Cowboys and Englishmen

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

I ordered a bowl of the most garlic enriched soup I'd ever tasted, and slurped it so noisily I knew it would put off even the most persistent date. It was vile, thick with Stilton and gross globules that stuck in my throat, but I engrossed myself in getting to the bottom of the bowl. I was committed. And he talked about himself, about his homes in far flung countries, his pompous meetings from the week before and then he told me a joke I didn't get, about some dignitary he'd met the day before. And he guffawed. The only way I can describe his laughter is to get you to imagine a horse, neighing. He sprayed me with saliva as he chortled to himself, just as mum re-joined us for the main courses.

Am I the most patient person in the world, of perhaps the most insane? The jury is out. I stayed, wiping myself down with napkins, as he continued to shake in his seat, still tickled by his convoluted joke, teeth extended, arms strapped over his stomach.

'Isn't Tark just a hoot?' Mum slapped my arm, gazing fondly at the increasingly repellent man. 'And your father adores him.'

'Your father is my hero.' Tarquin announced, suddenly serious, his eyes misty. 'I worked for Mr Belvedere for three years.' He recounted, gazing off into the distance as if recalling some wistful, romantic memory. 'It's a wonder we haven't crossed paths before, my dear.'

How old was this guy? He looked like a badly aging thirty something but talked like a sixty year old. I'd barely spent five minutes in the same room with my dad over the past ten years. It wasn't such a surprise that we hadn't met at some fancy pants event, full of the upper class, brown nosing one another.

Mum cleared her throat. 'Well, Samantha has been.....off on an adventure.'

I raised my eyebrows at her. She still saw my choice to lead a different life as just a jaunt. A silly sabbatical, before I re-joined the ranks, even though I'd gladly relinquished her way of life, knowing it just wasn't me. It never was me.

'I decided to find my own way in life, Tarquin. I don't need my father’s name or his fortune to have a life.'

'Let’s change the subject.' Mother and I had been over this a thousand times before, and I didn't relish her friend 'Tark' weighing in. Our main courses were served and my mother’s eyes grew three times their normal, judgmental size. I'd ordered the duck and the steak, two main courses. Was I eating my feelings? Yes. And in this Michelin starred restaurant I'd eat enough to last me till the dreaded wedding. I also hoped the excessive food might stop Tarquin looking at me.

'Dear God, Samantha, you're hardly built for so many....calories.' He shot at me, a look of sheer terror in his eyes. Now you're probably wondering why I didn't fly off the handles and throw the bitter tasting yet stupidly expensive champagne in his face and storm off. Or stand up, my chair falling behind me as I waved my arms in anger calling him every name under the sun. And then some. But the truth was that in my mother’s circles, it seems completely normal to comment rudely on the weight of others, image being one of the most important assets to a society gal. I was used to these mindless morons.

'What about your dress. Its slim fitting darling?!' Mum cried, in horror, as I forked a huge lump of steak through my lips. I tried not to snigger, as I savoured the char grilled meat.

And then I remember. The dress. Crap. Well, as they say, no time like the present. Although I'd have gladly left here tonight without it being mentioned, even if come the wedding day I might have some explaining to do.

'The dress. Well....' I took a deep dramatic breath, feeling my captive audience staring at me. 'I was walking through the park and someone.....' I paused for effect. 'Someone mugged me.'

'Someone mugged you?' My mother grabbed my hand and held it so tightly I was worried she'd cut off my circulation. I swear, my fingers were already turning purple. Her grey blue eyes fixed on mine. Was this concern I saw on dear mums face?

'Yes. This morning....'

'You were out walking in the park, with your dress. This morning.'

When she said it aloud it did sound ludicrous. But this was my story, and now I had no choice but to stick with it.

'Yes.'

'Samantha how could you?' She pulled her hand away, gripping the side of the table so hard that her knuckles went white. 'The colour scheme, it'll all be ruined! Poor Lissa! Did you think about Lissa? Did you think about your sister in any of this?!'

What? Whilst being mugged? Fake mugged, but still. It was always about Melissa. The golden child.

'What were you thinking?' Tarquin jumped in now. 'Where were you going with such a precious garment?'

