and I don’t like being treated like one.’
More nodding. ‘You’d want a man who respects you?’
‘Yes. But he can’t be a pushover, either. Weak men won’t do. Not interested.’
‘How are you on compromising? I see you’re annoyed that your new butler refuses to call you Millie.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘Okay then.’
‘Are you trying to say things always have to be my way? That I’m a control freak? I can’t really be a control freak when I have to defer to my parents on certain matters. They are my source of income, after all.’
‘Do you resent that? How will you be with a man who commands a sizeable income but wishes to retain full control over that income?’
I take a moment to think about this. ‘Oh my God. I’m a gold-digger.’
‘Gold-digger isn’t the right word. You’re looking for someone who wants to share their income and enjoy their wealth with you.’
‘That’s the gloss again, isn’t it?’
She chuckles. ‘I think you and I are going to work well together.’
‘But I’m still –’ I stop, unsure how to say that I’m unprepared for this kind of humiliation, ‘not sure about this whole thing.’
Polly lets me take a sip of tea and, thankfully, doesn’t stare at me, waiting until I’m ready to talk again. Instead, she leans back in her chair and swivels slightly to her right. There’s such an air of confidence about her, it’s like she’s posing for a portrait.
‘Are you going to be taking my picture today?’ I ask.
She swivels back into position, a seamless transition. ‘The way we match people isn’t akin to internet dating, those sorts of profiles. If left to their own devices, sometimes people miss out on what’s actually right for them.’
‘I see. So you’re the arbiter of who’s right for me?’
‘I’m very good at what I do,’ she says, gesturing with her hand. ‘If you choose to trust me, you will be rewarded. You’re a fine candidate, the type of person for whom I want to find a match. You’re not flighty. You’re not outright demanding a billionaire. That tells me something.’
I mull over her sales pitch, drinking more tea while I’m at it. ‘I think I want you to be my counsellor,’ I finally say. ‘Seriously.’
She obviously reads people for a living. Plus, she’s got that whole bullshitting thing down, which essentially means she’s armed with a wealth of motivating statements and isn’t afraid to use them.
‘Millie, you don’t need a counsellor. This process will help you define what it is you’re looking for and, in turn, will help you to better understand yourself.’
‘Wow. And to think I used to scoff at your ads whenever I saw them in Tatler .’
‘Good magazine, good magazine.’
We spend twenty more minutes talking about my life, my history, and slowly I become more comfortable with the whole thing. I mean, it’s still embarrassing, but the overall goal becomes a degree more acceptable. On some level, I really have to understand that it’s a means to an end. It may not be the ideal way to meet my future husband, but if I do end up meeting him, it’ll be the ultimate payoff.
Not payoff as in money only. Obviously, I wouldn’t be at this particular matchmaking service if prestige and standing weren’t factors, but money cannot be the deciding factor, something that can tip an average man into the ‘suitable’ category. I want to want my husband. I have no idea how those supermodels can forgive an eighty-year-old’s libido and age spots, all for a slab of cash and more jewellery than they can wear in a lifetime. That, to me, is madness. Or, you know, prostitution.
In the end, I agree to meet with Polly again next week to work out more specifics, and then hopefully after that she can officially start the search. She claims to have a few men in mind already – it helps tremendously that I’m pretty, apparently. Rich, attractive men can afford to be particular about
More nodding. ‘You’d want a man who respects you?’
‘Yes. But he can’t be a pushover, either. Weak men won’t do. Not interested.’
‘How are you on compromising? I see you’re annoyed that your new butler refuses to call you Millie.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘Okay then.’
‘Are you trying to say things always have to be my way? That I’m a control freak? I can’t really be a control freak when I have to defer to my parents on certain matters. They are my source of income, after all.’
‘Do you resent that? How will you be with a man who commands a sizeable income but wishes to retain full control over that income?’
I take a moment to think about this. ‘Oh my God. I’m a gold-digger.’
‘Gold-digger isn’t the right word. You’re looking for someone who wants to share their income and enjoy their wealth with you.’
‘That’s the gloss again, isn’t it?’
She chuckles. ‘I think you and I are going to work well together.’
‘But I’m still –’ I stop, unsure how to say that I’m unprepared for this kind of humiliation, ‘not sure about this whole thing.’
Polly lets me take a sip of tea and, thankfully, doesn’t stare at me, waiting until I’m ready to talk again. Instead, she leans back in her chair and swivels slightly to her right. There’s such an air of confidence about her, it’s like she’s posing for a portrait.
‘Are you going to be taking my picture today?’ I ask.
She swivels back into position, a seamless transition. ‘The way we match people isn’t akin to internet dating, those sorts of profiles. If left to their own devices, sometimes people miss out on what’s actually right for them.’
‘I see. So you’re the arbiter of who’s right for me?’
‘I’m very good at what I do,’ she says, gesturing with her hand. ‘If you choose to trust me, you will be rewarded. You’re a fine candidate, the type of person for whom I want to find a match. You’re not flighty. You’re not outright demanding a billionaire. That tells me something.’
I mull over her sales pitch, drinking more tea while I’m at it. ‘I think I want you to be my counsellor,’ I finally say. ‘Seriously.’
She obviously reads people for a living. Plus, she’s got that whole bullshitting thing down, which essentially means she’s armed with a wealth of motivating statements and isn’t afraid to use them.
‘Millie, you don’t need a counsellor. This process will help you define what it is you’re looking for and, in turn, will help you to better understand yourself.’
‘Wow. And to think I used to scoff at your ads whenever I saw them in Tatler .’
‘Good magazine, good magazine.’
We spend twenty more minutes talking about my life, my history, and slowly I become more comfortable with the whole thing. I mean, it’s still embarrassing, but the overall goal becomes a degree more acceptable. On some level, I really have to understand that it’s a means to an end. It may not be the ideal way to meet my future husband, but if I do end up meeting him, it’ll be the ultimate payoff.
Not payoff as in money only. Obviously, I wouldn’t be at this particular matchmaking service if prestige and standing weren’t factors, but money cannot be the deciding factor, something that can tip an average man into the ‘suitable’ category. I want to want my husband. I have no idea how those supermodels can forgive an eighty-year-old’s libido and age spots, all for a slab of cash and more jewellery than they can wear in a lifetime. That, to me, is madness. Or, you know, prostitution.
In the end, I agree to meet with Polly again next week to work out more specifics, and then hopefully after that she can officially start the search. She claims to have a few men in mind already – it helps tremendously that I’m pretty, apparently. Rich, attractive men can afford to be particular about
Similar Books
