Mother of the Bride

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Still, I didn’t realise the planning would be such a killer,’ he went on, his smile wry.

  ‘I bet you thought it would all be over in a day.’

  ‘That long? Try five minutes.’

  Maisie laughed until her sides ached, then sighed softly, wishing they’d had more moments like this, moments of humour. Maybe then they could have made it work, been there for each other when things had gone wrong. ‘Well, as I said before, we’ll only have to do this once.’ She studied him thoughtfully, but his eyes were veiled so she couldn’t see their expression. ‘Does that worry you? I know what you said this morning, that one is more than enough, but I’ve often wondered if you mind that your only child is a girl?’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘No. No, I don’t mind. I love her to bits, and I wouldn’t change her for anything. And I don’t think she’s suffered from being an only child. I was an only child, and it has advantages in some ways, but—well, whatever. I would have liked more, but you don’t always get what you want and I’m not complaining.’

  ‘You could have married again—had a son to hand the estate on to. I should’ve thought you’d want that.’

  He shot her an enigmatic look. ‘No, Maisie. I haven’t, I didn’t, and I’m not about to now. And I don’t need a son. I’ve got Alec, and I’ve got a lot of time for him. He’s done well for himself, worked hard, and he knows the farm inside out. And he’s taken it very seriously—he’s got two degrees now, in agricultural science and agro-management, he’s very into expanding our potential. He’s a real asset. I’m proud of him—and, no, I didn’t have a son of my own, but Alec is the next best thing, and I’m more than happy that he’s marrying our little girl.’

  He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Anyway, you can talk. What about you? I would have thought you’d marry again, have more children. You always said you wanted lots of babies, but maybe having Jenni put you off.’

  ‘No. Not at all,’ she said quietly, thinking of the babies they might have had together—the only babies she’d ever wanted. There’d been men she’d met over the years, decent men, men who’d tried to persuade her to have a relationship. Men who might have married her. But they hadn’t been Rob, and he was the only man she wanted. The only man she’d ever wanted.

  ‘If I’d wanted more children, I could easily have had more,’ she told him matter-of-factly. ‘Children are easy to get, Rob. It’s bringing them up and dealing with the emotional fallout that’s the hard bit. But if you’re asking if I regret that our relationship didn’t work, that she didn’t have two parents in the same place and siblings and a more normal family life, then the answer’s yes. But it didn’t happen, and no amount of regret’s going to change that.’

  She turned her head to meet his eyes, and saw a flash of pain in their slate-blue depths.

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice quietly sincere, filled with a sorrow she knew was as deep as hers. He reached out and cupped her face in his warm, slightly roughened palm, his thumb stroking lightly over her cheek as he held her eyes.

  ‘I never should have let you go,’ he said gruffly. ‘I should have followed you, made you talk to me. I should have found a way for us to be together somehow. Why the hell didn’t I, Maisie? Why the hell didn’t I come after you?’

  She swallowed hard, then closed her eyes. ‘I don’t know, Rob. I have no idea at all.’

  She emptied her cup out onto the grass, handed it back to him and stood up, wincing at her aching muscles and wondering how she’d thought she was fit. Wondering about anything except why he hadn’t followed her, because that hurt too much to think about.

  ‘Come on, Mackenzie,’ she said, turning her back on him and heading down the track towards the castle. ‘I thought you had things to do?’

  They went to church the next morning, listened to the banns being read from their position in the Laird’s loft up above the congregation, and then they were subjected to a hail of congratulations and good wishes from the people of the village. As a consequence it took an age to get away, and by the time they got back to the castle it was time for lunch.

  Mercifully, because it meant there was less time to talk, and the less time they had, the better. The tension was simmering between them, and every time she caught Rob’s eye, it was as if he was staring right down inside her, looking for an answer.

