Sylvia shook her head. “I hate it,” she told Jeanne. “But I suppose that’s a good thing, is it?”
Jeanne giggled. “At least I didn’t get it pierced,” she said. “Amanda Robinson did, plus she got some kind of infection and —”
“Don’t tell me,” Sylvia shuddered. “I haven’t the stomach for it. What have you decided to wear tonight?”
“You saw what I’m wearing,” said Jeanne. “The blue skirt I bought last week.”
Sylvia winced. “I was rather hoping you’d have decided against it by now.”
“Why? It’s lovely.”
“It barely covers your bum,” said Sylvia.
“Grow up, Mum,” said Jeanne. “I’ll be wearing my opaque black tights and my blue boots. You won’t see anything.”
Sylvia sighed. “And what top?”
“White,” Jeanne told her. “With little blue spots. Very chaste.”
“I just hope your dad thinks so too,” said Sylvia.
“I wonder what Carey’ll be wearing,” mused Jeanne. “I think it’s great what she did.”
“So I gathered.”
“Well, saves so much hassle, doesn’t it,” said Jeanne cheerfully. “None of that usual wedding lark.”
“You’ll probably want it yourself one day,” said Sylvia.
Jeanne laughed. “I’m not like you, Mum. I don’t want a fuss.”
“Everyone wants a fuss,” said Sylvia. “Some people just get theirs differently from others, that’s all.”
Carey stood in the bedroom wearing nothing but her black bra and thong. Although everyone said that once you managed to wear thongs for a fortnight you never went back to ordinary knickers, Carey never felt properly dressed in a thong. But she’d decided to wear the purple hanky dress that she’d worn the night of Ellie’s party in Manhattan, and it was the kind of dress that, she felt, expected the wearer to be sporting a thong rather than a pair of serviceable high-legs. Still, it was a great dress and it was her romantic dress, since it was the first dress that Ben had seen her in.
She turned round as he opened the bedroom door.
“Oh.” He looked at her and smiled. “That’s it, is it?”
She laughed. “It’d certainly get them talking, but no, I will put on a bit more.”
“Why are you wearing black underwear?” he asked. “Won’t it show?”
“What d’you mean?” She looked at him in puzzlement. “It didn’t before, did it?”
“But you weren’t wearing white then,” said Ben.
“What?” Her face was even more perplexed.
“Under your wedding dress,” he said. “It seems a bit strange to wear black under your white dress.”
“I wasn’t going to wear my white dress,” she told him. “I was going to wear the purple.”
“Oh, but Carey, you have to wear the white!” Ben looked horrified. “It was your wedding dress after all and this is our wedding party.”
“Ben, it’s a party,” said Carey. “I know it’s to celebrate our marriage, but you can’t, by any stretch of the imagination, call it a wedding party.”
“Everyone’s calling it a wedding party,” said Ben.
“Freya’s calling it a wedding party,” amended Carey.
Ben shrugged. “OK — well, yes. But I feel it’s a wedding party too.”
“You were yelling at her earlier,” said Carey. “As far as I can recall, you told her that it wasn’t a big wedding thing and that she should just cop on to herself.”
“I shouldn’t have yelled at her,” Ben said. “She’s done her best for us. And I know I said that we hadn’t wanted it or anything, but — oh, she’s done it now and I want to make sure it goes well. I’m sure you do too.”
Carey sat on the edge of the bed. “To be honest, I don’t give a toss,” she said. “I told you before and I meant it — this kind of thing just isn’t me. People are either wedding people or they’re not. I’m not.”
“I know. I understand all that,” said Ben. “But it’s only one night and it seems mad not to wear the dress.”
“Ben, it’s a trashy white dress!” cried Carey. “And it might have looked OK in the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the heat of the desert, but it’ll look cheap and tawdry in Dublin, where it’s currently a degree below freezing.”
“I thought it was lovely,” said Ben in a low voice.
She sighed deeply. “Don’t you think the purple dress is nicer?”
“But it’s not the wedding dress.”
