The Bride, the Baby & the Best Man

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Did she? Well I’ll keep an eye on her.’

  ‘If she’ll let you.’

  ‘I’ve discovered that if I pretend to be totally useless and know absolutely nothing she’ll deign to help. She actually told me where I could find a spare can of talc for Ben.’

  ‘Obviously that’s why I appealed to her. I really am useless. When it comes to babies.’ And a few other things.

  ‘Most women are,’ Sarah said, sympathetically. ‘It must be like a nightmare to take a new baby home from the hospital and be expected to get on with it. I had two years training and they can still surprise me. But of course that won’t happen to you.’

  Faith froze. Did everyone know the details of her private life? ‘What’s Debbie been saying?’ she demanded.

  ‘Debbie?’ Sarah, startled by her fierce reaction, gave an awkward little shrug. ‘Nothing. But, well, in your position you’ll have a nanny. Won’t you?’

  In her position? Faith was beginning to feel as though she was losing her grip, but conscious that Sarah was giving her a rather odd look, she made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Shall we do as instructed and check the length of this dress?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘Before Alice wakes up. She’ll want to see her dress and even if the excitement doesn’t bring her out in a rash it might send her temperature up again.’

  Sarah showed her the pile of boxes in the hall. ‘This must be your dress in the biggest box, and I think that’s the one with your bits and pieces, the veil and such like. We can bring the rest up later.’ They carried the two boxes upstairs and Sarah helped to unpack the gown from its layers of lace. ‘Oh, Faith,’ she sighed. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes…’ It looked, if possible, even more special away from the shop where it had been seen against dozens of other lace encrusted gowns. It was a dress for a bride with her heart full of joy, not this leaden lump that seemed to weigh her down.

  ‘Is there any underwear to go with it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘A lace basque, but I don’t need it now, not just to check the length.’

  But Sarah had found the basque buried in a mound of tissue. ‘Is this it?’ she giggled. ‘It’s very sexy. Oh, do put it on so I can see the dress properly.’

  Faith made no comment. ‘There should be some shoes somewhere. The dress was shortened to go with them.’

  ‘They don’t seem to be here. I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find them,’ Sarah volunteered.

  ‘Thanks.’ It was a relief to be on her own, to face up to the truth in the quiet left by Sarah’s chatter. She should do it properly. There should be nothing half-hearted, unwilling, about it. She had chosen to marry Julian. No one was forcing her.

  A few minutes later, the basque in place, she stepped into the dress but unable to manage more than a couple of the buttons herself she held it up against her, waiting for Sarah to return. When she didn’t reappear Faith went to the bedroom door and called.

  There was no reply and she gave a little shrug. She had most probably been diverted by one the children. Well, she was quite capable of fetching her own shoes and she picked up the hem of her dress and began to walk along the broad band of carpet that softened the hallway.

  At the top of the stairs she hesitated, but the entrance hall was empty, the house silent now that the morning staff of cleaners, supervised by Mrs Williams, had done their work. Turning to lift her train she hurried down to the ground floor. She had just seized an armful of boxes when she heard the slightly uneven tread of shoes on the polished floor and she turned to make a dash for the privacy of her bedroom. Too late.

  ‘You seem to be having problems, Faith.’ His voice was cool, calculated to infuriate. Well too bad. She wasn’t playing any more. ‘Couldn’t you wait to try it on?’ he pressed. She straightened, clutching the dress against her, aware that her hair had tumbled about her face. She felt half-dressed, ridiculous. ‘Would you like me to fasten the rest of the buttons so that you can get the full effect?’

  ‘It isn’t necessary,’ she said, quickly. ‘I was looking for my shoes. I’m..um…just checking the length. I don’t want to trip as I walk down the aisle.’ She took a step, found she had to lift her skirt, fumbled the boxes so that they fell, spilling their load of lace and silk at her feet.

  ‘It wouldn’t do at all,’ Harry agreed, impassively. ‘So why don’t we do it properly?’ He scooped up the boxes and their contents and without any apparent difficulty held them secured beneath his arm while he extended his hand. ‘The drawing room, I think, would be best.’

