Hypnotized

‘I see.’

‘There’s one more thing I want Olivia to have. And it’s got to be a surprise.’

‘What is it?’ she asked warily

So I told her.

Always forgive your enemies. Nothing annoys them so much.

—Oscar Wilde

Epilogue

Olivia

My wedding was a grand society affair, organized and perfectly executed by Ivana. No, it was not awkward. It was a great triumph. Everybody said so. Anybody looking in could only have envied our family, our beauty, our good fortune, our wealth, our happiness. They would have seen a proud father, a beautiful, polished, charming, utterly devoted stepmother and a bride who looked adoringly up at her bridegroom as if he was God on earth. Only the bride’s adoring gaze for her new bridegroom as if he was God on earth was not an act.

The thing I remember most was walking into the church and seeing Marlow in his perfectly matched morning suit. He was watching me, every inch of me. There was no smile, no silently mouthed words of encouragement, no self-conscious gesture of love, just an intense look that said, I’m here, I’ve got your back. You’ll never again be anything but precious.

My step faltered and my hand tightened on my father’s arm. I felt him look down on me. I glanced up at him. His face was the perfect parody of the proud father. He had not taken care of me, but today he was giving me away to someone who would.

I took my gaze back to Marlow. He had not moved. He stood as still as a statue, his hands by his sides and I was reminded of my first impression of him, a slow-talking, gun-slinger on a dusty street at high noon, ready on the draw. Tense, alert and bristling with concentration. I stared at him and suddenly there was no one else in the church except him and me. As I drew in an exhilarating breath, I knew: I was safe forever.

And then I remember the kiss. Oh, the kiss. It was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me. After that it became a bit of a happy blur. His hand on the small of my back, rose petals confetti, well-wishers, music, delicious food, cutting an eight-tiered cake, champagne…

There were speeches too. I don’t remember any of them, of course. Only Marlow’s. When he looked into my eyes in front of all the people who had tried to hurt me the most and said, ‘I was not a man. I was a shell until you walked into my office.’

I had to blink back the stinging tears not only because that was exactly how I felt. I, too, had been a shell until I walked into his office. But because of a sense of triumph and vindication: none of you succeeded in destroying me.

Daffy came to kiss my cheek after the reception. ‘You won the lottery. Don’t spend it all at the races,’ she said and laughed.

I stared at her. Et tu, Brute? But the knowledge didn’t hurt. I had won the lottery and I had absolutely no intention of squandering any of it at the races.

My father and Ivana had a surprise present for me—a house in Belgravia. Marlow was in on it, of course. We were driven up to it in a carriage. It was white stucco fronted with a columned entrance and a glossy black door. We went up the stairs. He took out a silk scarf.

‘What?’ I asked with a laugh.

‘Turn around,’ he said.

Still laughing I turned around and he tied the scarf over my eyes.

I stayed turned away from him while I heard him put the key in the door, turn the lock, then felt his strong hands come around me and I was airborne and giggling. He carried me laughing over the threshold and did not put me down straightaway. He did not even take me up the stairs to the bedroom, which I had expected him to do. Instead he walked in what appeared to my blindfolded senses to be a straight line, heading to the back of the house. I held onto his neck and nestled in the curve of his throat.

At that moment I was the happiest woman on earth.

He set me down, and I felt him move to the back of me. Even before he untied the scarf tears were already rolling down my face. I smelt them, you see. I smelt them the way a mother recognizes the scent of her newborn baby. The scarf fell away from my eyes and I gasped. My eyes moved from one child to another, to yet another. Every single one of them had made the journey back to me. All my babies had come to live with me. I turned around with shining eyes.

‘Thank you, my love.’ My voice was a shaky whisper.

He looked down at me with such love that heat flared in my chest.

‘I can’t take any of the credit. I wanted to ask your father’s gardener to recreate your happy place here, but Ivana insisted that we move the entire contents of the conservatory. She’s even sorted out a gardener to take care of it when we are not around.’

‘Yes, dear Ivana,’ I said sarcastically.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said softly, refusing to take the bait. He once told me, as hateful as Ivana was, he could never be anything but grateful to her. She had unwittingly led him into his most fabulous dream.

‘Oh yeah?’ I said, imitating his accent.