Marriage and Other Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

chatter, gossip, greetings, kisses, laughter. Cheeks met, lips puckered, warm hands were placed on upper arms, shoulders, waists . . .
     
    Charlotte allowed herself a moment to take it all in. This was her world: a mélange of influential, wealthy, attractive people who had come together for a good cause. Yet suddenly she felt a flash of doubt. The cost of it all didn’t sit easily with her. The flower bill alone would go a long way towards equipping the new unit. And the guests weren’t really here for the chance to change lives. Wasn’t this just an opportunity for them all to show off their money, taste, good looks and dress sense? Would they have responded so enthusiastically to a simple request for a donation, without the chance to spend the evening guzzling, drinking, dancing - and, no doubt by the end of it, flirting and groping?
     
    She told herself to stop being so prim. This was how the world worked. If thousands of pounds had to be spent in order to lure people into parting with more, then so be it. And why shouldn’t they have fun in the meantime? No one was being exploited. The chief exec of the hospice looked quite happy with the deal. Besides, who was she to question the morality of it all? She wasn’t exactly grubbing about saving lives in a war-torn sub-continent for a living. She peddled dreams; convinced people they needed things they absolutely didn’t, seducing them into wanton spending in order to create luxurious, opulent and utterly profligate surroundings, some of which bordered on the indecent.
     
    Charlotte swiped a cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter, took a hefty slug and decided to stop being such a bloody hypocrite.
     
     
    After dinner, Ed stood up and tinged the side of his glass to call the room to attention. Cupping his brandy in one hand, he smiled round at the guests, thanking them for their attendance, and also name-checking all the people who had given their time to make the evening a success. But it soon became clear he had lulled them into a false sense of security and that he had another agenda.
     
    On the wall behind him flashed up a photograph of Simon’s son, the pitifully brief dates of his life in white underneath. Ed proceeded to outline the role that the hospice had taken in the boy’s last few weeks, and described the strength and hope it had given his loved ones, making his eventual death a positive and uplifting experience - as far as it was possible, anyway - and how his family wanted to be able to replicate that experience for more people by expanding the accommodation the hospice offered. It wasn’t a mawkish speech, but there were few guests who didn’t have a tear in their eye by the end of it. By tugging on their heart strings, he was also tugging at their purse strings, for the auction was about to start.
     
    As Ed came back to the table Charlotte gave his hand a heartfelt squeeze, feeling immensely proud.
     
    ‘That was brilliant,’ she whispered.
     
    ‘Should get them to dig deeper into their pockets,’ Ed responded with a nonchalant shrug, but she knew he was just pretending to be hard-bitten and cynical. She knew how moved he had been by his friend’s predicament; how he had taken Simon out on several occasions both before and after his son’s death, and had provided both a shoulder for him to cry on and a temporary escape from the horror of it all. She had seen how angry he was after the little boy’s funeral; that same pent-up fury that she had witnessed time and again at the consultant’s. She’d heard him take it out on the punch bag in the spare room.
     
    In some ways, organising the ball had given both of them something to focus on. The auction began. Bidding was spirited right from the outset, as wives urged their husbands into über-generosity, Ed’s words fresh in their minds. Lot after lot went for ridiculous prices: haircuts and spa days; an evening at the races; an animal portrait. Ed milked the guests for all they