“Youre a traitorthere shant be a wedding”
“My love, whatever nonsense are you accusing me of now?” My intended glanced at the photograph with little more than passing interest. “I care for no one but you, and I dont need anyone else. Thats clearly a forgery.”
“Oh really? And who do you suppose would go to such lengths?” I was bothered by how carelessly Arthur dismissed it all, his excuses almost lethargic.
The beauty parlour my gran had left me mattered little to me, truth be told. Teaching art to children at the local school brought me far more joy. Still, turning down the inheritance would have been foolish. The parlour brought in a tidy sum, and Mrs. Clayton, who managed it, was a woman of unimpeachable reliability.
That income allowed me to devote myself to what I loved, lacking nothing but perhaps a family of my own.
After Gran passed away, at the age of twenty-seven, I felt more alone than ever until, a year on, I met Arthur at an exhibition in Bath.
He was a charming gentleman, with a bashful smile and kindness that warmed the heart. Two months later, Arthur invited me to his home in Reading to meet his stepfather, Henry Vernon.
“My real father died when I was four,” Arthur confided. “Mum remarried a decade later, but I never quite brought myself to call Henry ‘Dad’, though we got on well enough.”
After his mother passed two years before, he continued living with Mr. Vernon.
Mr. Vernon struck me as quite the genttrim, sharp-eyed, articulatehe barely looked his fifty-six years.
I seemed to have made an impression on him as well.
“Fortunate, our hopeless case is,” Henry said gallantly, raising my hand to his lips.
“Im not sure I qualify as hopeless, Uncle Henry,” Arthur replied, pretending to take offence.
“A true gentleman wouldnt be a hobby supplies manager,” Henry said jovially, “but youre lucky with this fiancée of yours!”
At first, I was shy around him, but as the evening wore on, I laughed heartily at his jokes, enough to make Arthur a tad jealous.
Six months on, Arthur proposed. I was so in love, so utterly wrapped up in dreams of our life together, that I didn’t quite process the strange photos that appeared in my messages.
When I finally did look, I was stunned. There was Arthur, arms tenderly draped around a young woman, planting kisses on her cheek, that familiar sheepish smile on his lips.
The date stamped at the bottom was mere weeks old.
“My love, whatever nonsense are you accusing me of?” Arthur barely glanced at the images. “Youre the only one for me. They must be fake.”
“Oh? And who would bother going to such trouble?” His dismissiveness irked me, the lazy tone of his rebuttal galling.
“I havent the faintest idea,” he replied serenely. “There are plenty of odd sorts out there.”
That was when I lost my temper. A decent man would have argued his innocence, sworn undying affection, threatened retribution against whoever tried to hurt his fiancée. But not Arthurhed not only betrayed me, he couldnt even be bothered to feign repentance.
“Youre a traitor! Therell be no wedding!” I burst out crying and ran from the flat, leaving Arthur staring after me, stunned.
I spent three days weeping at home, another week off sick, unable to set foot outside. I stewed over every detailArthur, interestingly, never once reached outbefore finally pulling myself together.
What if the photographs were, in fact, fabricated? What if someone simply wanted to break us apart? These days, you could concoct any image you pleased… and Id just given up without a fight.
To my surprise, I soon discovered the girl in the photo was real. With a bit of research online, I found three of her social media accounts. Her name was Victoria, and she agreed without fuss to meet for a coffee.
“Those are old,” she chuckled when I explained and showed her the photos. “All that was over a year ago.”
“But lookthe dates recent,” I protested.
“Oh, goodness, you can alter dates easily,” Victoria sighed with pity. “If youre desperate enough.”
“Did you do it?”
“Good lord, no. Arthur and I broke up ages agoonly dated for a bit, didnt get on. Im getting married soon, actually.”
“Are you? Didnt see any husband-to-be on your page.”
“Happiness prefers silence,” she said lightly. “Dont want to jinx it. Ill post the wedding photos soon enough.”
