She couldn't see him.
'Matt in?' She leaned across the bar towards the landlord. 'Or has he been and gone?'
'In the Snug, love. Quieter in there.'
She took a deep breath and manoeuvred her way through the tables. Not, of course, that she intended to invite him back to the flat for an action replay of the disaster or anything. She held her wine away from a tumble of stable lads jostling by the fruit machine. It was about time they put the whole thing into perspective. But then, if he really found her so totally unattractive, why didn't they call it a day? At least then she'd know where she stood.
Matt, it appeared, didn't stand anywhere. He was sitting in the furthest corner of the Snug, looking happier than she'd seen him for weeks. He wasn't alone. Tina Maloret, wearing unfashionably baggy jeans, a man's shirt, and looking so sexy that the pheromones were practically visible, was leaning across the table towards him.
Whoops! Jemima started to walk backwards. Tina always made her feel stones overweight and so dreary. Anyway, if they were having a business meeting, she was going to make herself scarce. She had just reached the doorway when they saw her.
'Hi, Jemima.' Matt's greeting was over-loud, and didn't quite match the expression in his eyes. 'Come and join us.'
She could hardly say she wasn't stopping – not while she was carrying a full wineglass. Hoping that they'd think she was just coming in rather than leaving backwards, she smiled her way back across the Snug.
'Tina has just arrived in the village for Maddy and Drew's wedding.' Matt sounded as though he was reading a script. 'It was a complete surprise to find her in here.'
'That's nice. Er – Charlie's in the Munchy Bar. I'm sure he'll be along later ...'
The news didn't seem to delight Matt. Tina was more philosophical. 'I doubt it. He has no idea I'm here. This'll be the second time I've caught him on the hop. He, didn't seem overjoyed to see me last time either. I suppose I should give him prior notice.'
Jemima sat between them feeling suddenly as welcome as a wasp at a picnic. 'So he wasn't expecting you this evening, then?'
'He wasn't even expecting me for the wedding.' Tina sipped at something very black in a tiny glass. 'He didn't ask me. If I didn't have such a trusting nature, I'd be pretty convinced that he was going to be taking someone else.'
Jemima gulped at the wine. Now she'd have to ring Lucinda before she arrived to be a bridesmaid. She ought to tip Charlie off too. He was just as likely to come swanning into the pub at any moment with Suzy Beckett. God! There were still so many undercurrents.
'But you've had an invitation?' What did she care? The woman was a nightmare. She was itching to get Matt on his own and sort out where they stood while she still felt buoyant.
'To the wedding?' Tina stretched out a languid hand across the table towards Matt, then widened her eyes at Jemima. 'Oh, yes. Matt was such a sweetie. He invited me to come along with you two so that I wouldn't feel such a spare part. You don't mind, do you?'
November
Chapter Twenty-eight
'Damn. Shit. Damn.' Drew wrenched at the cravat. 'Bloody thing! I look like a teddy bear with a bloody bow round its neck!'
'You'd do a lot better if your hands weren't shaking.' Charlie grinned up from his perch on the edge of the bed. 'Do you want me to fix it?'
'No I sodding don't. I'll do it if it kills me. Anyway, you've got your own to do.'
'Not for ages yet.' Charlie glanced at his watch. 'There're still two hours before we're due at the church. You'll be ready far too early.'
'And you won't be ready at all if you don't get a move on.' Drew glared through the mirror at Charlie's reflection. 'Aren't you going to get dressed?'
'Can't see the point, really. Lucinda and Tina will probably rip my clothes off as soon as I walk into St Saviour's. Might as well save them a bit of trouble.'
Drew glared some more and gave up with the cravat. He had never felt so nervous. This was worse than race-riding. This was far worse than jumping over hurdles at sixty miles an hour. It was worse than breaking a bad-tempered yearling. It was even worse than using the bloody computer.
He'd fondly imagined that by getting married at four o'clock in the afternoon, the whole day would be calm. Leisurely even. He’d pictured a relaxed family breakfast – probably with Buck's Fizz, then a walk with the dogs, and maybe even a snooze after lunch. Then he and Maddy would get ready in the friendly chaos of their bedroom, and Poppy Scarlet would be impeccably behaved and look a picture in her frock. It would be completely serene and unhurried.
