Jemma’s Version
My mum and dad are performing a propitiatory rite for Parvati, the patron goddess of marriage.
I’m sitting with my legs crossed, blindfolded, holding a candle in my right hand and a feather in my left hand. My parents are revolving around me, following the rhythm of a tambourine my dad plays while my mum burns incense sticks.
They made me have a purifying bath – well, it was a shower – with essential oils, to ensure a good start to my marital life, so I now smell like a pine tree forest.
My parents took it well. They’re glad I found my soul mate, even if he’s an aristocrat.
This surprised me quite a lot: I was sound asleep when they burst into my flat. My mum had been shopping for avocados at Deli’s, which is opposite our block of flats, and the newsagent congratulated her on my marriage, waving the article featuring the certificate Ashford and I signed.
The fact that they reacted positively is totally irrelevant. Now they know I’m married, they’ll expect me to leave my studio flat and move in with my husband. This is a problem, but since the whole thing wasn’t supposed to come out, I hadn’t thought about it. Let’s see… I could move to one of my grandmother’s houses, or rent a breath taking penthouse overlooking Hyde Park and pretend that my husband is abroad for work. Aristocrats do such things, don’t they?
As soon as I feel my mobile vibrate and read a message from Derek summoning me to his office, I drop the candle and the feather and rush out of the flat as if there was an earthquake.
To my great disappointment, Ashford is there, and Derek looks quite embarrassed.
“I apologise to both for what happened, the news leak jeopardised part of our agreement.”
“What’s this smell?” Asks Ashford, sniffing.
“Essential oils,” I answer sharply. “Please Derek, go on. I do wanna hear your apologies.”
“The employee who stepped in as your witness spoke to the press. Apparently, she’s an avid gossip column reader and when she found herself in front of the Duke of Burlingham signing the paperwork for a top secret, last minute marriage, she could hardly believe her luck.”
“Derek, due to this ‘news leak’, my mother was almost ready for Bedlam this morning. Not to mention all the people who phoned for the details of a story I don’t want to divulge.”
“I can imagine that,” Derek comments laconically.
“We didn’t get any calls,” I say.
“Well, obviously,” remarks Ashford, in his usual arrogant tone.
Derek cuts things short. “Here’s the thing: a divorce is out of the question. Jemma has lent you the money and therefore, she’s got some rights, so she could demand everything back with interest, right here and now. It would mean re-mortgaging most of your estates, and we established that we don’t want to do that, even if it is possible. As far as you’re concerned, Jemma, divorcing less than twenty-four hours after a marriage that enables you to receive a billionaire inheritance would be more than enough for any judge to find you guilty of fraud.”
Ashford mutters to himself. “Here’s another speech and another great idea.”
“I’m sorry?” Asks Derek, slightly irritated.
“Never mind, go ahead,” Ashford says, shrugging.
“All you can do is make the best of it.”
We look at him, both very sceptical. “Which means?”
“Which means this: Jemma, your parents expect you to go and live with your husband; Ashford, you’re surrounded by people who yearn to meet your wife. The only solution is to pretend to live as a married couple for a reasonable period of time and then get a divorce. Let’s say a year from now, by which time your investments will have generated enough to repay your debt to Jemma.”
We’re speechless. The tension is palpable.
“Come on, Ashford. Your estate is so huge you could spend days without ever bumping into each other!”
“Forget about it! I don’t want her in my house!”
“Fine, that means you’ll have to move in with Jemma in her basement studio flat.”
“I don’t want to live with him!” Then, lowering my voice, to Derek: “I’m at my sexual peak, I’m not going to live as a recluse for a whole year!”
Ashford gets closer and cuts in. “Well, the same goes for me. I have a private life and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Don’t make a drama out of it! Your parents lived as strangers for their whole marriage, didn’t they? You should be an expert. Anyway, it won’t be for long, and nobody will be shocked when you simply find out that you were not made for each other in the first place. It’s a last minute marriage, after all. In the meantime you’ll just have to keep up appearances and your reputation will be safe.”
We take some minutes to think it over, then Ashford announces: “We can do it, but I have conditions.”
“So do I,” I hasten to add.
“Separate rooms,” he starts.
“I will have no obligation to let you know what I do and where I go.” I go on.
“At public events, you’ll be my wife, in private, we’ll live our separate lives.”
“I want to feel free to hang out with other men,” I reply.
“All right, but you won’t do it in my house. I have many servants and I don’t want them to gossip.”
“Your mother, Lady Bedlam: I don’t want to have anything to do with her.”
“My mother is already leaving for Bath, so you won’t even see her. If we’re lucky enough, she will stay away for quite a long time after this morning’s angry outburst.”
“We have a deal, then!” Derek announces. “From now on, you’ll be living in Denby Hall, leading your lives separately, and you will only appear as a couple at public events.” He then looks at both, satisfied. “Once again, we did a great job.”