The Marriage Possession. Helen Bianchin
you wouldn’t believe.’
It didn’t take three guesses to determine the source. ‘Jean-Claude’s beloved maman?’
‘Uh-huh. Two weeks before the wedding she wants to change floral arrangements for the church…again.’
Two months ago it had been orchids, only to be discarded last month for cream roses.
‘It gets worse,’ Solene lamented. ‘She thinks ivory would complement my gown, rather than pale pink, for the flower-girl, when the dressmaker has already finished the dress.’ Solene gave a heartfelt groan in despair. ‘I’m about ready to scream.’
Oh, dear. ‘You’ve tried diplomacy?’
A significantly eloquent sigh echoed down the line. ‘Been there, done that.’
Jean-Claude’s mother had taken both Lisane and Solene beneath her maternal wing when they lost their own mother a few years ago, wistfully looking upon them as the daughters she’d never had. A kindly woman, with good intentions. Except for one slight flaw…she liked to be in control.
‘It’s your wedding,’ Lisane pointed out gently.
‘Hah!’
‘Jean-Claude—’
‘Issued an ultimatum this afternoon.’
‘And?’
There was a few seconds’ silence. ‘Tears, apologies, more tears.’
She could imagine just how it went, and how distressed her sister had been. Wedding preparations should be pleasurable and exciting…not fraught with nervous tension.
‘Two more weeks, Solene, then you can relax.’
‘You think?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Your dress is gorgeous.’
They’d shared images via email, decided on colour, and as they were the same height and dress size it had been a simple matter for Solene to take Lisane’s place with fittings.
‘Can’t wait to see you.’
Solene’s faintly wistful response brought a slight lump to Lisane’s throat. ‘Me, too.’ Weekly phone calls and email contact didn’t cut it. ‘Saturday.’ She relayed her flight details, then ended the call.
Monday soon proved to be one of those days when whatever could go wrong…did.
Lisane woke late, saw the red digits blinking on her digital alarm, cursed the electrical fault through the night and hit the floor running to complete the fastest shower on record. Once dressed, she filched a cereal bar from its packet, collected her briefcase, laptop, and unlocked her garage.
She could still make it into the city on time if the traffic flow was unhindered by roadworks…
Lisane slid in behind the wheel of her VW Golf, ignited the engine, reversed out onto the street, navigated it, only to groan out loud minutes later as she saw the long stream of vehicles stretching as far as the eye could see.
When at last the endless convoy began to inch forward, no one seemed inclined to allow her to ease into the flow of traffic. Desperate measures were called for, and minutes later she made it amidst a cacophony of irate car horns accompanied by a few graphic hand gestures and mouthed blasphemy.
Why would the city council choose peak-hour traffic to conduct road repairs? Although, to be fair, this particular stretch bore heavy traffic all through the day and into the night.
She extracted her cellphone, activated the loudspeaker function and called work, notified her superior she’d be late, then continued the crawl-like pace into the central city.
Arriving late involved some serious catch-up time, and she examined the day’s agenda, liaised with the police prosecutor, went through case notes, consulted with her client prior to his appearance in court—and, despite her cleverly structured questioning of the witness, the magistrate deemed in conclusion that there was sufficient evidence for the case to be heard in a higher court before a judge and jury at a future date.
It wasn’t the result her client had hoped for, but, given his prior conviction and the strength of the witness’s testimony, she could only reiterate fact and arrange a debriefing consultation.
Lunch was a chicken and salad sandwich followed by fresh fruit eaten at her desk, after which she made several phone calls and outlined pertinent points on her case notes prior to a late-afternoon consultation with a solicitor and his client, involving documented injuries incurred in an accident, which should conclude in a reasonable financial settlement for the client.
It was after five when Lisane saved all data to disk, closed down her laptop and pushed paperwork into her briefcase.
Home sounded good. She’d shower, don comfortable clothes, eat, then put in a few hours reviewing documentation in regard to a consultation scheduled for the following day.
An hour later she checked the contents of her refrigerator, decided she wasn’t in the mood for food just yet and crossed to the small second bedroom which housed a desk, bookshelves filled with law books, her sewing machine and a dressmaker’s dummy bedecked in a partly finished gown.
She could already ‘see’ the completed garment, the total picture with stiletto heels and evening bag, and her fingers began to itch as she viewed the soft drape of silk chiffon.
It wouldn’t take much…
Within minutes she was attaching the requisite tacking, and she soon became lost to everything but the artistry of creation as she fed the chiffon carefully through the machine.
The thin spaghetti straps required a steady hand, and she measured the length, then fitted both.
There was immense satisfaction in the knowledge that only the fine hand-stitching remained, and she switched off the machine then stretched her arms high to ease the slight kink in her shoulders.
Food seemed a sensible option, and she fixed a tuna salad, filched bottled water from the refrigerator and ate while scanning the day’s newspaper headlines.
It was after nine when she opened her briefcase and began reading documentation.
At some stage the burr of her cellphone intruded, and she picked up to discover Zac on the line.
‘Hi.’
His soft chuckle curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little. ‘You sound distracted. Bad day?’
‘It could have been better.’
There was a slight pause. ‘Want to talk about it?’
What was the point? ‘Not really.’
She could almost see the way his deep brown eyes darkened, the hard acceptance beneath a degree of cynicism. Criminal law dealt on occasion with the underbelly of society, people who possessed few if any scruples and some who committed unspeakable acts.
‘All we can do is our best.’
Lisane gave a slight grimace. ‘And when the best isn’t good enough?’
‘For whom? The client whose prior record makes him a threat to the community?’
It wasn’t about winning, but representing the law within the parameters of a legal system designed to seek justice for all.
Her lips curved into a faint smile. ‘OK, now you’ve made me feel better…how was your day?’
‘I could come tell you in person.’
She was tempted. Seriously tempted. Terrific sex, and afterwards strong, warm arms to cradle her close. For a moment the image was overwhelming, and she queried lightly, ‘Are you waiting for an invitation?’
‘No.’
A bubble of laughter