Match Me If You Can, page 15
‘Mostly the latter,’ he replies. He takes the bottle of whisky from its wrapping and presents it to me like a sommelier checking they’ve brought the correct wine to the table.
‘Give me a minute,’ I say, going back to the report. I add a comment to it, then save it manually, even though it is continuously autosaved (you can never be too safe when it comes to backing up documents). ‘Right,’ I say, closing my laptop, ‘what’s the latest snag in this god-awful mess?’
‘Your cousin – Olivia – she and her sister want to meet you.’
I push back against my chair, tipping it to eighty degrees, and steeple my fingers under my chin.
‘If you were ugly, you could be a Bond villain,’ Ravi quips. I snigger softly. ‘Oh, come on? That you found funny? I wasn’t even trying.’
I wave him off. ‘Just lines up with something I was thinking in Greece. About Vittoria…’ I add, offering no further explanation. ‘Anyway, Olivia. Why would she have contacted you, rather than reaching out to me directly?’
He raises his fingertips to his temples and closes his eyes. ‘Hang about, it’s coming to me…’ His brow creases and right as he says, ‘Because—’ I pick up the stress ball Adam left on my desk the week before last and lob it at Ravi’s head, missing. ‘Oi!’
‘Rav, can you please just get to it? I was off on Friday, it’s been a hellish day catching up, and I still have another hour’s worth of work before I can knock off. At least.’
‘Fine.’ He adopts his solicitor face and rattles off a digest of the latest developments.
‘So, in a nutshell, I remain completely fucked,’ I state when he finishes.
‘Can we crack this yet?’ he asks, pointing to the bottle.
I open the bottom drawer of my desk and take out two glass tumblers, something that appalled the woman I dated this time last year. She’d scoffed at me, referenced the television show, Mad Men, then harped on about the patriarchy for a good five minutes. She wasn’t interested in learning that I have them in my desk is because, shockingly, I sometimes like to have a drink after work. Nor did she want to hear that I’m the one who washes and dries them after use. I ended it that afternoon, seemingly to her great relief.
Ravi opens the bottle and pours – this whisky is one of his favourites, not mine, though I do like it. He slides a glass across the desktop and I take it, raise it in his direction, and sip.
Ravi mirrors my actions, then speaks. ‘The way I see it, your cousins wanting to meet with you… it’s a good thing,’ he says.
‘How so? Won’t they just echo their mother’s wishes? According to Aunt Lucinda, their share alone is worth fifteen million pounds. We’ve offered four – in a trust!’
He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, his glass cradled in his hands. ‘That’s just it. First, it’s four million pounds each. And that’s generous, Tristan, as there’s no way they’ll win the court case and then they’ll be left with nothing. Second, if you agree to manage the trusts for them until they each turn thirty…’
He leaves the notion hanging and I consider it while I take another sip.
‘So, what?’ I ask. ‘I meet with Evie and Olivia and offer them my services free of charge for the next half-a-decade and that will convince them to side with me?’
‘It’s one idea.’
‘It’s not terrible.’
‘Why, thank you,’ he says, his voice thick with sarcasm.
‘Thank you, Ravi – brilliant as always.’ He nods benevolently and I chuckle. ‘But you do realise we’re forgetting one thing?’
‘What’s that?’
‘My birthday is a month away and I am one wife short of a marriage.’
He waves me off again. ‘Details.’
I snort out a derisive laugh and take another sip. I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t raised the other thing, what Jacinda said about Poppy and me. It’s complete bollocks anyway. There’s absolutely nothing between us other than a common goal to find me a wife. Yes, we were friendly towards each other in Greece but that was, well, a miscalculation. And, as I can’t walk away from this arrangement, it will be strictly professional between us from now on.
‘All right, you, enough of that,’ Ravi says. I meet his eye, seeing that he’s amused by my musing. ‘Come on, I’ve arranged a meeting for us at the agency.’
‘What? Tonight?’
‘Yes.’ He stands and waves a hand at me like a bobby directing traffic.
