Хилари Боннер - Death Comes First

Joyce could see Charlie searching for words.

‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ she said. ‘C’mon, Charlie, what is it?’

He reached in his pocket and produced a key with a golden ribbon attached. She took it from his outstretched hand and studied it for a moment, puzzled.

Then he dropped the biggest bombshell of all.

‘It’s the key to a house in Tarrant Park,’ he said. ‘Your father has given it us as a wedding present. He wanted me to be the one to tell you.’

I’ll bet he did, thought Joyce. Henry Tanner knew all too well what his only daughter wanted, what she had always wanted. And that was a life of her own, away from the confines of Tarrant Park.

‘Charlie, how could you!’ She leapt up from the bed and stood looking down at him. ‘You fool, you bloody fool. Have you any idea what this will mean?’

‘Yes, that we will start our married life in a dream home, a house most young couples could never hope to afford, where we can bring up our children and build our lives together. And I will have a dream job, doing interesting and well-paid work for a man I have come to both like and respect.’

‘Really,’ snapped Joyce. ‘You sound as if you’re reciting some sort of mantra, you pompous idiot. I thought your dream was to sail around the world aboard the Shirley Anne . And I loved you for that. It became my dream too. Not this. I’ve had a lifetime of Tarrant Park. You want to “get real”? Tarrant Park isn’t real, Charlie, can’t you see that?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Seems real enough to me,’ he said.

‘And what exactly is this “interesting well-paid work” that you’re going to be doing for my father?’

‘I’ll be learning the ropes of the import-and-export trade. Your father is one of the leading brokers in the country. He’s the master when it comes to cutting through red tape. He’s done wonders for the UK economy over the years, like his father before him, and your Uncle Max. And I am going to be the newest junior partner at Tanner-Max.’

‘Master at cutting through red tape, eh? Sounds bloody dodgy to me,’ countered Joyce.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Charlie. ‘I have never met anyone more sound than your father. He would never be involved in anything he didn’t believe to be morally right, let alone “dodgy”. International commerce is rife with complicated rules and regulations. It takes someone with Henry’s experience to deal with them — legally.’

‘How come you’re suddenly qualified to join the firm?’ asked Joyce. ‘Explain that to me.’

‘Henry says my political knowledge will be a considerable help. Everything in life nowadays is politics, Henry says.’

‘Henry says, Henry says,’ growled Joyce. ‘Don’t you have a mind of your own any more, Charlie?’

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he replied plaintively.

‘Did you?’ snapped Joyce. ‘Did you seriously think I would want to sit at home in some glorified luxury prison while you go off playing man games that you don’t even tell me about, having to put up with the same thing my mother has put up with all her married life?’

‘No, of course not. It won’t—’

Joyce cut him off. ‘If we set up home in Tarrant Park that is precisely how it will be. And you thought I’d be pleased, did you?’

Charlie shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought your parents had a wonderful marriage. And that’s all I want for us. Felicity has always seemed perfectly happy with her life. Isn’t that the case?’

‘Yes. She probably is happy,’ Joyce sighed. ‘But I am not my mother. I want more, can’t you see that?’

‘I will give you more, then. I promise you, Joyce, all I want is for you to be happy. Your father and I both thought this house would make you happy. What do you want me to do? Tell him we don’t want it? Throw it back at him?’

‘It wouldn’t do any bloody good,’ muttered Joyce.

‘We can make this work, Joycey. I’ll get another boat, one that doesn’t leak,’ Charlie promised. ‘We’ll sail off into the sunset and let the winds take us where they will. We’ll still find our Shangri-La. You’ll see.’

‘And did you and my father also happen to decide when we would be moving into this bloody house?’

‘Well, when we get back from our honeymoon—’

Once more Joyce interrupted him. ‘Have you forgotten that I’m still hoping to be accepted to do an MA at Exeter if my grades are good enough?’

‘You could still do it,’ said Charlie. ‘I mean, it’s just about commutable.’

‘Commutable? It’s an hour and a half’s drive from Tarrant Park to Exeter. And that’s on a good day. Besides, commuting isn’t exactly what university life is about, is it? Be honest, Charlie. You assumed that if you quit university, I would too, didn’t you?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Charlie. But he blushed deep crimson.

They continued to squabble for another hour or so, going over and over the same ground. In the end Charlie pleaded with her, ‘Please, Joyce, can’t we just put this on hold until after the honeymoon? This has been such a special day for me. Please don’t let it be spoiled.’

There had been tears in his eyes, and the last thing Joyce wanted was to see her new husband cry on their wedding night. Grudgingly she agreed to let it drop, even though for her their special day had already been irrevocably spoiled. The obligatory nuptial lovemaking was perfunctory and unimaginative. Joyce feigned orgasm, something she had never before done with Charlie, in order to be able to seek the release of sleep, then lay awake all night with her back to him.

She blamed her father, the master manipulator who knew her better than Charlie ever would, for the way she’d been set up. If she’d had the slightest inkling of Charlie’s intention to join the family firm and start their marriage in Tarrant Park, one thing was certain: she would never have gone through with the wedding. As she set off on her honeymoon the following morning, she was still wondering whether to walk away from the marriage.

Her first sight of their idyllic Maldivian island, fringed with a ribbon of sand almost starling white against the turquoise sea, helped restore her spirits, and gradually, although a niggle remained at the back of her mind, the honeymoon became pretty much everything she had wished and hoped it would be. She acquiesced to Charlie’s entreaty that they put all discussion about their shared future on hold until their return home, and allowed the Maldives to work its own special magic.

Their own piece of paradise was called Nakatchafushi. Back in 1991 Maldivian islands were strictly no shoes and no news. Joyce thought Nakatcha was perfect. Stylish but breathtakingly simple. They slept in a rondavel yards from the edge of the sea and ate at candlelit tables set out on the beach.

Mornings of swimming and sunbathing were followed by afternoons of lazy lovemaking, which returned almost to their usual standard, and evenings drinking cocktails as the sun went down and dining on local curries and fish.

Only very occasionally did that abiding little niggle force its way to the front of Joyce’s mind. If she had known what Charlie and her father had planned, she almost certainly would not be on honeymoon.

On their return from the Maldives, Charlie was tactful and tentative in all matters concerning their future life together.

‘Look, why don’t we move into the house on a temporary basis?’ he suggested. ‘I’m not starting work with Henry for another couple of weeks. We have plenty of time to talk about everything. And, Joyce, I’m sorry I didn’t involve you. It was supposed to be a surprise. I honestly thought you’d be pleased.’