The Right Bride? (37 page)

When, with two days to go before she married Silas, the telephone in the apartment rang, Colly nearly jumped out of her skin. For several fearful seconds she was too alarmed to answer it. What if it were Silas’s grandfather, the owner of the apartment?

Common sense settled that one. Why on earth would he ring what he thought was an empty apartment? She picked up the phone, said a tentative, ‘Hello,’ ready to say, Wrong number, if indeed it were Grandfather Livingstone. Then with utter relief she heard Silas’s voice and realised, by the same token as she had his home number, he had the number of the phone in the apartment should he find a need to contact her.

‘Any problems?’ he enquired evenly.

‘Not one. But I’m glad you phoned,’ she said impulsively—and wished she hadn’t because, while Silas politely waited for her to tell him why she was so glad, she started to feel a little foolish. ‘It doesn’t seen real somehow,’ she explained lamely.

‘Trust me. It’s real,’ he answered, but there was a smile in his voice.

‘I know,’ she said, and felt better. ‘Any problems your end?’ She batted his enquiry back at him.

‘None that Saturday won’t see secured,’ he replied easily, and, getting down to the purpose of his call, ‘I’m about to transfer some funds into your account,’ he informed her, going matter-of-factly on when she felt too awkward to have
anything to say, ‘Can you get me your bank details? I’ll hang on if you need to find you account number.’

Wanting to tell him not to bother with that now, that he could see to all that once they were married, Colly, realising he was too busy to want to call her again on this issue, obediently went to find her cheque-book—unused of late.

But, having given him the details he required, she just could not hold back from saying hurriedly, ‘There’s no rush! If you don’t want to—’

‘I want to,’ he cut in, that smile in his voice again. And, about to ring off, ‘Does your bank know your new address?’ he enquired.

She hadn’t given that a thought. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she replied.

‘Then I’ll see you on Saturday,’ he said.

‘I won’t be late,’ she replied as evenly as she could manage.

Nor was she late. January had given way to February: not the most exciting month of the year. She had wanted to buy something new to be married in, and had then lectured herself that this was more a half-hour in front of a registrar than a marriage. In any event, funds would not run to anything new—even though she supposed that by now Silas would have seen to it that her bank balance was the healthiest it had ever been.

But that money was not for some extravagant clothesbuying session, but as a base to get her started on some sort of career training—Colly knew she would never ask him for more, for the subsequent top-ups he had mentioned. So she went out to her car dressed in a pale yellow biscuit-coloured suit she’d had for some while but which still looked good.

She was some minutes early arriving at the register office, and was relieved to see that Silas was already there. He came towards her, and seemed to like what he saw. For her part she had to admire the way his suit fitted him to perfection, the way he effortlessly wore clothes.

‘You look lovely,’ he said by way of greeting, and if he’d had any idea how sorely her confidence needed a booster just then, he could not have said anything better. She wanted to say something bright such as, You’re not looking so bad yourself, but the nerves that had kept her sleepless last night were attacking again, and all she could say was a husky, ‘Thank you.’

She had spent a tormented night having last-minute doubts. And, having arrived at the register office, having decided to go through with it, had done nothing to dispel her nerves. But if Silas had picked up something of how she was feeling he did not refer to it, but stated calmly, ‘I’ve roped in a couple of witnesses,’ and, looking steadily into her worried green eyes, ‘Ready to make a fresh start?’ he asked.

And suddenly his words, his steady look, made everything fall into place. She knew why he was marrying her—to secure the future of the company he headed. And, by marrying him, she in turn was securing her own future, securing for herself that fresh start she so sorely needed.

And, looking at him, she liked what she saw, and just had to beam a smile at him. ‘Let’s do it,’ she agreed.

Not so long after that she stood beside him in front of the registrar and, in front of the witnesses he had found, took him as her lawful wedded husband. The strange feel of his wedding ring on her marriage finger brought home to her that, as Silas was her lawful wedded husband, she was his lawful wedded wife.

Emotion gripped her at the end of the ceremony when, by tradition, the marriage certificate was handed to her as her property. Colly turned to Silas and, the certificate of marriage being all that he was interested in, she handed it over to him. He took it from her, looked down at her, and smiled his wonderful smile.

Her insides were already having a merry time within her. But when he bent and gently placed his lips on hers her heart
joined in the general mêlée. ‘Thank you, Colly,’ he murmured.

He had kissed her! This was not a love-match but—Silas had kissed her. A second later, however, and she was realising that they were not alone. Aside from the registrar, they had witnesses. Should questions be asked at some later date as to the romance or otherwise of their wedding, then any witness could state that there had been ‘romance in the air’.

