by Liz Fielding
Nigel opened his mouth, but what his response would have been was lost in Suzie’s immediate acceptance. ‘How kind. We’ll never get a taxi at this time of day.’ Her glance at her husband suggested that in failing to provide suitable transport for the occasion he had fallen sadly short of expectations. Nigel did not look in the least bit bothered.
Fergus handed Veronica into the rear of the Rolls and turned to offer the same service to Suzie. But she was still fussing over Nigel’s appearance, twitching his cravat into place, and she waved distractedly at him to join Veronica. Finally she gave up attempting to turn Nigel into the modern-day equivalent of Beau Brummell, and allowed herself to be helped into the car alongside Fergus, before her husband took the front seat beside the driver.
Fergus had intended to sit there himself, but now he found himself pressed against Veronica, the cool floral perfection of her scent stealing over him as they pulled out into the King’s Road. He glanced at her, and assured, confident, she did not turn away. She was every inch a woman who was in control of her own life, the epitome of the successful modern woman. And yet today she had professed the need of a man on her arm, a man to shield her from a meddling mother.
He had seized the opportunity she had offered without thinking too hard about her motives, which was unlike him. He was not usually given to off-the-cuff decisions. But he should have thought about it, because it was obvious, on reflection, that Veronica Grant was a woman more than capable of handling an interfering mother and any number of unwelcome suitors without raising her pulse-rate by so much as a beat.
Suzie turned at that moment, and, intercepting the look, smiled the way women do when they think they are part of some romantic conspiracy, and for a moment he wondered if Suzie knew. If she was part of this game and had merely been teasing him …
As if somehow she had picked up his thoughts, Veronica gave the slightest shake of her head, a flicker of her long lids that said they were alone in this. Just the two of them. And the corners of her mouth lifted imperceptibly, a tiny crease appearing in the smooth contour of her cheek to underline the secret smile that locked them together in their private pact.
He had to tear his gaze from her mouth, remembering the warmth of her lips as he had surprised her with a kiss, her startled response, the unexpected flare of heat in her silvery eyes. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking what it would be like to kiss her when she was waiting for him to kiss her, wanting him to kiss her, what it would be like to drown in melting ice cream …
Suzie’s eyes never left them as they drove through the crowded streets, flickering back and forth, storing up each intimate exchange of glances, each small, private smile to relay at the gossipy coffee morning circuit, or at the gym, or while she powdered her nose at a dozen dinner parties. He wondered if Veronica had foreseen that as a complication. Or whether she would welcome this extension to their little charade. Whatever it was.
The car crept forward a few feet at a time, and he glanced at his watch as they edged along Birdcage Walk. ‘We should have started out earlier,’ he said.
‘A water main burst in Victoria Street,’ the driver explained. ‘But don’t worry, the bride is certain to be at least fifteen minutes late.’
‘Sure to be,’ Nigel agreed. ‘Maybe more. Suzie kept me waiting a full twenty minutes.’
‘Did she?’ Poppy had been unfashionably prompt when she had married Richard. ‘I’ve never quite understood the reason for that.’
Suzie grinned. ‘It doesn’t do to appear too eager, Fergus. We can’t have you men taking us for granted.’
Somehow he didn’t think that Nigel was ever given the chance. ‘I’d have thought the altar was a bit late for those kinds of games,’ he replied. But it explained about Poppy. She and Richard couldn’t wait to be married and didn’t care who knew it. Dora and John appeared to feel the same way, and he sincerely hoped that if he ever felt sufficiently moved to ask a woman to marry him she would be every bit as eager. Just so long as the bride was one of his own choosing.
The driver, grinning, caught his eye in the mirror. ‘Bachelor, are you, sir?’
About to say ‘and planning to stay that way,’ Fergus was suddenly aware of Veronica’s stillness beside him, an almost tangible silence as the other two occupants of the car awaited his answer. It was time to forget all about Poppy and Dora’s plots and start playing his part in earnest.
‘For the moment,’ he said.
