In a Country Garden

by Maeve Haran

  ‘That’s all it needed.’ Claudia shook her head.

  But there was one more surprise Mother Nature had up her sleeve for them yet.

  Twenty-Five

  When they all woke for Sal’s wedding day the persistent rain had changed to hail, with hailstones as big as tennis balls.

  ‘Hailstones in summer!’ Ella pressed her nose against the window to get a better look. ‘I bet you don’t get this in India, Lalita?’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Lal corrected. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of the Himalaya Mountains? They have avalanches!’

  ‘I hope we’re not going to get one those in Surrey.’ Claudia joined Ella at the window.

  ‘Do you think it’s Jehovah telling me to change my mind?’ suggested Sal, joining them.

  Mrs Lal left them to it and went off to help Lou get dressed.

  ‘Come on, sir,’ she encouraged the rather reluctant Lou. ‘Enjoy yourself!’ She patted his broad shoulders. ‘What would your Colonel Flashman do on his wedding day?’

  ‘Run off with all the bridesmaids, from what I’ve heard of the guy!’ was Lou’s instant response. ‘Actually, I’m an American, and Flashman was a Brit. Of course I’ll do my best to behave badly.’

  After that he submitted quietly to being dressed in the ornate white outfit she produced. Once she had finished he surveyed himself in the long mirror, from the tasselled headdress to the wreaths of white flowers she placed round his neck. ‘Liberace on speed!’ he pronounced. ‘Where’s my best man got to?’

  Don appeared rather sheepishly, also clad in white cloth which forcibly reminded Lou of upholstery fabric. ‘Don’t sit down or I won’t be able to tell you from the couch,’ he counselled.

  ‘I’m doing this for you, Lou . . .’ Don replied, wounded.

  ‘I know, I know, and as the only other example of living, breathing manhood resident here I’m deeply grateful to you.’

  ‘There was always Hiro,’ Don grinned.

  ‘He’s agreed to be the ring bearer.’

  They both laughed as Mrs Lal appeared with a fortifying brandy for each of them.

  ‘Bridegroom’s nerves,’ she announced as she handed them over.

  ‘I thought it was the bride who got nervous,’ Lou replied, knocking back his courage-inducing snifter.

  ‘From my observation,’ Mrs Lal corrected, ‘it is far more often the bridegroom who disappears to an unknown destination.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lou reassured, ‘I certainly won’t be doing that.’

  In the coach house, which had been designated as changing room for bride and bridesmaids, all was happy chaos.

  The bridesmaids, assisted by Olivia, were busily winding themselves in saris and trying to reveal as little bare middle as possible.

  ‘These bloody things go on forever,’ protested Ella.

  ‘The whole nine yards as a matter of fact,’ Laura laughed. ‘I looked it up on Google.’

  ‘Oh well, it’ll make a nice tablecloth afterwards,’ pronounced Olivia.

  ‘Three nice tablecloths,’ corrected Ella.

  ‘Ladies!’ Mrs Lal, who appeared to have the knack of being in two places at once, suddenly emerged from the corridor. ‘Champagne!’

  ‘She certainly thinks of everything,’ murmured Laura.

  ‘This is a very special wedding!’ They were relieved that for once she didn’t suggest that the bride might not make it through the honeymoon. ‘To the wonder of women!’

  ‘I’ll certainly drink to that,’ conceded Ella, holding up her glass.

  Sal’s daughter Lara and her children came into the room, happy and laughing.

  She held Sal at arm’s length and studied her. ‘Sally . . . Mum . . . You look amazing!’

  At the word ‘Mum’ Sal began to dissolve into happy tears. ‘I just never thought I’d hear that word applied to me, that’s all.’

  ‘And soon you’ll be hearing another unfamiliar word,’ Lara teased, holding her close. ‘Mrs Maynard.’

  ‘And believe me,’ Sal wiped her eyes, ‘I’m going to use it on every bloody occasion I can. Fuck Ms . . . oops, sorry, girls . . .’ She turned to her granddaughters and pretended to put her hands over their ears.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Granny,’ piped the older one. ‘Mum called her boss a bastard the other day!’ She studied her mother’s embarrassed face.