  His eyes, his voice, were cool, impersonal. Faith hovered between the desire to dash, in the most unladylike fashion, up the stairs to safety, or the opportunity to demonstrate her immunity to Harry March once and for all. The dash was probably wisest, and yet if she ran from him she was admitting to both of them that he was right and she was wrong.

  Pride demanded that she show him, demanded that she show herself.

  ‘Thank you, Harry. That’s very kind of you.’ She laid her fingers upon his and nothing dreadful happened. Her legs didn’t actually turn to jelly. Her heart managed to beat at a fairly consistent rate, although perhaps a little faster than was quite comfortable. Bolder, she continued, ‘Sarah was helping, but she seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘Alice came downstairs looking for a drink. She graciously permitted Sarah to help her.’ He opened the drawing room door and stood back to let her through. ‘Stand here, in the light.’ She obeyed, her feet sinking into the Aubusson carpet as, one by one, Harry began to fasten the loops over the long row of tiny pearl buttons that traced her spine. She was proud of herself. She didn’t quiver, she didn’t shake. It could have been anyone’s knuckles grazing her backbone, anyone’s breath cool and sweet on her neck—

  ‘Faith?’ Sarah’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘In here,’ she called. The door opened behind them.

  ‘You’ve got a visitor— Oh!’ She sounded shocked. ‘I didn’t realise Harry was with you. I’ll ask him to wait, shall I?’ She sounded far more disturbed than she had that morning, when she had discovered them sharing a bed.

  ‘Just one more button and she’ll be decent,’ Harry said.

  ‘A visitor? Who is it?’ Faith turned awkwardly as Harry continued to fiddle with the buttons. There was a man standing the doorway. Slightly above average height, stockily built, with fair hair, a full, soft beard and dark eyes that all too clearly betrayed his shock. For a moment she couldn’t believe her own eyes. ‘Julian?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Harry murmured, his mouth inches from her ear, his hand still possessively on the loop of that last button, holding her captive. He turned from Faith to the man in doorway as if to say something, then stopped and looked quickly back at her. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? This is the first time you two have actually met?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT was Sarah who found her voice first and broke the silence. ‘Out,’ she ordered, briskly. She bustled around Harry with the determination of a border collie faced with the most stubborn sheep in an attempt to move him towards the door. ‘Don’t you know that it’s the height of bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?’

  ‘Is it?’ Harry, ignoring her anxious little gestures, remained where he was. ‘Why?’

  ‘It just is,’ she said, reluctant to elaborate. But Harry was not to be moved until his curiosity was satisfied. ‘It’s stupid,’ she muttered. ‘Just an old superstition.’

  ‘What superstition?’ Julian apparently wanted to know as well and Sarah turned to him almost with relief, as if she found it easier to explain it to him.

  ‘It’s just an old wives’ tale. They say that if the groom sees the bride in her dress before the wedding,’ — she glanced at Harry, then gave a little shrug to show that she for one didn’t place any credence in such nonsense — ‘well, they say wedding won’t ever take place.’

  Only Faith saw the loo
k that flashed across Harry’s face. Only she was meant to. When he turned to Julian his face was suitably grave.

  ‘You’d think modern women would have better things to do than listen to old—’

  ‘Has my dress come? Can I try it on?’ Alice hurtled through the door and skidded to a halt in front of the boxes. Without waiting for an answer she gleefully dived into the piles of tissue paper.

  ‘No, Alice, not now,’ Sarah intervened, quickly, making a move to stop her.

  But Alice wasn’t to be put off that easily and spotting Julian she said, ‘He’d like to see my dress.’

  Harry turned to Julian. ‘Would you?’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Or are the bridesmaids included in the same dire predictions?’

  ‘Bridesmaids?’ Julian turned to Faith, concern rumpling his forehead. ‘How many bridesmaids?’

  ‘Three at last count.’ Harry didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Julian’s obvious dismay and Faith with Harry’s fingers still holding fast to the last button of her dress, remained rooted to the spot with shock, embarrassment. Unable to move, to speak, to do anything.

