Reinventing Lindsey

by Maggie Brown

  “You went out with the man next door? Are you changing sides?”

  “As if. He had tickets to the show, so I said I’d go with him.”

  Allison eyed her thoughtfully. “You can find everyone else a perfect match but not for yourself. What kind of woman do you like, and more to the point, why can’t you get her? You’re an expert at it.”

  “I’ve backed myself into a corner,” said Daisy with a scowl. “As you know, I needed to keep my professional life separate at first, which meant I had to fly under the radar for the first two years after setting up the agency. Casual dates only. It could have affected the business…I couldn’t take the risk. Now Marigold is big enough not to have to pander to bigots, my workload is the problem. I can’t get the hours or motivation to go out much. I haven’t been out on a proper date for months. By the time I finish the day, I only want to curl up on the lounge and chill out.”

  “Maybe we should take on fewer clients. The agency is doing extremely well financially.”

  “Perhaps we should. We both need more time for our own lives. I know your family will appreciate it.”

  “They would, but you’re the one who needs a social life.” Allison looked at her curiously. “Where exactly do you girls go to meet someone?”

  “We do most of our networking with parties and dinners. There are a couple of private clubs for women in town with many lesbian members. Then there are always chat lines, cocktail bars, and pubs.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you’ve never met anyone you were really keen on. You’re so bright and outgoing.”

  “I played the field at uni,” Daisy answered sheepishly. “Although I knew which side of the fence I sat on, I even dated a couple of guys. I thought for curious people that it was a rite of passage in their sexuality. For some past societies, it was normal, even expected, to explore both sides. It wasn’t until I was twenty-two that everything fell firmly into place. I coasted along dating, partying, never getting involved. It was all a bit of a game. Then suddenly I got what the fuss was all about.”

  “What happened?”

  “Bridget happened. She was a lecturer in women’s studies and so hot she sizzled. As soon as I clapped eyes on her, whistles blew and fireworks popped. My libido completely went off the charts. I was a crushing mess.”

  Allison chuckled. “I’d liked to have seen that. What happened to her? Obviously, she’s not still around.”

  “She was a player. After we indulged thoroughly in the joys of the…um…flesh, in six weeks she moved on to the next conquest.” When she caught Allison’s look of sympathy, Daisy grinned. “I wasn’t hurt about it. We weren’t suited at all, in fact if she hadn’t broken it off I would have. She was an egotistical prima donna who was actually a bit of a dumb ass about sexual attraction of the species. She couldn’t distinguish between the physiological and the emotional, but she did teach me a thing or two about my body.”

  “Really, Daisy, you’re so analytical when it comes to this stuff.”

  “Years of study. I’m mature enough now not to go overboard with my emotions.”

  “One day you’ll meet someone, and you won’t know what’s hit you.”

  “Ha! Not likely.”

  “We’ll see,” said Allison.

  Chapter Three

  “Turn around…turn around.”

  Daisy snapped off the irritating Siri voice, ready to scream. The GPS had her running around in circles, and if she didn’t find the turnoff soon, she’d be late. Not a good start, for from the precise tone of the letter, Lindsey Jamieson-Ford clearly expected punctuality at their first meeting. Frantically, she swept her eyes up and down the road. Not a damn signpost in sight. Suddenly she remembered the mud-map attached to the letter that she’d arbitrarily dismissed as old-fashioned. Quickly she dug it out from the bottom of her briefcase. After a quick scan, she realized she’d come too far. Just before the T-junction on the way back, she found the unmarked gravel track tucked away between a stand of trees.

  Thirty metres in, she brought her red Nissan to a halt in front of a steel gate. Before she punched in the passcode, Daisy ran her eyes over the elaborate surveillance setup attached to the left column. Nobody would be getting in here without permission. Once inside the estate, she drove along an avenue of pines until a two-storey house came into view. When she gazed upwards through the windscreen to take it all in, a slice of sunlight shimmered off something hovering above the tree line.

