Isabel Wolff - The Making of Minty Malone

Another good thing about Dom – he’s very practical. And that makes me feel sort of safe with him. For example, he suggested we take out wedding insurance, just in case anything goes wrong. So he sold Dad a policy with Paramutual, which will cover potential disasters such as my dress not being ready in time, or the Waldorf burning down, or flash floods in the Strand. He felt it was important for us to have ‘total peace of mind’ on our big day. And he’s right. Do you know there are even policies to protect newlyweds in case their marital home is burgled while they’re on honeymoon? We didn’t think that was necessary as we won’t be away for very long because Dominic’s so busy at the moment. Between you and me, I’d have loved two weeks in the Caribbean, on Nevis, say, or Necker. Or ten days in Venice – that would have been wonderful. But we can’t do that because Dom won’t fly anywhere. He thinks it’s too risky with our overcrowded skies, and, because of his work – insurance, or ‘Risk-Biz’, as he likes to call it – he is in fact au fait with the crash and fatality records of all the major airlines. So we’re going to Paris, on Eurostar, for four days. Which will be fab. And I don’t mind the fact that I’ve been to Paris eleven times before, because a) it’s a lovely city, and b) I’m sensitive to Dominic’s fear of flying. He can’t help it. You see, he tends to anticipate things that can go wrong. And he’s right. So many unexpected disasters can happen in life, so it’s always best to be prepared. Which is why he persuaded me to fill in a comprehensive prenuptial agreement when we got engaged. I don’t blame him. He’s got a lot to lose. And, of course, we’ve taken out travel insurance for Paris. Just in case.

Actually, that’s my secret nickname for him: ‘Justin Case’. But I haven’t told him that. I’m not sure he’d find it funny. I did try teasing him once or twice, in the beginning, but it was obvious that he didn’t really like it, so I soon learned not to do it again! But he’s a complete whizz when it comes to business. He’s got a magic touch. That’s how we met. He rang up one day, totally out of the blue, and said he was a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend (I still can’t remember for the life of me exactly which friend it was), and he said there was something ‘ very important’ he wanted to discuss with me. He wouldn’t say over the phone what it was, but it certainly sounded intriguing, and he had such a lovely voice, and he was so friendly, and before I knew what had happened, I’d agreed to meet him. Largely out of curiosity. So he offered to come up to my flat in Primrose Hill. And the bell rang, and there on the doorstep was this incredibly attractive man. He was so good-looking I nearly fainted! He was tall, with blond hair – not that wimpy white-blond hair, but a deep, burnished sandy colour, as though he’d just trekked across the Sahara. And his eyes were this startling blue. Like the blue of Sri Lankan sapphires. And he stood there, holding out his hand, and smiling at me – very good teeth, too, incidentally. So I invited him in, and made him a cup of coffee while he asked me questions about my date of birth, my general health and whether or not I smoked or had AIDS, and he made some very flattering comments about my interior décor – even though he confessed not long afterwards that he hadn’t liked it at all! Then he whipped out his laptop computer and a pile of graphs and charts, and looked at me in a very serious and meaningful way which thrilled me to my core.

‘Now, Minty, here you are. Here. In 1970,’ he said pointing to the left-hand side of the graph, ‘and you’ve just been born. OK?’ I nodded. I was indeed born in 1970. Then he pointed to the extreme right-hand side of the chart. ‘And here you are again, Minty. In the year 2050. And you’re dead.’

‘Oh. Um, yes. Suppose I am.’

‘Now, Minty,’ he went on, fixing me with a penetrating look, ‘what are you going to do about it?’

‘Do about it? Well, there’s not much I can do really.’

‘Oh yes there is, Minty,’ he said with a zealous gleam in his eye. ‘There’s a lot you can do about it. You can protect yourself – and your loved ones – against it.’

And suddenly, the penny dropped. I don’t know why it had taken so long, I suppose I was distracted by his genial manner and his good looks.

‘You’re an insurance salesman,’ I said, and I couldn’t help laughing.

But he didn’t laugh. In fact, he bristled.

