The Bridegroom's Dilemma

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘You mean no contact at all?’ Skye asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Oh, I’ve spoken to him on the phone. And I gather his father has as well but—’ she sighed ‘—things are very strained. On top of it, Richard is talking about retiring—I mean really retiring—and I don’t know— I just don’t know how Nick feels about it.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ Skye said involuntarily. ‘You’re probably caught in the middle?’ She raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  Margaret nodded ruefully. ‘Also, Pippa is coming home with a divorced French count she wants to marry who is years older than she is.’

  ‘Nick told me.’ Skye sat back and opened her hands in a gesture of sympathy.

  ‘So you and Nick are not…?’ Margaret hesitated.

  ‘We’re not getting back together, no. He was wonderful,’ Skye said intensely, ‘About this business, and he did suggest we try again, but only after he found out about the claustrophobia. I couldn’t—do it. It nearly killed me to know that he wasn’t even that keen on us having children the first time around, so, I think I may always love him, but…’ She stopped and sighed.

  ‘There’s a part of Nick you don’t think you can ever get to?’

  ‘Yes,’ Skye said sadly.

  Margaret was silent for a good minute. Then she said slowly, ‘I’ve often wondered whether it’s a reaction in Nick to this thing that’s been hanging over his head for so long. This sort of inevitability that he was one day going to have to step into his father’s shoes.’

  Skye sat transfixed.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong—it’s not as if he hates his father for it. In so many ways they’re two of a kind. They have that sort of business flair, that acumen and vision, and if it had been his own creation Nick may have felt just as dedicated, but…’

  ‘But that’s why, ultimately, he’s so averse to being tied down in any way? Because he’s always felt the weight of this?’ Skye offered.

  ‘Precisely.’ Margaret shrugged.

  ‘I’ve thought of that. He told me only yesterday that he wasn’t sure about stepping into his father’s shoes. I…well, I stopped to wonder how you had coped. Because each of them in their own way is…hard to reach, I would imagine.’

  ‘It came down to one simple thing in the end,’ Margaret said slowly. ‘I was more miserable away from Richard than I was with him, even fighting for recognition as his soul mate. So I stopped fighting and took another approach. I did my own thing.’

  ‘Have you been happy?’ Skye whispered.

  ‘Not all the time, no,’ Margaret conceded. ‘But, when I have, I’ve been happier than I could have been with anyone else on earth.’

  Skye blinked several times. ‘I don’t know if I have the fortitude you have,’ she said huskily. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘There is another way of looking at it,’ Margaret said thoughtfully, ‘and I’m wondering whether Richard may have divined all this and that’s why he’s decided to get out now. Once he leaves it will be Nick’s creation, to take it on anyway. So instead of a weight hanging over his head he may feel liberated and, well, less prone to wanting to escape.’

  ‘Have you—forgive me, I don’t mean to be incredibly personal—but have you asked Mr Hunter if that’s why he wants to retire?’

  ‘Men,’ Margaret Hunter said with sudden bitterness, ‘can be impossible at times, Skye. Since this row between Nick and his father, every time I try to bring anything up in the context of Nick, Richard accuses me of siding with him.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Have I caused that much strife?’ Skye looked genuinely conscience-stricken.

  Margaret laughed. ‘You’re very sweet, Skye. No—not that we don’t love you and, to be honest, thought you were very right for him, but I think this conflagration was waiting to happen anyway. Skye, should we discuss crowds now?’

  Skye went to the restaurant after her time with Margaret Hunter, where her mother was waiting eagerly.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘She was very helpful,’ Skye said, but slowly.

  ‘You don’t look—’ Iris hesitated ‘—that much helped, darling.’

  Skye made an effort to drag her mind from all the revelations of the morning that had nothing to do with her fear of crowds and set about trying to reassure her mother. ‘You wait and see. There’s a new me under this old exterior, Mum. I don’t suppose you’ve acquired a new chef during the course of this morning?’

  ‘No! I’ve interviewed three but not one of them is suitable!’

  Skye hugged her. ‘Just as well you’ve got me, then, isn’t it?’

  The restaurant proved to be a lifeline during the next weeks.

