by Fiona Valpy
‘Hello? Is there anybody there?’
Sara jumped. She hadn’t been expecting anyone for at least another hour.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you? My name’s Nicola Carter. I’m Hamish and Matthew’s Best Woman.’ A tall, slender woman, dressed in flowing white linen, stood in the kitchen doorway.
Sara came to shake her hand. ‘Please do come in. You’re most welcome.’
‘I’m staying at a rental property not far from here for the summer. Thought I’d come by before the Hibernian Hordes descend on you, because I’d like to see where the ceremony’s going to be on Saturday. I’m going to be conducting the proceedings—it’s a huge honour, but just a bit nerve-wracking too.’
‘Of course. Let me show you where I thought might be best.’
Sara led her to the viewpoint, where a wisteria-draped pergola framed the silver thread of the river in the valley below. Clusters of sweetly scented flowers hung amongst the lush green leaves.
‘We can set chairs out here, with this as the backdrop. The timing’s perfect as the wisteria’s just come into its second bloom.’
‘Oh, this is gorgeous!’ Nicola exclaimed. ‘What an amazing place. Of course, I’d expect nothing less from Matthew and Hamish. They’ve obviously done their research. Have you been here long?’ She quizzed Sara about the château and the restoration project with interest. They wandered through the grounds and Sara showed her the main buildings—the barn, chapel and château—and the pool.
‘It’s wonderful. Great job. You’ve clearly put in a lot of hard work to get it to this standard. It was clever of Matthew to think of having the party out here. This way it won’t be so noticeable who’s here and who isn’t. Hamish’s family would have refused to come even if it had been in Edinburgh; they just can’t deal with the whole gay thing. Matthew’s parents are coming though. At least they make an effort, even if it has been difficult for them to come to terms with.’
Sara felt a surge of sympathy for the pair: she knew all about feeling like an outsider within your own family. ‘Well, I’m glad to be able to help out. You’re all most welcome here. Now, would you like something cold to drink?’ Sara glanced at her watch. ‘They should be arriving any minute, so do stay—it’ll be a lovely welcoming surprise for them. I can offer you wine, beer, or something non-alcoholic?’
‘A glass of iced water would be great.’
Sara and Nicola settled themselves at a table on the terrace. ‘So you said you’re staying in the area for the summer?’
‘Yes. I’ve rented a gîte near the Buddhists. I thought I’d try and combine my summer holiday with a little spiritual self-improvement. I have to pop back to London every now and then for work, but it’s so easy from Bergerac. It was the wedding that gave me the idea since I’d be coming out for that anyway.’
Sara knew of the local Buddhists, who had a centre a few kilometres to the south, to which people gravitated from all over the world for retreats and to hear the Zen Master talk. She’d grown accustomed to the not-uncommon occurrence of finding herself standing behind a couple of shaven-headed monks in their brown robes at the supermarket checkout.
Cars began to pull into the parking area. ‘Here they are,’ said Sara. ‘Let’s go down.’
Amidst the slamming of car doors, cries of welcome rang out as the wedding party spotted Nicola. ‘Darling! You got here before us. You’re looking fabulous! All that sitting on a cushion meditating is obviously doing you the world of good!’
The throng were almost all as casually elegant as Nicola, beautiful people in beautiful clothes: pastel cashmere jumpers draped over shoulders (on the men) and lots of trendily crushed linen (on the women). It was easy to spot Mr and Mrs Humphreys amongst them, looking slightly lost in sensible, crease-proof M&S beige polyester, Mrs Humphreys’ features masked under thick face powder and bright pink lipstick. As Sara introduced herself, one of the good-looking young men produced a set of bagpipes from an instrument case and began to play.
‘Piped in from the very start, that’s most impressive,’ smiled Nicola.
‘I can’t tell you the trouble he had getting those onto the Ryanair flight! They charge extra for everything, even musical instruments,’ Hamish exclaimed.
Summoned by the skirl of the pipes, Antoine and Héloise appeared from the direction of the piggery (Héloise’s blouse buttoned up slightly skew-whiff, Sara couldn’t help noticing) to help carry bags and show guests to their rooms, and the colourful, chattering procession followed the piper up to the château.