‘I’m an IFA, actually,’ he pointed out. ‘An Independent Financial Adviser. And it’s not insurance, Minty. It’s assurance.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said.

‘Now, Minty, I do think you could benefit from my help here,’ he went on with a benevolent smile. And I don’t know what it was, his compelling personality, the way he kept using my Christian name, the heady scent of his aftershave, or his irresistible charm, but before I knew what had happened I had signed on several dotted lines, thereby embarking on a life-long commitment to the Dreddful Accident Insurance Company, the Colossal Pension Fund, as well as purchasing accidental death coverage with Irish Widows. And now here I am, a mere eighteen months later, making a life-long commitment to him too. And I really couldn’t be happier. I mean, Dominic and I just clicked after that first encounter. We really clicked.

As I say, I find him terribly attractive. You see, I’ve always had this secret thing about blond men. Some women don’t go for them at all, but I’ve always liked them. They’re unusual, for a start, and then they’re so different to me. I look vaguely Mediterranean, with long, wavy, dark hair and eyes the colour of espresso. But Dominic’s the opposite. He’s so fair. So English. I’ll tell you who he looks like: Ashley in Gone with the Wind. Gorgeous. Physical attraction is so important, isn’t it?

And of course we’re very compatible. Well, we are now. In the beginning we weren’t. I’d be the first to admit that. As I say, he liked fishing – I hated it. He played a lot of cricket. It bored me to bits. He loved shopping – especially for clothes – and, frankly, I’m not that bothered. He wasn’t a bit interested in going to art galleries and the theatre, whereas I adore seeing exhibitions and plays. And films. I love films. In fact, I’m quite well-watched. I’d travelled an awful lot too, whereas Dom was terrified of flying and had hardly set foot outside the British Isles. So, to tell you the truth, it didn’t look good at first. But now, the situation’s changed completely. We’re terribly compatible. Because I’ve made myself like all the things he likes! So I go and watch him fly-fishing; I watch him play cricket; and I’ll happily sit and watch Eurosports with him. Unless it’s snooker. Or darts. And if there’s some fascinating documentary or first-rate period drama, well, I can always watch it upstairs on his tiny black-and-white. But that’s how we get on. And I know we’re compatible, because we filled in a compatibility questionnaire – and we passed! And I haven’t just given up all my previous interests. I mean, I still get to go to the theatre sometimes, and the Tate, but I go with my girlfriends, because of course I’d never make Dominic do anything he didn’t want to do.

But I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I shouldn’t give way so much. And I do know what you mean. But these are minor things to me, and in any relationship there’s bound to be a lot of give and take. And I’m keeping my eye on the wider picture here, which is that I really love Dom. So these are small sacrifices to make. And in any case, I absolutely hate making a fuss about anything. I’m very ‘nice’. That’s what everyone says about me – that I’m terribly ‘nice’. They’ve always said that. And I simply loathe confrontations of any kind. I just can’t handle them at all. So, if it’s a small matter, I’m more than happy to give in because, to my mind, it’s simply not worth making a fuss. And as far as Dominic’s refusal to travel goes, well, I’m philosophical about that because I’ve already seen lots of places. Anyway, I quite like holidays in England or Wales. I mean, it’s all very well gadding about in Malaysia or Mauritius, the Med or Martinique, Venezuela or Venice, the Caymans, Kenya or Hong Kong – but just think of what you’re missing on your own doorstep! Dominic and I have had some lovely weekends in Norfolk. And Scotland. And the Lake District. Been there twice. In any case, one should try and be satisfied. And I am. I’m very happy with my lot, thank you very much. And you’ve got to decide who it is you want. Who you want to be with. And, for better or for worse, I want to be with Dominic. Because I adore him. Absolutely. He’s The One. Nothing makes me happier than being round at his place, cooking something for him. Although I’d be the first to agree with him that I’m a pretty rotten cook. I mean, you don’t so much carve my roast chickens, as shake them! But I’m going to do a course and learn how to do it properly, because I’m really mad about Dominic.