wildly as flecks of sweat flew around the room, whilst everyone present held their breath in case he keeled over with a heart attack – more than likely when one considered his penchant for pork scratchings, doughnuts, call girls and cocaine. Hence the wish to hide, just for a minute or two, behind some dust-covered ledgers and perhaps arm himself with a pointy quill or two.

  Meghan, his executive assistant, who resembled a young librarian with a smidge of Heffalump and a smudge of hair, was already at her desk. She had a sharp mind he admired and was a willing listener to his tales of a desperate weekend, how he had failed to meet with Mr Nakamura for drinks on the Saturday and instead spent his time trying to find his wife.

  ‘But you met him in the office that day – what on earth happened between then and meeting them at the Ivy for seven thirty? You had it in the bag.’

  ‘All sorts of craziness happened, that’s what. I ended up chasing Marion down the motorway…’

  ‘Marion, your wife?’ She paused as he nodded in confirmation. ‘You chased your wife down a motorway? What, like those crazy car chases you see on American news? Like OJ?’

  ‘No, not exactly, not at all! It’s a long story but I had to try to stop my marriage imploding so I raced to Cornwall on a bit of a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Did you find her? Did you save your marriage?’ Meghan sounded intrigued.

  ‘No, no I didn’t.’

  ‘You’re joking?’ Meg’s face fell. ‘Not after your romantic dash and everything? Was she not bowled over by the romance of it?’

  Richard shrugged and gestured to his forehead to show the remnants of where she had bashed him with the vase.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Looks painful.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What did you do?’ The concern was gone and there was a mildly affectionate men-of-your-generation-are-so-clueless expression on her face.

  ‘I offered to get her help, I thought it might be the, you know…’ he whispered, ‘the change.’

  ‘And you said that whilst not carrying a tray with a cup of tea, some flowers, six bars of chocolate and a little bag from Tiffany’s? Can I assume you had none of those things?’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘So boosh, you got a bump on the head. I’m fond of Marion and I know she’s a sucker for a romantic gesture, you two are my relationship role models, but what on earth did you do that was so bad that she couldn’t forgive?’

  ‘It started when I cancelled our anniversary break because of the Japanese thing…’

  ‘But she understands that, she’s always been so supportive, far more than I would be under the circumstances.’

  ‘Hmm, she did, she was. She decided to come up to London and surprise me in the flat so we didn’t have to miss out on our weekend together, I think…’

  ‘Oh, let me guess how this ends.’

  ‘Go on.’ Richard raised a brow. How could Meghan guess what happened next when it had only begun to form a clear picture in his own mind last night?

  ‘You still had Claudia there, didn’t you? Marion saw her and…’

  ‘Exactly that. Do you know what, talking to you about this is really focusing me. All sorts have been running through my head, worrying about work, wanting to be with my family. But you’re right, Marion has always been supportive, and now I’m left thinking what on earth am I doing with my life? Why am I back here? Mr Nakamura has signed the contracts despite me not being there, my bonus for landing him is ridiculous. I think I’m in the wrong place.’ He looked at her. Why was he only just realizing he could change this, he could change it now? He had always said he’d take early retirement after this deal. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to do that but there was no reason for Scott to know this.

  ‘I think this has little to do with me; I think you came to that all by yourself. But you know what, sometimes you have to throw it all to the winds, mix it up a bit.’

  ‘You do. I am. I’m going to be bold. I know what I want; I’m going to make sure I get it. Meghan, I’m going to miss you. If you ever need a bed in Cornwall…’

  ‘I think that’s what got you into trouble
in the first place!’ Meghan winked, safe in the knowledge of their friendship. ‘Now stop cluttering up the place. Go see Scott, be bold, be brave, be free!’

  Chapter Eleven

  Persuading Sylvie to get married and quickly may not have gone exactly as she had hoped, and Marion had spent the last couple of days tracking down other potentials. She had accosted Alice with her we-are-women-hear-us-roar wedding proposal plan and had been laughed out of the staffroom as Alice pointed out that she and Dan had only been dating a couple of months and as committed as the two of them were, that was a bit quick.

