Don't Marry Thomas Clark: A fun feel-good romance

By Celia Hayes

A feel-good romance. Sometimes true love can be found where you least expect it... Perfect for the fans of Mhairi McFarlene and Fiona Gibson.

Thomas Clark is a wealthy aristocrat. Sandy Price was the girl next door. They grew up spending their summer holidays on the same country estate, but Sandy couldn't stand Thomas and he hasn't crossed her mind since.

Years later, an unexpected turn of events brings Thomas back into her life. At the reading of his grandfather's will, Thomas is set to inherit everything on one condition: he marries Sandy Price - otherwise the entire estate will go to charity. Thomas must find a way to make this happen.

Sandy is unemployed and trying to renovate a bistro with some friends. But at the last minute the bank withdraws its loan offer. So, when she receives a call from Thomas offering her an attractive proposal, she has no choice but to accept...

What readers are saying about DON'T MARRY THOMAS CLARK:

'I really enjoyed this book which is both clever and amusing, recommended as light reading'

'Hilarious... I loved it'

'Funny, bubbly, romantic, sweet and exciting!'

'Loved it so much read it twice'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Apr 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781784977467

Celia Hayes

Celia Hayes works as a restorer and lives in Naples. Between one restoration and another, she loves to write. Don't Marry Thomas Clark reached #1 in the Amazon Italian Ebook chart.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Backer & Hill Notary’s Office – 12:30 a.m.

‘If we’d all like to sit down,’ suggests Cameron Hill, pointing to the desk.

Everything feels preordained, each gesture part of a script that has already been written. We are in his office. His little kingdom. A room furnished in an old-fashioned way on the second floor of an elegant building in the City. The heart of London’s bustling economy, the Square Mile, the oldest and yet most modern part of town. A few steps from The Gherkin overlooking Waterloo Bridge, this precious property is the fruit of all his sacrifices. He started off when he was still a kid, doing paperwork for good old Bones at three quid an hour, and today, almost twenty years later, his company can boast the most illustrious clientele in the country.

‘Please, Thomas, after you…’ mutters one of those present, in the direction of the youngest.

A profound sense of exhaustion is audible in his voice. If for Mr. Hill this meeting is the culmination of a brilliant career, for the rest of them it is simply the epilogue of a melancholy farewell. Among the few guests are Rupert Evans, professor of applied physics, retired, William Owen, faithful family butler of the Clark family and Thomas Clark, only grandson of the deceased. Gathered around the table to hear the last will and testament of Sir Roger Aaron Clark, they accept the notary’s invitation in silence and move in unison toward the chairs.

Cameron waits until they are seated, then takes out a sealed envelope containing his notes and prepares to open it. Inside is the final will and testament of one of the nation’s most valuable assets, but there’s no sign of anxiety in the eyes of the heirs. They are certain it will all be left to the boy, except for a nice golden handshake for William to ensure a prosperous old age after many years of distinguished service.

Rupert, a long-time friend of the count, is the only one who is ignorant of why he has been invited. ‘Perhaps Roger has decided to give me a couple of old books from his collection?’ he has been wondering more or less since he entered the lift of the building. At that moment, the notary calls in his secretary to ask her not to put any calls through which might interrupt them. He’s a skinny little chap, elegantly dressed, with round glasses, buck teeth and a gaunt face. It’s almost impossible to determine his age, but his attachment to his work is immediately visible from the manic, repetitive, almost obsessive way he tidies up his sheets, pens and folders.

‘So…’ he begins, clearing his throat with a cough. ‘I, the undersigned, Sir Roger Aaron Clark, born in Canterbury on February 3, 1925, being in full possession of my faculties, do hereby cancel and revoke any previous arrangement and name as heirs to my heritage Thomas Clark, Rupert Evans and William Owen.’

At this point he raises his eyes and looks them over, as though afraid that one might have escaped his attention. The first he looks at is Rupert, a stout gentleman with a jovial expression and funny white moustache, wearing a grey suit with a waistcoat and red bow tie. His trousers are kept up by a pair of faded braces and his feet are clad in a pair of worn loafers. William follows. Wrinkled, but with a combative look, he fiddles with the woollen cap he holds in his hands. His clothes are plain but of good quality, and his eyes are lucid and alert. The only smart-looking one is Thomas, a man of thirty-two with raven-black hair and ice-blue eyes who is wearing grey trousers, an expensive blue sports jacket and a striped shirt. He is an exact copy of his grandfather. The same haughty bearing, the same penetrating gaze. Like the others, he waits in silence, occasionally checking his wristwatch. A gesture which denotes impatience and tacitly forces Cameron to continue.