Colly swiftly got her head back together. For goodness’ sake, anyone would think she wanted his kisses! She gave him a smile of her own—two could play at that game—and waited nicely while he thanked their witnesses—she gathered he had settled any financial arrangements in advance—and, Saturday a busy day for weddings, apparently, they left so that the registrar could go and check through details with the next couple.

From the register office Silas escorted Colly to where she had parked her car. And suddenly it all seemed just a little too much. She looked at him as they stood by her car. She had married him, this man. This man was her husband, yet it was unlikely that after today their paths would ever cross again. She did not know what to do, whether to shake hands or just get into her car and drive off. She certainly wasn’t going to kiss him. She opted to unlock her car.

‘Would you like lunch?’ he asked abruptly, almost as if the question had been dragged from him.

She opened the driver’s door. Oh, my word, her insides were on the march again. ‘You haven’t time,’ she replied—this man never had a minute to breathe.

‘Today I could find time,’ he replied.

She didn’t thank him. He obviously felt he should give her lunch rather than allow her to just drive off. She shook her head. ‘I only signed up for a half-hour,’ she told him, and saw his lips twitch the moment before he stood back to allow
her to get into the driver’s seat. Her lips twitched too. ‘Bye,’ she said and, looking at him, saw that they were both grinning.

‘Bye—wife,’ he said, and as she got into her car and he closed the door he began walking away.

She passed him, drove by him; they both waved. Somehow she had never imagined that her wedding day would be like this. That the last she would see of her husband on her wedding day would be through the rear-view mirror of her car, the distance between them getting further and further apart.

She remembered the happy way they had grinned at each other. Yet suddenly she could have burst into tears, and had to acknowledge that one Silas Livingstone was having a most peculiar effect on her.

B
Y
M
ONDAY
, having removed her wedding ring, though unable to remove the lingering memory of the touch of her husband’s lips on hers, Colly had got herself back together again. By then she was scorning any such notion that her emotions were in any way affected by Silas Livingstone. Still the same, an involuntary smile came to her mouth that she was married to the man, his name was now her name and, if she cared to, she could use it. Which, of course, she did not care to. Though she could not resist saying ‘Colly Livingstone’ out loud to hear what it sounded like.

She abruptly turned her back on such nonsense and reached for the telephone book. A short while later she had taken the first steps towards enrolling for a foundation course.

Disappointingly, although an application form would be put in the post, to be then followed up by an interview, she had been told that it was unlikely she would be able to start before the September term.

Which meant, since pride reared and made it impossible to use Silas’s money while she spent the next six or seven months in idleness, that she must get a job. Now what? She decided against secretarial—she still blushed when she thought of her nerve in going for that secretarial interview.

Only then did it come to her that it was perhaps from some inner instinct that had warned she would not get that secretarial job that she had not previously told Rupert that she had been looking for work. But when she went to the gallery on Tuesday she felt that to be fair to him she ought to warn him that her circumstances were a little different from what they
had been and that she was going to have to look for temporary full-time paid employment.

Rupert, as ever with his head in the clouds, took that ‘temporary’ to mean that the lawyers were dragging their feet over settling her father’s estate and that they had temporarily frozen all assets.

‘I expect your dear stepmama will make sure she gets her grasping fingers on some of it.’ Unasked, he gave his opinion. But straight away was thinking of his loss rather than that of his unpaid helper as it dawned on him that he stood to be without his Tuesday helper. ‘You can’t leave!’ he exclaimed.

‘You’re so good with the customers! And who else can I trust to look after this place when I’m out buying?’

‘You’ll find someone,’ Colly tried to reassure him.

‘I’ll have to
pay
them!’ he replied. But, his eyes lighting up, ‘I’ll pay you!’ he decided. Though, as ever covering his back, ‘It won’t be very much, of course. But at least it will be enough for you to be able to keep your head above water.’

This was Rupert in full skinflint mode. But, in considering his offer, Colly realised since she had no work experience other than housekeeping, plus the little bit of work she did for him, that in those circumstances to work for him full time in a poorly paid job was quite a good deal.

‘You do know that there’s a minimum wage allowed by law?’ she thought to remind him. She just could not afford to work for nothing. And, while Rupert was always moaning about his lack of funds, it was she who mainly kept his books, so she knew that financially he was doing quite nicely, thank you.

‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Gillingham,’ he grumbled, for the look of it, but stuck out his hand to shake on the deal.

Mrs Livingstone, she mentally corrected him, and had to smile at how ridiculous she was being. Thankfully Rupert thought she was smiling at the done deal. They formally shook hands.

