Love at the Northern Lights

by Love at the Northern Lights (re

  ‘Come on, Frankie, have some more champagne.’

  They clinked glasses and Frankie downed hers in one go. She wasn’t a big drinker, unlike Grandma, who called four in the afternoon gin o’clock, and her father, who kept the wine cellar very well stocked, and the warmth from the alcohol soon flooded her system, loosening her inhibitions. She let Jennifer refill her glass several times, then she was led to the dressing room just off the main bedroom. As well as the dressing room and bathroom, the bedroom had its own veranda and antechamber, which had, at one time, been used as a prayer room. Rolo’s ancestral home was enormous and Frankie knew that it could take an age to walk from one end of the mansion to the other, especially if you got distracted by the antiques and oil paintings of his mother’s side of the family. Frankie loved gazing at Rolo’s ancestors, mainly because she was fascinated by the changing fashions over the years, intrigued by the fabrics, styles, shoes and hats.

  ‘There.’ The fashion designer – who had a name Frankie had been sworn to secrecy about so that no high-society magazine managed to get a sneak peek at the dress – stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘Gorgeous!’

  ‘Absolutely marvellously magical… like a fairy-tale princess.’ Jen clapped her hands.

  ‘Oh, Frankie, it’s super!’ Lorna had been standing in the corner of the dressing room, eyes glued to her mobile while Frankie had dressed. Now she looked up and her eyes widened as she scanned Frankie from head to toe. ‘I hope I’ll be just as beautiful on my wedding day.’

  Frankie smiled her thanks, knowing that Lorna always appeared ravishing, whatever she wore, also knowing that Lorna was well aware of that fact.

  ‘Time to see the results!’ Jen said. ‘Use the mirror in the bedroom as the light is better in there.’

  Frankie obediently trotted through to the bedroom and stood in front of the long mirror. The ivory designer dress fitted her slender frame like a second skin. The strapless corset top pushed her small breasts up so they resembled two tennis balls. They glistened under the electric light because of the copious amounts of highlighter that sat on top of the fake tan she’d had yesterday. The satin of the dress seemed to shimmer as she moved, and when she turned to look at the back, the fishtail stretched across the floor making her feel like some sort of mermaid. Whatever her reservations, she had to admit that the dress was breathtaking. She’d just prefer to admire it on someone else. With her mind in such turmoil and her heart squeezing so tight, it was impossible for Frankie to enjoy being so beautifully clothed. Even thinking about how the designer had created the dress, about the textures of the material and the painstaking stitching that held the magnificent handmade creation together couldn’t lift Frankie’s mood. She was lost indeed.

  As she gazed at the unfamiliar woman in the mirror, she was conscious of the designer, hairdresser and beauticians leaving the room, until it was just her and Jen.

  ‘Frankie, you are truly beautiful. The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.’ She smiled. ‘You can do this. I’ll be with you all the way.’

  Frankie turned to her oldest friend and took her hands.

  ‘Thanks, Jen. You’ve been really good to me today… and over the years.’

  Jen nodded. ‘I know we haven’t been as close as we could have been. I always felt you were holding something back. At times, I wondered if you actually liked me… because, you know, I can be a bit of a drama queen, a bit self-involved and a bit OTT, I guess. And we didn’t exactly become friends in an organic way, did we? What with our grandmothers pushing us together from an early age then being at boarding school together. But I do care about you. I always have.’

  ‘I know. Me too.’ Frankie tried to smile but her face was pulled so tight that she suspected it came out as more of a grimace.

  ‘I’m going to give you a moment now to compose yourself, to find your inner calm, as my personal yogi says. Oh… and if I forget to mention it later, I packed a few things in your honeymoon case.’

  ‘Like what?’ Panic seared through Frankie.

  ‘You’ll find out when you reach your destination.’ Jen winked at her. ‘No peeking beforehand!’

