The Unconventional Bride

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Am I looking down the barrel of having my feelings for him crystallise into knowing I’ve fallen in love with him, whereas he is still only locked into a marriage of convenience? she mused painfully.

  Or am I still too sore and disorientated by the accident to be judging anything accurately?

  Three weeks later Mary Lees came to lunch, a working lunch.

  Much more proficient on her crutches, Mel greeted her and led her to a table set on the veranda.

  ‘How lovely,’ Mary enthused. ‘And you’re looking so much better, Mel!’ Mary had visited her in hospital.

  ‘Thanks.’ Mel balanced on one leg and pulled out a chair for her guest. ‘It took me a while to get used to these, though!’ She sank down into her own chair and laid her crutches against the railing.

  ‘How long do you have to be in the cast?’

  Mel grimaced. ‘Another two months. But I’ve decided to put this period to good use. That’s why I need your help, Mary.’

  ‘I’m only too delighted to help.’ Mary paused and hesitated. ‘You mentioned on the phone that you expected to start entertaining for Etienne but honestly, Mel, I could do it while you’re,’ she gestured to the crutches, ‘like this. I’ve done quite a few business lunches and dinners for him.’

  Mel reached for the open bottle of wine. ‘Would you like a glass?’

  ‘Thank you!’

  Mel poured two glasses. ‘The thing is, Mary, I feel a bit guilty because I’m probably doing you out of some business, but I would really like to do this myself only I don’t have much experience. So I need to acquire some of your expertise.’

  ‘If you want my opinion,’ Mrs Bedwell stalked onto the veranda with two bowls of summer soup, pale green and delicately swirled with cream, ‘you’re best off just being yourself, Mel, and leaving the rest up to me!’ She retreated indoors on that note.

  Mel eyed her stiff back over the rim of her glass then turned to Mary to encounter a humorous look.

  ‘I see how the land lies,’ Mary said softly, ‘but she could be right.’

  Mel shrugged. ‘She often is but I’m determined to do this well. You see,’ she confessed, ‘I may have a reputation for rushing in where angels fear to tread but the thought of entertaining a whole lot of people I don’t know gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies.’

  Mary laughed with genuine amusement but she sobered as they tucked into their soup. ‘I don’t know if I can give you that…expertise, for want of a better word, Mel. Some people just seem to have it, others don’t.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Mel smiled ruefully. ‘My stepmother had it in abundance, but there must be some things I can learn.’

  Something alert entered Mary’s brown gaze.

  ‘Take clothes, for example,’ Mel continued. ‘I’ve never given them much thought. And, sadly, the lovely ones you chose for my trousseau mostly got ruined in the accident. Where did you get them? I’ve never seen their likes around here. Well, other than on my stepmother.’

  ‘Brisbane,’ Mary said succinctly.

  ‘And…and,’ Mel finished her soup and pushed her plate away, ‘table decorations. Both Mrs Bedwell and I are quite happy to put a bunch of flowers on the table—that’s the height of our artistic creativity—but Margot went to infinite pains to make her tables exquisite, or humorous, or jungly or oriental—something, so they became a talking point.’

  ‘I never met Etienne’s sister,’ Mary confided, ‘but on the clothes front I have quite a few country clients I shop for in Brisbane.’

  ‘You must spend a lot of time travelling!’

  ‘I do.’ Mary smiled. Then she said thoughtfully, ‘Mel, do you have anything in particular coming up?’

  ‘Yes, in three weeks; Etienne has some Malaysian visitors arriving. His shipping agency handles their bulk coal carriers when they come into Gladstone. Two men and their wives—it’s a part-business, part-holiday trip, I gather. I’d like to give a dinner for them.’

  Mrs Bedwell arrived to deliver grilled Atlantic salmon garnished with dill and accompanied by fried rice. ‘Please join us, Mrs B,’ Mel added.

  For a moment Mrs Bedwell looked stubborn, then she shrugged and drew up a chair. ‘I’ve had mine so I’ll just rest my legs for a bit.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a glass of wine?’

  Mrs Bedwell pursed her lips then went away to get a glass.

