by Jessica Hart
In the end, Lucy let her buy it, but only on condition that she took a gossamer stole in the same pale green colour and threaded with seed pearls to drape round her shoulders as well.
‘There!’ she said, standing back to survey Freya critically. ‘You look more like a bride now. I’ve got a lovely string of pearls that you can borrow to wear with it. You’re going to look fantastic.’
Freya wasn’t sure about fantastic, but she was prepared to admit that she looked different from her usual scruffy self as she stood in front of her mirror on the twenty-seventh of June and smoothed the dress nervously over her hips. She wished she didn’t feel so jittery. Anyone would think that she really was getting married today, instead of taking part in a harmless charade.
The others would be here soon. Freya looked at her watch. She just had time to give Max the cheque.
The campaign in the Examiner had touched a chord, largely thanks to Dan’s sympathetic article, and donations had been flooding in ever since it had appeared. Kate was delighted with the response. She had shown Max the article, but hadn’t told him how successful the appeal for funds had been.
‘I think you should give him the cheque,’ she’d told Freya. ‘You’re the one who organised it all.’
Picking up the cheque, Freya studied it. She might as well give it to him now, to remind him of just why he was going through this farce today. He’d gone out earlier, but she had heard him come in again a few minutes ago. Just knowing that he was near was enough to tighten the breath in her throat.
They had been avoiding each other as much as possible over the last couple of weeks. Freya was sure that she wasn’t imagining the fact that when they did meet, their conversations were stilted and the silences even worse. It wasn’t getting any easier, either. How could she talk to Max when all she wanted to say was I love you, I love you, I love you?
They were flying out to Mbanazere early the next morning. The tickets had arrived in the post, and the travel agent had assured them that the best room in the hotel they wanted had been booked for them. ‘It’s not exactly a honeymoon suite,’ she had said cautiously, ‘but it’s got a double bed and terrace that leads straight onto the beach.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ said Freya wondering what on earth they were going to do about the double bed.
She would just have to worry about that later. She had today to get through first. She could hear Max in the kitchen, and, smoothing the cheque between her fingers, she took a deep breath and went along the corridor to find him.
‘Max?’
Max turned from the sink and the air leaked out of Freya’s lungs as they looked at each other and the silence seemed to gather and tighten between them.
‘You’re ready,’ he said at last in a strangely uncertain voice.
‘Not yet,’ said Freya on a gasp. ‘Lucy’s coming to do my hair and make-up.’
‘Oh.’ He looked away, then back at her almost unwillingly. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Honestly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ridiculous.’
‘You don’t look ridiculous,’ said Max slowly. ‘You look…just the way you should look. Lucy doesn’t need to do anything.’
‘Try telling her that!’ Freya managed a smile. ‘But thank you.’ She moistened her lips. ‘You look nice, too,’ she said.
It was true. He was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a pale grey tie, as conventional as ever, but all she had to do was look at him to feel her bones dissolve and her guts churn with lust.
‘To tell you the truth, I feel a bit ridiculous, too,’ he confessed, glancing down at himself. ‘I’m not used to getting dressed up like this.’
‘We should treat it as a practice run,’ said Freya. ‘You never know, we might get married some day…not to each other, obviously,’ she hurried on, hearing her words echo in the sudden silence. ‘I mean, we might get married to someone else, well, two other people, I suppose…’ Her cheeks burned as she stumbled to a close. Why was it she couldn’t even string two words together any more?
An odd expression flickered across Max’s face. ‘Right,’ he said.
An uncomfortable silence fell, then inevitably they both started to speak at once. They laughed awkwardly.
‘You first,’ said Freya.
‘No, you,’ he insisted.
‘All right.’ She took a breath. ‘I just wanted to give you something,’ she said, all the fine speeches she had rehearsed coming to nothing as she practically thrust the cheque into his hands. ‘It’s not really for you. It’s for Roads for Africa.’
Max looked down at the cheque, and his eyes widened when he saw the figure. ‘Freya…. Where did all this money come from?’
