by Jane Moore
Eventually, Faye stood up. “I’m so sorry Mark . . . really.”
A single tear rolled down Mark’s cheek, and he hastily brushed it away. “I’m sorry I met you,” he muttered, and looked at her as though she were a stranger.
Seeing the pain on his face was almost too much to bear. In the knowledge that she had caused it, Faye wanted to run and hide from everyone . . . forever. She wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and tell him everything was going to be all right. But it wasn’t, and it was her fault. She wanted to crumple into a heap and sob her heart out, but she knew she had to stay strong, that her tears would be of guilt and self-pity and had no place in this room with Mark.
Paralyzed by a leaden misery, she just stood in the middle of the room and stared at him, blinking rapidly to stop the tears falling.
“The guests are expecting us in just over half an hour, so you’d better go and tell them otherwise. I’ll leave it up to you what you say.” His voice was cold.
“I’ll tell them it’s all my fault.” Her voice was barely audible.
“Whatever.”
She took a step closer to him, but he shrank away from her.
“Mark, I know I’ve already said this . . . but I’m truly sorry,” she said, and stifled a small sob.
“Just go away, Faye,” he said wearily, and turned back to the window.
A few seconds later he heard the door to the suite click shut and simultaneously closed his eyes. He relaxed slightly, and massaged the tight knot in his throat.
Saturday, June 29
2:40 p.m.
The string quartet was in full flow as Jean and Derek edged their way along the second row of chairs on the lawn.
“Oh, look, there’s Norma,” said Jean, waving at a woman several rows back wearing someone’s sofa covers. “Oooh, that hysterectomy’s aged her.” She sat down next to her husband and began to soak up the ambience of the grand occasion.
At first, Mark had said he and Faye were going to foot the bill and it would be a simple ceremony at a London register office, but Jean had almost wept with frustration. “Darling! First Tony has a city hall wedding and refuses to let me get involved in any way, and now you’re going to do the same. What’s a mother to do? Am I never going to get my big day in church?”
A couple of weeks later, Mark had suggested a compromise. He said they’d had a rethink and would like to get married at a château in France. The trouble was, he’d confessed, they couldn’t afford it. Jean and Derek had ended up making them a fifteen-thousand-pound wedding gift to fund the occasion.
Still, thought Jean, as she surveyed the scene before her, it’s been worth it. The sky was cloudless, and a faint breeze rippled through the great oak tree that dominated the skyline in front of them. At the base of its vast trunk was the raised platform for the string quartet: three women and one man from the nearby village of Grasse.
Around fifty chairs were set out on either side of a gravel path that led back to the château; it had been sprinkled with petals from Faye’s favorite champagne rose. The chairs, which were of a rather heavy mahogany and hard-backed, had been transformed into something more summery with white linen covers, each with a champagne rose tucked in to the lacing at the back. Two five-foot pedestals had been placed to either side of the platform, each bearing an impressive arrangement of roses and lilies, and more flowers surrounded the tiny gazebo where the ceremony was to take place. The flowers alone had cost over two thousand pounds.
Jean sighed with contentment at the thought of the fairy-tale wedding at which she was one of the central figures.
“Mark should be down by now,” said Derek, tapping the classic Cartier tank watch Jean had bought him for their first anniversary forty-three years ago.
“There’s no sign of Brian either,” Jean observed. “I knew he’d be a liability as best man. I can’t think why Mark didn’t ask Tony.”
“Well, they’ve never been that close, have they? I mean, Tony had all but left home when little ’un was growing up.” Derek craned his neck to see behind him, and waved at Kate and Ted. “Come to mention it, I can’t see Tony either . . .”
“Good grief, look at this,” hissed Jean, pressing her French-manicured nails into Derek’s hand.
