THE RELUCTANT BRIDE Read online

  The Reluctant Bride

  Joy Wodhams

  THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

  Joy Wodhams

  Copywright 2013

  All Rights Reserved

  OTHER BOOKS AVAILABLE

  Thank you for ordering this book. If you enjoy it you may like to try two others by Joy Wodhams which are available on Amazon Kindle.

  THE ARMCHAIR GUIDE TO HEAVEN is a contemporary romance. It tells the story of 20 year old Zoe, Heaven's newest arrival following a road accident, and the conflict between her desperate attempts to return to Earth and her growing attraction to Trevor, her appointed guardian angel. It's a lighthearted fun read, ideal holiday entertainment.

  THE FLOATER is a collection of eight short stories, all with a twist in the tale. Some are macabre with a dark element, others are humorous or quirky. Perfect bedtime reading!

  To find out more about the author, click on the JoyWodhamsPollyannaPage (joywodhams.blogspot.co.uk)

  You can also find Joy's Art and Creative Writing pages on Facebook.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Marry!”

  Gabriella's attention had wandered as the solicitor read out an interminable list of bequests to obscure societies. But his latest words catapulted her out of her chair.

  “Did you say marry, Mr Brewster?” She stood over him, impatient as he conquered a nervous cough.

  “I'm sorry. That's quite correct, Miss Stevens. Would you like me to read it again?” She nodded speechlessly. “Let me see, yes … 'I bequeath my company, Englands Engineering, together with all its assets, jointly to Roderic Michael Nicholson and Gabriella Stevens, employees of the aforesaid company, subject to the following provisos: One, that the aforesaid Roderic Michael Nicholson and Gabriella Stevens agree to marry within two calendar months of my demise -”.

  “That's impossible!” Gabriella burst out. “It's – it's – the idea is obscene!”

  From the depths of an armchair across the room came the sardonic voice of Roderic Michael Nicholson. “Thank you, Miss Stevens.”

  Gabriella rounded on him. “Did you know about this ridiculous proposition?”

  “No, I didn't. And quite frankly, I don't find the idea any more attractive than you do, but perhaps we should let Mr Brewster read the rest of the Will before we start getting hysterical.”

  “I am not hysterical!”

  “Oh, do sit down, Gabriella, and let's get on with it.” He flicked a grey silk and mohair sleeve and glanced at his watch. “I have to be in Wolverhampton at three.”

  Gabriella glared at him and subsided abruptly. It had to be a joke, and a pretty perverted one at that. If Ben were here – but Ben was dead and this was his Last Will and Testament. Besides, Ben rarely joked.

  Making a great show of shuffling the papers on his desk Mr Brewster was clearly embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Miss Stevens, Mr Nicholson. I had no idea. I assumed that you already had plans to marry. Or at least that you had – er -a strong feeling for each other.”

  “We have, Mr Brewster,” said Gabriella. “A strong feeling of mutual dislike.”

  “Dear me. This is all very difficult. Mr Englands led me to believe that a marriage would be in the best interests of both yourselves and the Company.”

  “Obviously Mr Englands wasn't in his right mind. At the end.”

  “He died of heart disease, Gabriella, not senility.” Rod's deep voice held irritation. “When was the Will made, Mr Brewster?”

  “Four months ago. And whatever Mr Englands' reasons there can be no doubt that he was quite rational.”

  “Four months ago,” Rod repeated. “That's about the time Minerva started angling to buy Englands. I wonder -”

  “You said provisos, Mr Brewster,” Gabriella cut in. “What are the others?”

  The solicitor took up the Will again. “Number two … Dear me!” He gave the hostile pair an apprehensive glance. “Er – Number two, 'That they remain married for a minimum period of five years.' Really, Miss Stevens, I think -”

  “Five years!” wailed Gabriella. “I wouldn't remain married to that man for five minutes!”