‘Dear William,’ Cameron resumes. ‘You have been close to me all these years, holding the dual role of assistant and trusted friend. I know how much you wish to move to America to be with your daughter, and I remember how many sacrifices you made to allow her to study there. It is precisely for this reason that I hereby leave you the sum of one hundred thousand pounds and my apartment in New York, and wish you a peaceful future in the company of your loved ones. Rupert…’ He pauses a few seconds to ensure he has his full attention. ‘Rupert…’ he repeats, catching his breath. ‘You were like a brother to me. Together we faced the vicissitudes of life and supported one another through moments of great difficulty. We have survived war, disease and disappointment and we have always come out with our heads held high. In memory of all the time spent together and the affection that binds us, I leave to you my collection of antique books, of a value of three hundred thousand pounds.’

Upon hearing the news, the professor practically jumps out of his chair, feeling almost like a thief at the thought of accepting such a huge bequest. His mortified eyes search the room for Thomas, who, however, quickly reassures him with a fleeting gesture of the hand, accompanied by an affectionate smile. He agrees with his grandfather’s decision: there is nobody in the world more capable of appreciating that priceless collection than Rupert, and in his place, he would have done the same.

‘As for the rest of my earthly goods,’ declaims Mr. Hill in the meantime, ‘I name as my only heir my grandson Thomas Clark, fate having snatched away too early from the affections of his loved ones my son Rudolf.’

No surprises, then. Just as everyone expected, the immense wealth of the Clark family goes to Thomas. Not even a mention of the two cousins in Australia, or the daughter of his sister, Rose Hughes. That was predictable: relations between the two families have always been fraught since a furious quarrel which broke out one New Year’s Eve between Roger and Ella Clark’s husband, Louis Hughes. Old stories that have been handed down for decades, constantly embroidered with additional detail. As often happens, no one has ever tried to settle the matter. Quite the opposite, in fact: relatives, friends, acquaintances and even the staff have dedicated all their energies to the express purpose of creating mischief. Why? Who knows? Out of boredom, perhaps, or for entertainment. The result? Brother and sister never spoke again and the tradition was also handed down to the subsequent generations. Rose and Thomas, in fact, have seen one another perhaps two or three times, merely exchanging a hasty greeting to keep up appearances.

The young man gives a feeble sigh, the only reaction that the news provokes from him. From this moment on, all the count’s businesses officially belong to him, true, but the reality is that he has actually been running them himself for eight years now, an activity that keeps him constantly busy. In less than an hour, in fact, he has an appointment with an industrialist from Boston to discuss issues affecting the airline of which he is the principal shareholder, and he still has to organize his trip to St. Petersburg, where he is expected to finalize the details of an important research foundation he intends to open there. A busy life, which requires him to hurry even when it comes to such delicate matters as these. Looking at his watch for the umpteenth time, he decides that he has already taken too much time away from work, so he rises from his chair in preparation for thanking the notary and taking his leave.

‘Mr. Hill, if that is all, I shall be going,’ he says, holding out a hand in farewell.

However, Cameron cuts him off. ‘Mr. Clark, I’m afraid that we haven’t quite finished. If you wouldn’t mind…’

He leaves the sentence hanging in mid-air, while pointing loftily to the chair the young man has just left. His tone is kind but firm, and all Thomas can do is nod and return to his place, wondering whatever else there could be to add.

‘Now, where was I?’ asks the notary, while his index finger slips across the paragraphs of the document in search of a clause. ‘Hmm… Ah, here we are!’ he cries when he finds the exact point where he had been interrupted. ‘Tom, I leave everything in your hands: stocks, property, money and society, but on the condition that you accept one single, overriding condition.’

‘Condition? What condition? What are you talking about?’ asks a bewildered Thomas with a frown. ‘Did he mention anything about it to you?’ he asks the other two, but neither William nor Rupert seems to know anything about it.

