Muriel Jensen - The Man She Married

He wanted her back. He’d told her he didn’t, but if she wouldn’t listen to the truth from him, it seemed pointless to be honest about his feelings.

The loud ring of his newly installed telephone jarred him out of his thoughts. He put the filled coffee basket into the machine and poured water into the well as he picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Gideon?” The voice was low and female with a touch of Marlene Dietrich’s dramatic alto. He recognized it immediately.

“Aunt George!” he exclaimed. Georgette Irene Hale Milton Didier Finch-Morgan was his favorite aunt, his father’s older sister who’d worked for Vogue, been widowed three times and was now CEO of her third husband’s considerable holdings. She lived in London. “How are you?”

“I’m enmerdée at the moment,” she said, the French word translating to a situation that involved considerable manure. “But I’m coming to see you.”

“But…I’m not home,” he said stupidly.

“Well, I know you’re not home, Gideon. I called you there first and got this number from your mother. She told me about a plan you had to go into partnership in Alaska. I understand it just fell through.”

“Actually, it’s only been delayed,” he corrected. “But why did you track me down? I hope it’s because you decided I’m your favorite nephew and you’re leaving me everything.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “You are my favorite nephew, but I’m having too much fun to leave anybody anything just yet. I’ve tracked you down because I want to talk to Prudence.”

“Ah…Aunt George. You know Prue and I are separated.”

“I do. But I also know that she’s in Maple Hill, wherever that is, and so are you.”

“I just came to try to straighten things out with her before I went to Alaska. But she still doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“But you’re still staying there?”

“I’ve been offered a challenging job. And it’s a beautiful place to be until I go to Alaska. Why do you want to talk to Prue?”

“Because I heard about her line of clothes. Your mother faxed me the photos that appeared in the Boston Globe.”

“The Globe?” he repeated in surprise.

“Apparently their fashion reporter was there for Leaf-Peeper weekend and decided to stay for the fashion show. She was very impressed. So, I remembered that I never gave you kids a wedding present.”

Gideon laughed. “That was probably wise, or it’d be in storage in New York with a lot of our other things.”

“Well, I insist on making it up to you. Or rather, to her. I always did like that girl. In the communications division of one of my companies, there’s a very prestigious little fashion magazine that would love to have photos and a story about a young American launching a sophisticated new line.”

He knew Prue would be thrilled at that opportunity. And in spite of all her animosity toward him, he wanted her to have it.

“I can be there in three days with a photographer,” Georgette said. “And I’ll do the story myself. I often contribute to the magazine because of my fashion experience. Can we stay with you?”

Gideon hesitated, only because he knew his aunt’s presence would put paid to all his hopes of peace and quiet.

“Ah…sure. But Prue doesn’t want anything to do with me. If you want to deal with her…” And suddenly, like a shaft of sunlight through a storm cloud, he saw a way to turn this to his advantage.

Georgette waited a moment, then demanded, “What?”

“I…ah…” He stalled for time as his brain churned with an idea.

“Gideon?”

“Can you do some dramatic work for me, Auntie?” he asked as he mulled over the idea again, looking for flaws. There were many, but he was an optimist.

“You know me, dahling,” she said in a theatrical tone. “I live for center stage.”

“I’m thinking,” he said, unreeling the plan, “that if you tell her that I told you we were reconciled and that she’s living here with me, she’ll come over demanding to know what I’m up to and I can explain that I didn’t want her to miss this opportunity to make a big splash in the press. She’ll think I’m noble. Maybe.”

“That sounds plausible.”

“So, she’ll have to stay with me for the time that you’re here so that it really does appear that we’re reconciled.”

“But would my opinion of your marital status be that important to her?”

“I think it’ll be all entangled in her wish to have this opportunity. And in my noble and self-sacrificing insistence that she get it.”

“Ah. Insidious. I like it. Give me her number.”

As fate would have it, he’d run into Camille when he’d been in the supermarket buying coffee, and she’d given it to him—both her cell and the studio. He gave both numbers to his aunt.

“All right, Gideon,” she said briskly. “I’m going to bring the fashion world a bright new star and possibly save a marriage in the bargain. Is there an aunt anywhere more wonderful than I?”

“I doubt it,” he replied. “Go to it, Auntie.”

She hung up, obviously pumped to come through for him.

All he had to do was wait.

And he might invest in a little body armor, just in case.

PRUE SORTED THROUGH her orders, listed them according to garment and size to place her fabric order, then listed names and phone numbers in preparation for setting up a fitting schedule. She sipped at a cup of coffee, stared at her long list and fought a sense of panic. She’d have to work flat-out—with help—in order to get everything done so that her first customers could wear their fall and winter fashions before spring came!

She fell back against her chair, momentarily daunted by the task, and looked around at the studio she’d finally acquired after years of dreaming about it. It was far more functional than glamorous—a lot like her life. The room had a collection of tables, one for cutting fabric, one that held two sewing machines, one for simply working out patterns. There was a rolling rack of finished and half-finished projects, two overstuffed chairs for collapsing into, shelves with bolts of fabric, drawers with trim, buttons, notions.

On the wall above her desk, a bulletin board was covered with fabric swatches, design ideas, fast-food coupons and the occasional business card.

It occurred to her that she finally had this place because Gideon had sent her half the proceeds of the sale of their condo.

But she didn’t want to think about him right now, and was happy to be distracted by the ringing telephone.

She picked it up, hoping it wasn’t a client already wondering when her order would be filled.

“Hello,” she said with false cheer.

“Hi, darling! I never sent your wedding present and I’m coming to make it up to you!”

Prue was surprised by the vaguely familiar female voice and the odd, completely out-of-sync remark.

“Ah…” she began hesitantly.

“It’s Aunt Georgette, darling!” the theatrical voice clarified. “Remember me? We only met once, but I’m generally considered to be pretty unforgettable.”

Prue had to laugh, remembering the tall, attractive woman in head-to-toe Gucci she’d met in New York at the engagement party Gideon’s parents had given them.

“What a lovely surprise.” Prue remembered finding her funny and sincere. But she couldn’t imagine why the woman was calling her. Last she’d heard, Georgette lived in Europe with a new husband, who’d since passed away.

“I’ll tell you why I’m calling,” Georgette said, launching into a story about receiving a fax of the Globe story about Prue’s fashion show, and how she wanted to prepare an advertising campaign for her through the firm she’d inherited from her husband. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding, but I’d like to make up for it now. What do you say?”