  Rod was out of his seat now. “You seem to think that the choice would be entirely yours. Well, let me tell you, Gabriella, if I kept a register of marriageable females you'd be way down at the bottom!”

  “Please, please!” It was some time before Mr Brewster's frail voice could be heard but at last he managed to quieten the two antagonists. He waited until they had both returned to their seats then went on: “Mr Englands had a high regard for your skills. He was extremely anxious that the business should be put in your joint hands but, for reasons I know nothing of, he insisted that the bequest be tied to your marriage. However, if marriage between you is out of the question, then so be it. There is, of course, no way in which Mr Englands' last wishes can be enforced.”

  “And if we don't marry?” asked Rod. “What happens to Englands?”

  “It will be sold.”

  Rod looked up sharply. “To Minerva Engineering?”

  “To the highest bidder.”

  Rod nodded. “Minerva.”

  Mr Brewster smoothed and folded the Will. “As you may know, Mr Englands has no surviving relatives. Should you not marry within the stated time the proceeds of his entire estate, other than the bequests I have already mentioned, will be divided amongst a number of local charities.”

  “Then you'd better get on with it, Mr Brewster.” Gabriella's voice was icy. “Because nothing – nothing could persuade me to marry that – that – that second rate Casanova!” And with a final dagger glance at Rod Nicholson she swept through the door, scattering a cluster of clerks and secretaries who, drawn by the raised voices, were hovering outside.

  Emerging into the busy High Street she realised she would have to call a taxi, having accepted a lift to the solicitor's office in Rod's car. The unplanned expense added further fuel to her anger and when a taxi stopped at her wave she glared at the innocent driver as if it were all his fault.

  Rod must have known. He and Ben must have hatched this mad scheme between them. But why? Surely both of them knew it would make it impossible for her to accept the inheritance?

  Her eyes stung with tears of disappointment and anger. Although Ben had never said in so many words that she and Rod would inherit, he had talked to them often about the future of the business, dropping heavy hints that it might be theirs when he was gone, and the prospect had motivated them both to work all the harder – although neither of them had anticipated Ben's sudden death at only fifty seven.

  But now she felt as if he had given her a slap in the face and she couldn't understand it.

  She thought he had known her so well. They had met when she was only sixteen, when he had come to view White Gables, the house she and her mother had been forced to put on the market after her father's disappearance.

  He had stumped through the lovely old rooms, prodding at window frames, peering suspiciously up chimneys, and Gabriella had hated him as she hated everyone the estate agents had sent to view the house. He had seemed oblivious of her strained face, her lack of enthusiasm as she showed him round, but as he was leaving he said, “Someone has to buy the place, it might as well be me. Don't worry, I'll take care of it. I'm not one to change everything.”

  Perhaps the agent had told him something of their story, for he added, “Hear you're leaving college. If you want a job, come and see me,” and had given her his card.

  She had wanted to throw it in his face but instead she slipped it into her purse. And six weeks later, at the end of term, she had gone to work for him.

  Over the next eight years he had quietly helped her to advance in the Company, promoting her to become his secretary, later encouraging her to take her Bri
tish Institute of Management diploma, for which he had paid all her fees.

  “You spend more time poking about in other departments than typing my letters,” he had said in his bark-worse-than-bite manner. “If you're that interested you might as well get to know the job properly and be some bloody use to us. Besides, you've got a damn good brain. For a woman,” he added grudgingly. Now she knew more about Englands than almost anyone there and Ben had given her as much responsibility as she could take.

  Despite the turmoil that filled her mind, Gabriella felt a wave of sadness sweep over her. She would miss Ben Englands and his curmudgeon ways. He had been so good a friend. In some ways, almost a substitute father.

  Oh Ben, Ben, she groaned. If you really cared anything for me – and she knew that beneath his gruff facade he had been genuinely fond of her – why on earth did you want me to marry Rod Nicholson? Couldn't you see how much I detest the man?