  Well, he wouldn’t find it in her, she was sure. She didn’t know the answer. She wasn’t even sure she knew the question. But despite the tension, they got done everything that could be done over the weekend, and all that remained was a few calls to make the following day. So Rob booked her return sleeper on the Sunday evening, with her standing beside him at his desk in the study overlooking the sea, and she watched the last dying rays of the evening sun stretch across the endless sky, and wondered why she was going back so soon.

  It didn’t seem so imperative any more, and she found she had a curious reluctance to leave. Not that it was easy, with the tension between them pulling them every which way, and maybe it would be better to be apart just now, let the new, tentative friendship between them settle into their lives without pushing it. Or jeopardising it with some hasty and ill-considered action.

  Like resting her hand on his shoulder, stooping down and pressing a kiss to his thick, dark hair with its little threads of silver that somehow made him even more attractive. Like tilting his face back and pressing her lips to his, turning to sit on his lap and sliding her arms around his neck…

  ‘Right, that’s that done,’ he said, pushing back his chair and turning to look up at her, and she met his eyes and smiled somehow.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ he said, as if he was reading her mind. ‘I can change it to a later date.’

  She shook her head before she could let him talk her out of it. ‘No, Rob, I need to get back. I’ve got things to do. We both have.’

  By the time she set off the following evening, the rest of the arrangements were falling neatly into place. The hotel was booked for the catering, they were going to the hotel that night for a food tasting, something Maisie was sure they could do without her, and the piper and ceilidh band were booked. And Jeff was free to take the photographs, to her immense relief, because he was the only person she trusted to take the sort of shots she would have taken herself. She had lots of pictures of the castle and grounds, the ruin—and Rob, of course, taken on their walk. She’d put them into a separate file.

  He took her to the station, put her on the train and then hesitated, standing in the tiny little cabin so that she felt all the air had been sucked out of it.

  His face was troubled, his eyes guarded, and for a moment they stood there and looked at each other in silence.

  Then he reached for her and pulled her gently into his arms, enfolding her against his chest so she could feel the steady, even beating of his heart. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m sorry about all the things that have happened. I didn’t realise it had been so hard for you here, and I’m really grateful for your help. I’m so glad you came.’

  ‘I had no choice, Rob. I did it for Jenni,’ she reminded him gently, and he gave a quiet sigh and let her go, holding her shoulders, staring down into her eyes with an expression she couldn’t quite understand.

  ‘Don’t leave it too long before you’re back,’ he said, and ducking his head he brushed his lips lightly over hers, turned on his heel and strode away.

  She closed the door and sat down abruptly on the bunk. Her lips tingled, and she lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to the place where his lips had been so fleetingly.

  Not fleetingly enough. Her lips were still tingling when the train pulled out of the station over half an hour later, at the start of the long journey away from him.

  And not, it seemed, before time.

  Life got back to normal, slowly, but somehow it didn’t feel quite the same.

  There were the flowers, for a start.

  They arrived the day she g
ot back, a beautifully presented hand-tied posy of spring flowers, simple and delicate but absolutely perfect. There was a card, written in a woman’s hand, of course, not his dark, slashing script that was all but illegible. It said, quite simply, ‘Rob. X’

  A kiss. Just the one, like the kiss he’d feathered across her lips on the train just last night. She pressed her lips together, sniffed the flowers—they smelled gorgeous, a taste of spring—and she set them in the middle of the dining table that served as her desk, so she could look at them as she worked.

  Look at them and think of him.

  She had a phone call later in the week, and the first thing she did was thank him for them.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and she felt the words cruise over her nerve endings like a dancing flame.

  ‘So, how are things?’ she asked, picturing him in his study, feet up on the old desk, the sea view stretched out in front of him.

  ‘Fine. Jenni’s back at uni, the dress is hanging up in her bedroom here, wrapped in a cloth cover as instructed, we’ve got the veil and everyone’s happy,’ Rob reported.

  ‘How was the food tasting?’