McLaren, resplendent in a lime-green Lycra plunge-neck minidress, was walking down the central path. Her six-inch metal spiked stilettos kept piercing the petals. Her hair was piled pineapple-style on top of her head, with a lime-green bow wrapped round it. “Wotcha!” she trilled, stopping next to the row where Jean and Derek were sitting. “Are those two seats free?” She extended a lime-green-painted fingernail towards the empty chairs.
“Sorry, Tony will be sitting there,” said Jean, with an expression that suggested there was a bad smell under her nose. She couldn’t believe the woman’s audacity in trying to sit in the section designated for family of the bride and groom.
“Hi, babes.” Nat appeared at McLaren’s side, took her buttock in his hand and squeezed it so hard that she let out a little squeal. “This where we’re sitting?” He took a step forward.
“Nah. Apparently, one of them is saved for Tony.” McLaren fixed Jean with a look that suggested she didn’t believe her.
“Can’t be.” Nat jerked his head backwards. “I’ve just seen him. He’s at the back.”
“Really?” Puzzled, Jean turned to see. Sure enough, she could see the top of Tony’s head, partially obscured by a woman with frizzy hair. “Derek,” she said, “go and tell him we’re— Oh, I say!”
Nat and McLaren were shoving their way past her towards the empty seats in their row. As she edged past Derek, McLaren stumbled and her ample cleavage lunged towards him.
A smile spread across Derek’s face but it withered rapidly when he saw Jean’s murderous expression. She shot him a “wait till I get you home” look, stepped out into the aisle and smoothed down her dress. “I’m going to talk to Tony,” she snapped, leaving her handbag on the seat to warn off any further intruders.
Tony’s showdown with Faye had left him feeling horribly unsettled, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. If it had been business, he would merely have brushed it aside and moved on to the next task. But this was personal, and he was surprised by how much it had disturbed him.
When he saw his mother bearing down on him, he sighed with such velocity that the feathers stirred on a frightful hat just in front of him.
But luck was on his side. Before she could catch his eye, Jean was waylaid at the halfway stage by Derek’s brother, Bob, and his rather portly wife, Kay. Kay’s ability never to draw breath during conversation was legendary, and Tony could see that his mother was having difficulty getting away. He seized the perfect opportunity to escape.
It was nearing the wedding hour and the guests were clearly starting to wonder what had happened to the groom and his best man, who should have appeared by now. Their absence told Tony that Faye had delivered the bad news, as she’d promised. He just didn’t know what she’d said, which made him feel anxious about bumping into his brother. On top of that, he didn’t want any awkward questions from his mother, particularly as he felt that his guilt in the wedding’s destruction was written all over his face.
He went into the château’s cool, dark entrance hall, stood still for a moment and composed himself. Through an open door to one side, he saw the dining room all laid out for the reception. Hearing voices descending from upstairs, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
There were five round tables of ten settings, all exquisitely laid out with crisp white cloths and silvery cutlery for four courses. Each had a central arrangement of champagne rose heads in shallow glass bowls, surrounded by dainty tea-lights in clear candle-holders. Like the seating outside, all the chairs had white linen covers with a long-stemmed champagne rose tucked into the back.
At the far end of the room there was a clear area, presumably assigned as a dance floor, and to one side was a DJ deck with two large spe
akers. In the far corner a small table with a round silver base on it stood in readiness for the staff to bring out the wedding cake. Thanks to an effusive description from his mother earlier, Tony knew it was three-tiered and decorated with cream roses.
The room felt eerie, but Tony wasn’t sure that this was because of its emptiness or the fact that he knew it was all about to go to waste. He also felt a twinge of guilt that so much money had been spent unnecessarily because of his actions.
“Snap out of it,” he muttered angrily to himself. After all, if Faye hadn’t been unfaithful in the first place, he wouldn’t have confronted her and the wedding would now be going ahead. It was her fault, he assured himself. And, besides, most of the costs had been met by his parents and they could well afford it. The loss of a few thousand pounds couldn’t compare with the disastrous consequences of Mark marrying a woman who was totally wrong for him.
