Match Me If You Can, page 2
‘Impossible?’ George interjects, evoking polite chuckles from the others. George is a darling, just not as funny as he thinks he is.
‘Well, yes. And we have exactly forty days to find this impossible man a wife.’
‘Why forty days?’ asks George.
‘Because that is when our client turns thirty-five. And he’s either married by midnight on his thirty-fifth birthday and becomes the beneficiary of a sizeable fortune, or that fortune is bequeathed to the Avian Wildlife Trust of the Hebrides.’
‘And how much is “sizeable”?’ asks Nasrin.
‘Thirty million pounds,’ I reply, matter-of-factly.
Her eyes widen as George blurts, ‘Blimey!’
‘Oh, what fun this will be,’ trills Ursula, rubbing her hands together. I’ve already asked her to be my second on this one. Her vast experience in marriages of convenience is just what we need, and her enthusiasm… well, that’s always welcomed.
As I take my colleagues through the ins and outs of the case, including the specifics of our objective, I realise that Saskia was right to shift our focus back to work. I feel better already. By the time I’ve wrapped up and Freya commences an update on her own case, I am positively buoyant. Our client may be ‘impossible’, but I’ve never shied away from a challenge. If anything, challenging clients are the number one reason I love what I do.
2
TRISTAN
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I told y—’
‘We’re well into the twenty-first century and this is so old-fashioned,’ I spit. No, not just old-fashioned – archaic. What was Grandad thinking?
‘Yes, but – Tristan, will you please slow down.’
I expel a huffy sigh, slowing my pace so my closest friend and solicitor, Ravi, can catch up. It’s the situation I’m frustrated with, not him.
‘Thank you. Now, as I’ve been saying, it’s not un-doable.’
I stop abruptly, incredulity permeating my entire body.
Ravi doubles back. ‘It’s not,’ he says, pinning me with one of his ‘just do as I say’ looks. Though to be fair, those looks have saved me a lot of time and money over the years – often both at the same time. And in this case, we may be adding my sanity into the mix.
‘Well then, what’s your plan?’ I ask. ‘Contest it? Argue that when the will was written, it was a different time and—’
‘No. I’ve told, you, Tris. I’ve looked into it – thoroughly. There’s no way to contest it.’
‘There must be!’ I head off again and he rushes after me. ‘You’re one of the best solicitors in London,’ I add when he’s beside me again. It may be stretching the truth a little – Ravi is an excellent solicitor but London’s teeming with those.
‘Stop trying to butter me up and listen.’ As usual, he’s onto me, so I tune in. ‘I’ve made you an appointment at an agency.’
‘What sort of agency?’ He doesn’t reply right away – his tell – and now I’m onto him. ‘Ravi? What sort of agency is it?’
He pulls me into a shopfront portico out of the foot traffic. ‘Just hear me out.’ But he doesn’t say anything else – he’s hedging and if he’s going down the route I think he is… oh no.
‘Ravi?’ I demand.
‘It’s sort of a matchmak—’
‘I’m out.’ I stride off again, excusing myself as I bump into several people while re-joining the flow of pedestrians. Unsurprisingly, Ravi rushes after me, also uttering apologies in his wake.
‘Tristan! For god’s sake.’
I take a sharp left towards the nearest pub, nearly bowling over a well-dressed pensioner. ‘Well, I never—’
‘So sorry, madam,’ I say, reaching out to stop her from toppling over. She glowers at me and bustles away. Well, I tried. Entering the pub, my eyes take a moment to adjust, a hazard of the late-summer sunshine, and I pause just inside the doorway.
‘Good idea,’ says Ravi, stepping up behind me. He skirts around me and beelines for the bar. ‘Sit there,’ he adds, pointing to a nearby table.
I pull out a wooden chair that’s probably seen thousands of arses over the years and sit down wearily. How in the hell have I ended up in this predicament? At least we found out before my birthday, as blind luck would have it.
‘Here,’ says Ravi, placing two glasses of whisky on the heavily patinated table. ‘And I’m expensing these, by the way.’