On one side of him Suzie let out a satisfied little sigh. On the other Veronica’s hand, resting beside his on the seat between them, briefly touched his, and he turned to her.
From beneath the brim of her hat her eyes seemed huge as she silently mouthed the words ‘thank you’.
Any time. The unspoken words filled his head. Anything.
One wedding was very much like another, Fergus thought, if you were a guest. All the men were dressed in clothes designed to make them indistinguishable from one another, and all the women were dressed if not to kill, then certainly to wound with intent.
The bride’s appearance wrought a sigh and a flutter of lace-edged handkerchiefs from the female section of the congregation. The page-boys giggled at the bridegroom’s middle names as he stuttered nervously over his vows. The older bridesmaids fluttered their lashes at the best man, neglecting to keep their eyes on the little ones who chewed their posies, tugged off their headdresses and had to be captured and corralled by their mothers when they got thoroughly bored with the entire proceedings.
The only difference about this wedding was the glances, the murmurs of interest that it had been impossible to ignore as the usher had shown them into their seat near the back of the church. Veronica clearly hadn’t exaggerated the interest that her appearance would provoke, but she had appeared utterly unaware of it as she had slipped quickly along the pew next to Suzie, so that he was standing next to the aisle.
At least the lateness of their arrival had avoided the necessity for endless introductions to these curious strangers, although the surreptitious looks that they continued to attract throughout the service suggested these had simply been put on hold. At any other social occasion it would have been easy to miss, but it was difficult to be surreptitious in a hat the size of a cartwheel, and cartwheels seemed to be in the majority.
Fergus was an intensely private man. He’d never been given to public handholding, or any of those other faintly embarrassing displays of affection lovers seemed to indulge in. Perhaps that was the reason his sisters assumed he would be grateful for their assistance in finding him a wife.
But it was one thing keeping emotions firmly under wraps when there were impressionable teenagers around to giggle and tease a big brother who had trouble enough keeping them in line; there was no necessity for it here.
So, while the hats turned in unison to witness the arrival of the bride, and didn’t waste the opportunity to see who Veronica had brought to Fliss’s wedding, he took her hand in his. She glanced up at him, momentarily startled by the unexpected contact, then realising what he was doing, she smiled and left her hand in his as she watched the bride moving slowly up the aisle on her father’s arm.
Then she sighed a little. ‘Such a pretty girl,’ she murmured, retrieving her hand and flipping open the service sheet.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, although, if he was quite honest, he had scarcely noticed the bride.
‘Everyone into line, please.’ The photographer was not to be denied. He wanted a group shot and he wanted it now. ‘Cuddle up nice and close and smile, everyone. This is a wedding … ’
Fergus put his arm about Veronica’s shoulders and eased her slightly in front of him, holding her close as they bunched up tightly. ‘Is your mother here?’ he murmured.
‘She’s here.’ Her mother had been bearing down on them when she had been corralled into the photograph, but that wouldn’t hold her for long. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll have spotted you.’
‘Smile everyone, please.’ They smiled
obediently.
‘Are you quite sure you’re ready for this, Fergus?’ She turned to look up at him. ‘We could make a run for it; it’s not too late.’
‘Once more, please. Big smile, everyone.’
‘I’m not scared of your mother,’ he said, as they turned once more to face the camera.
‘Many a foolish word—’ she began, as the group quickly broke up. She didn’t have time to finish.
‘There you are, Veronica,’ her mother declared. ‘You were so late, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ But it was Fergus who took the full force of her personality as she stared at him, absorbing every detail, including the fact that he had his arm around her daughter, that they were standing very close and were apparently smiling at some little secret.
‘The traffic was terrible,’ Veronica said, bending obediently to make a sketch at a kiss. ‘We had to slip in at the back. Mother, may I introduce Fergus Kavanagh?’ And she turned to Fergus. ‘Fergus, this is my mother. Annette Grant.’