* * *
The early morning air was cool and fresh, the sun just beginning to infuse the clear blue sky with the promise of heat to come. Sara was going quietly about her work in the kitchen, setting out the breakfast things, when there was a hesitant tap on the door.
‘Mrs Humphreys, good morning. You’ve got a beautiful day for the party. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, dear, that would be lovely.’ She sat herself down at the table with a sigh.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine, thanks. Thank you, that’s so kind, just a tiny splash of milk. I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, I suppose.’ She sighed again, looking older without her makeup on yet, and her features seemed to have sagged with a sadness that Sara couldn’t help but notice. Mrs Humphreys’ shoulders slumped and she pressed her fingers to her temples and then her eyes.
‘Have you got a headache?’ Sara asked solicitously. ‘I can find you something for it if you like?’
Mrs Humphreys sat perfectly still, her head still resting in her hands as though it were too heavy for her to support. And then she said, very faintly, ‘We’ve lost him.’
Sara came over and sat down beside her, putting a gentle hand on her arm.
‘Sorry.’ Mrs Humphreys pulled herself together a little, fishing a tissue out of her pocket. ‘It’s just... he’s all we’ve got.’ She spoke hesitantly. ‘Matthew’s our only child. We’d dreamt of grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, being part of a bigger family. But Hamish’s parents won’t have anything to do with us—I think they blame us for Matthew and Hamish being together. And we don’t feel part of this world they’re in,’ she swept her arm wide, encompassing the château, the guests, the pastel cashmere and the crumpled linen.
‘But you must be so proud of Matthew,’ Sara patted her arm. ‘He’s famous! And going to be one of the top designers in the fashion world. And the two of them seem so happy together. I’ve seen a few couples come through here and I can tell you not all of them have looked as rock solid as Hamish and your son do.’
Mrs Humphreys blew her nose loudly and nodded slowly.
Encouraged, Sara continued, ‘I know it’s a very different world to the one you’ve known. But surely the most important thing is to support Matthew in being who he is. Having to pretend to be something you’re not is one of the most lonely, isolating things there is.’
As she said this, the sudden heart-felt surge of emotion she felt was surprising; she realised that there had been times with Gavin’s family—and especially his mother—when she’d felt inadequate. She’d tried to adapt to Mrs Farrell’s idea of what the perfect girlfriend should be: arm candy for her precious son. In fact, now Sara came to think of it, perhaps that was when she’d first begun to feel that she was losing her voice; she’d stopped venturing an opinion when she knew she’d only be ignored, finding it easier to defer to Gavin, just as his mother did. And of course in her own fractured family she’d quickly learned to put her own needs at the back of the queue, well behind those of her stepsiblings. No wonder she’d lost so much of her sense of self by the time Gavin left. Well, she’d learnt that lesson: she was going to be true to herself from here on in. And then she found herself reflecting that some people—say, well, Thomas, for example—seemed to like her just as she was...
She pulled her focus firmly back to Mrs Humphreys. ‘If Hamish’s parents see you getting on well with both of the boys, maybe they’ll come round in
the end. And the last thing you want is to lose touch with your son. Anyway,’ Sara said robustly, ‘you’re going to want to be invited to be in the front row at his catwalk shows! What woman wouldn’t? I shall look out for you on the pages of Vogue and Harpers.’
Mrs Humphreys managed a faint nod. ‘Not to mention High Society,’ she said, with a watery smile.
‘Really?’ said Sara, impressed.
‘Yes, dear, didn’t you know? Nicola is the Editor. She’s already covered some of Matthew’s work. She’s become a good friend of both the boys. They didn’t want their wedding—or partnership, or whatever we’re supposed to call it—in the magazine though; that would have been too much for Hamish’s family.’
‘Wow. Well, I’m extremely honoured that they chose Château Bellevue de Coulliac for their celebration. What exalted company you keep! Now, drink that tea—things always seem a little more manageable after a cuppa. And tell me, what are you wearing to the party?’
At that moment, Matthew appeared. ‘Aha, I thought I heard the encouraging clink of teacups.’ He put his arms around his mother and hugged her.