  She shaded her eyes, squinting through the glass. Barely definable against the backdrop of the cloudless sky, a small pale-blue balloon winked into focus. She recognized what it was immediately. A cinematographer client had given her a personalized tour of a film studio, explaining in detail the tools of his trade. The balloon was a Halo, the latest technology in the generation of drones used for taking aerial shots. Powered by helium rather than a motor, it was impossible to detect by sound.

  Skittish that someone was recording her every move, she eased the car to a stop in the stone-paved courtyard. When she stepped out, a blast of crisp spring air sent goose bumps prickling across her skin, though they were not solely from the cold. The house was enough to make her shiver. Brooding and formidable, it looked more like a gothic fortress than a family home. Straight out of an Edgar Allan Poe novel. The front door was solid steel, the windows were cased with heavy screening and the outside walls a hard-grey slate. Ivy crawled across the building like thousands of waxy green tentacles.

  After a twist to ease her bunched shoulder muscles, Daisy climbed the three steps to the front porch. She peered at the door uneasily. A huge brass dragon’s head was attached with the doorbell embedded in its eye. When she pressed it, the camera above immediately swivelled to focus on her. Wow, talk about paranoid. She was tempted to give it a wave but desisted—Ms Jamieson-Ford probably didn’t have a sense of humour. A moment later, the door swung ajar with a creak.

  A short matronly woman in a floury apron stood on the threshold, gazing at her in surprise. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Daisy let out a relieved sigh. The woman looked pleasant and unremarkable. “Hi. Daisy Parker to see Ms Jamieson-Ford.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  Daisy rocked back on her heels. “This is Tuesday, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I have an appointment at nine.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t told to expect you. Come along then. She’s in her office.”

  Daisy trotted along behind her up the hallway, at a loss to understand why Lindsey hadn’t mentioned her appointment to her staff. Then all thoughts of her mysterious client disappeared as she passed an open doorway. She stared, fascinated. It was another world: the enormous room was like something out of a sci-fi movie. The whole impression was of space, with lounge chairs perched on tubular legs, oddly shaped lamps hanging from the ceiling and an entertainment unit that could have been on the deck of the Starship Enterprise.

  On the far wall were images of spectacular land and seascapes, 3D holograms that slowly rolled over continuously like desktop images on a computer. To the side, a large curved ultramodern staircase wound up to the next floor. But most fascinating were the robots: one, humanoid in shape and size, was dusting the bookcase, while two small silver metal dogs zipped in and out of the furniture.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t dawdle for a proper inspection for the woman who answered the door was waving impatiently for her to follow. “That’s a private room. If I had known you were coming I would have shut the door. Come along. If your meeting’s at nine, then you’d better hurry. You’re already late and Ms Jamieson-Ford is very strict about time.”

  Daisy glanced at her watch. 9:06. For shit sake! Six minutes late and the help was in a tizz. Lindsey must be a time freak, which just narrowed down the eligibility field by half. Not many men wanted to be held to strict timetables. Women were mostly pliant, but from her experience males usually liked to be the boss, which definitely included when they did
things.

  There was no time for further speculation, for the door swung open and she was ushered into the room. Daisy sniffed appreciatively as she stepped inside. The air was tinged with the scents of leather and polish, which immediately recalled familiar images of cosy nooks in academic libraries.

  This room was entirely different from the lounge she had just passed. While it was evident that most of the ground floor had been gutted and redesigned, the study had been left in what she presumed was its original state. It was a large room, the walls polished wood, with a bookcase filled with thick hardcover books—she guessed technical—set against one side. A vintage burgundy velvet armchair and love seat sat with a small coffee table on the other side. Technical drawings were tacked to a freestanding display board against the wall.

  In front of an ornately carved arched back window, a solid mahogany desk dominated the room. Everything was perfectly in place on the top: paper, files, phone, and silver laptop. A gold-leafed desk set was impeccably aligned, while three pens and six graphite pencils marched in a straight row across the polished wood.