So it seemed someone had, indeed, slandered Arthurand Id believed them, making myself look a fool. I had to do something to put this right.
Arthur didnt answer my calls or messages, so two days later I braced myself for a visit to his house.
I arrived one evening hoping to catch him in and saw him stepping out of my long-standing rival Claras car.
Clara and I grew up in the same village and had once been friends, but shed always been brash and flashyhard to be around. Our friendship faltered, and eventually, we only nodded in passing, except for after Gran died, when Clara reappeared urging me to sell the parlour.
She argued a massage suite would thrive thereshe already owned two, but my location was prime.
I knew full well what went on behind closed doors at Claras establishments, and had no intentions of selling. Rebuffed repeatedly, perhaps Clara wanted revenge… by stealing my fiancé?
As these suspicions bounced about my mind, the pair bid each other a fond farewell and Clara drove off.
“You see? Told you Arthur was a hopeless case,” came Mr. Vernon’s gentle voice behind me, making me jump.
“Evening, Mr. Vernon,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“Dont be shy. Dont pine for Arthurmarry me instead,” he joked, though his eyes were serious.
“Im sorry, but I really must dash,” I blurted, then hurried off.
Finding Clara was easy; she was just parking by our old street when I caught her.
“So, you’re poaching my fiancé? Bit careless with the photos, thoughI figured it all out,” I said, staring her down.
“What are you on about?” Clara genuinely seemed taken aback.
“You mean to say you didnt send me those pictures of Arthur with the other woman? Trying to frame him?”
“Liv, are you quite right? I neither sent you anything nor engineered this. Arthurs been chasing me since last weekI thought youd split up.”
I studied her faceno sign she was lying. I needed quiet to think.
“And here I thought you only wanted me to sell the parlour,” I called over my shoulder, but I didnt look back.
At home, I took a deep breath and rang Arthur again. To my astonishment, he answered.
“All right, come over then,” he said listlessly. “Feel awful, think Im coming down with something.”
I didnt need inviting twice.
“Arthur, I was wrong! Im so sorry. I was just afraid of losing youI love you so much, and the whole thing seemed real. Please forgive me!”
“Never mind,” he shrugged. “These things happen.”
“Youre wonderful,” I cried, flinging my arms round him. “I adore you!”
But Arthur gently detached me.
“Lets be friends.”
“What? We were meant to be married!”
“Liv,” he winced, “Im marrying Clara.”
“What? You said you loved me! We were planning a wedding…”
“Lets not make a fuss. To be honest, your… emotional outbursts put me right off. Why would I invite all that into my life? Claras business is more lucrative, and I need to think about my future.”
I couldnt speak. Hed simply used me and now was dropping me.
I left Arthurs flat, stumbled down the stairs, then outside my legs buckled, and I collapsed on a bench.
Moments later, Mr. Vernon appeared, sitting beside me.
“Oh, my poor girl,” he said quietly, stroking my head. “Better that you found out now…”
“I just cant fathom who could be behind all this,” I sobbed.
“It was me,” Mr. Vernon whispered.
“You? But why?” I stopped crying, shocked.
“I fell for you that very evening you first came round. Decided Id marry you, but you never noticednot once. Always about Arthur…”
“But youre so much older… and I loved Arthur. Or I thought I did…”
“I wanted to blacken you in his eyes, but then I overheard him bragging to his mate about landing a wealthy fiancée. Thats when I realised hed never let you go. So I took a different approach. I had the means… but never mind that.”
“Youve wrecked my life!”
“Ive saved ityoud have suffered far more later on. Marry me, Olivia. Please?”
“Youre mad!” I sprang up and marched away, straight home.
I left the town soon after, but Mr. Vernon tracked me down and persisted, until at last we settled into a friendship.
A year later, the old man passed on, and left everything to menot that it brought me any joy. Id grown used to him, in the end.
Arthur, for his part, was livid at losing the flat, but by then I cared not a whit what became of him.
