Best Man

by Briggs, Laura

  Chapter Thirteen

  The music box was nestled between tissue paper in shades of red and gold. The look on Kate’s face when she opened it was the reward, as the first strains of “Annie Laurie” emerged.

  “They didn’t have another song available,” said Michael, with a shrug. She looked up from examining the velvet padded interior.

  “No, it’s lovely,” she answered. “I wouldn’t have wished for any other.” As she spoke, she closed the box’s lid, the song’s notes fading away.

  The view through the restaurant’s glass walls was nothing but darkness and the haze of city lights, making the focus of dinner entirely conversation. Even the quiet serenade of the performing harpist was equaled by the tones emerging from the music box as Sean studied it up close.

  “Nice, man,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

  “At the jeweler’s,” said Michael. “I remembered Kate admired it before. The clerk said he had sold two others like it, only playing ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco’. It would have been ironic had it been one of them left instead–” He paused, realizing what he was saying.

  “Why’s that?” laughed Sean. He didn’t notice the change in Michael’s color, nor his sudden interest in gazing at the dessert menu.

  Kate reached for the music box, taking it from Sean’s hand. “I think this choice is quite nice.” She tucked it gently between the tissue folds again.

  “You know what Linus got me for our wedding?” asked Jean. “Two tickets to Bermuda. I was so surprised, I almost fainted. You know that hairdresser I lived with in California–the one with pierced eyebrows? When she got engaged, the only thing her fiancé gave her was a copy of his divorce papers from wife number one.” Her fork stirred the remains of the lobster meat on her plate as she spoke to Sean. “Like that was some kind of reward for her, lucky gal becoming number two.”

  Jean’s stories tended towards meandering recollections; Linus’s towards sarcastic jibes. He spoke as little as possible at dinner, absorbed in de-stuffing the pheasant on his plate. His sunglasses were still in place, as if he found the restaurant’s lights unbearable.

  “I’ve never been engaged,” volunteered Vicki. “No one ties me down, so to speak. Unless they’re worth it.” With a flirty tilt of her head, she raised her glass to her lips. Her dress was too low cut for the restaurant, its fabric seemingly transparent in bright light.

  “How nice for you.” Jean’s smile was tight, her eyes pinched narrow at the corners. Her gaze flickered from Vicki to Sean, then back again, as if assessing the likelihood of a former connection.

  Sean cleared his throat, tapping his fork against his water glass to draw their attention. “Well, I guess it’s that time,” he said. “Before I lose my nerve or the waiter brings dessert, that is.” He reached for his glass, turning to face Kate at the same moment.

  “Aww, a toast,” said Jean. “If I’d known, I would have ordered a second bottle of champagne instead of this wine–”

  “Kate,” said Sean. “I didn’t know what to say, so ... I had to make do.” He cleared his throat again. “The first time anyone sees you, it’s love at first sight. Even if they don’t know it at that moment, they will. It’s not because of your beauty. It’s not just your grace or laugh, or the sound of your voice when you first speak to them. It’s something you anticipate, something you know is there beneath the surface.”

  He paused for a moment. “And when you find out what it is, that’s when you know it’s love.” The glass inclined towards Kate, along with Seth’s smile. “To Kate.”

  “To Kate,” the rest of the party echoed before sipping the contents of their glass.

  Kate blushed in reply. “Thank you,” she said. “Very much.” She touched Sean’s arm gently.

  Jean coughed as she lowered her glass. “Sean, you are such a sop,” she said. “I think I feel a toast coming on myself, thanks to that sentimental example.”

  “No more toasts,” said Linus. “The one at the Linzers’ dinner party last month did me in.” The waitress approached, bearing a tray of chocolate mousse in dessert bowls.

  “Surprise,” trilled Jean. “This is the house specialty–some sort of Belgian chocolate thing, so enjoy.” Linus poked a spoon into his bowl, beating the contents as if whipping cream.