  ‘Well, he is . . .’ Lara began, before she stopped herself.

  ‘What good English you speak, girls!’ Sal rescued her. ‘Do you know, I think it might be time for me to go and get married!’

  ‘As excuses go,’ Lara murmured to her, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better one than that!’

  Mrs Lal stopped them at the doorway. ‘Let me just go and check. You may be very modern but I still don’t think you should arrive before the bridegroom. It would spoil the drama if nothing else!’

  ‘Do we need any more drama?’ Claudia asked, peering outside. ‘Oh my God, it’s stopped! Look, everyone!’ The hail had disappeared and in one of these dramatic shifts that makes us talk about nothing but the weather, it had been replaced by a bright blue sky. ‘It’s brilliant sunshine!’ She turned to Sal. ‘Jehovah’s changed his mind. He says it’s fine as long as you marry someone Jewish from Brooklyn!’

  ‘Go on, tell me there’s a rainbow!’ Sal smiled.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Grainger. One miracle’s enough.’

  They stepped gingerly out, holding up their saris. Ella held a large umbrella over Sal in case Jehovah had a rethink.

  All the way across the garden from the lounge to the new Chinese pagoda Mrs Lal had laid a carpet in exactly the right shade to complement the bride’s ensemble. Just outside the pagoda, under a couple of parasols improvised to ward off the worst of the hail, sat a small group of musicians playing what could only be described as Indian lift music, designed not to offend anyone’s cultural sensibilities.

  Inside the pagoda stood a beaming Lou, Don at his side looking almost as delighted. The only other guests were Olivia, Rose, Bella with Nigel and Noah, Douglas and Gaby, Sal’s daughter Lara with her lovely family, Lou’s daughter plus her husband and baby, Spike and Uncle Billy, Lord Murdo Binns and Hiro.

  Mrs Lal had got it absolutely right. These were the people who meant most to Sal and Lou, and to be frank, no one else could possibly fit in the pagoda.

  The ceremony was short and sweet. There was no need for vows that promised loyalty in sickness and in health because that was already happening.

  Hiro appeared at exactly the right moment, beaming and bearing the ring, and didn’t even declaim any Shakespeare.

  After they were pronounced man and wife and the rose petals had been beautifully strewn, the happy couple kissed and the party began. Then they went inside to eat a wonderful meal of foie gras to be followed by rare roast beef provided as a gift from Uncle Billy.

  By some matchmaking sleight of hand, Laura found herself sitting next to Mike from Men in Sheds, with whom she happily swapped photos of their grandchildren.

  Ella was delighted and relieved that dangerous Daniel Forrest was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Well done,’ Claudia congratulated her husband, ‘you look lovely in white.’

  ‘Sarky cow,’ Don responded.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Claudia replied, nettled.

  ‘I like sarky cows as a matter of fact. I find them quite a turn-on.’

  ‘Don! We’re at a wedding!’

  ‘Where better?’ He looked in the direction of Sal and Lou. ‘I think they’ll be happy, don’t you?’

  Claudia looked at her friend of more than forty years. They had lived through excitement, loneliness, success and failure – in other words, life, together. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by any means.

  Now that the foie gras with black truffle had been cleared, Sal was clapping for silence. With all the outrageous nerve that came from sixty years of living, she clambered onto the table.

  ‘Okay, quiet, the lot of you! I’ve got somet
hing to say. I never thought I’d be a Mrs. In fact, to be honest, I much preferred the idea of being a Ms, but that was before I met this man.’ She waved her champagne glass at her new husband, who was beaming his approval – tempered with slight alarm at her precarious position – from his seat next to hers.

  ‘So, everyone here, my beloved and much treasured people, a toast!’ They all raised their glasses in readiness. ‘To Mrs Henry Louis Maynard the Fourth! In other words, ME!!’

  ‘Come on down now before you break something, you crazy broad!’ Lou held his hand out to her, his face full of love and happiness. ‘If there’s one thing I’d change about you, it’s your propensity to climb onto tables. By the way, isn’t someone supposed to be toasting the bridesmaids?’