  When her friend had gone, Frankie shuffled over to the bed and sank onto the soft coverlet. This was it then. She was trussed up like a prize turkey, about to make promises of love and fidelity when her heart wanted to do neither.

  A knock at the door made her stomach lurch. Was it time already?

  She tried to stand but the dress was too restrictive and she was worried about popping the delicate seams if she got up too quickly.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Who is it?’

  The door swung open and relief washed over her when she saw her father, Hugo Ashford.

  ‘You look so handsome in that suit,’ she squeaked as he approached the bed. ‘I would get up but I can’t.’

  He smiled then took her hands and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Frances, you are beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t look like me at all.’

  He shook his head. ‘You do, sweetheart. In fact, you look so much like your m—’ He pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze to his shiny black shoes.

  They stood there for a while, holding hands. There was so much Frankie wanted to ask and so much she sensed her father wanted to say, but, as always, they stayed quiet, understanding that some things were too hard to discuss; some things were best left unsaid.

  Finally, he released a shaky sigh. ‘She’d be very proud of you today.’

  ‘She would?’

  He nodded.

  Frankie thought about the wedding invitations she’d written for her mother. Five in total. When it had come to posting them, she’d torn each one into tiny pieces like confetti then dropped them into the bin. She’d wanted to invite her mother, yearned to invite her, but shame and sadness prevented her. After all, her mother had walked away all those years ago and never looked back. Why would she want to know Frankie now? Why would she care that her daughter was getting married? She hadn’t been there for all the other things Frankie had gone through, like getting her first spot or her first period, nor for her exam results’ days or her university graduation when she’d gained a first-class honours degree in business management and accounting. She hadn’t been there when Frankie had cried into her pillow over disappointments and a deep sense of loneliness, when those charity adverts about children in Africa – who had no clean water to drink – broke her heart, or even when she got engaged.

  Her mother had never been there for her.

  Never. Ever…

  ‘Frankie.’ Her father licked his lips nervously then met her gaze. ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘You do? Oh, Dad… you’re not ill, are you?’

  ‘No. No, angel, nothing like that. It’s about your mother.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘If she was here today… she would tell you to be sure that this is what you want.’

  ‘Oh…’

  Frankie scanned her father’s face, wondering what had prompted this confession.

  ‘Uh… of course it is, Dad.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because I’m not. I’ve watched you since the engagement and something just seems… rather off.’

  ‘Rolo is a good match. He’s one of Buckinghamshire’s most eligible bachelors and he’s on that society list of most desirable successful young men. Grandma showed it to me. Many times. I’m a lucky woman.’ She gave a strangled laugh.

  ‘Are those your words or my mother’s?’

  She swallowed hard.

  ‘I would never interfere, Frankie, because I don’t feel I have the right. If you can tell me hand on heart that this is exactly what you want, then I’ll forever hold my peace. However… if you have an inkling of doubt in your mind, then don’t go through with it. Marriage is a huge commitment. It’s not just rings, flowers and swimming in tropical waters while you sip fancy cocktails. Sorry, darling, I sound patronizing now but… There’s so much more to it.
It’s hard… even when you love someone very much.’

  Frankie took a slow deep breath then released it.

  What did her father want from her? She couldn’t run away from this today, could she? It would be wrong and so many people had gone to so much trouble and expense. Grandma would be spitting-teeth mad and Rolo would be furious that he’d been humiliated in front of all his friends. His parents would be irate, the wedding planner would be shocked, the wedding dress designer would curse her name and…

  Her vision blurred. All the reasons for going through with it and none of them were the right one.

  ‘I don’t love him, Dad.’

  He nodded. ‘Then don’t do it.’

  ‘But I—’

  He held up a hand. ‘Don’t make any more excuses. You know in your heart what’s right. I’m going to go now and I’ll be waiting downstairs. You decide what you want to do and if I don’t see you for the ceremony, I’ll know why. Just remember that it’s better to walk away today than in a year’s time.’

