by Liz Fielding
Veronica stared at him. ‘Dora?’ She had never met Dora, had no idea what Dora looked like.
‘Maybe she would like to join us.’
And then she saw that he was giving her a chance to escape for a few minutes so that she wouldn’t have to face her mother alone while he organised the champagne.
‘Oh, yes. What a good idea. Will you excuse me, Mother?’ And she turned quickly and walked away before her mother could object.
‘Young man.’ The deaf dowager cut Fergus off as he headed for the bar.
‘Lady May. What can I do for you?’
‘May, dear, just call me May,’ she said. ‘And you can get me a drink—a proper drink, none of that fizzy rubbish.’
‘Of course. What would you like?’
‘A large Scotch. No water, no ice.’
He nodded to the barman. ‘And a bottle of Bollinger, please.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll bring them over.’
‘I’ll have mine here.’ The old lady eased herself onto a bar stool. ‘I loathe weddings, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Nothing but gossipy women in big hats speculating on how long it’ll last, wimpy men in fancy dress and fizzy muck to drink.’
May, he realised, got her kicks from shocking people. ‘They keep the catering industry in work,’ he replied.
‘And divorce lawyers.’ Then she snorted. ‘And milliners. If it hadn’t been for weddings and Ascot, they’d have gone out of business years ago.’ She picked up her glass and raised it to him. ‘Talking of Ascot, I put a hundred pounds on that horse of yours that won the Gold Cup last year.’
‘That was taking a risk. It was an outside chance at best.’
‘You weren’t there, were you? At Ascot.’
‘No, unfortunately. I was in the States on business.’
‘You have to get your priorities right, young man. Business never goes away—a Gold Cup winner comes along once in a lifetime.’ She sipped her whisky and looked at him with a pair of shrewd, button-bright eyes. ‘So does the right woman. Sometimes,’ she added, ‘when you least expect it.’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, May, just how much of our conversation did you overhear?’
‘Enough.’ And she chuckled as she tapped her hearing aid. ‘My daughter wants me to get a new one of these, but I get by very nicely with this one. Considering it’s so unreliable.’
‘If that’s so, why did you decide to announce to the gathered assembly that Veronica and I are about to be wed?’
‘Because Veronica is a perfectionist. She doesn’t believe it’s possible to be a successful career woman and a perfect wife … At least that’s what she’d have everyone believe.’
‘But you don’t? Believe it?’
‘What I believe is of no interest to anyone these days. What I know, however, is that perfection is the province of God. Mere mortals have to make the best of what comes along. Which is why you’re going to get me another drink and then go and make Annette’s day.’
‘Am I? It won’t be easy.’
‘Nothing worthwhile ever is.’
‘Veronica—’
‘Veronica is too controlled for her own good. She wasn’t always like that, and just for a moment, when you made her laugh, I remembered how she used to be.’
Veronica stared at her reflection. What a mess. It was all very well for Fergus to make jokes about balloons, buy champagne, tell her that he’d deal with her mother. Didn’t he realise that this was serious?
Two women further down the cloakroom had stopped gossiping and were looking at her. Their faces were vaguely familiar, so she smiled distantly and took out her compact to inspect her nose. Not exactly shiny, but she gave it the powder puff treatment anyway. She might be taking a few moments to gather her wits, but she didn’t have to let the whole world know that.
She found her lipstick and freshened the colour on her lips. Maybe she should have taken Fergus up on his offer of a permanent engagement after all … An attractive bachelor on call, one with no desire for marriage, would suit her down to the ground, but it was hardly fair. She snapped her compact shut and put it in her bag. It was time to stop daydreaming and face the music
‘Didn’t you find Dora?’ Fergus asked as she joined him as he walked back to the seat by the waterfall.
She glanced up at him. ‘Actually, I didn’t look. Was I meant to?’
‘No. I just thought you needed a breathing space.’ The champagne was waiting at the table for them, a waiter ready to open it. Fergus nodded and the man began to loosen the wire. ‘I’m sorry to leave you for so long, Mrs Grant. Lady May buttonholed me at the bar and kept me talking.’
