by Laura Briggs
I picked up my floral materials from Cliffs House the next morning, along with a checklist of blossoms. In the kitchen, Michael was removing a delicious-looking cake in a decorative tin, its odor as tantalizing as Dinah's toothsome morsels.
"Cuppa?" he asked, as I entered. A barked request that sounded more like a begrudging inquiry than a genuine offer, but I had faith he meant it nicely.
"Cake?" I asked, with a hopeful glance at the tin.
"Not on your life. It has plans already." He closed the oven door, then poured a cup of tea from the pot waiting by the stove. I accepted it.
"Event promoter's in your office," said Michael. "Said to let you know that when you arrived."
Nathan was indeed waiting in my office, to discuss the possibility of Cliffs House hosting a British automotive executive's upcoming conference.
"We have an opening, certainly," I said. "Nothing's booked in the coming month at Cliffs House." I was thinking it should really be Kitty at this meeting, not me, since I would be gone by then. "Talk to Kitty and Lady Amanda about it next week."
"Kitty's busy right now," said Nathan. "Extra time for the play." His tone sounded funny when he said this. I bit my tongue — trouble between them?
"How did you come across this idea?" I asked. "We're not the usual choice for an event like this."
"Oh, I ran into some guy in London. He wanted something new for his event, I gave him a card." Nathan didn't have his usual enthusiasm when talking about this situation, either.
My phone rang, playing a sentimental love song that was Aimee's favorite. Nathan glanced up from the calendar. "Turn that off, will you?" He sounded annoyed.
I shut off my phone, but I gave him a stern look. "All right," I said. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean, 'what's wrong'?" he said.
"Don't make me torture you for answers, Nathan," I said. "What's happening? Did you two have a fight?"
"We didn't have a — you can't have a fight if you're not —" he began, then trailed off. "It's ... just the stress of the play. Lot of rehearsals. You know."
"It wouldn't be because her ex is in the cast?" I said. Kitty had told me that her former boyfriend from Land's End had come back to town. He sounded like a cheap Casanova, judging from her description — but maybe he was something more, if Nathan was so edgy.
Nathan didn't say anything. "He calls her Kat," he said, after a moment. "She won't let anybody call her that."
"She hates being called Kat," I said. "It's because of him."
"It's more," said Nathan, muttering. "I keep picturing his nicotine-stained fingers holding her hand — his snaggle-tooth leer directed at some girl in a dark bus shelter, and I feel like throttling the guy. Or maybe throwing up instead." His expression was unmistakably that of jealous frustration.
My heart melted a little. "She's not interested, you know," I said. It was obvious he felt like the lesser guy in this picture. I had heard that Lyle was the rugged, casual bad boy wrapped up like a blue collar dreamboat. In short, a lot of things that Nathan, with all his looks and masculine charm, was not.
"Maybe. But there's other things, too," he said. "I know she won't stay around here forever. I know I probably won't, either. I guess it hit home for the first time the last couple of weeks...maybe we've been wasting time all these months."
I sucked in my breath. What was he saying? "Nathan," I began.
"Forget it," he said, shaking his head. "I gotta go. I just wanted to give you a heads up about the conference, so you can run it by Lord William sometime soon." He rose. "See you around. At the party, if nothing else."
"You don't have to go, do you?" I was trying to stop him, but he didn't take the hint. I heard him leaving the manor a few minutes later.
I wished Kitty was here to explain exactly what he meant, since nothing about it made sense — unless one interpreted it very pessimistically. And I thought it had been a great idea for Nathan to join the local theatre company, too. Had it broken them up somehow, between her ex and his doubts?
I sighed, and closed the manor's calendar.
"My friend in London is taking the roses from the hothouse," said Matt. "He's a lifelong rose gardener, so there's no one I would trust more. The garden will have to fend for itself, though."
"What about the rare plants?" I asked. I lifted my head from his shoulder. I had been using Matt as a back rest as we sat in the garden. It was a bit overgrown in places where Matt hadn't weeded lately. He'd been too busy packing, I suppose.
