Ashford’s Version
As predicted, I didn’t sleep. I really racked my brain to solve this situation and find the money we need. At last, when I even considered turning Denby into a ‘massage parlour’, like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, I knew I was looking right into the eyes of despair.
At 5 a.m., I quit trying and get up.
I turn on my mobile and find a text message from Derek.
On that screen, I find the answer to my prayers.
You told me to sort the situation of your father’s debts. I might have found a solution. Let’s talk about it at dinner tomorrow, meet me at 8 p.m. at Berners’.
I’ll have to go back to London, but it’s fine. It’s a sacrifice I’ll be happy to make, this time.
As if my muscles had relaxed all at once, I collapse again on my bed, and let myself fall into deep sleep.
Then, due to my mother’s insistence, Lance wakes me up.
It’s past noon and, according to her, it’s unacceptable that I linger in bed when the Royal Family could visit us any minute.
One day I’ll find the courage to confess that the Royal Family are not going to visit us. But today isn’t that day.
I get up, with a kind of energy I haven’t had since last year’s polo finals.
I get into a cashmere jumper and a pair of distressed jeans, then I grab my tennis racket.
I know that today it is 10°C outside, but I feel as if I have a nuclear reactor inside me, so I decide to go to the court and practise my backhand against the wall.
The open air areas are what I love the most about our property. Every glimpse is so different from any other and it doesn’t even feel you’re in the same place. The outside is a maze which leads into an itinerary of thematic gardens.
Denby Hall is an eighteenth century mansion which has been reshaped and expanded over the years by the various Dukes of Burlingham, apparently without following an overall plan. This is what provides its unique character, unlike typical English mansions which are usually built by following projects through meticulously.
The tennis court is situated inside one of the courtyards and it’s enclosed on three sides by stone walls covered by red climbing vines. The long open side gives a view of the lake. On the first floor, a gallery overlooks the court.
I confess that I’m always strongly tempted by the idea of hitting my mother with a ball when I see her up there. Sooner or later, I’ll have the satisfaction of doing it.
My father was a great man, as he could handle my mother for forty years, but then he just left her to me. And, after a little less than thirty years, I’m already starting to consider disappearing for good.
Needless to say, my mother is a control freak: she controlled my father first, and now she’s focusing all her energy and efforts on me.
As being a duchess for half her life wasn’t enough for her, she’s thrown herself into being the mother of the new duke.
Until I get married, she remains the most important woman in the Burlingham family.
I’m facing a turning point: shall I stick with my mother for all my life, or shall I replace her with a wife who will be the brand new duchess?
There are only two types of woman my mother would approve of.
Type one: shy, submissive and spineless – a mute would be perfect – who leaves my mother in control of everything.
Type two: an accomplice. The perfect counterpart to surround me and force me to comply with their will. In other words, someone to put me under siege.
I’ve been jumping from one debutante to the next for almost ten years, with baronesses and countesses who planned to include me, not even too secretly, in their family trees. I’m actually very proud for having managed to avoid this big millstone round my neck.
You should be there when I attend social events: endless parades of someone’s daughters/cousins/sisters and, according to my mother, I really must meet them all.
Most certainly, if I were as broke as Derek was envisaging twenty-four hours ago, no one would throw their daughter into my arms.
The only silver lining of bankruptcy is that, perhaps, it will keep social climbers away.
What I know for sure is that, as soon as Derek tells me how we’ll get my money back, I’ll send my mother to Bath and I’ll forget she exists for six months.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but her manners go well beyond my breaking point.
I’m not used to living with my family.
I’ve always had nannies and governesses and as soon as I cut my first tooth, I was sent to boarding school, which I only left when I came of age.
I went home at Christmas, during the spring holidays and in summer, when there was always a lot of other people in the house, so my parents and I were never alone.
You can imagine how strange it feels to wake up in this house every morning, with my mother always around. I don’t want to be mean to her, I’m just not used to all this.
What is more, she’s set her sights on turning me into the perfect Duke of Burlingham, and that’s why her intrusion into my private life has gone too far.
Right now, she’s standing below the stone arches, measuring me from top to toe. She must be deciding whether it’s most convenient that I sit or stand in my official portrait.
When I notice that it’s starting to rain, I retrieve the tennis balls scattered all around the court and head to my room.
I feel just fine and I get ready for the evening as if I was to be awarded a prize.
*
When I get to Berners’, Derek is already waiting for me at a table.