  Pippa had disappeared from the face of the earth, despite Marion checking every classroom and all the cupboards and loos, so she’d pencilled in nabbing her later.

  But right now she was in one of Cornwall’s swishest restaurants with her celebrity gal pal, Angelina Masters. She should have been having the best time but the truth was she felt as if she had used up all her bravado already this week. With Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Richard repeatedly ringing her and her repeatedly refusing to pick up, she was feeling the strain of maintaining the pretence that she was starting a business merely because the boys were old enough now. When all she wanted to do was scream, so loud that it jettisoned the moon out of its orbit, that this business had begun because her husband was a duplicitous toad.

  This feeling of gloom, resentment and unending sadness wasn’t helped by the fact that she had the locksmith coming to change the locks this afternoon and that she, unlike all the other people in the village, didn’t seem to have a girlfriend that she could confide in, pour her heart out to. She had never felt the lack of this beforehand, always smugly reassuring herself that she was lucky enough to have a husband for that sort of thing; that had come back to bite her on the arse.

  She had hoped that when she saw Angelina this lunchtime the woman may offer her a shoulder as well as satisfying her new business needs but alas they had been here for half an hour and so far Angelina had kept up a relentless steam of ‘…and then we went… and I said… and I bought… and I demanded and I… I… I… I…’

  The monologue was broken by the beep of Marion’s phone. Her heart sped up as she looked at the message, only calming when she saw it was Matt and not Richard. Matt was texting to confirm he and Rosy would be very happy if she would help them with the wedding. She felt like punching the air. She was up and running!

  She broke Angelina’s monologue to tell her the news.

  ‘Oh, darling, how fabulous, although such a bore that you have to work. I’m not surprised my brother has said yes; for someone so constantly muddy he can at times be quite brilliant. We’ll have to make it the most glamorous… scratch that, he’s marrying Rosy, isn’t he? Okay, vaguely glamorous wedding Cornwall has ever seen – you and I will just have to step up, be the glitterati. Mind you, that shouldn’t be hard.’ Angelina cackled as she threw her head back to quaff the glass of champagne in her hand and Marion felt another flash of sadness.

  This was how it was now. She had found that as long as she kept busy during the day she was coping until she would suddenly be caught by a wave, a memory triggered by a word, a phrase, a view. It would be as if someone had dealt her a blow to the solar plexus, the memory accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. The nights were far worse.

  Angelina didn’t notice and carried on talking in her high-pitched tone. Marion had noted before that her pal lacked any kind of empathy.

  She continued to squawk for another five minutes before saying, ‘Now let’s stop talking about me.’ Finally. Marion tried not to sigh with relief. ‘It was lovely to lunch, it’s been simply ages, but you did say you were hoping for a favour? As you know, darling, time is precious – what was it you wanted?’

  Before Marion had a chance to answer, Angelina had turned to one of the young waiters walking past, waving her glass at him as she spoke and pointing to the champagne bottle on the table. ‘This was finished some time ago and now so is my glass, so I’m having to take time out of my conversation to ask you to do your job. Another one please. And preferably within the next few minutes – no nipping off for a fag or flicking through the Beano, there’s a good boy.’ She turned back to her friend. ‘Honestly, Cornwall. One wonders what the point is? I have no idea why Chase insists on spending so much time here.’ She waved her hand extravagantly around her and Marion fought to keep her eyebrow in place. She was very fond of Angelina; the girl was a raging success in everything she did, her perfume had just become the number one bestseller on the high street and she was currently designing a range of sunglasses. But honestly!

  They were sitting in a restaurant that was three sides glass, overhanging the ocean and surrounded by the majesty of the cliffs and the rocks, the sky bright blue and crisp, the reflection of the sun making the sea sparkle. It was pretty damn perfect. Marion knew she had her faults but she was loyal to this county. Her own beginnings meant she loved every inch of this coastline, every crag and rock, every sandy beach. Why, once she and Ri— boom, and there it was again. She took a hefty swig, emptying her own glass as the terrified teen brought another bottle over, a bead of sweat running down his brow as he popped the cork. Marion did hope this was the last bottle of the day. Angelina liked a drink and was particularly fond of ones at everybody else’s expense whereas Marion was going to have to cut her cloth according to her means for a while.