  And during the day Skye concentrated on her book. This wasn’t as easy, though, because so much of her new material reminded her of Nick and she often found herself sitting with her chin propped on her hands, wondering what she’d turned her back on, wondering why she felt as if she’d let him down, wondering if she could be a version of his mother…

  Then they met and it could hardly have been less auspicious.

  ‘We’ve got an absolutely full house tonight including a party of eight,’ Iris said anxiously. ‘Think you can cope? I don’t know why there’s this dearth of good chefs!’

  ‘Of course,’ Skye said serenely. ‘And people are probably holding onto their good staff because Christmas is not that far away—but perhaps it’s an idea to cut the menu down slightly?’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Iris applauded, and walked over to the menu board armed with a duster and a piece of chalk.

  The evening started well but at eight o’clock Iris walked into the kitchen looking shell-shocked.

  ‘What?’ Skye asked as she stirred a béchamel sauce and grilled an eye fillet at the same time.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this but Nick and Pippa are amongst the party of eight!’

  Skye froze then continued what she was doing automatically. ‘So?’

  ‘He said…he said he didn’t know which restaurant had been booked until he arrived. Neither did Pippa; someone else made the booking and gave them a lift.’

  ‘Mum, there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But I didn’t tell him you were right here in the kitchen when he asked after you. I just said you were fine as if you were somewhere else.’

  ‘Then all I’ve got to do is stay out of sight. Here.’ Skye handed her mother two plates. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. It makes no difference whether I’m here or not or whether he knows or not.’

  ‘He’s with that woman, though,’ Iris said tragically. ‘The one you told me about—didn’t you say her name was Mortimer? That’s the name the booking was made in, only I just didn’t connect the two!’

  Skye set her teeth and could have killed herself for the way her hackles rose automatically. But she said calmly, ‘It still doesn’t matter, Mum. Let’s just—carry on. They’re getting cold, by the way.’

  Iris looked down at the plates in her hands as if she’d never seen them before then dashed out.

  Things went smoothly until about ten-thirty—as smoothly as could be expected of a kitchen with a full restaurant to feed. Then they took a turn for the unexpected.

  A Frenchman invaded the kitchen as Skye was taking a breather, having dished up the last dessert. Invaded it, what was more, saying, ‘I have to meet the chef! I have to toast him, buy him a drink and possibly lure him to France to cook for me. Oui! Don’t say—’ he looked around ‘—you are he, mademoiselle?’

  ‘I am he, monsieur, but—’ Skye got no further as she was picked up and carried out of the kitchen, to be set down triumphantly before the party of eight!

  ‘It’s a she, not a he, Pippa!’ the Frenchman marvelled. ‘You wouldn’t credit it, would you?’

  There was a sudden deathly silence until Pippa said on a sigh, ‘Oh, yes, I would. So that’s why the food was so marvellous—Skye, I’m sorry but we didn’t know we were coming here or that you were here.’


  ‘Although we should have guessed,’ Nick said quietly, and he stood up.

  ‘What’s this? Give the girl a drink.’ The Frenchman put a glass of champagne into Skye’s hands and pulled up a chair for her. ‘You know my fiancée, Pippa? How fortuitous. She may be able to persuade you to come to France. I assure you our kitchen is of the most modern, the servants’ quarters are—’

  It was Wynn who broke in. ‘Jean-Claude,’ she said lightly, ‘you’re putting your foot in your mouth, chéri. This is just about the most famous chef in Australia—not that she looks it right at the moment.’ And she let her dark eyes drift down from Skye’s chef’s hat, the red bandanna tied at her throat to her stained apron over a white shirt and trousers and white gum boots.

  Wynn herself was extremely stylish in a caramel silk knit dress that exposed a lot of smooth, tanned skin, and her hair was straight and smooth and flowed like a dark river down her back.

  Skye pulled her apron off then her hat, clamped her hand around her glass of champagne and sat down.

  ‘Jean-Claude, if I may call you that,’ she said to Pippa’s fiancé, ‘you’re very sweet and it was a natural mistake. I’m only glad that you enjoyed my cooking. Oh, may I introduce my mother? I’m sure she’d enjoy a glass too.’ She beckoned to Iris, standing transfixed behind the till.

