Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
My mother’s revelation left me alternately bewildered and bereft.
Sam had contacted her to ask for the ring that had been my grandmother’s – an heirloom, a tangible piece of what he knew had been the only happy marriage in my family’s immediate history, bought by the grandfather he knew I’d loved.
He’d meant to give it to me – he must have intended to ask me to marry him.
When Ava had mentioned Sam telling her we might get married one day, I’d been too engrossed in what she was telling me to properly take it in. But he’d said it, and he’d meant it.
Mum, typically, hadn’t cared about ruining his surprise, and I hadn’t told her that there would be no surprise to ruin now.
She’d have to find out eventually – presumably Sam would return the ring to her; it would become part of the division of our belongings, the dismantling of our shared life.
Then it would be up to her to pass it on to my father or not.
She couldn’t remember – or claimed not to be able to remember – when Sam had asked for it, only that it had been after her birthday, the last time I’d seen her.
Back when things between Sam and me had still been…
not the best, but not the worst either. Perhaps he had thought that asking me to marry him would be a way of demonstrating his commitment, of assuring me that I had nothing to fear from Ava, that it was me he loved and a life with me he wanted.
But something had stopped him from doing it. More precisely, I’d stopped him. Me doubting him had made him doubt me in return, and it had all spiraled from there. There was no love any more, and there was no life together. There would be no surprise proposal, no engagement and no wedding.
The awareness of what I’d lost – not only the romantic gesture, but the life we could have had together, and, more than anything, Sam himself – tore at my heart.
But I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on it or succumb to the tears that felt ever-threatening.
I had another engagement to focus on.
I spent almost all of Thursday glued to my phone, which was handy because I had an excuse to ignore Jamie’s menacing presence at the desk opposite mine. It was just over twenty-four hours until Okan’s carefully orchestrated proposal was to go ahead, and everything was going wrong.
‘Georgia.’ The florist called me, her voice shrill with stress. ‘I’m at the market and the peonies are shit. The only ones I can find are tiny and going brown round the edges. What are we going to do?’
‘Send me photos of them, and the alternatives.’
So I spent half an hour frantically googling and phoning. Eventually, between us, we managed to locate an alternative supplier in Andijk in the Netherlands, and I spent another half hour arranging for four hundred blooms to be flown over by special courier.
Then Okan called to say that he’d checked the weather forecast for the next day (which I’d expressly forbidden him from doing) and it was going to rain, so I downloaded four alternative weather apps on my phone and sent him screen grabs of their more optimistic predictions.
The venue’s event planner called to say that there had been a leak and she was having to hire in industrial dehumidifiers to dry the carpet, but hopefully it would be all right the next day.
The booking agent for the string quartet called to tell me that the lead violinist had tennis elbow and was unable to perform, and by that stage I was practically levitating with stress.
‘Can you get someone else?’
‘They’re all off on holiday after the Proms.’
‘Please,’ I begged, ‘call them. All of them. Every violinist you know. We’ll fly them back from their holiday, first class, and then back again. They’ll only miss one night. Offer them triple their usual fee.’
The cost would have to be passed on to Okan, with our usual mark-up, but I was sure that in his current frame of mind, he couldn’t have cared less.
How he’d feel the following evening if his proposal was met with a flat ‘No, thanks’ and he realised he would be faced with a massive bill for nothing was anybody’s guess.
‘Sounds like you’re having a fun day.’ Curiosity had overcome Jamie’s antipathy, at least for now.
‘The best.’ His presence across the desk from me had made me prickle with tension from the moment I’d walked into the office, but thankfully all Okan’s drama had provided a welcome distraction.
Knowing what I now knew about him, I could barely stand to be in the same room as him, but for now I had no choice.
I managed a wary smile. ‘I love my job.’
‘Enjoy it while you can.’ There was a clear threat in his voice, but I hardly noticed it. I had the knowledge I needed now to defend myself against anything he tried to do to me, although I had no idea how, when or even whether I was going to deploy it.
I turned back to my phone, but Jamie wasn’t done with me yet.
