by Anne Weale
As July passed, Lucia became as impatient as the children for the term to reach its end. On her last day at school, her colleagues presented her with a coffee service, and her class gave her a pretty tray. She was touched by their gifts and good wishes, but she felt not the smallest regret at giving up her career.
When, for the last time, she crossed the deserted asphalt playground, she saw Nicholas waiting for her outside the school gates.
"What are you doing here at this time of day?" she asked, in pleased surprise.
"I thought you might need cheering up," he said. "It must be a bit of a wrench, isn't it?"
For the first time that day, she felt a lump in her throat. "Oh, Nicholas, you are sweet to me. I hope I can make you happy."
He said casually, "You'd better, my girl. It's too late for either of us to back out now. In forty-eight hours, you'll be my wife." But the lightness of his tone was belied by the warmth in his eyes as he took her parcels.
Some children from the school were hovering nearby as he helped her into the car.
"Bye-bye, miss!" "Cheerio, miss!"
Lucia waved. "Goodbye... goodbye!"
The car drew away from the kerb, and she settled herself more comfortably, turning a little sideways so that she could look at the dark-skinned, Greek profile of the man whom, when she first saw him, she had instantly distrusted. Time had proved her wrong. Now, even forty-eight hours seemed a long time to wait to become Mrs. Nicholas Curzon. She remembered the bitter February night when, depressed and worried, she had walked home from the cinema, never guessing that, within a few months, her life would have changed course. But, whatever unpredictable vicissitudes the future might hold in store, she would never again have to face them alone.