  The woman in the high-backed leather chair behind the desk looked imposing, with a long unsmiling face, a thin straight aristocratic nose, and penetrating sharp eyes. Her brown hair was tied back in a tight bun, while a pair of thick black glasses sat on the end of her nose. Her dark grey jacket was spread open to reveal a plain white shirt buttoned up to the neck. Daisy went immediately into marriage mode—there was a bit to do here if she wanted to snag her a husband.

  Lindsey’s expression was neither welcoming nor discouraging, though Daisy knew she was being sized up. She waited for her host to make the first move. Finally, Lindsey pointed to the seat and said in a low polished accent, “Please take a seat, Ms Parker.” Then with a smile, she turned to the small woman in the apron. “Thank you, Bernie.”

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, Lindsey.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes at the emphasis on the word. Geez, did she look like some crazy psycho? She sniggered to herself—or maybe Cruella De Ville, here to pinch those little robot dogs? She waited until the cook disappeared out the door before she thrust her hand over the desk. “Hi, Ms Jamieson-Ford, I’m Daisy Parker.”

  It was waved away with an impatient flick. “There’s no need for formalities. Call me Lindsey.” She peered up at the clock on the wall. “You’re late. If we’re going to do business, then I expect you to be on time in the future.”

  Daisy blinked. Talk about an obsessive grouch. She’d have to lighten up or nobody would want her. Daisy made a point of studying her vintage Rolex before stating firmly, “Only by seven minutes. Your turnoff was hard to find…you haven’t a sign. But be rest assured I’ll be early in future.” With a cheery smile, she launched into professional mode. “Now let’s get down to business. Is there anything you’d like to know about the Marigold Agency before we begin discussing what you’re looking for in a partner?”

  Lindsey formed her fingers into a steeple and raked her eyes up over Daisy’s face to rest on her hair. “Exactly how old are you? I was expecting to deal with someone more mature. What happened to that pleasant-looking woman on the brochure?”

  “She’s the agency’s business manager, and for your information I’ll be twenty-nine shortly.”

  “That old? You look about twenty.” She gave a shrug. “I guess if you do the job properly, it doesn’t matter what you look like.”

  Daisy curbed her temper. She was the boss of this show, not this antisocial woman. “You’re right,” she said briskly, “it doesn’t matter at all because I’ve got the runs on the board to prove it. And lucky me for looking so young. Some people…” she swept her eyes slowly over Lindsey’s face, “some people age far too quickly.”

  Lindsey actually smiled—slightly. “Tell me about yourself. I like to know the people with whom I have to deal,” she said.

  “We have an excellent reputation for helping clients. I have a master’s degree in anthropology and started the business three years ago.”

  “That’s impressive. I imagine your studies were the basis for this venture. Very innovative.”

  Daisy couldn’t help feeling a little chuffed. She imagined praise was doled out in very small portions by this woman. She had learned from the beginning that clients didn’t really care about her education, she was simply a matchmaker to them. It did give her ego a boost to have her academic achievements acknowledged. “I believe finding a mate can be achieved scientifically if a man and a woman are genetically suited.”

  “That’s interesting. It’s something I’d like to talk to you about in depth later. It would help in programming artificial intelligence. It never really entered my head to work with an anthropologist, but it makes sense,” said Lindsey with a nod. “How do you start the process of matchmaking? I imagine you just can’t pluck two people off the street and match them up.”

  “I’ve found that usually where there is attraction, there is a basis for compatibility.”

  “But not in all cases.”

  “No, not all,” replied Daisy. “Lust is sometimes mistaken for something deeper, which is why I urge my clients to go through a courtship process.”

  “A bit old-fashioned isn’t it. What about those who just want a permanent sex partner?”

  “I’ve nothing against anyone living that way, in fact if that’s what you want I say go for it. Is that what this is all about, Lindsey?”

  Something flashed in her eyes—hurt, or anger or maybe it was fear—Daisy couldn’t make it out, but whatever it was, it turned the eyes into sparkling pools of swirling colour. Daisy stared mesmerized. The eyes were extraordinary. The irises were a deep violet, shot through with flecks of gold and pale pink like facets of an amethyst. There was no doubt they were Lindsey’s best feature.