The very next day she received a statement from her bank showing that her account was in excess of ten thousand pounds in credit. Even though she knew about it, she still felt shocked to see it there in black and white. But, as she started to adjust to the fact that Silas had paid ten thousand pounds into her bank, she still knew that she would continue to work full time for Rupert and use Silas’s money only when she had to. It still did not feel right to take his money—even if it had been all part of their bargain.

Colly, her application for the foundation course posted off, was two weeks into her paid employment, and was busy in the small office, when someone called at the gallery to collect a picture his mother had bought. ‘I’m double parked,’ she heard him tell Rupert. There was only one picture awaiting collection. She picked up the carefully wrapped painting and, thinking to save him a second or two, took it out to him.

‘Mr Andrews?’ she enquired—and discovered that Mr Andrews was not in that much of a hurry.

‘Tony Andrews,’ he introduced himself. And, obviously liking what he saw, ‘Miss…? Mrs…?’ he enquired. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

What could she do? She was a paid member of staff. Besides which, there was no mystery about her name. ‘Colly Gillingham,’ she supplied. ‘Um, they’re a bit hot on double parking around here.’

‘I shall return,’ he promised, and went.

He did return too—to ask her out. Colly was unsure, and reflected for a moment that neither she nor the man she had married had placed any restriction on dating, but she said no. Tony Andrews was undeterred and returned a few days later to ask again, with the same result.

Then on Tuesday of the following week something astonishing occurred. She was working at the gallery when the door opened and her father’s old friend, Henry Warren, came in.

‘Uncle Henry!’ Colly cried, and, feeling quite choked sud
denly, she went speedily over to him and was given a fatherly hug. ‘How was the holiday…?’ she began.

‘We came home on Saturday. But it wasn’t until last night that I went to my club.’ He looked at her sadly. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Joseph.’

‘It must have been a great shock for you,’ she sympathised, realising that someone at his club would have told him of his friend’s death.

‘Last night was my night for shocks. I went straight round to see you, only to hear from a gloating Nanette that you’d moved out without leaving a forwarding address. Luckily I was able to remember your father mentioning something one time about you having a little job in this gallery.’ A smile came to his lined face then, to be joined by a look of utmost satisfaction as he added, ‘The dear Nanette wasn’t gloating after I’d told her what I had to tell her.’

‘You told her off about something?’ Colly asked, feeling a little mystified.

‘That creature thought she was sitting pretty,’ he replied. ‘It was my happy duty to inform her that, shortly before I went on holiday, your father contacted me and made a new will.’

‘My father…’

‘Your father had started to realise that, apart from being very unfair to you, he had been something of an old fool.’

Colly just stared at him. ‘Good heavens!’ she said faintly.

‘As you probably know, he was so besotted with Nanette that he was blind to anything else. But by and by he began to come to his senses and to be appalled by what he had done—the way he had willed his affairs. He came to the club, seeking me out.’

‘But—you’re not his legal representative.’

Henry Warren smiled again. ‘Poor Joseph. He was too embarrassed at realising his foolishness to go back to the firm he had always dealt with. I drew up his fresh will in secret.’
He paused, then announced, ‘He left everything equally between the two of you.’

Colly looked at him disbelievingly. ‘My father left me…’ She could not continue.

‘He left you half of everything. The house, his money, his shares.’

That word ‘shares’ brought Silas to mind, but she tried to concentrate on what Henry Warren was saying. ‘Er—come into the office. I’ll make us some coffee,’ she said, trying to gather her scattered wits. But coffee was forgotten when, in the office, she asked, ‘It’s—legal, this new will?’

Henry Warren gave her a reproachful look. ‘You should know better than to ask such a thing,’ he said with a smile. ‘I made certain it is totally watertight,’ he assured her. ‘It goes without saying that neither your father nor I had any idea that he would so soon depart this life.’ He halted for a solemn moment, as if remembering his friend, before going on. ‘But I know he would want me to look after your interests, Colly. To that end I have taken steps to have all your father’s assets frozen.’

Colly confessed herself little short of stunned. ‘Does Nanette know—about everything being frozen?’

‘If she doesn’t, she soon will,’ he replied cheerfully.

Colly was having difficulty taking it all in, her mind a jumble. ‘Coffee,’ she remembered, but more from some kind of need to do something practical.

It was over coffee that he asked for her new address. She did not want to lie to him, but did not feel able to tell him the facts of her marriage to Silas. Their marriage was private, secret between her and Silas, so she simply gave Henry Warren her new address and phone number.