‘That woman and her hearing aid. It’s all an act, you know.’
‘Oh, come on, Mother,’ Veronica said, joining her mother on the bench. ‘You know you love her to bits.’
‘She’s a stirrer and a troublemaker and she drinks too much.’
‘I know. But she’s never dull.’
‘That’s true.’ Annette Grant’s face softened a little. ‘She certainly livened up lunch. There was only one topic of conversation: when are you two going to set the date for the wedding?’
‘Really? How extraordinary. No one even mentioned it at our table.’ Fergus glanced at Veronica. ‘Did they, darling?’
Veronica’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise at the casual endearment. ‘No one,’ she confirmed.
‘It is true, then?’
There are moments, special moments, when a split-second decision will change everything, for always. Veronica had faced one that morning, seizing her moment as he had run for the train. Now it was his turn, and as the champagne cork popped from the bottle and the wine spilled over into the glasses, he picked up one of them and handed it to Annette Grant before lifting his own in silent salute to Veronica.
It was all the answer she needed. ‘Darlings! This is wonderful … I don’t know what to say …’
‘Say nothing,’ he advised. And he wasn’t talking to Annette Grant.
‘But …’ Veronica began, then stopped, totally confused, and he handed her the third glass before turning to Annette.
‘Just wish us happy.’
‘Of course. I couldn’t be more pleased. To be honest, I was beginning to think I’d never see the day.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Grant.’
‘Annette, please. How long have you known?’
‘From the moment we first met,’ Fergus said.
‘Really? Love at first sight? How romantic. You do realise that it’ll take at least six months to organise everything properly—’ Then, looking and rising quickly to her feet, ‘Dora, my dear. Isn’t this just the most wonderful news? How long have you known?’
Fergus rose and turned as his sister crossed the acre of carpet and stopped a yard from him, her face racked with disbelief. ‘Fergus? Fliss told me … but I could hardly believe it …’ But she was clearly determined upon enlightenment. She took a step forward and hugged him, turned to Veronica. ‘Won’t you introduce us?’
‘Veronica, may I introduce my sister, Dora? Dora, Miss Veronica Grant. You already know her mother, I believe.’
‘You could have knocked me down with a feather, Dora,’ Annette Grant said quickly. ‘I had no idea Veronica even knew your brother.’
‘Fergus has been very discreet, too,’ Dora said, in a ‘wait until I get you home’ voice. ‘Does Poppy know?’
‘No one knows,’ he said. ‘At least, no one knew until today.’
‘My husband’s old aunt overheard them and gave the game away,’ Annette said. ‘I couldn’t be more pleased.’
‘You’re pleased too, Dora, aren’t you?’
Dora seemed momentarily lost for words. Then her face relaxed into a smile. ‘I couldn’t be more delighted, Gussie. Honestly.’ And she gave him a big hug. ‘Poppy and I have been so worried about who will look after you once I’m married.’
‘Really?’
‘There we were, racking our brains to think who
would make you the perfect wife … ’
Veronica was looking up at him, her mouth, her eyes firmly under control. Except for those silver sparks that presaged laughter. ‘And had you thought of anyone?’ she asked, a dimple appearing unexpectedly at the corner of her mouth.
‘It was impossible. Hopeless.’
Fergus cleared his throat warningly. Veronica ignored him. ‘Is he so difficult, then?’
‘Difficult?’ Dora regarded her brother thoughtfully. ‘We simply couldn’t think of anyone perfect enough—’ Fergus turned away as he was apparently caught by a fit of coughing ‘—but it seems we were worrying needlessly. How did you meet?’ she asked.
‘Oh, well, Fergus and I have a great many mutual interests,’ Veronica replied. ‘A dislike of balloons, for instance.’
‘Balloons?’ Dora repeated as if she couldn’t quite trust her ears. Fergus wasn’t entirely sure that he believed his own.