‘If you will allow me to finish, things will become much clearer,’ breaks in Cameron, displaying some vexation at this latest contretemps. ‘You are now over thirty years old, and what have you done with your life?’ he continues, pronouncing each syllable clearly. ‘Of course, you have shown great skill in managing our affairs. You are a tenacious, capable, intelligent person. You always tackle things head-on and are always ready to step in for the good of the family, but at what cost? I’m tired of seeing you sitting at a desk, alone, staring at a computer screen. I imagine I know what you are thinking right now, but I am not talking about that kind of company, as you well know! I do not want you to throw your life away, but I know that if I limit myself to giving you advice you will not listen to me, so I am therefore obliged to intervene with the only and final means that life leaves me: money. I have therefore decided that you will enter into possession of my assets only after you have married. I imagine you will feel that this is unfair but, trust me, you will thank me one day.’

‘What?’

‘Your grandfather wished you to marry.’

‘What… What did he want me to do?’

‘To… marry,’ he is forced to repeat, showing some discomfort.

Rupert looks like an upset child, while William, however, seeks desperately to hold back a laugh.

‘Did he… Did he say anything else? Is that it?’ he asks in a whisper.

‘He laid out the rules.’

‘The rules for what?’

‘Mr. Clark, your grandfather imagined that you might resort to a marriage of convenience in order to circumvent his provisions, so he established the conditions necessary to protect himself from your eventual non-fulfilment.’

‘And what might they be?’ he asks, sinking into the chair as he awaits the coup de grâce.

‘There is to be a six-month period of cohabitation in the old family home, during which you are to share your free time, bedroom, car and so on with your future spouse. At the end of this…’ he hesitates, trying to find the most appropriate term.

‘…imprisonment?’ Thomas comes to his rescue, still clinging to the arms of the chair.

‘Errr… At the end of this initial phase, you will finally celebrate your marriage, which must be carried out in community of property. The union must last at least ten years for your possession of your inheritance to become effective, after which time it is no longer revocable. In this time you will be obliged, as previously, to share your living quarters, bedroom and free time. In short, you must demonstrate that you are actually a married couple, or else…’

‘Or else what?’

‘Or else you’ll lose everything.’

Everything… thing… ing… ng…

The last sentence hits him right between the eyes and takes his breath away.

‘No… I… I don’t think I quite understand,’ he falters, as the room begins to spin wildly.

‘Bring him a glass of water!’ orders Rupert, startled by his sudden pallor.

William makes to rise from the chair, but Thomas motions him to stay where he is.

‘What is there to understand?’ trills Cameron, who appears not to grasp the reason for so much commotion. ‘You have to get married. You know? Married. United in holy matrimony, plight your troth, conjoin,’ he reiterates, tiptoeing over Thomas’s traumatized reaction with all the grace of a bison.

‘But… But… But it’s impossible. It’s unheard of!’ cries Thomas, emerging from his silence with a shocked expression. ‘It must be a joke. I cannot believe…’

‘I assure you, your grandfather was very clear, and there is no possibility of there being any misunderstanding,’ insists Cameron, attempting to reassure him.

‘And did he also specify whom I should marry?’ asks Thomas with a trace of sarcasm. He certainly does not expect an affirmative answer.

‘Actually, he did,’ replies the notary, nearly causing Thomas to topple from his chair. ‘It’s all written down here, you see?’ and he indicates the precise clause of the will. ‘It is Miss Sandy Price – is this name familiar to you?’

Familiar? ‘Familiar’ is not the right word to describe the principal torment of his childhood.

‘Sa… Sandy?’

This news falls on his future with the violence of a tornado. He could have imagined anything – anything except Sandy Price. What can he have done to deserve such punishment? He was always there, always attentive. Maybe he could have dedicated a few more hours, particularly in recent years, but can one failure to appear for Christmas really have such devastating after-effects? Clinging desperately to his last thread of hope, he asks in a barely audible voice, ‘And if she doesn’t want to marry me?’

‘Don’t worry, your grandfather was a prudent person,’ he reassures him. ‘Whichever of the two pulls out tacitly waives any rights to the inheritance.’

‘You’re trying to tell me that if I refuse to marry her, she inherits the lot?’

He can sit down no longer. He jumps up from his chair and rushes over to the desk, his haste such that he almost stumbles in the folds of the carpet.

‘That would be the obvious deduction,’ replies Cameron.