"I'll arrange for the preservation society to come collect them," he said.
I picked a blade of grass. "I'll have to pack up my office," I said. "There are loads of folders and sketchbooks I need to go through." I wouldn't be needing them in Seattle. But should I take them just in case ...?
"We've plenty of time," said Matt, softly. "Don't rush. We'll have everything settled long before we're ready to leave for Seattle."
I sighed. "Do you think we'll enjoy the party?" I asked. "The one the village is throwing us?"
"How could we not?" he asked. "Dinah is making a sticky toffee pudding." He snuggled me closer, as I wrapped my arms around his own.
***
Dinah needn't worry about her cake — the moment I saw the finished example, I was sure that any bride and groom would love it. Three exquisite layers of cake with marbled strawberry filling, decorated on the outside with flawless frosting piped in an elegant lacy pattern of flowers and leafy stems around the base of each layer. Miniature white chocolate doves in flight decorated each side, with a carefully-molded pair at the top, surrounded by delicate little frosting flowers.
Even Anneka and Gustaf looked impressed when it was unveiled in the sitting room. I saw Ms. Krensky's eyebrow elevate itself just a fraction of an inch, which I took to be a sign that Dinah exceeded her expectations.
"The sponge is vanilla," said Dinah, "but I've done it with chocolate, and also with white chocolate. The piping's a bit of a tribute to the bride's passion for children's books — inspired by silhouettes in an antique book of children's poetry."
"It's quite good," said Helen, pulling apart her slice's layers with her fork.
"I think the vanilla is a suitable flavor," said Anneka. "What do you think, Josephine?"
"It's perfectly lovely," said Josephine, who smiled politely.
No one asked Kristofer's opinion. That's because he wasn't at this tea, although he was supposed to be. I checked the time on my phone multiple times as I stood just outside the meeting's circle, but each minute ticking past didn't bring the arrival of the royal groom.
"... of course, the wedding sponge will be fresh and not frozen prior to assembly — and if the bride wants something other than gold on the leaves, we can make it look a bit more natural, with soft pinks and greens, for instance."
I had been wondering when I came back to Azure Castle if the bride to be would still be in residence. I saw nothing of Josephine that afternoon; by evening, I had been helping Dinah assemble the cake, the two of us discussing opening night at A Midsummer Night's Dream in the village. I had promised Marjorie I would check one last time on the delivery of the garden floral arches for the reception, and stepped into her office while Dinah finished her piping.
Josephine was in the hall when I emerged. "Hi," she said.
"Josephine — can I do something for you?" I was feeling startled, not having expected anyone to be there.
"No," she said. "Only ... I wanted to tell you that I've given what you said some thought. And I've realized that leaving Kristofer isn't something I could ever do. No matter what else I decide."
"I see." I felt relieved, but also a little surprised. "If that's what will make you happy, then I'm glad you're sure of it."
"I love him," she said. "I know I would miss him terribly if I didn't stay. Unless he came with me." She smiled for this joke. "Even to get away from this wretched wedding, I couldn't hurt him. Dreaming my past held some sort of carefree romance ... it wasn't quite t
he solution I thought it would be. Just a silly notion that distracted me when I should be capable of telling Mummy that my life is my own."
"Maybe you don't have to run away to solve your problems," I answered. I touched her shoulder, sympathetically. "If you talk to Kristofer, he'll understand you're feeling pressured by everyone. Maybe even you mother will understand ... especially if it's a choice between losing her daughter's big day or letting her have some space for making life choices." I pointed this out with a smile for my own joke.
"I hope so," she said. Although Josephine didn't look as if she believed this part was possible, at least. "But if I'm staying, I do have to face these things bravely. Especially if I don't want to be trampled by everyone else's feelings."
"You can do it," I said. "I think anyone as bright and clever as you has what it takes." The pressure of keeping secret Josephine's impulsive sneak-out episode was lessening just a little bit for me, now that she was determined to solve things herself. It looked like everything would be fine after all.