“If that’s what you want.” She unhooked her bra and threw it onto the bed.
“Not if you’re going to get into a temper over it,” said Ben. “Look, if you feel better wearing the purple, then wear the purple. I just thought that you’d be wearing the white, that’s all. I don’t care what you wear, Carey. I really don’t.”
“Yes you do,” she said. “You want me to look bridal.”
“I just think you should look bridal tonight,” he told her. “But not if you don’t want to.”
“I’ll wear the white.” She pulled off the thong and flung it into the laundry basket. “If I wear the white I can wear my favorite knickers.” She stood naked in front of the open wardrobe contemplating her collection of shoe boxes. “But I was going to wear my purple boots with the other dress. I hardly ever get a chance to put them on. I don’t have good white dress shoes.”
“You must have,” said Ben. “You lied about your shoes. You have fifty-two pairs. I counted them last week.”
“Not all shoes,” she said carelessly. “Some of them are sandals, some are boots.”
“Splitting hairs,” said Ben.
She hunkered down and looked at the boxes. Her hair tumbled across her naked back, reminding Ben of Old Master portraits of Venus. Although, he admitted, Carey was too bony to be Venus.
“I suppose I can wear these again too!” She removed a pair of ultra-high-heeled transparent sandals with a little white bow on the Perspex uppers which she’d bought in Vegas.
“You’ll freeze,” said Ben.
“I’ll freeze anyway,” said Carey. “Might as well go down fighting.” She slid her feet into them. “What d’you think?”
Ben couldn’t say anything. He was wondering what incredible stroke of luck had helped him to meet and to marry a girl who would stand in front of him naked except for a pair of incredibly sexy shoes and a silver pendant round her neck.
“Come here,” he said as he held his arms out to her.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “We’re running late as it is — spilling relaxing sea salts all over a damp bathroom floor didn’t do anything for my timekeeping! And I’m not going to have your sister saying that I didn’t turn up on time.”
“Everyone knows that the bride is always late,” said Ben.
“I told you already.” She reached out and grabbed her dressing-gown. “I’m not a bride. It’s not a wedding reception. It’s just a party.”
“It’s our party,” said Ben.
“Yeah, well — in that case you’d better get ready too,” said Carey as she slid a pair of silver hoops into her ears. “Because the groom is never late, is he? And Freya’ll have your guts for garters if you are.”
Chapter Eleven
CYPRESS
An oil with a woody fragrance and a natural astringent
Oleg’s Bar and Restaurant took up the basement and ground-floor levels of a renovated Georgian house on the Rathgar Road. Huge scarlet ribbons were tied around carefully cultivated bay trees lining either side of the gravel pathway that led to the house. Warm lights shining through the sash windows added to an almost festive atmosphere courtesy of the frost that had tipped the grass a glittering silvery white.
Freya and Brian were greeted by Colman Murphy, who’d come up with the idea for Oleg’s after spending a few months in Russia. Colman’s partner, Dimitri, was the chef, while Colman looked after everything else.
“So there’s no Oleg at all?” Freya sounded disappoin
ted.
Colman grinned. “Nope. We just thought it sounded sharper than ‘Dimitri’s.’ ”
“It’s very impressive.” She looked around the bar area, which was decorated in deep reds and greens and hung with huge gilt mirrors and heavily brocaded swatches of silk and velvet. “Very Russian.”
“That’s the idea,” said Colman. “It’s great in the winter. I’m not so sure how we’ll do during the summer.” He looked nervously at Brian. “I shouldn’t have said that in front of my banker, should I?”
Brian shrugged. “Your projections look good. And if it all goes horribly wrong, we’ll simply close you down and repossess the mirrors.”
Freya laughed. “Actually, I’d love one of those mirrors.”
“Not first thing in the morning,” Colman assured her. “They have a habit of magnifying every little blemish.” He took her coat and hung it on the rack in the corner of the room. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked. “Obviously vodka is our speciality. You can have lemon or strawberry or black currant — a whole range of flavored ones.”