He stared at a shaft of light that was pouring into the room and remembered the day when he had married Melissa. A typical London wedding, they had tied the knot in a ceremony at the trendy Chelsea Town Hall, then posed on the steps for their small group of guests and a couple of paparazzi, who were interested in the guests for newspaper gossip-column fodder, to take photos. They had held the champagne-and-sushi reception at the achingly hip Light Bar at the St. Martin’s Lane Hotel in Covent Garden, and had left at midnight to have a few hours’ sleep beore flying to Bali the next morning.
Everyone who was anyone was there, captains of industry on Tony’s side, supermodels and magazine editors from Melissa’s circle. It was a networking opportunity rather than a family affair, and consequently he had resisted all attempts by his mother to get involved in the organization. He knew Jean had never forgiven him for this.
Melissa had looked stunning in a Valentino gown made specially for her, and pictures from their wedding made just about every gossip page. For a short while, they were quite a golden couple.
But what did it all mean now? Melissa was seeing someone else, and he was living a shallow life consisting mostly of work with the occasional meaningless fling. Was he really one to judge Faye’s behavior?
Again, Tony found himself experiencing more than a twinge of guilt about forcing her to call off the wedding. Having met and spent some time with her, he knew now that his family’s money hadn’t been an issue. But, up to the point of their showdown, he’d remained convinced that it was an unsuitable match.
Now, standing in the lavishly decorated room, he was having serious doubts about his own judgment. Maybe she would have made Mark happy, he thought. After all, no guarantees come with marriage—he and Melissa could vouch for that. He gave it a few moments of thought, then shook himself and told himself to snap out of it. Walking to the door, he opened it just in time to see Faye’s back as she stepped outside.
Saturday, June 29
2:55 p.m.
As Faye walked past the guests and made her way to the front, the chatter stopped in a wave as each group laid eyes on her. By the time she got there, the silence was deafening.
She was framed by the wedding gazebo, but this was no bride. Still wearing her T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, her face was devoid of makeup and it was obvious that she’d been crying. Everyone was looking at her, their faces showing disquiet. The tension was broken by someone’s coughing fit.
She waited for it to end, then cleared her throat. “Hello, all,” she said. “I’m afraid there’s not going to be a wedding.” The clarity of Faye’s voice surprised even her.
There was a collective gasp from the guests, then silence again. They looked at her expectantly, evidently anxious for a full explanation.
She took a deep breath and tilted her head towards the sky, eyes closed. She knew that whatever she said now would be reported back to all and sundry, so she wanted to choose her words carefully.
Opening her eyes to face them again, she fixed her gaze on a central point halfway down the aisle. “The reason that I’m standing here and not Mark is that it’s all my fault. I just can’t go through with it . . .” Now she wanted to sprint away and leave it at that. But she knew it wasn’t enough: she had to come up with an explanation, however fictitious.
Her train of thought was broken by loud sobbing, and she scanned the crowd. Jean’s head was buried in Derek’s shoulder, her hat pushed back to an awkward angle, and her shoulders shaking. Derek reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
Faye knew that once the initial humiliation had abated, Jean would be fine. She was a tough, resilient woman who had the added bonus of being surrounded by her husband and sons, always there to make sure she was all right. It was her own mother she was more concerned about, and now she searched for her. Typically Alice was sitting in the third row rather than at the front. She didn’t seem to be crying, but she looked shocked, with a deathly white pallor.
The sight of her brought a huge knot to Faye’s throat. More than anything, she wanted to be in Alice’s cozy living room right now, being cuddled, fed chicken soup, and told that everything was going to be fine.
But she knew that to leave now would be a cop-out. She had to carry on, if only for Mark. “Mark is a fantastic, wonderful man . . .” she moved her head from left to right to show that she was addressing them all “. . . and it may sound clichéd, but I just don’t think I’m good enough for him.”