  “None for me,” said Vicki. “Too much liquor, not enough stomach. I’m too sweet for chocolate, besides.” She tweaked Linus’s sleeve and received a smirk of indifference which made her release it.

  Michael was outside the buzz of conversation as Jean and Sean dominated the discussion of celebrity divorces. He was tempted to strike up conversation with Kate, who seemed equally absorbed in her dessert. Their silence was mutual, the only two voices absent in the table’s exchange.

  The conversation shifted into a tiff between Jean and Linus over their ski vacation the previous Christmas. When Kate rose from the table for a moment, Sean slid into her chair and leaned towards Michael.

  “That music box was excellent,” he whispered. “I haven’t come up with something yet, but I was thinking about something in photography. Like a lens or an antique piece of photo equipment.”

  “A good choice,” said Michael. Sean rolled his eyes.

  “Come on, be more specific, man,” he said. “Help me out here ...”

  “I think I’ve helped you out enough,” said Michael, with a faint laugh. “You can figure this part out on your own. Or get Vicki to help you.” He lifted his glass as if toasting Sean, then took a sip.

  “You’ve been great this week,” said Sean. “Without you, I wouldn’t have made it through. I think you saved me from dropping the ball and ending up running this time. You came through for me. Just like always.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Michael. “Now, excuse me for a moment.” He pushed back his chair and made his way towards the foyer.

  On the others side of the palms lining the way to the restaurant’s alcove, he saw Kate gazing out the darkened glass. Arms crossed as if hugging herself, chin raised as she stared unseeing at the night sky.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. Tempted to remove his jacket and place it around her shoulders if she said yes. She turned towards him.

  “I know that the toast was yours,” she said. “Sean’s words. I know he didn’t think of them.”

  He paused, unsure if he should apologize or deny it. “Sean has trouble sometimes finding the right words,” he said.

  “Don’t think you have to protect the lie every time, Michael,” she said. “Maybe there is only so much we can pretend. Even for Sean’s sake.” She stepped towards him, touching his shoulder briefly before moving towards the table again.

  He stared out at the London lights aglow, giving himself a moment for the words to roll across him like a tide. Embarrassment for Sean, for himself, seemed pointless, since Kate was not angry. He was only angry at himself.

  But it wasn’t for supplying Sean with those words. It was because he needed to say those words himself.

  *****

  Michael’s fingers fumbled with the keys, his eyes still bleared from sleep as he gazed at the screen. Macleod was wrestling with his personal demons as he faced the king’s army, knowing that Marjorie would struggle to bear their child alone if he died. Metal blades rang with contact, animal grunts from bodies pierced and bones broken from the blow of an enemy’s shield–on the screen, reduced to a handful of lines.

  Michael’s mind was far from the scenes in his novel’s outline and focused on the problem of his personal feelings. The tone of Kate’s voice, the touch of her hand, could be interpreted countless ways. Was she upset that he stood in for Sean? The best man as a public shield for dinner party formalities?

  His mind played it another way; that she interpreted something else in those words. Whether with indignation or pleasure, he imagined it with pain, the same as what he felt as he watched the photo disappear from Kate’s photo.

  He stopped typing. Closing the screen, he pushed back his ch
air and rubbed his hand over his face. Seven a.m. was not an easy hour for his body after a late night of wine and food.

  Downstairs, he broke a muffin in half and took a generous bite, aware that the rest of the guests wouldn’t descend for another hour. Jean and Linus were leaving for the day, Sean was planning to supervise the sound equipment setup for the band at tomorrow’s reception.

  There was a rapping at the service entrance, the sound of muffled voices exchanging morning pleasantries. The village florist delivering the flowers for tonight’s rehearsal dinner - bud vases for the tables, Michael imagined. He heard the door close again and the sound of Mrs. Hammond’s footsteps across the floor.

  “Goodness, Mr. Herriman,” she said. “You’re up quite early for one of the wedding party, aren’t you?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of muffin. “Working,” he answered. “I’m sure the rest will be down shortly.”