“Welcome, Ashford! You’re right on time.”
“It couldn’t have been otherwise. You know, after you texted me, I couldn’t sleep. Coming here on time was the least I could do, even though…”
Derek furrows his brows, somewhat saddened. “Even though…?”
“Well, I find it quite odd. I mean, I could have come to your office by appointment, or we could have arranged to meet for lunch. But a dinner?”
“Yes, you’re right. Meeting at dinner to talk about work is a little peculiar, but this is, in fact, a peculiar situation—”
“Sure, I understand,” I interrupt him. “You have discovered that my father had an account in a tax haven, right?” I ask in a low voice.
“Tax haven? What? No! I mean, did he?” he asks me, astonished.
“What the heck, I have no idea! You are the solicitor!”
“Well, he had no off-shore accounts, as far as I know.”
I shrug. “You said it’s something peculiar, I just thought…”
Derek nods. “It is in fact quite unconventional, so I wanted this to be an informal chat.”
The waitress arrives at our table and Derek stops talking.
“Here I am, I’m late but I made it,” she apologises, almost out of breath.
I waste no time and order straight away: “Yes, we’ve been sitting for a while, actually. But anyway, I’ll have a Chateaubriand, grilled asparagus and truffle mashed potato.”
She looks at me and raises an eyebrow, perplexedly.
“What is unclear?” I ask.
Derek coughs on the other side of the table.
“Everything is!” she answers sharply.
I observe her in disbelief: she’s wearing glittery tennis shoes, faux leather leggings, a leopard print jumper and her make-up is quite flashy. Her look is totally inappropriate for this place, but, who knows, perhaps it’s her first day.
“It’s not that hard, Miss. A Chateaubriand beef steak. The asparagus shouldn’t be a problem. And truffle mashed potato is just mashed potato with truffle oil.”
Her reaction shocks me. She closes an eye, extends an arm with her hand just a couple of centimetres from my face, then she bends all of her fingers but the middle one.
“Stay still, I’m adjusting my focus…”
Derek stands up and places his hands on the waitress’s shoulders. “Jemma, calm down. Why don’t you take a seat? Restrain yourself, we’re not at the stadium.”
“Derek, what are you doing?” I ask, dismayed.
“Jemma’s not the waitress. There was a misunderstanding.”
I’m quite bewildered. “I’m sorry, why is she here if she’s not the waitress?”
She cuts in, arrogantly: “I’m here because he invited me! I could ask the same to you.”
“It’s true, Ashford. Jemma is a client of mine. Or rather, her grandmother was, but now she is.”
“Is she having dinner with us?” I ask.
“Yes, she is. By the way, if we want to order, the real waiter is on his way.”
“He’d better be,” I say abruptly. “I’ll have—”
Jemma cuts me off: “He’ll have a Chateaubriand, grilled asparagus and truffle mashed potato. A Chateaubriand is a beef steak. The asparagus is just asparagus. And truffle mashed potato is mashed potato with truffle oil,” she mocks me.
“You have a future,” I hiss, offended.
“Grilled bass for me,” Derek whispers, embarrassed.
“Do you have fried chicken wings?” She asks, scanning the menu.
“If Madam would like some chicken, we have a delicious coq au vin.”
She furrows her brows and I can hardly keep from laughing. I’m certain that she has never even set foot in a place like this.
“Would you be so kind to tell me what is so amusing?” she asks, blinking.
I shrug.
She decides to ignore me and resumes speaking to the waiter. “That coco thing you said, that will do. With chips, please.”
After the waiter leaves, we remain silent for a while until Derek decides to break the ice.
“Jemma is a theatrical make-up artist. She works in a musical.”
“Fascinating,” I comment, monotonously.
“She was my ex’s best friend. Do you remember me talking about her? The one who moved to New York?”
“Not much,” I reply, laconically.
“You’re great fun, aren’t you, Ashford!” Jemma remarks with sarcasm.
“And you’re very polite. Your feet should be on the ground, not on the chair,” I say, giving her a look of disapproval.
“It’s a single foot. And I’m very comfortable like this, cheers.”
“Please, don’t be childish,” Derek scolds us.
I’m losing my patience. “Derek, would you tell me why Tarzan was invited to this dinner we arranged to talk about me?”
Jemma adds fuel. “No, Derek, this is my dinner. And why is the fun police at my table?”