The calmness of his reaction mitigates Thomas’s agitation, so he decides to temporarily put aside his murderous instincts and concentrate on the practicalities of the situation.

‘So, to sum up, if I marry her I have to share all my property with her and if I don’t marry her she will inherit everything?’ As he tries to draw up an accurate picture of the situation, the menacing look never leaves his face.

‘Yes.’

‘And if neither of us wants to get married?’

‘Everything will be donated to charity. This is a full list of the associations between which the assets generated by the sale of properties and shares would be distributed,’ he says, handing over a freshly printed sheet of foolscap paper which Thomas snatches and scans rapidly, an expression of concentration on his face. There are all types of organizations, from the animal protection groups that he has never heard of to council day care centres.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he mumbles, biting his lip, ‘the Thames Bowling Club would get twenty million pounds?’

‘After taxes,’ corrects the notary.

‘After… After taxes,’ he repeats through clenched teeth, trying to resist throttling him.

‘Your grandfather always had a fondness for that pleasant pastime,’ says Hill with a smile, remembering the eccentric passions of the old man. ‘It is normal that he would remember his former club.’

‘Obviously,’ says Thomas, struggling to hold back a scream.

Cameron Hill senses that the tension in the room is building and decides to intervene on behalf of the deceased. ‘Mr. Clark, I’m sure Sir Roger had only your welfare in mind. Please note that he clause becomes null and void in the case that you can prove the impossibility of the union.’

‘Really?’ whispers Thomas, glimpsing a light at the end of the tunnel into which this cruel twist of fate has hurled him.

‘Of course! Your grandfather specified a number of conditions regarding the request. If you will wait one moment, I will read them to you right away,’ he answers, adjusting his glasses. ‘This Act will be invalidated if you can demonstrate the following conditions for one spouse or both, before the marriage is celebrated: arrest for crimes such as manslaughter, multiple murder, violence against minors or women, or any term of imprisonment exceeding two years. You are also released from any obligation in the event that either of the couple should be afflicted by certified permanent physical dysfunction, such as coma or vegetative state caused by trauma, or death.’

‘Are you joking? No, seriously – are you finding this amusing?’

‘I would not dare!’ exclaims the notary indignantly.

‘So what do you have to say about all this?’ Thomas shouts, slamming both palms down on the desk. At the limit of his endurance, he towers over the slight figure like a cat with its nose in an aquarium.

‘That you have two months. Good luck!’ he replies, not at all intimidated, as he passes over a copy of the will.

Chapter 2

‘Come on, Frank, there’s got to be a loophole.’

‘I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t see a way out, other than proving that he was not of sound mind, but that wouldn’t be easy – it would be long, expensive and, above all, we wouldn’t be certain of the outcome. Everybody liked your grandfather, who do you think would testify?’

Thomas slumps down into his chair, exhausted. He’s known Frank since they were at school together: if there was even the slightest chance of getting him out of this mess, Frank would find it.

The young lawyer picks up the will and starts reading through it once again, and at the same moment, Margaret, his PA, enters carrying a tray with two sandwiches and a couple of drinks.

‘What time is it?’

‘A quarter to two, Mr. Clark,’ she replies efficiently.

‘Already?’

The time has flown by without them noticing. He’s been there since nine and they’ve achieved absolutely nothing.

‘Shall I put it down here?’ asks the woman, as she places the tray on the desk. Frank nods and she, having nothing else to add, tiptoes out of the room so as not to disturb them further. As soon as she saw those gloomy faces, she knew right away that they were dealing with important matters – and anyway, what better time to make a couple of quick phone calls to Brazil?

‘Tell me, who is this Sandy?’ asks Frank, as he emerges once more from the piles of papers.

‘The granddaughter of an old friend of his. She lives in Cork with her family, but they’re from Canterbury originally. They used to come over every summer for a month or two, and grandfather used to put them up,’ he replies.

So embroiled are they in the question that they both ignore the sandwiches, Thomas especially. For the last two days his mouth has been so dry that he’s been struggling to swallow at all.

‘Were you ever a couple?’

‘God, no!’

‘So what’s so special about her? I mean, with all the women out there, why her?’ asks Frank again, trying to find a way to explain this reckless act.

‘How the hell would I know?’ explodes Thomas, who has been brooding on the question too long to express himself more gracefully. ‘The only relationship I’ve ever had with Sandy was when we were on holiday together. They made me take her along with me wherever I went, but apart from that, nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘No, Frank, nothing.’