Was he for real? He was quite literally just a male version of my mother. I swallowed. Having not thought this bit through. Damn Donna. Why did I always take her advice?

'Er....well Donna wanted to see me dressed up before the big day....'

'But Donna was with you last night, Samantha! Why must you always create these dramas?'

I'd heard that line a hundred times before. The time I was late for my uncle’s funeral because I had to take three buses, and wound up in some sleepy village in the middle of nowhere just as the heavens decided to open. I arrived soaked to the bone, legs caked in mud as everyone left in their black limos. The horror on their faces would have been hilarious if it wasn't such a sombre event. Or the time my father was honoured with some swanky business award and I wore shoes with such slippery soles that right in the middle of his speech, I skidded on the highly buffed floor and banged my head on the buffet table. Cue a visit to A and E and more disapproving looks from Mum. I didn't create drama, drama just liked to cling to my coat tails. I don't enjoy it. I'd like a peaceful life.

'Be gentle on her.' Tarquin pleaded, his blue eyes aimed in my direction. 'She was a victim of crime. Which is no wonder given that she lives in such a questionable area, but nevertheless, the poor love was probably terrified?'

I nodded, without any conviction, whatsoever. I just wanted to change the subject now, finish the duck and grab some sticky toffee pudding before mum laid into me anymore about my choice of lifestyle. At least Tarkers was sticking up for me. One redeeming feature.

'Thank you, Tarquin.' I tried to sound sincere, but he was quite literally the most repellent man she'd ever set me up with. And that was saying something.

'We'll work something out.' Tarquin smiled angelically at my mother, touching her shoulder. 'The wedding will be a marvellous affair. With Samantha at my side I'm certain that memories will be made.' He winked at me again. 'I'm sure I can keep her out of drama.'

I slammed down my fork, a little too hard. Because I wasn't anywhere near desperate enough to need mums help. 'Look, mate, I'm sure you're a good guy.'

'Mate?' Mum raised an eyebrow, as if I'd just used a word alien to her. I ignored her and continued.

'I respectfully decline your company at the wedding. It's very kind of you, but I don't feel there's anything between us. We're just too different....'

'Samantha, dear. I feel it's within your best interests to accompany me. Not because I'm intrigued by your devil may care attitude, or your propensity to shovel food like a starved wildebeest, because believe me, you have me rather titivated tonight. No, my reasons for inviting you as my guest are purely selfless.'

Wildebeest?! I nearly made a comment about his horse like laugh or the way his eyes rarely left my cleavage. Good job I'm so restrained. My eyes darted between him and mum, and all that patience I did have? Well it was leaving me. Fast.

'Selfless?' I laughed, finishing the last of the duck. 'Give me a break; you're here because mum cajoled you into meeting me. And you just want to hobnob with my dad and his insufferable cronies....'

'Samantha, sweet, Samantha. I'm here because your ex-boyfriend Scott is attending the wedding. And I felt it best, as a kind, selfless human being, if you had someone to sit beside during the festivities. It was an offer from the bottom of my heart, extended to a woman who might otherwise stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. The spinster sister who just so happened to lose her job today.'

I was speechless. How did he know about my job? And Scott was coming to the wedding? Just when I thought today couldn't get any worse. Tarquin's eyes glittered cunningly, because I knew this played right into his clammy little hands. I couldn't go alone now; maybe I wouldn't even go at all. But then Scott might assume our chat today had humiliated me so much that I couldn't face him, and I wanted him to see just how unaffected I was. That I'd moved on. That last night really was as 'frape' and not the ramblings of a woman still bitter and angry about the way things ended between us. I didn't know Tarquin well but I could see the amusement in his eyes, the look that said you've got no way out here Sam. He'd won.

'So it's settled?' He winked again, smiling broadly at Mum, who tapped my shoulder reassuringly.

'This might be the start of something beautiful.' Mum pointed out, gesturing to the waitress. 'I think I'll have some of that exquisite lychee ice cream to celebrate.' She rubbed her hands together, gleefully. 'How about you Samantha?'

I shook my head, staring off into the packed restaurant. Not even dessert could cheer me up now. Scott was attending the wedding, with his wife and probably their model baby. And I'd be sat shoulder to shoulder with a leering p*****t intent on getting his 'winkie' some action.