Bride By Choice

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said, gasping slightly. ‘My glass slipped. Why do you want to kill Lorenzo Martelli?’

‘Well, it’s either that or marry him.’

‘Is—is it?’ he asked, slightly wild-eyed.

‘In a few minutes I have to go and join a family party at my parents’ house, to meet this Martelli character. He’s a Sicilian, over here on a visit. His family and mine were friends years ago, so he can’t be in New York without looking us up.’

‘But why have you got to marry him?’

‘Because my parents have set their hearts on it.’

‘But if you haven’t met him—?’

‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? They fixed tonight up while I was in Boston, and all I heard were hints about what a fine match he was and how he was bound to be looking for a good Sicilian bride—’

‘Couldn’t he find one of those in Sicily?’

‘That’s what I said. The truth is, he’s probably so fat and ugly that he has to scour the world.’

He nodded wisely. ‘Bound to be. You’re right to make a stand.’

‘Anyway, they’re welcome to him. Tonight I’ll sit there good as gold saying “Yes, Poppa”, and “No, Poppa”, like the perfect, dutiful Italian daughter.’

‘Dutiful?’ he couldn’t resist saying. ‘You?’

‘They want dutiful, so I’ll give them dutiful with knobs on. I may want to kick Lorenzo Martelli’s shins, but I won’t do it. Not tonight, at any rate. If I have to see him a second time, I won’t answer for the consequences.’

‘Hey, c’mon, he’s not really to blame.’

‘He is to blame,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Simply by existing he darkens the earth, and I’ll be doing everyone a favour by exterminating him.’

He looked nervous. ‘Have you decided exactly how?’

‘Well, I thought of boiling in oil, but it’s probably too good for him.’

‘And very unimaginative.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Something with scorpions and spiders would be better.’

He shuddered.

‘Aren’t you being a bit hasty? You might fall for him and want to marry him.’

She gave him a speaking glance. ‘Death would be preferable,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine if necessary, but his for choice.’

‘Why have you got your knife into this guy? Is being Italian really so bad?’

‘Being an Italian man is like being the devil,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re old-fashioned, domineering, unreliable and faithless. Especially faithless.’

‘Why especially faithless? I mean, if you’re going to do them down, do them down on all counts, not just one.’

‘It’s the chief one. Do you know what they called Italian husbands? Married bachelors. It’s expected. A faithful husband is a considered a wimp. Creeps!’

‘But apart from that, you think they’re OK?’ he asked wryly.

‘Look, I know exactly what’s going through Lorenzo Martelli’s head at this minute.’

‘You don’t,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Nothing. Tell me what’s going through his head.’

‘He’ll know that there are four unmarried daughters—Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta—and me. And he’ll be expecting one or all of us to make a play for him.’

He didn’t answer, but he ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

‘The Martellis are rich so he’ll think he’s a god of creation,’ Helen said, warming to her theme, ‘loftily waiting while we parade before him and he takes his pick.’

‘The jerk!’ he said with feeling.

‘Exactly. Look, I know I go on about it too much, but it’s how I psyche myself up for the evening ahead.’ She looked at her watch and said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. I’ll call the desk and fix a cab.’

‘I’d offer you a lift,’ he said, ‘But as I’ve only just arrived I don’t have any transport. Still, maybe I can escort you to your cab.’

‘That would be nice,’ she said cordially. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me your name.’

‘Why, that’s right—hey I see someone I must say goodbye to. Then I’ll get my things from my room. See you in a moment.’

While he was gone Helen sought out Dilys who agreed to collect her luggage and take it home. Then she looked for her boss, uneasily conscious that she’d allowed herself to become distracted from her job tonight. But Mr Dacre was beaming.

‘Good work, good work,’ he carolled. ‘Knew I could rely on you.’

Before she could ask what he meant the young man reappeared, claiming her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said quickly, making a gesture of farewell at Mr Dacre, but not stopping.

He had acquired an outdoor coat and a large leather bag that bulged, although she couldn’t see what it contained. As they descended to the street heads turned to watch such a handsome couple.

As they left the building Helen was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Come with me.’

‘What?’

‘Come home with me. Come to supper.’

He looked apprehensive. ‘What are you planning?’

‘We just walk in together and—you know—sort of act close.’