‘Good morning, dear.’ She rested her head on his shoulder for a second, her eyes closing. ‘I’ve got a new blue dress,’ she said, responding to Sara’s question. ‘And I did bring a fascinator with me, but I don’t know if I shall wear it, it’s a bit daring for me.’
‘Oh, Mum, that’s wonderful!’ Matthew’s eyes gleamed bright with what Sara suspected might just be a tear or two. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble; I can’t tell you how much that means to me and Hamish. Of course you must wear it! You’ll be the belle of the ball. I’ll come and help you fix it in place when you’re ready if you like. Just like at the shows.’
Mrs Humpreys nodded. ‘Thank you, my darling boy. I’d really like that.’ She nodded again, and this time it seemed to Sara that she was smiling right at her. ‘Thank you so much.’
Matthew turned, still with an arm around his mother. ‘And Sara, we’re a few women short this evening. When it comes to dancing reels, it would be a huge help if you’d join us. I know it’s above and beyond your job description, but we’d love it if you could?’
‘Why, thank you! I haven’t danced in ages. That would be so much fun.’
* * *
Sara peered into the misted depths of the mirror in the cottage’s tiny bathroom. She was preparing hastily for the ceremony and, where she would usually take a quick shower and then change into her wedding ‘uniform’ of a smart-but-unobtrusive navy shirt dress, today she had put on one of flame-coloured silk. Its fitted bodice flattered her slim figure and the skirt flared flirtatiously just above the knee. She was trying to tell herself that she was only making the extra effort because of the presence of the fashion world, but she couldn’t quite push the image out of her mind of the man who would be in charge of the music at the dance tonight. She dabbed on her lip gloss and then lightly ran a finger over her lips, reminded of the brush of Thomas’s fleeting, momentary kiss when they were on the weir. Had it been anything other than a passing whim in that perfect, romantic setting? The memory brought a flush to her cheeks, the glow heightened by the colour of her dress.
She brushed her long dark hair dreamily, remembering... But then squared her shoulders at her reflection in the mirror, pulling herself together, ready for work.
It was the end of a hot August afternoon and the guests, summoned once again by the sound of the pipes, were beginning to assemble at the viewpoint, elegant in their wedding finery. Conscious of the time, Sara gently encouraged them to take their seats. A welcome breath of breeze cooled her hot cheeks and made the hemline of her skirt flutter and flow.
Once everyone was seated and Nicola had taken her place under the pergola, Sara went back to the terrace where Hamish and Matthew were waiting with Mr and Mrs Humphreys. Matthew was making the final adjustments to his mother’s headpiece, a flourish of blue-and-cream feathers which sat jauntily in her hair. He hugged her close. ‘There. You look wonderful. I’m so proud to have such a chic mother.’
She held him at arm’s length, taking in the elegant cut of his suit and minutely adjusting the deep-red rose in his jacket buttonhole. ‘And we couldn’t be prouder of you. Both of you,’ she turned to embrace Hamish, resplendent in his kilt. ‘We’re so happy that you’re making this commitment to each other and we wish you much joy.’
Mr Humphreys cleared his throat, looking less at ease than the other three. But, after a moment’s hesitation, he hugged each of the boys in turn, awkwardly clapping them on the back, man-style, in a display of affection that was really most unlike him.
Matthew turned to Sara. ‘And look at you! You do brush up well, Miss Audrey-Hepburn-Cheekbones.’
She blushed and smiled. ‘Thank you. Are we ready to go?’
The others nodded and so she led Mr and Mrs Humphreys to their seats, the signal for the piper to strike up Highland Cathedral. To a round of applause, Hamish and Matthew walked hand in hand up the aisle between the chairs to where Nicola waited, smiling.
After the short, but moving, ceremony and the couple’s exchange of their heartfelt vows, the piper led the way back to the courtyard where the caterers were waiting with flutes of champagne and trays of canapés. Matthew and Hamish had opted not to have an official photographer, so at least Sara didn’t have to keep an eye on Henri Dupont this time (not that there would have been quite as much scope for his predatory ways at this particular gathering). Their friends snapped away with cameras and phones though, exclaiming at the picturesque backdrop of the ancient stonework and soft drifts of flowers.