  ‘I’m glad you brought it up, I wanted to talk to you…’

  The boy slid the new bottle into the ice bucket, and walked backwards, as if they were dangerous beasts he had to keep his eye on. He could be right.

  ‘Ha, I expect we made his day. It’s not often they get a mega star in this shabby little place.’ Marion wasn’t so sure. Rumour had it that Robbie Williams and Ayda Field had hired this venue for a private party just last month on Elton John’s recommendation, Kylie had been spotted in here at the weekend of her Eden Project gigs and the restaurant did have a helipad attached.

  ‘Quite, I expect he’ll be talking about it for years to come,’ Marion managed to say. She was a born businesswoman; schmooze should become her middle name.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I asked you here today because I am about to break into something new…’ She flew into her spiel about being a brave independent woman that knew the world of business, Angelina was absolutely right, Cornwall did need a little livening up and that she, Marion, was the woman to do it. ‘And I am not a stupid woman, I know the key to any kind of success is having that special sparkle…’ Oh shit, she shouldn’t have said that – what if Angelina thought she meant drugs? She did not mean drugs. ‘That… um… X-factor that only the very select few can bring. That je ne sais quoi that you, Angelina, are the absolute queen of. So, I’m asking you to throw a huge party, a great big event and let me do it for you. Then you can tell everyone how wonderful I am and the world will bow at your feet for throwing the party of the decade. I can and will get you everything you want to ensure, ensure it is the most talked-about event of forever!’

  ‘Let me think. It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, isn’t it? That would be cute, could you throw Chase and I a Valentine’s party? It’s the anniversary of when we met, when you got us together. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

  Marion’s heart sank; she may well be a superwoman, the new queen of every ball, barbecue and blow-out on the block, but a Valentine’s party tomorrow, with Angelina’s friends in attendance? Because woe betide her if any of Angelina’s guests couldn’t make it to Cornwall with one day’s notice; that would definitely be considered her fault.

  However, Angelina Masters was hot property and she needed her onside. Suddenly inspiration hit. Why not? The idea was pure genius – the trick was to sell it to Angelina. The woman didn’t like sharing the limelight with anyone, but if she could persuade her to marry Chase, and not just marry him but have a shared wedding with her brother then the celebrity exposure would be huge. It genuinely would be the wedding of the year, like a royal wedding but bigger, b
etter. The TV gardener that everyone loved to love and the opinionated celebrity that everyone loved to loathe, two siblings respectively marrying a schoolteacher and a multi-billionaire self-help guru. This would make TV gold; she could sell the rights and live off the merchandising for years.

  She turned to Angelina, her face alight with possibilities.

  ‘You’ve perked up; you’ve been very bleurgh since you arrived today. Can I take this to mean you’ll have a party for us in place for tomorrow?’

  No, it blooming didn’t, but what she would have time to organize, if she didn’t sleep, was an intimate, private engagement. A moment just for her clients alone – with an announcement that would break Instagram and rack up a whole heap of followers for Marion.

  ‘Possibly, but I have a much simpler idea, an idea that could shape your life forever. An idea that would be the final step to shaping you into an international icon for the ages. An idea that would mean when people searched for the words perfect, romantic, feminist, bliss, inspirational and so on, then a picture of you and Chase would come up. You and Chase under an arch of love accompanied by all the people in your life who love you, adore you, idolize you, even.’

  Angelina sat up and put her drink on the table as she held Marion’s eye keenly. Marion fixed her gaze upon her friend and then leant over and whispered, so as to make her come closer and really listen. ‘Let me talk to you about womanhood in the twenty-first century.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Marion sidled around the staffroom door. Aha, as she had thought! Jenny and Serena were there, the latter cutting out the last of the hearts for this evening as Jenny served her coffee. Marion smirked at the scene in front of her. She needed to choose between these two, decide which one was suitable for succession and so far Jenny seemed to be unable to step out from second in command. Marion’s theory was reinforced as Jenny passed Serena the coffee with an obsequious smile. Serena accepted graciously and carried on cutting out the hearts, making sure each one was perfect.