Guarded Passions

by Rosie Harris

  She asked Ruth, only to be met with a negative shake of the head. ‘Perhaps it’s Sheila’s mother,’ Ruth whispered.

  Helen put the matter out of her mind as the music changed, heralding the arrival of the bride. The soft murmur of voices died away, as the waiting congregation turned to watch Lucy make her entrance.

  She looked breathtakingly lovely, her white silk gown billowing ethereally about her, as she walked down the aisle on Mark’s arm. The lace veil that covered her golden hair was held in place with a circlet of white rosebuds, which matched the posy she was carrying.

  Russell Campbell and his best man, both resplendent in their full dress uniform of red and blue, lavishly trimmed with gold braid, were waiting at the foot of the altar steps.

  Sally and Anna walked sedately behind Lucy. Sally in a long dress of pale, dusky pink which set off her dark hair; Anna in Wedgwood-blue which made her shoulder-length fair hair appear almost silver. On their heads they wore tiny circlets of white rosebuds and carried matching posies.

  The entire ceremony went as smoothly as any television spectacular. The only discordant sound was the faint whirring of cine-cameras being operated from high up in the gallery.

  As they emerged from signing the register, Lucy, with her veil now thrown back, looked radiant. She clung to Russell’s arm, gazing up at him adoringly, her pink lips slightly parted, her forget-me-not blue eyes sparkling with happiness.

  Outside, in the paved courtyard, was the official photographer and hoards of amateurs, eager to capture the colourful scene for themselves.

  Passers-by in the road outside stopped to gaze through the railings, delighted at the colourful spectacle, as Russell and Lucy posed, again and again, for the clicking cameras.

  Helen had never seen Lucy so vivacious. She prayed that the marriage would work out, but she felt apprehensive about the different life style Lucy would be adopting. She had only met Russell’s parents briefly, but she suspected they thought their only son was marrying beneath him.

  Colonel Campbell was an ex-Guardsman, every inch a military man, with his bristling moustache and ramrod back. Only recently retired, he now lived in the country where, in season, he hunted twice a week and, for the rest of the year, amused himself playing golf or attending race-meetings.

  His wife, with her fashionable blue rinse and elegant designer clothes, came from a titled family. She was involved with numerous charitable committees and had seemed astounded when Helen had confessed that she had little time for such activities, because she was too busy helping Mark with the day-to-day running of the farm.

  The reception was as lavish as the ceremony. Champagne flowed freely, punctuating the speeches and toasts. Helen drank sparingly, resenting the fact that Russell’s family were paying, when she should have been.

  Colonel Campbell had been insistent. ‘Can’t take it with us, so we may as well spend some of it now! Russell’s our only child, dammit – only right that we give him a good send off. He’ll get the lot once we die, so think of it as an advance!’ He had boomed with laughter at his own macabre joke.

  Standing there, sipping her glass of champagne, and looking around the noisy, crowded room, heavy with the smell of expensive perfume and cigar smoke, Helen sensed there were two camps. The small group that comprised Lucy’s relations and friends, were from a different world to Russell’s family and friends, who were all so self-assured, so egotistical. They all seemed to be rich and successful; people who either knew where they were going in life or who had already arrived.

  With Lucy gone she would now be very much on her own, she thought. She recalled with a feeling of apprehension Lucy’s teasing comment to Mark as they were about to leave the farm for London. ‘Next time you walk down the aisle it had better be as a bridegroom,’ she had joked.

  He had grinned and shaken his dark head emphatically. ‘No chance of that. As soon as we get rid of you I’m through with the farm. I can’t stand Sturbury any longer.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she’d asked in surprise. ‘Join the Army?’

  ‘I wish I could.’ His blue eyes had clouded. ‘I’ve left it too late though; I’m too old now. No, I’ll probably emigrate to South Africa, or Australia, or just become a hobo!’

  They’d both laughed, but Helen had heard the desperation in his voice and knew that he meant it. She blamed Gary for Mark’s discontent. His constant talk about Army life had made Mark envious and restless.

  She felt saddened and bitter that her entire family had this obsession with the Army, although, she supposed, it was only natural since, with the exception of Lucy, they’d been brought up in married quarters. Even Sally and Anna were planning to be Army wives.

  She’d overheard them talking together when they had been standing outside the Guards’ Chapel, posing for the photographers. Sally had said wistfully, ‘Only another seven years and I’ll be able to get married.’

  Anna had looked at her in surprise. ‘Who will you marry?’ she’d asked in a puzzled voice.

  ‘A soldier of course,’ Sally replied scornfully. ‘It’s a family tradition, isn’t it?’

  Young as they were, they had realised that, Helen thought resignedly, and the prospect dismayed her. People began to drift away after Lucy and Russell left for their honeymoon in Paris. Helen went across the room to where Ruth was sitting talking to someone. As she reached them she was surprised to see it was the elderly woman in the flowered hat she’d noticed earlier in the chapel.

  ‘Mum, this is Mrs Collins … Gary’s grandmother.’

  Hesitantly, Helen took the small, gnarled hand. She felt she’d suffered enough humiliation for one day. Her pride had already been bruised by Russell’s family. Now, face to face with the woman who might well know the truth about Adam’s unfaithfulness, it could be dented further.

  ‘Been a wonderful day, ’asn’t it?’ the old woman said, in a strong Cockney voice. ‘Can’t think when I’ve been to a more lovely wedding. All we wants now is a good old knees-up to finish it off!’ She gave a ribald cackle, that had heads turning in their direction.

  ‘Better not let my Gary hear me say things like that or he’ll be ashamed of me!’ She looked proudly across to the other side of the room, where Gary was talking to Hugh and Mark. ‘He don’t half fit in well with your lot! Always talking about you all!’ The bird-bright eyes in the plump, round face studied Helen closely.

  For a wild moment Helen wanted to ask her about Gary’s father. This woman must have the key to the truth, something she yearned to know so desperately.

  ‘We used to see quite a lot of Gary before he went out to Hong Kong,’ Helen murmured uncomfortably. ‘Since then …’ her voice trailed away, as Gary walked across to join them, his blue eyes fixed on her challengingly.

  ‘Reckon you’ve bin like a family to ’im,’ the old woman went on garrulously, smiling up at Gary as he towered over her, his arm affectionately around her shoulders.

  ‘Well … I don’t know about that …’

  ‘Poor little devil, never ’ad a real family of ’is own,’ Mrs Collins sniffed. ‘Not with ’is ma dying like she did when ’e were born and me having to bring him up more or less on me own. Mischievous little bugger ’e could be an all, I can tell you. Never had a man around, no dad to keep him in order; that was part of the trouble.’ She sniffed loudly, then rummaged in her large, black handbag for a tissue to dry her eyes.

  ‘Still,’ she added, smiling up at him, her voice filled with pride, ‘’e’s not turned out too bad, ’as ’e … not for a one-night stand.’

 

 

 
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