‘The Examiner ran an appeal for Roads for Africa, and that cheque is what we’ve received so far from readers’ donations.’
‘Kate said you’d arranged for an article about our work, but I had no idea it was anything like this.’ He looked again at the figure in disbelief. ‘I didn’t realise…thank you,’ he said inadequately.
Freya hugged her arms together self-consciously. ‘Don’t thank me,’ she muttered. ‘Thank Dan. He’s the one who wrote the article.’
Max’s expression tightened slightly at the mention of Dan. ‘Kate said it was your idea.’
‘All I did was suggest it.’ Her eyes slid away from his. ‘I thought it was the least I could do when you’re making it possible for me to go to Mbanazere. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.’
‘Does it mean so much to you?’ he asked.
She looked back at him, her gaze resting on his cool, quiet face, his cool, quiet mouth, and she ached with wanting him. Any chance to be with him meant more than she could say.
‘Yes,’ she said simply, and their eyes met as the silence tightened inexorably around them once more.
‘I’ve got something for you, too.’ As if with an effort, Max turned back to the sink and lifted out an exquisite bouquet of sweet peas and gypsophila, a mass of pastel chiffon frills and pearls. ‘These are for you,’ he said.
‘Oh, Max…’ Freya buried her face in the flowers to hide the tears stinging her eyes, and breathed in the heady sweetness of their scent.
‘I thought my bride should have a bouquet,’ he said gruffly. ‘Just for practice, of course.’
Freya’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she lifted them from the flowers. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said.
The air between them shortened and, obeying an impulse she couldn’t have resisted if she had tried, Freya stepped forwards, bouquet in one hand. She laid the other against Max’s shoulder so that she could press her cheek against his.
‘Thank you,’ she said in a voice that cracked. ‘Thank you for everything.’
His arm came round her, pulling her against him, and she had to close her eyes against the agonising twist of desire. He was so near. She could feel the solid strength of his body, smell his skin, and every sense screamed at her to lean into him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, kissing her cheek, his lips tantalisingly warm, and something indefinable shifted between them. It was something in the way he held her, in the way she turned her face to his, an invisible, irresistible force that pulled her head around just as his was turning into hers.
They were going to kiss. The days, the weeks, the years of wanting to kiss Max again would be over. Freya’s heart had stopped in mid-beat, every sense yearning for the moment when their lips would meet.
But then the buzzer went, a raucous, jarring sound that jerked them apart.
‘That must be Lucy and Steve,’ said Max, not quite evenly. ‘I’d better go and let them in.’
Freya let out a breath of bitter disappointment. ‘Yes,’ she agreed dully.
Lucy swept in, as vibrant with energy as ever. She was wearing a ludicrously large hat decorated with a vast bow and an array of feathers. ‘How are the bride and groom this morning?’ she demanded cheerfully, and then stopped, lo
oking from one to the other with sharp eyes. ‘Is something wrong?’
Freya pulled herself together with an effort. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Oh, good, you remembered to get some flowers,’ said Lucy, spotting the bouquet. ‘They’re perfect!’
‘Max bought them.’ Her tongue felt unwieldy in her mouth, as if his name was stuck there.
Lucy glanced at her brother, a slight smile around her mouth. ‘Did he now?’
‘We haven’t got that long, so you two had better go and do whatever it is you’ve come to do,’ said Max brusquely.
By the time Lucy was satisfied, Pel and Marco had arrived.
‘Da-da-dada, da-da-dada!’ Carnation between his teeth, Pel hummed the ‘Bridal March’ as Freya appeared in the doorway. Lucy had pulled her hair into a French plait, and made up her eyes so that they looked huge and green. The chiffon stole was caught over her arms and her bare skin shimmered with the golden dusting powder that Lucy had insisted on dusting over her.
‘Freya, darling, you look stunning!’ said Pel admiringly.
He and Marco were wearing matching brocade waistcoats in honour of the occasion, and he took the carnation out of his mouth so that he could kiss her.
‘Max has just promised that I can be best man,’ he told her, ‘so it’s lucky we remembered to bring him a buttonhole. And Marco’s an usher, if anyone asks, although we’re a bit short of people for him to ush at the moment.’