“Would you mind if I had a white wine?” asked Freya. “I don’t want to rush into spirits just yet.”
“I’ll have an honest to goodness plain vodka with tonic,” said Brian.
“Excellent.” Colman went to get the drinks while Freya sat down on one of the quilted banquettes which lined the walls. After a moment Brian sat beside her. He said nothing. He hadn’t, in fact, said anything much to her at all so far this evening.
“I’m sorry,” said Freya eventually.
“Sorry?” Brian turned to look at her.
“For annoying you. For snapping at you last week.”
“I’m used to it,” said Brian.
“Are you?” asked Freya. “In that case, why did you get so annoyed with me?”
“Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I like it,” Brian told her. “I’ve better things to do with my life than be snapped at.”
“I know,” said Freya contritely. “I guess I was worried about tonight.”
“Is Leah coming?” asked Brian.
“She accepted the invitation,” Freya said. “But I haven’t been talking to her so I’m not certain.”
“Everything will be fine,” said Brian. “And even if it isn’t, it’s not your problem.”
“It will be if Leah does something terrible.” Freya worried at the edge of her jacket. “You were right. I shouldn’t have asked her.”
“I doubt that she’ll do anything too terrible,” said Brian. “Don’t get uptight, Freya. It’ll be a great party.”
“I hope so,” said Freya, “because I insisted on it. I know that she wasn’t too keen.”
“She?” Brian smiled at her.
“The wife,” said Freya dismissively. She looked up as Colman returned, bearing their drinks on a highly polished silver salver. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got to be more welcoming to her,” said Brian. “I don’t see why you dislike her so much. You don’t know her.”
“That’s why I dislike her,” admitted Freya. “I know it’s silly.”
“Very silly,” said Brian. “But I forgive you.”
Freya was surprised at how relieved she suddenly felt. She leaned against Brian’s broad shoulder and sighed. He was a decent man, she thought. She was lucky to have him in her life. She sat up abruptly as she heard more people arrive.
They were members of Carey’s air traffic control team, shivering in the cold night air and jostling for position in front of the gas-effect fire in the huge marble fireplace at the far end of the room. Freya instantly forgot who was who, but it didn’t matter because they chatted to each other and happily knocked back the shots of vodka that Colman began to hand round. Then some people from the bank arrived, followed by the staff from the health food stores. The buzz of conversation filled the air as more and more people arrived. Freya wondered about the wisdom of having so much vodka on tap. As far as she could see, the entire air traffic control team were well on the way to being totally out of their heads, and Brian, who’d had another couple of shots, was grinning foolishly at everyone. She hoped that Ben and Carey would arrive before all their guests were too drunk to recognize them.
She hadn’t long to wait. Five minutes later she saw her brother come in the door, followed by a gangly woman with a headful of curls held in place by a pearled comb and wearing an extremely short white dress which plunged dramatically at the neckline. She must be absolutely freezing, thought Freya, as she pushed her way through the throng to greet them.
“Hello, sis!” Ben beamed at her. “We didn’t think there’d be such a crowd here already. It’s great, isn’t it?” His beam grew even wider as he pulled Carey closer to him. “And this is her! This is Mrs. Russell. Carey, Freya. Freya, Carey.”
Carey smiled at Ben’s sister while she took in the other woman’s expensively tailored mauve suit, trimmed with black fur at the sleeves. Freya’s hair, fair as Ben’s although, thought Carey, not entirely natural in its golden hue, was swept back smoothly from her face and secured by a small velvet clip. She looked chillingly elegant, and her smile, though friendly, wasn’t particularly warm.
“It’s lovely to meet you finally,” said Carey uncertainly.
“You too,” said Freya. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sure.”
They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, then Freya smiled again and hugged Carey very briefly. “Welcome to the family,” she said. “I have to tell you I’m still in shock about it.”
“So am I,” said Ben cheerfully. “But we’ve managed to survive the first couple of weeks, so I think we’ve made a good start.”