  Don had already leaped to his feet. ‘You’re quite right, Lou. I think that’s my job. I would indeed like to toast the bridesmaids, and one of them in particular, my wife Claudia. I know there’ve been times when we’ve all felt moving to the Manor was a godawful mistake.’ Rumblings around the room confirmed this to be no less than the truth. ‘But recently things have been begun to change. No one said growing old would be sweet – or even bittersweet. In fact, most of us denied it was going to happen at all. But through some hideous accident it has happened, and maybe, just maybe, we’ve found a better way of facing it, with each other, among friends and family. So I’d like to raise a toast to all the bridesmaids but especially Claudia who dared to bring us here. So Claudia, my wife, my love, we’ll be blaming you when it all finally goes wrong. To the bridesmaids, and above all, Claudia!’

  All round the room people clapped and banged their feet on the floor as they seconded Don in his toast.

  The next course arrived, followed by a beautiful chocolate wedding cake which Lou and Sal, in yet another global cultural reference, cut with a Scottish sword.

  And Mrs Lal was on her feet to announce the dancing.

  ‘It is very naughty of me to hijack this wonderful occasion,’ she said without a shred of visible shame, ‘to announce the news that we’re through to the next round of Best Charity Shop at Good Age!’

  Tumultuous clapping followed. ‘And now,’ she continued, beaming, ‘Mr and Mrs Maynard will have their first dance in the lounge!’

  The bridal couple took to the floor to launch their married life with the original version of ‘Lovely Day’ sung by Bill Withers. ‘When I look at you,’ Lou sang along to Sal, ‘I always know it’s going to be a lovely day.’ And then he added, ‘He’s not much older than me, you know.’

  ‘And not nearly as sexy,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Now that is a compliment. He’s one of the sexiest bluesmen of all time.’

  ‘I rest my case.’

  Most of the furniture had been removed from the lounge, and it left just enough space for everyone to dance.

  Laura found herself really enjoying the company of her new friend Mike. After they’d shared six dances, Don discreetly signalled to her.

  Pretending to need the loo, Laura followed him to the table that had been set up as a bar.

  ‘Laura, I thought I just ought to warn you about Mike . . .’ Don’s face was bleak with foreboding.

  Laura’s chest tightened. Not another shit. She really had a talent for picking them. ‘Yes,’ she replied curtly, her face hardening in anticipation. What was this one going to be? A wife beater or just terminally unfaithful?

  Don’s face broke into the widest of smiles. ‘Mike’s a really nice bloke. Just thought I’d let you know.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said at last, not knowing whether to hug him or kick him. ‘I think I could cope with that.’

  Before she could get back to him, Bella had started to make another announcement.

  ‘I didn’t think Sal and Lou would mind if I shared some news.’ She put her arm round her huge husband. ‘Nigel and I are having another baby!’

  Everyone cheered, especially Laura.

  ‘That is wonderful news,’ Mrs Lal’s voice boomed out. ‘Now we have births, marriages and—’

  ‘Lalita!’ Olivia descended on her before she could finish her sentence. ‘Come and cut me a slice of that marvellous chocolate cake!’

  It was a wedding few of the guests would ever forget.

  Lou and Sal weren’t going on a honeymoon but they were still cheered and whooped as they set off on the extremely brief journey back to their cottage where, unknown to them, Mrs Lal had lit fifty tea lights and strewn rose petals all over the bed, to celebrate their wedding night.

  ‘Thanks for the speech,’ Claudia acknowledged, as she and Don walked back through the gardens to the coach house. She stopped suddenly, pointing upwards. ‘Look! Do you think Mrs Lal arranged that too?’

  Above them a full moon had just appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating the whole landscape in incandescent white light.

  ‘No,’ Don replied modestly, ‘I ordered that. You deserve it after all your hard work.’ To her surprise he was holding out a hand for her to take. ‘Maybe it’s time we joined the hand-holding brigade.’

  With the reflection of the moonlight his face somehow looked thirty years younger.

  ‘Okay.’ Claudia glanced round the scene in case of witnesses. ‘Thirty seconds max.’

  Don took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘Actually,’ he smiled, pulling her towards him in the clear night air, ‘I was thinking more of ten.’