Fergus extended his right hand, keeping Veronica’s shoulder firmly grasped in his left. He’d been asked to convince this woman, and anyone else who was interested, that they were lovers. It was his pleasure. ‘How d’you do, Mrs Grant?’
Annette Grant took his hand, her forehead puckered in concentration. ‘Kavanagh? I’ve heard that name somewhere recently—’
‘Have you?’ he enquired. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s common enough.’
‘Where was it, now?’
‘Mother—’ Veronica attempted to distract her ‘—I think we should be leaving.’
‘Are you related to Dora Kavanagh, by any chance?’
Veronica could scarcely believe her ears. Her mother knew Dora Kavanagh? Why ever had she thought this was going to be simple? But Fergus didn’t appear in the least bit concerned. ‘She’s my younger sister,’ he confirmed, with the kind of smile that she knew would have her mother eating out of his hand. She rather thought he knew it too.
And indeed, Annette Grant’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘Well, that’s it. She was giving a talk at a fundraiser for refugees a few weeks ago. She’s a fine girl. You must be proud of her.’
‘So she keeps telling me,’ Fergus replied.
Mrs Grant turned to the young man at her side. ‘Go and see if our car is in sight, Gerry,’ she said, dismissing him. ‘I think the bride’s about to leave.’
‘But—’
But it was obvious that Gerry was now surplus to requirements. Annette Grant was far more interested in her daughter’s companion. ‘She’s getting married shortly, isn’t she?’ she said, giving Veronica what could only be described as a pointed look.
‘Dora? Yes, in a couple of weeks,’ he replied. ‘Veronica has promised to come down for the wedding.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Haven’t you, darling?’
She began to relax. Fergus felt the tension easing from her shoulder, saw the sparkle return to her eyes as the moment passed. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she replied.
‘Really?’ Annette Grant’s expression took on a more speculative cast. ‘And is that how you met Veronica? Through Dora?’
‘Through Dora?’ Then, ‘Oh, no. We met quite by chance. On a train.’
‘Over the Financial Times,’ Veronica added. Then, provokingly, ‘It’s such a romantic shade of pink, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t be flippant, Veronica.’ Annette Grant continued to address her remarks to Fergus. ‘On a train, you say? When was this?’
Maybe not quite the ‘third degree’, Fergus decided, but getting close. ‘We were coming up to town, and somehow ended up at the same table for breakfast.’ Nothing but the truth. But not exactly what Annette Grant wanted to know.
Before she could press the point, however, Veronica said, ‘Fergus is a kipper man, Mother.’ She turned to him and added confidentially, ‘My father adored kippers, too.’
‘Really?’
‘He always had them when he breakfasted on the train. Mother wouldn’t allow them at home,’ Veronica continued. Her face was straight enough, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief as she wound her mother up.
‘Well.’ For the moment Annette Grant seemed lost for words. ‘Well, the smell does linger so …’
‘It does,’ Fergus agreed, and Annette Grant gave her daughter a look that said, You see? ‘Perhaps I could offer you both a lift to the reception?’ she suggested as the bride and groom finally prepared to leave. Then, irritably, ‘What is it, Gerry?’
‘Rose petals,’ he said, offering her a small bag stuffed with them. ‘You said you wanted rose petals.’
‘Did I?’ Annette Grant gave the impression that she had never heard the words ‘rose’ or ‘petal’ before.
‘Fresh ones. You insisted. I picked them for you this morning. You left them in the car.’
‘If you say so, Gerry.’ She took the bag and peered inside. ‘They’re going brown at the edges,’ she complained. Then, seeing Gerry’s face, said more kindly, ‘Never mind. I don’t suppose Fliss will notice. Come along, Veronica, let’s go and strew the bride’s path.’
‘But …’ Then she threw a hopeless grin at Fergus, a look that said, See? I wasn’t exaggerating, was I?
And he did see. Veronica hadn’t exaggerated about Annette Grant. Formidable with a capital F. Although if she was planning to tempt her daughter into matrimony she would have to do a lot better than Gerry.