“You made a good choice, Ben,” said Brian. He too hugged Carey, although his embrace was much firmer than Freya’s. “She’s an absolute dote.”
“Dote?” Carey smiled up at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you are,” said Brian. “I love the comb in your hair.”
“Do you?” She patted it doubtfully. “It’s what I wore with this totally unsuitable dress when we got married.”
“It’s very — pretty,” said Freya unconvincingly.
“It’s not really,” said Carey, “but it was fine in Vegas. Besides…” she shot a sideways look at Ben, “if I’d worn the dress I originally intended, we would have clashed. It’s almost the exact same shade as your lovely suit.”
“My favorite color.” Freya patted her sleeve.
“Mine too,” said Carey.
“Something in common already.” Brian laughed.
Colman appeared with his tray full of vodkas.
“Great,” said Carey, and knocked back a shot. “I needed that. It’s freezing outside. Honestly, the last few weeks have been so unseasonably cold…oh!” She broke off as she saw her parents arrive. “It’s Mum and Dad. I’d better say hello.”
“She’s very — vibrant,” said Freya to Ben as Carey went over to Maude and Arthur.
Ben chuckled. “She’s a live wire, all right,” he said. “Just what I need. Someone to make me get up and go all the time.”
“So are her friends.” Freya nodded to where the air traffic control crowd were laughing uproariously.
“Probably something to do with the job,” said Ben. “They’re letting off steam, I guess.”
“She’s older than I thought,” Brian remarked. “From what Freya said, I got the impression she was barely out of her teens.”
Ben frowned. “She’s the same age as me,” he told Brian. “And she might be a live wire but she’s totally clued in.”
“Of course she is,” said Freya hastily. “I can’t wait to meet her family.”
“They’re nice,” said Ben. “D’you know, I suddenly realized tonight that they’re kind of my family too. It’s a strange sensation. A few weeks ago it was just you, me, and Auntie Moira, who isn’t really an aunt and who doesn’t recognize us anymore anyway. Now I have sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, and a whole
selection of nieces and nephews.”
“Big families are totally overrated,” said Freya.
“I don’t know,” said Brian. “It must be nice to be part of a whole group of people who look out for each other.”
“I didn’t mean…” Freya shook her head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get another drink.”
“That’s what you got married in!” Sylvia looked at Carey in shock. “It’s very —”
“Trailer-trash,” supplied Carey.
“Not at all,” Jeanne disagreed. “I like it, I really do.”
“Except I can’t wear a bra with it,” said Carey, “and it makes me feel as though I might hit people with my excuse for boobs if I turn round too quickly.”
Nadia giggled.
“So you’d better watch out, Ms. Lynch,” Carey warned her. “Or I’ll have your eye out with my left one before you know where you are!”
“What did Mum think?” asked Sylvia.
“The same as you. But actually this dress was very appropriate in the desert.”
“Well, I think it’s lovely,” Jeanne repeated.
“Thank you,” Carey told her. “And you’re looking pretty good yourself. I like the skirt.”
“Mum thinks it’s too short.”
“You don’t, Syl, do you?”
“It is a bit on the short side,” said Sylvia.
“You sound like our own mum!” Carey laughed.
“You’ll sound like it too when you have kids of your own,” said Sylvia tartly.
Carey looked shocked. “That’s not on our agenda. Not by a long chalk.”
“Not at all?” asked Nadia. “Don’t you want any children, Carey?”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought about it very much,” said Carey. “Ben and I haven’t talked about it much either.” She grinned. “We haven’t talked about it at all.”
“I guess there’s a lot of things you haven’t got round to talking about yet,” said Sylvia dryly.
“I guess there are,” said Carey, and went to join the air traffic control crew.
“There you are!” cried Gina drunkenly. “And looking every inch the blushing bride.”
“Hardly blushing in that outfit,” said Finola. “Carey, you are such a bitch to have married that gorgeous, gorgeous man without giving me the opportunity to make a play. Seeing him again makes me realize what I let you get away with.”
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