  Under the scrutiny, Lindsey shuffled in her seat. “Of course it’s not the reason I’m employing you. Sex is a commodity you can buy like anything else in the world. I want a loving spouse, someone who cares about me. I thought I explained that in my letter.”

  Something about how she said those words about sex being a commodity and the way she was fidgeting with the paper clip on the desk, sent whistles through Daisy’s brain. Somewhere in the past, Lindsey had paid for sex. She put it out of her mind—it was none of her business. “I know you did, but I have to ask all my prospective clients that question. It reinforces the end objective…to find true love. Now the first thing is to fill out a detailed profile.” She took a folder out of her bag and handed it across. “I want you to write it by hand. The computer lacks the deep personal touch. It will take you some time, so I need you to do it when you’re alone and I’ll collect it next time we meet.”

  “How detailed?”

  “It’s very comprehensive, but if there are any things you’re uncomfortable with I want you to leave them out. This isn’t an exercise in Chinese water torture. It will help me understand who you are and what you expect from a relationship. It’s amazing if you write it down how things become clearer. For example, some people want a partner at home keeping the household running, while others might love someone to share their workload. It’s an individual thing that most couples sort out through compromise.”

  Daisy watched the expressions flicker over Lindsey’s face as she thought it over. She had an interesting face, not pretty but intriguing. With a modern haircut, subtle makeup and more stylish clothes, she could look far less severe. As there was no question of money, it wouldn’t be necessary to have off-the-rack clothes. An upmarket designer could do wonders for her. She’d have prospective husbands lined up to meet her. “So, do we go ahead?” she asked.

  “I’m in.”

  “Good,” said Daisy with a satisfied hum. With access to unlimited funds, this was going to be a cinch. An academic type would suit her down to the ground, and they were as easy as pie to handle. So unworldly. “We can do a bit of the groundwork today. Firstly, give me the profile of the man you think would be
your perfect match.”

  The paper clip bent sharply in Lindsey’s fingers as she averted her eyes. “I want a wife, not a husband.”

  Chapter Four

  At her announcement, Lindsey expected the matchmaker to run. Instead, Daisy looked stupidly at her for a second before she broke into a chuckle. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that one.”

  Lindsey shrank inside, fighting the nausea that hit when she was out of her comfort zone. And she was certainly out of that safe place now. Daisy Parker was daunting with her bubbly personality and pert appearance, a social butterfly who no doubt bonded with clients over exotic cocktails in trendy pub lounges. Everything Lindsey was not and didn’t do. And now Daisy was laughing at her. When Lindsey first searched the web for a marriage broker, the woman on the brochure had drawn her like a magnet to the Marigold Matchmaking Agency. Her face radiated warmth and understanding, something Lindsey needed desperately.

  The words seemed to stick to her palate before she managed to spit them out, “You’re mocking me.” She hurriedly scribbled out a cheque and pushed it across the desk. “That should be enough to compensate for your time. I’ll buzz Bernice to show you out.”

  Daisy’s face paled as she looked down at the cheque. “No…no…no, I didn’t intend to insult you. You took me by surprise.” She swept her hand through her hair and tugged a curl. “Oh God…I’m making a mess of this. I’d never laugh at you, Lindsey. If you want a woman to share your life, I’ll find her.” She slid the leaf back across. “Here, please…please take this back. Give me another chance.”

  Lindsey hesitated. Here was the perfect excuse to pull out, but if she did, she knew she would never have the courage to approach another agency. It had taken all her willpower to write the letter. She had no choice—it was Daisy or nobody. “I suppose I could,” she said grudgingly.

  “Thank you. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s begin again shall we?”

  Daisy looked so perturbed that Lindsey felt a pang of remorse. “I’m sorry too. I guess I overreacted.” Then added anxiously, “Is it going to be a problem?”