“Only Pete would be that intelligent about the economics of it.”
Carol smiled at Tony’s accurate comment.
“And the bride, bless her, she looks so happy.”
He surreptitiously squeezed her thigh, still staring at the crowd.
“Tony! What was that for?”
“I was just remembering Bournemouth, and how you looked.”
“Well, you’d better not.”
“I’m already planning on Brighton next time.”
Carol giggled happily and stuck her face into the Pimm’s to cover her blushes.
They both smiled at their expanded family. Barry caught their eyes and waved over, a cloying teenager on each arm, a shameless Cheshire cat look on his face, forehead glistening, hair tousled. He looked slim and fifteen years younger.
The presentation of their CD was close at hand, discreetly displayed for the few exclusive media people who had been invited. Pete was on the other side of one of the blondes, and they were posing for the flashbulbs.
“So how did you actually meet up with Pete in Los Angeles?”
Ann turned from laughing at the boys’ antics to answer the journalist.
“Oh, it was a wild coincidence. We just happened to go into the Troubadour the same night, the band was a favorite from the old days, and it was a sudden impulse I had to see them. Great, eh?”
“Lovely, just a coincidence.
“And why was Barry there that night, were they already talking reunion?”
“Oh yes, Barry came for a visit here a week or so before that, and it was discussed. Yes.”
“After eighteen years. Just like that?”
“Oh, excuse me, I see someone…”
Madeleine and her daughter were arriving. The teenager was a beauty and there wasn’t a person she passed who didn’t stop to look. Madeleine headed straight to Ann, taking Charlotte’s hand and drawing her along.
“Come say hello to Ann. She likes you so much, lucky girl.”
“Can you believe your luck, Charlotte,” laughed Madeleine as she kissed Ann on both cheeks. “You’ve got me and now you’ve got the most fabulous stepmother in the world.”
“Oh, Mum, you’re going over the top again.”
Boring in on them in a typical tough-skinned media fashion was the same journalist again.
“Er, sorry, Mrs. Stebbings, one more thing I didn’t get to ask you back there. What happened to the mystery man at the country house?”
“I really don’t know. Do you, Madeleine?”
“No, he just seemed to disappear into the woodwork all those years ago, we stopped thinking about him.”
Pete broke it up, by calling out loudly.
“Alright now, everybody. Listen up ’cause it’s time for a speech from our Best Man before he has too many of those little drinks with umbrellas in ’em. Okay, hands together for Mister Barry Turnbull!!!”
All ongoing conversations stopped as friends and family filled the air with cheers and clapping while Barry bowed, took the mic and filled the stage.
Pete Stebbings glowed with the rightness of it all, in control but feeling complete at last.
***
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MAGGIE ABBOTT started writing novels when she moved to Palm Springs after a long, successful show business career in Los Angeles, London, Rome, and New York.
A casual job as a secretary at the William Morris Agency in Rome introduced her to the exciting scene of Cleopatra, Fellini’s 8½ and The Pink Panther, with the city’s influx of big stars calling by the office every day, and triggered her lifelong love affair with movies.
Over the years, Maggie has enjoyed being in the most interesting places at the best of their times, while working as the movie agent for some exciting stars: Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Charlotte Rampling, Jacqueline Bisset, Martin Sheen, Raquel Welch, Christopher Plummer, Robert Redford, Mia Farrow, Peter Sellers, Richard Chamberlain, Peter O’Toole, Britt Ekland, Ken Russell, John Boorman, and many more.
Somewhere in between, Maggie was the production assistant on three Broadway plays, and a producer and studio executive at Columbia Pictures where she developed and got production credits on two movies.
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