‘So who is she?’
For a second, I thought he meant Ava. Cold sweat broke out on my palms.
‘Okan’s girlfriend,’ he carried on impatiently. ‘The lucky lady who’s going to get the full four-carat diamond treatment, followed by a wedding that I’ll no doubt get roped into organising.’
No you won’t, I thought. Okan’s my client. Then I realised what he was implying – that by the time Okan’s nuptials needed arranging, I would no longer be working at Devereaux Partners, and he still would.
Stay cool, Georgia, I warned myself. Don’t give anything away.
Fortunately, there was nothing I could accidentally reveal to him.
‘I don’t know,’ I said calmly. ‘Okan’s never mentioned her name, and I’ve never spoken to her – I only deal with him. Apparently, they met at uni, but that’s all I’ve got. Sorry.’
‘Interesting.’ Jamie drew the word out to its full four syllables. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you from your work. Better check the ice maker hasn’t gone on the blink – warm alcohol-free fizz could make the difference between “Yes, I’ll marry you” and “I’d rather eat my own hair”.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure it’s all under control. Good chat.’
I quickly texted the venue to make sure there were no ice issues anyway, just in case.
The next day, to my relief, I spent entirely out of the office, helping the event planner set things up while frantically fielding calls from the florist, Okan himself and Cormac Kennedy, who was furious because he’d been bumped from the presidential suite in a Dubai hotel thanks to a last-minute booking by one of the Kardashians.
The black trouser suit I’d worn so that I could blend into the background was soon soaked in sweat despite the air conditioning as I dashed here and there, my laptop under my arm and my phone pressed to my ear.
By five o’clock, a full two hours ahead of schedule, we were good to go.
The room looked glorious. The arch of peonies perfectly framed the view of London far below, the river snaking lazily through it (it would be high tide in a couple of hours – I’d checked).
The glass towers of the City glimmered in the afternoon sun, and a clear blue sky arched above it all.
Even the moon was co-operating, scheduled to rise a convenient fifteen minutes after Okan popped the question.
The silver ice bucket was waiting to be filled, flanked by two crystal champagne flutes.
The chef had popped his head round the door to reassure me that the blinis and caviar would be freshly made and presented on time.
The string quartet had arrived and were tuning their instruments.
The ring, which had been delivered by a secure white-glove courier service to the office the previous day and stored in the safe overnight, was ready on a small table next to the floral display, one of the venue’s security staff discreetly guarding it.
All that was missing was Okan and the woman who would hopefully soon become his fiancée.
I paced up and down nervously, sipping iced water until it occurred to me that I might need a wee at the crucial moment. So I stopped sipping and just paced.
At five minutes to seven, my phone buzzed with a text from the reception desk downstairs.
Looks like they’ve arrived. Shall we send them up?
Great, go ahead.
Then a text from Okan himself.
We’re here, Georgia. Is everything all right?
All set. Good luck!
A few moments later, I heard the soft chime of the elevator.
The doors slid open, and a couple emerged.
I’d only seen Okan over Zoom before, and I was struck by how handsome he was.
His glossy hair fell in a tumble of curls over the olive skin of his forehead, a perfectly trimmed beard accentuated his chiselled jaw, and his eyes were a striking shade of turquoise.
Best of all was his smile – shy and tentative but as warm as sunshine, amping up a notch as he caught my eye.
I didn’t look at him for long, though, because I clocked the woman on his arm and gawped at her, immobile as if I was playing a game of musical statues and someone had pressed pause.
She was spectacular. Small and slender with skin as even and smooth as honey.
She was wearing a peacock-blue silk dress that fitted like it had been made for her.
Her face was flawlessly made-up, an emerald stud glittering from a piecing in her nose.
Beneath her headscarf, I could see masses of piled-up hair.
But, like Okan’s, it was her smile that held my attention. She looked radiantly happy, bubbling with excitement at the prospect of a fabulous evening with the man she clearly adored, even though she couldn’t have known about the surprise that was about to be sprung on her.
Zahra.
