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The Bartered Bride

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Год написания книги
2018
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‘Do you like champagne?’ Reid asked her.

Fran nodded. She didn’t like the cheap champagne sometimes served at weddings but she guessed that whatever he ordered would be the best.

‘Let’s make our decisions now, shall we?’

Reid was referring to the menu, but his choice of words reminded her of the momentous decision they were, if not exactly celebrating, at least ratifying. In theory she could back out right up to the moment of official commitment. But she knew she wasn’t going to do that. The die was already cast, her future as his wife settled.

The champagne came, a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon.

‘Someone called this “psychological magic”,’ said Reid, raising his glass to her.

‘We could do with some,’ she said dryly.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘We don’t have the usual kind of magic.’ She nodded her head in the direction of a couple at another table gazing at each other as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

‘We can easily conjure some up.’ He reached for her free hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing them against the back of it and then turning it over and pressing his mouth to her palm.

Fran felt like snatching it back but managed to control the impulse and remove it from him with a semblance of graciousness. ‘I don’t think we should pretend anything we don’t feel.’ After a slight pause, she added, ‘At the same time I’d rather no one else knew that it’s a...a marriage of convenience. I know it would disturb my family if they realised it wasn’t a love match.’

‘In that case we’re going to have to put on a show of amorous feelings in front of them,’ said Reid, his expression sardonic.

‘Yes... up to a point,’ she acknowledged. ‘When will you make it public?’

‘Unfortunately I’m committed to going overseas, leaving tomorrow. I shan’t be back for ten days. When I am, we can meet each other’s families before putting a notice in The Times to let all our friends know.’

He gave her an unexpectedly charming smile. ‘I would rather not go away just now, but a lot of arrangements are in place and it would cause great inconvenience if I were to cancel the trip. I’m sorry about it.’

‘That’s all right. It will give me more time to get used to the idea.’

‘Or to change your mind.’

‘If I wasn’t certain, I wouldn’t be here,’ she said firmly. ‘Once I make up my mind, that’s it. I’m not a ditherer.’

‘Neither am I.’

She had half expected that he might produce an heirloom ring to seal their bond. But perhaps that rite came after he had presented her to his grandmother and possibly some of the aunts he had mentioned.

‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’ she asked. Siblings hadn’t been mentioned in the file on him, although the report on her had referred to her sister and brother-in-law.

‘Unfortunately not,’ he said. ‘Tell me about your sister. Do you get on well with her?’

It wasn’t late when he took her back to the flat. Towards the end of dinner she had begun to wonder if he would expect to make love to her. She wasn’t ready for that. In the taxi, she braced herself for the awkwardness of refusing what he might now consider an entitlement.

But her apprehension proved unnecessary. He asked the driver to drop them off at the entrance to the gardens surrounding the flats, but told him to wait there. Then Reid walked her to her door, unlocked it for her and switched on the hall light.

‘Goodnight, Francesca.’

He kissed the corner of her mouth. For a fleeting moment she felt the hardness of his chin and the masculine texture of his cheek against her smoother skin.

Then he straightened. ‘Don’t forget to put the chain on.’

The day after her return home, when she was still debating how to broach the subject of her impending marriage, two things happened, both unexpected.

First, a large florist’s box arrived. Her mother was there when she opened it. ‘What gorgeous flowers. Who are they from, Fran?’

There was only one person they could be from. Fran read the card enclosed with them. In a clear and distinctive hand which it didn’t take a graphologist to recognise as the writing of a strong, perhaps overbearing personality, Reid had written, no doubt in the expectation that the card would be seen by others, I would rather be talking to you.

‘They’re from someone I met in London... someone rather special. I think I’ll be seeing him again.’

‘What’s his name? Where did you meet him?’

‘His name is Reid Kennard.’ Fran knew the surname wouldn’t ring any bells with Mrs Turner, to whom the Financial Times and even the business pages of the popular newspapers were of as little interest as documents written in Sanskrit. ‘We met at a party some time ago.’ A small lie seemed forgivable in the circumstances. ‘He’s had to go overseas on business. I’m not sure when I’ll be seeing him again.’

‘Reid...that’s an unusual name. What does he do?’

‘Something in the City.’ Forestalling her mother’s next question, Fran said, ‘He’s tall and dark with grey eyes.’

‘He must be very taken with you to spend so much money on flowers.’

Fran made no comment on that. She said, ‘Would you do them for me? You’re better at it than I am.’

‘I’d love to. But they need a long drink of water before going into a vase.’ Mrs Turner took them away.

Soon after this Mr Preston, their lawyer, rang up and arranged to call on them that afternoon.

‘He says he has some good news for us,’ Fran told her mother.

‘That’ll make a change.’ Mrs Turner’s mouth quivered. ‘It’s been such a dreadful year. I don’t know how I’d have got through it without you, love.’

‘That’s what families are for...to stand by each other when the going gets rough.’ Fran put an arm round her shoulders and kissed her mother’s cheek.

Inwardly she shared some of her grandmother’s impatience with what Gran called ‘Daphne’s lack of spunk’, but she tried never to show it. Some people were natural survivors and some weren’t. Her mother wasn’t. She needed someone to lean on.

Mr Preston didn’t keep them in suspense. As soon as he’d shaken hands, he said, ‘I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that certain developments since I was last in touch have put a more cheerful complexion on your situation, Mrs Turner. I don’t think it’s going to be necessary for you to sell this house until such time as you yourself wish to move.’

‘What’s happened to change things, Mr Preston?’ Fran asked.

‘To put it in a nutshell, Miss Turner, an offer has been made for the assets of your father’s company...a very generous offer. I must make it clear that before your mother and you receive any benefit from it, the creditors have to be paid. In official order, they are the Inland Revenue, then the secured creditors, which means your father’s bankers, and then the unsecured creditors. But, at the end of the day, there should be sufficient left to cover your foreseeable overheads.’

Mrs Turner burst into tears. Relief made Fran feel a bit weepy herself, but she controlled her emotions.

Before she asked Mr Preston to explain the situation in more detail, she took her mother upstairs to lie down and recover.

That evening Reid rang up. He was in New York where it was still afternoon.

‘I didn’t expect you to act so fast,’ said Fran, after confirming that the solicitor had been to see them.
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