  Read on for an extract of

  a story of romance and friendship

  on the Amalfi Coast . . .

  Claire was the first to wake; she’d always been an early riser and often leapt out of bed leaving Martin to sleep. She padded over to the window and threw open the shutters. The sun hit her eyes with such force that she had to stand back and shade them. But as soon as she was accustomed to the sunlight she leaned out of her window. The vista unfolding in front of her took her breath away with its loveliness.

  The terrace beneath her window was decorated with urns overflowing with pale pink geraniums which gave way to trees of bright, new spring green and below that a dazzling cobalt blue sea. A single fishing boat ploughed its way across her vision, heading inland with its overnight catch, leaving a white trail from its motor.

  Claire looked at her watch. Only seven. No one else would be up. And she knew she just had to be outside.

  She quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, scrabbled around for her trainers and sneaked out through the silent house.

  In the gardens that tumbled down the hillside it wasn’t just the light that amazed her but a heady perfume she didn’t recognize. As she rounded the corner at the side of the house she came across a pergola, half hidden by a mass of purple wisteria, with two chairs placed underneath it. She sat down and breathed in the glorious scent, but it was too lovely to sit for long. At the back of the house almond, cherry and apple trees waved their pink and white blossoms in the morning breeze and she could hear the sound of bees buzzing from one flower to the next.

  On the next level down, a small fountain trickled beside a half-hidden grotto with a fresh-water pool built into the rock face. Claire almost clapped her hands in delight. On the edge of the pool a life-sized marble nymph kneeled, staring into the water, an expression of longing on her face. The quality of the carving was extraordinary. This was not the work of some local stonemason. It had to have been chiselled by the hand of a master.

  An irresistible temptation overcame Claire. She glanced furtively around, then, satisfied that she was alone, stripped off her clothes down to pants and bra. Oh what the hell, she thought, the nymph is naked, why not me too?

  The water was icy cold and clear as gin, but country-bred Claire just held her breath until she got used to it.

  She found a small ledge where she could support herself and stared again at the statue. ‘Is it your lost lover you’re searching for?’ she enquired of the stone maiden. ‘Banished under the water by some jealous goddess?’

  The
only answer was a laugh.

  Claire swung round to find Giovanni pushing a wheelbarrow, his shirt undone even further than Simon Cowell’s, though Giovanni’s chest could not have been more different.

  ‘Due ninfe.’ He smiled with that sly sexy smile that seemed so characteristically Italian. Two nymphs. One nymph and a crone might have been more appropriate. Casually Claire slipped an arm across her breasts, conscious that if she let go of the ledge to protect her modesty she would disappear under the water. She must carry this off with confidence as if English ladies took naked dips every morning. The terrible thought struck her that Giovanni was looking straight at her body through the crystal-clear water.

  ‘Febbre di primavera. The fever of the spring,’ he stated as if this was a perfectly acceptable explanation for finding a nude woman in a fountain. ‘Nobody can resist.’

  And then he walked onwards, whistling.

  Claire waited until he was safely out of sight and then climbed out. She didn’t even have a towel. She pulled her T-shirt on over her wet body, realizing it only drew attention to her freezing nipples, and scrabbled into her jeans, the dampness of her body making her almost fall over as she tried to yank them on.

  She glanced back at the pool.

  From where he was standing with the sunlight illuminating the water, she would have seemed as naked as Lady Godiva minus her famous hair.

  She wondered for a moment how Martin would have reacted if he’d come upon her nude in a pool. Probably wouldn’t have noticed. Or maybe he’d have said: ‘For God’s sake, Claire, what the hell are you doing? You’ll catch your death.’ Certainly not called her a nymph. To give him his due he was from Cheltenham.

  Angela drew back one of her extravagant devoré curtains and stepped out onto her large balcony, so large that it was really a terrace. For a moment she didn’t notice the beauty of the day, still preoccupied with the fact that this was Stephen Charlesworth’s house.

  She remembered when they’d said goodbye as clearly as if she were still in the moment. He had been so kind when the father she loved so much had died and had even driven her home in his ancient black Austin Healey to take care of her mother. They had both been grateful that for once it hadn’t broken down. How he’d loved that car.