He assumed she was renting the apartment and jovially told her, ‘You’ll be well able to afford to buy somewhere to live now. For that matter you’ll have funds enough to buy out
Nanette’s share of the house, should you want to move back in there.’

‘There’s that much?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Given that that woman is going to take half of everything, you’ll be quite moderately wealthy once the estate is settled.’

Several things struck Colly at one and the same time then. One was that she was happier living in Silas’s grandfather’s apartment than she had been living with her father and his second wife. And two, she did not want to go back to that house. Life after her mother’s death had been pretty bleak—she only then realised just how bleak. But more important than anything was the realisation that she had money of her own now. She did not have to use Silas’s money!

‘I’ve no idea how long it will take for my father’s affairs to be wound up,’ she commented, and just had to ask, ‘Is there any chance I might have…?’ She felt embarrassed asking.

‘Of course.’ Henry Warren, as if aware of her embarrassment, cut in at once. ‘I don’t doubt that Nanette has managed to talk your father’s previous executors into allowing her to draw something on account.’

Colly went home that night with her head in a spin from these latest developments. But a week later she was in a position to take action on a matter that had troubled her from the beginning. She had accepted Silas’s ten thousand pounds because of the deal she had made with him. But she had never been truly comfortable about taking his money; it had never seemed right. It had gnawed away at her from time to time, even before Uncle Henry had called at the gallery last week. Since his visit the fact that she had taken that money had started to become untenable.

That night she wrote to Silas, telling him of her father’s lawyer friend Henry Warren, and how he had returned from holiday and had come to the art gallery with the astonishing
news of her father’s newest will. She wrote that, while she was extremely grateful to Silas for his support when she had so sorely needed it, she no longer had need of his money. She enclosed her cheque for ten thousand pounds. Added to that she stated how she loved living in the apartment and how, if he was agreeable, she would like to stay on as a rent-paying tenant. She wished him well, and signed it ‘Colly’.

She posted her letter on her way to the gallery on Wednesday morning. She had addressed it to Silas’s apartment, about twenty minutes away by car from where she was living. With any luck, if he replied straight away—say he received her letter and cheque tomorrow—she might have a response from him in the post by Saturday.

His response came sooner than that, and in person. She had finished her evening meal on Thursday and was tidying up in the kitchen when someone knocked on her door. She realised at once that it must be one of the other occupants in the building, otherwise her caller would have buzzed from the outside door so that she could let them in.

So far, apart from exchanging a morning or evening greeting with her fellow apartment dwellers, she had not had anything to do with her neighbours. Ready to be friendly, she went to the door, opened it and stared in quite some surprise. Somehow she had fully expected a written response.

‘You’ve got a key to the outer door?’ she said witlessly.

‘We established that,’ Silas replied, his eyes going over her trim shape in trousers and light sweater. ‘And to this door—but I thought you’d prefer me to knock rather than walk straight in.’

She smiled at him, realising with more surprise just how very pleased to see him she was. ‘Come in,’ she invited. And, as he crossed the threshold, ‘You received my letter?’

‘I did,’ he confirmed. But did not seem too ecstatic about it. In fact he sounded quite tough as he demanded, ‘You’re saying you want to divorce?’

Colly stared at him, her jaw dropping. ‘When did I say that?’ she gasped, startled.

‘You wrote in terms of ending our agreement!’

‘No, I didn’t!’ she retorted, facing him on the sitting room carpet. ‘I merely mentioned that I’ve money of my own now. And, to be blunt, I have never felt very comfortable about taking yours.’

‘You agreed—’

‘I know. I know!’ she butted in, feeling all het-up suddenly—and who wouldn’t with those dark blue eyes glittering at her? ‘But I’m no longer in need of your financial support.’

‘But you otherwise intend to keep to our agreement?’ he demanded.

‘Of course,’ she replied, and, a grin starting to break because he looked so fierce, ‘It’s sheer bliss being married to you.’

‘We seldom, if ever, meet,’ he commented and, his eyes on her sparking eyes, his lips twitched. ‘The perfect marriage,’ he endorsed.

Her heart gave a peculiar kind of leap. ‘But since we have met—and you are here,’ she took up, striving to be sensible, ‘is it all right for me to stay on here now that…?’

‘I find it offensive you need to ask!’ he replied curtly.

Pardon me for breathing! ‘Will you allow me to pay rent, then?’ she tried.

His answer was sharp and unequivocal. ‘Not a chance!’ He chopped her off before she could finish.

‘At least think about it!’ she bridled.

‘It doesn’t need thinking about. We made a contract, you and I. Paying rent never came into it.’

‘But I didn’t know then—’