  ‘I’m not a bridesmaid, Uncle Harry,’ Alice corrected, as hunted through the boxes. ‘I’m a flower girl.’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ Julian began. ‘I didn’t realise you planning anything quite so formal. I thought the Register Office—’

  ‘Faith’s father is a clergyman,’ Harry reminded him. ‘You really can’t expect her to support the opposition.’

  ‘I…I suppose not.’ Julian seemed totally bewildered. It was a look she recognised. She had seen it before in men whose whole existence revolved around their work; men who when they lifted their heads from their desks at the end of the day seemed surprised to discover that life had moved on. How much harder it must be for someone who had lived in total isolation with his work, not from nine to five, but for years?

  She turned her head, looked up into Harry’s eyes. ‘Will you let me go?’ she asked. His fingers tightened on edge of her dress, she could feel his knuckles grazing her backbone. His touch was saying more than words. ‘Please.’ For the time it took for her racing pulse to beat he continued to hold her and it seemed a lifetime. Then he released her, stood back, leaving her free to choose, except she wasn’t free, surely he understood that?

  She tried, with her eyes, to make him see that she wasn’t rejecting him but was met with an impassive stare that told her nothing.

  ‘All done, Faith,’ he said. She would never know whether he was talking about the buttons, or the spark of passion that had flared so unexpectedly between them. Perhaps it was better that way.

  Faith turned and crossed the room to Julian, took his hand. ‘I can hardly believe you’re here. It’s so good to see you,’ she said, her eyes filming with tears so that she had to blink hard. After all it was true. She knew him, knew everything he held most dear. Impossible not to admire him, like him. ‘After all this time.’ Her smile was warm. Her heart would catch up in its own good time.

  He looked at their hands, entwined. ‘I’m afraid I’ve come at a bad moment. Timing was never my good point.’

  ‘It’s a good job you’ve arrived early,’ Harry interrupted, tetchily. ‘Faith could do with some help with the wedding arrangements. Maybe you can persuade her to make up her mind about the buffet. At the rate she’s going you’ll have a hundred and fifty hungry guests—’

  ‘A hundred and fifty?’

  ‘I know a lot of people. And it’s a way of repaying lots of little kindnesses to Dad.’ She indicated her dress with a slightly embarrassed gesture. ‘Look, let me get out of this dress and we can—’

  ‘This isn’t my dress!’ Having burrowed her way through a mound of tissue paper Alice pulled out the long slinky nightdress, black as night and twice as dangerous, that Harry had tempted her with. ‘I don’t like black,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose and turning to appeal to her new found friend. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Well,’ he began, uncertainly.

  ‘Uncle Harry chose it. He likes—’

  ‘No, sweetheart—’ Harry stopped as he realised he was the focus of attention and Faith’s heart sank as she saw the tiniest contraction of the lines fanning out from the navy depths of eyes. ‘I thought the red one was nicer.’ He turned to Julian and shrugged. ‘But like most women she couldn’t make up her mind so she bought them both.’

  ‘Faith’s got a pair of red ’jamas too,’ Alice informed her new friend, confidentially. ‘Uncle Harry liked them so much that he bought me a pair.’ She stood up to display them for Julian, turning around slowly so that he shouldn’t miss the full effect. ‘For my birthday,’ she prompted, when no exclamation of delight was immediately forthcoming.

  Julian momentarily lost for words, gathered himself. ‘Isn’t it rather late to still be wearing pyjamas?’

  ‘I’m in bed because I’m sick. You see this?’ She pointed to her neck, still slightly swollen, with the air of someone imparting a great secret. ‘It’s prob’ly bumps.’

  ‘Bumps?’

  ‘She means mumps,’ Harry obligingly translated and watched with interest as Julian visibly paled and took a quick step back to put a safe distance between himself and this source of possible infection.

  ‘And Faith’s looking after me while my mummy is away.’ She flung herself about Faith’s knees and Sarah swooped.

  ‘Faith doesn’t want your grubby fingers all over her pretty dress, Alice. Back to bed with you.’ Harry did not take the hint and follow them. In fact, Harry didn’t seem in any hurry to depart.