He hadn't expected Armageddon.
Of course, there were still the stables to do – the horses didn't know it was his wedding day, even though he'd told them often enough, especially Solomon – and then Maddy's mum and dad and her Auntie Barbara and Uncle Gordon and both sets of grandparents had arrived; and Kit and Rosa Pedersen had come over a day early from Jersey, and now Peapods was filled with Fran and her daughter Chloe, and Rosa Pedersen, and Suzy, and Georgia and Lucinda all belting around in sticky-out petticoats and heated rollers.
And to cap it all, Caroline, his ex-wife, had swanned up, cool as anything, in a hired limo two hours ago with Peter bloody Knightley – who was Maddy's ex-boyfriend and Caroline's current business partner!
Charlie, thank God, had offered the sanctuary of his cottage.
'More people.' Charlie peered through the window across the cobbled yard. 'Looks like a family of eight in a Ford Capri.'
Christ! Uncle Philip and Aunt Aisling and the County Mayo brigade. He'd asked them to go straight to the church.
Charlie, still only wearing purple silk boxer shorts, headed for the sitting room. 'I think we could do with a bit of Dutch courage. Not too early for a whisky, is it?'
'About three hours too late. Make it a treble.'
'And have you slur your vows? Not a chance. I take my best man duties seriously. A single with loads of water – and be grateful.'
Drew sank down on the edge of Charlie's Wallbank-Fox. He hadn't expected to be nervous. He hadn't been nervous when he'd married Caroline – or had he? He couldn't really remember. He had vague recollections of sitting in his parents' Jersey farmhouse at Bonne Nuit, looking out over Cheval Roc with the sea hurling itself into the sky, and Kit Pedersen, who was his best man, telling him he was far, far too young. And his mother in tears of happiness because he was marrying Caroline whom she adored, and his father complaining about having to wear a suit. He could remember nothing of the ceremony. There'd been a ride away from the church in a horse-drawn carriage and a sunshine reception on
Caroline's parents' lawn where everyone wore extremely expensive clothes and drank champagne and was very polite to each other. He remembered the unreality of it. The feeling that something vital was missing and not knowing what it was...
'Thanks.' He took the whisky from Charlie and downed it in one. His hand still shook. 'Any chance of a refill?'
'None whatsoever.' Charlie wandered back to the window. 'Who do you know with a Land-Rover?'
'Half of Berkshire.'
'That sounds about right. There are twenty-seven people on the back seat, and two dogs. And a small horse – no, my mistake. Three dogs. Oh – and she's pretty! Who's she?'
Drew staggered from the bed and peered over Charlie's shoulder. A stream of women in hats was disappearing beneath the clock arch. 'Good God! Stephanie Le Mesurier! We were at school together. And the rest of the Jersey contingent. Maddy must have gone through my address book. And keep your hands off Stephanie – she's married to a St Ouen's lifeguard. They sharpen their teeth on granite.'
'Christ,' Charlie grinned. 'I've already got enough problems with the women in my life. Who the hell invited Tina anyway?'
'Didn't you?'
'Course not. Not with Lucinda being a bridesmaid. I was looking forward to the reunion. She thinks it's damned funny – I don't.' He gestured towards the Wallbank-Fox. 'You're lucky that's still standing. It's about the only thing that is.
Tina's bloody wild.'
Drew perched more gingerly on the bed this time. Not because he didn't want to crease the trousers of his morning suit, but in case it collapsed. 'In between the shagathon sessions, did she mention anything to you about Dragon Slayer?'
'Just a bit.' Charlie pulled a face. 'That's why she's down here again. She and Kath are dead certain that he'll win the Hennessey now. I gather after the Worcester disaster they cross-questioned Matt and have aimed to put things right. They've been doing a lot of schooling over ditches, and apparently he's over his spooking. Matt reckons he's come right, too. Mind you, they don't know how forward Bonnie is, do they?'
They didn't. Drew allowed himself a smug smile. Both Bonne Nuit and Dragon Slayer had had three outings now, separately, of course; there were going to be no head-to-heads until the Hennessey. Bonne Nuit had improved each time. Dragon Slayer, after that amateurish mistake at Worcester, had won two races in recent days and was currently ante-post favourite. Bonnie's odds were still in double figures, but both horses had started to show in forecasts for next year's Cheltenham and Aintree meetings.