This elicits a small smile of concession. He sits opposite me, tipping his glass in my direction before gulping down half of it.
‘What time is it, anyway?’ I ask, flicking my wrist to see that it’s barely gone twelve.
‘Time for some Dutch courage. Drink up.’ I take a sip and note that he’s ordered eighteen-year-old Tomatin, my favourite. If he does expense it, it will cost me a mint, but I doubt he will. ‘Right,’ he says, his empty glass landing on the table with a thud, ‘I’ve consulted with every colleague and contact I have in inheritance law, and I’ve scoured every legal precedent there is but, I’m sorry to say, the only way out of this is for you to get married. And by the end of next month.’
I attempt to object but he silences me with a raised hand. ‘I don’t want to hear it. It’s either that or you forgo a thirty million pound fortune and we both know you’re not going to do that.’
He’s right. I groan, slumping in my chair. I take a sip of whisky, my consolation prize. ‘So, this agency then?’
‘Yes, well, I have a bit of a confession…’ He trails off, scowling at his empty glass.
‘Do you want another?’ I ask.
‘No… no,’ he says, lifting his gaze and taking a deep breath.
I can’t imagine what he’s about to confess but it’s clearly paining him. ‘Just say it, Ravi.’
‘This agency… it’s how I met Jacinda.’
‘What?’ I ask, perplexed. ‘I thought yours was an arranged marriage.’
‘First off, that assumption is racist.’ I blink at him – he knows I didn’t mean it like that. ‘Sorry, Tris…’
‘It’s fine. And second?’
‘Well, you are sort of on the money. I was trying to avoid an arranged marriage – that’s why I went to the agency.’
‘Hold on, you and Jass… and your parents…?’ I shake my head. ‘I’m not getting it, Rav. You need to spell it out.’ He reaches for his empty glass, then retracts his hand. ‘So it is a two-whisky revelation, then?’
He shakes his head and stares at the tabletop for a moment. ‘When I was coming up on twenty-eight, my parents… well, no, it was Mum, actually – you know how she can get…’ He looks to me for confirmation – or is it commiseration? – and I nod. We’re both only children of difficult mothers and distant fathers, something we bonded over at boarding school. And I’ve spent enough time with Ravi’s mother over the years to know that if Lakshmi Sharma fixates on something, such as her son being twenty-eight and unmarried – the horror – then watch out.
‘Anyway, Mum was impatience personified and one night, she really kicked off. Why wasn’t I married yet? Apparently, all her friends’ sons were married and most of them had children, or their wives were expecting. And then there’s me’ – he makes a face – ‘successful solicitor, model son, except for one thing.’
‘You were single.’
‘Exactly. So, for months in the lead up to my birthday, every family dinner turned into one of my mother’s matchmaking endeavours. And they were all lovely women – attractive, educated, pleasant enough, just not… you know…’ He shrugs, seemingly lost in thought.
‘You never said.’
‘It’s not the sort of thing we talk about, is it?’ It smarts a little, the reminder that, even though Ravi is my closest friend, we don’t really share personal stuff. At least, not since those early days at boarding school when we’d talk into the night, mostly about wishing we had different parents – less-hard-to-please mothers and more-involved fathers.
‘So how did you find the agency?’ I ask, changing tack – enough navel gazing for today.
‘Oh, right. So, I know the founder.’
‘Really?’
He laughs. ‘You sound surprised. She’s not some little old lady tucked away in a chintzy bedsit with an old-school Rolodex, Tristan. She was once a solicitor – my mentor, actually, when I first joined Lewis & Patel.’
‘Oh.’ Ravi’s right. As soon as he mentioned the agency, I made several assumptions – none of them complimentary. And while I may not have imagined an old woman in a chintzy bedsit, I certainly hadn’t considered that someone who’d had a prosperous career in law would start a matchmaking agency.
‘Yes, and there are only a handful of us from her former life who know. She’s not even going by her married name any more.’
This is sounding more intriguing by the second – still, there’s no way in hell I’m engaging them to solve my dilemma.