  ‘Can I offer you a bed for the night, Fellowes?’ he enquired, smoothly. ‘It’s a bit chaotic here at the moment I’m afraid, as you can see, but my sister left me in charge of her brood while she’s away.

  ‘There’s more than one?’ Julian enquired.

  ‘I could have coped with Alice, but there’s a baby and Faith has kindly stepped into the breach so I’m doing my best to help her with the wedding arrangements. If you stay you could help write the invitations. We’re rather behind I’m afraid.’

  ‘I think I’d better put up somewhere. In view of—’ He made a vague gesture in the direction of his neck. ‘Being isolated for so long leaves one particularly vulnerable. And, um, mumps—’

  ‘Of course. One can’t be too careful.’ Harry was the very soul of understanding.

  ‘You could put up at Mac’s,’ Faith intervened, quickly. ‘Have you got a car?’

  ‘No, I came on the train as far as Melchester and then caught a bus to the village.’

  ‘It’s quite a walk from the village,’ Harry said, sympathetically. ‘I’ll run you down to Mac’s place. He’ll find you a room.’

  The last thing Faith wanted was Harry going into more details about how helpful he had been with the wedding arrangements, particularly with regard to the trousseau. ‘It’s all right, Harry, it won’t take me a minute to change,’ she began but Harry waved her back.

  ‘After the effort I’ve put into doing up all those buttons you’d be better occupied sorting out that dress. Or I’ll have to do it again,’ he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

  Faith argued, certain now that he was intent of causing mayhem. ‘Should you drive? What about your leg? He had a fall yesterday,’ she explained to Julian.

  ‘I’ll be fine—’ Harry eased his leg ‘— although maybe I’ll take you up on that offer of a massage later.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ Faith replied, graciously, but her eyes promised him that he’d be sorry if he did.

  Julian, apparently oblivious to the undercurrent, hesitated in the doorway. ‘I’ll see you later, Faith. For dinner?’

  ‘About eight?’ She linked her arm through his and walked with him to the front door where he turned and held her hand briefly before, deep in thought, following Harry.

  Faith waited, but he did not turn back and after a moment the shakes finally got the better of her and she subsided into a chair in the drawing room where, a few minutes lat
er, Sarah found her.

  ‘Faith?’ She looked up. ‘I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t realise. I just thought Harry was being romantic, that he couldn’t bear to let you go. I shouldn’t have listened to him.’

  ‘Harry? Romantic?’ she repeated, dully. Then suddenly her attention was caught. ‘What did Harry tell you, Sarah?’ Flushed, awkward, Sarah couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘You’d better tell me.’

  ‘He said—’

  ‘Yes?’ Faith was losing her patience.

  ‘He said you had a foolish bee in your bonnet about having to organise the wedding from London when you could do it just as well from here.’ It all came out in a rush and then Sarah waited, clearly expecting some response but Faith made no effort to help. ‘He tried to catch me at home, stop me coming, but I was at a seminar. I told you. That was why I couldn’t come until late.’ Still nothing. She was getting desperate now. ‘He said if I made some excuse to leave the moment I arrived you’d be suspicious, especially after you came close to guessing that he had got rid of the first nanny you booked—’

  ‘Muriel Kenway?’ Faith’s voice was dangerously low, dangerously calm as she recalled the moment by the river when she knew he was trying to distract her, that flash of certainty that he had bought the woman off, her embarrassment at blurting it out. No wonder she had got off so lightly. She had just been so grateful that he hadn’t started to tease her. That alone should have made her suspicious.

  ‘He sounded so reasonable, Faith. It never occurred to me—I just assumed–’

  She turned on Sarah. ‘What did you assume?’

  ‘Well, that that you were marrying Harry. What else?’

  What else indeed? After all she had been here alone with Harry; Sarah had found her curled up asleep beside him that very morning. No wonder she hadn’t been shocked. After all his niece was going to be her flower girl.

  Alice. Just how far—? ‘And did he make Alice pretend she didn’t like you?’ she asked, dangerously. ‘Or was that just luck?’

  ‘Oh, just luck,’ Sarah said, quickly. ‘At least— Oh, dear, you don’t really think he put her up to it, do you?’