Except, of course, for the fact that the groom was late to their cake tasting.
"Kristofer will be so disappointed," said Anneka, laying aside her half-eaten slice after a few bites. "I wonder what is delaying him?"
"He's always punctual," said Gustaf. "Have you spoken to him today?" He looked at Anders.
"This morning. He said he had some personal business to attend to before he would arrive," said the diplomat. "I assumed it was only a few trivial details he spoke of, and nothing very difficult."
"I hope everything is all right." Helen looked worried; I wondered if she was picturing an auto accident or a jilting at the altar at this moment. On Josephine's forehead, an expression of worry formed, as if these same thoughts were in her head. But that last one was surely impossible, given Kristofer's obvious affection.
"I suppose we're quite finished here," Ms. Krensky said. A crisp tone of voice, since the wedding coordinator was obviously peeved not to have both her clients present. She snapped shut her little cell phone case, stowing the digital diary in her suit's pocket. "Kristofer appears to be unavoidably detained. Thank you, Ms. Barrington, for your time. I'm sure this cake will be perfectly acceptable."
Dinah and I exchanged glances, this time for the snippy words of the wedding coordinator.
As the wedding coordinator had dismissed us, Dinah and I left the sitting room, along with Mrs. Lewison, who complained of a headache. The castle's door opened just as Josephine emerged to go upstairs, and Kristofer entered the main hall.
"Josie," he said. She turned around at the sound of his voice. "I am so sorry I'm late." He held out his hand for her as she approached.
"It's all right," she said. "There's still cake if you would like to try some," she began, gesturing towards the sitting room. To my surprise, Kristofer, carefully and quietly, closed the door before the rest of the room's occupants would notice them in the hall.
"I have something better than cake," he said. "Something I have wanted to give you for a long time." He glanced around, eyes resting on me for a moment in his search. I realized he was trying to have a moment alone with her. I took a step away from them, towards the passage to the grand hall.
Josephine was opening an envelope as I turned away. I heard paper rustling, a short silence, then a little cry of surprise.
"What — what is this?" she said. She sounded astonished.
"For your foundation," he said. "An office for you and your volunteers. I know you haven't had time to find one yet. It was harder to find the right one than I thought — I had hoped that the building's lease would be in your name earlier, but the papers were not ready until today. It is my wedding gift to you: a place where you can begin to make your dream a reality."
"Thank you." Josephine's breathless voice said it all. "Thank you so much." Whatever else she said after this, I was too far away to hear, but I let myself glance back for just a second, to see her arms thrown around Kristofer's neck as he swept her into a close embrace.
***
Kitty:
"Has anyone seen my head?" demanded Bottom. Andy was in costume except for Bottom's donkey's head of papier-mâché. Behind him, Nellie was hustling to fit a yarn-festooned lion's head over Mickey's.
Dress rehearsal's never a smooth sail for the players. I had already lost two lines by accident in my first scene, and was feeling a bit upset. Even Lyle had stammered once or twice, and so had Rosie, who'd read like a pro all week — but the worst bit thus far was the scenery malfunction with the forest backdrop sagging on its ropes.
Nathan was sitting on a closed trunk in the darkness backstage. He was still trying to remember his cues, and breaking out in a bit of a sweat over it. He had a Mother Hubbard dress pulled over his workman's clothes, as Starveling the tailor is Thisby's mother in the woods play, but the mob cap he was supposed to wear with it was beside him.
"Here." I crouched down and helped him finish buttoning up the dress and fitting on the cap. He shoved his script aside, and gave me a grin.
"I thought at least as the tailor, I'd be dressed as a guy," he joked, wryly.
"You look good," I said.
"That's a lie."
"All right. You look rubbish. Didn't you prefer me lying?"
He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I like you either way," he said. This wasn't a joke, like the rest of the moment, and I knew it by his voice. My hand brushed his and lingered against it, our fingers touching, then intertwining like an embrace.