  “Oh, I’ve only seen Sir Andrew and her ladyship this morning,” answered the housekeeper as she adjusted her apron’s strings. “And Miss Ivey on her way out.”

  “Out where?” asked Michael. Mrs. Hammond lifted a stack of white saucers from a cabinet and placed them on the sideboard.

  “A friend of hers was taken ill,” she said. “They’re in hospital, apparently. She left quite early.”

  There was no hospital in Leeds-Mary; he learned this from Mrs. Hammond firsthand. Directions to the nearest hospital he obtained from the village grocer, scribbled on the back of his receipt for an iced coffee.

  He was still uncomfortable driving in England, but his focus on the road this time was lessened by the apprehension in his thoughts. Perhaps it was nothing; maybe Saundra had stumbled in the garden, for instance. Maybe she had requested Kate to come with her to one of her treatments, a hand to hold during the moments of pain.

  If only Kate had told Mrs. Hammond the details–or Sean. He would have wanted to join her for support, since the sound equipment could wait. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to him that Sean was probably unaware of the existence of Kate’s friend; as unaware as her family was about the friendships and personal details of her youth.

  The hospital’s modern structure of metal and white stone was visible as he signaled a right turn onto its street. The parking spot furthest away was the only one open, but he claimed it anyway with a swift turn of the wheel that surprised him with its precision. Shakily, he shifted into park and drew the keys from the Austin’s ignition. For a moment, he sat in silence, gazing through the windshield at the rain striking the glass. His breath fogged against the windshield, a figure of a passing woman in a raincoat momentarily blurred by its cloud. Popping open the door, he stepped into the wet parking lot.

  Hospital sounds were the same in any corner of the civilized world, ringing phones and hushed voices, physicians paged over intercoms. Michael’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he entered the automatic doors to the emergency room.

  He was uncertain what to say to the nurse at the reception desk as he moved in that direction. His eye caught sight of Kate’s figure seated in the half-empty waiting room, her elbows resting on her knees as she leaned forward, head resting on her hands.

  He changed directions in mid-stride, pausing a few steps from her in hesitation. “Hey,” he said. “Kate. Is it Saundra–”

  She raised her head and looked at him, a tear’s track visible on her cheek. Her face was pale, eyes dead in a way that made his heart stop cold. As she gazed at him, her features crumpled like paper.

  “Oh, Kate.” He sank down beside her and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her face buried in his shoulder. Her body shook, the silent sobs breaking forth in cries muffled by the sleeve of his coat as he slowly rocked her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael wondered if Kate would cancel the rehearsal dinner when they returned to the estate. Perhaps even postpone the wedding, if it was possible. Sean would understand, there would be no questions asked publicly despite what people might say privately.

  He didn’t have the courage to ask her any of these questions on the drive back from the hospital. Beside him in the passenger seat, Kate was silent as she stared through the window streaked with rain. The skin beneath her eyes was flushed pink, traces of dampness still evident on her cheeks. No sobs, no cries, no noises or words of any kind as they traveled.

  He pulled into the parking space and shifted gears. She unfastened her seatbelt and glanced towards him. “I need some time,” she said. “If they ask you where I am–”

  “I’ll simply say you went for a walk,” he answered. “And if they didn’t see us pull up, I’ll tell them I have no idea what time you returned.”

  “Thank you,” she answered. Opening the door, she climbed out and strode off in the direction of one of the garden paths. He watched her blue jacket vanish behind a hedgerow, his fingers still gripping the steering wheel as if he had other travel plans.

  When he entered the front door, he could hear the sound of feminine voices laughing and talking. Louisa and Helen were arranging red chrysanthemum blossoms in a row of white porcelain bud vases, dozens of them covering the formal dining table in the room across from the parlor.

  “Michael,” called Helen. “Did you see Sir Andrew this morning? He wanted to ask your opinion about his speech for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “I didn’t see him, I’m afraid,” Michael answered. “I went out for a little bit. The village.” Lying was not one of his better skills; he suspected if this conversation lasted many more minutes, his listeners would suspect something.