“Hear! hear!” That was Brian, who had sneaked in and was now sitting at the far left-hand side of the front row.
His comment prompted a few mutterings among the crowd, and Faye saw Tony move like lightning from the back row to his side. He whispered animatedly in his ear, clearly admonishing him for interrupting.
Faye composed herself. “He’s absolutely right to say that,” she said, nodding towards Brian. “I’m sure a lot of you have had reservations about Mark and me getting married, and a few have even expressed them. But we didn’t listen. I suppose we thought we loved each other enough for everything to turn out OK in the end.”
By now, Jean’s sobbing had reached a crescendo. Derek, a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders, was simply staring ahead, stony-faced. Alongside them, Nat was whispering to McLaren. The smirk on his face told Faye he was finding the disaster incredibly amusing, so she decided not to look in his direction again.
“Sadly, it has taken me until today to realize that I just don’t have what it would take to make Mark a good wife, to make him as happy as he deserves to be.”
She paused, looking at her sneakers and fighting to hold back tears. She knew that crying would look self-pitying, and if there was one person who wasn’t going to garner sympathy today, it was she.
“There’s a variety of reasons why I feel I’m incapable of it,” she continued, “but I’m not going to make any excuses. As I said, there isn’t going to be a wedding. But suffice to say, I still love Mark very much.”
She finally picked out Adam, sitting alone and partially obscured by her cousin Marion’s large hat. She tried to catch his eye, but he was staring into space.
She gestured towards the château. “The reception is all paid for and ready for you. It’ll only go to waste if you don’t make use of it, so please do.” The knot in the back of her throat was now so tight it was difficult to speak. “Please forgive us if we don’t join you.”
That was it. She couldn’t say anymore. She mouthed, “I’m sorry,” at Alice, then stepped out of the gazebo towards a small opening in a tall hedge situated to the side. She knew she should probably stay and face the music, but the sight of an escape route proved too much for her and she darted through it into the vast gardens and woods beyond.
The moment she disappeared, it was as if a hand grenade had been thrown into the crowd. The gentle murmuring of a few seconds ago escalated into excited chatter as they reacted to the drama that had just unfolded before them.
Jean was still slumped on her chair. Her hat had fallen off now and was lying on the floor. She was sobbing quietly while Derek stood
by, awkward and surplus to requirements. He looked relieved when he caught Tony’s eye and gestured wildly for him to come over.
Tony made his way towards his parents, his heart leaden at the sight of the emotional turmoil around him. “Come on, Mum, no one’s died.” He placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder.
“Tony!” she wailed. “What on earth has happened between them? Can’t you sort it out?” Her face was red from crying, and the mascara from her left eye had run into the crevices of her cheek.
“It’s their business, Mum. We can’t get involved.” Little do you know, he thought grimly.
Jean blew her nose and rose unsteadily to her feet. “I must go and find Mark. He’ll need me, poor thing.”
Tony was unsure how Mark was coping, but one thing he did know: he wouldn’t want their mother turning up at his room and making matters even worse. “No.” He gently pushed her back into her seat. “I doubt he’ll want to see any of us right now.”
Jean picked up her hat and placed it on an empty chair. “What can have happened?” She sniffled. “They seemed fine last night.”
Her remark seemed to break Derek out of his trance. “Yes, they seemed very happy,” he agreed. “I can only think that something catastrophic has happened for it all to be called off at the last minute like this.” He rubbed his temples. “What a bloody waste of money.”
His wife scowled at him. “Trust you to think of your wallet at a time like this. It means nothing compared to our little boy’s happiness. I can’t bear to think of him sitting up there, feeling rejected and alone.” She waved towards the château and looked as though she might burst into tears again.
“Now, now,” Tony butted in. “We don’t want another marriage falling by the wayside, do we? Let’s do some straight thinking.”
“Fan-bloody-tastic!” Nat edged around them, grinning from ear to ear. “This is better than television!”
