I had a sudden vision of Nick’s enchanting grin, and for a moment, I felt faint. I allowed myself to visualise him waiting for me with the Registrar, and felt the overwhelming happiness I would know if he was the person about to exchange the marriage vows with me.
Jo glanced at my face.
“Eithne? Are you all right?”
I swallowed hard, the vision faded. For Peter’s sake, I suppressed a tear, and grasped my little posy of orchids and roses more firmly in my hands.
“Yes - just a few nerves,” I murmured.
It was time to go in. I stood up, adjusting my outfit. An ornate white dress had seemed inappropriate to me, and I was wearing a pale cream silk suit with a belted jacket and a pencil skirt, a cream coloured rose nestled in one side of my hair.
Nicholas took Jo’s hand, and my father and I followed them into the brightly lit room.
Peter turned to smile at me. He looked serious and smart in a new dark suit, brightened by the rose at his lapel, and within a few minutes, I became Mrs Leigh.
It was a small wedding, family and a few close friends, and there was a wedding breakfast at the Golf Club to follow - my parents had finally got something they wanted.
Peter and I were taking a long weekend in the Lake District by way of honeymoon. I did not wish to be parted from Nicholas for long, and he was going to stay at the DeLisles’ with Rosine, her children and their nanny, with my mother threatening to check up on him at frequent intervals. A tentative suggestion of a trip to Paris by Peter had been quickly rejected, although I could not fully explain my resistance to the idea.
Once at the hotel, we unpacked, and changed out of our wedding clothes. Before we went down for dinner, we became man and wife in the accepted sense, and I wondered if I should let Sofia know that I was not in the least appalled by being in bed with my husband. Both Nick and Ian had been libidinous lovers, greedy with my body, but Peter’s gentle, considerate caresses felt exactly right to me, and I could see that we would be happy in the physical side of our marriage. Otherwise, honeymoons are only of interest to the main participants, and ours was no exception.
Life settled down very quickly at the Old Rectory. My parents came to stay early on, and my father, who was an accomplished handyman, set about with paint brushes and wallpaper, so the major rooms were decorated to our own taste. The previous occupants had been very fond of bright floral walls, but we preferred a more muted colour scheme, in keeping with the age of the house, which soon began to feel like home.
Despite my conviction that I was doing the right thing, I had been apprehensive about living with Peter, after having experienced such a passionate existence with Nick. However, Peter’s calm character and sensitivity meant that he was an easy and supportive partner, and before long, we were relaxed and appreciative of one another. It was a very different relationship to the one I had enjoyed with Nick, but I hoped it would grow into one equally special.
I never stopped mourning Nick, and thought of him continually, but the memories gradually became less painful as the months passed. What was really wonderful for me was to be able to devote myself to Nicholas, and become a full time mum at last.
Nicholas and I travelled in to visit Peter’s company one day before Christmas, because I was anxious to see the office for myself, and the staff were keen to meet us. It was a minor ordeal, as I felt I was being critically inspected by the ladies in the main department, but they were delighted with Nicholas, and made a big fuss of him.
“We none of us cared much for Silvia,” confided Joan, Peter’s secretary, a lady of mature years who had also worked for his father. Joan was comfortably padded in fluffy mohair, and reminded me of a mother hen - I almost expected her to start clucking.
“She was a very flighty piece. We were ever so sorry to hear about your tragedy, but we’re all pleased that Peter has married again. I can see that you’re well suited, and he’ll be a great dad for little Nicholas.”
“I hope I passed muster,” I murmured to Peter, as we drank our coffee in his office. He sent me a brief, amused grin. It was interesting to see him at work, confident and authoritative, and I was impressed that his employees took a personal interest in his welfare. Although it was a very different working environment to the one I had been used to, it seemed to be happy and productive. It was clear that the office staff thought I had done very well for myself in marrying the boss, and I felt increasingly conscious of my good fortune in having Peter for my husband.