He crossed his fingers. It might just work. Not that he'd be keeping the National Hunt side of the yard going, even if Bonnie did win. Kit and Rosa and the accountants had made it plain that he couldn't afford loss-makers – but it would bump his prestige up no end for the next flat season, and bring in enough money for him to continue. If Bonne Nuit won the National, Peapods would be safe. Both he and Charlie knew that nothing less than a win would do.
He'd explained the situation to Gillian, who had smiled vaguely and said that as long as Bonnie Nuts won the National and prevented Drew from going bankrupt, then God would have worked another miracle, wouldn't he? Drew still thought it was a miracle that no one in the village had yet discovered that Gillian was Bonne Nuit's owner. Gillian had shrugged and said that she might tell Glen – after Bonnie had won the race – but until then it was to remain their secret. Anyway, the village was convinced that Fizz Flanagan was the proud possessor, and who was she to destroy illusions? As to Bonnie's future – well, he was such a sweet little thing – if he won the National then she thought he deserved to retire in comfort. She'd pay Drew stabling fees and visit him.
Drew had pointed out that if he won the National then she would have more money than ever to explain away to Glen. This seemed to have thrown her for a bit – but not for long. She'd kissed his cheek and said she was having great fun, and if there was any money left over he was to share it between charities of his choice.
Charlie had been philosophical about losing his job. He'd said he might even retire and write racing thrillers. Drew, who knew Charlie hated writing anything longer than a cheque, had blessed him for his equanimity. There was always the possibility, of course depending on the National win, that he'd be able to offer Charlie a full-time job as his assistant flat trainer. Which he might just accept if he won at Aintree. If Bonnie didn't pull it off, then Drew was under no illusions that Charlie was more than likely to decamp to Lambourn and have another shot at it. He couldn't blame him.
Then, of course, next year he'd be looking for a new flat jockey. Perry Mitchell, who had ridden for him ever since he'd come to Milton St John, was going back to Hong Kong while he could. The Chinese take-over hadn't yet affected Happy Valley and he knew that Perry wanted to ride his last races there. Maybe he'd ask Suzy – always supposing that she and Naomi Birkett-Spence didn't hit it off.
Still, that was all in the future. He grinned and picked up the cravat again. At least he had a future. Thanks to Maddy, today was going to be the happiest of his life. He wasn't going to let anything spoil it.
It was half past three. The afternoon sun was sliding behind the Hills, but the sky was still as blue as a spring morning. It had been a glorious day. Reasonably warm for November, with no wind disturbing the piles of jewel-bright leaves along the High Street. Drew, sitting beside Charlie in the front pew of St Saviour's, took deep steadying breaths.
The church was decorated in the flames and golds and ambers of autumn. A thousand cream candles flickered gently in the draught from the rafters as the last rays of the sun illuminated the glorious colours of the stained-glass window. Petunia Hobday on the organ was playing a quiet version of 'Rhapsody in Blue', and every single pew was crammed with friends and relations, and some people who Drew'd considered neither but who had turned out for his big day. No, he smiled to himself – their big day. His and Maddy's. The day that had been destined to happen ever since Diana and Gareth James-Jordan's drinks party'
He turned his head, acknowledging the smiles. Everyone was there. All the trainers, the stable staff, the villagers, and hordes of people from Upton Poges and Tiptoe: all looking happy and wearing their best. He hadn't realised that he and Mad were quite so popular. It would have been perfect if his parents had been alive for this. He swallowed. He was sure they were around, somewhere, giving their love and approval.
Caroline in black and yellow was sitting with Peter Knightley and the Pughs. She'd always got on well with Bronwyn and Bernie. She'd kissed his cheek and wished him luck and said she knew he'd be really happy now – just as she was. And there was Luke Delaney, bravely carrying out his usher duties with Rory Faulkner and Kit Pedersen, and trying to look cheerful. Drew sighed. It was going to be difficult for him today. Being here with Suzy. Poor Luke – he sympathised deeply.
Charlie nudged him. 'Matt's struck the jackpot, eh?'
Matt, flanked by Tina Maloret in a man's suit, with the jacket unbuttoned just far enough to let everyone know she was only wearing skin beneath it, and Jemima in a long, clinging wool dress the colour of beech leaves, slid into a pew halfway down the aisle.