  ‘You are a marvellous cook,’ Mary Lees said to her when she returned. ‘This is delicious.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mrs Bedwell looked regal. ‘That’s why I wonder about Mel needing any other assistance to entertain, if you’ll pardon me speaking plainly.’

  Mary sipped her wine as she masked her need to choose her words with care. ‘If I were doing this dinner, here’s how I’d proceed—how many people does your main dining-room table hold comfortably?’

  ‘Twelve,’ Mrs Bedwell supplied promptly.

  ‘Right. So with you and Etienne plus the Malaysian guests, that gives us six—I would look for six more guests. Now, I happen to know that Etienne generally likes to have his second-in-command, who has a delightful wife, in on even quasi-business affairs. That leaves four more people to find.’

  Mel rubbed her chin. ‘Can’t think of one.’

  ‘How about the mayor and his wife?’ Mary suggested. ‘The business side of this visit obviously involves the port of Gladstone, so they would be very appropriate. Or, if they’re unavailable, the harbour master.’

  Mel stared at her with her eyes widening. ‘I see what you mean—mind you, since I tried to ride my horse into the council chamber—’

  ‘Told you not to do that!’ Mrs Bedwell put in severely. ‘But they won’t hold that against you any more.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not now you’re Mrs Etienne Hurst, Mel, rest assured,’ Mrs Bedwell said complacently.

  ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘You never do,’ her housekeeper remarked with slightly exasperated affection, and turned back to Mary Lees. ‘That leaves us two short.’

  ‘Well,’ Mary dabbed her lips, ‘for the last two I’d look for people with something in common with the visitors.’

  Mrs Bedwell screwed up her face. ‘Don’t know any shipping magnates or people of Malay origin, do you, Mel?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Mel said slowly. ‘Mary, you’re a genius! The president of the RSPCA has a Malaysian wife and they’re both lovely people!’

  ‘There you go!’ Mary smiled warmly at her.

  But Mel subsided abruptly. ‘That doesn’t mean to say once I’ve got them all together round a dining table that I’ll be able to,’ she gestured, ‘conjure up a successful dinner party.’

  ‘Several points,’ Mary said. ‘You have Etienne so you won’t be flying solo and he’s very good at it. Second, don’t be afraid of the mundane—most people love talking about their kids or their grandkids, where they’re going on holiday, where they buy their meat, what football team they follow, who’s going to win the Melbourne Cup—and once you establish a rapport on a common level, things seem to open up of their own accord.’

  ‘True,’ Mrs Bedwell agreed, and looked at Mary with new respect. ‘Of course, it also helps to remember they’re guests, and they might not enjoy the subjects of land-mines, abattoirs, injustices to asylum-seekers, child labour and so on over their meal.’

  Mel grinned fleetingly. ‘Point taken, Mrs B, but I can’t always help myself.’

  ‘So long as you don’t actually lecture people,’ Mary put in with a grin. ‘The thing is, once you’ve established with your guests that you’re really interested in them you can talk about what you like.’

  ‘OK. Well, I feel a lot better about it now. But about table decorations?’ She raised her eyebrows at Mary.

  ‘I…’ Mary paused. ‘No slight intended towards your stepmother, Mel, but I think candles and flowers are enough for a dinner table, especially if you have nice china, linen, silver and crystal. I don’t like o
vercrowded tables, and men, particularly, find them a hazard.’

  ‘We have more china and stuff than you could poke a stick at,’ Mrs Bedwell said rather drily and with a glance at Mel. ‘We have a brand-new Wedgwood service not even out of its packing. And Mel’s rather good at making unusual arrangements out of leaves and flowering natives like callistemon and lillypilly—she really does them nicely.’

  ‘There you go. Uh—seating plans. Some numbers like eight and twelve don’t work out with the host and hostess at either end opposite each other, they won’t go man, woman, man, woman, in other words, so you need to have either two men or two women at the head and the foot—’

  ‘That’s why Mrs Ethridge ordered a new round table,’ Mrs Bedwell remarked.

  ‘Good,’ Mary approved, ‘solves that problem. Otherwise, separate husbands and wives, don’t try to establish any pecking order for this kind of dinner, and if, during the preliminaries, you see someone who is particularly shy, give them to yourself or Etienne.’