When she noticed me, she gave a little gasp and released Okan’s arm. Seconds later, she was hurrying across the deep carpet in her high heels, arms outstretched.
‘Georgia! I never knew it was you who’d organised all this!’
‘Zahra! Oh my God, I had no idea it was all for you.’
‘Thank you so much! We’ve had the most amazing time.’
‘I think your evening’s about to get even better.’ Smiling, I steered her back to Okan before returning to my spot in the corner. I watched as the string quartet began to play and a waiter emerged to present the canapés and pour the champagne, my mind whirring.
This was why Zahra had been so devastated at the prospect of an arranged marriage – she was already in love with someone else.
Sweet, smiling Okan, who must have been a fellow student at Cambridge.
Had she persuaded her parents to call off the marriage they wanted for her?
Perhaps they’d allowed her this time with Okan as a sort of last hurrah before she returned to Riyadh and settled down.
But somehow I doubted that, and I realised that Okan’s proposal plans could get badly derailed, not by any failure of planning on his part or mine, but by Zahra’s sense of duty to her family.
Helpless, I watched as Okan led Zahra over to the arch of flowers.
The sun was setting, turning the champagne in their glasses to molten gold.
In just a moment, its rays would illuminate the giant diamond, hidden for now in its leather box.
The two of them stood together, silhouetted by amber light, the music soaring around them.
Okan reached out and pocketed the box, Zahra too transfixed by him to notice. Then he took her left hand in both of his and dropped down on to one knee. Zahra gasped with wonder.
But then I heard the lift doors chime again and a couple burst in.
The man was in a floor-length white thobe, the woman in a black niqab and abaya identical to the ones Zahra had worn when I first met her.
‘What are you doing here, my girl?’ thundered the man.
‘And what are you wearing?’ his wife demanded, almost sending the string quartet flying as she dashed across the room. ‘Do you have no shame?’
‘And drinking alcohol,’ raged the man. ‘When your father hears about this—’
Okan’s eyes were wide with shock. He made as if to scramble to his feet, but Zahra shook her head. She touched his cheek briefly, then turned towards them. I couldn’t see her face because the light was behind her, but from the set of her shoulders I knew what it must look like.
My own feet felt almost frozen to the floor. Ahmet and Farida were Devereaux Partners’ clients, and displeasing them could cost me my job. But Okan was a client too, and this particular event was on his account. Before I could even begin to form a plan of action, though, Zahra spoke.
‘It’s zero per cent, Uncle Ahmet.’ She sounded perfectly calm. ‘And Auntie Farida, like my mum used to say, I wear modesty in my heart.’
‘You’ll wear it on your face and body from now on, you wicked girl,’ hissed Farida.
‘And when Hamza finds out about this, you’ll be sorry,’ raged Ahmet. ‘You’ll be on a plane to Riyadh tomorrow morning. We’ve let you have too much freedom, and now look what’s happened. I’ll—’
But Zahra didn’t let him finish. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Auntie and Uncle. But perhaps we can talk in a few minutes? I’m rather busy right now. Someone get them a drink and some snacks.’
She waved a hand, and waiters leaped into action. After a duff note or two, the string quartet bravely resumed.
‘I’m so sorry about the interruption, Okan,’ Zahra said. ‘Please do go on. I’ll introduce you all properly in just a moment.’
Okan cleared his throat. His voice came out croaky and hesitant at first, then gained confidence as he spoke.
‘Zahra, you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known – the most wonderful I could ever imagine.
You’re brave and brilliant and beautiful.
I’m in awe of your courage, your independence and your commitment to your studies, as well as your devotion to your family.
I love you, and I hope you’ll do me the honour of becoming my wife. ’
He held out the ring, and now I could see the diamond blazing like a flame in the sunset.
‘Yes.’ Zahra’s voice was calm and clear. ‘I love you, Okan, and I’d love to marry you and welcome you into my family.’
Then he slipped the megawatt-diamond ring onto her finger. She helped him to his feet, and their two bodies merged into one against the skyline as they kissed on and on.