"Where's my head?" hissed Andy, close to us.
"Heavens, you haven't found it yet?" Nora whispered. In her black stagehand clothes, she looked like a nearly-invisible wisp of a woman. "It's two scenes from now — quick, everyone look for Bottom's head!"
It went off rough, the rehearsal, but I'd seen worse around here — 'tech night' for Alice in Wonderland had ended up dropping the White Rabbit's house on said character and Bill the Lizard. Nathan's nerves didn't totally get the better of him, and we didn't drop any scenery on anybody before the night was over.
"Everybody study, study, study your cues faithfully!" said Millicent, at the close. "We've only a little time left before we unleash this beast on the village, as you know, and we don't want it to have the horror of Bottom's ... er ... 'other self,' shall we say."
This produced a lot of snickers among the cast.
I'd never felt so tired as I did pulling on my proper clothes at the end of the night. Many times, I'd been out and about at this hour in the past, but it had been awhile, and it was never for anything as exhausting as staging a theatrical production. I stifled a yawn as I waited in the tiny little foyer of the playhouse, leaning against the wall decorated with old playbills and posters until Nathan appeared.
He pulled off his coat. "Come on," he said. "It's starting to rain." He held it above our heads as we emerged. Summer droplets pattered against the fabric, a gentle rain on the stones outside the old building.
"I won't catch cold," I said.
"Yeah, but you probably weren't planning to take a shower tonight, were you?" he said. "It's a long walk home from here, and you don't have your bike."
"I have my legs," I retorted. Even tired, I still felt a bit playful. "Besides, you have to go home and go to bed, too."
"I'm not tired," he answered.
"Sure you're not," I said, with a knowing smirk. "Walk me as far as the stone wall at the cross streets, then we'll say goodnight."
On the way, we talked about the play's rehearsals, and laughed about a few of the cross purpose incidents — like when the old velvet curtains somehow got wrapped around Theseus' castle and rattled it with the force of an earthquake, just like the fake gravestones in the old movie Plan 9 from Outer Space rock in every wind or breeze. We talked a little about the play itself, too, although Nathan avoided any remark which might lead to discussing my character's onstage fiancé.
We paused at the crossway to say goodnight, both still standing under Nathan's coat. We kissed, a
light, quick one, not a proper one like the one on the stage would've been. This was the usual kiss we stole when nobody was watching — even nobody but ourselves. But it was followed by another, then still another, because it's hard to stop with just one.
I touched his face, cradling it lightly between my fingertips; I felt his lips brush against the bridge of my nose, then my forehead, a feathery touch that was almost a kiss itself. He drew back afterwards, to look me in the eyes.
"Are you busy this Sunday?" he asked. "After the play's over, I mean."
"Kind of," I said. "I have to do the flowers for the wedding, remember? Julianne's taking them back with her to the castle."
"Oh. Right. I forgot about the wedding," he said. "I guess lately I’ve forgotten most everything but this play. Even my own work's kind of taken a dive."
"We could hang out Monday night," I said. "Do you want to see a movie in Truro, maybe?" The only decent thing playing was some sort of comedy — my cousin Silas hated it, which was a recommendation in my book.
An awkward smile crossed Nathan's lips. "Um, actually," he said, "I was thinking maybe we could have dinner ... at your place, maybe."
A short laugh from me. "My place?" I echoed. "I don't have a place, Nathan. Me mum's around all the time. There's no way she'd be out on a Monday evening."
"She doesn't have to be," he said. "We could have dinner anyway, you, me, and your family."
"Are you mental?" I demanded.
"What? Don't you think I should meet them sooner rather than later? She's probably heard about me by now. It'd be a good time to break the ice."
"It's never a good time to break the ice," I said. "My mum's daft. I told you that before — she doesn't like anyone I date. As for the rest of my lot, they'll talk about how you're a toff, and too posh for the likes of me, and I'll be fighting them in two minutes' time, and they'll laugh about how teasy I am."
