The Marriage Possession

The morning was spent on household chores, and clearing the detritus of a hectic week. Wielding a very careful paintbrush, she completed the finishing touches to the remaining windowsills and two architraves.

Strong paint fumes provided a reason to escape the house for an hour or two, and she took the car to the nearest supermarket and stocked up on essential groceries. On her return she swiftly changed into old jeans and top, and spent time tending her garden. It wasn’t a chore, for she loved the smell of freshly-turned soil, the caring work that produced a fine vegetable patch, the neatly trimmed ornamental shrubbery, and her pride…several herbs in terracotta pots.

Lisane liked to cook, and her kitchen bore all the necessary utensils needed for almost every dish in her late mother’s repertoire of fine cuisine.

Who would have thought such a serious law student would thrive on domesticity? Or choose an aged, rundown cottage instead of high-rise apartment-living?

It probably had everything to do with her inherited French gene pool, she mused as she showered and washed her hair before pulling on shorts and a fresh top, then fixing an omelette stuffed with mushrooms, chives and a hint of garlic for her evening meal.

Afterwards she slotted in a DVD, watched it to the end, then climbed into bed and fell asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow.

Sunday morning was divided between the gym, fixing decorative borders on the walls in the guest bedroom, then adding the white embroidered bedcover with its numerous ruffles and matching pillow covers.

It looked great, the numerous sewing hours necessary in its making well worthwhile.

Initially, she’d made allowances to cover tradesmen’s expenses, for, although she could take care of the painting and most of the finishing touches, the kitchen had been in serious need of a complete overhaul and the acquisition of new electrical appliances. The bathroom and laundry also required new fittings. Electrical wiring replaced, the plumbing checked…

In many ways, it had been a mission. But now, twelve months down the track, she could honestly say she was pleased with the result, aware that the money spent had added measurably to the property’s market value.

Lisane spent the afternoon completing the remaining architraves, then she cleaned up, took her laptop out to the small table and chair set beneath a magnificent jacaranda tree and caught up on work she needed to review in preparation for the following day.

Dinner was a mixed salad and smoked salmon, a bowl of fresh fruit, and she had just finished dispensing with the dishes when her cellphone rang.

She quickly dried her hands and picked up.

‘Lisane…Solene.’

It wasn’t seven already, surely? ‘I was going to call you.’ A quick glance at her watch assured it was a few minutes past the hour. ‘How are all the wedding preparations?’

Her sister gave a faintly hollow laugh. ‘We’re contemplating an elopement.’

Lisane crossed into the lounge and sank into a comfortable chair. ‘That bad, hmm?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

It didn’t take three guesses to determine the source. ‘Jean-Claude’s beloved maman?’

‘Uh-huh. Two weeks before the wedding she wants to change floral arrangements for the church…again.’

Two months ago it had been orchids, only to be discarded last month for cream roses.

‘It gets worse,’ Solene lamented. ‘She thinks ivory would complement my gown, rather than pale pink, for the flower-girl, when the dressmaker has already finished the dress.’ Solene gave a heartfelt groan in despair. ‘I’m about ready to scream.’

Oh, dear. ‘You’ve tried diplomacy?’

A significantly eloquent sigh echoed down the line. ‘Been there, done that.’

Jean-Claude’s mother had taken both Lisane and Solene beneath her maternal wing when they lost their own mother a few years ago, wistfully looking upon them as the daughters she’d never had. A kindly woman, with good intentions. Except for one slight flaw…she liked to be in control.

‘It’s your wedding,’ Lisane pointed out gently.

‘Hah!’

‘Jean-Claude—’

‘Issued an ultimatum this afternoon.’

‘And?’

There was a few seconds’ silence. ‘Tears, apologies, more tears.’

She could imagine just how it went, and how distressed her sister had been. Wedding preparations should be pleasurable and exciting…not fraught with nervous tension.

‘Two more weeks, Solene, then you can relax.’

‘You think?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Your dress is gorgeous.’

They’d shared images via email, decided on colour, and as they were the same height and dress size it had been a simple matter for Solene to take Lisane’s place with fittings.

‘Can’t wait to see you.’

Solene’s faintly wistful response brought a slight lump to Lisane’s throat. ‘Me, too.’ Weekly phone calls and email contact didn’t cut it. ‘Saturday.’ She relayed her flight details, then ended the call.

Monday soon proved to be one of those days when whatever could go wrong…did.

Lisane woke late, saw the red digits blinking on her digital alarm, cursed the electrical fault through the night and hit the floor running to complete the fastest shower on record. Once dressed, she filched a cereal bar from its packet, collected her briefcase, laptop, and unlocked her garage.

She could still make it into the city on time if the traffic flow was unhindered by roadworks…

Lisane slid in behind the wheel of her VW Golf, ignited the engine, reversed out onto the street, navigated it, only to groan out loud minutes later as she saw the long stream of vehicles stretching as far as the eye could see.

When at last the endless convoy began to inch forward, no one seemed inclined to allow her to ease into the flow of traffic. Desperate measures were called for, and minutes later she made it amidst a cacophony of irate car horns accompanied by a few graphic hand gestures and mouthed blasphemy.

Why would the city council choose peak-hour traffic to conduct road repairs? Although, to be fair, this particular stretch bore heavy traffic all through the day and into the night.

She extracted her cellphone, activated the loudspeaker function and called work, notified her superior she’d be late, then continued the crawl-like pace into the central city.

Arriving late involved some serious catch-up time, and she examined the day’s agenda, liaised with the police prosecutor, went through case notes, consulted with her client prior to his appearance in court—and, despite her cleverly structured questioning of the witness, the magistrate deemed in conclusion that there was sufficient evidence for the case to be heard in a higher court before a judge and jury at a future date.

It wasn’t the result her client had hoped for, but, given his prior conviction and the strength of the witness’s testimony, she could only reiterate fact and arrange a debriefing consultation.

Lunch was a chicken and salad sandwich followed by fresh fruit eaten at her desk, after which she made several phone calls and outlined pertinent points on her case notes prior to a late-afternoon consultation with a solicitor and his client, involving documented injuries incurred in an accident, which should conclude in a reasonable financial settlement for the client.

It was after five when Lisane saved all data to disk, closed down her laptop and pushed paperwork into her briefcase.