  She gazed out blindly as the taxi sped through the city streets. It had begun to rain and people were scurrying for doorways and coffee shops.

  ****

  The buzzer on Gabriella's intercom rang.

  “You came past me like a whirlwind,” said her secretary. “Everything all right?”

  Gabriella kept her voice light. “Everything's fine.”

  “Want a coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Jenny, will you see I'm not disturbed for half an hour? And no calls, please.”

  She sat at her desk, grateful for the privacy the small office afforded her. She took a mirror from the drawer and examined her reflection. The green eyes that stared back at her were bright with a mixture of emotions, her cheeks were pink and several pale strands had escaped from the neat, slightly oldfashioned roll of hair that she wore on the nape of her neck. As she tidied herself she took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.

  The cool blues and greys of the room, the soft greenery of plants that filled one corner, were soothing. But slowly as her anger drained away a feeling of shame took its place.

  How could she have made such a scene at Mr Brewster's? She who was known for her calm, her unflappability in any situation. As for Rod – her face burned as she recalled the accusations she had made, not only before Ben's solicitor but with his entire outer office listening with baited breath! Of course she hadn't said anything that wasn't perfectly true. He was a second rate Casanova. Hadn't she watched his amorous progress through practically the entire female staff of Englands?

  It was at this moment that her office door slammed open.

  “I said I wasn't to be disturbed – Oh!”

  It was Rod Nicholson. He shut the door and leaned against it, one long leg crossed over the other. A nonchalant pose but she sensed that every muscle was taut with anger. He was a big man, powerfully built. The face was dark, tough, at odds with the elegant grey suit, the smoothly knotted silk tie. Not a man to be trifled with and she felt a quiver of apprehension as she faced him.

  She lifted her chin. “I owe you an apology,” she said coolly.

  He nodded, his eyes dark, without expression. “I've often wondered why you disapproved of me. No, that's not quite true, your opinion isn't that important. Let's say, I've occasionally wondered.”

  “I've said I'm sorry. What you do, how you behave is not my concern.”

  “How I behave?” he repeated. “And just how do I behave, Miss Stevens?” His voice was mild but a hint of steel warned her that she had better retreat.

  “Look, I had no right to say what I did. I don't know what Mr Brewster thought -”

  Unexpectedly Rod's mouth twitched with amusement. “I imagine Mr Brewster has witnessed dozens of slanging matches in his time. Although they must be more commonplace after a marriage has ended than before it's even begun. All the same, that outburst of yours was pretty uncharacteristic. Do you object to marriage in principle or is it merely the thought of marrying me that fills you with such horror?”

  Gabriella's mouth opened and closed.

  “I see. Well, Gabriella, that's a pity because one way or another you and I are going to be married. Unpleasant as it may be for both of us.”

  She stared at him, completely stunned. “You're – you must be mad!”

  “You must see that we haven't any option. But I haven't time to discuss it now, I'm late for my appointment. Besides, this isn't the place. I'll come to your house tonight. About eight thirty.”

  “You'll do no such thing!”

  “There are implications in this Will that I don't believe you've even considered, Gabriella.” He looked at his watch. “We'll talk tonight,” he said. And was gone, leaving her staring after him open-mouthed.

  “He affects me like that too,” smiled Jenny, coming into the room.

  “What did you say?”

  “Rod. He's so macho – but smart with it. And those eyes. One look and I turn to jelly. All the girls think he's gorgeous.”

  Gabriella steadied her voice. “Yes, I've noticed.” With sudden curiosity she asked, “Have you been out with him?”

  “Once or twice. Great fun.”

  Jenny was small and feminine with a halo of dark curls, impish eyes and a full smiling mouth that broke easily into laughter. Yes, Rod would find her attractive, thought Gabriella. But then, Rod seemed to find most young women attractive. Herself excluded.

  “I wish he'd ask me again,” Jenny went on, “but you know Rod.”