'He looks pretty miserable, considering.' Charlie continued to stare. 'God, he doesn't know how lucky he is. She's so beautiful.'
'No doubt you'll be able to tell her so all night,' Drew said, wiping his palms on his dark grey trousers. 'She'll be wrecking the bed with you, won't she?'
'Jemima? Christ – I should be so lucky!'
Drew grinned. Charlie had always enjoyed a challenge. He felt Jemima Carlisle was one lady who would always stay just out of his reach. 'Aren't Lucinda and the stalking clothes-horse enough for you, then?'
'More than enough.' Charlie sighed heavily, still scanning the congregation. 'But Jemima's something else. She's sort of like Maddy – you know, my friend. When I think about her, I fancy her like mad – then when we're together she's so bloody controlled, and I wonder what I see in her. Then she giggles, or lets the guard drop, and I know. Of course, she's far too bright for her own good – and she thinks I'm a complete bastard. But we seem to get on well, despite that. It's quite confusing, really.'
Christ, Drew thought, how lucky he was to have Maddy's uncomplicated love. He tried to look stern. The fact that he was shaking spoiled the effect. 'And she's Matt's girlfriend and you're supposed to be calming my nerves. And stop winking at Gillian. I'm still expecting someone ecclesiastical to come belting down the aisle and tell me we can't go ahead with this. Don't rock the boat. Oh, bloody hell –'
Petunia Hobday had ceased the Gershwin and urged the organ into a wheeze of Wagner. The church rose to its feet. Drew could hardly stagger to his. His knees shook.
'Up!' Charlie commanded, with a steadying hand beneath his elbow. 'You've won the Pardubice. This should be a piece of cake.'
Drew stood. Glen, leading the choir, glided by. Levi and Zeke, angelic in their surplices, were piping in enchanting twin falsettos. He turned his head.
Maddy, looking ravishing in a floaty gown of scarlet and crimson, her curls matching the colours of the autumn leaves, and carrying the simplest bouquet of cream roses and ivy over her bump, smiled at him as she came down the aisle. God! He was the luckiest man in the world. She was so, so beautiful. He hurt from loving her so much.
She stood beside him, beaming now. He wanted to kiss her. Her father grinned across at him. Poppy Scarlet, in her miniature dark green bridesmai
d's dress, scrambled between them and sat on the chancel steps with a much-chewed Womble.
Glen moved forward, his eyes full of warmth. 'Dearly beloved...'
The photographs seemed to take for ever. Doubtful if they'd even come out because the November dusk had swept in from the Downs during the final hymn, Drew's face ached from grinning inanely for hours. And he still wanted to kiss Maddy. Properly. Not the self-conscious peck in the church, or all these posed smooches for the camera. She was snuggled up against him, entwining her fingers with his in the folds of the exquisite dress, every so often lifting her left hand and gazing at the narrow gold band in wonderment.
He had wondered if Maddy would think it a cheapskate gesture to suggest that he gave her his mother's wedding ring, but she'd been unbelievably touched. His parents had been the happiest couple he'd ever known. Until now, of course. He'd felt it would be fitting to pass on the love. Maddy had burst into tears and said she thought it was the most romantic thing she'd heard.
'Just one more!' the photographer shouted. 'Before we lose the light! Friends and family! Everyone in this one!'
There was a mad surge of morning suits and elaborate hats.
'I love you.' Maddy curled towards him as the cast of millions jostled into place among the yew trees. 'I can't believe I was stupid enough not to want to do this – for whatever reason.'
'Neither can I.' Placing a hand on the swell of her stomach he bent his head and kissed her. 'No one could look more lovely. And I love you too, Maddy Beckett. God, no – Maddy Fitzgerald. At last.'
'Maddy Fitzgerald,' she savoured the words. 'If only you knew how long I've wanted to be able to say that. Madeleine Jane Fitzgerald. Doesn't it sound posh? It's going to take a lot of getting used to ...'
At last the photographs were over, and Charlie, Rory, Kit and Luke were shepherding everyone towards the transport. A series of open-topped buses – the same ones that Milton St John used for their Derby Day outings – had been purloined for the short journey to the marquee at the James-Jordans'.
Jumping to Conclusions Page 33