Genevieve Gannon, author of Husband Hunters. Source: Supplied

Three old friends — Clementine, Daniela and Annabel — abandon the romantic notions of true love that haven’t worked out for them and decide to use their considerable professional skills to find a partner.

“Outside the sky was a deep, dark blue with pinprick stars, like salt spilt on velvet. The cool air on Annabel’s face was calming after the fuss and commotion inside.

‘And Ma wonders why I’m not married,’ sighed Daniela. ‘Look at what we have to choose from.’

They took a seat on a stone bench that looked out over the expansive lawns. Annabel handed out the champagne flutes and poured.

‘Here’s to the happy couple,’ she said flatly. They raised their glasses and drank in silence for a moment.

‘Marriage seems like a sham sometimes,’ said Clementine sadly. ‘I’d never made it a priority before, but I’m starting to realise I do want—’

‘Love?’ Annabel asked.

‘A family?’ said Daniela at the same time.

‘Well, all the trappings,’ said Clementine. ‘I’ve seen enough failed marriages to know I shouldn’t rely on a big white wedding to make me happy forever. But I do want children. I want to read the Brontë and Mitford sisters to my daughters, and I want to show my sons how to change a tyre. Come to that, I want to read Jane Eyre to my sons and teach my daughters car maintenance.’

Daniela nodded. ‘I’d always planned on making a home with someone. You know, designing a great house for me and my family. Sometimes I wonder how I got to thirty-four without it happening.’

‘Yes,’ Annabel agreed. ‘When I was a little girl I imagined someone tall was going to sweep me off my feet. But he never arrived. I’m going to be thirty-five in December.’ She could already feel the bubbles tingling inside her head, making her thoughts soft and slow.

‘Can I tell you something?’ Clementine said, pouring the next round. ‘I’ve only met one man in my life whom I thought I could marry — and he was already married to someone else.’

‘You had an affair?’ Annabel gasped, eyes wide.

‘No,’ Clementine waved her hand. ‘I didn’t know he was married. I ended it when I found out. The point is, in thirty-four years I have found one person I would consider sharing my life with, and it turns out he was a horrible candidate because he would have cheated on me, just like he has cheated on his wife.’ She had a faraway look in her eye.

‘I know lots of great men,’ said Daniela. ‘The guys from work and I go out for drinks on Fridays, but as the night wears on they lose interest in talking to me and starting fiddling with their phones, casting around for someone to go home with.’

‘Perhaps Mirabella has got it right,’ sighed Clementine. ‘I mean, what do we want husbands for anyway?’

‘Well,’ Annabel said, ‘to share your life with someone you love.’

Clementine shook her head. ‘No, that’s not what I mean. Forget love. We’ve tried love. We’ve all been dating for twenty years and so far love hasn’t cut it. Think practically. What uses does a husband have?’ Annabel said the first thing that came into her head: ‘Companionship.’

Clementine nodded. ‘Right. What else? For me, it’s children. What I envy most about the young families I know is the camping trips and Big Sunday dinners together.’

‘But they do those things because they love each other,’ Annabel said.

‘But what if you can’t find someone to love?’ Clementine asked. ‘What if he doesn’t come along? Does that mean you have to miss out on having a family?’

They chewed this over for a moment.

‘For me it’s about having a life partner,’ said Daniela. ‘I wouldn’t want to be single

when I’m sixty-five.’

‘Yes, someone to share things with,’ Annabel agreed. ‘As people pair off and have children, they’re naturally less available for dinners and cocktails and plays and galleries or a movie on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. I want someone who’ll do those things with me.’

‘Exactly,’ said Clementine. ‘So that’s what we should be looking for. Instead of sitting around waiting for our soulmates to invite us for a night of mimosas and dancing, we should be trying to find men who will meet those other needs. People didn’t used to marry for love. They married to form alliances or to enhance their family’s wealth or status. They married to create a working unit. Women would till soil while husbands trapped animals. Sailors’ wives would maintain the property while the men improved their fortunes at sea.

Marriage was mercantile. This “true love” thing is new. It’s romance cooked up by art and marketing. It’s commerce. It’s spin. It’s MGM studios and Harlequin paperbacks and Cadbury’s trying to increase the sale of Milk Trays. It’s Tiffany’s and Cartier wanting to sell more diamonds. We’re not looking for lovers; we’re looking for business partners. Partners in the business of being married. The business of paying mortgages and having and raising children. We’re thirty-four and we shouldn’t be duped any more. We should be recruiting men the way you would recruit someone for a job.’

‘Recruiting them?’ Annabel bristled at the word.

But Clementine was on a roll: ‘Yes, very targeted recruitment. Finding someone to suit a set of criteria to carry out a task.’

‘Like head-hunting?’ Annabel asked cautiously.

‘Exactly.’ Clementine was decisive. ‘Husband-hunting.’

Annabel thought back to the recruitment firm she had used to hire Ant and Kathy. She had to admit, they had been very effective.

‘But hang on,’ said Daniela. ‘I have been dating for a very long time, and nobody has ever asked me to marry them. Once we’ve identified candidates, how are we going to enlist them? Conscription?’

‘The same way we would if we were approaching them from a business perspective,’ said Clementine. ‘By following a plan, finding out what they want, and making them an

attractive offer.’

Annabel had been starting to warm to the idea, but she had to draw the line there.

‘No, no, no, no. You can’t just slap down a prenup and a mortgage agreement over cocktails on a Friday night. What about romance and dinner dates?’

‘We’ll still do that,’ said Clementine. ‘I’m not talking about sending them a prospectus with an offer made out in writing. I’m just talking about following a plan. A strategy. Not getting swept up in the emotional turmoil.’ She sighed. ‘I work all day with men who are struggling with relationships, and I feel like I have a little insight. But I just … I find it hard to meet them and strike up a conversation.’

‘Talking to men is easy,’ said Daniela. ‘I’m on site with them all day, every day. We have a great time. But none of them are interested in me. I can’t seem to get men to see me as a woman. As desirable. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think, “I’m okay-looking, you know.” But they don’t seem to notice. And at 11pm on a Friday, the men I know would rather be with a bimbo in a short skirt than with me, one of their friends.’

‘At least they want to hear what you have to say,’ Annabel said. ‘Men look at me and all they see is how good I will make them look when they’re showing me off to their co-workers.’ She blushed. ‘They couldn’t care less about my business or my ideas. I could be a professional traffic cone standing on Parramatta Road dressed in orange all day for all they care.’

‘It sounds like we could help each other,’ said Clementine.

‘I’d like that,’ Annabel smiled.

When they had finished their drinks, they walked back up to the reception centre. On their way they passed a very angry woman in a Roberto Cavalli dress. She was storming out, with her husband trailing behind her.

‘You’re so untrusting!’ ‘You’re so untrustworthy!’ ‘Amanda, please!’

‘Oh God,’ said Clementine, putting a hand up to hide her face. The couple hadn’t seen

them.

‘Was that—?’

‘Yes.’ Clementine’s body was rigid. They stood in silence for a moment.

‘You know what Jane Austen says,’ Annabel mused. ‘Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. It is best to know as little about the defects of one’s future partner as possible.’

And suddenly they were laughing again.”

The cover of Genevieve Gannon’s new book. Source: Supplied

Husband Hunters is available to purchase through Harper Collins.