‘And marquees,’ she continued, as if she was genuinely trying to explain the attraction between them. ‘Both Fergus and I agree that they are the absolute ruination of a good lawn.’ She tilted her head a little and raised her brows a millimetre, inviting him to continue.
Anything to oblige a lady. ‘You’ve forgotten bridesmaids,’ he prompted her.
‘Bridesmaids?’ She appeared to consider the matter for just a moment before she said, ‘No. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to disagree on the bridesmaids issue, Fergus. A bridesmaid is an absolute necessity.’
‘Really?’ His surprise was genuine enough.
‘Of course. The groom has the best man to take care of the ring. The bride has to have someone to hold her bouquet,’ she replied, as if they were quite alone, then added as an afterthought, ‘And of course to flirt with the best man.’
‘You need at least two, then?’
‘Two? Oh, you mean one to take the bouquet and one to flirt?’ She appeared to consider it, then shook her head. ‘Let’s not get carried away, Fergus. I’m sure any reasonably bright girl could manage both.’
‘Veronica?’ Annette Grant looked momentarily confused, and then she didn’t. ‘Is this your way of telling me that you’re not going to have a big wedding?’
Veronica glanced at Fergus, clearly seeking some clue as to how far he was prepared to go with this nonsense. Another minute of this and they would have set the date and be issuing invitations.
‘I thought I might spend the money on buying Veronica a castle instead. Just a little castle,’ he replied. All the way, it seemed. She had no problems with that. Of course, it could just be the champagne thinking, and she’d be sorry in the morning. But they were in too deep now to turn back. ‘One with battlements and a little turret—’
‘What on earth would I do with a turret?’
‘You’re a clever woman. I’m quite sure you could think of something. Would you require a moat?’
‘There has to be a moat. With swans.’
‘If that’s what will make you happy.’
‘Except, won’t it be damp?’ She was trying very hard not to laugh, but she was having a hard time.
‘I’ll install central heating for you. Maybe we could heat the moat, too, and swim in it—’
She was unable to suppress her laughter a moment longer; it rippled from her so that the nearest guests turned to look in her direction.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fergus.’ Annette Grant’s voice brought them back to earth.
‘Ridiculous?’
‘I shall pay for the wedding. Veronica’s father left a fund for precisely that purpose.’
‘He didn’t!’
‘Of course he did, Veronica. Your father thought of everything. So buy your castle, Fergus, or whatever other nonsense takes your fancy, and leave the wedding to me. Have you any idea of a date? I believe I did say it will take at least six months to organise properly …’ she glanced at Dora ‘… I’m sure your sister will bear me out on that.’
‘But—’
‘Six months, minimum,’ Dora agreed before he could protest. ‘I’m still fiddling about with last-minute details and my wedding is barely two weeks away.’
Fergus smiled at his sister. ‘You’ll still be making up your mind about those balloons the day before the wedding.’
Dora grinned. ‘So many colours, so little time.’
‘And I wasn’t going to disagree with you. I’m sure that six months is hardly enough time to organise the kind of wedding that Veronica deserves. I was simply wondering how on earth I can wait that long.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Fergus,’ Veronica said, as they finally made their way to the car. ‘We must be sensible. We can’t let this go on. After all, we’re going to have to own up eventually.’
‘Are we?’ He grinned, overtaken by a sudden lightness of spirits. ‘I don’t see why. In fact, I’m beginning to think being sensible is highly overrated.’
‘Oh, I stopped being sensible the moment I got on the eight-fifteen this morning. Correction. The moment you got on the eight-fifteen this morning.’
‘Maybe. But what about our conspiracy?’
‘Conspiracy?’
‘To remain unwed, despite all the best attempts of our relations.’
‘Remain unwed, yes. But you seem to forget that we’ve set the date,’ she exclaimed, ‘and we’ve invited half London to a wedding that isn’t going to take place.’