‘Not even a little flirting?’

‘No…’

‘A kiss and a cuddle in the barn?’

‘No…’

‘A quick fumble in the bushes?’

‘NOTHING!’ he thunders categorically, leaving no room for any doubt about his possible emotional involvement. ‘We hardly spoke to one another, and it went on like that until she decided to go to university. She moved to America four or five years ago and since then I haven’t seen her.’

‘I don’t understand you,’ muses the lawyer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

‘Why?’

‘Is she really that horrible?’ Frank asks after a few minutes of silence, a question which, for the moment, Thomas struggles to understand. ‘I mean,’ he continues unabated, ‘does the idea of marrying her really seem so terrifying to you?’

‘Have you lost your mind too?’

‘Listen, it looks to me like you don’t have a choice. But with the life you lead you’d only have to see her, what? Two or three times a week? You can carry on with your routine undisturbed and, if you really don’t want a wife, just consider her a flatmate that you have to establish a peaceful cohabitation with.’

‘If she was just a flatmate, I wouldn’t be forced to sleep with her!’ answers Thomas.

‘Thomas, let’s be frank – they’re not asking you to donate a kidney. And it says here that you have to share a bedroom with her, but it doesn’t say what you have to do once the lights are off.’

‘Haven’t you read further down? I have to be faithful for the duration of the marriage. Are you expecting me to live like a monk for ten years?’

‘If you’re discreet about it you won’t run any risks. Proving the infidelity of a spouse is much more difficult than movies and TV shows would have you believe.’

‘That still leaves one crucial detail,’ whispers Thomas barely audibly, forcing Frank to lean over his desk to be able to hear it.

‘What?’

‘That I have no intention of getting married, and even if I did, it would never be to Sandy Price!’ shouts Thomas suddenly into his ear, making him jump.

‘So what is the problem, then?’ asks Frank, unable to understand his friend’s reaction, ‘Is she ugly?’

‘Oh…’ mumbles Thomas. ‘It’s not as if she’s hideous. She’s small, pale, skinny…’ He tries to describe her with an expression somewhere between indifference and contempt.

‘OK, but she’s not repulsive.’

‘No,’ he is forced to admit, albeit reluctantly. ‘She’s not actually repulsive.’

‘Well, then? Come on, you only have to put up with having her around the house. The worst that can happen is that she puts Laura Ashley curtains up in the study,’ jokes Frank, trying to put his friend’s worries into perspective.

‘You’ve no idea what we’re dealing with,’ Thomas says. ‘You don’t have the faintest idea of what it means to spend more than a couple of minutes with that… that psycho! She ruined my childhood and adolescence. Just imagine, I used to spend all the time before the summer holidays in a cold sweat,’ he admits, his head in his hands. ‘Why?’ he asks miserably. ‘Why me? This can’t be happening… not to me. Anyone but her.’

‘Psycho? What do you mean? Thomas, look, if she has mental health problems we can petition the court. I’m sure that with a proper psychiatric report…’

‘No, no…’ says Thomas slowly, swinging his head despondently. ‘She’s sharper than the two of us put together, believe me.’

‘Then you’d better start getting used to the idea,’ suggests Frank in no uncertain terms, placing his hands palm down on the desk to either side of his laptop. ‘If you want to inherit your grandfather’s fortune, you don’t have a choice.’

‘No…’ moans Thomas, in last, desperate denial.

‘Have it your way, then. Maybe you’re right. I’m sure you won’t end up homeless. How much do you stand to lose? Let’s have a look…’ He opens the testament in the middle and scans through a few lines. ‘Wow…’ he bursts out in amazement at the sight of all those zeros in a line. ‘That’s a nice little nest egg! Who did he say it would all go to? The Thames Bowling Club?’

‘Oh, give it a rest!’ says Thomas, throwing a pen at Frank, which his friend dodges with a chuckle.

‘What’s the matter? You rather he’d bequeathed it to the cricket team?’ But he receives no answer. ‘You know what, Thomas? Fuck you! That’s a ton of money. If I was in your place, I would have already had Take me, I’m yours! tattooed on my arse, so stop complaining, call this girl, invite her out for a coffee, talk to her about the good old days and ask her to marry you. Let’s