‘I told you I have to work.’
‘No, you have to find a wife. That takes precedence.’ He flicks his wrist to check his watch. ‘Come on. If we leave now, we’ll just make it.’
‘Do you have a car waiting?’
‘At five fifteen on a Monday? From the financial district to Richmond? Are you mad?’
I sigh, resigning myself to yet another series of Tube rides, this time during rush hour.
Poppy
‘Okay, so we have…’ I trail off, thumbing the remote to ensure the images of our next two potentials come up in the order we’ve agreed. ‘Alexandra, then Nerida…’
I turn to Ursula, who is placing their printed biographies on the conference table with the precision of surgeon.
‘Right,’ she says, admiring her handiwork. She makes a minor adjustment, squaring off one of the documents with the edge of the table, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. ‘Are you ready?’
I nod, donning a Poppy-the-Professional smile despite my churning insides. It’s like a demolition derby in there – thoughts and feelings zinging around and colliding. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Two fight for dominance:
Don’t lose a major client – especially one referred by a friend of the agency’s Founder.
And
DO. NOT. FALL. FOR. YOUR. CLIENT. YOU. UNPROFESSIONAL. MORON.
It’s no wonder I feel slightly nauseous.
‘Remember,’ says Ursula, ‘Greece is behind us. Time to move forward.’
‘Got it.’
‘And either one of these potentials would make him an excellent wife. I’d stake my reputation on it.’ I refrain from calling her out on the whole Vittoria thing, something else she’d staked her reputation on. Yes, it was ultimately my decision, but when a senior agent all but insists, you defer. I file the lesson away. If I’m ever again tasked with securing a marriage of convenience and Ursula brings up Vittoria as a potential, I will shout ‘NO’ till the cows come home. And believe me, cows can be stubborn – sometimes they take ages to come home.
Ursula looks up at the large clock on the conference room wall: 6.25 p.m.
‘I’ll go before they get here,’ she says. It’s what we’ve already agreed, so the only reason for Ursula to say it out loud is that she’s also worried.
‘I’ll call you afterwards.’
‘Good luck, Poppy,’ she says – arguably something you don’t bother saying unless you think the person needs it.
I sit in Saskia’s chair at the head of the table, my eyes trained on the agency’s front door. A couple of minutes after Ursula departs, it swings open and there he is. And – damn him – he looks incredible. But then I’ve always been partial to a good-looking man in a well-made suit. Ravi accompanies him, as I’d expected.
I stand and cross to the conference room doorway. ‘Gentlemen,’ I say, channelling Saskia The Swan, ‘come through.’
Tristan
‘Wow,’ says Ravi under his breath, ‘was she this attractive when we met her last week?’
‘Shut it.’
Though, he has a point. Several days in the Greek sunshine have only enhanced Poppy’s natural beauty – objectively speaking, of course. She smiles at us warmly, which is a little rich considering how badly she and the agency have botched my case. At the very least, she could show some humility.
We join her in the conference room, and she indicates the chairs either side of hers at the head of the table. Two biographies lie in front of me, and I recognise the names from that (odd) meeting in the screening room. I look at Poppy expectantly, hoping to maintain the upper hand. She has no idea that Ravi has forbidden me to cut ties with the agency and I will cling to that leverage as long as possible.
Ravi’s phone rings, a loud intrusion in the otherwise silent room, and Poppy and I watch as he takes it out of his pocket, grimaces at it dramatically, says, ‘I’m afraid I have to take this,’ then steps out of the room before I can object. He closes the door behind him and takes the call. I’d wager the entire thirty million pounds it’s Jacinda and he told her to phone.
‘So, just us then,’ says Poppy. I level my gaze at her and wait. ‘Right, so before we discuss next steps, I owe you an apology.’ Her words surprise me, but I try not to flinch, lest I surrender any ground. ‘Actually, we do. Tristan, on behalf of the Ever After Agency, please accept our apology. We admit that putting forward Vittoria as a potential wife caused a significant setback in your case and did little to sustain your confidence in us.’