  “Don't you mind?”

  “Mind?”

  “Well, you know. Being one of a string.”

  Jenny laughed. “You can't tie down someone like Rod, he's a one-off. We all drool and dream though. Have you? Been out with him?”

  Gabriella felt the blood stain her cheeks. “Jenny Loveday, remember your place!”

  Jenny laughed again. “All right, be cryptic. But if you haven't, you must be the only one in the office, apart from young Amanda and she's only seventeen.”

  That afternoon Gabriella tried doggedly to work through the letters and documents that filled her In tray but the words and figures danced before her eyes. After staring for half an hour at a report written by the Company's production manager, Frank Fuller, without understanding a word of it she gave up. Only one subject could occupy her mind. The unbelievable terms of Ben's Will. And how she was going to convince Rod Nicholson tonight that she wasn't prepared to submit to them.

  With a sigh she tossed the report into her Action tray and decided to go home.

  ****

  The small terraced house was identical to all the others in the narrow street. Built in the Thirties, red brick up to the first floor windows, pebbledash above, it had a small strip of garden with privet and lilac bursting into bright new leaf.

  She drew up outside and stopped the car. As she let herself into the hall she could hear her mother's radio, tuned to her beloved Radio 4.

  “Gabriella? Is that you? You're early, dear.” Mrs Stevens' face lit with pleasure as Gabriella bent to kiss her.

  “I decided to take an hour off. Had a good day? Mrs Greenwood come?”

  Her mother's face clouded. “No, her sister's ill. Three young children and now flu. Daphne's gone to nurse her and look after the family. Poor thing, as if she hasn't enough to do.

  Gabriella sighed. Daphne Greenwood's sister was a problem she could well do without. Now she would have to persuade one of the neighbours to help out until Daphne's return. “Never mind, Mum. We'll sort something out. The sun's shining, how about a trip to the Park before dinner?”

  She helped her mother into her wheelchair and out of the house, chattering gaily to distract her from the pain that seized her with the smallest movement.

  “I wish we could get someone to come in every day,” she said as she pushed the wheelchair the quarter of a mile to the small park that was the nearest to countryside the neighbourhood possessed.

  “Oh no.” Her mother was shocked. “That would be far too expensive.”

  “I hate to think of you alone here. If it were closer to England
s I'd come home at lunchtimes.”

  “Gabriella, you mustn't worry about me, I have plenty to do. I have my books and my radio and I see some of the neighbours occasionally. I enjoy my day. Truly.”

  Gabriella knew better and wished she could do more to help this woman who bore all her burdens without complaint. “I'm going to ring the hospital again tomorrow. Surely they can take you in soon.”

  “It's no use, dear. Dr Hancock checked again yesterday. The waiting list for surgery is so long in this area. He couldn't get any indication at all.”

  “It's not right,” Gabriella raged. “No one should have to suffer pain for as long as you have. I wish you'd let me take out a loan. We could probably get you into a private hospital within a week.”

  “No, dear. The mortgage on the house is enough to pay. Oh yes, I know how difficult it is for you. I won't have you getting into more debt.”

  Gabriella sighed. Her mother could be stubborn but she was right. The mortgage had proved to be an almost intolerable burden. And then there was the car. She had to have one but at seven years old its upkeep was increasingly expensive. And her mother's prescriptions, and Mrs Greenwood's wages – any more debt, she thought with despair, and she would sink without trace.

  The park was emptying now and the first breeze of evening ruffled the skirts of the willows that fringed the small lake. She saw her mother shiver and draw her scarf closer to her throat.

  “It's getting cold. I'll take you back.”

  When dinner was prepared she found herself without appetite. Absently she toyed with the food on her place, making nests of creamed potato filled with peas. She wished she could avoid tonight's meeting with Rod, knowing that if he was really determined on this crazy marriage he would use every means in his power to get her agreement. And she was familiar with them all.