I knew that Peter wanted children of his own, and I felt a baby would quickly cement our relationship. In the early part of the following year, I became pregnant again, and in October, our daughter was born, a little blonde, curly headed baby for two year old Nicholas to tyrannise. Two years later, we had another little girl, as fair as her sister, and there were three children to tumble about on the lawns of the Old Rectory.
Sometimes, when I am with the children, I feel Peter’s eyes upon us, and I know that he has everything he ever wanted. I am content, too, I could not ask for a better husband, nor my children a more adoring father.
“Do you ever think about Nick?” Jo asked me, some years later. She was visiting with her family, and we watched from deck chairs as our children ran and shouted in the sunlit garden.
“Yes, always, every day,” I said.
“Even after all this time?”
“Time has nothing to do with it. Much as I cherish Peter and the children, Nick was the love of my life. When I was young and silly, I wished for a great, all-consuming love - well, I had one, but I didn’t get to keep it. Even though he’s no longer here, Nick is the person I will always adore more than anyone, I can’t change that. I didn’t get to spend my life with him, perhaps I’ll get to be with him in eternity. I’m not very religious, so I don’t know if that’s possible.”
I glanced at the disengagement ring as I spoke. I wore it on my right hand now, because I still felt an unbreakable connection with my absent Nick.
There was a long silence between us. I could sense her disapproval, but I had simply spoken the truth.
Eventually Jo said, frowning,
“It was hardly a good thing, this great love seems to have brought you more pain than happiness. Most people do very well with a more everyday kind of emotion. You surely wouldn’t wish a similar fate for your children?”
I looked across the lawn at my two little daughters and their dark haired half-brother, the cuckoo in the nest, already possessed of the same outrageous charm as his father, and wondered what life held for them.
“I know what I do wish - the freedom to love, to make their own mistakes, to go forward whatever life throws at them,” I replied slowly. “There aren’t any lessons to be learned from my love for Nick, Jo - it’s just a fact, something which happened to me at the very beginning of my adult life, from which I could never free myself.”
I knew she would not understand, I hardly understood it either.
“Perhaps it’s as well Nick died. Imagine how you would have felt if he’d left you again in the way he’d done before.” Jo said.
“That’s a cruel thing to suggest.” I was upset and irked by her words.
“Maybe - but I hope you aren’t seduced by some fantasy about Nick into not giving Peter the credit he’s due for being here for you and Nicholas and the girls.”
“Peter and I are very happy, I don’t think you need to worry on his behalf.”
I felt as though my early life rushed past me like a movie on fast forward. I saw Nick send me his dazzling smile across the table at St Peter’s, the icy lake without ducks, the double bed where a shy schoolgirl surrendered her virginity, smoke filled parties at Oxford, the calm of evening on the balcony at Wapping, the flower filled church and the birth of a fatherless little boy.
“We didn’t have very long. Peter and I have been married for more years than Nick and I spent together,” I said, after a pause. “But I’ll always remember every moment. I’m so grateful that I had Nick, de
spite all the pain.”
The children came panting to our chairs, demanding drinks, and the present intervened once more.
I thought about Jo’s words later that day. I remembered what I had felt after our first break up, when Sandy had told me I would soon forget Nick, how I had known I could never do so, he was part of the person I had become. That was still true, more so than ever. Nick had a short life, but he survived in me, his friends and family, above all in Nicholas, the son he never knew. None of us wanted to forget him, none of us ever could.
That evening, I went upstairs to check on the children, fast asleep in their beds after their active, sunshine filled day. I paused to straighten Nicholas’ duvet, and Peter came quietly in, and put his arm round me.
“Sometimes I feel disappointed that Nicholas looks so little like Nick - that he didn’t inherit that wonderful smile,” I said, regret stealing over my heart as I spoke. Peter kissed me gently on the cheek.
“I’m afraid that was a one-off - something special, that lived and died with Nick,” he said quietly.
He was wrong. We would both see that smile again in years to come. But that is in another time, and another story.
From The Moment I Saw Him .... Page 25