by Rose Amberly
Evans was waiting for her at the other end and helped her climb into the carriage. She was grateful Mrs B had sent him; it would’ve been a long, dusty walk all the way to the church.
“Who’s going to be there, do you know?” Millie asked Evans as the horse clip-clopped towards the eastern end of the island.
“It’ll be someone from the Royal Household for the ceremony. There’s seating been added outside ‘cos the church won’t fit everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone tha’ wants te. Not every day we have this kind-o’ do. But not tourists. Just all of us from La Canette,” Evans said.
“I’m not really from La Canette.”
He turned around and fixed her with a no-nonsense expression. “You own and run a business here, don’t yer? That makes yer one o’us in anyone’s book, Miss.” Evans cleared his throat, then went on. “I never would’ve thought it that day I picked yer up from the ferry. You looked like a puppy what’s been kicked, but you’re a different lady now.” His eyes were warm on her before he turned back to watch the road. “An’ you’ve changed our island an’ no mistake. Everyone talks about what yer made outa the little Cotentin fish-n-chip shop.”
Millie, about to thank him for the compliment, bit her lip on the words. Cotentin? “Do you mean the place used to belong to, erm—”
“Old George Cotentin, aye, the seigneur’s father-in-law.”
Millie sat back, stunned. The evening sounds, sheep, dogs, seagulls and the crunch of cartwheels on the path, all faded.
Thoughts whirled around her head. That’s why it mattered so much. She remembered him trying to discourage her from sailing to the cove a year ago. Then, their night in the storm, his sudden mood change. Not here, he’d said. Of course not there, of all places. That’s why he always went up East Hill. To look at the cove and his grandfather’s cottage.
Missing pieces of the jigsaw were coming together in her head. That was why he’d flipped when he’d seen the property deeds. I’d have flipped, too, in his place.
Her hand went to the base of her throat to still the erratic pulse. Why didn’t I let him explain at Easter? He wanted to tell me. I just talked over him, shut him up, assumed I knew everything. Millie’s hands were damp as she released her grip on her little silver handbag. Oh my God. I took his mother’s childhood home! Did I really blame him for his pain, tell him it was his dark demons?
She wanted to tell Evans to stop, turn around, to take her anywhere else but the church. There was no way she could go now—too late. They were here, and the horse was slowing down as the church loomed dark against the sky in the twilight.
* * *
One of the ushers stationed at the door recognized her immediately. Suzie, eyes shining with excitement, almost ran towards Millie.
“Hello, Suzie.” Millie climbed down from the carriage. Suzie took her hand to pull her inside as if she were afraid to lose her.
“What is it?” Millie asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” Suzie answered looking the complete opposite of nothing as she led Millie to the last empty seat in the fifth row. There was a Reserved card on the seat, which Suzie quickly removed. “This is your seat.”
Oh God, no, not the front. She desperately wanted to hide among the crowds at the back. “Suzie, I can sit behind—”
“It’s been reserved for you.”
Millie looked around and recognized some of the others in the row. Two seats away were the Shaffers, who managed the village hotel. Millie knew them reasonably well because they sent a lot of their guests to her for afternoon tea. They beckoned to Millie now as she sat down.
“Did you see?” Mrs Shaffer leaned over to ask her. “It’s the Duke of Gloucester up in the front row.”
“Who is he?”
“The Queen’s cousin.” Seeing that Millie was none the wiser, Mrs Shaffer tilted her head towards a tall, white-haired man in the front row. “He’s really a prince, and his brother, Prince William, was the one who died in the plane crash. Used to be close with our seigneur in his younger, wilder days.”
So he was here representing the royal household, of course, for the ceremony.
There was no sign of George. Could she ask Mrs Shaffer? No, she couldn’t. The village gossip mill didn’t need fodder.
Millie sat as patiently as she could while the church filled up. Her eyes searched the pews, but she suspected George wouldn’t come in this early. He’s probably in the vestry or whatever that room to the side is called. He’s probably just waiting for the ceremony to start. Throughout the obligatory fifteen minutes of Bach organ music, she kept craning her neck towards the side entrance. Nothing. The music finished, and Bishop Gardner stepped forward to lead the prayers.
“Now,” the Bishop said when the last hymn had been sung, “I would like to introduce His Excellency, Lord Du Montfort, Seigneur of La Canette.”
While the church echoed with respectful applause, Du Montfort was wheeled to a table covered with dark-blue velvet. The island’s coat of arms was embossed in gold at the centre of the ceremonial cloth.
She smiled to see Du Montfort looking regal in his sash and medals. His speech was formal but short. As expected, he welcomed the Duke of Gloucester, he touched on the history of the island going back to the Norman invasion and gave thanks for a rewarding tenure as seigneur.
Finally, George rose from a seat in the front row where a column had hidden him from her view.
Millie’s breath caught in her chest. He looked stunning in formal black tie, and a snow-white dress shirt set off his smooth, bronzed face. His black hair was immaculate under the lights. An excited wave of whispering rose and fell in the church around her, and she couldn’t blame them. He eclipsed everyone; even the duke faded by comparison.
