Marriage Material

She nibbled at a little fingernail. ‘Well, are you going to tell me what the correspondence says?’

‘Oh. Sure.’

Romy heard the squeak of Gloria’s chair and she ambled into the office with a fresh cup of chamomile tea and bundle of faxes in her hands.

‘What have you got there, my sweet?’ Romy asked.

‘Faxes.’

Romy took a deep calming breath. ‘Saying?’

‘The first came from Alan saying Mr Golf Pro has ceased services with his firm and to send any further correspondence to his new firm. And confirming usual drinks tonight at Fables?’ Gloria looked up with questioning eyebrows.

Romy nodded vigorously. ‘Sure. Go on.’

‘Next came one from Mr Golf Pro saying that he is coming on board with us. The header showed that fax was sent to all the partners as well.’

‘Of course it was,’ Romy groaned, feeling herself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand that surrounded Sebastian Fox.

‘Aah. Alan must have found out who Sebastian’s new law firm is. A few rude words in this one. I might keep a photocopy for the Christmas party.’ Gloria looked up at Romy, a big grin spread across her pixie face. ‘But this latest from Mr Golf Pro is something else again, for your eyes only. And it reads like…a recipe for the perfect woman.’

‘Give me that!’ Romy spat out.

Gloria kept a tight hold of the sheet of paper.

‘What does it say?’ Romy asked. ‘It says:

Dear Ms Bridgeport,

Further to our discussion I thought I would give you a running head start on our mission. In formulating the plans for my renovation, please keep in mind that I must in the end be capable of drawing an individual with the following non-negotiable criteria:

Easy on the eye

Able to string a sentence together

Must at least reach my chin when not in heels (old back injury means I cannot bend my neck for prolonged periods of time)

Employed

Hope that gives you somewhere to start.

Cheers, Sebastian.’

Well. He’d said he was willing and able with a bevy of ideas and it looked as though this could be the first. How helpful. What had she got herself into?

Gloria slumped into the guest chair, her eyes brimming with tears of laughter. ‘Is he for real?’

‘I’m afraid I really could not tell you.’

‘If you had to make a list outlining the perfect man, what would it be?’

‘Are you for real?’

Gloria pursed her lips and Romy knew it was either answer or be badgered for…forever.

‘If I had to reduce someone to a list, my perfect partner would be serious, committed, optimistic, thoughtful and kind. He would remember my parents’ birthdays and give up his window seat in a plane.’

Gloria grimaced. ‘Sounds more like the qualities of a good priest than a good husband. But unfortunately I can picture who you are describing without even thinking about it.’

So could Romy and for that she was infinitely thankful. ‘At least it’s a tad more specific than that rubbish. How about you?’

‘Did you not hear me regale you concerning Mr Fox’s glorious butt an hour ago? And now I see there is a devious mind to go with it. Your Mr Fox is someone I’d happily bump into in a dark alley.’

If only the girl was not the most astute assistant she had ever worked with…

‘Don’t get ideas, Gloria. He’s not my Mr Fox.’

‘But now he’s our client?’

‘Looks that way.’

‘Fantastic.’

Romy expected Gloria, who refused to wear skirts or high heels, claiming they were a form of bondage imposed by men to put women at a disadvantage, of all people to be outright offended by Sebastian’s ridiculous list. But alas, she seemed to have quickly succumbed to the man’s more flagrant charms.

Gloria leapt from her chair and practically skipped to the door. ‘I’d be happy to take dictation for every one of your meetings with that one.’

Romy held her arms out, palms upwards in submission. ‘If it will make your day.’

‘Romy, that would make my year.’

Sebastian sat back in a dark leather chair in the office he kept in a cottage in the back yard of his Hawthorn home. He’d been in there all afternoon, catching up on correspondence, including forwarding the paperwork necessary to clear up his change of legal representation.

Now moonlight from the large bay windows streamed into the small room, spilling across glass cases filled with his sporting trophies, medals and pennants. Having them on display, even in this private room had been Melinda’s choice. Sebastian would have put them in storage but Melinda insisted he keep them as a reminder of his wonderful successes.

All they did was remind him that he no longer professionally played the game he loved. A back injury sustained long ago had cut short his promising career before he had even hit his stride.

But he still preferred that cosy room to all others. His big house was too big. Too quiet. Too lonely. It had been built to house a large family and as such had never realised its potential.

Rather than submit to the usual claustrophobia creeping up on him, to gain a much-needed boost of human contact, he dialled his sister’s phone number.

‘Hey, Melinda.’

‘Hi, Seb. What’s up?’

Sebastian heard the clank of cooking pans and pictured Melinda in the kitchen with the phone tucked between her chin and her shoulder.

‘Just calling to say hi.’