  ‘Good. We’re still deciding, but the standard is excellent. We were very pleased. And otherwise I think all the arrangements are under way. How about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m busy. I’m up to my eyes. You were lucky to catch me, I’m just going out to meet a bride to talk wedding photos.’

  ‘Well, I won’t hold you up. Take care.’

  ‘You, too.’

  She put the phone down, thinking that even a fortnight ago such a phone call would have been unheralded. Brief though it had been, it was another plank on the bridge they were building, and as she raced off for her meeting, his voice was carried with her in her head.

  She was ridiculously busy for the next few weeks, both with her photography and with features for the paper. They found out at the office that her daughter was getting married, and immediately sent her to cover a society wedding.

  Then there was a spread about the cost of getting married, with budget and lavish options. It was an eye-opener, even for her with all the weddings she’d been involved in.

  So was her bank statement. She hadn’t looked at the prices when she’d paid for Jenni’s dress and her outfit, but she could see the amount on the statement now, and she pulled the receipt out of her handbag and studied it, and winced.

  Never mind. Jenni would look stunning in the dress, and she’d been thrilled with her mother’s outfit.

  Maisie herself still wasn’t sure about it. It hung in the wardrobe, waiting for her to find time to accessorise it—or alternatively replace it with something less, well, less likely to ‘blow Dad’s socks off’, as Jenni had so subtly put it.

  She didn’t want to blow his socks off. Far too dangerous. And after that kiss on the train, however brief and fleeting, she wondered just how easy it might be. She’d felt a simmering energy in him in the last few days of her visit, a raw, untamed side that she’d never seen before, and it thrilled her and terrified her all at once.

  But going there would be potentially more foolish now than it had been twenty-one years ago, so she had no intention of poking the sleeping tiger.

  Except maybe he wasn’t sleeping, just lying with one eye slightly open, waiting for an unwary move. And, meanwhile, the dress hung in her wardrobe, taunting her. So she ignored it, put the wedding out of her mind and concentrated on her work. Until Rob phoned again.

  ‘Maisie.’

  Just the one word, but all her senses were on red alert, her body humming.

  ‘Hi. Problems?’

  ‘No, not exactly. Look, I’m in London, I had one or two things to do, but I’m finished now—can I come and see you? I’ve got the invitations, and you said you’d write them, so I thought I could drop them off with the guest list—and there are one or two other details. I thought maybe we could discuss them over dinner, if you aren’t busy?’

  ‘I thought the details were sorted? Does it really need dinner?’ she asked, panicking a little because dinner…well, it sounded a little bit like a date, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for a date with Robert Mackenzie.

  ‘No, not really, I suppose. I could just drop the invitations off, have a quick run-through of my thoughts and then set off again, but I have to eat at some point, and…’ She almost heard the shrug, and then he carried on, ‘Anyway, I thought we were supposed to be making friends.’

  They were. She thought of their grandchildren, years down the line, and sighed inwardly. She’d just have to keep a lid on her feelings, however hard it was. ‘Of course. Sorry. Yes, that sounds OK. I’m not busy tonight.’

  ‘Great. Do you want me to make a reservation somewhere, or will you do it?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said quickly. She couldn’t trust him not to find somewhere—romantic. Intimate. She’d book a table in a noisy, bustling place—she didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas, and romantic and intimate were definitely wrong.

  ‘Thanks. That would make sense. And then I can set off tomorrow morning early for the drive home—if you don’t mind putting me up, that is.’

  He wanted to stay? Her heart flipped and started to race, and a million excuses ran through her head, but they were exactly that, excuses, and she had agreed to do the invitations. And dinner. And be friends. But stay? After that kiss?

  ‘Of course you can stay,’ she said at last. ‘You can have Jenni’s room. It’s your house, after all.’

  ‘Hardly. It’s not been my house for the last twenty years.’

  ‘That’s a technicality,’ she said, and there was a second’s silence.