‘Anyway, back to me and Jass,’ says Ravi. ‘I signed on with the agency – the process was initially quite stringent, so be prepared for that,’ – I don’t mention that I won’t need to be prepared for anything, as I’m not doing it – ‘but it was worth it. Jass was the first woman I met and… well, you know the rest.’
‘You really didn’t meet anybody else?’ I ask, my eyes narrowing.
‘Nope. They got it right first go. I’m telling you, they’re the best in the business.’
‘If you are looking for a wife.’
‘You are looking for a wife,’ he says pointedly.
I meet his gaze, still unwilling to admit that there may be no other way out of this.
‘What if I reached out to one of my exes?’
Ravi throws back his head and bellows out a laugh.
‘Why is that funny?’
He claps a hand over his mouth, his laughter ceasing abruptly. ‘Oh, you were serious.’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’
He sniggers. ‘That makes it even funnier.’
‘You’re being unkind.’
‘Am I?’ he teases. ‘Tris,’ he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers, ‘it’s possible that you are the worst boyfriend in the history of the world.’
‘Harsh.’
‘And I’d wager that there isn’t one of your ex-girlfriends who’d agree to marry you, even if you paid them.’
‘God, Rav, what do you really think?’
‘I’m just being truthful.’
He is but it doesn’t hurt any less. Just then, a face pops into my mind. ‘Hold on. What about Rebecca? We ended things rather amicably.’
‘You broke up with her on holiday and she flew back to London early – by herself.’
‘But she understood we weren’t right for each other.’
‘Well, in that case, she’d be the perfect wife for you. I’m sure she’d leap at the opportunity.’
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ I ask, even though he plainly is.
‘Absolutely. And for the record, Rebecca has been happily married for three years.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Jass and I went to the wedding.’
‘Well, bollocks.’ Rebecca was my only flicker of hope to avoid engaging a (stupid bloody) matchmaking agency.
Ravi checks his watch. ‘Come on. I’ve taken the liberty of making you an appointment and we’re due in Richmond at one.’ He raises his eyebrows at me, a challenge to ignore his imperative. I suppose there’s no harm in hearing what they have to say. ‘And there’s no harm in meeting them,’ he says, as if reading my mind.
‘Fine.’ I down the last of my whisky and take out my phone out to call a car.
‘Don’t bother with a car. We’d never get there in time. We’ll take the Tube.’
This just gets better and better, I think, following Ravi out into the sunshine.
‘Just through here,’ says the receptionist, leading the way into a meeting room that looks out over the Thames. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ Ravi takes a seat and I wander over to the window. At least the view is nice, I think. ‘Tea, coffee, water?’ the receptionist continues.
‘Don’t suppose you’ve got anything alcoholic?’ I joke, turning my back on the river.
‘Of course, sir. We have a full bar available. What did you have in mind?’
I blink at her in surprise. ‘Uh, just water is fine,’ I reply.
‘Water for me too, thanks,’ adds Ravi. She nods, proffers a fleeting smile, then leaves.
‘How much is all this going to cost me?’ I ask, glancing about at the plush, yet tasteful furnishings.
‘A lot less than thirty million pounds,’ Ravi counters.
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Two women enter, one about my age who’s wearing a black sleeveless dress, her reddish-brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, and one… well, I’d be hard-pressed to say how old she is, but she looks a lot like my mother and her friends. She’s well put together but has clearly had multiple cosmetic procedures. Undoubtedly, my mother, who hardly likes anyone, would warm to her immediately.
‘My name is Poppy and this is Ursula,’ says the younger woman and I pick up on a refined Australian accent. They sit across from each other, so I take the seat opposite Ravi and diagonal to Poppy. She pulls in her chair then fixes me with a broad smile. ‘So, Tristan, it’s good to meet you.’
‘Oh, um… thank you. And you.’
She consults a tablet as the receptionist quietly distributes glasses of water from a tray.
‘Thank you, Anita,’ says Poppy. After the receptionist leaves, she addresses me again. ‘I hear you’re in need of a wife – and in a hurry.’
I hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. My eyes flick towards Ravi, who nods at me encouragingly. ‘Er, yes, so I’ve been told.’
‘And you turn thirty-five on September twenty-eighth, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’ Surely, she has all this information – Ravi will have given it to her. Can’t we just get on with it?
‘A Libran,’ says Ursula, her eyes appraising me as though she’s at a livestock auction.
‘I don’t give much credence to all that – horoscopes.’
Ursula nods knowingly. ‘That’s a very Libran thing to say.’ She points a finger at me. ‘You’re a highly critical sign – you question everything, weighing up all your options.’
‘Oh, for god’s sa—’ I begin but Ravi cuts me off.
‘My wife, Jacinda, says the same about Leos.’ I glare at him for indulging this nonsense.
‘I think we may be getting a bit off track,’ Poppy says. ‘Tristan, why don’t you tell us about yourself.’
I appreciate the deft way she’s redirected the conversation but, again, won’t Ravi have given her all the information she needs? I already wish I hadn’t come.
‘Like what?’ I ask curtly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ravi shake his head but Poppy just gazes at me, a quizzical, almost tranquil expression on her face.
‘Let’s start with what you want in a bride,’ says Ursula.
I look between them, the word ‘bride’ irking me more than the horoscope thing – if that’s possible.
‘Well, you see,’ I say pointedly, ‘I don’t want a bride. A “bride” is someone who’s in love, someone who’s involved in a romance, who cares about dresses and flowers and… whatnot. I require a wife. Someone who will help me fulfil the terms of my grandad’s will and nothing more. So, what do I want in a wife? Simply, a woman who will marry me and stay married to me for two years. That’s it. Now can we please move on?’
To her credit, Poppy doesn’t even flinch. In fact, somehow, my rant elicits a smile. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘So let me tell you how this will work.’
‘One moment,’ says Ursula. ‘I just want to clarify… why two years?’
‘A specific term of the will,’ replies Ravi. ‘If married in time, Tristan inherits twenty-five per cent of his grandfather’s estate immediately, another twenty-five per cent in a year, and the remainder after two years.’
‘I see,’ says Ursula.
‘Oh good. Now can we please move this along?’ I ask.
3
POPPY
Oh, this is wickedly fun.
Objectively, Tristan may be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in real life, but he is also everything Ravi promised. What a grouch! I have no doubt that if it weren’t for having to forgo an eye-wateringly large inheritance, he’d happily remain a bachelor until his dying day.
But I am confident we can find him a wife – not a bride, as he so eloquently explained. There are plenty of women on our register who have ticked that special box on their application, the one that essentially says, ‘marriage is a business arrangement’. I asked Saskia about it once – not why we have that question, but why she thinks so many of our potentials (twelve per cent at last count) are open to this type of marriage. She’d replied that many women are practical and no-nonsense and have no time for – or want of – what they consider a ‘fairy tale’ romance. Ironic considering the name of our agency.
‘So, how do you find these women anyway?’ asks Tristan after I’ve explained the process. It’s a good question – he’s clearly a fan of due diligence, but then, so are we.
‘All our potential wives are carefully vetted,’ replies Ursula, her hackles visibly rising. It’s her connections at a well-known online dating service that helps keep our pool of potentials topped up. She’ll also be the lead on selecting the potentials for this case.
‘That may be, but where do they come from? Are there really dozens of suitable women roaming around London willing to marry under these circumstances?’
‘The short answer is yes,’ I say and those dark amber eyes flick towards mine. ‘Adding,’ I continue, ‘that we’re prepared to extend our search beyond Greater London if needed and it’s unlikely you will need to meet dozens of women. Once you’ve completed your questionnaire, we’ll be able to narrow down a shortlist as a starting point.’
‘I’ve told you my sole requirement. I couldn’t care less if she likes reading by the fire,’ he says, his voice laced with sarcasm. Ravi grimaces at me apologetically but, regardless of his friend’s behaviour, I remain undeterred.