Looking solemn, he strode to the platform, and his handsome face broke into a smile when he came level with Du Montfort. He actually smiled at his father. Millie had never seen him look at his father with anything but frustration, and her heart lifted to see the look of pride and affection on Du Montfort’s face when his son approached.
A hush fell on the crowd as he knelt down on the altar steps in front of his father, hands at his sides, back straight. Millie had a lump in her throat as George dipped his head. His father placed the seigneurial sash over his son’s head, and diagonally across his torso.
When the investiture vows and declarations were spoken, first by Du Montfort and then by George in a clear, smooth voice, he stood up and faced the congregation. The church erupted in loud and enthusiastic applause.
If he had looked stunning before, now he looked like Prince Charming.
I am Cinderella. Millie’s eyes couldn’t leave George as he moved to the lectern and started talking. It was her who’d found his glass slipper, his newspaper, in that London café and followed it to the Island. In this strange fairy tale, she had also been her own fairy godmother and possibly his. Now that he’d been transformed, should she propose to him in this upside-down Cinderella story?
She had rejected him before, partly unfairly, it now transpired. She had judged him and misunderstood him.
When he misunderstood and judged me, last year, I took my trust away. He came as soon as he found out, dropped everything and came, yet I turned him down. She remembered his bleak expression as he walked out of the café last Easter. I doubt his pride would let him come to me again.
But she didn’t rage at him.
No, but he offered me his heart, his future, his everything, and I told him it wasn’t enough. How can he forgive me?
Stop trying to guess. Wait and see how he feels.
Millie watched his face. If he looked at her, if there was any hope for them, it would show in his eyes. I don’t mind making the move. I owe him this much. But I need to know he still wants me.
Just then Suzie crept quietly up the aisle next to Mill
ie and bent down to whisper in her ear. “I forgot to tell you, sorry. He wants you to come up on stage. When he looks at you and says the words ‘your partner,’ you are to walk up to the stage behind him.” Suzie crept away, leaving Millie breathless. So that’s why there was a reserved seat for me so close to the front.
She kept her eyes on George, but her heart was in her throat as she listened for the promised words.
“New additions that are very close to my heart,” George was saying. “In honour of my late mother, I announce the opening of the Lady Isobel Refuge for Women. This charity will support and help find new housing, jobs, training and security to any woman from the Channel Islands who finds herself at risk.” George had to break to wait for the applause to die down.
“Another new addition to La Canette,” he continued, “and one that gives me great pleasure, will be the Du Montfort Library and Lecture Hall open to any and all residents. Some of the books will come from my father’s own collection. He hopes to share his love for the history and heritage of La Canette with all of us. In fact, I believe,” George said turning a wicked smile on his father, “if you ask him nicely, he might even give talks to groups of students.” He winked, and his father gave him a mock scowl.
Something like sunrise was bursting inside Millie to see both men had made peace. She wanted to hug George, to hug his father, to hug everyone. George did more than make peace; he turned his grief and rage over his parent into something positive that will help others.
“As new seigneur”—George turned serious now, his eyes surveyed the crowded church—“I hope you will think of me not as your governor but as your partner.” His eyes were on Millie.
This’s my cue. Heart fluttering, she rose, uncertain, but George gave her a subtle nod.
She walked to the front, feeling all eyes on her. White noise whooshed in her ears; someone was walking behind her, but she climbed the few steps without help. Focus on your feet. Don’t fall in front of six hundred people.
Up on the raised platform, old Du Montfort smiled at her, nodding encouragement.
Look ahead. Don’t turn this way or that. One foot in front of the other. Millie walked and stood by the table behind George, who was still speaking.
“If La Canette has been a success story, it isn’t because of who governs it but because of all of us.” And George turned to look behind him, but his eyes weren’t on Millie alone, and that’s when Millie realized she wasn’t the only one who’d come up. She’d been too fogged to see. Everyone sitting in her pew had followed her.
Indicating a couple to the left, George said, “Mr and Mrs Ward, who run Apple-Tree Farm and produce the best cheeses anywhere.” The Wards stepped forward and smiled as George led the applause.
Then he looked towards another older man. “Roger Wheatley, who ensures our village school offers free and excellent education to local children…” Again and again people applauded as the new seigneur focussed on each person behind him.
“Blue Sage Café.” He turned to Millie. “One of our most recent and most remarkable success stories. In a few months, Miss Summers has become a major attraction and a lesson to all of us on how to celebrate our own island’s resources.” Millie stood perfectly still and smiled politely to acknowledge the applause. George was smiling, too.
But search his face as closely as she could, she found nothing warmer than his pride and pleasure in any other business he’d mentioned tonight. His eyes were polite, but they didn’t connect. All too soon the others filed down and back to their seats, and Millie followed.
It’s okay. He won’t look at me like a lover. I sent him away after all; he’s too proud. But she was proud, too, and she wasn’t going to make a move. She needed a sign, something in his eyes.