  “Ah well, perhaps at lunch,” said Helen. Before she could speak again, Louisa chimed in.

  “Helen, dear, did Mrs. Hammond telephone the caterer’s about those fillets for vicar’s table?” As Helen pondered this question, Michael took the opportunity to escape.

  Climbing the stairs, he slipped past Vicki’s closed door just in case and turned the knob to his room. The door was pulled out of his hand by an opposing force, jerking open to reveal Charlotte on the other side.

  “Charlotte,” he said, his voice betraying surprise.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, her voice high and birdlike beneath the frail tones. “I mistakenly entered your room instead of my own.” She passed him, pausing in the hallway for a second with her hands folded before her politely.

  “That’s all right,” he said. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, he entered. The screensaver had vanished from his computer’s screen, his open manuscript visible to the last page he had written. With a half-hearted smile of triumph, he closed the lid. A knock on the open doorway made him turn his head.

  “Hey, pal,” said Sean. “I forgot to tell you–the tuxes go back to the rental place right after the wedding on Saturday. They got a thing at some fundraiser a village over from here.”

  “Sure,” said Michael, after a moment’s pause. “Have you seen Kate this morning?”

  Sean frowned. “Nope,” he answered. “But if I run into her, I’ll send her your way.” He turned to exit.

  “Sean, wait, that’s not–” Michael began, but Sean’s departing figure didn’t respond. He heard the sound of a pair of heavy boots taking the stairs two at a time, disappearing in the distance.

  With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his forehead in his hands. By the time he raised his head again, a half-hour had passed according to the gilded clock on his bedside table.

  *****

  Michael snagged a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, taking a deep sip from the glass. Either Sir Andrew’s catering acquaintances were giving an extraordinary discount to family members or else Kate’s pocketbook was covering a sizeable bill, judging from the quality of its taste.

  Across the room, Kate was visible in a white fitted dress, her hair coiled tightly in an elegant French twist, nothing else but simple pearls and an ivory shawl. Her smile was open, white teeth exposed between red lips. No trace of sorrow in its appearance, altho
ugh her eye makeup showed signs of being retouched in soft shades of purple and lavender.

  The guests for the evening were also in black tie, members of Sir Andrew’s charitable organizations and society circles, villagers with close ties to the estate. Scarlet-clad Vicki was surrounded by a group of sullen-looking men noticeably different in their tattered jeans and sequined shirts–most likely the band Sean had mentioned for the wedding tomorrow.

  Sir Andrew approached Michael, a champagne flute in hand. “Quite splendid, isn’t it?” he said. “If you have a moment, Dr. Peterson is a fan of your books–would love a chat about the Highlands, given his own roots in Celtic clans.” He motioned towards a tall, reedy man who was currently conversing with Vicki.

  “Of course,” said Michael. “I’d love to.” The contents of his own glass were swirling around in a soft semi-circle beneath the motion of his hand.

  “My toast to the happy couple seems a little long at the moment,” continued Sir Andrew, although Michael’s eye was watching Kate now. The guests chatting with her had moved on, leaving her alone momentarily.

  “Toasts are shortened now, in the fashionable sense of texts and emails,” mused Sir Andrew. “One chap at a luncheon I attended simply raised his glass with a ’bottoms up’ and drained it before the rest of us had a chance to reply.” He gazed at Michael expectantly.

  “Oh,” said Michael, forcing himself to look interested again. “Well, I suppose it’s a sign of the times, isn’t it?” Kate disappeared momentarily in the mingling crowd of guests; he caught sight of her a moment later, Helen engaging her in conversation.

  “Quite right,” answered Sir Andrew. He motioned for a passing waiter to approach as Michael slipped away.

  He maneuvered between clusters of conversationalists, past the surly-looking members of the wedding’s band, moving slowly in Kate’s direction. Helen was talking to her in a low voice, an edge of disapproval in its kindly tones.