“You do yourself a disservice. You aren’t a fool.”
“But I am, where my queen is concerned.” He lays his head on her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her. “Always the fool, now and forever and always.”
“I don’t want you to be a fool for me,” Ari whispers softly, and he sighs.
“But I am. And I always will be, Ari.”
* * *
When he realised his father’s plane wasn’t just stalling but was in full engine failure, Tom prepared for impact. Nose up, level the wings. The ground was close, and he was hurtling towards it at speed. From his pocket he pulled out the playing card and glanced at it quickly.
The fool. Faded, old and creased in places, as well as worn where he’d stroked it thoughtfully over the years, but still undeniably obvious. Even now, at the very worst of times, it made him smile.
And so, with a card clutched in his hand and Ari’s face in his mind, Tom braced for impact, still the fool, now and forevermore.
Chapter 4: Tea Set
On Marnie’s wedding day to Doug Somerset, her mother-in-law gave her a tea set. Julie Somerset, blonde and brash with a proverbial heart of gold, had clearly put thought and time into her choice of gift, presenting it to her new daughter-in-law with a proud smile and flush on her over-blushed cheeks.
“It’s a pretty pattern, isn’t it?” Julie enthused, holding one of the delicate teacups up to the light. “Could be an antique.”
The white china was painted with a gold, pink and blue flower motif, gaudy and old-fashioned, which made Marnie cringe. Eight cups and eight saucers, all identical.
“A set,” Julie added, with a knowing wink at the slight curve to Marnie’s belly, “to pass on as an heirloom, one of these days.”
To say Marnie hated the tea set was an understatement. She activelydespisedit. Marnie had been through a tumultuous few years, a time when her rebellious teenage phase morphed into an experimental college phase, which then morphed into a business-first adult mindset. Her idealistic optimism gave way to a hard-hearted ruthlessness, a determination to take the inheritance of her family and improve upon it. As such, Marnie worked, and she worked hard. She grafted and grifted and Doug... Well, he was supposed to be the antithesis of all that. He was meant to be an attempt to reclaim her carefree youth, as well as an inappropriate boyfriend her father hated, which perversely made Marnie want him more. Doug was a race-car driver, literally the hottest new thing on the circuit, and Marnie’s father’s company had sponsored him. When she first met him, he’d been leaning on the hood of his car, the sun on his face, watching her move by her father’s side closely.
Marnie had been smitten, but still practical. Doug Somerset was never meant to be a long-term thing. He was meant to be an itch to scratch before she moved on to more suitable pastures.So to find herself both pregnant by him and then married to him caused Marnie’s world to spin on its axis. What she had planned as merely a whirlwind romance had turned into a perpetual storm of a marriage, and Julie’s tea set — that tacky, over-decorated, cheap pile of plates — represented everything Marnie hated about what her life had become.
It wasn’t that Marnie was unhappy, because she was pragmatic and practical and always made the best of any situation. She knew that with Doug she had made her bed and she’d decided to sleep in it, and even if life with him wasn’t all feather pillows and satin sheets, it was still good quality cotton, and she was content enough. As for Corentin and Tom... Well, her boys were the highlight of Marnie’s marriage, and both she and Doug knew it. She found it hard to look into her children’s big brown eyes and regret any of the decisions and choices that had led her to them.
Julie’s tea set sat in a glass cabinet in the least used of Marnie’s three dining rooms, hidden in a corner and mostly ignored. During her worst arguments with Doug, Marnie had been tempted to shatter the cups and saucers one by one, hurling them against a wall and watching that hideous pattern of replica Victorian flowers turn into a whole new kind of mosaic. Still, she’d always resisted the temptation, knowing deep down that the guilt she’d feel from destroying Julie’s well-meaning gift would far outweigh any satisfaction she’d gain. Besides, Marnie told herself, one day —one day— those cups and saucers could be passed on to her own daughter-in-law. It was only fitting, Marnie thought. Julie had wanted them to be an heirloom, and what better legacy for her son’s wife than this china, a gift for the shotgun marriage that culminated in his arrival. Marnie was practical, but not above a little petty irony.
“Can you clean this set up?” she asked Mrs Hollis, her housekeeper, pointing to the set in their glass cabinet prison. “I’d like tea served in them after lunch today.”
Mrs Hollis glanced at her in surprise. “But you never use this tea set. Dollar store trash, you’ve always called it.”
Marnie nodded. “That’s true. I want to give the set to Sasha though.” She swallowed down a mouthful of bile. “Tom seems determined to marry her — heaven knows why — and I promised him I would try my best with her. Giving her this tea set feels like a good place to start.”
“With the dollar store trash?” Mrs Hollis asked sceptically, and Marnie nodded.
“Yes. Don’t give me that look, Doris. I have my reasons.”
Mrs Hollis continued giving her ‘that’ look anyway. “So, tea and coffee, served with this tea set, at two o’clock? An hour after lunch?”
Marnie nodded. “Yes. Once the wedding planners are out of the way I’ll tell Sasha about my gift. She’s out for all she can get, that girl, so I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”
Mrs Hollis frowned at her. “Perhaps comments like those aren’t the best way to win your future daughter-in-law’s heart?”
Marnie only shrugged. “I could care less about Sasha. No, I’m doing this for Tom.” She held her head high. “For Tom, and for the children he’ll one day have. I’m no fool. I know Sasha’s type. As soon as she has Tom’s child in her arms, she’ll make me pay through the nose for access to them. And I’ll pay for it too. I know it, and so does she.”
It was the truth. Marnie was widowed, somewhat retired and mostly bored, and had begun to realise all too late the things she’d missed as a working wife and mother. She adored her sons, but being time-poor and work-rich while they were growing up meant expensive nannies, schools and tutors had been substituted in place of herself.
She’d missed Corentin and Tom’s first steps. Missed their first words. She hadn’t been there for their first days of school or the nights of their high school proms. It was only when Corentin rebelled his way into a religious calling and Tom disappeared that Marnie realised — with a large stab of pain — just how much she missed them.
When Tom returned at last, weary, sad, jaded and quiet, Marnie worked hard to regain his trust and love. She knew her child — knew something had happened to him in the years he’d been gone. The boy who’d clambered to race cars and pilot planes like his daddy suddenly worked in finance. The boy who’d been all passion and feeling suddenly wanted to settle with Sasha. But, mostly, the boy who’d been all smiles and joy suddenly seemed lifeless and tired, as though a heaviness weighed him down. Marnie would give anything to fix him, to help him find that joy again. But all her efforts seemed only to push him further from her, and at last she gave up.
Tom would carry on working a job he hated. He would marry Sasha. He would live life as a disappointed man. These thoughts made Marnie feel sick, but she consoled herself with one small, tiny ray of hope. That Tom might father children, and give both her and him a second chance at a family life.