  ‘I really didn’t know we were coming here,’ Nick said quietly to her a bit later when everyone was talking to everyone else. ‘Or that you’d be cooking. I thought you’d given it up.’

  ‘I’m helping out. Mum is still short-handed. But it doesn’t matter, Nick. Please don’t avoid the place on my account.’ She managed to look comically rueful. ‘Restaurants can live or die on such little things. So, Hamilton Island lived up to all expectations, I gather?’

  He studied her for a long moment—the flush in her cheeks, her damp curls, the steely little glint in her blue eyes. ‘Do you really care one way or the other, Skye?’

  Her gaze didn’t waver for a long moment then she grimaced. ‘You’re a little hard to work out sometimes, Nick, I guess, but then you always were! I hope Wynn knows what she’s in for.’ She drained her glass and set it down gently.

  Whereupon he turned to Wynn and drawled, ‘I guess we should get this party on the road, my sweet.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘AND what’s more we’re going to the wedding,’ Skye said to her mother. ‘I quite liked Pippa’s count even though he’s been divorced, and he’s not that much older. Besides, how could you refuse such a charming invitation?’

  ‘Skye,’ Iris said warningly, ‘you’re in a dangerous mood.’

  ‘I know.’ Skye shrugged. ‘Just kidding. About the wedding, I mean.’

  It was the next morning and a beautifully embossed wedding invitation had just been hand-delivered as Jean-Claude had promised faithfully it would be as he’d left the night before. He had obviously been unaware of Skye’s engagement to his soon-to-be brother-in-law or of any of the tensions that had flowed around the table.

  Skye was having coffee with her mother in her own flat—a converted loft in an old house on the harbour now divided into flats. It was spacious, airy and had lovely views. It was also home to Skye’s minimalist decorating and magnificent collection of indoor plants.

  ‘Didn’t you tell me there was likely to be no wedding?’ Iris continued.

  ‘Jean-Claude, chérie—’ Skye used an exaggerated French accent ‘—must have won his in-laws over. And they’re certainly wasting no time. It’s next week.’ She studied the card, thinking of her own wedding invitations, then put it down.

  ‘When you’ve got the money they’ve got, you can organize things in a flash. However, there could be another reason.’

  Skye raised an eyebrow at her mother over her coffee cup.

  ‘Pippa could be pregnant.’ Iris shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me how I know; I don’t really; I just have this intuition. She had a—certain, rather vulnerable look about her.’

  Skye put her cup down slowly. ‘Oh, dear. I wonder how Mr Hunter has taken that?’

  She was to find out that same day because Pippa came to see her early in the afternoon.

  ‘Why, Pip! Come in.’ Skye opened her flat door wide. ‘This is a surprise.’

  ‘Skye, I know we never got to know each other that well but I need to talk to you,’ Nick’s sister said somewhat distraughtly.

  Unlike Nick, Pippa was blonde and blue-eyed, but she did have his tall, lean grace and she was supremely elegant even in casual trousers and a shirt.

  Skye installed her in an armchair, brought her a cup of tea and a piece of fruit cake. ‘What is it?’ she asked, sitting down with her own tea.

  ‘Everything,’ Pippa said tragically. ‘Dad and Nick are in the middle of some kind of deadly battle, Mum is beside herself, I’m pregnant, which Dad doesn’t approve of at all, and Jean-Claude is beginning to wonder what he’s got himself into. And everywhere I turn I’m falling over Wynn!’

  ‘I thought you and Wynn were best friends?’

  ‘We were once—well, we still are,’ Pippa said shortly. ‘What we were never destined to be was sisters-in-law because she is not the right one for Nick! The thing is, Skye, you were, and that’s one of the reasons Dad is so mad. Is there no way you and Nick could…? Are you not the least little bit in love with him?’

  Skye put her cup down carefully. ‘Pip, no…’ She stopped and sighed. ‘We…we wouldn’t be right for each other. I want more than Nick can give so…’ She gestured a little hopelessly.