George was winding up his speech. “Times have changed, and it’s time we moved on from feudal land ownership. We will start the process of devolution together, and within five years, I hope that many of you will own your own farms, homes, and lands.”
Millie watched him, standing tall; he was proud but not arrogant, a new man bringing a new age. Bringing transformation.
But had everything changed? His feelings for her? Had they transformed into a new love for something else? His island?
Look at me, George, look me in the eye.
“Elections will follow, and we will vote for a new governor.” His gaze travelled past where Millie sat. He didn’t avoid her, but the eye contact was fleeting and impersonal. “For now, I put my hand in yours, and together we will create a new beginning.” His voice was rich and deep, filling the church as he asked the crowd. “Are you with me?”
Any individual answers were lost in the deafening cheer that went up and almost raised the roof. The standing ovation inside and out of the church, where more crowds gathered, went on and on as George walked towards his father and embraced him.
Then he walked down the aisle, shaking hands and greeting people. Everyone wanted to touch him, to thank him, to offer congratulations. He was coming closer to where she sat.
At one point, the crowd parted, and he looked at her, but someone else came between them, and George turned away.
Millie left her seat quietly and walked down the side aisle. There was no need to put him on the spot; she understood all too well. He’d done exactly what she’d asked him to do. He’d found himself, his true calling. Even if that meant she had lost him. Life was bigger than a mere love story, surely.
She didn’t want to stay and watch him treat her like the next person. That was too much. So. she walked out into the warm night and made her way to the road. Everyone seemed happy, parents swung their children up in the air, people laughed, lovers snuck behind trees, exchanging little kisses.
Suzie was talking to a young man, holding hands, but when she saw Millie, she ran over, looking even more excited than before. “He was amazing, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was—he is.” Millie hugged Suzie to avoid eye contact with the girl. Eyes revealed too much.
“Are you going home?” Suzie introduced her young man. “Jack is running a special late water taxi. He can drop you off.”
What a relief. Millie didn’t want to look for Evans, who was bound to be busy with the Du Montforts tonight. There was to be a grand dinner back at the house with the duke.
Anyway, she and the Du Montforts were on different paths now. Whatever connected them was in the past. The sooner she got used to this, the better.
She gave Suzie a quick smile. “Thanks, I’ll come on the water taxi.”
* * *
Two hours later. Blue Sage Pier.
The trouble was, lots of other people needed to get home, and the water taxi took forever. It was nearly midnight before Millie disembarked at the bottom of her jetty.
Just then Suzie called out, “Oh, sorry I forgot to tell you, the eucalyptus trees were meant to be delivered tonight. Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, I told them they could just shove them to the back of the boardwalk, behind the cottage.”
Millie waved her goodnight and walked towards her home. Suzie had to be in love; she was very forgetful lately. But the trees were the least of Millie’s concerns tonight. Her heels clicked on the wooden platform and echoed in the quiet night. Nothing but the sound of gentle waves and her heart saying softly, George, goodbye my darling George—then the lights caught her eye.
Why were the blue lights on?
When the renovations were done, she had applied for permission to fit tiny blue fairy lights on the edge of her jetty and boardwalk to stop unwary night walkers falling into the sea. Night lights weren’t allowed outside on La Canette, but these were too faint, and blue, unlikely to cause light pollution to interfere with La Canette’s Dark Sky. Even so, she’d had to sign papers promising to only put them on when absolutely necessary.
Tonight, they were on. They made a faint, pale-blue dotted line towards the fa
r end behind the cottage. She couldn’t remember turning them on before she’d left earlier.
Great, they just got a new seigneur, and she was already in breach of island regulations on artificial lighting.
She followed the pinpoints of light towards the back, and sure enough, there was almost a wall of trees across the boardwalk.
Except it couldn’t be twenty trees, more like forty, and they weren’t all eucalyptus. The scent of the trees carried on the warm breeze was a sweet mix of different leaves… She quickened her pace, her heels making a firm, confident sound despite the worry she felt as she reached the trees.
Someone was still there.
“You might like to take your shoes off,” George said softly as he came from behind the eucalyptus.
* * *
Midnight.
The potted trees had been arranged in a square, and inside, the ground was covered in a thick layer of leaves and soft sprigs. George, his own feet bare, had his trouser legs rolled up to below his knees. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, and it hung open.
Millie’s heart flipped and danced in her chest, and her stomach knotted, then dropped to her lower belly. Her breathing was dangerously shallow, and the less said about her wobbly knees, the better.
Starlight shone on George’s hair, which looked very dishevelled as if he’d been moving things around in the middle of the night.
“How did you get here?” she blurted out at last. Not because it was the most important question, but because it was at the top of the heap of very important questions her heart was sending up. “Why are you here, and what happened to your tuxedo? What’s going on here—why is the floor covered in leaves, and why are you here? I thought you’d be with everyone at the dinner with the Duke of … erm, and why didn’t you even look at me in the church—did you put all these trees in a square? It smells like, I don’t know, and why are you here?” There was no more oxygen, and she stopped and waited for her lungs to supply more air.