  ‘Like once I’ve had a baby.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Exactly. That would be far, far worse.’

  ‘I love you, Dad.’

  ‘I love you too, princess.’

  He shut the door quietly behind him and Frankie was left alone with just her reflection for company. The woman in the mirror was wearing the most beautiful dress she had ever seen and yet her eyes were pools of sadness.

  From outside, she could hear the crunch of tyres on gravel and car doors closing, as guests arrived at the front of the property. She was running out of time. It was make or break.

  She knew what she had to do…

  *

  Frankie hurried across the landing, cursing her high heels, with her bag hooked over her shoulder and dragging her Versace baroque-print leather suitcase behind her. By the time she reached the servants’ staircase, she was already sweating, and the biscuit-curry aroma of the fake tan was rising from her shiny décolletage.

  Step by step, she bumped the case down the carpeted stairs then round the first landing and down the next set of steps. When she reached the bottom, she peered around but the coast was clear. She shuffled along the parquet flooring to the nearest French doors, trying to ignore the judgmental glares from the oil paintings of Rolo’s ancestors that hung on every wall, and pushed them open, dragging her suitcase out behind her. She took a step forwards but found that she was pinned in place by her fishtail, so she tried again and a loud ripping sound made her cringe.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, as she pulled at the fishtail, causing another tear that left the end of the delicate material trapped under the glass door. She paused for a moment and looked back at it, regret that she’d destroyed such a perfect creation filling her, but it really was a case of her or the dress, and today it seemed she was going to be guilty of many things, so committing a crime against fashion was the last thing she should be fretting about.

  The November day was bright, the sky clear, promising a fine afternoon, albeit a cold one. She kept close to the house as she made her way around the side, ready to duck behind the large stone planters if she spotted someone, but it seemed that everyone was over near the marquee, preparing for the ceremony. Shame crawled over her skin as she thought of them waiting there, sipping their Pimm’s and expecting her to appear within the next half hour, all ready for a grand old knees-up and a uniting of two wealthy families. She was letting them all down, but if she’d thought of going back before, her torn dress made her keep running, because she’d never be able to explain this one to the designer, let alone Grandma.

  She dashed towards the maze that spread out to one side of the driveway, and used it as cover as she hurried away from the house. This was the coward’s way, she knew it, but she couldn’t turn back.

  ‘Oh, hello.’

  She froze.

  It couldn’t be, could it?

  ‘Frankie? Where on earth are you going?’

  She turned to the neatly trimmed evergreen hedge at her side where the plummy voice was coming from, and spotted him, peering at her through the leaves.

  What the hell was he doing out here?

  And how the blazes was she going to explain what she was doing?

  Chapter 3

  ‘Frankie?’

  ‘Rolo?’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Oh… uh… I was just…’

  ‘I’m not supposed to see you before the ceremony, you know, or it’s bad luck.’

  Bad luck be blowed! Wait until you know why I’m out here.

  ‘Well, you can’t really see me, can you? Just a part of me.’

  She shivered as a gust of wind whipped at the thin material of her dress. It would’ve been fine in the heated marquee, but outside, in the chilly November air, the dress was doing little to keep her warm.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘No. Right. I was just…’ She sighed. What was the point in lying to him now? He’d soon find out and at least if she told him, he’d be prepared to deal with the aftermath. ‘Stay where you are and I’ll come to you.’

  She tucked her case under the hedge then retraced her steps to the front of the maze and hurried through to where she’d seen Rolo. It took a while to reach him as her heels kept sinking into the soft earth, but as she rounded a sharp corner, she almost ran straight into him and threw up her hands to prevent them cracking skulls.

  ‘Bloody hell, Frankie, look at the state of you! You look absolutely beastly! I hope you’re going to sort yourself out before people see you. Mother will completely flip out and if your grandmother spots you like that… Well, rather you than me, what?’