‘That’s assuming I had confidence in you to begin with.’
‘Touché, Mr Fellows. Well done you for putting me in my place,’ she quips. I feel the bite of her rebuke while simultaneously applauding her audacity. The only people who call me out when I’m behaving like an arse are Ravi and Jacinda. And I have no doubt I am being an arse, even if I believe I’m entitled. This agency doesn’t come cheap and I’m on the clock.
‘Now that we have that out of the way, I’d also like to acknowledge that with your looming deadline we need to regroup as soon as possible.’
Despite her ‘mea culpa’ approach, I’m still incensed and I stride into the conversation, guns blazing.
‘Yes, I know. Why do you think I agreed to be dragged all the way across town of a Monday evening when I really should be at work?’
Still, nothing – not a flinch or an eye twitch, not a single muscle in her entire face moves. And what am I doing? Yes, I’m cross with her, with how she’s handled this, but I still need her. Working collaboratively with Poppy may be the only way I can meet the terms of Grandad’s will.
Are you sure there’s nothing else, Tris? A little thing called ‘attraction’? Jacinda’s voice taunts me, adding to my annoyance. At her. At Poppy. At Grandad. At this whole fucked-up situation.
And yes, at myself.
21
POPPY
Mr Dickhead? Table for one? Is there a Mr Dickhead here?
If my dad were in this meeting, he’d say something like, ‘Oi, mate, Pop is doing her best, so pull your head in and stop being such a dickhead.’
But no matter how good it would feel to put Tristan in his place, I will not give this man the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to me. At. All. I retain my neutral expression, my years of practicing psychology paying professional dividends.
‘Tristan, I’ve apologised. Attempting to engage me in a squabble is not going to get us anywhere. Can we please move on?’
His jaw tightens – that not-so-poker face betraying him – and he nods curtly.
I press a button on my tablet and a photograph of Alexandra populates the screen above my head. ‘You will remember Alexandra from our briefing last week?’ He nods again, then picks up her bio and starts flipping through it. ‘We believe that she will be the most viable option going forward.’
I advance the slides in (reasonably) quick succession and watch closely as Tristan takes in the images. Alexandra is attractive with a light brown chin-length bob, blue eyes, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and the type of English-rose complexion that burns easily in the sun. And in stark contrast to Vittoria, who dressed like a human butterfly, Alexandra dresses austerely – mostly in black and neutrals and simple, classic styles.
‘And what was the other one’s name?’ he asks. ‘Melinda?’
‘Nerida.’ That’s the second time he’s got her name wrong.
I advance the slides again, keeping a close watch on Tristan. As his eyes alight on Nerida’s photos, something flickers across his eyes – attraction. I mash my teeth together, mentally kicking myself for being jealous. Argh!
‘But she lives in Edinburgh don’t forget,’ I say. ‘Whereas Alexandra is London-based.’
He nods slowly as if contemplating his options. ‘Can’t I just meet both of them, then decide?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He appears surprised by my vehemence, so I offer an explanation. ‘Matchmaking 101, you see – one potential match at a time. Believe me, it’s for everyone’s benefit.’
‘But why? Surely in a time sens—’
‘Tristan. Read your contract. We set you up with one potential wife at a time.’
‘Fine.’ He roughly thumbs through Alexandra’s bio again, stopping to read towards the middle, his lips pressing into a line and his brows knitting together. Until now, I did not know a person could read angrily. He flicks back to the first page and tosses the bio onto the conference table. ‘She’ll do.’
‘She’ll do?’ The words pop from my mouth unbidden but I don’t stop there. ‘Alexandra is one of the pre-eminent museum curators in the country. She speaks three languages other than English, has her Master’s in Anthropology and a PhD in philosophy. She’s on the board of two charities and in 2021, at the height of the pandemic, she was awarded the Mayor of London’s Volunteer Award.’