  ‘Skye, could you at least do me one favour? If Dad were at least to think you and Nick might be reconsidering things, it might put him in a better mood.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d be like this,’ Pippa said. ‘Maybe it’s because of my baby, but I want my family to be together and in accord on my wedding day. I want them to accept Jean-Claude because he happens to be the right man for me despite his previous marriage and being fifteen years older. I don’t want this awful feud to spoil things!’

  Skye stood up. ‘Pippa, look, I would love to be able to help, but do you really know what you’re asking?’

  ‘Just come to this formal dinner Mum and Dad are giving tomorrow night—please, Skye,’ Pippa begged. ‘Even if you just sit next to Nick—and that’s all I’m asking—it might make Dad stop and think.’

  ‘With Wynn on his other side?’ Skye suggested with some irony.

  ‘Wynn’s out of town for the next week on a modelling assignment, thank heavens,’ Pippa said fervently. ‘But they’re not—well, I get the feeling Wynn is forcing herself on Nick, anyway.’

  ‘Do you honestly think Nick can’t defend himself if he wants to?’ This time Skye was outright cynical.

  ‘She’s going to be my only bridesmaid. Nick is the best man; it’s not that simple, Skye!’ Pippa paused. ‘It was all arranged before I realized what was going on. The other thing is, you get on well with Jean-Claude! I’ll put him on your other side. That might also make Dad stop and think that he’s not so…so French.’

  Pippa stopped and they smiled suddenly at each other.

  Skye said slowly then, ‘Do you honestly think me getting on well with Jean-Claude is going to make the slightest difference to what your father thinks of him?’

  Pippa gestured eloquently. ‘It just might. He adored you, Skye. And I’m at my wits’ end.’

  Skye digested this with a frown. Then she said, still looking confused, ‘But—what will you tell Nick?’

  Pippa stood up and came over to take Skye’s hands in her own. ‘I won’t. There are times when it’s no good telling men anything. Please, Skye.’ There were tears in the other girl’s eyes. ‘Look, you may not know this because you’ve only got your mother but families can be sheer hell!’

  As she dressed the next evening, Skye still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to do as Pippa asked even though she’d discussed it with her mother and Iris had been of the opinion she should go to the dinner.
>
  Was it because Nick’s sister was pregnant? she asked herself. And obviously in an awful state—bad enough to be clutching at wild straws? Was it because of a family in crisis?

  All the same, it was a charade she was about to participate in, a sham, even if all she had to do was sit next to Nick, and it didn’t sit easily with her.

  No, she told herself determinedly, I will not actually connive to let Mr Hunter think I’m going back to Nick. The most I’ll do is try to be relaxed and easy in his company. And Jean-Claude’s!

  She chose a black silk tulle dress with diagonal bands of sequins running round it. It hugged her figure, cupped her breasts and was strapless. It was long and she wore high black shoes with it but no jewellery other than a diamanté butterfly slide in her hair which she left loose otherwise.

  But the butterfly might just as well have been in her stomach as she drove up to the Hunter mansion in a cab. Situated at Double Bay, it was not only large and stately, it had a magnificent terraced garden that ran down to the harbour.

  The garden was alight with fairy lights and the dinner had been set up on the main terrace outside the house, taking advantage of a fine, warm night.

  It was Margaret Hunter who greeted Skye and said that Pippa had confided in her, and told her how grateful she was that Skye had agreed to do something that must be extremely awkward if not actually painful for her.

  ‘I…I’m not going to tell any lies,’ Skye stammered as she saw Mr Hunter approaching. ‘But I don’t see why Nick and I can’t look as if we’re friends at least—’

  ‘Of course!’ Margaret agreed warmly, and turned to her husband. ‘I think you know this young lady, Richard!’

  Richard Hunter looked supremely surprised then delighted. ’You didn’t tell me you’d invited Skye!’

  ‘Do I ever bother you with guest lists?’ his wife murmured.

  He grimaced. ‘No. My dear Skye, I’m so pleased to see you, and does this mean—’

  ‘Richard, they’ve agreed to be friends,’ Margaret interrupted with a delicate little shrug. ‘Let’s not—’