A Convenient Marriage

‘Nothing’s wrong, other than I’ve got the mother of all colds.’ Crossing to an armchair littered with books and a half-eaten plate of toast, Sabrina weakly cleared away the mess and flopped down, her blue eyes watery. She’d been suffering for a week now, ever since she’d left Javier in the park, contemplating the fate of his beloved Angelina. Racked with guilt and remorse, she’d had three badly sleepless nights before waking up one morning with a head that seemed as though every bell in Canterbury Cathedral was clanging through it, and a mouth so dry it felt as if it were stuffed with straw. Every muscle ached when she moved, and throbbed when she didn’t move, and it was all she could do to struggle out of bed and get herself something to drink. She was sick and miserable and, if it was true that there was light at the end of the tunnel, right now she couldn’t see anything but a very big black hole.

‘Sounds more like flu to me.’ Ellie’s voice softened. ‘Got any paracetamol?’

‘In the cupboard in the kitchen.’

‘When was the last time you took some?’

‘About seven.’

‘This morning?’ Ellie tucked a couple more cushions around the smiling Tallulah and jumped up, glancing at the clock on the wall as she did so. ‘Did you know it’s nearly five o’clock? If you’re going to get better you need to look after yourself properly.’

‘Stop behaving like my mother.’

‘Well, here’s news for you, darling. In her absence I am your mother. She’d kill me if she knew you were in such a state and I did nothing. Don’t worry, I don’t have to rush back. I’ve left Henry and William with her and promised I wouldn’t come away until I was sure you were all right.’

A hot drink cupped in her hands and the cold medicine duly taken, Sabrina leant back in the armchair and smiled at the gurgling baby nursing in her mother’s arms.

‘Thanks, Ellie. I’m not usually so disorganised. It’s just that this thing has knocked me for six.’

‘I can see that! In a minute I’m going to heat you up some chicken soup. Thank God you had some tins in the cupboard—but not much else, as far as I can see. I’ll have to do you a shop before I leave.’

‘You don’t have to—’

‘I do have to! Stop pretending you don’t need any help, sis; it’s not a sign of weakness, you know. Sometimes we all need a bit of help.’

Javier needs help…my help, Sabrina thought bleakly. What could it hurt to agree to his proposition? There was no one on her side to object, after all. No adoring boyfriend waiting in the wings to protest. Her family—Ellie and her parents—might have something to say about it, but at the end of the day it was her decision. She was thirty-seven years old and answerable to no one but herself. Just as soon as she was better she would get in touch and tell him. But how? She had no telephone number for him. But there was always the internet. Maybe if she got in touch with someone at his company, they might have a mobile-phone number for him? She could only pray they had because unless he contacted her there was no other way forward. Her mind made up, she made a cooing noise at the baby, then paused to sneeze several times in quick and noisy succession so that Ellie sighed and told her to go back to bed; she would see to everything while she slept. Too weak to disagree, Sabrina did as she was told.

It had rained at the funeral and not for the first time that day Javier heard someone make a pithy comment about it ‘only raining on the just.’ Whatever that meant. If it meant that Michael Calder had been a good man then they were right. He’d been a doting father and a skilful surgeon and his sister had adored him from the moment she’d set eyes on him. Initially reluctant to let their beloved only daughter settle in a foreign country far away, Javier’s parents had eventually come round to the fact that Dorothea was head over heels in love with her new husband so what could they do? There was still a strong thread of chauvinism in the culture, and they believed emphatically that, when all was said and done, a woman’s place was with her husband.

A week after the funeral, Javier was never far from Angelina’s side, Michael’s mother Angela and the distraught Rosie doing their level best to run the house around them. At night, when Angelina at last fell into an exhausted but troubled sleep, Javier continued to monitor his business from the UK, using Michael’s office and computer. Although exhausted by grief and worry himself, he welcomed the distraction of work to help him get past the ever-present problem of gaining a British passport and starting adoption proceedings. In spite of the fact that she was obviously unwilling, Javier found he couldn’t regret the proposition he’d made to Sabrina. Maybe one day she would understand what had driven him to make such a desperate request. Perhaps he should send her some flowers with a brief note of apology? He truly hoped he hadn’t offended her. She was a nice woman. A good woman. The kind of woman he was sure could help Angelina smile again, given time. Sighing, he switched off the computer and sat drumming his fingers on the desk. Staring down at the cup of coffee that Rosie had made him an hour ago and was now congealed and cold, he picked up the phone without further thought and dug around in his wallet for her telephone number at home.