  ‘Maisie, it’s your home,’ he said, sounding stunned.

  ‘Well, whatever,’ she said quietly, her emotions tumbling. It was her home—of course it was her home, but at the same time, Rob haunted it, the memory of him soaked into the very fabric, so that she’d never felt she could do certain things in it. Things like take a lover, and bring him back to her bedroom, the room where she’d made love with Rob, so that she could try and erase him from her memory. Not that there had ever been anyone.

  ‘Look, I’m busy, I don’t need to get into this now, I’m due out. What time are you coming?’

  ‘I thought I’d leave now. I want to get out of London before the traffic builds up. I should be with you by one at the latest. Is that OK?’

  ‘I should be back. I’ve got to go and deliver an album to someone. Have you got your key still?’

  ‘Not with me. Don’t worry, if you aren’t there I can amuse myself. Just call me when you’re done. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘OK. I’ll see you,’ she said, wondering how long she’d be.

  She looked at her watch. Nine thirty-nine—so nearly ten. She was due with Annette at ten-thirty, but she phoned her to find out if she could come earlier, and was greeted with delight.

  ‘Of course! I’m longing to see the albums, I can’t believe you’ve got them printed so quickly. Do come now. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  She was there just after ten, and Annette greeted her at the door in a flowing caftan with a bandana round her head.

  ‘Hi, come in, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said, and kissed Maisie on the cheek. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘That would be lovely. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’m halfway through my first chemo, and my hair’s started to come out in clumps already so I’ve had it shaved, but I’m too old to look interesting and elegant, so I’ve wrapped it up and gone ethnic instead! But my scan was clear, no more hot spots, so things are looking good. Fingers crossed. Biscuit?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t but I don’t care. Yes, please!’

  They chuckled as Annette raided a cupboard and produced some utterly wicked chocolate biscuits, poured boiling water into the cafetière and headed through to the sitting room. ‘Right, let’s see these albums. I can’t wait.’

  They were in the styl
e of a coffee-table book, with some pages containing just one image, and others containing several scattered casually over the page. And there were some gorgeous ones of Annette with her daughter.

  ‘Oh, Maisie, it’s wonderful! Oh, thank you so much,’ Annette said, sniffing and mopping her eyes. ‘Oh, how silly of me. I’m sorry, I feel really overwhelmed by them, you’ve really captured the day, they’re beautiful, and I just love having them in a real book. Oh, thank you so much. You’ve been so kind and understanding.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s been a pleasure working with you all and getting to know you, and I’m thrilled with them. In fact, I’ve stolen some of the ideas for my daughter Jenni’s wedding.’

  ‘She’s getting married? Oh, how exciting! When? You haven’t mentioned it.’

  ‘June. I found out the day before Lucy’s wedding—she just phoned up and announced they were getting married in eleven weeks! So I’ve been stealing ideas right, left and centre!’

  ‘Of course you have—and it’s perfectly possible to do in that time. We did it in less, and I don’t think it could have been better for another year of preparation. Oh, I’m so thrilled for you, I do hope you have a fabulous day. So where’s the wedding?’

  She pulled a face. ‘In Scotland—just north-west of Fort William. I’d rather it was here, of course, but that’s just unrealistic, and Ardnashiel’s a fabulous location.’

  Annette’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and she tipped her head on one side. ‘Not the castle?’

  ‘Yes—her father owns it,’ she admitted.

  Her eyes widened, and she smiled delightedly. ‘Robert Mackenzie’s her father?’

  Maisie was startled. ‘Yes—do you know him?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘I lectured him years ago. Must be—twenty-something? So did you meet him here?’

  Maisie pulled a face. ‘Yes. Just after he graduated. I went to look at his house, and we—well, we ended up getting married a little hastily. Jenni was the result. It—er—it didn’t work out, though.’

  Annette made a soft sound of commiseration and squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been so lucky in that way. Did you marry again?’