‘Things did get a little out of hand,’ he agreed. Then grinned and leaned back against the soft leather. ‘Perhaps we should have stuck to mineral water.’
‘Perhaps!’
‘It was a great party, though.’
‘Oh, it was a great party. People will be talking about it for months. That’s the trouble. What on earth are we going to do, Fergus?’
‘Nothing.’ He took her hand, held it between his. Then he lifted his arm so that she could lean against him. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘But the whole point was to avoid getting married,’ she pointed out, yawning as the champagne combined with the gentle movement of the car to rock her gently towards sleep. ‘I have absolutely no intention of getting married, ever. You do understand?’
‘Yes, I understand.’ He put his arm about her and encouraged her head on to his shoulder. ‘And it’s not a problem.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No.’ He was reassuring. He was good at reassuring edgy directors, difficult horses. With luck, he could reassure Veronica. ‘We’ll simply discover that we’re both far too busy to marry in November.’
‘It’s that simple?’ Then, ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? The months before Christmas are a madhouse. It must have been the champagne, or I’d have realised immediately how impossible it will be.’
‘And then there’s the problem of Christmas itself,’ he reminded her. ‘Poppy was married at Christmas. It rained and it was cold. Not that she noticed … but really … no …’
‘It would avoid the possibility of a marquee on the lawn,’ she pointed out.
‘That’s true. But if I don’t marry at Marlowe Court, the village will miss out on the fun.’
She turned to look up at him. ‘What happened to the two witnesses and a register office?’
‘Just wishful thinking, I’m afraid. Noblesse oblige and all that.’ And a sudden understanding of why a wedding should be such a special celebration, why it was important that everyone you knew, cared about, should be there …
She yawned. ‘So that would mean spring at the earliest?’
Fergus smiled down at her. ‘The very earliest. Although summer is better. June, perhaps?’
‘It can be very cold in June,’ she murmured. ‘We’d better leave it until July.’
‘Or August, even. Except everyone will be away. Maybe September would be a possibility …’ But she was asleep.
He dropped a kiss on the top of hair silvered by the lights of passing cars. ‘September,’ he repeated softly. ‘September is certainly a possibility. The question is, which September?
’
‘Hmmm?’
‘Nothing, sweetheart. Go to sleep.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘JULIE, where are the morning papers?’ Fergus glanced irritably at the intercom. ‘Julie?’
‘I’ll bring them right in, Fergus.’
He looked up as she opened the door. ‘What is the matter with everyone this morning?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been getting odd looks and sudden silences ever since I arrived.’
By way of answer, Julie, her face blandly expressionless, placed a pile of newspapers on the desk in front of them. ‘What’s this? The press release about the takeover isn’t due to go out until—’
‘It’s not about the takeover. In fact, it’s not about the company at all. I’ve marked all the stories I’ve seen. Of course, there may be more; I’ve sent out for the tabloids—’
‘Tabloids?’ He stared at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Julie’s expression remained deadpan as she picked up a financial broadsheet. ‘“Another Kavanagh Merger”,’ she read aloud.
‘But I thought you said—’
‘“This weekend Fergus Kavanagh made one of his trademark takeover bids. With all the panache we have come to expect from the Chairman of Kavanagh Industries, he stunned family and friends by announcing his imminent marriage to Veronica Grant, Marketing Director of the fast growing Jefferson Sports group of companies. The couple, who both live in Melchester, are said to be planning to wed in November.”’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you just love that “both live in Melchester” line? It suggests you’re living together without coming right out and saying so.’
‘Living together!’ She offered him the newspaper to read for himself and in the meantime picked up another, folded back at the ‘Diary’ column that had been marked for his attention.
‘“Kavanagh Takeover Bid”,’ she began, then glancing at Fergus over her spectacles, said, ‘The headlines all take the same boringly predictable line.’
‘You surprise me.’
Julie’s eyebrows shot skyward. ‘You’re surprised. When I suggested it was time you had some fun, I didn’t anticipate you taking me quite so seriously.’