We’re all sitting tight around the table and we only move to let the waiters deliver our dishes.
Derek takes his time while he cuts into his grilled bass. “I’ll explain in a second, but let me finish before interrupting me.”
Jemma and I are silent, we’re all ears.
“As I mentioned earlier, Jemma is the granddaughter of one of my clients, now deceased. Ashford, my old friend, is the son of Henry Parker, also deceased, who was a client of my father’s. Both of you have very complicated situations that, unless miracles happen, are very hard to resolve satisfactorily. And, in the legal profession, miracles don’t happen, I’m afraid.”
An alarm rings in my head: why the hell did he text me that he had found a solution if it’s not true?
“Jemma could receive a significant inheritance: her grandmother’s family worked in the munitions industry, in weapon manufacturing. However, her inheritance is tied. Ashford’s situation is the other way round: he is a legitimate heir but his father, due to some reckless investments, lost most of their fortune and Ashford has to face lots of debts. This is the situation: if Jemma doesn’t get married, she will never inherit her grandmother’s property; if Ashford doesn’t restore his financial situation, his properties will be foreclosed on, and this would dishonour his title. My solution, as I told you, is rather unconventional: in order to receive her inheritance Jemma must marry a nobleman with a title. Jemma, are you currently in a relationship?”
“Since yesterday, not any more,” she mutters.
Derek’s introduction sends shivers down my spine.
Derek continues: “And yesterday, Jemma, were you in a relationship with a man who owns a noble title?”
“He’s a salsa dancer.”
“Very well. Jemma can’t inherit anything because she is not married to a nobleman. You, Ashford, have officially been the Duke of Burlingham since the death of your father. However, according to the financial analysis we did yesterday, many of your assets are at risk. Can you confirm it?”
My head feels heavy. “Yes.”
“Can you also confirm that you haven’t found the money to repay the banks in the last twenty-four hours?”
“I haven’t,” I reply, annoyed.
“Have you at least considered selling one of your properties?”
“Absolutely not. My mother would die if she knew about any of this.”
“And can you also confirm that, apart from you, nobody knows about your financial situation?”
“Yes, up until ten minutes ago, when you started giving it all away in front of her, Derek,” I say, pointing at Jemma with irritation.
“If we really want to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, my situation isn’t much more private than yours right now, is it!” She replies.
“It doesn’t matter now. In the light of what I explained, if Jemma married you, Ashford, she could have her inheritance and, with part of it, you could repay the banks and get back on track. You would retain your title of duke and all your properties, and nobody would ever know anything. As for you, Jemma, with your inheritance you would never have to work again in your life.”
Even though I think Jemma is a lunatic, she seems as upset as I am, so much so that we start protesting as one.
“Hold on a second. Yesterday I told you I needed a solution, not a husband.”
“The two things coincide, Jemma,” says Derek, straight to the point.
“You can’t really think that the only way to repay my debts is marrying a stranger for her money!”
“Sure, Ashford, you can play the lottery if you think you’ll have more luck.” My friend isn’t very gentle with me, either.
“Derek, I believe in love at first sight, the one that gives you a quickened heartbeat and butterflies in your stomach. I believe in Prince Charming. You can’t just give me a cheque and tell me ‘get married and you will become a millionaire’.”
“Billionaire,” Derek corrects her.
“I feel as if I were on sale, or auctioned,” she mumbles.
My friend shrugs. “I’m not the one who put you in this position, it was your grandmother.”
“What a nice little family you have,” I can’t help but remark.
Jemma replies furiously: “Look who’s talking, your father left you broke.”
“Touché.” The situation has become so absurd that I’ve just decided to laugh about it.
Derek is expressionless. “I think you should at least consider this opportunity.”
“Derek, let’s say I accepted: have you seen her? Can you picture her as a duchess?”
Derek shrugs. “Why not?”
Jemma is reluctant, too. “No, Derek, let’s say I accepted: have you ever seen a princess rescuing Prince Charming from debt collectors? Never! Besides, what’s in it for me? I marry him, I inherit my money and I pay off his debts?”
“Jemma, one day, whenever you want, I will give you an inventory of your inheritance. Ashford’s debts are just a drop in the ocean.”
We remain silent, lost in our thoughts. Derek scrutinises us and waits for our verdict.
“It’s ridiculous,” I whisper.
“Totally ridiculous,” Jemma echoes.
“I should never have come,” I say, getting up from the table.