  She glanced at her torn muddy hem and the bodice of her dress where fake-tan had streaked the sections under her armpits then bled into the rest of the fabric. She folded her arms over her chest, as much to hide the mess as to try to keep warm.

  ‘Yes… I am in a state. Not exactly what you were expecting, right?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ He frowned, and she realized that he was holding one arm awkwardly behind him.

  ‘What’s behind your back, Rolo?’

  His eyes widened a fraction, a sure sign that he was hiding something.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No… not really.’ He shrugged then showed her the cigarette packet.

  ‘You were smoking?’

  He moved his foot and showed her a cigarette butt that he must have hastily stubbed out.

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘I suspect there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, Frankie. Like why you’re running around the gardens in your,’ he eyed her up and down, ‘rather soiled wedding dress. Didn’t that cost your father around forty thou—’

  ‘Don’t! Just… please don’t talk about that right now.’ Her chest ached with guilt. There had been no need for such an expensive designer dress but it had all been part of the charade that Frankie had gone along with. And perhaps part of her had fallen in love with the bespoke dress that made her think of fairy-tale castles and handsome princes who didn’t make their fiancée feel like she was often in the wrong, who didn’t secretly smoke in their family maze and… was that another cigarette butt with lipstick on it just behind Rolo’s fancy black brogue? He didn’t look like he was wearing lipstick.

  ‘Are you going to answer my question now?’ He pulled a cigarette from the packet and slid it between his lips then lit it with a rather fancy-looking butane lighter engraved with his initials. People bought lighters like that as gifts, so presumably someone had bought that for Rolo. But who? The only people she knew who smoked were her grandmother and Lorna, and now Rolo, and she couldn’t imagine Grandma sneaking out here for a cigarette.

  As smoke drifted from his nostrils, Frankie thought back to times when he’d kissed her – not that often, in all honesty – and he’d smelt strongly of peppermint and cologne. She’d wondered if he was trying to hide something
from her then and now she knew. Rolo was a smoker… possibly something else judging from the hint of Chanel No 5 that she could smell on him as he moved closer.

  ‘Well, Frankie?’

  ‘Rolo, I’m so sorry but I can’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Go on back in and tidy yourself up post-haste. I don’t really want to hang around talking when we’re getting married in what…’ He pushed up his left shirt cuff and peered at the diamond-studded gold Rolex Frankie had given him to celebrate their engagement. ‘Gosh, is that the time? Thirty-two minutes.’

  ‘No, Rolo… what I mean is that I can’t marry you. I can’t go through with it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t be such an ass, Frankie. Of course you can. You’re just in some sort of a state. This is the right thing to do.’

  ‘The “right thing to do”? Bloody hell, Rolo, is that how you see joining ourselves together for the rest of our lives?’

  His light-blond eyebrows rose slowly up his clear, square forehead.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s not exactly romantic, is it?’

  ‘Romantic? Frankie… we’ve known each other for yonks, dated on and off since we were seventeen and been together properly now for two years. What we have might not be a grand passion but it’s… well… it’s all right.’ He shrugged as if he was talking about wine or a suit, not about the relationship they were preparing to commit themselves to for life.

  She stared at him, wondering if he realized what he was saying or if the nicotine had gone to his brain and made him more tactless than usual. He dragged on the cigarette hard then exhaled a long plume of blue-grey smoke that was carried away by the breeze.

  ‘Is that enough for you then? To spend your life with a woman who’s all right? Not the love of your life or someone you can’t spend a day without thinking about?’

  He puffed on the cigarette again then dropped it and ground it out with the sole of his shoe.

  ‘I guess so… It made our grandmothers and our parents happy when we got engaged.’

  ‘But it’s not about them, is it?’

  ‘No. We’re a good match financially and we’ve got that prenup, so neither of us loses out if something goes wrong, because we know what we’re getting into. I oversaw the finer details myself. Besides, we have to go through with it now.’