I glare at him, daring him to shrug or scoff or demonstrate his stifling arrogance in any way.
He leans forward. ‘Then why on earth is she still single?’
His question surprises me but I recover quickly. ‘You will have to ask her that,’ I say, my chin lifted in indignation.
‘All right. But here’s a question for you: If Alexandra is so amazing, why wasn’t she potential number one?’
I gasp, recoiling as though he’s slapped me. Because it’s the perfect retort. And I have absolutely no recourse because Alexandra should have been first.
‘Set it up,’ he commands, standing. He pushes open the door to the conference room leaving it gaping open behind him, just like my mouth is. He strides past Ravi, who rushes to catch up to him while tossing an apologetic look in my direction.
As the agency door closes behind them, I expel the breath I’ve been holding. ‘Well, if I did fancy him, even a little bit, that’s no longer an issue,’ I say to myself. ‘Bastard,’ I add, liking how satisfying the word feels in my mouth.
Tristan
‘What the hell was that?’ I ignore Ravi, stabbing at the elevator button impatiently. ‘And that doesn’t make it come any faster, you know.’
‘I’m taking the stairs.’ I look around, find the door, and push it open so hard the slam reverberates through the stairwell. I take the stairs as fast as my legs will carry me, one hand sliding down the railing, then I burst into the foyer, stride across the marble, and emerge onto the street where I take in great gulps of air.
I couldn’t say how long after, Ravi shows up. ‘Tris, are you all right?’
I have no idea how to answer that question. Normally, I’d find something sarcastic to say, downplaying my – let’s face it, atrocious – behaviour. But right in this moment, it all feels too much.
Grandad, the only person in my family who I had a real relationship with, is gone – I’ll never see him again. My aunt is behaving like a vulture, not realising – or perhaps caring – that if we don’t work together on this, none of us will inherit a penny. I’ve got less than a month to find a wife because of a ridiculous clause that was written into a will long before I was born. And the person who is supposed to be helping me is… is… what? Incompetent? Inept? Infuriating?
‘Why the hell wasn’t I introduced to Alexandra first?’ I ask. ‘I mean, she sounds perfect – for this I mean. She’d better be perfect.’ I mutter this last part to myself, then meet Ravi’s eye.
‘I just… Why did Poppy have me go all the way to Greece to meet someone so unsuitable when I could have met Alexandra last week?’
‘I agree that Vittoria was a little out there.’
‘A little?’
‘All right, more than a little, but Poppy explained. It was a timing matter and if it didn’t work out—’
‘It didn’t!’ I shout.
‘Yes, I realise that. And now half of London does too,’ he says extending his arms and looking around, clearly troubled.
I press my lips together, suddenly embarrassed to be talking like this out on the street amongst curious onlookers.
‘And you’re forgetting the reason you agreed. Vittoria has her own money. If it had worked out, you wouldn’t have had to pay her the fee – the sizeable fee. You know that. We discussed it and we agreed. So don’t put this entirely on Poppy or the agency. You had a say in this and now you’re behaving like a spoilt schoolboy.’
I look away, unable to endure the extreme disappointment emanating from my closest friend. And he’s right.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly, my eyes fixed on the footpath. ‘I don’t think I realised until now how much this is weighing on me. I just want to do the right thing, by everyone. And now the cousins want to meet and, on the way over here, I got this…’ I take my phone out of my pocket, unlock it, and navigate to my email inbox. I hand the phone to Ravi and he quickly scans the screen.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he asks, handing me back the phone.
‘When was the right time for that? In the packed Tube? On the harried walk over here from the station? In the lift? And I still haven’t processed it. Everyone wants a piece of this – of me. Now my mother.’
‘She hasn’t got legal standing, Tris.’
‘Well, no. And she’s probably just doing this to spite Lucinda, but I’m in the middle. All this hinges on me and my ability to find a wife. And that’s just to secure the inheritance. We haven’t even discussed what happens after that, how my life will change.’
‘It is life-changing money, I agree.’