Freya hardly heard him. Her eyes had gone past him to Max, who was indeed wearing a carnation in his buttonhole. He was staring at her with an expression that set her heart slamming against her ribs.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Lucy asked him smugly. ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’
‘Yes,’ he said abruptly.
He sounded so curt that there was an uneasy pause. Puzzled, Pel looked from Max to Freya, and then caught Lucy’s eye and became suddenly brisk.
‘Right, well, since I’m best man, my job is to get you all to the church on time. We may as well go.’
‘Kate isn’t here yet,’ Marco objected.
Kate. Freya had forgotten Kate. She turned away to pick up her flowers, hiding her face in the sweet-scented blooms so that no one would see the desolation in her eyes.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ said Max. ‘She’s meeting us there.’ He sounded preoccupied.
‘So it’s just the six of us? What about the ring?’ Pel went on bossily. ‘Did you manage to get hold of one, Max?’
‘Yes.’ Reaching into his inside pocket, he pulled out a wedding band made of white and yellow gold.
‘Oooh, that’s nice,’ said Lucy, inspecting it. ‘I thought you were just going to get a cheapie?’
There was a tiny pause. ‘That’s all it is,’ said Max, avoiding his sister’s eye.
‘I think you should put it on now,’ Pel said to Freya. ‘We might forget later, and we don’t want that nosy reporter asking why you’re not wearing one.’
Freya glanced at Max, who shrugged, his face expressionless. ‘You might as well,’ he said. ‘Give me your hand.’
Breathing very carefully, Freya held out her left hand, and he slid the ring impersonally onto her third finger.
‘I now pronounce you both still single,’ said Pel sonorously.
Lucy, Steve and Marco laughed, but Max’s face didn’t change. He gave Freya her hand back as if was an unwanted parcel. It was throbbing as if he had burnt her, and the ring gleamed mockingly on her finger. Freya wanted to cry.
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Pel. ‘We’d better take two cars.’
King’s Road was crowded in the sunshine, and it took ages to find somewhere to park. By the time they trooped along to Chelsea Town Hall, Kate was waiting for them. Freya had dreaded seeing her, but to her surprise Kate wasn’t alone. A tall, handsome man stood by her side, and Kate herself looked radiant.
‘This is my fiancé, John Ndulu,’ she said, greeting Freya with a kiss on both cheeks. ‘He just got in from Tanzania last night so I thought it would be easier if we came straight here,’ she explained.
Freya stared at Kate, then at John. Had she said fiancé? ‘But I thought…’ She stopped.
‘Didn’t Max tell you?’
‘No,’ said Freya in a strange voice. ‘I didn’t know you were engaged.’
‘Yes, I met John when I was working in Dar-es-salaam,’ said Kate happily. ‘We’re getting married next month, so you and Max had better be back from Mbanazere by then!’
Freya couldn’t take it in. Kate wasn’t Max’s girlfriend at all! A great bubble of tension inside her broke in a surge of relief that coursed along her veins. They weren’t a couple. They were just friends. Max was free.
Beaming, she shook John’s hand. ‘Congratulations!’
‘I’m the one who should be congratulating you,’ he said with a dazzling smile. ‘Max is a fine man.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she agreed, and then stopped as she realised what John had said. ‘But—’
‘Didn’t Kate tell you that this isn’t a real wedding?’ Max, appearing beside her, gripped John’s hand in welcome. ‘I’m just here for the free ticket to Mbanazere.’
‘Of course I told him.’ Kate fixed her fiancé with a stare. ‘I explained exactly what was happening, didn’t I, John?’
‘Oh…er, yes…sorry, I forgot,’ he apologised awkwardly.
He wasn’t the only one who had forgotten exactly what was happening. Brought up short, Freya felt her smile stiffen. Max might not be in love with Kate, but that didn’t mean that he was in love with her, did it? He had rushed to disabuse John of any idea that he might be really marrying her. I’m just here for the free ticket, he had said. He could hardly put it plainer than that.