‘We’ll catch up with you at the reception, Mrs Grant,’ he said, his hand clamped firmly on Veronica’s shoulder. ‘I know you’ll excuse us the rose petals.’
For a moment he thought she was going to argue. Her mouth opened slightly. But then it closed again. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. Do run along. We’ll talk later.’ It sounded more like a threat than a promise. ‘Come along, Gerry.’
Veronica watched in astonishment as her mother joined the crowd gathering about the bridal car. ‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes …’
He grinned. ‘You didn’t choose me just because of my good looks, did you? Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘But what about Suzie and Nigel?’
‘They’ll find us.’ And without waiting for her response he took her elbow and led the way through the gate, up the road to where the Rolls was waiting.
The driver had seen them coming, and had opened the door for them, but Veronica stopped a little way short of the car. ‘Fergus …’
‘Yes?’
She lifted her face to his, tilting back her head a little so that her hat did not cover her eyes. ‘I just … that is … I wanted to say …’ She gave the tiniest of shrugs. ‘Thank you. That’s all.’
He lifted his hand to her cheek and for a moment they stood there, sightseers, wedding guests, civil servants streaming past them.
‘Veronica!’ Suzie hurried up to them, clutching at her hat. ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d left without us.’
Fergus held Veronica’s gaze locked in his for seconds longer, and for just a moment he put his own hand on hers where it lay on his sleeve. Then he turned to Suzie, switching on a smile as he did so. ‘You didn’t think we’d leave without you, surely?’ he asked.
‘It was a bit of a crush at the church,’ Veronica said quickly. ‘We thought we’d wait here for you.’
‘Oh, don’t apologise. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had gone. Nigel can never stop talking.’ She turned to Veronica. ‘Wasn’t it the most gorgeous wedding? And Fliss was wearing the Carteret tiara, did you see? Not that it compares with the Glendale diamonds—’ She stopped, horrified at what she’d said.
‘You were at George’s wedding?’ Veronica asked without expression, without showing the slightest emotion. She’d had a lot of practice at that.
‘He’s a distant cousin of Nigel’s,’ Suzie said awkwardly. ‘Oh, thank goodness. Here he is at last. I’m absolutely desperate for champagne. There’s nothing like hymns about abiding love to dry the throat.�
��
Or opening your mouth and putting your foot in it, Fergus thought.
The mirrored ballroom of the hotel reception suite sparkled with huge Viennese chandeliers, and the famous Carteret tiara reflected endlessly as the bride and groom lined up with their immediate families to receive their guests, all kisses and smiles.
‘Fliss, darling,’ Veronica said, kissing the air a centimetre from her cheek. ‘You look like a princess. Every happiness.’ Then she turned to introduce Fergus. ‘May I introduce—?’
But Fliss was smiling broadly as she offered her hand. ‘Introductions aren’t necessary. Fergus and I have met before.’
‘Have we?’ Fergus stared at the vibrant young woman. ‘Are you sure? I can’t believe that I could possibly have forgotten anyone quite so lovely.’
Fliss laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you aren’t losing your memory. I was rising thirteen at the time, a spotty adolescent with braces. I was at school with Dora,’ she explained. ‘You took us both out to tea when you came down for Open Day.’
‘Did I? And you remembered?’
‘It was a very good tea,’ she said. ‘And there was the added fun that afterwards the entire sixth form were given detention for wearing lipstick on your account.’
‘But that’s terrible.’ Veronica raised a querying eyebrow a fraction of an inch in his direction. ‘They went to all that trouble and I didn’t even notice,’ he said. The eyebrow was hitched a disbelieving millimetre higher.
‘I did invite Dora today,’ Fliss said, still laughing. ‘But with her own wedding so close …’
Now that would have been interesting. ‘It’s true that she’s up to her eyes in planning last-minute details,’ he confirmed. But relief came a moment too soon.
‘She said she’d drop in later if she could get away.’
‘I had no idea.’ He caught Veronica’s eye. ‘It’s highly unusual for our social calendars to collide.’