THE RELUCTANT BRIDE by Joy Wodhams

“I'd spend all day in a garden if I could. I
even enjoy weeding.”
    “ You'd
have a lot in common with my mother.”
    “ Is
she coming to live here with you?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ The
lucky lady,” said Mrs Priddy. “I hope the garden gives
her as much pleasure as it's given me.”
    She
was a nice woman, Gabriella decided. She would speak to her mother
and arrange a meeting between them.
    ****
    “ Tell
me about your father,” said Rod. They were in his apartment,
the first time she had been there since the night he had cooked pasta
for her. She had avoided being there alone with him ever since but
tonight her mood was strangely passive and she had not resisted when
he suggested a nightcap.
    “ He
was an importer,” she said. “Mostly carpets and rugs, but
other things too, such as paintings and sculptures. He had an
instinct for finding beautiful things all over the world.”
Beautiful women too, she added to herself. “He was very
successful, made a lot of money. Enough to buy White Gables, for
instance, when I was only a baby.”
    “ When
did he die?”
    “ Oh,
he's not dead! At least, I don't think so.”
    “ Then
what happened? Or would you rather not talk about it?”
    She
was silent for a long time.
    “ It
might help to talk.” Rod's words were gentle and encouraging.
    “ I've
never spoken to anyone about him. Not even m mother very much. You
see, she loved him, even at the end – and still does, I'm
sure.”
    “ So
do you.”
    She
looked at him, startled. “Oh no. I hate him.”
    “ Hate
and love are very close.”
    “ He
doesn't deserve to be loved.”
    “ Tell
me about him,” Rod said again and, slowly at first, she began
to talk.
    “ He
liked women, you see. There were always other women, right from the
beginning of their marriage. French women, Italian, Arabian, South
American – wherever he went he collected them like he collected
his carpets and rugs. I never knew, of course. I was too young. But
my mother knew – and he must have known that she knew. Even my
name -” She choked and grabbed for another of Rod's
handkerchiefs.
    “ It's
a pretty name.”
    “ I
hate it. He chose
it. He'd spent some time in Italy, just before I was born. It was
obviously the name of one of his mistresses.”
    “ You
don't know that.”
    “ I
do. I feel it.”
    Rod
poured another glass of wine and pushed it towards her. She picked it
up and gulped a mouthful.
    “ How
did it end?” he asked.
    “ He'd
been to Brazil. Naturally he met a woman over there. She had some
sort of business marketing Brazilian artifacts. We found out later
he'd put quite a lot of money into it. Anyway, he didn't come home
when he should have done. He stayed an extra week, then another week,
eventually more than two months. When he did come back he seemed
different. Sort of closed in, abstracted, irritable. He spent a lot
of time with his solicitors, with the bank. My mother thought he was
having financial problems, I heard her asking him, but he denied it.
Then one day when my mother and I were away somewhere for the day, he
disappeared. When we came home we found two letters, one for her and
the other for me.”
    She
took another sip of her wine, more slowly this time. “I think
my mother knew, before she got the letter. I think they'd already
talked about it.”
    “ What
did your letter say?”
    “ Oh,
that he would always love me, he would never forget me – a lot
of rubbish in that vein.” She looked at Rod, her eyes dry now.
“I was sixteen, still at school. My mother was already
beginning to suffer with arthritis. When he'd gone we found that he
hadn't even provided for us. The house had been remortgaged and all
but a few thousand pounds had been withdrawn from the bank.”
    “ It
must have been hell for you both.”
    “ The
worst part was finding out how little we'd meant to him.”
    “ I'm
sure that's not true.”
    “ Oh,
it's true,” she said bitterly. “If he'd loved my mother
he could never have hurt her