  ‘Right.’ Mel pondered briefly. ‘Should I send out formal invitations?’

  ‘I would,’ Mary said, ‘but I’d also check the guest list with Etienne beforehand.’

  Mel nodded. ‘That leaves clothes.’ She looked down at the cast on her leg. ‘There’s no way I can hide this but a long skirt might make it less obvious.’

  ‘There’s a young designer in Brisbane I’ve recently stumbled on,’ Mary said slowly. ‘Her ideas are fresh and chic. I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be a thought to get her to design a wardrobe for you? That way you’d have some input but not the hassle of shopping. After all, your choice of wedding dress was stunning.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t think it’s necessary to get a whole wardrobe and—’

  ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ Mrs Bedwell interrupted.

  ‘But I don’t really want to go to Brisbane—’

  ‘She would be more than happy to come up here for a day.’ Mary interrupted Mel this time.

  ‘Just for me? I doubt it,’ Mel objected.

  ‘She may not have for Mel Ethridge, but Mrs Etienne Hurst is another matter,’ Mrs Bedwell said shrewdly.

  ‘Precisely,’ Mary concurred.

  I might believe this confidence everyone has in the powers of Mrs Etienne Hurst if I really was the lady, Mel thought a shade grimly, then shrugged.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. It would solve the clothes problem. Is she terribly expensive, though?’

  ‘I feel she’s quite reasonable. And really,’ Mary looked at Mrs Bedwell, her new ally, ‘good clothes are an investment and a saving.’

  Mrs Bedwell nodded sagely, causing Mel to smile inwardly because Mrs Bedwell’s approach to dressing was an arbitrary affair at best, and at worst she looked like a tall, colourful rag bag.

  ‘Well,’ Mary looked from Mel to Mrs Bedwell, ‘that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

  ‘A piece of cake!’ Mrs Bedwell rose. ‘Talking of that, I’ll get dessert and coffee.’

  That evening Mel described her day to Etienne after dinner.

  They were in the den, the boys were quiet, supposedly doing their homework, and a light drizzle was falling.

  ‘Difficult day?’ she asked, when he stretched and lay back in his chair with a sigh. He’d changed into a pair of combat trousers and a striped T-shirt.

  ‘On the shipping front, slightly tricky, that’s all. One of the coal loaders needed maintenance, which meant rescheduling the two bulk carriers we had waiting to come in, as well as establishing their load barriers and balances.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well, basically, you have to load a ship as evenly as possible. In untechnical terms hulls have stress areas, so, in the case of one of them, we could have brought them in and loaded one hold to capacity with the loader that was working, but consultation with the Taiwanese captain, who didn’t speak much English, revealed his ship’s stress level wouldn’t allow it. That meant a delay and delays cost money.’

  ‘I get you! That’s interesting.’

  ‘You should come down to the agency office one day, Mel. Justin’s already paid us a few visits.’

  ‘And just think how impressive it would be if I could discuss hull stress levels with your Malaysian visitors,’ she said with a grin.

  He sat up. ‘About them, Mel, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Think no more, Etienne, it’s all taken care of!’

  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  So she told him about her lunch with Mary Lees and the consequences thereof. ‘Here’s the proposed guest list, which I was told I should clear with you first.’

  He got up, took a piece of paper from her and ran his eye down the list. ‘The mayor!’ He looked at her with palpable amusement. ‘That’s brave of you, Mel.’

  ‘I’m reliably informed, Etienne, that as your wife I can—get away with blue murder!’ She paused and grimaced. ‘I’m just a little worried that the other thing I’ve done today falls into that category,’ she confessed, and told him about the dress designer due to descend on her shortly.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It seems…rather extravagant. I mean, it’s all very well for you to spend your money on me to shore up your pride or whatever but…but both Mary and Mrs Bedwell badgered me into it, if you really want to know.’

  He looked down at her. ‘I’m with Mary and Mrs Bedwell. However, I don’t think this dinner party is such a good idea.’

  All set to make some pithy retort, Mel stopped with her mouth open. She closed it and said instead, ‘Why not?’