Aperitifs over, Sara and Hélène began to usher people into the marquee. On this warm evening, the sides had been rolled back to allow the breeze through, the garden setting enhancing the arrangements of deep-red roses and hazy fronds of asparagus fern that had been used to decorate the dining tent.
After Hélène had departed, Sara left the caterers in charge while the meal ran its course. She slipped back to the château kitchen for a welcome sit down. The caterers had made up three extra plates of food and Sara pulled up a chair at the table where Antoine and Thomas were already tucking in.
Thomas gave a low whistle when he saw her. ‘Wow, Boss. Looking good tonight.’
‘Why, thank you, Mr DJ. I’m looking forward to your reels. Antoine, we’d better bring a few more bottles of whisky up from the cellar. These Scots will probably get through quite a bit later on.’ She reminded herself that she was still on duty, even if she was mixing business with pleasure for once.
When they could hear the sound of applause for the last of the speeches, the three of them crossed the courtyard to the barn, each carrying a couple of bottles of a single malt. Setting these on the bar, Thomas took his place behind the decks and flicked the switches for the lights. Above their heads, the glitter ball began to revolve, spangling their bodies with its white diamonds.
The strains of the first dance rang out. Hamish and Matthew were leading off with The Gay Gordons, to the delight of their friends whose cool elegance was beginning to give way to more animated whoops and whistles.
The caller announced Strip the Willow: ‘Sets of eight please, boys down one side, girls down the other, and if you’re not sure which you are then choose whichever one you’d like to be!’
Mr Humphreys was propping up the bar, deep in conversation with Antoine about the range of whiskies on offer and the relative merits of an eighteen-year-old Bunnahabhain versus a twelve-year-old Cardhu. Matthew grabbed his mother’s hand, and Hamish caught Nicola, pulling her onto the dance floor. The piper materialised at Sara’s elbow. ‘Ya dancin’?’ he asked.
‘If you’re asking,’ she replied.
The caller was skilled at his job, walking them through the dance first, before giving Thomas the nod to set the music playing. Matthew twirled his mother down the set and then took his turn back up again and, by the time they were both spinning back down together, Mrs Humphreys’ fascinator had assumed a
distinctly rakish angle, and she was flushed and laughing giddily.
Sara’s feet flew when it came to her turn, her red dress swirling as her partner spun her deftly. Once they’d reached their places at the bottom of the line again, she glanced over at Thomas. He was watching the dancers with a broad smile, clapping his hands and stamping his feet in time with the rest of them. His eyes met hers in the dizzying disco lights and she grinned back as he let out a whoop as wild as that of any of the Scots. Flinging her head back, Sara laughed with the sheer joyous exhilaration of the dance.
* * *
She’d slipped away some time after midnight, as the mood of the party began to mellow, the music slowing. It was much later than she normally would have stayed but she’d been having so much fun she’d hardly noticed the time. Her head was still buzzing and she didn’t feel the slightest bit tired, so she sat down in a deckchair on the terrace outside the cottage door, kicking off her shoes and propping her feet on the low wall in front of her. The sky was amazing tonight, a velvety black, copiously sprinkled with millions of winking stars. The Milky Way was a sheer veil, draping itself above her. She was reminded of the veil of water on the weir, on that magical walk across the river with Thomas. She rested her head against the chair back, gazing upwards, remembering.
In the barn, the music fell silent. She listened to the calls of ‘goodnight’ as the guests meandered back to their rooms and their cars.
Suddenly she was aware that he was standing there before her. He held up a champagne bottle and two glasses. ‘I wondered if you might still be awake. It seemed a shame to waste this last half-bottle of Louis Roederer’s very finest. In fact, as a winemaker myself, I know how very disappointed he would be if it was not drunk on this most perfect of nights.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Well, in that case, I certainly wouldn’t want to upset your good friend Louis.’
Thomas poured the champagne and handed her a glass, sitting down in the deckchair next to hers. She took a sip, the bubbles as delicately heady as distilled starlight, and gave a little sigh of happiness.