Freya watched Max introducing John to Marco and Pel, and for the first time noticed the look of strain around his mouth and eyes. He wasn’t enjoying this at all.
He was putting on a good show, of course, but even if they hadn’t all known about the deception, it must be obvious to everyone that there was no question of him being in love with her.
But he wasn’t in love with Kate either. For Freya, that was enough for now.
She looked down at the flowers in her hand. Max had thought of her, had gone out specially to buy them for her. She remembered how his arm had closed around her, that tingling moment when she had been sure that he had been about to kiss her.
Tomorrow they would be going to Africa together, alone. There would be no Lucy to press the buzzer at just the wrong moment. There would just be the two of them and the hot African night. Surely then there would be a chance for her to tell Max how she felt?
The prospect made her shiver in anticipation. Yes, just knowing that Max wasn’t involved with Kate was enough for now. Loving him wasn’t hopeless any more, and the thought was enough to send happiness fizzing irrepressibly along her veins, sparkling in her green eyes.
‘Freya!’ said Steve, giving her a hug. ‘You’re all lit up. You look like a real bride.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Freya saw Max glance at her sharply. She would have to be careful. She didn’t want to scare him off by seeming too keen. All she had to do was keep her feelings to herself for one more day, and then…and then, somehow she would find the words to tell him.
But for now she couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I’m happy,’ she told Steve. ‘I’m off to Africa for two weeks tomorrow. Who wouldn’t be happy?’
Max looked away as Pel bustled up. ‘I think we should all go in,’ he said, taking his best man duties very seriously. ‘What time did you tell Dream Wedding to be here?’
‘I said the wedding was at twelve.’
‘It’s almost twelve now,’ he said. ‘We don’t want them to see us hanging around out here.’
He ushered everybody inside, where they lurked, feeling conspicuous and more than a little silly. Freya had been too nervous to have any breakfast and now she felt so light-headed from a mixture of hunger, nerves, relief and happiness th
at she got a bad case of the giggles, which proved to be infectious.
Only Max remained faintly withdrawn, and even he was smiling when Emma from Dream Wedding appeared unexpectedly behind them. Fortunately she found them just as they all burst into laughter, and to the most suspicious eye they must have looked like an ordinary, happy group of friends gathered to celebrate a wedding.
‘Oh, you’re out already,’ said Emma, disappointed. ‘I was hoping to catch the end of the ceremony.’
Thank God she hadn’t come looking for them any earlier, thought Freya as Emma turned her attention on her. ‘Congratulations, Freya,’ she said, smiling. ‘Or should I say Mrs Thornton?’
Freya caught Lucy’s eye and saw her stifling a giggle. ‘Thank you,’ she said demurely.
Her eyes narrowed as Emma then turned to Max and kissed him on both cheeks. There was no need for that, surely? A handshake would have done perfectly well. And Max had no business to look as if he didn’t mind strange women throwing themselves at him.
‘Jake’s waiting at the bottom of the steps to get pictures of you as you come out,’ Emma said, reverting to professionalism. ‘Could the guests leave first, then we can get you greeting the bride and groom as they appear.’
She turned to Max and Freya. ‘If you could just give us a couple of minutes to get everything set up, and then come out?’
She shooed the others out and Freya was left alone with Max in a sudden pool of silence. They looked at each other and then away. If they really had been married, they would have seized the opportunity for a private kiss, but as it was they stood stiffly apart like strangers waiting for a bus.
Max had his guarded look on. Freya ached to be able to touch him but there was something daunting about his distant expression, and her happiness began to eke away with her confidence that everything would be all right if only they could be alone together in Africa.
Why should Max want her, after all? She wasn’t particularly pretty, or particularly clever, or particularly anything. He needed someone special, not someone like her who blundered from one mess to another.
Freya wriggled her tense shoulders restlessly, and the gossamer stole that Lucy had arranged so carefully slithered down one arm. Before she had a chance to switch the flowers from one hand to another so that she could rescue it, Max had reached out and lifted it back, smoothing it into place.