  ‘You have a broken leg,’ he pointed out. ‘The more rest you give it, the more chance it has of healing cleanly and well.’

  ‘I can do just about all of it sitting down. It’s not as if I’m doing the cooking or the shopping.’

  He pulled up a stool and sat down in front of her. ‘You promised me you would take things easy, Mel.’

  She swallowed and it flashed through her mind to tell him that was before she’d divined he was having second thoughts about marrying her. Of course, the irrationality of it occurred to her simultaneously so she said nothing. ‘Mel?’

  ‘Etienne, I want to do it,’ she said after a long pause. ‘For a few reasons, I guess. Sitting still doesn’t come easily to me so at least this is something I can plan and work towards without too much physical effort.’ She hesitated.

  ‘And?’

  She glanced across at him then tapped her cast. ‘I feel I’d like to repay you in some way for all the things you’ve done for me. I guess I thought being a useful wife, if nothing else, would be a way to do that.’

  His dark gaze roamed over her bright hair and her troubled eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ she continued in a way that she could only think of later as being her own devil’s advocate, ‘it’s impossible to be much of a wife with a broken leg, I do see that, and I thank you for your consideration in the matter, but—’ She stopped as he smiled faintly.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean!’ She looked at him with a flash of exasperation.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Then why don’t you contribute something useful to this conversation rather than letting me plough on and make a fool of myself?’ This time the exasperation was touched with annoyance.

  ‘You’re not making a fool of yourself, Mel. You’re very sweet.’ He paused and his eyes narrowed. ‘All right,’ he said as if coming to a sudden decision, ‘you may hold this dinner party. On one condition. If I think you’re doing too much I reserve the right to pull the plug.’

  Their gazes clashed. Say something more, she begged him in her mind. Or, at least put your arms around me—OK, perhaps it’s not possible to make love to someone with a broken leg but…

  She closed her eyes briefly then looked away. ‘Thank you. I’ll try and make it a memorable evening.’

  ‘Hi, guys!’ Justin wandered into the room. ‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’

  ‘Not at all.�
� Etienne got up and returned to his chair.

  ‘Not much of a night.’ Justin wandered over to the French doors. ‘I was going up to play tennis with Freddie Calder but it’s been called off.’

  ‘They have lights on their court?’ Etienne asked.

  ‘They have everything that opens and shuts. All my life I’ve been living in Freddie Calder’s shadow.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Tosh wandered in with Batman under his arm.

  ‘It means Justin is feeling sorry for himself about all the things Freddie has that he doesn’t.’ Ewan came in and over to Mel. ‘What do you think of this?’

  She took the chalk drawing he held out to her, and started to laugh. ‘Ewan! That’s not fair!’

  ‘Why?’

  It was a remarkably accurate interpretation of Batman dressed up as the devil.

  ‘He’s improving. I think.’ She glanced over to where Tosh was playing on the carpet with the dog.

  ‘He’s getting worse if you ask me! He did something unmentionable this morning.’ Ewan looked disgusted.

  Tosh, alerted to the trend of the conversation, sat up as Justin took the etching and started to laugh. ‘Let me see!’

  ‘Sure!’ Justin handed over the piece of paper. ‘Why don’t you stick it up over your bed?’

  But Tosh tore the paper up, and, scooping up his dog, retreated in a high dudgeon.

  ‘What do they say about great artists not being recognised in their own homes?’ Justin remarked and cuffed Ewan jovially.

  ‘Cut it out!’ Ewan objected.

  ‘Do I detect a note of boredom in the air?’ Etienne drawled.

  ‘You do, mate,’ Justin replied. ‘Any suggestions?’

  ‘Yep.’ Etienne stood up. ‘It’s occurred to me you boys are under-worked and over-paid—’ Ewan and Justin groaned in unison but Etienne ignored them ‘—so I thought you might like to help me mark out the golf putting green I had in mind.’

  ‘In the rain?’ Mel put in.

  ‘That’s not rain.’ Etienne smiled at her. ‘Let’s go, fellas. Get Tosh too.’

  Mel took herself to bed and tried to read before they came back in. But she couldn’t concentrate on her book because of the circles of her mind.